Caribbean Cavaliers 2 Ruddington Village 2

I was saddened and shocked to hear of the impending closure of the Selectadisc record shop on Market Street in Nottingham. It has become an institution in our fair city and will be sorely missed. Sticky’s favourite Selectadisc was on Bridlesmith Gate. It was a pokey hole with two floors, but boy, what a shop. I can remember buying Three Imaginary Boys by The Cure from there for £3.29 back in 1979. As I said to Mrs P, if you walked in there and asked for Ronan Keating or Westlife’s latest single you were asked to leave the shop.



I was in big trouble again last week. I went out on a works do on Thursday. The plan was for a few quiet beers and a Mexican. It all got a bit messy; I was still tucking into a few at some establishment down St James’ Street in the early hours. I bulldozed my way through the door at 2am and clattered about the house. There was a frosty atmosphere the following morning and a thick head.

It’s been a bit of NSL frenzy for The Groundhopper recently, as he’s keeping Mrs P sweet. The games have to be cheap and cheerful. I’ve not delivered the grim news that I will be in Cambridgeshire next week, at the delightful Glassworld Stadium, watching Histon taking on Barthez’s team Ebbsfleet United. Blog legend Trumpy Bolton and Man United closet fan White Van Man will be on board.



It’s Saturday morning 10am. I’ve already washed both cars and vacuumed them out. Mrs P is rubbing her eyes in disbelief. I’m on a mission and have to bank some Brownie points.

Mrs P nips up the gym to a bums, tums and thighs class (lol). I dive straight back in the house and give ‘The Skipper’ a good thumping at cribbage. The MOBO Award-nominated, London-based, grime music collective, Roll Deep are on the Soccer AM sofa. They play a clip of one of their songs. Their lyrics are worse than Lily Allen’s: “Roses are red, violets are blue, you know that I’ve got my eyes on you.” God give me strength.

I’m in the car and driving down Lings Bar. Sticky junior is up Keyworth Rec playing for a new team who are short on numbers. I drive over Ladybay Bridge. Small pockets of Forest fans are edging the way to The City Ground to watch the Reds take on Swansea City.



I navigate my way up Huntingdon Street and down Mansfield Road. I realise that time is on my side and decide to tick a pub off that’s situated Woodborough Road side of Woodthorpe Drive. Breckhill Park is to my left; it was Sticky’s lucky ground when he was coaching. ‘The Skipper’ scored a stunner there once, in a junior tournament. He still bores us to death about it.

Mapperley Top is a bloody awkward place to park. There’s no room at the Castle Rock pub, the Bread and Bitter. I have to park up in Farmfoods’ car park. They charge a quid for thirty minutes parking. I could have bought a meal for that inside their shop!



I saunter into the Bread and Bitter and order a pint of JBH, which is Oakham Ale, and costs £2.60. The pub is thriving. It has brick walls and wooden flooring. There are twelve real ales on, and a good selection of food.

I’ve a smelly old Jack Russell next to me. He spots a Labrador lounging about on the bar room floor. He goes for his throat. There’s an almighty kerfuffle; I’ve not seen anything quite as violent as this in the NSL. They are pulled apart and go their separate ways.



I head towards Mapperley Hall Drive close to the Carrington Sports Ground. I can’t remember where the ground is and phone up Big D, who bizarrely is stood next to Mrs P, watching Keyworth United U13s playing Wollaton. He guides me into Alverstone Road.

There’s been a lot of nonsense written on the NSL message board this week. People seem threatened by Caribbean Cavaliers recent upturn in fortune. People have come on the forum moaning about shabby goalposts that aren’t upright, pitches that aren’t roped off and an official/supporter from Wollaton gives lame excuses as to why they were well beaten at Carrington last weekend. No-one congratulates them. Nobody applauds them for having the strength and vision to set-up a club in the inner-city and provide their community with an opportunity to do something positive in their lives. People like Everton Richards, Wayne Morrison and Roberto Pietrafonte should be saluted, not knocked back.



Thankfully the level-headed Wollaton management team come on the forum and are gracious in defeat.

I park up in a very affluent part of Carrington. The sight of my Citroen stationed amongst the 4x4’s, Mercedes and BMW’s should knock £20,000 off some of these properties.

I potter around this lovely ground. I’ve played Evening League cricket here, many moons ago, when Notts Police owned the ground. Many of my long hops have sailed through the windows of these adjoining, exclusive, extravagant properties.



Reports are exaggerated about the goals, the pitch is roped off and the playing surface appears fine. It will hopefully shut up the moaning Minnies; I was fully expecting to see the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

I have a chat with Cavs manager Robert Pietrafonte. He’s a charming, calm character. The sort of mentor these boys need. I’m alarmed to hear from a supporter that Cavs are charged £80 to stage a game.

