Coventry City 3 Barnsley 1

There’s a character in the cult comic Viz called Sheridan Poorly. He’s a hypochondriac and always on the verge of death. He thinks he has every disease on earth. I used to work with a guy who called me Sheridan, as I often complained of feeling unwell. This is how I’ve felt this week.

Yes readers, I’ve got the New Year’s blues. It started when I chewed on a brown-wrapped Quality Street toffee, which Robin had kindly bought in a tin of to the office. I remarked how long I’d been chewing on it, when I realised I’d dislodged a filling. Inevitably, a few days later I succumbed to toothache.



The following day I jumped out of bed like a spring chicken, only to crick my neck. I suffered the countless jibes at work like: ‘No Neck’ and ‘Gladstone Small.’ I couldn’t even turn around to remonstrate with the said perpetrators; such was the pain when turning sideways.

It’s Friday night and I’m consoling myself with a couple of Stella’s. The Taxman and Nuclear Scientist have invited themselves round to watch the West Bromwich Albion v Nottingham Forest game. The Tricky Trees are sublime and pass ‘The Albion’ to death. Moussi, McKenna and Majewski are par excellence in the engine room.

We awake on Saturday morning to further snowfall. I do my good deed of the day and heavily grit an alleyway next to our crib, so the old folk can get to the shops without fear of taking a tumble.



Finley, our pet rabbit, laughs in the face of the adverse weather conditions. He is as hard as nails and was born in the north of the county. He rolls around in the snow, licking at the melting ice. He grabs a couple of treats from The Groundhopper’s fingers. He’s my best friend.

Mrs P and I take a stroll up to the village. I’m praying to God that the Ricoh Arena survives a pitch inspection. The only other alternative is D***y Clownty v Scunthorpe United. I’ve already enquired how much tickets are in the away end.

We bump into Notts County legend Brian Stubbs in the village. He played 426 times for ‘The Pies’ before being dumped on from a great height by Howard Wilkinson – this is the same idiot who closed down Notts’ centre of excellence four years ago.



We take a wander around the new Keyworth Co-op shop. The moment should have been beautiful (Sticky loves the Co-op) but it’s spoilt by a whack RnB track on Radio Co-op. Mrs P ignores the special offers in the white wine section, but manages to bag some heavily discounted barrels of Foxes biscuits.

Coventry City confirm the game is on. Thank Christ for that. As Elvis Costello said in 1978: ‘I Don’t Want To Go To D***y.’

I sit watching Soccer Saturday whilst sharing a bowl of M&S carrot and coriander soup with Mrs P. Lord only knows what they are going to talk about, as only six games have survived the Big Freeze. They’ll probably be chatting shit for six hours, like they normally do.



I was slightly underdressed for the visit to the Britannia Stadium last Saturday and won’t be making the same mistake again. I purchased some thermal socks from Keyworth’s number one over 60s shop – Tweedies. It’s an establishment often ridiculed on this blog, but it aint arf saved my bacon today readers.

Big D has arranged to pick me up outside the HQ of Keyworth United Community Football Club on Platt Lane. He arrives bang on time.

Big D is on top form. He’s been beavering away in the kitchen all morning, preparing his lamb stew for tonight.



Roscoe has already scoffed nearly half a pack of Maynard’s Sour fruit pastills. Radio Trent is on the car radio, but thankfully the volume is switched to low.

We head up the A46, M1, M69 and M6 and park inside the Ricoh Arena within 45 minutes for the princely sum of a tenner. At least it will ensure a hasty getaway.

Coventry lies 19 miles east of Birmingham and has a population of just shy of 300,000 people. It was once well known for its car manufacturing.



The city suffered heavy bombardment from the German Luftwaffe during the Second World War. It became known as the ‘Coventry Blitz’ and was a retaliatory act by Adolf Hitler following the RAF’s aerial onslaught of Munich. Coventry Cathedral was left with just its outer walls.

Coventry was one of the world’s first twin cities, when it forged links with Stalingrad, Russia (now Volgograd) during the war.

