Sporting Club Braga 1 Newcastle United 2

I’m in the kitchen at work pouring out from the pot another award-winning brew. I feel my phone vibrate. I fish it out from my pocket. The text is greeted with a smile as wide as the Tyne Tunnel. It reads: “Newcastle United are playing in the Algarve Cup when we are on holiday in Portugal, shall we take the kids?” It’s never a good time to broach the subject of groundhopping with Mrs P, particularly when we are on holiday.

“I’ve heard Vilamoura is a classy joint love, perhaps you and Wendy can spend the evening there, strolling around the shops and sampling the fine restaurants that are on offer, whilst ‘Dafty’ and I entertain the kids.” Hook, line and sinker, readers!

It’s Saturday morning. We’ve been holed out at the Balaia Golf Village for nearly a week. Tears streamed down Mrs P’s face last Tuesday when sea blue skies were replaced with cotton wool coloured clouds for the day.

The Estadio Algarve is an awkward bugger to get to, but Reception have kindly arranged a taxi with a local firm (“Anna’s husband”). We’ve been stung for 50 euros each way. The kids spend the first few hours of the morning trying to catch a glimpse of our neighbour, Sam Oldham, who has made it into the Olympics gymnastic squad. GB perform well and qualify ahead of China.

‘Dafty’ and I slip away for a few hours and sink a couple of pints of Super Bok at a local Portuguese bar. There’s time for some horseplay in the pool before a pre-match meal of pizza and chips.

‘Gangsta’ is wearing his new blue Michael Jackson hat that he has been hanging his nose over the last few nights on the local Strip. “Anna’s husband” asks if we’re sure if there’s a game on tonight, as we sweep off the A22 and into desolate stadium car park. Suddenly an opening appears where a small gathering of Toon fans are milling around a ticket booth swilling pints of Carlsberg lager (Newcastle Brown not available).

I part with 20 euros for an adult ticket. The kids cost 10 euros a piece. The boys squeeze through turnstile number six. Suddenly a bespectacled, moustachioed, jumped-up security guard, resembling Captain Mainwaring from Dad’s Army, places his arm across my chest. “Non camera.” I try to explain that it’s only a friendly and that half the crowd have camera phones. But he’s having none of it and points towards a prohibited camera sign hanging on an adjacent wall.

I’m ushered into the ‘Supervisor’s Office’, where I’m greeted by an attractive, slim Portuguese lady. I arrange to collect my belongings after the game. I’m flipping fuming, readers.

The kids and ‘Dafty’ are in hysterics. They merrily snap away as we take our seats on the upper tier. Hopper has proper got the bottom lip on. ‘Live is Life’ by Austrian pop-rock band Opus is bouncing out of the stadium’s speakers.

There seems to be more atmosphere in the lower tier. We sidle past a distracted steward, who is less vigilant than the fool who confiscated my camera, so we’re closer to the action. The stadium announcer tries to pump up the crowd that has now swelled to nearly 1000, with hits from Queen, Rolling Stones and Beach Boys.

The Estadio Algarve was purpose built for the 2004 European Championships. It hosted three games including a quarter final match between Sweden and Holland which ended goalless (Sticky doesn’t do 0-0s). A taxi driver told me it’s mainly used for pop concerts and cultural events. I remember on a previous holiday in the Algarve that Sean Paul and Simple Minds played here.

It has a capacity of 30,000. It has two huge curve-covered stands running along both touchlines. Both ends behind the goals are open. It would be a schoolboy error to forget the sunscreen on a sweltering Saturday or Sunday afternoon. It’s the third consecutive game tonight. Panathinaikos are also competing in this round robin tournament. The pitch looks worn and is cutting up.

The boys are hanging over the tunnel high-fiving all the players as they walk out onto the pitch to another god forsaken tune. If you want to make us feel welcome how about a bit of funk and soul from Geordie duo Smoove and Turrell.

Braga is a city in north west Portugal with a population of 170,000. They have qualified for this season’s Champions League. In 2011 they reached the Europa League final where they lost 1-0 to rivals Porto.

Newcastle upon Tyne is in north east England with a population of 280,000. It is famous for its wool trade, coal mining and ship building. Famous custodians include: Sting, Neil Tennant, Mark Knopfler, Cheryl Cole and Ant and Dec. It’s a hotbed for producing brilliant footballing talent. Alan Shearer, Paul Gascoigne, Peter Beardsley, Chris Waddle, Andy Carroll and Michael Carrick are all from the area.

There are a group of four Geordies sat in front of us. One of the guys enquires whether former Toon midfielder Hugo Viana is in the SC Braga line-up. ‘Dafty’ informs him that he is on the bench. The guy says that his daughter (Laura) has a huge crush on Viana, and promises to hound him for an autograph at the break.

Everyone in the stadium is taking photos now apart from Sticky, who has even left his malfunctioning HTC phone back at the apartment. What a miserable beginning to the evening this has been. I’m cheered up by the flashing white teeth and permanent smile of Newcastle’s 20 year old winger Sammy Ameobi. He’s as tall as a giraffe but has legs like pencils. He’s sharp out of the blocks but is inclined to turn inside onto his favoured left foot.

Braga play keep ball for the first 20 minutes as the Magpies chase shadows. Ivory Coast international Cheick Tiote looks sullen and moody. He loses possession and fakes an injury. He takes an age to get to grips with the pace of the game. Demba Ba drops deep as Pardew plays Cisse on the shoulder with Ameobi wide right and the impressive Sylvain Marveaux on the left.

Good news arrives on 25 minutes with the official opening of the first bag of Haribo’s that 'Gangsta 'and Will have smuggled in past that miserable dumb-ass of a steward. On 35 minutes Cisse blazes over following good work by Danny Simpson and Ameobi. On the stroke of half time good chances fall to Braga’s Amorin and Cesar.

At the break Shola Ameobi is wheeled out to sign autographs and pose for pictures. He says that former Tricky Tree James Perch is the best golfer in the Club. Looking at his playing time last season I’m not least surprised. Sticky Junior attempts some banter with ‘Perchy’ but the miserable sod is having none of it.