Ruddington are today’s visitors; it’s south of the river and the workplace of The Groundhopper. They were involved in a bruising encounter against Cotgrave Welfare a few weeks ago, which resulted in two Cotgrave players ending up in hospital.



Effervescent Cavs’ winger Wes Burke is telling a supporter how he scored from the half-way line in a Sunday morning game last weekend. Shortly before kick-off a Cavs’ player warming up hits the crossbar from 55 yards out; it’s something St Mirren failed to do on the Crossbar Challenge this morning.

It’s a good, open game in the first half. Cavs look the more dangerous of the two teams. Sticky’s favourite, Winnie Brown hits a fizzing, rising shot from 25 yards out which stings the hands of the Ruddington ‘keeper. Wes Burke shows great technique out on the right but fires straight at the ‘keeper. ‘Cookie’ and Joseph look sharp for Cavs and keep the Ruddington defence on their toes, but the visitors are rapid on the counter-attack.



Ruddington open the scoring with a sweet left foot strike from left back Adam Waddeley, which takes a deflection en-route to goal.

Cavs don’t let their heads drop and are well coached by the mild-mannered Pietrafonte. They restore parity when Joseph is flattened by the Ruddington ‘keeper, who escapes with a yellow card. Burke remains calm and tucks away the penalty with consummate ease. Cavs finish the half on top.



I’ve now been joined by ‘Jam Fool’, Big D and ‘Addo.’ Jam Fool puts his hands in his pockets for the first time in ten years and buys the tea and banana cake. The girls are delightful in the tea room. I’d give the tea a seven (it’s better than the Happy Shopper teabags at Pelican, eh Swifty).

The second half is not as invigorating or stimulating as the first. Cavs rely on the mule like kicks of Curtis MacDonald. The game becomes disjointed and lacks quality.

‘Cookie’ and ‘Shawy’ are having an entertaining tussle; apparently they’re good friends. ‘Cookie’ shrugs off a shirt-pulling Shaw to put Cavs 2-1 up. Their game becomes edgy and frantic. Winnie is not imposing himself on proceedings like he did when I saw him at Cotgrave last season.



Ruddington flash one past MacDonald’s post, with the Cavs’ ‘keeper not short of a word or two for his tiring defence. In the final moments the Ruddington winger finds the ball at his feet in acres of space, he tries a shot that comes of his toe end, it falls fortuitously at the feet of substitute Orlando Grinley, who shot comes off the inside of the ‘Leaning Tower of Pisa’ and nestles in the back of the net. For once Curtis is lost for words.



Special mention for the referee; he’s not the most mobile but he treats the players like adults, referees with commonsense and gains the respect of the players and officials. He always has the game under control.

It’s been a great afternoon, at a superb club. Roll on Cotgrave on Wednesday night.

Man of the Match: Rob Faulkner

Bilborough Pelican 4 Gedling Southbank 1

No non-league game for The Groundhopper last weekend. We headed up, instead, to Stapleford to watch ‘The Skipper’ perform on his birthday, at the back of The Jaguar pub. It was not for the feint-hearted; we left with a well deserved point.

I had a cruise around Nottingham Sunday morning on the prowl for talent. I popped into West Park, The Embankment and Regatta Way. There was nothing doing. I got back to HQ just in time to see Sticky junior kick-off against arch rivals West Bridgford. I had to referee the game but came out relatively unscathed. Dare I say it but I actually enjoyed it, particularly the 90th minute equaliser for Keyworth United. I might pack up scouting and referee junior matches next season.



Regular readers of this garbage will know that some clown at work smashed by best Denby teapot. We’ve been waiting an age for a replacement and it finally arrived courtesy of the said culprit. It doesn’t feel the same when you’re mashing though.

I’ve grave concerns about the calibre of person reading my BLOG. I’ve a site meter which enables me to look at all the traffic that hits my site. Anyone typing in ‘Blidworth Dogging.’ (as in ‘walking the dog’) suddenly finds themselves on The Groundhopper’s Blog. Unfortunately on a visit to Blidworth, a few months back, to ironically watch Bilborough Pelican in a Notts Senior Cup match, The Reaper left a comment on the BLOG to say that Blidworth is one of the top Dogging locations in the Midlands. Oh well, it’s getting me a dozen hits a week.

I could have gone to Forest last night but have lost total interest. I’m still bitter about the £50 I spent watching them put in a woeful shift at Birmingham’s St Andrews.

There’s a bright light on the horizon. I text UK Groundsman of the Year, Neil Swift to tell him I’m up at Caribbean Cavaliers at the weekend for their match against Ruddington Village, and that I’ll keep him posted on the score. He texts back immediately to let me know that Bilborough Pelican are hosting Gedling Southbank tonight. Sorted, a chance to check-out GSB, who I’ve never seen play before.