During the late 1970s the Two Tone phenomenon helped spring up local ska bands such as The Specials and The Selector.



Well known folk born in the Coventry area include: the actor Clive Owen, Specials singer Terry Hall, music mogul Pete Waterman, Sky Sports presenter Richard Keys, Warwickshire and England cricketer Ian Bell, England rugby international Neil Back and Great Britain sprinter Marlon Devonish.

We stroll across a footbridge and are just about to enquire about tickets when a guy earwigs our conversation. He offers us discounted, unused season tickets: It saves us a few bob. Admission would have been £27; it’s another £3 for an impressive programme.

Big D heads for the food bar as Roscoe’s tummy is a rumbling. He’s told he has to purchase a credit card, they don’t take cash. It all seems a lot of faffing around to me. Roscoe is fed and watered, its cost Big D the best part of £8.



Barnsley is in the People’s Republic of South Yorkshire and is populated by 75,000 people. Local lads include: one of the first black English footballers and also a top comedian: Charlie Williams, the cricketer Darren Gough, Sticky’s favourite umpire Dickie Bird, Wolves manager Mick McCarthy, journalist , radio and TV presenter Michael Parkinson and the late great Stan Richards (Seth Armstrong) off Emmerdale Farm.

The Ricoh Arena is a cracking stadium. They have wide concourses and plenty of leg room. We sit high up on the halfway line, opposite the main stand and sponsors’ lounges.

Both teams are lower mid-table. Coventry’s form is up and down, whilst the visitors are unbeaten in their last eight league games.



The match is being sponsored by health store giant Holland and Barrett. With my stiff neck, toothache and mouth ulcers, I think they are going to be seeing a lot of The Groundhopper in the next few days.

Barnsley are first to the ball in every department. It’s kept on the carpet and spread wide. The Tykes’ grand fromage is Buenos Aries born playmaker Hugo Colace. He rocked up at Oakwell from Newell’s Old Boys in August 2008. What a coup this must have been for the club. He is the dog’s bollocks. He arrows a volley to the bottom left of the goal, somehow Westwood tips it around the post. It’s breathtaking.

Coventry’s tactics are clear for all to see – get the ball forward quickly to former Notts County trainee Big Leon Best. He’s as strong as an ox and untouchable in the air.



The Tykes are battering the Sky Blues. Foster has hit the bar and they’ve had a good shout for penalty turned down by referee Lee Mason.

I have to check it’s not an FA Cup tie, such is the flow of the game. Coventry take the lead totally against the run of play. Stephen Wright’s flighted cross is nodded into the back of the net by former Grays striker Freddie Eastwood.

Three minutes later Northern Ireland midfield Sammy Clingan scores a spectacular scissor kick from 15 yards out after Barnsley fail to clear their lines from a McIndoe corner. It’s harsh on the visitors who have been great value.



Great news arrives from Pride Park: D***y 0 Scunny 2. We do a little jig of delight. Roscoe has been dispatched to the tea bar at the break. Big D gives him strict instructions about topping his credit card up and what to order. You can see it’s all too much for the youngster.

Barnsley manager Mark Robins throws caution to the wind in the second half, he throws a few more players up top - Adam Hammill and Iain Hume. They start where they left off and pull a goal back on 49 minutes with Jon Macken converting a Hammill cross.



Roscoe re-appears on the hour. The halfwit has made a right pig’s ear of the drinks order. He’s forgot to put milk in his Dad’s tea and sugar in his own coffee. His face is a picture; he looks like he’s been sucking on a lemon.

The chances stack up for the Tykes, but they spurn them all. Hume, Hassell and Hammill are the guilty parties.



Roscoe’s got a face like a wet weekend; he’s still sulking about the tea bar running out of hot chocolate. We hot foot out the ground with a few minutes remaining and miss Clinton Morrison wrap up the game for Coventry.

The cockles of our hearts are warmed with the news that The Iron have put four past The Sheep.