‘Laura’s Dad’ is waving what appears to be some old fish n chip paper in the air. Hugo Viana has scrawled a personal message to his daughter. “She’ll be made up marra.”

There is an increase in tempo and tempers in the second period. Tiote gets hold of the game by the scruff of its neck. He breaks the world record for the number of fouls in a ten minute period. The referee’s patience finally snaps. He waves a yellow card in Cheick’s direction.

The Toon are awarded a penalty following a theatrical dive by Marveaux. Demba Ba, who has spent most of the evening bad-mouthing the officials, steps up to take the spot kick, only to see the keeper make a great save. He coolly rolls in the rebound. “You’re not singing anymore” chant the ‘Toon Army’ in the direction of the four Braga fans who have made the long trip south, and who are congregated in the stand on the opposite side of the ground.

Braga equalise immediately, must to the disgust of perennial moaner Alan Pardew, who has been meticulously penning notes all evening. A fine move is finished off by Amorim.

Both teams go for the jugular in a very entertaining 45 minutes. The winning goal arrives on 75 minutes following a moment of brilliance from former Tranmere and Wigan full back Ryan Taylor. His 25 yard floated free-kick leaves Beto rooted to the spot.

There’s still time for Braga to smash an effort off the post and for their 6’ 4” Brazilian defender Douglao to be dismissed for bawling in the assistant referee’s face. Four bags of Haribos have been demolished: Now where’s that bloody camera of mine, Mainwaring, you stupid boy. Man of the Match: Fabricio Collocini

Hucknall Town 3 Lincoln City U19s 2

The summer has been a washout. It’s hosed it down for days now. Sticky, ‘The Reaper’ and ‘The Auctioneer’ need cheering up, and have earmarked Saturday June 30th for ‘Real Ale Trail Part Two.’ Part one was the Mansfield Road run, in Nottingham, with The Gladstone on Loscoe Road easily winning the pub of the day award.

Maid Marian Way has sun-kissed blue skies as we traipse up to Ye Olde Trip to Jerusalem, reputedly the oldest inn in England. Next stop is the Blue Monkey’s Organ Grinder on Alfreton Road. We laugh, joke and take the rise, on the open sun terrace.

The Reaper takes us on a tour of Radford, an often troubled area of Nottingham. I recognise the street names and associate them with shootings that have occurred here over the years. We bump into former Nottingham Forest and Sampdoria defender Des Walker in the Tap Room of the Pheasant Inn in Radford. The swanky, cool bars of Hockley and West Bridgford are not for ‘Our Des.’

Four more pubs are chalked off in Basford, before we stagger onto a tram into town before catching the ‘Keyworth Connection’ home. I am buzzing and steaming. It is by far the best afternoon of the year. Cheers Reaper, for the social history tour.

It’s nearly 90 days since I last did a groundhop. I spot that my old team Lincoln City (I used to support them until Chris Sutton rocked up with his daft mate and ruined our Club) are sending their young uns to the old mining town of Hucknall. I book myself in.

The comedy moment of the week arrived last Sunday. I’m on a three mile circular walk of our village. ‘The Skipper’ is having a ‘Sunday snooze’ in his bro’s bed, following a late-night sleepover at a pal’s house. An hour later he walks into the lounge, where Mrs P is doing a spot of ironing. “What’s for breakfast Mum?” The fool is dressed in his full school uniform. He thought he’d slept through and it was Monday morning.

The Arabs have swept into The City Ground. Tricky Trees fans are on the crest of a wave. And why not, after 15 years of mediocrity? Steve Cotterill was wearing dead man’s shoes, just like former Notts County manager Ian McParland was when Munto and Sven rolled in.

It’s Saturday morning and I’m regretting that special offer bottle of red wine I saw off last night. Bad news folks, Sticky Junior has ragged in the paper round, and boy do I miss it. I flick on the radio to find Danny Baker in fine fettle. His intro music is ‘The Headmaster’s Ritual’ from Meat is Murder by Manchester band The Smiths.

I spend a few hours in the garden to show willing. I am unquestionably the best weeder in Keyworth. Mrs P arrives home from West Bridgford Farmers’ Market with my favourite cake, which is accompanied by a ciabatta for lunch. I’ve a night out at the Brazilian restaurant Tropeiro on King Street in Nottingham with White Van Man and the gang this evening.

I sit watching Sky Sports News before the short drive to Hucknall. There’s speculation that Canadian-born striker Junior Hoilett could be on his way to Loftus Road. I do hope so; I loved his speculative efforts on goal last season. I also notice that former Notts County full back Chris Short (brother of Craig) has joined Neil Warnock’s coaching staff at ‘Dirty Dirty Leeds.’

I make the short journey over to Hucknall via the village of Watnall. Priory Celtic’s John Harris has suggested I drop into the Royal Oak on Main Road, close to the Hovis Bakery. I am the pub’s one and only customer. Feeling a tad delicate from last night’s session, I select a half pint of St Edmunds bitter from the Greene King brewery and take a seat in the corner of the cosy bar. ‘A Town Called Malice’ by The Jam is on the jukebox.

A couple of locals sidle in through the front door. They exchange small talk with the landlady. One of them pours money into the fruit machine, whilst the other more wisely plays the trivia quiz game. “What’s the nickname of Charlton Athletic?” shouts out the guy. “The Addicks” a smart-arsed Groundhopper replies. “I’ll buy you a pint if I win”, remarks the punter. He’s knocked out on his next question.

Oooh, is that Lily Allen I can hear on the jukebox? Time for a sharp exit. Thank God that press conference has finished at Nottingham Forest. It went on longer than the EastEnders omnibus edition.

A couple of stewards rob me of £1 to park my car at the rear of Hucknall’s Watnall Road ground. “How much is it to get in?” I enquire. “£7” one replies. “What, to watch the Lincoln City youth team?”

It’s actually a fiver on the turnstile, with a further 50 pence shelled out on a programme, a piece of A4 paper folded in two. Team-sheets are free gratis. There are more stewards and Hucknall Town officials in the ground than supporters.

