Lincoln Moorlands 2 Shepshed Dynamo 3

It’s a day I’ve been dreading for months now; I’ve got to take her in for surgery. We’ve been together for ages; we’re a partnership. I could have upgraded to a better looking model, but we’re like Morecambe and Wise, Bodie and Doyle or Stanley and Hilda Ogden.

I kiss her goodbye at 7am. I’m told to expect the worst. I’m at work and off my food. The call comes through at smack on 1pm. My hand trembles as I lift up the receiver. “Mr Palmer, your car has passed its MOT.

I clench my fist and raise my arms above my head. I let out a huge “you beauty.” It’s another year groundhopping with ‘Sally Gunnell.’

It’s Monday evening and I’m sat in the Larwood and Voce Stand, at Trent Bridge, the home of Nottinghamshire County Cricket Club. It’s the Outlaws’ biggest night of the year – the Twenty/20 quarter finals against Sussex. Nearly 10,000 people have rocked up in West Bridgford.



Notts have a habit and a reputation for bottling it on the big occasion. History looks like repeating itself. We bat appallingly but manage to muster a miserly 141, thanks to a few lusty blows from ‘Sid’ Sidebottom.

Sussex race away at the start, with an abundance of extras accumulated from wide deliveries from our big guns. It’s all going ‘Pete Tongue.’

There’s a chink of light at the end of the tunnel. Our manager, Mike Newell, has an uncanny habit of snaring players away from other counties when they are out of contract. Ex Lancashire medium-pacer, Steven Mullaney, bowls a sublime spell of slower deliveries and yorkers to put us through to ‘Finals Day’ at the Rose Bowl in Hampshire. Sticky has reserved a seat in a Portuguese bar for the day.

Tonight sees the return of White Van Man. He proper slacked off towards the back end of last season. But you can always guarantee his availability when his big pal Screats is in action. He has Shandy drank his way through the summer in Albufeira, Newcastle and York with a grand finale in Lloret de Mar, where he crossed swords with an Eastern European bouncer.



Lincoln is the birthplace of Sticky Palms. He was born in the Bromhead Hospital, on Nettleham Road, on Wednesday February 5th 1964. He has followed Lincoln City for over 40 years, but stopped caring about their results last season, following the appointment of the arrogant former Chelsea misfit, Chris Sutton. The bloke is a joke.

A Celtic XI visited Sincil Bank at the weekend. There was a shed load of trouble at the Golden Cross public house on the High Street. Police made over twenty arrests. Celtic fans had their feathers ruffled by alleged sectarian chanting.

I pedal home from work – it’s been a daily ritual since April, as I need to shift some weight. Mrs P is about to depart for the picturesque setting of Belvoir, where ‘The Skipper’ has a cricket match.

The good lady has knocked me up a mackerel salad. I sit watching the final session of England v Pakistan at Trent Bridge. Eoin Morgan has to use a final referral to avoid an incorrect LBW decision.



I wander down the alleyway towards the Fairway public house car park. It’s an alleyway the poor old ‘Skipper’ witnessed four hooded robbers walking down a few weeks ago, en-route to robbing our local supermarket.

White Van Man is treating me to an executive ride in a plush company vehicle. I’m dreading he’ll have Radio Trent or Heart FM on the car radio. Screats’ dad (Screats is captain of Shepshed Dynamo) is also travelling.

We hurtle down Wynbreck Drive. WVM gesticulates with local plumber and Keyworth United legend Robbie Marchbank, who almost has his passenger side door wiped out by the Big Man.

WVM heads in the direction of Leicester to pick up the Fosse Way. The slip road he intended to take is closed. The air is blue with obscenities. We do a u-turn on a silent A46.



The new dual carriageway, due to be opened in 2012, is shaping up nicely, but for now we are restricted to a 40mph speed limit.

WVM has the deadly boring, New Zealand born, Radio 1 DJ, Zane Lowe, on his car radio. The guy is held in high esteem and is often referred to as the ‘new John Peel.’ He has the personality of a plant.

Screats’ dad offers WVM a cheese and tomato sandwich. The big man replies that he is a salad swerver and turns the opportunity down flat.

WVM cranks it up a notch north of Newark. We sail through South Hykeham and North Hykeham and pull into Lincoln Moorlands’ Newark Road ground at 7.30pm on the dot. No Sat Nav required - Sticky’s grandma and grandad used to live a stone’s throw away from the ground.



Sticky takes a trip down memory lane and strolls down to grandma and grandad’s house for old time’s sake. The ground is hidden away at the back of the Newark Road.

It’s £2 entry. There’s no programme or team sheet available. The ground is I remember it. There’s a large social club. The playing area is bordered by trees and new housing. The pitch looks scorched and parched.

WVM and I took a peek at Shepshed a few weeks ago at Radcliffe Olympic. There has been serious upheaval in the boardroom, with cuts to the playing budget. The squad assembled at Radcliffe looked young, cheap and cheerful. Tonight’s line-up looks a lot stronger. Three are on trial from the Sleaford. Former Nottingham Forest youngster Adam Newbold fails to make the trip.