Attendance: 15,031 (600 from Barnsley)

Man of the Match: Roscoe.

Stoke City 3 York City 1

“Ooh, that’s too soft. Ouch that’s too hard.” “How about now?” replies a frustrated Groundhopper. “Argh, that’s way too uncomfortable.” We are sitting on leather sofas in the CSL furniture store, at the Giltbrook Retail Park, close to Junction 26 of the M1.

I’m cold turkey readers. I’ve not seen a game since the Battle of Market Drayton on December 12th. Mrs P has hauled me around every retail park in the county. I was enthusiastic last Tuesday, but it’s now Saturday morning, and I’m about as interested in buying a sofa as James Beattie is bothered about playing for Stoke City. I tell you what readers, I’ve sat on more sofas in the last week than Richard and Judy have in a lifetime.



Yesterday was another wipe-out. I’d Hinckley United, Belper Town and Sutton Coldfield Town FC all up my sleeve. By 1.30pm they’d all fell by the wayside. I sulked and skulked about and ended up down the pub with The Taxman.

I’d made my mind up last night, that if my original choice of Gedling MW v Radcliffe Olympic fell victim to the weather, then I’d pick out an FA Cup tie where under-soil heating was involved.

I scour the fixture list on the BBC website. One sticks out like a sore thumb. Stoke City (no wins in the last six games) against Conference Premier York City (unbeaten in their last eleven games).



I’m in CSL tearing my hair out at the plethora of sofas we have to sit on. My phone goes off. It’s sweet music to my ears. “Stoke v York, game on. Pay on the gate.”

There’s just time to plonk myself on another settee, whilst listening to ‘This Charming Man’ by The Smiths on the store’s hi-fi system, before heading back home.

I squeeze in an M&S Stilton and celery soup, complete with French stick and a slab of Stilton left over from Christmas.



The Taxman is taking ‘The Skipper’ and Sticky junior down The City Ground for the cup tie against Birmingham City. I’ve decided to give it a miss.

I slip on my thermals and about four layers of clothing as the snow begins to fall heavily from the white skies.

I can barely see out the windscreen in almost blizzard-like conditions, as I head up to Bramcote to Big D’s house. His house is on a cul-de-sac and is like a skating rink.



We jump in Big D’s 4x4. Roscoe, his lad, is on board. He plays in the nets for Mansfield Town centre of excellence. Although you wouldn’t have thought so, the number of times he drops his programme, later in the day.

The game is 100% scheduled to go ahead, what could possibly go wrong? The bad news arrives via Mark Pougatch on Five Live: the York City team bus is stuck in snow on the M62. Ooh heck.

We stop off for petrol on the A50. Big D shouts up a bag of Haribo’s which last all of five minutes.



We’re in no rush to park as we exit the A500 enroute to the Britannia Stadium: the York City players are 30 miles away, stranded on the M6.

A shady-looking character fleeces me out of a fiver as we park the car at a Harvester restaurant.

Stoke is in the county of Staffordshire and has a population of 250,000. It’s famous for its pottery and coal mining. Sadly, both went into decline in the 1970s and 1980s.



Famous Stokies include: TV presenter Nick Hancock, pub singer Robbie Williams (Port Vale fan), crap actor Neil Morrissey, darts player Phil Taylor, Reading chairman John Madejski, GMTV disaster Anthea Turner, crap DJ Bruno Brookes, Sir Stanley Matthews, Mark Bright and the worst presenter/pundit in the history of television, Garth Crooks.

Stoke City chairman Peter Coates is also a local lad and the founder of the bet365 online gambling company.

The Potters are experiencing their first Premiership wobble. Cracks are beginning to appear beneath the surface. There are signs of unrest in the dressing room. Serial bad boy - James Beattie - felt the full force of Tony Pulis’ anger after a recent defeat at ‘The Arsenal.’



Players to have played for both Stoke and York include: Marco Gabbiadini, Paul Barnes, Richard Cresswell, Graham Potter and Jon Parkin.

