Completing the 92 - how we got here, and where we might end up

Ten years ago, Blackburn Rovers drew Newport County in the FA Cup third round. Me, Joe and Louis thought it would be a great day out and I had my sights on the ever elusive 92 target, that seemed a long way off, and it would only have been ground number 69.

As I described in this post here, tickets booked, we had to collect them at the ground, we hooked with our pals Smithy and Mushtaq and were genuinely excited about a day out in South Wales.

Once we stepped off the Arriva Trains Wales service that skims through the beautiful border country from Shrewsbury, Hereford and Abergavenny, the heavens opened. We ducked into Nando's for lunch as we watched the bedraggled masses sheltering outside the trickle of people between where we sat, and the stadium over the river Usk, seemed to be in the other direction. 

"Match off, lads," everyone seemed to say to us, as we headed down to pick the tickets up, in order to claim a refund (I never did).

Bizarrely, chalking off Newport yesterday wasn't the plan either. We had planned a day out in Cheltenham Spa with a couple of friends and then to watch the local team alongside the visiting Tranmere Rovers fans, to chalk off my 85th of the 92. Except the game got called off because 20th placed League Two side Tranmere Rovers had three players called up for international duty. 

So, with an investment in train tickets to Gloucestershire made, unrefundable, a chance to skip along to Newport to take in my 85th ground opened up.

These adventures aren't just about the football, but a match is a great way to see anywhere, in any country. Which is just as well, because a nervy encounter between two struggling teams, in a wind swirled Rodney Parade, was the worst game we've seen this season by some margin. It was rescued by a peach of a winning goal from Newport's Bobby Kamwa, right in front of us.

The stadium, which they share with a rugby team, is effectively two permanent stands along each side, one very modern, and the one opposite, that we were in, that has a terrace in front of a covered wooden grandstand.

The away fans were in half of the temp open seats at one end, and a section of the modern new structure.    

Lunch in Newport Market in as good a food hall as we've seen anywhere else was almost worth the trip itself. From Sri Lankan stall Ceylon M8 we had fried butter squid, mutton rolls and chicken koththu,
and a jar of cheesecake each from The Cheesecake Guy. 

Since I last posted I've ticked off Barrow (82) on a freezing cold New Year's Day, Everton (83), and a solo jaunt to Lincoln City (84) in the sold out away end against my local team Stockport County. We got turned away in December, but the return visit found Lincoln on top of the table and on a record 20 game unbeaten run and real winning streak.

With Lincoln on the rise, I’d fully expect Sincil Bank to be massively redeveloped. Props to their fans for keeping up a barrage for most of the game.

I really liked Hill Dickinson stadium, Everton's brand new ground. It was walkable from the city centre and I was lucky enough to be a guest of the law firm that sponsors the new home of the Toffees. It reminded me of the Stade De Drago in Porto, and I feel pretty sure that the atmosphere will get going once the fans build some institutional memory and people find their favoured places.

We've got a firm plan to do Stevenage (86) next week and are eyeing Crawley (87) on the last day of the season, which will leave me short of the 92, but these are expensive and long days out.

Brentford will be tricky to get tickets to because they sell out every week in the Premier League, it may necessitate taking in a game when their women's team play at the Gtech, which some purists will tell me doesn't count. A weekend that could take in Wimbledon or Bromley would work.

I have massive respect to anyone who has done them all. It is no small effort, but great fun.

Closing in on the 92

We went to watch a cracking cup tie at Salford City's Peninsula Stadium today. It had it all. The true magic of the FA Cup.

Salford City FC of League 2 beat League One Lincoln City on pens, and they deserved it too.

It was my 81st ground of the current 92, following earlier day trips this season to Harrogate and Barnet. The quest to complete the 92 before my significant birthday next year is very much on.

It was a very similar sized ground to Harrogate, but not too easy to get to by public transport.

Gary Neville tried to move them to Salford Community Stadium, which also has its own shortcomings, but if he had succeeded it would have saved me the bother as I saw them play a game there.

I just mapped it out. Two Premier League ones are the trickiest because of tickets - Brentford and Everton.

Then Lincoln, Wimbledon and Stevenage in L1, and Barrow, Bromley, Cheltenham, Colchester, Crawley and Newport in L2.

As it stands, I could skip the current bottom two because if they go, then they'll likely be replaced from the promoted teams from National League by two that I've been to. Which would mean that at the start of next season I will have done the 92.

Great weekend - crap football, closing in on the 92

 

Going for the 92 has become a genuine and real possibility. I've done all the clubs in the present Championship, having reclaimed Southampton yesterday. Previous trips to The Dell were pretty mixed to be honest, but there was nothing mixed about a 4-0 defeat. 

We were well beaten, as my pal Trevor summed up much better than I could: "They were better than us from the first minute to the last. 2-0 would have flattered us and I thought we’d got away with it when they missed the penalty. Hard to think of anyone who played well - maybe the keeper even though he was the blame for the fourth goal. Hill and Moran strikingly poor. Travis and Garrett improved things a little with more energy. JDT had written off the game when he took off A Wharton and Trondstat. Our season won’t be defined by games against Leicester or Leeds or Southampton."

We went down for a weekend in the most Tory town I've ever stayed in - Winchester. They even sell those wide rimmed felt hats that Tory ladies wear with a shawl, accompanied by a fellah in red chinos.

Seriously, it was a lovely weekend away, and even the experience of the poor Rovers performance was tempered by the whole stadium experience.

It saddens me a bit how far behind Southampton we are as a club. There were 27,000 on yesterday and a tidy 1300 from Rovers, but the scale of the operation and the crowd had a Premier League feel about it. I don't get that at Ewood. 

I've been to loads of these new out-of-town bowls and this was OK. Pie was pricey, but tasty, it wasn't too far away from the station and the centre, and the stewards were some of the most polite and helpful I've witnessed. 

Anyway, it was the 79th of the current 92, completing the Championship and needing only a trip to Brentford's new stadium to sweep the current top two divisions. It was also the 172nd ground I've paid to watch football in.