Moorlands are unbeaten in pre-season. Unibond Division One South Grantham Town are one of their scalps. Their front pairing of Sean Cann and Ben Good have played at a higher level. Cann particularly impressed me 18 months ago when bagging a brace at The Dovecote for the Whites of Lincoln United.



Dynamo look ‘on it’ from the off. They get the ball wide and retain possession. Screats has had a week on holiday in Majorca. He’s a steadying influence at the back but has hamstrings like Jimi Hendrix’s guitar strings. He applies spray and cream during a break in play. In four years of groundhopping I’ve yet to see him complete the full ninety minutes. I still have sleepless nights over his two-footed assault on a Frickley player two seasons ago.

Screats and ‘Jonah’ have Cann and Good in their pockets. Cann is more interested in mouthing off.

Shepshed take the lead. Former Nottingham Forest scholar Max Wright hares down the right wing, his cross is coolly turned in at the near post by the game’s best player Rob Norris.

The quick-footed Norris soon becomes the creator supreme, setting up trialist Ryan Oliver to stab the ball home from close range.

We have a coffee, a tea and a full fat Coke for WVM at the break. I notice that former flame-haired Arsenal midfielder Ray Parlour is guesting at a ‘Gentlemen’s Evening’ at Moorlands Railway Social Club in a few weeks time. He’s probably still paying off that hefty divorce settlement that his ex-wife turned him over for a few years ago.

The Social Club is top drawer – it even has two full length snooker tables. The room next door is having some sort of ‘Quiz Night.’ It certainly seems a safer place to down a pint than the Golden Cross on the High Street.



It’s a no-show from Screats in the second half. I notice him clutch his tight hamstring whilst chatting to his dad and WVM.

I’ve been that busy chuckling at the Pakistani wicketkeeper on Sky Sports at half-time, that by the time I’m outside again, Lincoln Moorlands have pulled a goal back. Suddenly they are in the ascendancy. Gavin Saxby, the Shepshed ‘keeper, has to pull off a couple of worldies to keep the visitors in the game.

I’m stood with Ryan Oliver’s dad. He has a large smirk all over his face. Not only has his son scored a goal but he’s also won 1st prize in the raffle. He’s presented with a large bottle of Cockburn’s port. I remark it’s not much good without a piece of Stilton cheese.

I finally hook up with our mob. Screats is telling us all what a great header his disallowed goal was in the first half and can I give him the big un in this blog. I reply he’s got a head like a fifty pence piece.

Young Max Wright wraps things up for Shepshed. Moorlands reduce the deficit on the stroke of full-time.

Man of the Match: Rob Norris

Kidderminster Harriers 3 Nottingham Forest 0

It’s Sunday June 27th. England have been sent packing by a youthful, vibrant German team. A divided camp has contributed towards one of England’s worst displays in living memory. Cappello’s tactics are baffling.

Sticky Palms crushes another can of Stella Artois and hurls it into the blue recycling bin. I tidy up the patio after a family barbeque. There’s an eyrie silence around our village. The World Cup is over.

I decide to water the front garden. I look up from my watering can towards my two boys’ bedroom windows. ‘The Skipper’ removed his England flag days ago after a Robert Green faux pas had gifted USA with a deserved equaliser.



Sticky jnr is made of sterner stuff. His flag flutters in the evening breeze. It’s only on closer inspection that I notice he has scribbled in permanent black marker pen below the word England – ‘Are Shit.’ It makes The Groundhopper chuckle for the rest of the evening.

It reminds me of an interview with Patrick Viera I read in The Sunday Times a few weeks ago. He was talking to his colleague, the Manchester City full back Micah Richards, about his career ambitions. Richards said he’d like to win Premiership and World Cup. Vieira reply was: “How do you expect that to happen when you are the last player to arrive at the training ground and the first person to leave it.”

It’s Friday night and I’m sat in bed reading the wonderful ‘Brian and Peter – A Right Pair.’ It’s a book written by Clough and Taylor’s old chief scout Maurice Edwards. A bumble bee nose-dives from the curtains and buzzes around my face. I Usain Bolt it out the bedroom.



Mrs P reassures me that the bee has flown out of the window. Six hours later I’m awoken by Sticky jnr and his pals larking around in their tent in the garden. A bleary-eyed Groundhopper troops down the stairs and into the garden to remonstrate with them.

I’m back in bed when I hear a buzzing noise again – that bloody bumble bee is back again. What a start to the season.

It gives me a chance to download some music onto my i-Pod. ‘Shifty’, my mate at work, has got me into German producer Mr Confuse, who’s from Hannover.



I make an early start on my chores. I fill the car full of rubbish – Sticky jnr has cycle parts strewn all over the garden – it looks like Steptoe and Sons scrap yard. I drive down to the recycling centre in West Bridgford. I stick my Pod on. Blue Rondo a La Turk’s 1982 hit Klactoveesedstein blasts around the car.