We have a trudge around the outside of the stadium. You’re quite high up, and feel the full force of a biting wind-chill. We stand and admire the statue of wing wizard Sir Stanley Matthews.

It’s £15 cash on the gate and £3 for another top-notch programme: you’re never going to beat Manchester City or Gedling MW for a programme though. Big D has a Bovril, Roscoe a bottle of water and The Groundhopper a Coca-Cola. It has a Premiership price on its head of £5.40.



As we walk to our seats in a half-empty stadium, I can hear Melbourne singer Daniel Merryweather singing a cover version of The Smiths hit ‘Stop Me.’ It warms-up my freezing feet and gets them tapping away.

News has reached us that the York bus has arrived at the ground. It’s good of them to join us, but unfortunately it’s 2.58pm. The referee had threatened to call the game off, had they arrived a minute after kick-off time.

York has a population of 175,000 and ‘Our Mark’ lives up there. Famous people from York include, Guy Fawkes, Dame Judi Dench and Hunter from Gladiators. Dick Turpin was famously hanged on York Racecourse. New readers may want (or not want) to read my drunken day out at York races blog from July 2007, when poor old Sticky Palms was tucked up in bed before the start of Casualty.



Who on earth made the decision to leave York at 10.15am? Why no overnight stop? Surely by battling their way to the third round they’ve made a few bob on the way? They’ve already earned over £60,000 in prize money. What a way to treat your players. I bet they are livid.

It’s good of the York players to join us for a few stretches at 3.15pm. I phone Mrs P up and tell her to turn down the chilli con carne, as we’re going to be late back.

Five thousand Minstermen fans have congregated behind the goal to our left. Most of them managed to beat the team bus here. Only ten thousand of the ‘noisiest fans in the country’ have bothered to turn up.



The York City fans taunt the Stokies with a couple of amusing chants: “Where’s your famous atmosphere?” and “Shit ground no fans bring a smile to the face of The Groundhopper.

I notice in the away end there’s huge placard advertising that you get yourself checked-out for the sexual disease Chlamydia. I’m way too busy looking for sofas to even think about contemplating that.

Tony Pulis names a strong starting eleven. York City leave £55,000 summer signing from Ebbsfleet – Michael Gash – on the bench. He’s keeping Richard Pacquette company, who once scored in an FA Cup tie at Anfield for Havant & Waterlooville.



There’s little to choose between the two sides in the opening quarter. Conference leading scorer Richard Brodie hits a hopeful daisy cutter wide of the mark from 25 yards out. Stoke, meanwhile, rely on Rory Delap hand grenades to cause mayhem in the visitors’ box.

York take the lead on 22 minutes. Alex Lawless’ inswinging free-kick is flicked goalwards by the head of former Chelsea trainee Neil Barrett. It hits the inside of the upright and falls into the back of the net. There’s uncontrollable mayhem from behind the goal.

Their lead lasts barely a minute. Delap peppers the box with another missile and Daniel Parslow can only slice his clearance into the roof of the net.

Sixty seconds later and York fall behind. They fail to clear their lines from another Delap throw-in, the ball falls kindly to Jamaican striker Ricardo Fuller, who makes no mistake from close range. We all join the York City coach driver and take a breather at the break.

We watch a video on the big screen at the break of Stoke City’s League Cup final win over Chelsea over thirty five years ago. They are three of the scruffiest goals ever to grace a Wembley final.




Stoke win at a canter in the second period. Cornishman Matthew Etherington ends the contest with a beautifully flighted free-kick into the ‘keeper’s top right hand corner.

York stick to their passing game, but play a narrow formation. Special praise is to be mentioned to their powerhouse striker Michael Rankine, who looks a steal at £10,000 from Rushden and Diamonds.

It’s difficult to tell the difference between Rankine and the biggest of big-time-Charlies – James Beattie. The man has somehow commanded £14 million pounds in transfer fees and yet never really cut it at the highest level. He persists in showing the petulance of a schoolboy. He throws his arms up in the air, falls out with partner Fuller and gestures at the bench. His substitution is greeted with muted applause.