The first thing that strikes me is how long the grass is. I walk in an anti-clockwise direction. Former Lincoln City defender Grant ‘Hoof’ Brown’ is youth team coach at Sincil Bank. I can’t understand a word he barks out at the scholars; he’s from Sunderland. Brown made a club record 405 appearances for the Imps.

I notice a bald man, sporting a Lincoln tracksuit, studying the warm-ups. I wander towards the guy and attempt to strike up a conversation. I recognise him and I’m immediately in awe of him. He has twice managed ‘City’ and has legendary cult status in our household. Christ, I even named my budgie after him (he’s called Murphy .... not Colin). I ponder on whether to tell Colin Murphy that he’s my hero and that I named my feathered friend after him. I choose not to, in case he is offended by it. I miss my chance as ‘Murph’ walks away. I notice he is limping heavily.

I bump into Malc and Kev from the ‘On The Road Blog.’ We enjoy a bit of craic and catch up on all the gossip. ‘Rock DJ’ by the Burslem pub singer is booming out the PA system. “Thank Christ that has finished”, remarks an elderly gentleman. “Too right pal”, says Sticky.

Lincoln start the game like a house on fire. They have good movement and are a yard quicker than their more experienced opponents. They open the scoring through Karl Cunningham, son of former Lincoln, Newcastle and Manchester City striker Tony Cunningham. TC is now a Lincoln-based lawyer. I notice him chatting to Colin Murphy in the stands. ‘The Murph’ signed TC from Stourbridge back in 1979 for £20,000.

The Imps are totally bossing the game and increase their lead on the half hour, with captain Kieran Walker thumping a shot home from close range. I walk past Malc and Kev with a smile like a Cheshire cat – I’m a Lincoln fan again.

On 35 minutes the visitors concede a sloppy goal. The full back is dispossessed following a throw-out by the ‘keeper. The cross is steered home by striker Julian Topliss. On the stroke of half-time the Yellows restore parity with a good finish by striker Theo Sanderson.

Brett Marshall is the new incumbent in the Hucknall Town managerial hot-seat. He’s arrived from Retford Town, along with half of their squad. He’s either been to one of John Ramshaw’s tanning salons or recently returned from holiday. He’s dressed in a sharp pin-striped suit that he recently purchased from Oxfam on Hucknall High Street. I once saw him celebrate a Scott Pratt 45 yard winner, whilst at Kirkby Town, by running a full 50 yards down the touchline. I thought the guy was going to drop dead on the spot.

Marshall inspires his newly-assembly squad in the second period. The Imps play as if they’ve been given a half-time pep talk by Chris Sutton. Joel Goodacre puts Hucknall in front, lifting the ball over an advancing goalkeeper.

They spurn further chances to put the game beyond doubt as the Imps run out of steam. Lincoln’s impressive forward Jordan Thomas scuffs a penalty which rebounds off the Hucknall ‘keeper’s trailing leg.

Heavy black clouds begin to empty their load. I glance over my shoulder as a steward opens a side exit door. The ‘Rolls Royce’ is in poll position. I race home down the ring road, burst through the front door and head towards his cage. “Murphy ..... you’ll never guess who I bumped into this afternoon?”

Man of the Match: Colin Murphy

The Groundhopper Awards 2012

Goal of the Season: McCabe for FC Khalsa (from inside his own half)

Favourite Team: Nuneaton

Best Team Performance: Dunkirk away at Heather St Johns

Worst Game: Rothley Imps v Thurmaston Town

Best Pub: The Hollow Bottom, nr Cheltenham

Miserable Landlord of the Year: The Hollow Bottom, nr Cheltenham

Brew of the Year: (Tea) Clipstone Miners' Welfare

Best Playing Surface: Hyde

Most Welcoming Club: Histon

Best Programme: Hyde

Foul Play Award: FC Khalsa or Clipstone Miners' Welfare

Best Clubhouse: Staveley Miners' Welfare

Best New Ground: Heather St Johns

Best Pro ground: Wycombe Wanderers

Best Pro Player: Paul Taylor, Peterborough United

Best Non League Player: Kevin Thornton, Nuneaton

Favourite League: Conference North

Best PA Announcer: Heather St Johns

Favourite Blog: Where's The Tea Hut

Favourite Character: Trumpy Bolton

Total Football: St Neots Town

Most Picturesque Ground: Cheltenham Town

Best Supporters: Nuneaton

Keyworth United 2 Linby Colliery Welfare 2

We spend a couple of days in York over Easter at my brother’s house. We pound the pavements of the enchanting city centre during a miserable, rainy Bank Holiday Monday. I miss out on my usual pint at the delightful Maltings pub, situated across the road from the railway station.

Despite a Twitter appeal and a plea for a budgie-sitter to family and friends, poor old Murphy Palmer spends two nights home alone. I pine for the little fellow. He’s bouncing around his cage when we arrive back on Tuesday lunchtime.

Nothing catches my eye on the midweek non-league schedule. I opt to scout a few rearranged Young Elizabethan League games.



It’s Thursday evening. ‘The Skipper’s’ team, Clifton All-Whites are playing in town. The game is being played at a comprehensive school at the back of an old pit estate. I stand with a mate at the top of a grass bank.

‘The Skipper’ fires a shot into the roof of the net from 35 yards out. Suddenly a stray boot thuds into the ground from behind me. I glance around to see a group of youths loitering on a balcony of a first floor flat, laughing and gesticulating. Suddenly we are showered with cans, and bottles full of water.

There’s a scream from some parents from the other side of the pitch, as a four foot piece of timber whistles over my head landing at the foot of the bank. I race round to the front of the shops but the cheeky scampsters have scarpered up the hill. It’s a good old half an hour before Plod roll up.



The weekend is a football bonanza. ‘The Skipper’s’ team grab a vital point against Dunkirk. I drive over to St Anns immediately after the game to catch the silky skills and quick feet of Sticky Jnr. They run out 4-2 winners. I’m disappointed in the lack of discipline on both sides.