I arrive home, mow both my lawns, bolt down a ham and cheese ciabatta, before leaving Mrs P to her hoovering. ‘Angry Kid’ (Sticky jnr) is playing cricket in the garden. He’s lost his temper and smashed the ball into next door’s garden. It’s six and out son.

The Nuclear Scientist has arrived in his Jag. ‘The Skipper’ and Snooksey make up the foursome.



The drive is uneventful. Five Live are at Grand Prix qualifying and Royal Ascot. The highlight of the journey is when we pass an Aston Martin garage close to Kidderminster. The kids’ eyes light up.

We arrive in Kidderminster in one hour and twenty minutes. We slip the Jag down a side street to avoid paying a parking charge.

The boys are dispatched to a sweet shop, whilst Groundhopper tours the perimeter of the Aggborough to take a few snaps.



It’s £10 admission and £3 each for the kids. I grab a team sheet from the club shop. It’s disappointing to note that Forest have sent their youth team to this fixture. Oh well, it will give me the chance to scout their team as Notts County under 18s are the visitors at Forest’s Academy next weekend.

The Tricky Trees are sending two sides out today. I looked into the possibility of visiting Peterborough United’s London Road ground, but was shocked to read on the excellent ‘Lost That Lovin Feelin’ message board that pricing was £22 for seats and £17 for terrace. It’s £10 entry at the Aggborough – it’s a no-brainer.

Kidderminster is a town in the Wyre Forest district of Worcestershire with a population of 55,000. It’s 17 miles south west of Birmingham and 15 miles north of Worcester.



The River Stour and the Staffordshire and Worcestershire Canal flow through the town centre.

The town is famous for the modern carpet industry. The local paper – The Shuttle – is named after the shuttles used on the carpet looms.

Famous people born in the town include: the inventor of the Penny Black stamp, Sir Rowland Hill, Rachel Jones, the producer of the Chris Moyles Radio 1 show (Moyles – not fit to lick Chris Evans’ boots) and Alun Evans, who became England’s first £100,000 teenager when joining Liverpool from Wolves in 1968.



Ex Danish and Liverpool midfielder Jan Molby previously managed the club.

Harriers were the first team to host a floodlit FA Cup match, when on 14th September 1955 they played Brierley Harriers Alliance in a preliminary round replay.

On 14th September 199 Harriers were hosts to the world’s first ever senior football match to be presided over by three female officials against Nuneaton Borough.

Harriers faced Stevenage on 12th May 2007 in the FA Trophy final; the first competitive game to be played at the new Wembley Stadium.



In August 2001 Kidderminster picked up a record non-league selling-on fee of £700,000 for Lee Hughes, who they had previously sold to West Brom for £200,000.

The ground is neat, tidy and painted in red and white. There is terracing at both ends, with seating on both sides. The surface appears flat and lush. From the stand there is a panoramic view of the Malvern Hills.

Former Radio One 70s DJ Tony Blackburn must be on the Kiddy decks as we are subjected to Boney M, Elvis Costello and Bruce Springsteen. He tries to salvage the situation with Dutch Techno act 2 Unlimited.



Forest have a German celebrity fan called Ebbe. He’s followed the club for over 30 years. He and his missus are amongst the 153 travelling support who have made the 150 mile round trip today.

Mrs Ebbe wiggles her hips and shakes her booty to a Pigbag remix – it’s not for the feint-hearted and puts Snooksey off his £3 burger which he fumbles onto the floor (yes he is a goalkeeper).

Former Aberdeen and Scottish international Eoin Jess is at the helm today; he is assisted by keeper coach Steve Sutton.



Forest have sent a mixture of first year pros and second year scholars. Kidderminster look to be at near full strength.

The Reds have the better of the chances in the first 15 minutes. Republic of Ireland midfielder Robbie Gibbons has three efforts at goal, whilst 19 year old forward Nialle Rodney also blazes over.

The Harriers start to look threatening and begin to exploit space down the Forest right hand side. They take the lead on 30 minutes. A short corner is played back to triallist left back Aaron Griffiths, who hits a high curling ball into the area. Former Sheffield United, D***y County and Leicester City striker Lee Morris rises between two defenders to nod the ball home.



The young Tricky Trees drop deeper and deeper and play without penetration. The Harriers score again with an unmarked Chris McPhee smashing the ball home from close range.

Shortly before half-time Kiddy put the game out of reach. McPhee is set up by Morris, he strikes a shot from distance, it deflects off a Forest defender, wrong-footing Reds’ keeper Karl Darlow.

Mrs Ebbe tries to raise spirits at the break with an unusual dance routine to Black Eyed Peas smash hit ‘I Gotta Feeling.’ It’s a NO from me.



‘Tony Blackburn’ finally spins a decent toon – French House music act Supermen Lovers 2001 chart success ‘Starlight’. It’s rudely interrupted for a kids’ penalty shootout.

There’s no world renowned home-made cottage pie up for grabs at the tea bar, I settle instead for a cup of powdered tea at 75 pence per cup. It receives a mark of one out of ten, just for being hot. Yuk.

