Wombwell Main FC 1-1 Dodworth MWFC

I'm on the 18.36 Cleethorpes to Nottingham train with Dean Gripton. Donny have well and truly dusted the Mariners 3-0. Dean is full of cold, and has nodded off. We pull into Lincoln station where hoards of rowdy Imps fans pile into our carriage. I ask one of them how 'The Lincoln' have played. They have beaten Leyton Orient 2-1. It's a proud moment for the club as the goals have been scored by Freddie Draper and Jovon Makama, both 20 year old former youth team players.

The Lincoln fans are beer-fuelled and not particularly friendly. One is pretty wound up that I've been to Grimsby's game as a neutral, rather than watch the Imps, who I've followed for over 50 years. I explain I'm not into shelling out cash for gold memberships to secure tickets and that I'll wait until their form dips and support drops off. He says Grimsby and Cleethorpes are shitholes. "Where are you from, mate?" "Newark", he replies. "Oh." His mate brags of the pubs he's been banned from in Newark. The sewer-mouthed 'Lincoln fans' alight at Newark, leaving relieved passengers to a peaceful final leg of the journey.

It's Tuesday morning and I'm tidying up the magazines at the paper shop. The front page headline on What's On TV is 'Tragedy for the Dingles' - I tip Ms Moon off on 'The Farm' TV spoiler. I say that the Dingles are all invited to Sam's for Christmas dinner and that the buffoon undercooks the turkey, so they all end up with food poisoning - Ms Moon tells me to shut up and grow up. There's a lovely moment later in the day when I inform a surprised elderly lady customer that she has won £92 on a Lucky Dip lottery ticket.

Faggsy picks me up outside the Nags Head at the bottom of Carlton Hill. It's been hosing it down with rain all day. We're ten minutes away from West Bridgford's Regatta Way ground when a text alert goes off on my phone. The message is from their manager Russ Cousins, "sorry mate, game OFF"

We drive over Clifton Bridge. Our last roll of the dice is Clifton All Whites. If any pitch can survive this deluge, it's theirs. The good sign is that the floodlights are shining brightly. A bald-headed fella, soaked to the skin, is packing away some training balls. The legend that is James 'Tosh' Turner confirms the game is on.

We stand/sit in the only covered part of the ground. Big Glenn takes the piss out of me for the first 45 minutes. On the pitch All Whites look in fine fettle. They are cruising at 2-0 up until they concede a sloppy goal on the stroke of half-time, to managerless Dunkirk, who have gone through two gaffers already this season as 'Fawaz' pulls the trigger. 

Clifton look to have it sealed at 3-1, but they have looked ill at ease with the direct tactics of the opposition. Failure to deal with the long (hoof) ball sees the 'Dunkirk Spirit' grab a deserved 3-3 draw. Callum Orange is particularly impressive with his tireless running down the channels.

Not many folk travel to Grimsby twice in five days. I'm back on the train, and on my way up to North East Lincolnshire. I've some unfinished business in the town, and the neighbouring seaside resort of Cleethorpes. As I wander out of the station, The Yarborough Hotel comes into view. This 'Spoons hotel was purpose built in the mid 19th Century for the railway industry. It's the first day of the 'Spoons Beer Festival Week. Despite not being a massive fan of their owner, I take advantage of a £1.79 mango pale ale whilst charging up my phone, with a full day of google map navigation about to burn my battery. A miserable pensioner, sat behind me with his mate, remarks, "bloody skinflint ,using the pub electricity."

I'm keen to keep out of the pub(s), seeking instead to see what Grimsby has to offer. 69.9% of the district's folk voted to Leave the EU in 2017 - even more astonishing is that in the 2019 General Election a Conservative MP was elected to represent Great Grimsby. Looking at the buildings in disrepair, endless 'To Let' signs and deserted streets, those voters have reaped little reward. It's a town that's been forgotten and let down.

I stride out of the centre towards Grimsby Docks. Tesco Extra comes in handy for a pee stop. The size of the store has certainly had an impact on the demise of the town's high street. I wander over a bridge, which underneath lies the River Freshney, which flows into the Humber Estuary. Adjacent to Sainsbury's supermarket, on Alexandra Dock, is the Grimsby Fishing Heritage Museum, which was funded to the tune of £1.5 million by the European Union in 1991. I walk past the Port of Grimsby Port Offices which is plastered with 'To Let' signs. There's an impressive statue of Prince Albert across the road. 