As for York, all I can I say is what Inspector Blakey used to say on On the Buses: “Get that bus of here Butler.”

Attendance: 15,586

Man of the Match: York coach driver.

Shepshed Dynamo P Belper Town P

It’s Saturday December 12th. The Groundhopper is sat in the Great Gonerby Social Club, a mile outside the town of Grantham. It’s Mrs P’s friend’s 40th birthday party. It’s like a scene from Peter Kay’s Phoenix Club.

My mood is dark, very dark. You might remember that I used to support Lincoln City. My love has been put on hold until that clown, Chris Sutton, is removed from his position as ‘manager. The team I have followed all over the country for nearly 40 years, the team who makes Sticky’s heart miss a beat, when James Alexander-Gordon reads out the Sports Report results on Saturday tea-time, have lost again. Rochdale are the latest team to give ‘us’ a good hiding.



October 10th was the last time ‘we’ registered a League victory. ‘We’ sacked the experienced Peter Jackson and appointed a clown (Chris Sutton) as his replacement. He once refused to play for his country, you know.

He has lurched from one crisis to another. He has no idea on how to manage a football club or team. We are nose-diving towards the Blue Square Conference – at least I can blog them next season.

They’ve no strong beer behind the bar. I’m reduced to tears and cringe with embarrassment, as I order my first pint of Carlsberg in over 25 years. I’m sure I saw a Double Diamond pump in the corner of the bar.



There’s a guy on the stage giving a speech. He fancies himself. He’s probably got a mirror in his jacket pocket. He’s trying to be funny, but is not amusing Sticky. I down my ‘maid’s water’ and announce we’re off. Mrs P looks puzzled, it’s only 10pm.

“What’s wrong with you?” asks the good lady as we head up the A52 towards Nottingham. “Why are we leaving so early?” “Because I want to grab someone around the throat love.” “Who? You don’t know anybody in that room” replies Mrs P. “You know the guy giving the speech?” says Groundhopper “Yes”.” replies Mrs P. “Well his name is Steff Wright and he is the chairman of Lincoln City. He is the man responsible for steering ‘our’ club into the Conference. He is the man who appointed Chris S****n. He is the man who has put me in a foul mood tonight.” We don’t speak for the rest of the journey home.



Sticky junior is cocker hoop. He was loitering down one of the aisles at Budgens on Friday evening, browsing at the chewing gum section, when a stray wallet caught his eye on the floor. It had over £70 in it. He handed it in at the till. Good lad. We still await a thank you call from its owner.

It’s Saturday morning and poor old Groundhopper is suffering again. I slipped down to the Wysall Plough last night and sunk a few real ales. I was with The Architect and Bobby. I draw back the curtains and am greeted with a frost-covered lawn. This could be the first blank Saturday of the season.

I’ve already been tipped the wink that there will be a pitch inspection at 11am at Redditch United’s Valley Stadium. I’ve two hours to kill, so decide to clean the bathroom. I know readers, I’m a domestic god.



Next on the agenda is a date with my furry little friend, Finley Palmer. He’s proper got the face on with Groundhopper. He’s been grounded for a month since I let him out and he hid under the shed for an hour, whilst I shivered on foot patrol.

I clean out his cage, whilst he turns his back on me. I notice that his water bottle is frozen up. Perhaps I should put some anti-freeze in it. It would probably poison the little fella, but hey, at least he wouldn’t die of thirst.

There’s a peace offering from Sticky of some white chocolate drops. He gratefully accepts and eats them out of my hand. I’ll let him out for a run on Christmas Day morning.



I’m looking forward to be reacquainted with the best player I’ve seen in three years of groundhopping today. On Oct 1st 2007 I went to Boston United’s York Street to watch a FA Trophy game. Buxton took a pummelling that day, but they had a guy in midfield with a heart as big as a bucket. His energy levels, tackling, closing down and passing were superior to anything Sticky Palms has seen in part time football. His name is Anton Foster and he has the body of a temple.