The visitors have four Greek Cypriots in their squad today, a fact the Kidderminster MC was very unhappy about as he bravely attempted to pronounce their names over the tannoy. A Forest wag in the toilets enquires whether Forest have a scout in the Ayia Napa area of Cyprus. Let’s face it folks Cyprus is hardly the hot bed of international football.



The game continues to flow in the second period. Gibbons rattles the underside of the bar from 30 yards out. Harriers also hit the woodwork, following a cheeky lob by Lloyd Kerry. Only a series of blocks and saves by Karl Darlow manages to keep the scoreline respectable.

Forest have been hugely disappointing. Yes I know it was the youth team, but we all expected so much more. It will be interesting to see if they can bounce back against a fully-charged Notts County next Saturday.

The spine of Kiddy's team have been impressive; Allbrighton has snuffed out Rodney, Briggs has controlled the midfield and Morris and McPhee have been busy up top.

Man of the Match: Keith Briggs

Attendance: 859.

Return of The Groundhopper

We'll be kicking off at the home of the world's best Cottage Pie - Kidderminster Harriers - who entertain the Tricky Trees, on July 24th. Roll on the season.

New list of grounds to visit this season is in the left hand column.

Characters returning to this adventure include:

Mrs P
Sticky junior (aka Angry Kid)
The Skipper
Finley Palmer (Rabbit)
Murphy Palmer (Imaginary Budgie)
The Angler
Bobby
Big D
Roscoe
Mad Dog
The Taxman
Nuclear Scientist
The Architect
Gangsta
Trumpy Bolton
Screats
Screats' Dad
White Van Man (Now Warehouse Man)
Bruiser
The Guvnor
The Reaper
The Bearded Wonder
Daft Lad Kev
Snooksey
Rammers.

The Groundhopper Awards 2009/2010

Best Game: Kirkby Town 3 Louth Town 2 or Wollaton 4 Magdala 6 (goal whoring that day)

Goal of the Season: Scott Pratt's 40 yard, vicious dipping netbuster for Kirkby Town.

Favourite Team: Staveley Miners' Welfare.

Best Team Performance: Dunkirk's 4-0 whooping of Rainworth in the Notts Senior Cup

Worst Game: Rocester 0 Coventry Spinhx 1

Best Pub: Bulls Head in Tintwhistle (on the way to Droylsden)

Best Cup of Tea: Linby Colliery Welfare (almost perfect)

Best Playing Surface: North Ferriby

Most Welcoming Club: Staveley MW or New Mills

Best Programme: New Mills

Norman Hunter Services to Foul Play Award: Maltby Main

Favourite Clubhouse 1st Stocksbridge Steels 2nd Droylsden

Best New Ground Visited: Winterton Rangers

Best New Pro Ground Visited: City of Manchester Stadium.

Best Pro Player: Carlos Tevez (Sensational)

Best DJ: North Ferriby. Played Joy Division, Simple Minds and The Cure.

Favourite Character: Dorset John who we met in Blaby.

Johan Cruyff Total Football: Dunkirk's performance at Rainworth.

Most Picturesque Ground: Attenborough.

Hardest Ground to Find: Northampton Spencer (was scouting and put wrong code in Sat Nav)

Best Supporters: FC United, followed closely by Shepshed Dynamo.

Best Message Board in the World: Notts Senior League.

Man of the Match: Trumpy Bolton.

All Star X1

Matt Trott Didcot Town

Ludovic Quistin FC United

Tony Boulton Bilborough Pelican

Dan Smith Caribbean Cavaliers

Frankie Belt Bridlington Town

Anton Foster Eastwood Town (Captain)

Carl Haslam Kirkby Town (shortly Blidworth MW bound)

Jamie Jackson Sheffield FC (now Worksop)

Lee Gregory Staveley MW (now Mansfield Town)

Lee Day Dunkirk

Ady Carter Notts Police (not bad for a rozzer)

Notts County 5 Cheltenham Town 0

It’s Christmas Eve 2005. Sticky junior (9yrs old) and ‘The Skipper (7yrs old) are driving Mrs P up the wall. I’m in my first season as the Talent Identification Officer for Notts County FC Centre of Excellence. I’ve some urgent business to attend to in St Anns, an inner city area in Nottingham.

I’ve had a 12 year old boy on trial for 6 weeks. He’s different gravy. One or two of the other boys won’t accept him. It’s the old animal instinct – they are jealous of him. The boy is suspicious. He feels intimidated and threatened. He won’t sign the forms to join the Pies and I want to know why.

I meet up with a social worker friend of mine. We stroll up to the boy’s house. We spend two hours trying to persuade him to put pen to paper. He’s having none of it. I walk away empty-handed. Merry Christmas Sticky.



Fast forward the clock five and half years to last Monday evening. I’m walking behind the goal at the world renowned Nottingham Forest Academy. A pony-tailed boy has put Notts County under 17s one up against Forest u17s. It’s took me five years to get him back. He’s the best player on the park by a country mile. He snaps in the tackle and covers every blade of grass. Welcome back Curtis, it’s been worth the wait son.