I reckon I'll try and get a few more done this season and keep hoping that crap southern towns in League Two drop out and get replaced by ones I've done. 

Leicester ticked off at last - and in some style

My 78th ground of the current 92 was Leicester City's King Power stadium, which I went to with my Foxes supporting pal James Armstrong and witnessed a shock win for Blackburn Rovers in the FA Cup.

It was a great atmosphere and a packed away end, which was helped in no small measure by the performance.

As stadiums go it was nothing special as a new build. Location wise it's within reach of the city centre, rather than stuck out on a retail park like some of the new builds are.

Hello, is that West Ham?

I sent my mate Trevor a message a couple of weeks ago fearing the worst over the rail strikes and backing out of a trip to London for the League Cup game against West Ham at the London Stadium. Having slept on it I then sent another - 'I'm coming down for West Ham, life's too short'. We haven't seen each other for ages, to reminisce on Sunday football at Wormwood Scrubs, great awaydays and tours to Devon. Our mate Martin's funeral in Ireland being one poignant occasion before we all got told to stay at home.

Come what may, I was going. Even though the rail strike was off, Avanti Trains are hideously unreliable but I decided to embrace the challenge. 

I was so glad I did.

Seeing friends in the old familiar bonding environment of a Rovers away match in London was special. Meeting their friends, their sons and other friends' sons was an added bonus.

Some things change though - it used to be a bit of a standing joke that wherever the Rovers were playing in London and the south, the London branch would somehow conspire to find the worst possible place to meet. It was the kind of 90s education that gave me a unique insight on life and rough pubs. 

Meeting for artisan pizza and craft ale in a microbrewery in hipster Hackney Wick wouldn't have been part of the old plan. 

I also avoided shabby Avanti and entered London via Reading, Paddington and the spectacular new Elizabeth Line, zooming over to Stratford in no time at all. 

My hopes and expectations of the match were to not get humiliated like we did last time we played the Hammers in a cup competition. I think taking the lead, giving it a right good go, and bringing our Chilean wonderkid on for a late equaliser, then winning on penalties smashed all expectations. It was nail-biting at times seeing them playing out from the back, but truth be told JDT is deadly serious about what he wants the whole squad to do. The project.

I thought there was much about this new ground to be impressed by, but it's nowhere near as good as the new Spurs stadium. The stewarding was terrible. I had a backpack that they didn't even look at, though I offered, and I got a full-body search. It was obviously going to be a smaller crowd, so why not create a bit of space between the away fans and the West Ham schooligans who think Green Street is an instruction manual? Maybe a Rovers fan wouldn't have had his head cut open by a flying object if common sense had been applied. They've got a real problem there, but all we got was blocked entrances, no stewarding of seating and a bit of a shambles.

It was a visit to ground number 77 of the current 92 and the 169th venue I've watched football on.

A football weekend in Portgual

We really loved our city break to Porto in July, but probably saw less of the city than we would have done as it was so hot and we discovered a great beach suburb - Foz - just north of the city. 

 One of the highlights though was the FC Porto museum and stadium tour, which whetted our appetites for a return to an actual game. I got the sense that FCP were a bit like Barcelona - more than a club, but a symbol of their city's defiance of capital dominance. So much of the museum exhibits seethed with indignation at age-old injustices, refereeing decisions and scandals. 

And so as we plotted a return it might as well have been Porto v Benfica, O Classico. We paid over the odds for tickets from a risky touts website but it was worth it. All told it was an incredible spectacle if a little more sedate and less aggro than one might have expected. The result (0-1) and the sending-off for the home team reinforced their deep sense of grievance. But Portuguese football is good. There was some great football at times, you can see why they’re both competing so well in the Champions League this season. 

We then fancied looking into another game to make it a weekend of football tourism. We got on a local train to historic Guimares and took a trip to see Vitoria SC v Boavista FC, Porto's other team. If the O Classico was a top Premier League clash of the giants, this was a slightly aggy semi-derby (say, Wigan v Blackburn Rovers) and it even rained incessantly. What a game though. Sending off, a penalty, mistakes aplenty, aggro, pyro and the best possible result in any football match, 3-2. 

These trips also represent the 167th and the 168th stadiums I've watched football on. The Groundhopping adventure continues.

The FA Cup Odyssey takes me to the best stadium in the land

Watching the scores roll in on the Saturday afternoon of FA Cup third round weekend captured every single bit of magic and that clear hope (and dread) of a footballing upset. Every fan of any team cheered the efforts of Cambridge, Kidderminster, Huddersfield and Wigan, except of course if your team, like mine, was one of the vanquished.

And so to the progress on our FA Cup odyssey, picking up on the trail that started at Radcliffe and had most recently found itself most romantically in Buxton. I said I would persist as long as I could. And though there was no room at the inn for the second round tie between the Bucks and Morecambe, it was on telly, and I had bagged the bonus of Buxton’s replay win over Kettering. That was, as I said at the time, as hardcore as it gets for a hardy groundhopper.

And taking in new sights, new grounds, is what this is all about. Today I took in the fourth new hallowed domain of this trip, the Tottenham Hotspur stadium, for the visit of the Shrimps. I think it’s probably the best of all the new builds, and marks my 75th of the current 92 and the 165th stadium I've watched football in. The thought and planning that’s gone into the whole concept is highly impressive, especially when you consider the card Spurs have been dealt. Even when I lived in London I never found the access to White Hart Lane particularly enjoyable, or without difficulty. Choosing therefore to build on roughly the same site, and embracing the gritty urban setting, and still pushing public transport and pedestrian options is a brave move. 

Partly as a result of an old habit failing to die as hard as my perceptions of the old ground and its environs, we opted for lunch at Yildiz, the best Turkish grill in London, and deep in Arsenal territory.

But though the Seven Sisters Road might not have anything to compete with pre-match scoff like that, in every other way this was a superlative match day experience. The facilities are better, the food options more diverse, the atmosphere improved, and every lesson in flawed stadium design has been eagerly learned from every mistake made by everyone else, but mainly Arsenal. 