The first bad news of the day comes in the form of a text from Eastwood No.2 John Ramshaw; it’s short and sweet –‘game off.’

I scour the World Wide Web. Staveley Miners Welfare have an inspection at 12.15pm. I phone their chairman Terry Damms. He invites me up to the boardroom for a Black Velvet or two if the game is on.



I’m down at the Wysall Plough, collecting ‘Sally Gunnell’ when the call comes through from Terry – “sorry son, game off.” More and more games fall to the weather. Kidsgrove are the latest with a P-P next to their fixture.

As the old saying goes: ‘the further you look, the less you can see.’ Right beneath my nose, on the Shepshed Dynamo website are the words ‘Shepshed Dynamo v Belper Town, match definitely on.’

I’m just walking out the door when I notice condensation on the windows. Somebody has written the words ‘GAY’ in large letters. There will be a disciplinary hearing around the tea table tonight.



The Architect picks me up at 1.15pm. We head across to the dry village of Willoughby on-the-Wolds, close to the Leicestershire border. 'Mad Dog' – Chopper Harris – lives in the parish. The Architect turns his engine off outside Chopper’s crib. He always takes an age to get ready. He’ll be pressing a shirt, putting a crease in his trousers, grooming his hair and polishing his shoes. Bloody hell Harris, we’re only going to The Dovecote.

Sticky plays with Chopper’s cat (Snowball), whilst The Architect strikes up a conversation with the lovely Liz (Chopper’s wife).

The journey is barely twenty minutes, through the rolling countryside. We pass through Costock, Rempstone and Hathern. We’re just pulling up in the Black Swan car park in Shepshed, when Groundhopper’s mobile goes off. I look at the display panel; Screats’ name is in lights: “Game off Hopper.” The official referee has turned up and is unhappy about a 20 metre strip of hard ground.



Sticky Palms is inconsolable, he has to have his weekly fix of football on a Saturday. I don’t know who’s crying more The Groundhopper or a tiny baby waiting for his bottle of milk. I make a few calls but they all draw a blank. Non League football is wiped out for the day.

We trudge across the road and up Butt Hole Lane towards the ground. I see Andy Mac driving out the car park. We wish each other a Merry Christmas. What should have been a great day for the Club and a bumper crowd, has turned into a damp squib.

Dave The Van is selling programmes. I feel sorry for him and purchase one for £1.50. The publication is top drawer.

We have another round of drinks. Chopper enjoys a bottle of Roaring Meg, brewed at Sutton-on-Trent, near Newark.



Soccer Saturday is on Sky Sports on the TV in the corner of the clubhouse. It turns out to be the nearest we’ll get to a game today. Liverpool’s miserable form continues with a 2-0 reverse at Fratton Park.

One or two Shepshed players enjoy an unexpected lunchtime beverage. Screats has already scarpered back to Notts. He’ll probably be joining White Van Man at The City Ground for the evening kick-off.

I’m in no rush to get home. The kids have gone ten pin bowling. We nip up The Salutation Inn in our village. It’s a pub where Sticky got in the way of a stray ashtray 25 years ago. The idiot who threw it burst my main artery and severed all the tendons in my right hand.



We have a few more beers and watch the scores roll in on Soccer Saturday. There’s another 40th birthday party in the corner of the pub. It gives the place a nice ambience. And at least at this party I don’t have to put up with a speech from the chairman of the club I once loved.

Man of the Match: Sticky junior

Footnote: An anonymous Christmas card arrived yesterday for Sticky Junior. Inside the card was written: “thank you for finding my wallet Jack, it was a huge relief. Merry Christmas.” His reward was £5. He was made-up.

Market Drayton 2 Shepshed Dynamo 1

My stomach’s churning over and over. My nerves are jangling. My cheeks are beetroot red. It’s about to be my most embarrassing moment of 2009 – no readers, I’m not off to Sincil Bank to watch Chris Sutton’s spineless Lincoln City – it’s far more humiliating than that.