It’s déjà vu on Sunday with ‘The Skipper’s’ team getting well beaten in the Nottinghamshire County Shield final. The winning side play a beautiful game but they lack class and etiquette in other areas. They are disrespectful and bad-mouth the man in black. One calls the ref a “cheat.” They have three lads booked; Lord only knows how they would behave if they were to lose.

I slump in the bath on Monday evening, and tune into Five Live’s analytical Monday Night Club. Roberto Martinez’s Wigan Athletic weave their magic at the Emirates Stadium, as they inch their way to Premiership safety.



I ring legendary KUCFC reserve team manager Alan ‘Jacko’ Jackson first thing on Tuesday morning to check on pitch conditions at the ‘Theatre of Dreams.’ It appears that he is to be elevated to 1st team assistant manager this evening as ‘Webbie’ is working away.

I wile away the afternoon in the Warehouse, estranged from work buddy Shifty Edwards. I listen to Ratcliffe and Maconie on 6 Music. They play ‘Don’t Talk To Me About Love’ by Scottish post-punk band Altered Images. I used to have a huge crush on their lead singer Clare Grogan when I was a kid.

Sticky jnr wanders into the kitchen at tea-time waving a match ticket at me for the Hull City v NFFC clash at the KC Stadium on Saturday. Schoolboy pranks, latest girlfriends and football business are discussed during chicken and mushroom pie with mash and veg.



Mrs P slopes off to the gym. Murphy asks if he can give a score prediction for tonight’s game. “Not on your Nelly son, you’re not muscling in on Finley Palmer’s (rabbit) territory.” Old ‘Finners’ goes for an upset: “2-1 to Keyworth.” Don’t worry Linby fans, his forecasts are crap.

Platt Lane can be a cold, desolate, bleak place to watch football. I dress for the occasion, slipping on some thermals. I sling my camera bag over my shoulder and head off towards the ground. Mrs P drives by shaking her head in disbelief at sad old Groundhopper.

I stroll onto Normanton Lane and pick up the pace. I take a right hand turn onto Nicker Hill. Back in October 1983, 16 year old trainee hairdresser Colette Aram was abducted from this road and later raped and strangled. It was the first case to appear on BBC1’s Crimewatch programme. On 25th January Paul Hutchinson was sentenced to life imprisonment for her murder.



I turn left down Platt Lane. The sky for the first time today is sea blue. I’m sweating up like Grand National winner Neptune’s Collonges by the time I walk through the main entrance to the ground.

Keyworth lies 6 miles south east of Nottingham. It has a population just shy of 7000. Keyworth United Football Club is adjacent to the British Geological Survey, which is the village’s major employer. Notable current and former residents of Keyworth include: Shadow Chancellor Ed Balls, cricketers Franklin Stephenson and Sir Richard Hadlee, Nottingham Forest Chairman Frank Clark, postman Neil Webb, and former Pies’ defender Brian Stubbs.

A local historian and good friend of mine, Barry Baker is currently compiling a history of KUCFC. It is suggested that a club may have been in the village as far back as 1876. The first League goal ever scored at Everton’s Goodison Park was by Nottingham Forest’s Horace Pike, who was born in Keyworth.



Players to have played for Keyworth United and then moved on to professional clubs include: Brian Stubbs, David Riley, Chris Freestone and Mick Waite. Former Aston Villa, Notts County and Hull City defender Dave Norton is on the bench this evening.

Linby is a village next to the town of Hucknall. It has one of the most picturesque grounds in the county, with St Michael’s Church forming a backdrop. I ‘worked’ at Linby Colliery from 1982 to 1985. It was one of the happiest times of my life.

I’m led to believe that Linby have been accepted into the Central Midlands League for the 2012-13. Keyworth continue with the club ethos of playing boys who have risen from the youth ranks. Their oldest two players in the starting line-up this evening are just 24 years of age. I applaud this policy. Right midfielder Sam Wood is just 16 years old; he’s a big pal of Sticky junior’s.



Behind the far goal is a disused railway line. To the left are three 11 a-side pitches and small sided areas. On the opposite side are two brick dugouts, with the modern clubhouse situated behind the nearest goal.

Jacko is busy handing in team sheets as I take my spot to the left of the Keyworth dugout towards the top of the slope. I’ve been joined by The Taxman, ‘Snatch Randall’ and ‘Woody.’ One job Jacko has forgot to do is pump up the match ball, the ref insists on a swap.

Linby look a slick outfit. I notice the familiar figure of former Dunkirk and Gedling MW attacker Barry Payne. He’s partnering the stylish Matt Murphy up top.



Twenty one year old Damian Mann looks a slip of a lad down the Linby left wing. He dances, jigs and shuffles his frail body along the touchline. His movement is light and his feet are electric. Linby take the lead from a Barry Payne shot on 20 minutes after Keyworth fail to clear a cross. A lady Linby supporter close by produces a rattle to celebrate the goal.

Keyworth restore parity immediately, a ball played down the left is pounced upon by Ben Hanrahan who smashes a shot past the keeper’s inside post.

I have a quick chat with Linby secretary Ade Ward. He is accompanied by his wife who is overwhelmed to meet me having been awarded 2009/2010 Brew of the Season. I’m keen for info on Mann, who has been pleasing on the eye.

On 35 minutes the Greens take the lead against the run of play, with a cracking header from Ian Marley following good work by Elliott Roulestone down the left.

A speculative shot from Marley from miles out is waved onto the bar by the Linby ‘keeper. ‘The Taxman’ and 'Woody' are bleating about the biting wind and showery conditions, so we head to the best clubhouse on the circuit for a hot drink.



Damian Mann, who has ran Keyworth ragged on the left, is mysteriously shunted out on the right wing. Linby begin to look disjointed. They look to blame others. The referee and linesman are called an “embarrassment”

Mann is withdrawn on 70 minutes. He peels off his shirt and heads off back to the changing room. His replacement earns the visitors a deserved draw in the closing moments, striking a shot from the edge of the area which creeps into the left hand corner of the net.

Brain against brawn has resulted in a very entertaining draw. Keyworth’s young guns have battled from start to finish. The craft and guile of Linby can only be rewarded with a point.

