Like the town of Rotherham, it was far from pretty, but it was three points. Teams like Rotherham should be dealt with in more emphatic style than we managed, but if that’s the best we can do, then that’s the best that we can do. Quite how well this squad will fare if it achieves the goal of promotion is unclear, but I don’t think it will be much. Having said that, it is a squad built for a particular purpose, and we’re in no position to attract the exotic. Unlike Rotherham, who’ve managed to tice a Brazilian along, presumably because “Rotherham” is Portuguese for “glorious beach with free beer where supermodels sunbath naked”, as there can be no other reason for giving up the sunshine for this place.
 With the good folks of the pools panel (Jimmy Tarbuck, Sue Pollard, and John Prescott) having given us a win on Saturday (which our tickets still, naturally enough, told us was the kick–off time) this was a real six-pointer. We’d worked this one out by Scotch corner, and also discussed the merits of Gillingham’s ticket pricing. For the worst ground in the country (official, with Millmoor not far behind), Watford were charged £15 and Sheff Utd £10 to sit in the kerplunk stand in the open air, while it cost us £24. This is the sort of thing that engenders bad feeling, and the soft shites at the FA, Football League or wherever are too scared to do anything about it. The recent change in date for this match meant that several of our number were absent due to work or holiday commitments, and we travelled in the quiet coach. If you ever feel like criticising your home-town, take a look at Rotherham, which has had no money whatsoever spent on it since 1952. From the varied collection of scrap yards to the very disused cabin cruiser parked on the railway line next to the away end, this is an open-air museum of industrial decay. The walls bore signs which read “walk slowly and carefully” – presumably so that the “guard dogs on patrol” could catch you.
We were first bus in (it means last bus out, but that wasn’t a problem) and headed for the Tivloi, behind the home end. For “Tivoli” read “Phoenix Club”, as this place was sunshine indoors alright. George rang in from Madrid to report torrential rain, and a sports bar that only showed American football on a Monday night – how we laughed. So, having baffled our Ian by letting him watch our card games in order to learn how to play, it was off the South Yorkshire annex of the Museum of Football Stadia through the ages, Millmoor following the Watford theme with a selection of hotch-potch constructions randomly arranged around a piece grass (nice piece of grass, though). The also have Dusty Dumpling, possibly the cheapest mascot in the world.
 With Poom and McCartney missing, Myrrhe and Carter were in, with Hooolio, and his go-faster haircut and Eric Morcambe shorts, dropping back to left back. Rotherham were high on enthusiasm but desperately low on quality, which is why they are where they are. By the time we got to the break, they’d fluffed a couple of chances, Elliott had struck the bar, and another couple of chances had gone begging. We’d also seen Robinson, the man with the neatest lawn in County Durham, took his now customary whack in the face, and Stewart drop his shorts during the ensuing delay. I was also cowing under the torrent of abuse that spewed forth from the foul-mouthed chavette behind me, who had a vocabulary that would have made Ozzy Osbourne. She reserved his finest comments for Junior, variously described as “a f***ing freak” and “a f***ing turnip c***”, and the ref, who was simply “a f***ing blind f***ing c***” – and it was school holidays and there lots of kinds in attendance, including the poor bairn with the plastic binoculars in front of us, who fell asleep five minutes from time – bless.
The second half could have seen us ahead immediately, but we had to wait a few more minutes before Whitehead was reacted quickest (after hiding behind a blade of grass) to Elliott’s knock down, and found himself perfectly placed to pounce and poke past poor Pollitt with a precise prod, then pose proudly with the fans. Yippee!
Collins (D) replaced Carter, to allow the full-back Arca and Orca to push forward, and he looked decent enough, and Brown replaced Stewart for the last few minutes and did the job of winning the ball and holding it up. By the time the whistle went, we were worthy winners, but had a blinding save from Myrrhe to thank for the three points. A win is what we went for, and it’s what we got.
Homeward bound, and Lilo Lil was rested in readiness for the Millwall adventure next Friday, and Ronnie amused us with his exploding Lucozade, before the Hispanic drugs cartels were ditched in favour of more family oriented entertainment in the shape of Dr Doolittle, which was nice.
Man of the match? While Whitehead had a tremendous second half and was in the right place at the right time to win it, but Elliott battled and battered away all night. OK, so on another night he’d have his boots on the right feet and score six goals with a performance like that, but he forced the chance for the goal, and gave as good as he got to a defender twice his size. A little gem.
Keep the faith
Sobs |