I’m back home from work at 5pm and throw a pizza in the oven. Mrs P and ‘The Skipper are at an athletics meeting in East Leake. Sticky junior joins me for tea but has to bale out with a pint of water as the jalapenos and chillies kick in and are too hot for him; they don’t make kids like they used to.

We jump in the car with ‘The Skipper’ and his mates and drive down to the Powerleague at Lenton where they train. His team have outgrown the place, but it’s a central point for all the boys to meet, train and have fun. His team play with smiles on their faces and that is all down to the relaxed style of the coach.

I can’t bear to have a drink in this dull, depressing bar though, with its dim lighting and slow serving bar staff. After a quick chat with JK I’m back in the car and heading towards Ruddington for a pint at the White Horse.

I need some cash and park up close to the Bricklayers Arms on the High Street. It’s a Friday night haunt for the NSL’s footballers’ gallery. Bring your autograph book and get all the big names, including Barthez.



I’ve not been in the White Horse since a disgraceful, shameful performance with ‘The Nuclear Scientist’ last May at the Ruddington Beer Festival. I have a pint of Jennings Cumberland Ale. I’d mark it nine out of ten. I can hear Andy Williams coming from the jukebox in the bar, singing his 1967 hit Can’t Take My Eyes Off You.

The landlady is complaining that she has to keep off the sauce as she’s doubling-up as chef because her regular guy is recovering from a knee injury. A couple of guys sit alone mulling over the daily papers.

My mobile goes off, it’s a mate I used to work with down at ‘The Pies.’ We exchange small talk. He is a top scout, but works for the dark side. (D***y)

I’m back in the car and already on Lenton Lane, passing Pelican Colts, Greenwood Meadows, Dunkirk and the Michelin star Restaurant Sat Bains. The Brian Wakefield Memorial Ground is rammed. I reverse out and park up next to Grove Farm, where I‘ve watched many a Notts County Centre of Excellence game on a wintry Sunday morning.



The world’s busiest amateur football message forum has been in full swing this week, with arguments still being played out from the previous Saturday’s games. Caribbean Cavaliers goalposts have come under scrutiny for looking ‘shabby’ and ‘not standing upright’: even Swifty has chipped in with a whinge about it. I’ll reserve judgement until Saturday, when I will attend the Cavs v Ruddington game.

It’s a cracking turnout for a school night. Bilborough Pelican have turned up the heat on long-time leaders Wollaton. They are wobbling like jelly at the Wollaton Sports Association Ground; it looks like a few suspensions might be kicking in.

Pelican were formed in the snug of The Pelican public house in Bilborough by Swifty and his mates over a quarter of a century ago. The Pelican Colts ground is named in the memory of Swifty’s mate Dave Eastwood, whose son Matt, is a talented striker for the club.

Nottingham Forest’s Matt Thornhill and D***y County’s Welsh international Lewin Nyatanga both played for the club. Kieron Freeman is another former player who is doing well on a YTS at the Tricky Trees.



Swifty is scurrying about the place on pre-match duties; he’s probably been buffing up his Ransome Mastiff all afternoon.

It was a filthy night on Tuesday, as the Nottinghamshire skies emptied its load on our wonderful county. Even the bowling green surface at Ilkeston Town’s New Manor Ground failed to escape postponement. As I stroll up to the BPFC pitch I can’t help but notice what fine fettle Swifty’s surface is in.

Gedling Southbank are from north of the river. I don’t know much about them but presume it’s an amalgamation as I remember a team called Arnold Southbank. They were formed in 1972. and are second from bottom of the league. They play at Carlton Hill Recreation Ground and I will be getting that one in before the season is out.

I stand to the right of the dug outs closer to the end that GSB will attack in their replica Brentford FC kit. Bilborough Pelican sport a more traditional blue, similar to Gillingham’s.



Pelican are unbeaten in their last 10 outings, whilst GSB produced a shock result a few weeks back at title contenders Wollaton.

BPFC are the quickest out the traps and play with a lot of confidence. They take an early lead with the white-booted former Boatman striker Danny Blanchard firing home from close range, with the GSB ‘keeper rooted to the spot.

They double their lead shortly after through the evergreen Mark Gadsby, who takes a wild left foot swinger, which the GSB ‘keeper can only help into the back of the net.



A grinning Swifty comes sauntering by: “what you reckon Groundhopper 6 or 7?” he smirks. He hasn’t time for a chat as he’s spotted that about ten GSB staff are stood in the technical area, which is against FA rules. He scurries up the touchline to remonstrate with them. They look like they’re off the film set of the Guy Ritchie movie Snatch.

GSB make a valiant comeback and exert real pressure on the Pelican defence with their direct style of play. But they cannot finish for toffee, spurning chance after chance. Pelican are strong at defending corners and have aerial supremacy.