I enter the shop. It feels like all eyes are on me. There’s a huge queue at the till. My secret is soon going to be revealed. I’m sweating up like a racehorse in the stalls. It’s my turn to be served.

I step forward. My throat’s dried-up. I’m all tongue-tied. “Yes love” says a smiling shop assistant. I turn around. The queue is as long as Santa’s grotto. “Erm. Erm.” Words fail me. Eventually they just spill out. “Can I have the new Westlife CD please?”



I love Nottingham at this time of year. They are prepping up the ice rink in the Market Square. The Salvation Army brass band strikes up a few Christmas carols on Lister Gate. I walk past a doorway and hear my favourite novelty Christmas record – The Waitresses, ‘Christmas Wrapping.’

I was in town before 9am. I like to beat the mad rush. I visit the normal haunts – Marks and Spencer, Body Shop, Hotel Du Chocolat and Waterstones.

I’m back at Fletcher Gate car park and out of town before 10.15am. I drop in at Wilford and watch a game for 20 minutes or so. There are some school games on further down the road. I witness some appalling behaviour by a coach, who lambasts a linesman over a marginal offside.. The guy is associated with a professional club. What sort of example is he setting to school children?



Sven is up at Vernon Park presenting the Basford club (AFC Vernon) with its Charter Standard certificate. I could have gone up there and tossed it off, but it’s not really for me – I’d rather be out in the field looking for undiscovered talent.

I’m back at base for 12.30pm. Mrs P has knocked up a mushroom soup and French stick. I unpack some mature cheddar and tuck in. ‘The Skipper’, ironically is playing AFC Vernon today, whilst ‘Angry Kid’ is up against Sticky’s favourites – Hyson Green Cavaliers.

White Van Man picks me up at 1pm. He already has Heart FM booming out the speakers, just to wind me up. ‘Fame Forever’ by the Kids From Fame is currently on the turntable. Jesus Christ, this is going to be a tortuous journey.



He’s nearly wiped out by an Asda van at the Bunny/Bradmore junction. He throws his arms up in the air and gesticulates at the delivery driver. “That’s why I shop at Morrisons you ****” he shouts out the window.

We swap cars like getaway drivers in the aptly named village of Gotham in south Notts. We leave the ‘Blue Rocket’ outside the Everards Sun Inn and jump in Screats’ dad’s BMW.

I don’t bloody believe it – he’s also got Heart FM on. It’s got to be a conspiracy theory. The music deteriorates even further with ‘Teardrops’ by American soul duo Womack and Womack.



White Van Man is getting all ‘messy’ tonight. He’s on a works party and the bar tab is free. He’s ‘on it.’ He brags to me and Screats’ dad that he woke up last Sunday morning with a ‘bird’ either side of him. Give over son.

I express concern that he’ll be missing his regular dose of the X-Factor tonight. “All’s good” he replies. “I’ve got it on Sky Plus” He’s not a big fan of Stacey Soloman. He gives her the thumbs down. I remark that the girl is the only contestant that can actually sing.

We fly down the A50 and breeze through Stoke. We hit the A53 to Shrewsbury and are parked up in Market Drayton Rugby Club car park in less than an hour and a quarter.



Market Drayton is a small town in north Shropshire. It lies on the River Tern and has a population of 10,000 people. It is the home of gingerbread, which has been baked in the town for over 200 years.

The men’s rugby team are on one pitch, adjacent to that, two girls’ football teams battle it out.

It’s £6 entrance and £1.50 for a decent programme. We pay Screats’ dad in and thank him for driving.



The ground is basic and unsophisticated. They must have worked bloody hard to pass the Unibond League inspection test. I like the ‘main stand.’ with its rickety, old wooden tip-up seats.

A guy is sat at the back of the stand. He’s rigging up his laptop. Maybe he’s a reporter, radio man or just the PA guy.

