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Dagenham & Redbridge - 16th November 2002 [here] Worcester City - 5th October 2002 [here] Moor Green - 31st August 2002 [here] Cambridge City - 27th April 2002 [here] Barnet - 6th November 2001 [here] Burton Albion - 21st April 2001 [here] Tamworth - 12th December 1999 [here] Rushden & Diamonds - 27th November 1999 [here] Unofficial Beano it may have been, but the faithful were out in respectable numbers on Sat. 17th July to witness the new look Hawks at Arundel. It is fair to say that on the footballing front there was lots of huff and puff, plenty of promise throughout the team, with Dave taking the chance to look at various combinations at the back and in midfield. However I am delighted to report that in one real and very important sense, the new season promises any number of highlights and near misses, courtesy of one of our own, our very own... The real action was provided by young 2 Pints, who entered into the spirit (or Guiness, cider, whatever he could get hold of) of the occasion by consuming by the bucketload, a series of bevvies. Here are a set of pictures by way of a tribute to Barry.  Number one shows Barry after the game, as we sat in the yard at the rather splendid White Hart, discussing anything and everything. Barry is not necessarily smiling at anything in particular, by this time cognitive processes had long since caught the bus home. he is possibly laughing at whatever Mark was saying. Mark appreciates Barry in this state, for as he says, Barry laughs at his jokes when he is pissed. He chose this point in the day to inform us that he had a party to go to that evening, at some restaurant somewhere; all very vague. This information caused us a little grief, muterings of "She'll leave him behind & go alone if he does not sober up" and as the revelation sunk in, Barry too became a little concerned. He left his final pint of Guinness untouched, preferring to go for solid sustenance in the shape of fish & chips.  Sadly, there are no images of said fish supper, nor of the actual incident which resulted in the injury highlighted inthe second picture. Barry needed both hands to eat his fish and I freed one up for him by carrying his coat, which left me with fewer hands than neded to operate the camera. When asked, Barry said "I fell down in the road". Young Adrian enquired as to whether he had been hit by a car or not (not) and we also enquired as to the fate of his chips. "They fell on the pavement". There he stood, on Arundel station, with a rather splendid red stripe running down the centre of his nose; All set to attend a function of some importance later the same evening.  The third and most touching picture shows the Troutster tending to Barry, in the toilet of our train home. It was necessary to engage the assistance of a goup of small boys in order to get running water from the tap, but this done, tender hands lovingly returned Bary's nose to something approaching its regular state. One for the archives. While future trips to Arundel may not be as eventful, the consensus sems to be that it was a grand day out, picturesque ground, decent club house, pubs and fish and chips available en route to the station and should become a regular pre-season event. steve anscombe Once again we found ourselves in the First Round Proper of the FA Cup, and once again we’d drawn the short straw of a Conference club. Similarly the Conference club drew the equally diminutive straw of getting us. Nonetheless D&R’s FA Cup pedigree could not be understated, having reached the 3rd round for the 2 seasons prior to this, famously coming within 6 minutes of knocking out Charlton Athletic. On top of this, only 6 months before they were within a whisker of becoming a fully-fledged league club so, although not the dream tie, it was undoubtedly decent opposition. Whoever you get, any away day in the FA Cup is usually worth making an effort for, especially when you reach the first round proper, so a decent Hawk turnout at the Victoria Ground was fait accompli. Later, the Observer suggested 30 in it’s piss-taking and piss-poor approximation of the game, but all in all, I reckon about 100 happy Hawks made the trip. Myself, Barry 2-Pints, Shaun and Steph were joined on the 8:22 from Havant by virgin ‘beano-ite’ Steve Anscombe, while Barry’s daughter had to put up with us on her unrelated journey to the capital. Once at Waterloo, we once again met up with Ketchup and immediately set off on the week-long District Line journey to Dagenham East. A fairly uneventful trip aside from our passing through Whitechapel, at which point 2-Pints exclaimed ‘Jack the Ripper…wayhay’ and rubbed his hands with glee. Bewildered and slightly perturbed, we then attempted to spot local landmarks such as the Boleyn Ground and the 1st Big Brother house, neither of which did we successfully glimpse. On arrival at Dagenham, we immediately made haste to the pub where, in keeping with tradition, Edd, Trout, Mental Mick and Pint-Swallower Chris had already taken post. Moving swiftly on, the Railway Inn were happy to put on their big screen for us to take in the Team Bath vs. Mansfield cup tie. The view around the Hawk camp was that the Team Bath hype was a bit of a sham and so we we’re vocal in our support of the 3 Mansfield goals we saw before moving on. This confused some of the D&R support in the bar and they came across to chat about it. Soon though conversation moved on to our game and the chap we spoke to said he expected to win 6-0. It was this kind of attitude that we hoped would spread to their team. Underestimation certainly wouldn’t hinder our attempts at victory. Leaving them to it at the Railway we scoured the area in an ultimately unsuccessful search of a pub that served food. As we did so, two mini-busses crammed with Hawks sailed past announcing their arrival to Victoria Road with jubilant horns. Then Clive pulled his car up next to us, and was treated to a round of ‘You’re Clive and you know you