Attendance: 37 (head count)

Man of the Match: Damian Mann

Cheltenham Town 2 Barnet 0

It’s Thursday evening, I’ve broken up from work for five days. I unlock the back door and race into the lounge to see if Murphy Palmer (baby budgie) is okay. He is having a dicky fit, readers. He’s fluttering and flapping around his crib. He’s squealing and crying. “Calm down son, what’s the matter?” He’s staring at the DAB radio that I leave on for him each day. He loves a bit of Ken Bruce and Jeremy Vine.

This doesn’t sound like Simon Mayo; the DJ is saying ‘safe’ ‘sound’ ‘reem’ and ‘innit.’ What’s going off? I get on all-fours and rummage around in my pocket for my glasses. I stare at display unit on the radio in disbelief. Sticky jnr is summoned downstairs. I tell him that if I find out that he ever upsets Murphy again by switching channels to BBC 1Xtra I’ll stop his pocket money for a week.

I spend the late evening downing a bottle of ‘on offer’ Rioja whilst watching the US Masters on Sky. Local lad, Lee Westwood leads the field.

I’m wide awake by dawn. I make an award-winning brew and treat myself to some fresh pineapple for breakfast. Murphy is whistling and chirping to Donna Summer’s ‘Loves Unkind’ as I waltz out the door.



There’s an appalling start to the day. I switch on the radio to hear Phil Collins and Philip Bailey singing ‘Easy Lover.’ I drive up through ‘the Bronx’ to pick up blog legend Trumpy Bolton. He’s switched carrier bags to an upmarket little orange number from Sainsbury’s. He unearths a litre bottle full of Stella Artois Cidre. Trumpy is sporting a Dunlop t-shirt as a tribute to Lee Westwood.

He’s quickly into his stride with anecdotes and tales from recent trips (weekend benders) to Thame, Lincoln and Leeds. We avoid the motorway and stick to the A46. We’re soon driving through the beautiful scenery and picture postcard villages of the Cotswolds. I spot a sign for Bourton on-the-Water. It’s where Mrs P and I spent our first wedding anniversary.

We start reminiscing about a stag weekend in Amsterdam back in 1990. Trumpy says he has a photo of me in a New Order ‘World in Motion’ t-shirt posing outside a brothel. I must have mistaken it for an art gallery.

Ooh, I recognise that theme tune. It must be time for Trumpy and Sticky to fight it out on Radio 2’s Pop Master. We rack up an easy 28 points. We can’t arf pick em. The winner has ten seconds to name three Bay City Rollers hits. Trumpy and Sticky do it in five seconds: Sad, but true.



It’s just gone 11am as we pull up outside The Hollow Bottom country pub in Guiting Power. It’s the Gloucestershire Dining Pub of the Year. Horse racing from yesterday’s meeting at Ludlow is on TV. We have two pints of a local brew. I tell a lie, Trumpy has two; I didn’t see the first one touch the sides.

The pub was once owned by Peter Scudamore and Nigel Twiston-Davies. It’s like visiting a steeple-chasing museum. The pub is decorated with photos, memorabilia, newspaper clippings, horseshoes and racing silks. Smoke smoulders from some logs on an open fire.

The beer is good and the vibe is fantastic. But the landlord really is a miserable sod. Trumpy tries to strike up a conversation with the guy. He’s more interested in repairing a broken high chair than socialising with a customer.



Next stop is the less impressive, but more customer friendly Half Way House in Kineton. It like God’s waiting room as a group of pensioners huddle around the bar. They are advertising a Disco tonight from 9pm. Looking at the average age I suspect Frank Sinatra may feature quite heavily.

Dinner is good though and the service is brisk. I have a bacon and Stilton baguette with home-cooked chips. Trumpy has another couple of pints. We’re parked up a five minute walk away from Cheltenham’s Whaddon Road ground half an hour later. The legend has sniffed out another pub up the road called the Fox and Hounds. Four Barnet fans are in the back room playing a game of pool.

They have resigned themselves to defeat and relegation. They are unimpressed with former Northern Ireland manager Lawrie Sanchez and would have Martin ‘Mad Dog’ Allen back at the drop of a hat. Allen was also manager at Cheltenham for a short spell.



We weave our way through a residential area. Trumpy has one of his legendary sneezing fits, caused by gating his final pint. We’re soon outside the Abbey Business Stadium. Cheltenham, also known as Cheltenham Spa, is on the edge of the Cotswolds. The borough has a population of over 115,000 people.

Notable folk born in Cheltenham include: the golfer Paul Casey, Killing Joke lead singer Jaz Coleman, Nottingham Forest manager Steve Cotterill, ‘ski jumper’ Eddie ‘the Eagle’ Edwards, actors Robert Hardy and Sir Ralph Richardson, composer Gustav Holst, presenter and writer Richard O’Brien and former X-Factor host Kate Thornton.

I must have been to the Gold Cup at Cheltenham Racecourse six or seven times. I’ve some happy memories and bulging pockets. Trumpy has been with me a few times too, but he remembers very little of the day (cider binge drinking).



Cheltenham Town were founded in 1887. They are managed by the highly-rated Mark Yates. Former managers of note include: Steve Cotterill, Bobby Gould, John Ward and Martin Allen. Record transfer received is £400,000 from Colchester United for Steven Gillespie. Record transfer laid out is £60,000 for Aldershot’s Jermaine McGlashan.I grab an excellent programme for £3. It’s £20 to sit in the Main Stand. Trumpy remarks he pays that to watch Leicester City at the King Power Stadium.

The legend sinks a few more in the Club bar as we watch Reading and Leeds players rolling around on the floor faking injury. We take our seats to the rear of the stand. I’ve had more leg room on a Ryanair flight. I sit at 90 degrees.

The views are breathtaking. In the distance is Cleeve Hill and Cheltenham Racecourse. The Club DJ plays a Ska track that gets Trumpy tapping his feet. The players emerge from the tunnel to ‘Insomnia’ by Faithless.

The Robins haven’t scored for nearly 10 hours and Barnet only have one win in fourteen games. But remember folks, Trumpy and Sticky don’t do 0-0’s. (very often).



