Ted’s on a one-man mission to baffle Jenny this morning, arriving at St Pancras before I do and claiming he’s got me tucked in his rucksack. In reality, he’s off for breakfast before his trip to Cambridge and has come to wave us off. It’s ladies only on the way up, as Jenny and I are joined by Julia, who busies wading through about 147 sections of an unwanted Telegraph a fellow passenger hands over to us, trying to find the sports section. Failing to find any coverage of the lower leagues (in a broadsheet? What a surprise!), she regales us with a story about how her family had been on holiday and her son-in-law went to collect the baby buggy from the baggage carousel to find it wasn’t there. Instead, an identical buggy, but an older and tattier version, was still circling – and bearing a luggage label reading ‘Jamie Redknapp’. Jamie, if you’re reading this, do the decent thing and give it back…
Once in Sheffield, Julia heads for Rotherham and Jenny and I go to the Fat Cat, where one of the regulars is feeding pub cat Steffie one of those meat stick treats. We have no idea how many years you have to have been drinking there before you’re allowed that privilege. It’s so civilised in there, we make the usual comment about staying all afternoon. Maybe we should have.
Today’s opposition, Southend, are even more of a pound-shop Stoke than they were last season. There’s barely a player below six foot tall in the side, and they rely on set pieces and a bloke who could probably chuck the ball the width of the English channel if he tried. It can’t be denied it’s an effective style of play, and we won’t be the only team to fail to find a way of combating it, but I couldn’t watch it week-in, week-out. They take the lead after ten minutes, Peter Gilbert lashing in the rebound from his own corner, and already the natives are restless. The grumbling doesn’t subside for the rest of the half, even though we have a couple of good chances to equalise, the best of these being Lewis Grabban’s effort which is only just cleared off the line.
Things get worse, particularly for those of us in danger of expiring from passive moaning, as Southend score again within a couple of minutes of the second half kicking off. Unsurprisingly, it’s a long throw that causes the problems. When they score a third, people get up and start walking out. We’re not the only fans to do this (Gillingham did exactly the same when we put three past them a few weeks ago), but it does seem that over the last few years supporters as a whole have become less inclined to stick around if the going gets tough in a particular game. Whatever happened to staying and suffering till the end? To compound our misery, Southend get a fourth. What’s really annoying is that they’re doing quite a bit of time-wasting and falling over. You could understand this if they were defending a one-nil lead and anxious not to concede an equaliser, but when they’re so comfortably ahead it makes you wonder if it’s just engrained in their DNA.
At least there’s one bright spot for us as Johnny Mullins (proudly sponsored by the London Millers, as I’m contractually obliged to point out) makes his comeback from injury, appearing for the last 15 minutes. Given that it was originally thought he might be out till Christmas, it’s nice to see him back.
After the game, Jenny and I meet up with Clarkey at the tram stop, and we pop into the Old Queen’s Head. It’s much busier in there than usual; a bunch of people look to be meeting up before heading off to another venue, or maybe they’ve escaped en masse from a wedding reception, while a few members of a TV outside broadcast crew are wandering round. We’ve no idea what they’re in Sheffield to film, but their van is parked just down the road. The landlord of the pub commiserates with us on losing to our “bogey team”, but I don’t think we bust his pools coupon this week…
The three of us peruse the programme on the train back to London. There’s a big interview with Drewe Broughton, Southend and Rotherham of course being two of the 18 and counting clubs he’s been at, having just signed a (very) short-term contract with Alfreton. Apparently, he’s been doing a diploma in athletics and body performance. Now all his infamous, X-rated gyrations on the touchline at Gillingham and Bury make sense – that must have been the practical part of the exam!