Leading scorer Blanchard puts Pelican 3-0 up, against the run of play, shortly before the break, after more poor defending.

I take a walk up to the clubhouse at the break and purchase a cup of tea for 70 pence. I’m left to mash it myself as it doesn’t come out of a pot: I’m afraid Swifty I can only give it a six. Sky Sports is on the TV set but it’s having a Norman Collier fit.

Swifty is like a local celebrity and is talking to all and sundry. He has a smile as broad as a Cheshire cat; he knows his club will top the table this evening.

GSB are already piling on the pressure and do everything but score. Their number eight (I’ve no team sheet so don’t know their names) is par excellence. He battles away and shoots on sight.



Pelican play with pace and power. Gadsby doubles his tally, racing away and finishing comfortably. He’s surely played at a higher level than this. His touch is deft and his passing accurate. The partnership with Blanchard is devastating and blossoming.

Swifty’s Godson, Matt Eastwood comes on to play a cameo role. They’ve missed the excellent Cory Bowler who impressed me up at Blidworth Welfare. He provides them with balance and beauty.

GSB finally find the back of the net through Lee Elliott. It’s much deserved. There’s been no bad tackles and total RESPECT for one another. The referee applies common sense and allows to game to ebb and flow.

I bid farewell to Swifty, he’s way too busy on the Bilborough jungle drums to notice an exiting Groundhopper. I’m off to Cavs on Saturday to check-out these wonky goalposts; at least it should provide a decent photo opportunity.

The camaraderie in the NSL is second to none, the players even share food at most grounds in the bar after the game. The NSL committee must be applauded for suggesting this.

Man of the Match: GSB 8 Jacket

Lincoln United 5 Glapwell 0

We had a trot down the local football club on Sunday to watch Sticky junior in action. They were playing the league leaders. We kept the score down to a respectable 3-0 thanks to the efforts of our goalkeeper, who is proving to be the find of the season. Sticky’s got alleged growing pains at the minute, he doesn’t look particular interested according to his Dad though.



Sunday afternoon was spent with The Nuclear Scientist down at Greenwood Meadows Lenton Lane ground. It was an FA Carlsberg Sunday Cup game between Scots Grey and an Irish Centre from Huddersfield way. It was a cracking game that had the lot. Greys were 2-1 up with 15 minutes to go when the visitors were awarded their second penalty of the afternoon. The youth who took it skied the ball into orbit and it ended up on the second tee of the adjacent pitch and putt golf course. It was nearly three off the tee. Greys won 3-1 and are in the semi-final. The final is due to be played at Liverpool’s Anfield.

I had to take Monday off as the kids were on an inset day and ‘The Skipper’ is a wee bit too young to leave on his own. The pair of them have been plaguing me to go golfing again. We went down to the municipal course at Edwalton. It’s a scruffy old par 3 course; perfect for them (and me).



The 4th hole is about 170 yards. Sticky junior had been shanking and slicing the ball all day, just like Forest goalkeeper Paul Smith. He scuffed his drive about 60 yards down the fairway. He hit his second shot with perfect trajectory straight into the hole from fully 100 yards; it made his day.

I’ve been trying to get one half of the Fabulous Baker Boys to come groundhopping with me for a couple of years now. I finally pin him down for the Lincoln versus Glapwell game.

Bobby is a successful sales manager in the playground surfacing business and drives a Mercedes; he volunteers to pilot.



It’s 6.30pm when we finally leave. The Groundhopper is going home. It’s ironic that I’ve seen Lincoln United play more times this season than the team I support, Lincoln City.

We drive down the notorious and dangerous Fosse Way. This road was completely blocked the night before with two bad accidents. We snake our way through East Stoke, Farndon and hit the Newark by-pass. We are in Lincoln, my hometown, within 15 minutes as Bobby puts his foot on the gas.

He has got Scott Mills’ Radio One show on the car stereo. We’re too busy catching up with one another to listen to all his gags.




I’ve so many fond memories of this city that I moved away from 40 years ago. Visiting my Grandma and Grandad’s in school holidays. The endless trips to Sincil Bank to watch the brilliant teams that Graham Taylor and Colin Murphy assembled in the 70s and 80s.

Ashby Avenue is situated in a lovely setting but is dwarfed by an ugly, huge block of high rise flats. The ground is a mass of conifers and leylandlii, which provide shelter on what is a fairly mild and still night.

Lincoln is a cathedral city with a population of just over 100,000 inhabitants. It is often referred to as a northern outpost. It’s the birthplace of The Groundhopper and his best mate, the late, great Frank Palmer. My father Frank was born at No.67 Dixon Street on Aug 1st 1933. He later became a reporter on the Daily Express and Daily Mirror. He took early retirement to fulfil his dreams of being an author. He wrote eighteen detective thrillers. They would knock the spots off some of the crap on TV these days. (Apart from Heartbeat) He had a razor-sharp wit and I miss him so much.