On the pitch though, we were in for a treat, served up with pluck and grit by a Morecambe side prepared to embrace the occasion and give it a go. Spurs might have had all the possession, but the blocks of empty seats and a place in the team for what were effectively Conte's triallists showed an institutional lack of respect that gave the Shrimps every motivation to run their bloody noses in it. 

Though there was a roar for Morecambe's opener on 33 minutes from their 3000 fans, some 150 of whom may have been at Christie Park for the 8-1 crushing of Esh Winning in 1986 in an early FA Cup memory we will share. But the loudest cheer of the day came for the Harry Kane led cavalry to replace Ali, Ndombele and Gil, and raucous boos as they didn’t leave the pitch, and possibly their Spurs careers, quickly enough. The eventual 3-1 win had a feeling of inevitability about it once the first one rattled in. An ungracious taunting of the visiting fans from parents and children around us, that they weren’t singing anymore, won’t be enough to properly extinguish the embarrassment that a struggling League One side with scant resources took the game this far. Premier League, having a laugh, for sure, but they weren’t laughing in Newcastle last night.

The reason this odyssey is back on is down to our 21 year old soldier son Max, a Spurs supporter. On Sunday 9 January 2011 I took him by trains, buses and tubes across all points of London, via an Ottolenghi cake shop, also close to Arsenal, to an FA Cup third round sweeping aside of Charlton Athletic. It was a special day, and the write up is here. For my Christmas present he made today happen. The circle of life, and the magic of the cup. Pick whichever cliche you want, but it works for me.

FA Cup odyssey - a twist in the tale

The FA Cup journey - or odyssey of oddities - has taken on a curious twist in the last few days. Having followed the happy scrappy grafters of Morpeth Town, the Highwaymen, from the mugging of Radcliffe, which earned them a trip to the slick and sophisticated new home of York City, I hadn't really contemplated the consequences of a draw. These are scheduled to happen on the Tuesday after the main event and have to be wrapped up on the night. Extra time and penalties if necessary. 

Morpeth is a long way to travel at any time. If you drove, you'd still have your pedal on the metal forty minutes after you passed the Angel of the North. The last train back is at half ten, getting me home at half four, which is some going on a Tuesday night, with the prospect of still leaving before a potential penalty shoot-out. My new mates who I watched the second half with at York chided me at the conclusion to the game - a 1-1 draw - that I would now have to do it. Of course, I don't have to do anything, this is a casual challenge driven only by my own curiosity, nerdishness, and neediness for purpose. 

When the draw was made on Sunday, however, things got interesting. The winner of the replay in Morpeth would be at home to either Kettering Town or Buxton, who would be hosting a replay just over half an hour down the A6 from home. This way I would get a sneak preview of the opponents in the next round on November the 6th, which I am totally committed to. Maybe the chance of penalties and giant-killing and drama was too alluring, but amazingly my wife Rachel opted to come with me. As our friend Patrick Loftus said on Twitter - "you are mad". Or maybe it's true love.

On Saturday it was a bit of a rush to get to York, and I sadly saw very little of one of my favourite British cities. The new stadium is situated well out of town but is easy to get to by shuttle bus. I laughed when the directions to the ticket office were to pass the cinema, cut through the leisure centre, and turn left at Starbucks. It's very modern, very unlike what I expected to see watching a home game involving a team in National League North, as was the crowd of 2,258. 

I've had form watching York City in the FA Cup. In 1985 a trip with my mates from home to see Morecambe in the First Round proper at Bootham Crescent was the preferred option to a fight in Stockport with the National Front. I was committed to the cause, but I rather suspected the students I would have been with would get properly battered. It turns out the local Stockport hooligans turned on the Nazis and that I rather underestimated how game the Jewish Student contingent from Manchester were. The game ended 0-0 and the replay, shamefully, though conveniently for me, was at Maine Road.

I also saw York City's last ever game in the Football League, at Morecambe, in 2016, which I blogged about here. Things have been rough for them since, dropping down even further, but emerging with a nice new home. The only way will be up, but there were rumblings of discontent that the board should be sacked. I probably need to investigate, but it wasn't a director who flapped at a header in the 75th minute.

All told it was a feisty game, clash of styles, a game of two halves, end to end action and some late drama. Knowing what I noticed from Radcliffe, Morpeth are fighters. Despite being frankly played off the park in the first half, they came out in the second with no intention of rolling over. By the end, York's slick passing game was gone and they were hanging on and in relative disarray.

The football is the prime fascination, but I always seem to meet nice people too. I watched the second half with a stag do spin off pair from Norwich, who I caught taking pictures of a pie whilst sporting a niche French football training top. I also enjoyed chatting to Morpeth's chairman after the game, who was absolutely thrilled.

We only just made the kick off at Buxton due to traffic, having no cash, and then queing up to get in to see Buxton try and get to the First Round of the FA Cup for the first time since 1962. That wouldn't have been the most heinous error of the night though. I do prefer to do this jaunt on public transport, but we were slightly concerned that the last train from Buxton to Disley leaves at 22:55. Extra Time, penalties and a celebration would cut it a bit fine. As it turned out, so would the ensuing chaos caused by the planned floodlight shutdown on the stroke of 10pm, which no-one thought to override, stretching the evening's entertainment out a bit.

Buxton went 1-0 down to a second half goal by Kettering's unit of a centre forward, Kyle Perry. It's sensible they have an artificial pitch in the Peak District, but although the ball can roll freely, the swirling wind was a major factor for both sides. Buxton are a good team though and their talisman is Diego De Girolamo, who has played professionally at a high level, and probably could do so again. He struck two good chances that fell to him in Extra Time and could have had more, as the Northern Premier League side humbled their National League North visitors.

I often wonder when I watch non-league players what fine margins led them here, rather than the riches of the Premier League, or even the more modest achievements of a career for a club in the Championship. De Girolamo seems to have had bad luck, signing for clubs in crisis. I imagine he's enjoying his football at this level now, more than he did as a Bristol City reserve player.