It’s Saturday morning. Mrs P asks if I would like some crumpet. You can’t beat a bit of crumpet first thing in the morning, readers. I like mine covered in Marmite.

I have to rake up some leaves that have fallen off the Magnolia tree before heading oop north again. Finley (pet rabbit) is giving me a helping hand. I put the i-Pod headphones close to his ear. He does a little bunny hop and pogo to ‘Reptilia by New York indie band The Strokes.



An hour later I’m stood with the Pies’ Head of Youth and my scout from Mansfield. The ground in question (a secret in case those scallywag scouts from Florist read this) is bathed in glorious sunshine.

We watch a one-sided game and conduct our business in the clubhouse afterwards. It’s been a long, hard season and I’m desperate for a rest. Sadly, there will be no respite, as I’ve summer tournaments to trawl for the next four months.

I nip around my brother-in-law’s to collect a blow-up bed. We have guests staying tonight. Life has been cruel to this chap – he supports D***y County, reads the Daily Mail and works for the most under-performing police force in the country (HM Inspectorate of Constabulary’s words, not mine).



He’s showing off his new Panasonic, state of the art, high definition television. He flicks on ITV. Midsomer Murders has just started. It’ll be the first arrest he’s seen all year.

I’ve arranged to meet Sticky junior outside the ground. ‘The Skipper’ jumps in the front seat and chats away to me as we drive down the A606, past all the blooming cherry blossom trees and through leafy West Bridgford.

We park up in County Hall and pay a quick visit to the smallest sweet shop in the world, which is just over Trent Bridge on the north side of the river.



It’s bedlam around the ground. Everyone seems to be downing cold beers, biting on a burger or filling their face with a pie. It’s a carnival atmosphere.

All the boys from the centre of excellence are milling around outside the main gates. They are to be paraded around the ground at the half time interval.

Sticky junior, ‘The Skipper’ and the pals take up their normal spot in the Family Stand. The stewards in there have had to have counselling since their last visit. Junior has invested in an air horn to crank up the atmosphere.



I sit in my usual spot, alone, at the back of the Derek Pavis Stand. I notice a guy with a retro knitted Notts County scarf, with all the names of the players on it from the early seventies. He used to work behind the counter of the cult record shop Selectadisc on Bridlesmith Gate. I remember buying ‘Three Imaginary Boys’ by The Cure off him for £3.29 in 1979.

Mercurial midfield maestro, Don Masson, swans out onto the pitch. He takes a bow and a standing ovation from the 11,000 crowd. He is today’s guest of honour.

The Cheltenham mascot, (a Robin), tries to waddle past the Kop unnoticed. He is slaughtered in a good-natured way.



A huge, fat lady slumps into the seat next to me. All leg room and body movement is restricted. She wiggles her hips and shakes her booty to the club classic ‘Insomnia’ by Faithless. It’s the most sobering thought of the day.

Cheltenham is a spa town in the county of Gloucestershire. It has a population of 110,000. It sits on the edge of the Cotswolds. The Cheltenham Festival is held each year in March. A pie-eyed Sticky Palms has been in attendance on numerous occasions.

Born and bred Cheltonians include: golfer Paul Casey, Killing Joke lead singer Jaz Coleman, actors Robert Hardy and Martin Jarvis, classical composer Gustav Holst, former Rolling Stone Brian Jones (died aged 26), ski jumper Eddie 'the Eagle' Edwards Rocky Horror Show writer Richard O’Brien, crap TV presenter Kate Thornton and last but not least, Notts County manager Steve Cotterill.



I pause for thought. I start thinking about the time our school dished out free tickets for a game between Notts and Sheffield Wed, in November 1974. It was one of my first trips down Meadow Lane. I stood high up on the Spion Kop. Ian Scanlon scored a hat-trick in 165 seconds. It left a lasting impression on me.

I begin to chuckle to myself. I’ve just remembered how I saw Sven Goran Eriksson, nine months ago, standing between Mr and Mrs Magpie, waving at an excited and expectant crowd. What a crazy season it has been.

Cheltenham form a guard of honour for the League Two champions. Notts switch ends and kick towards the Kop.



The opening moments feel like a testimonial game. The Robins miss a couple of half chances. Their left winger, Medy Elito, on loan from Colchester, has a good touch and great technique.

Cheltenham concede a sloppy goal on 20 minutes, with Graeme Lee popping up at the far post to nod home a Ben Davies corner. The Robins lose possession immediately. Davies pumps the ball forward, Hughes’ first touch is sublime, his finish is breathtaking. The Kop rise as one and mimic his ridiculous celebration – “Let’s all do the Hughsie.”

On 25 minutes Ben Davies swings in a free-kick, it appears to be forced into the net by the hand of Lee Hughes, but no flag is raised or whistle blown.



The Pies are rampant. Bargain basement Bosman buy of the season, Craig Westcarr (11 goals and a boatload of assists), blazes over the bar.

