The day gets off to a
decent enough start – waiting at Euston for the train to be called,
we make some bloke’s morning by letting him know England have
beaten Scotland in the rugby. Jenny, Joy and I have a last-minute
travelling companion in the shape of Clarkey, who’s probably put
himself right in the dog house by coming to the game but doesn’t
seem too bothered about it. As we wander down the platform in search
of our reserved seats, Joy notices a squashed bird still stuck on the
train’s engine. What is it with us and splattered wildlife this
season?
We’re supposed to be
meeting my brother at Crewe station, but his texts inform me the
train he’s on has had to push another one whose engine has failed,
and he’s running late from Birmingham. Chris Kirkland is also
delayed, having had to wait for forty minutes or so to collect his
ticket at Sheffield station. Chris Burrows has made it over from
Manchester without any difficulties, and it seems Robert’s actually
going to make the connection to Longport, as the train’s been
pushed back to let the one he’s on come through first – right up
until the moment when they decide the Crewe train has priority.
Luckily, as soon as he gets to the bus stop outside the station the
bus to Burslem pulls in, so he won’t be too far behind us.
Already, the day is
freakily hot, and it’s all uphill from Longport station, so by the
time we arrive at the Bull’s Head, we’re in need of a drink. It’s
more than warm enough to sit outside – where, as ever, the barbeque
is already in full spate, turning out burgers, hot dogs and bacon
rolls. Of course Ted simply has to be informed that you can have the
option of black pudding with your burger.
Robert eventually joins
us, as does Chris K, and we all sit basking in the Staffordshire
sunshine. One of the Port Vale fans drinking at a neighbouring table
wanders over, but instead of discussing prospects for this
afternoon’s game, he treats us to his surreal, vaguely Marxist
stand-up comedy routine about football. As you do...
While we’re putting
up the flag behind the goal, Boomer the Port Vale mascot wanders over
and starts rubbing his furry thighs in a Vic Reeves stylee. I blow
him a kiss in return, and before you know it, I’m being hugged by a
six-foot squashy dog. Fortunately, no one is able to whip out a
camera quickly enough to record the start of this beautiful
friendship for posterity.
The defence has been
rejigged again, with Michael Raynes, who we later find out has been
ill all night and probably shouldn’t be playing, and Johnny Mullins
as the centre backs and Troy Brown at right back, and unfortunately
the result is decided by two defensive mistakes. Port Vale’s first
goal comes from a Marc Richards free-kick which Logan only fumbles as
he tries to save it, and the second is as a result of the defence in
front of Logan going AWOL, leaving Richards with a one-on-on that he
doesn’t miss. Tom Pope, who’s been on the end of some pretty ugly
chants from the Rotherham support, provides the assist for the goal,
which only goes to show what happens when you dish out the nasty
stuff to a former player.
After that, we try
everything we can to get back in the game, but it doesn’t happen.
Tonge comes on for Brown at the start of the second half, and starts
linking up well with the players in front of him. We actually have
the ball in the net a couple of minutes into the second half, but
it’s disallowed because Grabban is ruled offside. Apart from that,
our best chance comes right at the end of the half, when Newey puts
in a fine ball from a corner for Mullins to head home, but it’s
saved.
The only thing to do is
go back to the Bull’s Head – Robert pointing out the Guest and
Chrimes hydrant cover in the square by the pub, a little bit of
Burslem that is forever Rotherham – and drown our sorrows.
On the train back to
London, Joy and I find ourselves perusing the match programme. We
can’t decide whether one of the sponsors pictured posing with Marc
Richards after their last home game is actually a pre-op tranny or
just this year’s winner of the tallest woman in Europe contest.
It’s amazing what you think of to pass the time on the way home.
But at least we now know that, unlike pressed rats, dead birds are
not an omen.
We have to wait ages
for a tube out of Euston Square, the delay caused by some
vomit-related incident which must have been of Exorcist
proportions if it forced a whole train to be taken out of service.
Ted eventually gets on at Kings Cross and we have the fun of watching
a couple of lads trying – and failing conspicuously – to chat up
a girl from Darlington. Blame it on the heat...