As for the stadiums, York Community Stadium is a modern, neat and well-built facility with a good view and a good surface. Should York ever need to, it could be extended. It's the 163rd ground I've paid to watch football on.

Buxton's Silverlands stadium (the 164th) is tidy, with a raised viewing position at the side, where I like to stand, ideally, and a tall compact stand. There were 1,017 there to see history being made and most seemed to have queued for a pie and a cup of tea at some point in the evening. 

Meanwhile, up in Morpeth, York did a professional job on them and cruised to a 3-1 win. So I'm back to York on the 6th of November and a little bit of history being made between two teams from lovely places.

Radcliffe to Wembley - the latest twist

Thanks for having me, Radcliffe, it's been great getting to know you.

It was a bruising physical duel at Radcliffe today that saw Morpeth Town upset the odds with a 3-1. The damage was done in a first half performance that saw luck on their side as they snatched three goals that proved too big a margin for the hosts to overcome.

I can't put my finger on what Radcliffe lacked, the first goal felt like it was against the run of play and that they'd get one back quickly. The second was a scramble from a corner, and the third had them shell shocked at how easy Morpeth swept it in, but it takes nothing away from a gutsy defensive showing from the visitors from the North East, who consistently played out from the back with real confidence. 

My friend Steven joined me for this stage on the journey and once again we were greeted at the gate by our mate Alan Townley, a Boro director, who is a popular and well-known local personality, known by name and reputation even amongst the young lads behind the goal who chanted his name at one point. 

I'm now anxiously awaiting Monday's draw and hoping Morpeth's name is paired with somewhere new and interesting (and not too far away).

Groundhopping at Radcliffe, a grand day out with Sam and Big Al

In 1977 my Dad gave me a football book that probably changed the way I feel about the game. Called Journey to Wembley, it's a story of the FA Cup, round by round, starting at Tividale in the West Midlands, and ending up at Wembley to witness Tommy Docherty's Manchester United denying Liverpool a historic treble, with the European Cup to follow just a few days later.

I can still remember reading about the grievances of locals in Tividale, annoyed that more cars than usual arrived to watch Geoff Hurst's Telford. The eye for detail, and the observation about everything else that goes on in and around a matchday, fascinated me and probably played a big part in pushing me in the direction of sociology and journalism.  

But I also remember asking my Dad how Brian James knew that starting this path in Tividale would lead to Wembley. I think he just smiled and suggested I work it out for myself. 

On Saturday me and my friend Sam took advantage of the international break to start on our own Wembley trail at Radcliffe v Skelmersdale Town in the first qualifying round of the FA Cup. It was hastily arranged, we probably won't follow through to even the next round, but it's at least planted a few seeds for a daft idea.

We're both in 'say yes and try something new' mode, in pretty much every area of our lives. One of them was to try and see random sporting events and he fancied joining me on some groundhopping. We picked Radcliffe because I've never been before, so can tick it off the list as ground number 162, but also because our mate Alan "Man About" Townley is a director there and we thought we'd turn up and surprise him. 

The game was pretty one-sided once Radcliffe got to grips with Skem's two best players. A late goal in each half was all the scoreboard says separated the two sides, but Radcliffe were good for the win, especially attacking downhill on the sloping pitch in the second period. The win, by the way, was worth £2,250 to Radcliffe, who now face a trip to Mossley in the next round on the 18th of September.

It's a quirky little ground with the only seating areas situated behind the goal and the pitch is on a bit of a gradient from one end to the other. We watched the first half between the dugouts, picking up what the coaches say, then watched the second half from behind the goal where Radcliffe kept up a constant attacking barrage for the final half an hour. Conveniently, we were next to the scoreboard, which Sam pointed out is better than the one at Old Trafford. When I go on my own I love listening to the characters and the comments of the fans, players and coaches at games like this. When I go with a friend it's a slightly different experience, taking it all in, but actually having time for a really lovely conversation with disparate micro dramas going on around us; kids jibbing in, security staff chucking them out, banter from the terraces, and of course seeing the raw frustration and occasional joy on the players' faces from such a close vantage point. 

Thanks to top Tameside blogger Stuart Valentine there's a delightful absolute beginners guide to watching Greater Manchester non-league football here. It's a good reference to show me I'm only 5 grounds away from having every Greater Manchester ground at level 8 and above ticked off. Here's to more days like these, even though we might not get all the way to Wembley, or even Mossley. 

As an amusing postscript, when we got into Manchester afterwards for a mooch about, we found this mural at the back of the Printworks for the charity Forever Manchester, included on it is Captain Manchester, the good deed doing superhero character created by Sam, and next to him was the late Bernard Manning, who's son was chairman of Radcliffe until 2017. 

 

The meaning of football

It was always going to be an emotional return to Blackburn Rovers. For me, it’s been gradual. A long in the planning trip to Euro 2020 that took me and my friend, Steven, to his home city of Glasgow for Ukraine v Sweden; a pre-season friendly at one of the English non-league’s new challenger clubs, AFC Fylde, and another warm-up at home to Leeds.

For different reasons, they all had something special about them that rather brilliantly lined up the main event of yesterday.

It’s been an awfully long time away. It would have been very easy to give up all of what I’m about to say. The first home league game at Ewood Park felt remarkably like the last one some 500 sleeps ago. That it was also against sneaky Swansea and with a weak referee was but a coincidence, but that the full quota of regulars sat around our berth on row 11 of the Riverside was a moment of affirmation of a sense of belonging. The players led the 10,000 crowd in applause pre-match for all those we’ve lost in this dreadful pandemic. I daren’t look, or speculate, at the empty seats behind us, that these prime spots aren’t once again populated by familiar faces and, though nameless, characters with who we have formed a bond. And it was delightful to take our friend Ian Herbert as our guest, one of those many people who we have got to know through football and who is always great to be around.

It was also about the rituals. One of which is held in my hand, in the shape of a Clayton Park Potato and Meat Pie. On another occasion, we’ll pop into Leavers Bakery on Bolton Road for a fix of the very best pre-match pie in all of football.