I’m impressed with the touch and movement of both teams. Having watched so much non league football, it’s almost become alien to me. Trumpy has befriended a scout from Colchester, who lives in Stamford. He’s a lovely chap but he probably hadn’t planned on Trumpy chewing on his ear for 45 minutes.

19 year old Jack Butland is in the nets for Cheltenham. The England under 21 international is on loan from Birmingham City. He’s kept busy in the first period, producing fine saves from the former Nottingham Forest Dublin-born midfielder Mark Byrne and the impressive, impish left winger Ricky Holmes.

‘Big Ben Burgees’, on loan from Notts County, is toiling away up top for Cheltenham. He has aerial supremacy and a terrific first touch. He is no danger to the goal though. His strike partner Darryl Duffy is short on confidence. He dithers and dilly-dallies on the ball. Duffy couldn’t hit sand if he fell off a camel.

Barnet play some beautiful passing football. It mocks their lowly position. Holmes hugs the touchline and 22 goal leading scorer Izale McLeod is a handful. They hit the post on half time from a header by Kamdjo.



T Bolton scurries off back down to the bar, a relieved ‘Colchester scout’ retreats to the back row for more ‘leg room’ Bolton has bored the poor bloke to death. A freestyler does football skills in the centre circle. Eric Prydz ‘Call on Me’ booms out of the PA system.

Barnet can’t get going in the second half. Cheltenham play at a higher tempo. A dreadlocked-haired Jermaine McGlashan is introduced on the hour. Trumpy is back from the bar. “Is this Terence Trent D’Arby coming on?” quips the legend.

Sanchez looks disinterested and disheartened. There’s no encouragement, pats on the back or camaraderie with his staff. The Barnet fans salute his assistant ‘Grazioli’ throughout the game.

Butland makes an instinctive, brilliant one-handed save from McLeod. Yates’ final throw of the dice is a double substitution with 15 minutes to go. Mohamed and Spencer form a three man attack. It pays dividends immediately.

McGlashan plays a give and go with Mohamed, he leaves the full back for dead, the cross is inch perfect, Mohamed buries his shot into the roof of the net. It’s a moment of brilliance. Trumpy and I stand to applaud. Bolton disappears to the bar for a final pint.

Moments later its game set and match to Cheltenham with substitute Spencer seizing upon a Burgess flick-on to finish emphatically.

Barnet have played some neat and tidy football, with little reward. They are dropping like a stone, just like Lincoln City were last season.

Attendance: 3319 (173 from Barnet)

Man of the Match: Sam Deering (Barnet)

Staveley MW 2 Dunston UTS 2

It’s Friday evening and I’m grooming myself for a night out in town. There’s a guest appearance from Mrs P. We’ve booked a table at The Living Room on High Pavement, in Nottingham. It’s just the two of us – Sticky jnr is dossing outside Budgens, whilst ‘The Skipper’ is on a German exchange trip.

After a pleasant meal, with good service, we meet up with a few work colleagues at the soulless Baa Bar pub chain on Goosegate. The only toon of note to report on folks is ‘Gravel Pit’ by the Wu-Tang Clan.

We’re back home by 10pm, I can’t do late ones anymore. The landline is ringing out. A friend has called to say Sticky jnr has fallen off a park bench and cut his head open. He walks through the door five minutes later. His head is swathed in bandages. He looks like former England captain and Ipswich Town defender Terry Butcher.

I have to give ‘Terry Butcher’ a dig out with the papers in the morning. Mrs P is on a cleaning frenzy when I get back. Murphy Palmer (budgie) is in trouble again, he’s spat apple all over the cream carpet. I have a quick word with Finley the rabbit; he’s predicting a 2-1 win for Dunston. (Sorry Terry and Daisy).



I need to be in good books as I’ve a long day ahead. Sticky Palms Cleaning Services are required in the bathroom, the rabbit cage and budgie cage. I wolf down a sausage sandwich before heading out to Hucknall to hook up with Notts County’s Head of Youth, Mick Leonard. Peppa Pig is waving at me from outside a children’s nursery on Station Road in Plumtree, as I drive by.

Danny Baker is on Five Live. His show was hilarious last week. The special guest was James Alexander Gordon, who reads out the classified football scores at 5pm on Sports Report each Saturday tea-time. Baker persuades him to read the results out from 100 years ago to the day, from the old Division Two. There are classic old names such as: Glossop North End, Gainsborough Trinity and Leicester Fosse.

We have a wander around Hucknall Rolls Royce Leisure’s superb complex. There are an abundance of games being played, with ages ranging from under 7s through to under 12s. We notice a young referee in tears; apparently he has been verbally abused by a so-called coach. It disgusts me. I see more and more of this each week. The RESPECT campaign doesn’t appear to be working. I have a cup of tea and a Chunky Kit Kat before heading back home.



Five Live are talking-up an interview with the luckiest man in football - old moon face - (David Platt) at 2pm. I’d thoroughly recommend that folk take a siesta during this dull radio moment.

White Van Man arrives at 1.10pm. The wind-up merchant has Heart 106FM on. Toni Braxton’s ‘Unbreak My Heart’ is blaring out the car speakers. We’re going to leave WVM’s car at Big D’s house in Bramcote.

WVM is fresh from a weekend in Brussels. He complains it was 10 Euros for a Leffe shandy. Big D is sweating over a hot stove when we arrive. He’s preparing the final ingredients for a Beef Dopiaza curry. He’s full of drunken tales from his recent golfing holiday in Northumberland.



We exit the motorway at Junction 29A and drive through the old south Derbyshire coalfields. Big D parks his 4x4 smack outside the Inkersall Road front doors. It’s £5 on the gate and £1.50 for a superb programme. We immediately bump into Staveley’s biggest fan, Daisy Bruce, who has been roped-in to sell raffle tickets.

Staveley is a town within the borough of Chesterfield in Derbyshire. It is situated alongside the River Rother and has a population of over 15,000. It is a well known former mining area. The Staveley foundry and chemicals works formed an important part of the town’s history. Rock and roll and jazz guitarist Chris Spedding was born in Staveley. He had a Top Twenty hit in 1975 called ‘Motor Bikin.’