are’ from a section of our troop. Then, spotting the team coach coming down the way, we lined the road and applauded them through the gates. The players looked more than slightly bemused by our tipsy enthusiasm. We settled in the club and admired the amount of Hawks that had made the trip, the bar being as awash with blue, white and yellow as Sam Huxter’s festive barnet (see the gallery). Out on the terraces, we we’re joined by New Guv’nor Champs and Blakey, who were both suspended, and the singing began in earnest, once we had eventually settled into the correct end and the first half had commenced. Listening to their fans prior to the game, you’d think they were a league club and we were Hants Div 3 considering, quote, "how far down the pyramid we are"! As we know in reality, it’s only one division but after only 18 minutes, we found ourselves 2 goals down and staring down the barrel of the humiliation they had expected. Yet, cometh the hour, cometh the man. Warren Haughton had claimed on TalkSport the day before (he works there see, our media mole publicity machine) that we would win 2-1 and he would score. And score he did, first a deft little back heel then, after D&R had scored their third, his awesome turn and instinctive shot brought us once again back within one goal. I will remember the day purely for Wozza’s rabble-rousing celebrations – if only there had been a TV camera behind the goal. But after a furious 5 goals in 13 first half minutes, that was yer lot, despite out choral protestations that we were ‘gonna win 9-8’. Nonetheless 100 Hawks went home very happy and proud of their team. A quick pint back in the Railway, and then back on the packhorse to Embankment, our transient return to Whitechapel being celebrated accordingly. Our journey was also punctuated by 2-Pints circular conversation with a couple drunk on love (and several cans of Special Brew). They had halted their exploration of each other’s faces to try and get their heads around who we were, where we had come from, and why we had bothered going to Dagenham. When they finally swayed out of the train they were, more than likely, thinking we were the weird ones and, frankly, as they vomited in municipal bins later, they may have had the truth, if not their livers, on their side. Our usual safe haven of the Hole in the Wall outside Waterloo was full of rugby supporters just arrived from England’s 1 point victory over Australia at Twickers earlier in the afternoon. As we quickly supped our pints to a chorus of songs with a lyrical content not dissimilar to the scholarly repertoire of Kevin ‘Bloody’ Wilson, we could feel Ketchup’s ire beginning to swell. As is always the case, the release valve needed to be discharged and, as we left, he informed our egg-chasing friends that they were a disgrace to the country. I did half expect the entire pub to come storming out intent on stoving our hero’s head in with a flag-pole but thankfully they continued with their drinking. Even if they had, I expect Ketch could have gained some solace from the fact that the green-clad chap in the bar forlornly deflating a blow-up kangaroo may have come to his aid, even if we hadn’t. Once back in the station, a Spurs supporter spotted us and waxed lyrical on being the better half of North London, stopping mid-sentence to enthusiastically point at 2-Pints and exclaim "SVEN!!!". We thought we were the only ones who had noticed the resemblance. As we went our separate ways at Waterloo, our 'section' made the most of a stash of Carlings before stopping in Petersfield for a quick last pint. Not so much a half-way house as an almost there house, but a pint gratefully received to finish off the day, as Trout and Steph continued their soap-opera of insult-trading to entertain us back to Havant. I have relived our Wozza induced euphoria via my video of Match of the Day several times since – and it’s already more worn out at the crucial point than a public library copy of ‘Basic Instinct’, and it’s always interesting to see how other people celebrate goals, as when in the thick of it, you’re too euphoric to care. Trout trying to break down the crash barrier, Shaun and Chris careering down the terrace steps, the family Foreacre leaping about maniacally – all brilliant stuff that will play over and over until it snaps. Now next year, give us the chance to jump around at a league club. Please. skif Another early start, although the fear that it would be the same 07:01 that set us off on the way to Moor Green, was soon put to rest. It was the 07:15. Still best part of quarter of an hour – an extra coffee to get the eyelids working without the aid of matchsticks. My old pal Steph joined 2Pints and myself at Cosham station for her debut beano, eagerly leaping onto our wagon to join up with Ade, Shaun, Trout and Edd. Changing briefly at Southampton Central we then headed in the direction of Reading, picking up further hedonists Reg Varney, Trace and birthday boy Ketchup at Parkway. A deputation of Hawks united early doors to celebrate another year for Mr K and hopefully to build on our FA Cup win the week before. Although with only a home defeat in the high-pressure centenary match to Stafford, Worcester would be tough opposition. Nonetheless, we busied ourselves with sports quizzes in the paper, while Reg and Ketch both gave us lyric teasers as our music knowledge was tested. Trout’s thorough knowledge of Erasure’s repertoire was certainly impressive, but the tips of our tongues were withholding too many answers to warrant ploughing through all 200. Reg also ensured we had something to keep us interested later with a prediction grid to fill in. Upon arrival in Worcester, we immediately piled into the Wetherspoons just around the corner from the station. Now, despite the clock having only recently visited the number 11 with it’s smaller hand, the day began in earnest. Due to the long standing argument concerning the qualities of real ale between Ade and Ketchup, (the former throwing a succession