But there’s been a heck of a lot to dislike about football lately. The greed, the scramble to appeal to the vanity of an oligarch to bail out every club in the great unseemly gamble to not fall victim to ‘beware of what you wish for’. The Euros represented the best and worst of football, even for this Anglo-Welshman. A blend of hope, pride, and shame.

As for our team, despite the optimism of Rod Liddle in the Sunday Times who seems to think the ever-improving Blackburn Rovers will finish in the top six, without acknowledging that we’re about to see our best player leave through the same exit door as ten other former first-team regulars, the mood amongst the fans is gloomy. Tony Mowbray seems to have lost what mojo he ever had and is at least honest enough to admit the financial situation is grim. Though we were good for the win yesterday there are still too many players out of position (Rothwell, Gallagher, Dolan and Diaz, notably), the late substitutions disrupt any capacity to control a game fully, and there’s an unhealthy obsession with giving valuable Championship playing time to squad members of the Under 23s, of Everton, Manchester City and Liverpool, rather than those of Blackburn Rovers. That said, the stand-out player for me yesterday was homegrown John Buckley, who at times looked Tugay-esque.

I could have said all of that from the comfort of my sofa. That I didn’t is a tribute to the powerful draw of football, its culture, its rituals and our friends. Between those two Rovers matches have been three new grounds ticked off the list - FC United (159), Hampden Park (160) and AFC Fylde (161). I have a few in my sights this season, but probably will only barely stay in the 80s in my quest to ‘do the 92’.

Steven, with whom I've shared so many great memories, also helped us make a new one as he took me to Cathkin Park in Glasgow to visit the eerie remains of the home of Third Lanark, once a real force in Scottish football. The three sides of a bowl of terraces remain, as are the crush barriers, the pitchside wall, and if I’m being spiritual, a presence of what went before. It’s a tale of corruption and sectarianism I’m keen to discover more about. It’s proof that it’s more than just an old building, but a relic of our true human experience. So yes, forgive the obsession, but I’m oddly fascinated by stadia, where they are and where they were. I still have a frisson of excitement and anticipation in Manchester’s Moss Side on the approaches to the old Maine Road. I always look up from the train as it arrives at Bolton and eye-up the site of the old Burnden Park. But this was something else entirely. 

We’re going to make more memories this season. Mostly in the company of Blackburn Rovers, but also Lancaster City, Matt Jansen’s Stockport Town and maybe a few other random days out too. Hopefully, the Rovers ones will be surprisingly happy ones, but to be really honest, whatever happens on the pitch, they are going to be far better being there than not. Ask the ghosts of Third Lanark.

iFollow is horrible, I can't be bothered with it

In the last two seasons the fixture I had my eye on more than any other was Luton Town away. Sad isn't it? To actually want to go to ickle racist Stephen's team. But I've never been to Kenilworth Road, the only stadium in the Championship I've not seen my Blackburn Rovers at. There's Brentford's new home, I suppose, but no-one's been there yet. I'm collecting my totals and once this lockdown ends, I'm going to swiftly complete the remaining 12 of the 92.

Just as I posted that I haven't been to a live event since the end of February, the last Rovers match was on the same day. I do miss everything about going to the match, but as followers of this blog will recall, it's a lot to do with spending time with the two of my lads who support Rovers. I really cherish it.

We're instead are offered the opportunity to watch the matches on TV. That means paying £10 per game for something called iFollow. In principle it's a good idea. But I'm going to be as tactful as I can when I say this: it's rubbish. Today's game at Luton was probably the worst of the lot, and in truth I'm not going to bother again. Bad production, terrible lighting, dreadful directing, the commentary I manage to zone out of, but it's not a patch on BBC local radio. The still picture at the top is the precise moment the screen froze for one fan.  The club guilt trip the fans with a message about pirate streams, but I'll say this now - what we saw today wasn't worth £10 for a headache and sea sickness. 

As for the game, it was there for the taking and I'm disappointed. Two shocking refereeing decisions at the end from Gavin Ward of Surrey, not the only person in Luton today stealing a living. Bitter? Grumpy? Fed up with football? You bet. 

 

Coming home to football

So I took my seat on the front row of the main stand at Broadhurst Park, home of FC United of Manchester. I placed my programme, my ticket and my Hollands Pepper Steak Pie in front of me and paused for breath. Some of the Lancaster City substitutes were warming up, knocking the ball back and forth to each other. The tannoy was playing a Jam song, I think, and there was chatter around me about other things than the game we were about to see. And never have I felt happier to be in a football ground.

The last game I'd been to was Blackburn Rovers v Swansea City at the end of February, seven months, two weeks and five days earlier. 

The pie, the Bovril and the smell of football were the first things I sensed. But as the match progressed it was other things that reminded me why watching matches on TV has been no substitute.  It was a decent, physical, boisterous game which ended 1-1. Lancaster should really have won, but you notice so much more by immersing yourself in a game over 90 minutes. You see how players move off the ball, how the bench communicates to them and what the shape of either team is. But even with just 600 people in a tidy new stadium like this, and everyone sensibly observing social distancing, there was a decent enough atmosphere. I never thought I'd enjoy hearing "liner" getting verbals from the home fans as much as I did. Maybe I'm wrong, but I think he enjoyed it too. The players certainly did. There was plenty of good old fashioned shithousery and off the ball niggling for it to rile the home fans. For Lancaster it was one of the bigger crowds they get to play in front of and the players relished it.

That was it really, the collective experience. It's what makes us human and it's what makes football more than a game. Football without fans really is nothing.

And it was another new ground, obviously not one of the 92 (or 91 this season), but the 159th ground I've watched football on.

Have an awayday, Glasgow Rangers away

I’m often reminded on a football related trip to a city that I barely touch the surface, but that those you do tend to be a bit sticky.

We were early for our agreed rendezvous in a location near the station, so ate first. Given we were meeting my mate’s son, wife and baby grandson, it wasn’t going to be a ‘Spoons or a spit and sawdust bar. But we ended up spending only the briefest of time in Platform under the arches, with its artisan craft stalls and interesting ethnic street food.