It’s time for a cup of char, so we nip into the canteen. We have a change of heart and both choose Bovril. I’d give it 7 out of 10.

Lincoln United were formed in 1938. I saw them smash Shepshed Dymano 3-0 at The Dovecote a few weeks back, when ‘Bruiser’ spent nearly half the game in the clubhouse. White Van Man’s friend, the assistant manager of Eastwood Town, John Ramshaw had a short spell as manager at The Whites last season.



There’s a dreadful, dreary CD on the tannoy system, I haven’t a clue who it is. We are treated to the whole album. The girl singing just drones on and on, a bit like EastEnders’ Dot Cotton.

The teams are finally out on the pitch, it’s a welcome relief. Lincoln are putting together a nice little run and are almost untouchable on their travels. They are 10th in the table.

Glapwell is in north east Derbyshire and lies between the towns of Mansfield and Chesterfield. It has a population of just 1500 people. They are owned by local dentist and former Aldershot Town player Colin Hancock.



The visitors knock the ball around nicely in the opening stages. They look well drilled and so they should be as coaches Kev Gee and my old boss at Notts County, John Gaunt both have their Uefa badges.

The Whites get into their stride though and open the scoring on ten minutes. from a clever corner which is returned from the back stick for the in-form Sean Cann to net.

Midfield duo Brendan McDaid and Dave Frecklington (brother of Sticky’s favourite Lee) get hold of the midfield by the scruff of its neck. It’s Frecklington who gives them a deserved lead on 35 minutes, sending a free-kick sailing over the wall and past a hopelessly positioned Laurence Matthewson.



Glapwell coach John Gaunt comes strolling past us, he’s pleased to see me and we shake hands. He gives his view on the game and the inadequacies of Glapwell. I expect he will be blow-torching the dressing room walls at the break. I’ve had the hairdryer treatment off him a time or two, I can tell you.

We snuck into the Social Club for a swift pint. Bobby has a pint of maids’ water (Carling) and Sticky an extra cold Guinness. Milan are drawing 0-0 with Man Utd. White Van Man will be stretched out on the sofa with a packet of Hob Nobs drooling at these over-rated superstars.

Glapwell deteriorate in the second period and hold up the white flag. The superb away following prefer to vent their frustration on the excellent referee. Lincoln go three up with a replica of the first goal, Cann obliging again.

Their fourth, is the goal of the game. The unselfish Ben Good shrugs off the attentions of the Glapwell defence and plays in Cann down the right hand side. He still has plenty to do but finishes with aplomb, lifting the ball over the advancing Matthewson.



We are treated to a five star performance from the influential Frecklington when he blasts home a penalty following a foul on the substitute.

Lincoln have been different gravy and are on a roll right now. Glapwell miss their leading goalscorer, the influential Ian Brown, who is at college tonight.

The Glapwell following hurl abuse at the first-rate official at the end of the game, congregating as a mob close to the tunnel. They’d have been better to save their vitriol for their team, who have been an embarrassment tonight.


Man of the Match: David Frecklington

Attendance: 104

Magdala Amateurs 1 Basford United 0

She’s beautiful, slim, warm and sat on my lap – yes after 10 years of working for a laptop computer company, I’ve finally got my hands on one. I can surf the net, whilst sitting next to Mrs P, as she watches Skating on Thin Ice and Wild at Heart.

The Taxman phoned me last Sunday evening, just as pop nobody, X-Factor winner, Ray Quinn was taking to the ice. While we both moaned and groaned about Forest’s inept display the previous day at St Andrews, Quinny was giving the performance of his life. By the time I’d put the phone down he’d received five perfect sixes: the first time this has happened since Torvill and Dean at the Winter Olympics in Sarajevo 25 years to the day.



It’s been another midweek without a fixture for The Groundhopper: I’ve been ferrying the kids around to football practise. On Thursday we all crowded around the TV set to watch Notts legend, Graeme Swann, nearly spin his country to victory in the Caribbean, with a beautiful spell of spin bowling. Even Mrs P watched it.

It’s Saturday morning and I’ve a full day of football ahead of me. ‘The Skipper’ is playing in town and Mrs P will be supporting him. Sticky junior has blagged a ticket for the Forest v Sheep game at The City Ground.



I’m out the house at 9.30am on scouting duties for the Tricky Trees. I head towards a neighbouring village to watch a game. The coach is a lady, who is most welcoming. The ladies in the kitchen provide me with a warm drink. I’d mark it with 7 out of 10. Her young pups are five goals down at the break but her pep talk is kind and encouraging. Her team respond.

I drive back home and carry out a few chores to keep me in good books before jumping back into the car and driving down The Academy. I drive through the characterless Compton Acres and turn right onto Wilford Lane and finally into Gresham Close.