Dunston is in the Metropolitan Borough of Gateshead, in the county of Tyne and Wear. Mrs P’s favourite shopping complex, the MetroCentre, is close by. Dunston’s most famous son is Paul Gascoigne. A stand is named after Gazza at their UTS Stadium. AC/DC lead singer Brian Johnson is also from the area.

Big D slopes off to buy a pie, while WVM shouts up a can of Stella and a coke in a packed clubhouse. Sheffield Wednesday are beating an out-of-form Preston North End 2-0. I get talking to a lady in the bar who turns out to be a QPR season ticket holder. She talks excitedly about their recent 3-2 win over ‘King Kenny’s’ Liverpool.

I’m back outside as the atmosphere begins to build. Dunston are one to the good from the first leg. The ultimate prize is a day out at Wembley. We bump into Staveley Chairman Terry Damms. He‘s as busy as a beaver but never looks flustered. He’s climbing up to the gantry at the newly erected Tower to take photos and film the game.



We’re stood on the opposite side of the ground, at the top of some concrete steps. It’s another new feature of this charming ground. A marquee has been erected to cater for the FA and League big wigs.

The game sets off at a fair old pace. It’s not the “cat and mouse” affair of the previous week. The tie is all square after five minutes, with ex Matlock striker Simon Barraclough smashing home a shot following a fine three man move.

Dunston are soon 2-1 up on aggregate. A cross from the left is knocked back by Michael Dixon for top scorer Andrew Bulford to skilfully steer his shot into the net. He races to celebrate with the travelling contingent and is yellow-carded for his sins. He pays the price moments later for a shocking challenge in the middle of the park. Dunston are down to ten men.



Staveley seize the initiative and gain in confidence. They begin to pepper the visitors’ goal. The influential Chris Coy restores their lead to put the tie at 2-2 on aggregate. We all draw for breath at half-time after 45 minutes of high drama and tension. Big D and WVM decline a further visit to the pie stall.

A quick check on Twitter reveals that Lincoln City are turning over Tamworth. I’m surprised by that having watched the Staffordshire side more than match Grimsby Town last Wednesday evening.

Dunston emerge for the second half with their sleeves rolled up. They have what I would call some ‘proper blokes’ in their side. I’ve been disappointed with some of the chanting from a minority of their supporters behind the Staveley goal. Is “We are the Staveley haters” and “You fat b****rd” (aimed at Ian Deakin the Staveley ‘keeper) really necessary? “The referee’s a Mackem” is far more amusing.



The away support have congregated on the terrace outside No.15 Bar Cafe. The sun is shining and the sky is sea blue. Dunston dominate the second half. Their left winger Lee McAndrew is skinning the Staveley full back for fun. Fortune is on their side when Barraclough is sent off for an elbow on the Dunston centre half. Connell, the visiting ‘keeper, is a lucky lad, when appearing to throw his head at a Staveley forward.

The inevitable winning goal comes in the 84th minute. A ball is played in from the left, it takes an eternity to reach substitute Stephen Goddard, bouncing five or six times, before he rifles a shot in off the underside of the crossbar and into the roof of the net. We witness wild scenes of joys from the noisy away following.

WVM is also doing a little jig of joy, with news from Selhurst Park of a Raddy Majewski hat-trick. Sticky Palms is cheered that Lincoln are thumping Tamworth 4-0.



The tank has run empty for Staveley. The dream is over. They’ve tried 4-3-3 and 4-4-2. Referee Dean Mohareb shows a remarkable turn of foot as he dashes down the tunnel following his final blow of the whistle. With seven bookings and two red cards to deal with, it will take him an hour to complete the paperwork.

There’s been a bit of a kerfuffle outside the Clubhouse door. The Feds, with sirens blazing, screech into the Club car park as the Dunston supporters become over exuberant.

I can’t bear to face Terry or Daisy; they’ll be hurt in their eyes. There time will come; maybe next year.

Attendance: 1050

Men of the Match: Lee McAndrew, Dunston and Chris Fawcus, Staveley.

Tamworth 1 Grimsby Town 1

It’s August 2003. I’m sat up in the Hound Road Stand at a sun-kissed Trent Bridge. England and South Africa are locking horns in the third Test. Michael Vaughan’s men have racked up over 440 runs. Proteas captain Graeme Smith is at the wicket. The miserable sod is in invincible form, arriving here on the back of two double centuries.

Smith nurdles, nudges and drives the ball to all four corners of the ground. He looks set. We’re all bevied up and making a killing at the bookies. We place the normal bets of ‘top run scorer’, ‘runs scored in a session’ and ‘how the next wicket will fall.’

I’m sat with my good friend ‘Jam Fool’ who is a top batsman for a local West Indian club. It’s my turn to put the syndicate bet on. ‘Jam Fool’ remarks on how far back Smith is back in his crease. “I reckon he’ll hit his own wicket” remarks ‘Fool’

I scour the bookie’s blackboard. I notice that ‘hit wicket’ is 100/1. I place my £10 bet on the next wicket to fall will be LBW at 2/1. I make the short, booze-fuelled walk back up to the stands. There’s a huge roar. Everyone is dancing, laughing and cheering. Smith is trudging his way back to the pavilion with his head bowed and his bat tucked under his arm.



I glance up at the scoreboard it says ‘Smith hit wicket b Flintoff 35. I look up to ‘Jam Fool’ he’s shaking his head and mouthing towards me “I told you so.” I could have won us a grand.

The highlight of the week is a trip down Carlton Town’s Stoke Lane ground. League leaders Grantham Town are the visitors. A 99th minute winner for the Millers’ Josh Thornton is a sweet moment. I can’t hide my dislike for Grantham Town and their bawling bench.

Saturday is same old crazy day. I can’t find Murphy. A furious Mrs P finds him pecking away at a banana in the fruit bowl. I spend the morning at Vernon Park and it’s cultural surroundings in urban Nottingham. ‘The Skipper’s’ team lose narrowly in the afternoon to Dunkirk on the banks of the River Trent.