I like Glasgow, I’ve been for work a few times, and was best man at John and Rachel’s wedding 21 glorious years ago, all full of happy memories. The grand and imposing industrial centre, and the embrace of the Clyde is redolent of Newcastle, and the people have an easy charm.

The experience of taking the miniature Subway to Ibrox and the stroll around the ground before the game were probably bereft of the everyday edge you’d get from a Rangers fixture in the season. Certainly I couldn’t imagine getting away with unfurling a flag outside the Louden Tavern would be acceptable to fans of Aberdeen or Hibs.

Then again, much as it fed the occasion to be amongst 1600 travelling Rovers fans, most of whom seemed to have been on our four carriage Trans Pennine Express train that morning, it really wasn’t much more than a glorified training session. Rangers were the better team in the first half and Defoe showed class in how he put his goal away. All my frustrations with several of our regulars picked up where they left off last season. Happily too so did my ever so slightly irrational love of Lewis Travis. The second half featured more of our exciting crop of young players and I saw more to like about the skilful and industrious John Buckley. Ben Brereton and Richie Smallwood have wilder hairstyles, the latter I hope because he’s on a journey to becoming the Redcar Pirlo, effortless style, a “brio”, “sprezzatura”, a different sort of axeman.

By the way, I’m over the horrid away kit. It is what it is.

We couldn’t not go today. We also couldn’t not go into the heart of darkness that is the Louden Tavern for a quick drink after the game. It was everything I suspected and worse, I hadn’t realised that this scene in T2 was a documentary. But we were greeted as friends and comrades, a secret handshake away from joining in the loud renditions of battle songs. When the early chimes of Matchstalk Men piped up I thought it was a nice touch to embrace their Lancastrian visitors. Nah! Old tune, different lyrics and papist bashing.

Fulham away is next, and I do love a London trip. There won’t be time for a stop over at the Design Museum for the Kubrick exhibition, but it won’t detract from a pleasant pre-match refreshments around Putney Bridge, nor will it feel like a missed opportunity. That said, to keep things consistent, we squeezed in a personal Glasgow tradition; a curry.

And of course one of the reasons for these trips is it’s a taster for a return. You couldn’t say that about Scunthorpe or Northampton.

Millwall Away

When Tony Mowbray said that Blackburn Rovers’ 2-0 win at Millwall was a terrible game of football, he was obviously right. But it reinforced to me once again how these days are about so much more than the 90 minutes that we forked out decent money to see.

Even the heading for this – Millwall Away – conjures up an adventure, a sense of danger that any football fan will relate to. We were as far away from any of that as we ate artisan snacks in Borough Market before the game, sharing stories with friends old and new in the Market Porter.

Yes, I was delighted to see Rovers win, I always am. But it reminded me of many of the games last season where I felt we were a better footballing side, but had that slight doubt we might not be physically strong enough and could come away empty handed (Walsall, Northampton, Oldham). 

Sure, Rovers contributed to the dire game; lots of mistakes, hoofing up to Bradley Dack (who was off the pace) and Joe Nuttall (who needs match practice), no shots on target until the bitter end and some pointless passing around. But I always take something from a game and for me it was the solid defensive pair of Darragh Lenihan and Jack Rodwell, and once again the role of Lewis Travis in picking out some terrific forward passes and properly mixing it when required.

What will live with me longer in the memory though was the experience of visiting The Den. I went to their old ground a couple of times, even meeting Jack Walker outside on the second occasion and getting a quote from him for the Lancashire Evening Post. I didn’t meet anyone like that this time but Matt Smith (Doctor Who) was stood just behind us. Such is the mythology around Millwall that I did vaguely consider asking him for a lift out of there if he had his blue phone box with him. I’m not going to lie, it is intimidating, it is grim. Everything about getting to the stadium; the heavy police presence, the cages guiding the walkway to the stadium, the fact visiting fans are placed only in the upper tier all create the feeling of being in a state of siege. That in turn encourages a certain type of swaggering dickhead among visitors and ours were no different. We also saw a gang of Dutch lads at London Bridge earlier in the afternoon, and I spoke to another group of PSV Eindhoven fans on the train from South Bermondsey. I doubt there’d be the same attraction for this kind of football tourist to go to Brentford or Charlton.

That makes it another new ground I’ve watched football on, the 158th. I’m on 84 clubs out of the current 92 clubs (the Punk 92), and I’m up to 80 of the current 92 grounds.

A tourist in my own youth - a great day trip to Edinburgh

Edinburgh has so many good memories. Day trips, the Festival, and when our pal Dave Crossen lived in the city, we had weekends, New Years and I even had a week long holiday up there.

Yesterday we added another as we enjoyed a day out for the football, watching Blackburn Rovers win 2-0 at Paul Hanlon's testimonial against Hibernian at Easter Road, another new ground I'd not been to before. You can read very little into friendly matches, but Scottish football must be in a bit of a mess if that was the fourth best team in the country. It seems to me the SPL is basically Man United (Celtic), Leeds (Rangers), Forest (Aberdeen), Birmingham City (Hibs), Ipswich (Hearts) and half a dozen random teams from League One. But the city was the attraction yesterday, glorious and welcoming. Stunning to be around and it seems to be growing in self-confidence and modernising since the last time I visited.

Hopefully that's something to do with the efforts of Paul Lawrence, once of this parish, who invited us along to West Princes Gardens to see a delightful new fountain.

It was a great trip up and a rubbish journey home as we had cancellations and delays which stretched the day out. But you can't fault a day with the people you love, deep fried Mars bars, City Cafe, Leith Walk and the Royal Mile.

We had joy, we had fun, we had a season in League One

In our darkest hour, we vowed to thee, my Rovers, that we would support our club in the hostile and unfamiliar terrain of League One. And we have.

Best place to visit: Shrewsbury. I like Shrewsbury, it's a really smart centre, decent places to eat and drink and though it's a hike from the stadium to the station, it's a more pleasant stroll than some of the other places we visited. And me and Rachel had a great pre-match catch up with our friend Father Tony McGrath.