But once again it’s ‘Rocky’ Ravenhill who has caught ‘The Groundhopper’s’ eye. His crunching tackles, water- carrying from defence and intelligent use of the ball are delightful.

Hughes completes his hat-trick on the half hour, cutting in from the left and bending a shot into the goalkeeper’s bottom left hand corner.

The Robins are conscious of their poor goal difference. They reshuffle their pack at the break and go for a more defensive 4-5-1.

The game has gone for them. What must poor old Nottingham Forest loanee Matt Thornhill be thinking? He looks too good for this level and would surely be a useful acquisition for the Pies, should he become available.



Luke Rodgers makes it a five star performance with a cool finish following a flick on by Westcarr.

Kasper Schmeichel bids a fond farewell to the Meadow Lane faithful on 88 minutes. Sticky junior phones me up in injury time. He’s had his air horn confiscated and is threatening to invade the pitch. I switch him off to savour the moment of watching the Notts’ players climb onto the podium, two by two, for the trophy presentation.

Spare a thought for Ian McParland, sensationally sacked in late autumn, with the Pies in the chasing pack. What must he be thinking now? After all, it’s the team he assembled.

It’s the final game of the season for The Groundhopper. I need to recharge my batteries folks.

Attendance: 11,331 (528 from Cheltenham, who were first class)

Man of the Match: Ricky Ravenhill

Armthorpe Welfare 1 Bridlington Town 3

It’s Saturday evening, September 21st , 1985. I’m in the Plough public bar, supping Hofmeister lager (you tramp Sticky that’s only 3.5% ABV). Madonna’s ‘Into The Groove’ is on the jukebox.

We all stagger up to ‘The Sal’ for last orders. I’m sitting on a bar stool at the corner of the bar when an almighty free-for-all takes place between a couple of guys and a gang of lads I know. A man picks up a glass ashtray, smashes it in two and hurls it in my direction.



My right wrist feels the full force of the missile. I look down to see that my Wrangler denim shirt has torn away. It reveals a huge gaping hole in my wrist. Blood is spurting out all over me. My main artery is burst. My tendons are severed. I’m losing blood quicker than D***y County lose league games.

A mate spots me clutching my arm. He performs emergency first aid and probably saves my life. I’m in plaster from my fingertips to the top of my arm for 8 weeks. I’m off work for 3 months.

The case goes to court. The individual concerned is found ‘not guilty.’ It’s why to this day I have a mistrust and disdain of the police force and the judiciary system.



The man who saved my life passed away a few years ago. I think about him most days. My two boys play cricket at the club he loved, where he holds legendary status. We were rivals on the pitch but good friends off it.

On Friday night I had a pint of Black Sheep at the Club. I turned to the photo of him that hangs behind the bar and raised my glass to him. ‘God bless you Kev.’

It’s Saturday morning. There’s just time for a bowl of Cheerios before leaving the house at 8.45am. I’m heading north, where I’ve arranged to meet Notts County’s Head of Youth, Mick Leonard. We watch a couple of kids games and invite a boy into one of our younger age groups.

I’m back at the house at 11.45am. I cram a cream cake down me and a glass of milk.



I’ve been worried for most of the morning. Trumpy had mentioned that he was going to ‘The Bank’ before travelling up to Doncaster – it’s a Wetherspoons pub in Nottingham. I’m relieved to hear that he had two appointments at the real bank, although he does confess to having a liquid breakfast at Joseph Else on South Parade. He complains that the service was slow due to people ordering full English or tea and coffee. He says that teetotallers are a menace to society.

Newcomers to this blog may not be aware that Trumpy Bolton’s sole aim in life is to make a financial transaction, supported by a credit card or bank statement, in every city, town or village in England, Wales and Scotland. It’s been his hobby for over 30years.



He failed to drink a beer on St George’s Day because of a late shift at work. He’s more than making up for it today. In the last few weekends he has trawled the bars of Ripon and Swansea. He eagerly awaits his £9 Sun Holiday, in West Wales, in May.

He’s earmarked a watering hole in the picture postcard village of Spotbrough, close to Donny. Second World War hero Sir Douglas Bader was brought up in the nearby parsonage.

We park up in the bustling car park of the Boat Inn, adjacent to the river and the Spotbrough Waterfalls. Trumpy has already guzzled his way through a litre of cider on our way up the A614 (A1M). The legend has a look of horror on his face when he sees that the orderly queue at the bar is above a dozen.



Trumpy is never one to panic. Within minutes we are ordering scampi and chips, a cheese salad sandwich, washed down with two pints of Samuel Smiths, at the Ivanhoe Hotel close to High Melton.

The run-down hotel backs onto a cricket ground. We wander around to the rear of the pub and take a pew on a wooden bench. Both opening batsman look ring rusty against a useful seam attack.

The landlady has just told Trumpy that Samuel Smith has withdrawn all credit facility. The legend produces a cheque book from his back pocket and convinces ‘Auntie Flo’ to accept a cheque accompanied by a banker’s card.



