The Cup upset over at Nuneaton has proper cheered me up. I'd been feeling under the weather for most of the day. I'm in bed early on Saturday night and still feel zonked out 12 hours later. I laze around the house for most of Sunday, freeing up a few hours to knock up the Cup Special blog.
I struggle to shake off the virus over the next few days. Two full shifts at the paper shop takes my mind off it as the place is mobbed out with folks. I had hoped to catch a second viewing of Big Glenn's Raddy on Tuesday evening, as they took on UCL league leaders Clipstone FC. I fail a late fitness test and am confined to my sick bed.
It's Wednesday morning and guess what? I'm on a train to Sheffield. I make more train journeys than Michael Portillo. I'll ramp it up even more when I turn 60 years old next February, which makes me eligible for a senior rail card and the 33% discount it allows.
It's baking hot in 'Steel City' as I pound it away up Shoreham Street, towards Bramall Lane, the home of Premier League team Sheffield United, who were knocked out of the Carabao Cup by little old Lincoln City. The reason for my visit (the second one in the last seven days) is to collect my rucksack from Reception, as I left it under my seat following a low key fist pump celebration at the final whistle. I apologise to the lady for the stench of dirty clothing before pegging it up the hill to the suburb of Heeley for a thirst-quenching pint of real ale at the Brothers Arms.
It's been announced, this week, that legendary Nottinghamshire Cricket Club all-rounder, Samit Patel, will be leaving the club at the end of the season. It's been the worst kept secret of the summer. At his peak Patel was worth rushing from work to watch at 'The Bridge.' We'll sorely miss his bowling in the T20 too, although the spin department is strong with the emergence of Calvin Harrison and 15 year old local lad Farhan Ahmed, who has been impressing the judges for England U19s v Australia U19s. I was down Lady Bay's Notts Sports Ground, a few months ago, when the England coach Mike Yardy was scouting him.
It's Thursday evening and I'm like a kid on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow I'm out on a South Yorkshire Real Ale Train Trail with boozing buddy Tony Mac. It's been touch and go for Mac following a sustained bout of toothache. The offending gnasher was extracted earlier this afternoon - unfortunately the appointment wasn't at tooth hurty.
Tomorrow we'll be catching the train from Sheffield (yes again) to Huddersfield. Villages of interest on that line - basically they have pubs or even better than that CAMRA entries - include: Penistone, Elsecar and Chapeltown.
I'd noticed this week that a blue plaque was to be unveiled in the South Yorkshire town of Rotherham, which is also on the Friday Club radar. Arthur Wharton was the first black professional footballer to play in this country. The plaque will be installed at Clifton Lane, a ground where he played in goal at Rotherham Town, and will be unveiled by former Chelsea and Southampton defender Ken Monkou. The Ghanaian is buried just outside Doncaster.
It's midday on Friday, and already boiling hot, as Mac and Sticky wander a few hundred yards down a hill, in Silkstone Common, towards The Station Pub. The landlord at Travellers Inn, in the village of Oxspring, is intrigued to know of our plans for the day, once he hears we're from Nottingham. He also recommends a few good pubs to visit too.
Talk about mad dogs and Englishmen going out in the midday sun. Mac is neither wearing his hat or getting any liquids on board, other than ale. I've already seen off a litre of water as we make our way by foot to the village of Penistone. Our efforts are rewarded by a visit to the outstanding Penistone Tap and Brewhouse, which is also owned by Woodland Brewery.
An Irish fella behind the bar is very welcoming as we start to go through the beer scoreboard. Mac doesn't shy away from a 8% DIPA as the barman gives us details of a shortcut to our next watering hole in the village of Thurlstone, where the Manchester City and England defender John Stones was brought up.
There's an incident across the road at Wards Fish Bar. I'm 'Hank Marvin' and in need of some food. The guy at the tap house says that they do sandwiches at Wards. I order a pork, stuffing and apple sauce cob and I'm salivating as they make it. Unfortunately the idiot owner confesses to warming the pork up in a microwave. We both kick off and make a sharp exit, avoiding any chance of food poisoning.
It's a beautiful walk down a tree-lined, shady part of the Trans Pennine Trail, which runs along the River Don. We quench our thirst at The Huntsman and tuck into a pork pie and scotch egg before heading back up the hill to the station where we catch a train to Elsecar with a few minutes spare.
Elsecar is a gem of a village and has its own Heritage Centre. Firstly, we pop into the Market Inn before enjoying some craft ales at Maison Du Biere taproom. The outside area is stacked out with folk who are basking in the evening sunshine as the weekend begins.
The final port of call is Chapeltown. We then have a swift one in the Sheffield Tap, where we started at 11.30 this morning. We enjoy some banter on the journey home with a couple of young Grimsby Town supporters, who are travelling to Notts for a weekend on the sauce at Rock City. A couple of nightcaps are had at BeerheadZ adjacent to Nottingham Railway Station before turning in for some shut eye.
My alarm goes off at 4 am. I down a strong cup of Nescafe Alta Rica coffee. The Uber driver drops me off in Arnold ten minutes prior to shift start time. I'm marking up newspapers at just gone 5 am. Yesterday passed in the blink of an eye.
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I grab half an hour's kip on my return to HQ. Ms Moon is away in Spain for a week, so the house is quiet as a mouse. I clock Faggsy in the Old Market Square. He's in the shade, smoking on a ciggie, whilst waiting for a tram. We get off at the Noel Street stop and walk through Asda car park and cross Radford Road.
It's £6 on the gate for this UCL cup clash versus Bourne Town from Lincolnshire. There isn't a better ground in our County. It has the lot. I immediately clock the stand where the sun sits behind it. We park ourselves straight into it. I get a bit fidgety when I notice Director of Football, Big Glenn Russell, walking in our direction. He shakes my hand and makes us both feel welcome, which makes me feel even more anxious.
Regular readers will know that I've probably cost Radford promotion on three separate occasions as I have the uncanny knack of rocking up during a long unbeaten run, only to see them fall to defeat. They take the lead through an own goal. I mention to the big 'un that a second might be needed. He tells me to shut up and stop being negative.
At the break Bourne's manager chooses to do a 'Phil Brown', giving a naughty boys team talk on the edge of the pitch in the baking heat. They have been easily second best in the opening half. The inevitable happens after half-time. The referee is having a 'mare. He's booking players left, right and centre, and has dished out more cards than Clintons. He awards a soft free kick which somehow finds its way into the bottom corner of the net.
Big Joe McLoughlin heads home a deserved winner for The Pheasants, saving me an early exit and lifetime ban. Jevon Seaton has been magnificent for Raddy. His touch is deft and hold up play a joy to watch. He turns on the style on a scorched playing surface. I saw him many years ago playing for an NSL side called Unity FC, run by a good mate of mine, Morris Samuels. He's pushed on a bit since then.
Woman of the Match: Receptionist at Sheff Utd
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