Scottish singer Midge Ure from the band Ultravox is on the Jonathan Ross Radio 2 show. Ross plays the 1982 hit Reap the Wild Wind. Apparently they are reforming.



I grab another cup of tea and have a stroll up to the under 18 game. ‘Dirty Dirty Leeds’ are already two up and Forest’s Tim Hopkinson has missed a penalty. The Leeds number seven. Joshua Falkingham, is running the show. He snaps in the tackle but has poise and beauty. He always wants the ball and never wastes a pass. I bet he is the first name on the team sheet. Forest hit the woodwork twice but lack quality.



It’s been a busy week down The Academy, teams from France, Poland and Ireland have played games against our sides, as well as the local community club UNITY, a project spearheaded by my good friend Morris Samuels, to unite the youth of the Meadows, St Anns and Radford.

I’m back in the car again. Radio Nottingham’s Robin Chipperfield is pitch side at The City Ground as the teams head out the tunnel. ‘A’ Block are singing ‘worst team in history.’ I’m not sure who it’s aimed at. Recent absentees Paul Anderson and Robert Earnshaw are in the starting line-up.



I turn into the car park at The Beeches Hotel, I’ve time to kill and time for a pint. Opposite the hotel is the Rivermead Flats which is a local eyesore.

Villa are playing Chelsea in the lunchtime kick-off; it’s no goals. The barmaid is ignoring me. Apart from one table the place is deserted. I finally order a pint of the award-winning Harvest Pale Ale from the nearby Castle Rock Brewery; it costs £2.65. I sit the corner on a leather sofa and watch the world go by.

Magdala Amateurs were formed in 1904 and play just down the road at the back of the ROKO Health Club, who are their main sponsors. The place seems familiar from my pub-playing days. I reckon it’s the old Civil Service Ground, but can’t be certain.



I’m the only supporter in the ground. The teams are doing some fitness drills. I can’t help but notice the contrasts in style of coaching already. Magdala’s is regimented, structured and focused, whilst Basford’s is relaxed and fun-filled. I recognise the Magdala coach from an FA course I did a few years ago, when he was the tutor. Football is a matter of life and death to him; he takes the game very, very seriously and does not suffer fools.

Basford United were formed in 1900 and are one or two tipsters dark horses for the NSL title. I’ve been meaning to watch them for a while and will visit Greenwich Avenue later in the season.



My mobile suddenly goes off; it’s Sticky junior live and exclusive from The City Ground. He’s in bits, Forest are three down; he’s nearly in tears. I’m so proud of him that he supports his local team, like I did mine (Lincoln City).

Magdala are fourth in the table but their squad today is somewhat depleted due to a stag weekend. Their ‘keeper certainly hasn’t took advantage of the discounts their sponsor offers on cheap gym membership. He looks like Billy Casper’s sports teacher in the film Kes. Having watched the warm-up, a mental note for Basford should be shoot on sight.



The teams are ready to start; Basford’s shirts are similar to Inter Milan, whilst Magdala are more Cambridge United.

The first thing that strikes me is how some of the players look out of condition. Magdala play more like a unit and do get something resembling a passing game together. The woodwork is their nemesis though; the ball smacking against it on no less than three occasions. What they lack in fluency they more than make up with an end product.



By now United are squabbling with all and sundry. They contest every marginal decision, be it a throw-in, free-kick or foul. This lot could start an argument in an empty room. If there was an Oscar Awards Ceremony for whinging, moaning and snarling, they’d be collecting gongs all night.

Star striker Kev Walker wastes a golden opportunity, clipping the ball the wrong side of the post when through on goal.



John Bentley, the Magdala manager is fairly restrained, although I did notice a posting by him on the NSL message forum a few months ago complaining that ‘Dala’ had had eight very poor and crucial decisions go against them this season. He’s dressed in a tracksuit top, shorts, trainers without socks and is sporting a pair of black gloves. How bizarre.

Even Basford manager Chris Munroe has had enough of his team’s tantrums. He tells them all to shut up and start playing some football.



White Van Man has arrived on the scene from the Forest game and is not in the best of moods. He’s a member at the ROKO Health Club and takes me in for a cup of tea. It’s served in a Costa coffee cup and is an extortionate £1.20. It gets a 6.5 from The Groundhopper. I nearly choke on it when I catch WVM tapping his feet to New Edition’s Candy Girl

The Basford chairman is in the bar, we have a quick chat, I don’t think he’s best impressed with the attitude of his team.

White Van Man heads off to the gym; people that know him will find that hard to believe. I ask him if I can have a photo of him on the running machine, with me dangling a Pukka pie on a piece of string, just in front of him. But he’s not playing ball today and is having none of it.