Worst train journey: going to Peterborough away was like my morning commute stretched into three hours; hot, crowded, cramped, and never ending. Coming back in a great mood it started well enough as we were sat with Tony Leake, the former referee, then we got to Nottingham where we were joined by idiot Bolton fans, then Sheffield where noisy pissed-up Preston joined the party. I'm seriously too old for that crap.

Best away end atmosphere: so many contenders for this, Doncaster, Blackpool, Bury and Rochdale were all bouncing. But maybe because it was the distance involved and the constant noise, and the positive support throughout, I think Peterborough away was when it felt brilliant to be part of a fanbase that was connected to an improving team. Which brings us to...

Best performance: Nick Hornby's theory is that winning 3-2 is the best ever result because of the emotional journey, especially if the other team score first, and so Peterborough away proved. The second half spell, crowned by the sweeping move which led to the goal of the season from Dack was magic.

Most ashamed to be a Rovers fan: some berk shouting "MK Dons" at Wimbledon is just embarrassing, but being kettled with the Blackburn EDL at Bradford was a grave mistake. Having to walk to the match alongside people who should be locked up was truly depressing. The racism was disgusting, the wanton violence from scrawny scrotes who couldn't punch their way out of a wet paper bag was pathetic, but the looks of horror from the police and ordinary members of the public in Bradford city centre was truly shaming.

Best pre-match scoff: a few contenders here, but The Inn on the Green in Bristol with my pal Neil Tague was decent bar grub. Best take away was a massive piece of fish at Fleetwood, slightly edging it over cockles on Southend pier.

Best stadium: The stadiums in this division aren't great, if I'm honest. Including Ewood I've been to 20 grounds this season, 8 of them for the first time. Many are identikit new boxes on the edge of town like Scunthorpe, Walsall, Shrewsbury and Northampton. Or attempts at modernisation that create a mish mash of styles like at Bradford, Bristol Rovers, Peterborough and Fleetwood. The other failing of grounds at this level is the optimistic design. Swathes of empty seats in towering stands like at Coventry, Blackpool, Wigan and, ahem, Ewood, aren't great either. But for the proximity to the centre, a great view and a decent atmosphere, the best League One ground is New York Stadium, Rotherham.

Best station to ground signage thanks to visiting supporters trail of crude drawings on snow sprinkled car windscreens? Definitely Wimbledon, where every other car from Norbiton station to Kingsmeadow had been adorned with either a "BRFC" or a cock and balls. Thanks, lads. Which brings me to...

Worst ground, Kingsmeadow, the temporary home of Wimbledon isn't fit for purpose, as I said at the time. Best of luck on your journey back to Wimbledon, chaps.

Most shithouse team: Northampton Town, home and away, but especially away. Frustrating, hard to play against and celebrated a point like they'd won the league.

Best performance by a former player: Jack Byrne for Oldham was more Richie Smallwood than Richie Smallwood and more Peter Whittingham than him. A crime we never got the best from him. Terrific player.

Best team we played: I've been surprised how athletic and how fit most teams are at this level and no game has been a breeze, whatever the result. The main difference is that mistakes are more plentiful than the Championship, but for me the team that asked the most questions of us on the road was Scunthorpe.

Coldest: Blackpool was absolutely freezing.

Wettest: Rochdale.

Hottest Bovril: Rochdale, scalded hands.

Best cheeky diversion for one of life's delights: The Brick Lane Beigel Bakery after Southend.

Game I'm glad I didn't go to: the trip to Gillingham sounded dire, both times.

Game I wish I had gone to: I only missed six aways and three of them were midweek night matches, I refuse to go to Milton Keynes and had other plans for Charlton (I know). Plymouth was a stretch and the night matches at Gillingham, Portsmouth and Oxford just weren't practical. But I really think that win at Portsmouth was another positive turning point and I was gutted not to be there to see it.

Best flag day: We only had one outing for the flag at Doncaster (above). I sort of considered the pithy and curt "how does it feel to treat me like you do?" as a direct cock at the club in general and the owners in particular, so it's been folded up in a bag since Brentford last season. It wasn't until recently that I found myself listening to the song from which it comes (New Order's Blue Monday), that I reckoned you could view it another way. To "treat me" like you do. And we have been treated. Dack's magic, Charlie's leadership and his goals, the King of Ewood rarely giving the ball away, Danny Graham's poaching. It has been a treat.

Best thing about this season: Yes, winning again is great. But football is nothing without the fans. It's been a real blast to be fair. So thank you to you all for your contribution to the good times on the road this season: Robin Sager and Sam Taplin, Dave Smith, Mushtaq Khan, Andy Currie and Alex, Baz Dootson, Matt Dunham, Neil Tague, Stuart Shaw, Ian Herbert, Linz Lewis, Mikey Delap, Stuart Grimshaw and Matthew, Kamy, Jim Wilkinson, David Robinson, Kevin Bradley, Paul Oldrieve, Tony Leake, Danny Davis, Andrew Stirrup, Ian and Jan Currie, Andrew Currie, Matthew Currie, James Barrow, Tony Brierley, Steven Lindsay, Mike Kendal, Alec Craig, Trevor Curson, David and Pam Southworth, to all the Rovers fans who we've had a natter with on trains, concourses, stations, pubs and podcasts and most of all to my fantastic lads who've been on this trip with me, Joe and Louis.

Next weekend: Fortress Ewood?

Still upbeat after clash of the Rovers at Bristol

It’s never a pleasure to come off a game when you’ve looked at the clock and it’s 1-0 and it’s 90+4, and then in the blink of an eye and the swing of a boot it’s 1-1. And at this stage of the season I’m not in the mood for fair results overall or laments over wasted chances. Part of me wants it to end. Another just wants this season to go on and on. More new grounds, more trips with my lads, more lunches with friends in nice pubs and cafes in parts of England I haven’t been to before. But also that feeling of pride that I’ve somehow got back in this football club.

