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8th March 2004: Having been in Leeds for seven months now and, in that time, taken in only four Hawk fixtures, noticeably odd and confused patterns have manifested themselves in my behaviour. At times I’ll find myself in the shower singing ‘…a part of Bill’s new master race, you ain’t seen nuffin’ like the Liam Daish’, which aside from being a withdrawal symptom would suggest regression to around Christmas of ’99. Not sure how that happened, but it’s a worry. ‘Delilah’, re-interpreted for serenading small and largely ineffectual forwards, could soon follow. Nurse, the screens, and so on… Hopefully this regression to the end of the last millennium, and the reign of Guvnor Bill I, will not be reflected in real-life back in Havant. It is something to be proud of that in the last five years we, as a club, have moved on from the barely edible burgers, the bizarre stock choices in the club shop and derisory comments on refereeing decisions being murmured over the tannoy. Ahem. The new stand and terraces are pretty good though, eh? Of course, I jest. I am led to believe that the burgers are much better nowadays and Mr Ketchup’s surprisingly un-hostile take-over of the club shop will improve things there. As for the impromptu PA announcements – well, it’d be a shame to get rid of all the West Leigh Park traditions, wouldn’t it? MC Ol’ Dirty Trev & The ‘Looville ‘hood on the mic spitting out a slice of truth to y’all. Or something. What of my travels around northern grounds, I hear you ask, without really wanting an answer. Well, although I’ve been taking advantage of my year with a student card to get cheap entry into the more expensive grounds in Divisions 2 and 3, I’ve not ignored the Unibond league, and it’s a real eye-opener, especially with regards the crowds. We complain about dipping below the 300 mark but this is a standard for most Northern non-league clubs. Of course though, this will be largely due to the plethora of league clubs around as well as the fact we’re in the rugby league belt. Only Barrow’s fairly captive audience make a real dent on the averages. Recently I popped over on the bus to the Horsfall Stadium to watch Bradford Park Avenue take on Droylsden. BPA are in a period of great transition, sacking contracted players to save cash, and seemingly doomed to missing the Conference 2 cut despite their long tradition and the fact that they made their FA Cup 1st round this year. On this evidence it’s hard to see how. Not bad build up play but no edge, and Droylsden easily picked them off, winning 2-0. The stadium itself is not the comfiest, being an athletics stadium with one stand seemingly built for dwarves, with about 6 inches between the lip of one seat and the back of the one in front. However, there are touches of class around. In the portacabin that represents the club bar, a small museum-like, velvet-rope contained, display outlining Len Shackleton’s early days at BPA and beyond, has been impressively put together and is worth a look whilst supping yer Mild. Another aspect regarding crowds is their general lunacy, particularly at Avenue. For the entire second half, the screaming of a rather stereotypically northern-looking gentleman trooping up and down the back of the stand is largely the only sound to be heard and, boy, can he be heard. It was an impressive vocal display, with ‘ya cheating bugger’ being liberally screeched in description of each and every member of the Droylsden XI. In the last few minutes, a pained ‘Oh why didn’t you score’ causes stifled amusement amongst most in the stand who have been paying more attention to him than the game. Not that we had much choice. I was, however, most impressed by the BPA top boys sounding out their war cry; “Come on the Avenue. YES! Cos we know what you can do. YES!” with particularly defiant emphasis on the YES’s. All the more impressive due to the fact that their choir consisted of three blokes seemingly hostile to the concept of harmony, led by a gentleman in his 80’s. Lets hope our very own Ade can still keep the lyrics coming in 40 years time! With regards visiting the professional clubs, to quote the late, great Johnny Cash, “I’ve been everywhere, man”, or at least it feels like it – Huddersfield, Doncaster, Darlington, Carlisle, Hartlepool, Sheffield Wednesday, Rochdale and, slightly less obviously, Bristol Rovers and Dunfermline. It’s always good to combine trips for other events with a game. My MSc dissertation subject regards the Scottish Parliament’s Information Centre so on a reckie there it was a short train hop to Dunf vs. Hearts and a scintillating slice of Scottish Premier nil-nil action. One rather peculiar quirk of my travels has meant that without trying I have now seen Yeovil play away this season more times than I’ve seen the Hawks at home. Ah well, after all, they have a profound dislike of Weymouth, so they’re alright by me. However, those concerned about a Skiffoid defection to Ciderspace need only look at these facts. Of the four Yeovil games that I have seen, I have only stood with the green and white army on one occasion, when they beat Doncaster. However for the other 3 games at Carlisle, Darlo and the very impressive McAlpine Stadium, I was amongst the home support, with Yeovil losing all three quite comfortably. Should they fail to make the play-offs this year, I’d appreciate it if you kept schtum – talismanic qualities only count for so much when you’re being beaten around the face and body by a horde of angry wurzels. Quite liked Carlisle’s ground and Huddersfield’s McAlpine Stadium is, architecturally, everything a purpose built all-seater should be, as opposed to St Mary’s for example. Darlo’s 25,000-seat White Elephant Arena suffers in a similar way being like a smaller version of the Saints’ new home, but at least people actually go to St. Mary’s. The outside bar is impressive but, inside, the Darlo support rattles around like a handful of peas in an oversized bucket. Prior to the game, with far too much time on my hands, I had popped along to see their old ground, Feethams, and clambered through a hedge and up a heap of bricks to take a cheeky peek inside. It’s understandable why some fans would like to return here, now that Mad George has gone, as it has an old-style charm that so few grounds in the professional leagues have these days. Now, finally, I had suggested in the last Branchlines that this edition would detail my pilgrimage to Lincoln City. The reason for this trip was a long-standing promise to my housemate from my previous Uni. days back in 98/99 that in return for bringing him to WLP (for the Burton 6-0 as it happens), I would some day join him at Sincil Bank. Now he was always a bit if a joker, so it was a surprise to all of us, that after a couple of years in the civil service, that he quit and trained up as a copper, now finding himself on the Metropolitan beat. However a policeman’s lot is not a happy one etc etc, and dear old Dave (or ‘Reg Hollis’, as I now prefer, and he seems to as well for some reason) had his leave cancelled a week prior to our trip. Nonetheless, this should be reconvened for the end of March so should Flying High continue, now that our own Reg (Varney) has been thrust into match day programme editorship, I’ll bring you tales of that next time. skif Leeds Branch back to index |