We soon rock up in the Markham Main Social Club car park. Nani has just clipped the ball over Gomez to put ‘United’ 2-1 up against Spurs.

Trumpy does a spot of shopping, whilst Sticky pounds up and down the main drag. I notice a pet store. Finley’s on emergency rations at the moment. I really ought to buy the fat lad some food.

Trumpy has snaffled up eighteen rolls of toilet roll for £5.98. He manages to squeeze into his shopping basket some shower gel and four tins of McEwans. A bemused check-out girl stares in disbelief.



Armthorpe is a village on the eastern of Doncaster in South Yorkshire. It has a population of 12,000. It is well known for its coal mining. The local mine was called Markham Main. Between 1916 and 1996 – when the colliery closed – a total of 87 miners were killed underground.

The village is the birthplace of former Liverpool, Hamburg, Southampton and Newcastle Utd striker, Kevin Keegan. Bill Shankly signed him from the Iron for £35,000. He played for Hamburg in a European Cup final against Nottingham Forest in 1981, which they lost to a solitary John Robertson goal.

We have a chat with the charming Bridlington Town chairman Peter Smurthwaite, who’s sitting in the club mini-bus outside the ground. Brid have already been crowned champions, but are stalling on a decision on whether to accept promotion to the Unibond Division One North.



The chairman shows us a mileage chart which displays this season’s and next season’s travelling time. They will drive double the distance. Wages and expenses will also increase. Bridlington Town had their fingers burnt a few years ago. It’s a case of once bitten, twice shy.

Armthorpe sportingly form a guard of honour for their opponents. It’s a touch of class. Armthorpe have yet to lose to the visitors on the three occasions they’ve crossed swords this season.

Armthorpe pin back Brid in the opening 20 minutes but are wasteful in front of goal. Holden, Hardy and Sibenge (Trumpy calls him Michael Essien) all fail to work Wilberforce, the ‘keeper, when in good positions.



Bridlington look a bit leggy, but begin to find their feet. Trumpy remarks that their numbers 8 and 10 are like Hoddle and Molby – he has necked a few by now readers.

The champions take the lead on 20 minutes, with Tom Chippendale diverting a Craig Hogg shot into the bottom corner of the net. Thankfully Chippendale doesn’t remove his shirt whilst celebrating.

Trumpy has clocked a pub across the road. He asks if I fancy a swift one, minutes before the break. The Wheatsheaf looks a little shady from the outside. The legend waltzes through the lounge – he’s not one for reputations.



A guy in the bar is setting up a speaker system. It’ll probably be a Techno and Trance night. Trumpy is rattling away to Mrs Trumpy on the phone, who is keeping the legend updated with the score from Deepdale, as his team, Leicester, pursue a play-off place. He asks her if she would mind mowing the lawn.

We arrive back at Church Street to hear that Armthorpe have bagged an equaliser on the stroke of half-time. I have a chat with a Grantham Town fan, who lives in Worksop. Remarkably, we were also at the same game on Tuesday night, between Gedling MW and Radcliffe Olympic.

Bridlington take the lead with the goal of the game. A left wing cross from Fleming is smashed home first time by Frankie Belt at the far post.



The game is over as a contest moments later with Ashley Allanson converting a spot kick after Hotte was chopped down.

The league trophy is to be presented to Bridlington after the game. We bid farewell to a couple of friendly supporters’ trust members and leave the club to enjoy their moment.

Attendance: 92

Man of the Match: Peter Smurthwaite, Bridlington Town Chairman.

Attenborough 2 Boots Athletic 4

It’s Friday 27th November 2009. I’m at work. We’ve all been called into an end of year ‘Company Presentation’ in the canteen. The Managing Director gives us all a ‘heads up’ on the ‘scores on the doors.’ Everybody seems distracted – they have one eye on the weekend.

The MD announces that one or two people in the room have completed ten years service. I start to swallow and feel my stomach begin to churn. ‘Taggart’s’ name is shouted up and he is presented with some ‘Call of Duty’ software and hardware. One of the guys gets some concert tickets. Three of the girls are given vouchers for a health spa.

Suddenly the Power Point presentation displays a photo of an Italian football stadium. The MD talks about a guy who never leaves the office. A guy who is passionate about groundhopping and scouting. Ooh eck. I recognise the bloke he’s talking about. Mrs P and I are off to Florence for the weekend. Next season Mrs P will make her groundhopping bow in Serie A.



It’s Friday morning. I receive a text from Mrs P. Do I fancy a bite to eat at Café Rouge, on Bridlesmith Gate, in Nottingham? Plan is, to pick up Sticky junior and his crew, who are down the road at a ‘Foam Party’ at the Ice Arena. I don’t want him wandering around town at that time of night.

The meal is superb; unfortunately there’s no bitter on draught and they’ve ran out of Stella. We take a stroll around Hockley and stop for a drink at the award-winning Cock and Hoop on High Pavement. It’s half a pint of Blue Monkey for Groundhopper, which is brewed in Ilkeston. We pick junior up. He’s soaked to the skin with foam.