I can’t feel anger at these players, only disappointment at a result. Sure Derrick Williams should have scored. Payne could have done more with the ball running at defenders. As a team they would have looked at how they might have done more to kill the energy of the game at 1-0 and into the last few minutes. Could have, should have, would have. But this team is still noticeably better than most teams they share a pitch with, and they seem to be able to avoid defeat remarkably well. As a club, we are clearly still in a very decent position. Last week against Southend was a horror show in the last few minutes, but we won. Today we looked comfortable on the ball, stronger going forward, but just missing a bit of brilliance from Dack and Armstrong. I think we owe them an enormous amount and the pressure to perform miracles must be huge. But any analysis of a football match can’t just take into account one team without acknowledging the ability of the opposition to also influence the result, so fair play to Bristol Rovers for chucking everything at us right to the end.

Some of our fans don’t half come out with some nonsense, but I’m going to hold back from repeating the extremities of what I heard from people today as I’ve no desire to fuel this debate as it’s just not helpful. But I will confess to being disappointed that the whole mentality of the team is that we’re edging closer to the finish line, rather than flowing out in pomp and with a swagger.

I enjoyed another good day out today, except for that shot from Chris Lines at 10 to 5. The Inn on the Green on Gloucester Road was a fine spot to catch up with my pal Neil Tague. I used to live in Bristol but on the opposite side of the city, and have never been to the Memorial Ground. That’s the point about this season being about discovery. It also brought back a few memories of the first long distance away trip I did on my own – the second day of May 1981 – when we missed out on promotion despite winning at the old Eastville stadium. Subsequent trips were to their temporary home at Bath City’s Twerton Park.

It’s a funny wee ground. The stand behind the goal looked like it was on loan from Chatsworth Country Fair, the terrace behind the other goal looked packed and raucous, and I liked that they call it the Tote End as a nod towards their history at Eastville. Our terrace in the corner lacked a bit of atmosphere, but the view was OK. It’s odd that a city like Bristol doesn’t have a more successful club, maybe the “Gas” getting a new stadium might be the spur that worked for Swansea and Brighton.

That makes it another new ground I’ve watched football on, the 156th. I’m still on 83 clubs out of the current 92 (the Punk 92), and I’m up to 78 of the current 92. Onwards to Doncaster. I still think we’re going up.

Wimbledon, Wromantic, but wrong

Worst view ever . Away terrace at AFC Wimbledon

Who can't be impressed by the story of the fall and rise again of AFC Wimbledon? I know I am. For a tiny supporter created club to have born again after their club was handed over as a franchise to Milton Keynes takes some doing. That they now compete at the level of League One is remarkable.

I usually just roll my eyes and cringe with embarrassment when my fellow away supporters try and find the most offensive thing they can say in order to taunt opposing supporters. On top of the usual tedious claim that a place "is a S*** hole, I want to go home" (to luxurious East Lancashire, no doubt), this season we've also had comments on the ethnic make-up of Bradford, that Blackpool are poorly supported and using MK Dons to taunt AFC Wimbledon. As the bloke trying to start an MK Dons chant was right in front of me at the Cherry Red Records Stadium, I felt compelled to call him out and say "enough".

I say all of that because I really didn't enjoy the away fans experience on our trip to Kingston to watch our 3-0 win over AFC Wimbledon this week. The view in both halves was probably the worst I've ever experienced. In the first we were tucked behind the dugout and could get no sense of the game at all. It was like standing on a packed concourse of the Riverside. In the second we moved to a piece of flat land in the corner where Rovers were attacking and couldn't see anything in the half we were defending at all.

So we must all surely wish the club well in their quest for a new stadium in Wimbledon. Kingsmeadow isn't acceptable for football at this level. Apart from anything else a team can't expect to grow on crowds capped at 4,000, let alone sustain a presence in this league. Neil Ardley mentioned the difference in budgets of the two sides and though they beat us at Ewood, the gulf in quality was really evident in the return match. The style of play was akin to a 90s Wimbledon tribute act, but one that Mulgrew and Lenihan were more than capable of absorbing and coping with, despite another woeful refereeing performance.

The two pieces of action we did have a decent view of were the two goals. I've been shouting "shoot" at Elliot Bennett all season, when he's found himself in such scoring positions, so to see him lash one in for the first time this season was a delight. I still don't get his angry celebration though. It seems contemptuous of the fans, in defiance of us, rather than an expression of communal joy.

With a trip to Walsall chalked off on the Saturday before, this marks another two new grounds. I make it the 154th and 155th grounds I've watched football on, I'm now on 83 clubs out of the total, (the Punk 92), and I'm up to 77 of the current 92.

Northampton away - a load of cobblers

Our tour of middle England hit location fourteen today. Northampton Town's Sixfields stadium is a dreary unfinished Lego identikit stadium on a remote industrial estate on the edge of town.

A shiny new train station for the commuters to Milton Keynes and London, and a new university building were the high spots in a town centre that felt quite Northern for its faded high street and the legacy traces of its shoe manufacturing industry that remain dotted about.

There seemed to be more people heading for the rugby match against Exeter down the road than to see the local football team, which confirmed why a fast growing town of 212,000 doesn't have a football club playing at a higher level.

As for the match, a below par performance from an under strength Rovers saw a rare draw (only the third on the road). It proved how much the classy Charlie Mulgrew is worth to the overall character of the team that Rovers never hit top note until the last ten minutes. He'd pulled out just before kick off and although his replacement Elliot Ward did OK, the assurance a player of Mulgrew's class brings was lacking. Bradley Dack’s goal was real quality but for Craig Conway to miss an open goal AND Marcus Antonsson a penalty just smacked of a lack of professionalism on the day. But hey, we're now unbeaten in 12 and at least the 4000 home fans went home ecstatic from their cup final, especially the Northampton Raider we encountered on the way back to the station who literally said to me, "you want some? I'll give it to you".

It marks another new ground chalked off. I make it the 153rd ground I've watched football on, I'm now on 82 out of the Punk 92, and it's my 75th of the current 92 grounds.