The Shepshed Barmy Army are holed up in the stand. They are a noisy bunch. But they do amuse me with their unique ditties. They add 40 odd to the gate. They sing to the locals: ‘Did you come on a tractor?”



I’ve a raging thirst that’s been caused by the old soup, cheese and bread. I grab a can of Coke. WVM marks the tea with a seven out of ten, just for the meticulous preparation by the tea lady.

We catch up with a few Shepshed fans, who we’ve not seen since the Sheffield FC debacle. The north Leicestershire outfit somehow beat high-flying Witton Albion 2-0 the previous Saturday.

Five Live’s commentary game at the Britannia Stadium between Stoke and Wigan is on the PA system. It sounds exciting stuff.



We take an amble around the ground and position ourselves 10 metres to the right of the Shepshed dugout. Dynamo’s manager Dave Stringer stands in the technical area, complete with clipboard. His assistant – Jimmy Ginnelly – is strangely subdued. He takes a pew.

Shepshed make a great start. Tom Bates and Millns exchange passes; Bates whips a ball into the area for Luke Barlone to smash home.

The game is enthralling and end to end. Market Drayton prefer to hit the channels early, to test out the 3-5-2 formation that Stringer has chose. Both teams waste opportunities.



The highlight of the game takes place on a quarter of an hour. The Gingerbread Men have launched a skew-wiff clearance towards White Van Man, who has his i-Phone glued to his ear. He nonchantly cushions a header delightfully back into the arms of a player. He takes a bow and bollocks the Shepshed centre-half Matt Millns.

I’ve already become concerned about the referee’s performance. I honestly haven’t come to watch him. He’s a tall, well-groomed fella, who doesn’t half fancy himself. He wears short sleeves, has cropped hair and is tattooed-up. He harshly penalises the excellent Shepshed ‘keeper – Nick Jubb – for time-wasting in the 30th minute (?) Jubb was genuinely looking for options so he could release the ball.



Shepshed fail to clear their lines from the resulting free-kick, the ball falls to Tom Rodgers who strikes the ball cleanly into the left hand corner of the net.

‘Worse ref in history .... worse ref in history’ roars out of the main stand as the Butt Hole Ultras stoke up the fire.

The Gingerbread Men enjoy a golden spell. Dynamo are rocked by the goal and lose their discipline and concentration. Haynes picks up the ball 20 yards out, a minute before the break and hits a delicious, curling effort into the top right hand corner. It’s worth the gate money alone.



Referee Williams has the Dynamo fans baying for his blood. They are hanging over the stand, hurling abuse at the official. It’s a bit out of order to be honest, but they have paid their dough.

I have another can of coke and lurk outside the hospitality suite (Portakabin) listening to the half-times. It cheers me up no end to hear that David McGoldrick has scored for the Tricky Trees. It will do his confidence the world of good.

Rumours are circulating around the stand that Shepshed No.2 - ‘Grumpy Ginnelly’ - has got the hump and is going to walk after the game. It’s a worrying thought as he may take a few players with him.



The second half is a complete farce. The Shepshed fans complain that referee Williams misses an elbow. I think he was busy splashing on the Old Spice in preparation for his night out with the ladies of Market Drayton.

I’m stood with ‘Dave The Van’ behind the goal when full back Dominic Reece shows all his studs in a desperate lunge. The referee produces a red from his tuxedo top pocket.

It all boils over shortly after with a 21 man free-for-all, right in front of White Van Man and, more importantly, the referee’s assessor. A player from each side is shown red and the game is stopped for a full five minutes.



I’m talking to Edwin Van Der Sar lookalike (Market Drayton’s ‘keeper). He’s just come from Bridgnorth Town. I ask him why he’s not had a trot up the pitch to throw a few haymakers. He says he can’t be bothered.

Shepshed pepper the Gingerbread Men’s goal in a desperate attempt to restore parity. There are clearances off the line, shots blazed over and bodies thrown in front of the ball. It’s all to no avail. A good game has been spoilt by some over-zealous refereeing.

Man of the Match: Ben Twigger

Attendance: 115.