Basford pick up the pace in the second period. Walker begins to show glimpses of his skill and pace. He curls one just wide of the post and is beginning to get behind the defence. Jack Caulton sees an effort come back off the crossbar. Two footed midfielder Richard Oakes rises above the mediocrity of the game, keeping things simple, breaking up play and retaining possession.

Magdala are still fashioning chances at the other end. Ashley Robinson hits an outrageous shot from distance which is tipped over the bar by the Basford goalie.’Dala score a deserved winner with fifteen minutes to go. Mark Curry stabs home a loose ball at the far post following a corner.



It’s a missed opportunity for Basford as news filters through that leaders Wollaton are losing 3-0 at home to basement side Gedling Southbank.

Referee Chris Stevens has come under attack for most of the game and has done his upmost to keep his cards in his pocket. He has a good second half and his decision-making is spot-on.



I get a text from Bilborough Pelican legend Neil Swift. He’s tapping away on his phone behind Barthez’s goal to inform The Groundhopper that Pelican are beating Keyworth 2-0. Barthez has the last laugh as The Greens pull back two late goals. A rather sheepish Swifty calls me later.

Man of the Match: Harvest Pale Ale

Birmingham City 2 Nottingham Forest 0

The Groundhopper is once again not flavour of the month. The long-suffering Mrs P is not too chuffed that I’m whisking away Sticky junior to Birmingham City on St Valentine’s Day. I hide my card in the bedroom and find my Valentine’s on the kitchen table. She has wrote in hers “looking forward to the meal you are going to cook tonight!” I have written in mine: “looking forward to the Marks and Spencer’s ‘Meal Deal’ that you’ve bought for tonight”: great minds think alike. I’d bought some flowers the previous evening.

I had offered Mrs P a romantic day out: she could have gone to the Bulling Shopping Centre, whilst we attended the match; sadly, she declined the invitation. I tried readers, but it looks like romance is dead, for the time being.



The Ribbon Maker picks us up at just gone midday. There’s no sign of The Accountant, apparently his central heating has gone kaput.

The Flying Pickets track, Only You, is on Radio Nottingham. The headline news is that six lives have been lost in a late-night car accident on the A614, close to the old coal mining village of Bilsthorpe, in north Notts.

We drive down the M42 and onto the A45. Sticky junior is in the back with Josh; he’s excited. It’s his first big away game since Joe Kinnear’s Forest beat Sheff Utd 2-1 a few years back. The Ribbon Maker has never seen Forest secure a League win away from home in twenty attempts. He did break his duck though in the FA Cup win at The City of Manchester Stadium a few weeks ago.



The Ribbon Maker twiddles with the radio tuner; we listen briefly to Beacon Radio and BRMB. Burslem pub singer Robbie Williams is singing She’s the One. I suddenly feel ill and open the window and feel a rush of cold air circulating in the car.

We drive through Solihull and pick up signs for Sparkhill and Bordesley Green. I used to come here years ago with an old girlfriend’s dad. He was a Blues’ supporter and always took me to a pub in Bordesley Green for a pre-match pint. I think it was called The Cock. It’s probably closed down by now. It was the sort of pub where you wiped your feet on the way out.



Twenty years ago I stood on the terraces of St Andrews and witnessed a Gary ‘Bing’ Crosby winner in the FA Cup 5th round. Some say Crosby only got in the side because he used to do Cloughie’s plumbing and gardening, but he showed Julian Dicks a clean pair of heels that day.

We’re soon parked up in a secure car park only five minutes walk from the ground: it’s a fiver well spent.

Birmingham is England’s second city. It has a population of over one million. It was a leading force in the Industrial Revolution. It was often known as the ‘city of a thousand trades.’ It suffered heavy bomb damage during the war and had to be redeveloped. The skyline is filled with a sprawling mass of high rise flats.



Heavy rock has played a major part in the city. Black Sabbath, Judas Priest and Led Zeppelin are among many bands to have sprung up in Birmingham. Other well known bands include: The Beat, UB40, Electric Light Orchestra, Duran Duran, Dexys Midnight Runners and Musical Youth.

Birmingham is twinned with the cities of: Chicago, Frankfurt, Johannesburg, Leipzig, Lyon and Milan. Famous Brummies include: Enoch Powell, Tony Hancock, Jasper Carrott, Martin Shaw, Gabriel Abonglahor and Spit the Dog. Famous TV shows from the 70s: Tiswas and Crossroads were filmed at Central Studios (ATV) in the city.

The kids convince me to go to McDonalds. There’s a massive queue and it’s mobbed with football supporters. The vibe is good though.



We head up to the ground, passing an old factory that is up for grabs and a deserted Woolworths store. There’ll be no pick n’ mix for the boys today. I decide to stretch my legs and peg my around the back streets looking for a few photo opportunities. One or two people spill out onto the streets from pub doorways but apart from that it’s a remarkably eyrie atmosphere. It doesn’t feel like a matchday. We do walk past a mosque though.