I’m up and out the house on Saturday for 9am. I’ve a scouting assignment in Northamptonshire. Hope I have better luck than last time I was in these parts – I got hopelessly lost and ended up ringing up Notts County’s chief scout, Graham Carr, (father of the comedian Alan Carr) for directions. I put the Sat Nav on.



I drive through the Leicestershire rolling countryside – the home of the pork pie and Stilton cheese and reach my destination within an hour. The welcome is warm but the football is a tad disappointing. I offer a player a six week trial.

Britain’s best broadcaster, Danny Baker, is on Five Live. His phone-in has been Grand National themed for the last 20 minutes or so. He has a fella on the line who lives near a farm. He plays a game with the guy. He reads the runners and riders out. As soon as one of the cockerels cockle doodle doos then that’s the horse to win the National. It stops on Black Apalachi. I immediately ring ‘The Architect to put me a fiver on the nose.

I arrive home to find Sticky junior is having a late fitness test due to horrific blisters on the back of his feet, caused by wearing incorrect sized-footwear at the ice rink. His team are playing our French twin town down at Keyworth United HQ.



They are showcasing the game on the new pitch at Platt Lane. The committee have played it safe and left some grass on the pitch. Passing proves to be difficult, although the French master the conditions superbly. Technically they are streets ahead of our boys. Their passing and movement are simple and effective.

I slip away to Attenborough just as Keyworth are awarded a dubious penalty. The French goalkeeper is annoyed. The enfant terrible kicks out at the new goal post in frustration.

I’m parked up at The Strand in Attenborough within 25 minutes. Is there a more picturesque setting in this county? The ground sits on the edge of the Attenborough Nature Reserve. The Village Green is often flooded. Today the sky is sea blue. The pitch is perfect.



I look towards the clubhouse and notice a couple of characters wandering towards me. It’s none other than Boots club secretary Dick ‘Dastardly’ Durrant and his faithful slim-looking sidekick Muttley (Roscoe). We went to Stoke and Coventry together at Christmas when the non-league programme was wiped out with snow and frost.

The Chemists are looking for a volunteer to look after the valuables. Roscoe wisely keeps his hands by his side. He’d lose his bollocks if they weren’t in a bag.

The youngster has a bit more on his mind – he’s clocked a couple of the Attenborough WAGS loitering around the home dugout.



There’s a minute’s applause in the memory of a young referee called Blaine Thomas who tragically passed away this week at the age of 17 years old.

Boots settle the better of the two sides. Club stalwart Gareth Rees sweeps up in the back five. Alex ‘The Penguin’ Bowles patrols in an unfamiliar midfield role. Patrick Bakone and Jack Smith terrorise the Attenborough backline.

The Chemists score twice early on. Both goals follow a familiar pattern. Congolese striker Bakone hold the ball up well and hits a raking ball out to wide man Marley, who delivers the ball quickly into the box for ‘Sniffer Smithy’ to bury both attempts.



Moments later Attenborough are denied a cast iron penalty. From the resulting corner Scott Thompson – nicknamed ‘Space hopper’ by the away support, heads home to reduce the arrears. Fair play to Thompson, who has travelled back from Scotland to make up the numbers.

Dick shouts out instructions to African striker Bakone. The boy shrugs his shoulders and looks gone out at Dick, like Manuel used to with Basil Fawlty.Bakone’s legs are taken from under him. ‘Sniffer’ makes no mistake from the spot and completes his hat-trick.

I stretch my legs around this gorgeous venue at the break. I could quite happily die at this ground. I’ve played cricket here a few times but never witnessed a football match on the Village Green.



Boots are wasteful in front of goal. It frustrates their crafty Cockney vice chairman, Dick Tunney, who is getting more excitable by the minute.

There’s a serious head injury on 65 minutes. Dick has scratched a scab off the top of his bonce. He flatly refuses first aid from Roscoe.

Reports are filtering in from the nature reserve that there’s a flasher on the loose. It’s hardly worth bothering plod, as they’re probably all parked up in a lay-by listening to the big race from Aintree.



Steve Oldham is Sticky’s all-time favourite NSL player. He always turns it on for The Groundhopper. His touch is sublime. He covers the ground gracefully. His strength and determination pose problems for ‘The Chief’ at the heart of the Chemists’ defence. Oldham produces a fine save from Grayling with a far post header.

Former ‘Pie’ youngster Sam Mannion hits a 30 yard fizzer to put ‘Boro’ back in the game. Are Boots going to regret all those missed chances?

‘Sniffer’ and Bakone are withdrawn. The fresh legs of youngsters Peach and Whatnall are thrown on. Peach spurns two golden chances as the Attenborough paperboy ‘keeper is called into action time and time again.



The clock is ticking away when Boots finally put the game to bed with the excellent Paul Markowski pouncing onto a loose ball to end the game as a contest.

Man of the Match: Attenborough ‘keeper.