I chance upon a blue plaque on Grimsby Road, at the birthplace of songwriter Rod Temperton. He penned the songs: Thriller by Michael Jackson, Give Me The Night, by George Benson and James Ingram's US number 1 hit, Baby, Come to Me. I pop into a few boozers in Cleethorpes that are Good Pub Guide entries. A chippy tea is spent at the wonderful Oceans - thanks for the nod, Danny.

I've walked ten miles by now and I'm feeling it in my legs. It's another 4 miles to Grimsby Borough's ground at the Bradley Football Development Centre. I call for a cab. As I stroll into the clubhouse I clock Malc Brown, Dad of fans' favourite Dan Brown, and Stuart, owner of Non League top dog Joey, known affectionately to Carlton Town fans as 'Barton.' More Carlton supporters trickle into the bar including: 'Chief Wiggum', 'Herr Harlow', Danny Bhoy, Jonny Hand and his lad Aidan, 'Clubshop Ken', Pete, Dylan, Adam and Dean.

I broke down in tears at home the previous evening. Ms Moon tried to console me. The Farm was put on pause as we broke into a new box of Kleenex tissues. She didn't understand they were tears of joy, elation and celebration with the social media announcement of the return to Stoke Lane (on loan) of blog legend Ollie Clark ('The Carlton Cattermole') - Ollie can put a tackle in and ain't shy in offering his thoughts on the standard of officiating to the referee or assistants. He's bulked up and playing further up the field too. He's heavily involved in the early exchanges which sees the Millers take the lead through the in-form Lamin Manneh.

I notice Borough make an early substitution. A bald-headed fellow comes on to replace the right back. It's Bradley Wood, once of Lincoln City. In 2018 he was banned from football by the FA for six years, for spot betting offences, having been deliberately booked on at least two occasions so he and his friends could benefit from placing bets with various bookmakers. Lamin taunts him and teases him, inviting the tackle. 

The lads see out the second half superbly. They cope admirably with a string of substitutions as injuries and fatigue take their toll. The boys that come on run themselves into the ground and do no harm to their chances of starting on Saturday. The battle-hardened back four and 'keeper are commanding and resolute. It's a happy car journey home. Thanks for the lift Alan - good choice of radio station too.

I have to face the music on Thursday morning. I've cheated on my Bosnian barber, Mr Eko, by having a previous trim at The Cutfather on Upper Parliament Street. I cough up and ask for forgiveness. I give a generous tip. In return I get a nice head massage and neck rub - and no, he didn't try to strangle me.

It's a quiet Friday evening. I meet Ms Moon for a couple of scoops in 'Spoons up on Carlton Hill. Their ''Beer Festival' is in full flow. I try a real ale from Japan that is quaffable. I follow it up with a can of Blue Monkey craft ale - I should have known better, the can is two months out of date. I rustle up a curried fish pie for supper which goes down well with the judges.

I'm washing the breakfast pots as the Big Man pulls up ten minutes shy of 11 o'clock. It's back oop North again; South Yorkshire to be precise. The Big 'Un is feeling fresh as a daisy after a few days in the Reef last month. He's back over there in November and for Christmas too, the jammy so and so.

The M1 is playing up. It's 12.30 by the time we pull up outside Tunstall Cross Fisheries - which has the Matt Limon seal of approval. I immediately unsettle the owner of 20 years when I enquire whether the chips are cooked in beef dripping. "It would upset the vegetarians pal" says the man behind the fryer.

We pay our respects at the local cemetery to 'Busby Babe'. Mark Jones, who tragically passed at the age of 24 years old in 'The Munich Air Disaster' of 1958, and the cricketer Roy Kilner, who died of a fever having returned from India where he was playing and coaching back in 1928. It is said that 100,000 people lined the streets to pay their respects as his funeral cortege passed by. Kilner scored 1000 runs in a season 10x times and took 100 wickets in a season 5x times. He completed the double on 4x occasions.

We rock up at the ground five minutes before kick off. I take a photo of Terry (Main's manager) who is a legend in these parts. Dodworth look the better side in the first 45 minutes and deserve their half-time lead following a blunder by the 'keeper. It's a well kept ground with some lovely touches. It's raised on one side behind the dugouts with orange and black painted rails. We stand the opposite side, out of the fresh breeze.

Wombwell Main improve in the second half. The equaliser is a beautifully crafted move. They push for a winner with the 14 jacket missing a sitter with injury time approaching.

Men of the Match: Mark Jones and Roy Kilner.

Rest in Peace x

Attendance: 160