We finally enter the ground, making our way past a posse of police; it’s an unnecessary and exaggerated presence.

Birmingham City were formed by a group of cricketers back in 1875 and were known as Small Heath Alliance. The German Luftwaffe scored 20 direct hits on St Andrews in The Second World War: that’s more efforts on target than Marcus Bent has managed all season, any season coming to think of it.



In 1956 they became the first English league club to play in Europe, drawing 0-0 at Inter Milan. They have in recent seasons, like Forest, become a yo-yo club. Players to have turned out for both clubs include: Kenny Burns, Archie Gemmill, Trevor Francis, Steve Wigley and Stern John.

It’s £30 admission (cough), I’ve sneaked Sticky in as an under 12. The programme is £3 and first class, as is the view from our seats high up in the stand.

The DJ plays a series of songs connected with blue. One of these is contender for the most annoying song heard this season; it’s the nauseating Italian Eurodance outfit, Eiffel 65 and their 1998 hit, Blue. This is followed up by Status Quo and ELO’s Mr Blue Sky; it’s overcast by the way. He finally gets the crowd going with Feel It by The Tamperer featuring Maya. Sticky says he’s going to download it when he gets home. “What’s she gonna look like with a chimney on her?” is a line from that song. What on earth is that all about?



Let battle commence. The Forest faithful are in great voice and are rewarded with a good opening spell of attacking football by the Tricky Trees down the left hand flank. Tyson leaves Sebastian Larsson trailing in his wake, he bores down on Maik Taylor’s goal and lets fly, but unfortunately it takes a bobble just before contact and he skies his shot high into the stands.

Moments later Larsson is AWOL again as Tyson rampages his way down the wing, he hits a ball across the face of goal with Cohen and Garner only inches away. Larsson is having a nightmare, I bet Sandy Richardson from Crossroads is quicker in his wheelchair than the Swede is this afternoon

The Forest fans are in full flow and refer to the recent re-arrest of chief executive Karren Brady: “she’s going down, Brady’s going down.”



Kevin Phillips pulls up with a knee injury and is replaced by £3 million ex-Bluebird, Cameron Jerome. Both him and centre back Martin Taylor are built like Gladiators.

The Blues look short on confidence and are playing the ball long. They’ve only won twice in their last ten attempts. Bad boy Bowyer scuffs a shot wide. The game is awful and the pitch doesn’t help. Millions of pounds have been wasted and frittered away on journeymen at the expense of undersoil heating. It’s only fit for growing potatoes.

Birmingham have a good spell of pressure before the break. Liam Ridgewell forces a save from Smith with young Joe Heath clearing up the spillage. Bent hits the crossbar from a corner. And minutes before the break Larsson forces another good save from Paul Smith. The writing appears to be on the wall.



It’s déjà vu in the second half. Luke Chambers heads wide from a corner and also sees Maik Taylor make a meal of a 22 yard drive, with the ever-alert Tyson lurking close by.

But the warning signs are there for all to see. Ridgwell has already headed over from close range, when Bent opens the scoring on the hour. Murphy arrows in a cross from the left, which is turned in by Bent, a player more famed for going out with page three girls than scoring goals. He’s struck three times in thirty appearances this season; that’s goals not girls. Amazingly he’s fetched £10 million in transfer fees during his career. No wonder it’s thirty quid to get in today.

Forest are hanging on the ropes. Poor old Moloney has been marking two all day and makes way for McLeary, whilst another baffling display from Joe Garner sees him replaced by Adam Newbold.



Jerome and Bent’s strength are beginning to pose problems for the Forest defence as they begin to buckle. Wilson and Morgan are hacking, slicing and panicking. Luke Chambers’s distribution is below par.

Irishman Keith Fahey put the game to bed for the Blues on 74 minutes with a cross cum shot from the left, taking everyone by surprise, including Paul Smith.

McGugan and Perch are still battling away against their more experienced counterparts, Lee Bowyer and Lee Carsley and can come away from the game with a little credit.



City are on song now, which is more than can be said for the home support. Only 17,000 have dared show their faces, choosing instead to watch re-runs of Crossroads on UK Gold. I’ve heard more noise made in Birmingham Central Library. “Shall we sing a song for you?”

The police have now graced us with their presence and are treated to a couple of ditties by the fans. “It’s just like watching The Bill” and the Laurel and Hardy theme tune raise a rare smile from The Groundhopper, although Sticky junior is loving all the singing and swearing (don’t tell Mrs P).

Tyson completes a miserable day, missing a golden opportunity when put through on goal.

The final whistle goes and 2-0 is not a true reflection of the game. Birmingham are better than that, and so they should be with the depth of their squad. It really should have been a St Valentine’s Day Massacre.

Man of the Match: The Away Support.