Brighter news emerges from Keyworth United’s HQ. Sticky junior’s team have won 4-3. I celebrate with a £3.15 pint of Guinness.



I’ve twice been to The Lamb. The first occasion was against Aldershot a few years ago when Aaron McLean, ex Posh, now of Hull City, proved to be a thorn in their side. The second time was five years ago when Dagenham and Redbridge romped away with the Conference title.

I get a text on the day of the game from Jacko to say he has too many problems with team selection for his midweek reserve game tomorrow evening. Surely none of his pissheads can overlay for an evening kick off?

The Taxman’s car passes a late fitness test at Barn Garage. I hear the honking of the horn. I blow some kisses at Murphy Palmer (budgie) and say cheerio to Mrs P and ‘The Skipper’, who has an early start tomorrow. He’s off on a German exchange trip to the town of Weinsberg.

A revitalised Taxman and his turbo-charged vehicle breeze down Bunny Lane (30mph). The road to Gotham is closed and there are roadworks at Rempstone. We have to detour through East Leake before driving through picturesque Kingston upon-Soar and onto the M42 via Kegworth.



The Taxman is miffed to have missed his art class due to his missus refusing to catch the bus to work. He talks about Nottingham Forest with enthusiasm for the first time in weeks, following their recent renaissance. A DHL freight plane almost comes within touching distance as the pilot prepares for landing at East Midlands Airport.

We cruise down the A5, with its white heathers flourishing in the early spring sunshine. We pass signs for Tamworth Castle and Tamworth Amateur Boxing Club. I don’t know what part they’ve changed on his car but The Taxman has driven like James Hunt. The speedo touched 50mph at one point.

Tamworth is a town in Staffordshire, 14 miles north-east of Birmingham. It has a population of over 70,000. It is home to Tamworth Castle, Moat House and The Snowdome. Drayton Manor Theme Park (who are the Club’s away shirt sponsor) is situated just down the road. It was once home to the Reliant car company and the Scimitar sports car.

The Lambs are managed by former Quorn, Kettering and Barwell manager, Marcus Law. I rate him highly but find his tweets deadly boring. Well known footballers to have played at The Lamb include: Paul Devlin, Gerry Taggart, Steve Walsh, Clint Marcelle, David Oldfield and Paul Merson.

Notable personalities to come from Tamworth or have been brought up in the town include: former Bluenose ‘keeper Tony Coton, Swansea City defender Ashley Williams and Teardrop Explodes frontman Julian Cope.



Grimsby is a seaport in the Humber Estuary in Lincolnshire, with a population approaching 90,000. Notable alumni from Grimsby include: Some Mothers Do Ave Em actress Michelle Dotrice, Nottinghamshire fast bowler Darren Pattinson, former Nottingham Forest and Leeds United striker Duncan McKenzie and the snooker players Dean Reynolds and Mike Hallett.

Well known former managers of the Mariners are: Bill Shankly, Lawrie McMenemy, Alan Buckley, Mike Newell, Lennie Lawrence and Brian ‘Chicken Bones’ Laws.

We’re parked up at the ground 25 minutes before kick-off. I buy a glossy covered programme for £2.50 and a bottle of king-sized Tango for £1.20. The programme has 23 pages of adverts, but to be fair it’s a decent read for the neutral.

We take a pew on red tip-up seats in the Main Stand. The guy on the gate has already said the place is stacked out with scouts. Liam ‘The Hitman’ Hearn’ is in town. He has found the back of the onion bag on twenty six occasions this season. He looks a snip at £60,000 from Alfreton Town. I have banged on about the Nottingham-born striker on this blog for a few seasons now.

The sun is hanging around as the temperature begins to dip slightly. I love this 78 year old ground. It’s painted red, with an open end behind one goal close to the Clubhouse, with deep concrete steps. The other three sides are covered. Grimsby’s 263fans congregate behind the far goal. It’s admirable and commendable that they should make the 260 mile round trip with only a play-off spot up for grabs and on a school night too.



The DJ plays some random toons. The Killers, Cee Lo Green and Murphy’s favourite, Rihanna are the pick of the bunch. ‘Fanfare for the Common Man’ is the final track before the players emerge from the tunnel tucked away in the far corner.

I notice Kidderminster Harriers’ manager Steve Burr snuck into the ground as 34 year old Loughborough born official Amy Fearn blows her whistle. The sloping pitch looks tight and narrow. I think Murphy Palmer has more room to play footy on our dining room table than the players have here.

Tamworth are neat and tidy; they have an abundance of left footers who are pleasing on the eye. Former Nottingham Forest youth team players Richard Tait and Danny Thomas are amongst their ranks.

Hearn looks hungry. His first touch is deft and his movement electric. He drags the clumsy-looking Tamworth central defenders into wider areas.

The moment I have dreaded arrives on the half hour. The excellent Amy Fearn awards Grimsby a hotly disputed free kick. A guy four rows back shouts out: “You’d be better off at home washing the dishes love.” Not one person laughs. The lady behind me is spitting more feathers than Murphy Palmer.

Hearn has a couple of half chances before a marauding run by Grimsby’s Michael Townsend ends with a shot flashing past the right hand post. Both keepers are kept busy in an entertaining first half with Tamworth more than matching promotion-chasing Grimsby.



Tweets and texts are flying in from mates at the break predicting a 0-0. Regulars know that Sticky doesn’t do shut-outs. Ironically both NFFC and Lincoln City are goalless in vital relegation games at Leicester & Hayes and Yeading respectively.

I expect Grimsby to press on and they do. Hearn conjures a chance up from nothing but his effort comes back off the post. The visitors open the scoring minutes later, with Hearn flicking home from an Ian Miller header.

Tamworth roll up their sleeves and are soon on level terms with a goal from substitute Connor Taylor, following fine work by Tait down the right.

There’s a grandstand finish with chances at either end. A draw is about right, but I’m really impressed with Tamworth. They certainly play the better football and are less direct than Grimsby.

Man of the Match: Richard Tait

Attendance: 892