of ‘vile muck’-esque jibes in the direction of Ketch’s satisfied throthy moustaches), a majority agreed to tuck into a brew of the birthday boy’s choice. Ever keen to test the limits of pub science, we made our way through a pint of Summer Lightning each. Reg Varney thought it was alright. I, as a very occasional drinker of certain real ales, sipped cautiously at it and continued to do so, to see how many shades of green I could turn. Shaun took the Band-Aid-on-the-hairy-bits route and downed it sharpish to minimise the pain. Ade’s opinion remained unchanged, the ‘there’s bits of woodlice in that’ theory taking on extra vehemence. Sensibly, Trout and Edd took no part in the experiment, working to a far greater alcohol plan honed before many a home game. There may not have been something in the water but there was definitely something in Summer Lightning, as a previously good humoured debate on the various merits of H&W keepers over the years turned into vocal warfare. Had our breakfast/lunch arrived, I’m sure fried tomatoes and hash browns would have been flying across the table. In the end our combined love of Aaron Kerr brought honour to proceedings and we ventured further down the road in search of more liquid. Un-real, as it were, as we had palettes to clear. We snaked our way down the street, testing the early October climate in several pub gardens, until final arrival at St. George’s Lane. Despite much tactical discussion concerning best places to make some noise with use of the stand in one half mooted, eventually it was just a case of charging through whichever gate we happened to stumble into first. As in previous years, we took post underneath their barn in the bottom corner for the duration, allowing us 45 minutes of marvelling at our defence, which we don’t often get a chance to do from behind the goal. Despite “winning the singing”, with a handsome array of songs hitting the airwaves, the day was not destined to be ours. It had all looked good – dogged performances after Liam’s early exit through injury giving us a distinct feeling of solidity. After taking a lead after 75 minutes with a penalty that also saw a man sent off, you’d think we could justify ourselves a small feeling of security as well. It had not been a season for that though, so far, and indeed it was not long before an equaliser went in. Didn’t think the own-goal equaliser courtesy the New Guv’nor was entirely reflective of the days goings on, but there you go. Still it was a birthday party, and so back in the bar we drowned our sorrows and the New Guv’nor kindly got a round in as we informed him that nothing was his fault, even after he’d handed his money over. Ade also decided that he had to let Gareth know that he had been awesome in the only way he knows how, by planting a kiss on him. Acknowledging the peck on his cheek, and pleased that his display had been appreciated, it was clear that this was no consolation in defeat – a team-player attitude that epitomises the man. Meanwhile, results appeared to show that we had a winner in the prediction competition, although for the life of me I cannot recall whom, thanks to the drinkies. I do remember it wasn’t me as Steph was more than vocal in her delight at having got more right than I had. Not a measure of success for anyone, if you ask me. The lure of a hot dinner was too much for some, as we then lost some of our number desperate for a curry, while the rest of us less hungry peeps settled back into Wetherspoons. 19:50 came around all too soon and we all re-convened and it was clear from their shuffle up the station steps that the Cobra had been in full flow. Indeed, I seem to recall 2Pints dancing on the platform and certainly there was some singing going on. The stash of cans I had raided from the off-licence were passed around the train and by Oxford I found myself , having been talking to Reg about the Smiths, suddenly trying to work song-titles from Morrissey’s solo album ‘Vauxhall & I’ cleverly into sentences. The novelty soon wore off for Varney, but not for me. Thankfully, between Oxford and Winchester, I had the added distraction of Hartlepool’s recently acquired striker Marcus Richardson sitting amongst our number. Being surrounded by 10 tipsy gold-clad Hawks seemed to unsettle the big man a bit, but as I work with a Pools fan, I felt it my duty to interrogate him, while Ade tried to coerce him into signing for us should the Hartlepool deal turn sour. Well, whether we pissed him off or not – he was a gent and happily shook our hands and wished us luck before running away and off the train at Reading. Next thing we knew, having allowed the Hedge End massive to sail through, we’re drinking in Winchester’s Albion Tavern for a quick last orders to assist in the brief gap before our last connection prior to aiming for home. Maybe there was something differently entirely in the drinks there but for the last part of the journey two of our number, one male, one female, left our huddle and were last seen ‘conversing in depth’, as it were. Of course, this would have been great, if one of ‘em had not borrowed my shirt to wear for the day. No offence to either party, but burning does now seem an option. In fact one suggestion, from Shaun, was that the ashes from said bonfire be kept in an urn and awarded at the end of each season for most drunken and embarrassing moment. More days like this and there could be any number of nominees come May. I can think of two already. skif A few of us hedonists set off for Moor Green at around 7am on Saturday morning, picking up Hawks from Fratton, Cosham and Hedge End, stopping eventually in Banbury for the traditional away day Full English. After reinventing the queuing rules in our Greasy Spoon of choice, we seamlessly jumped back on the train bound for Solihull. Once there, and we had weaved our way to the town centre, it was time for initial drinkies and a chance to put the H&W world to rights. After a couple of hours, we piled into our hastily arranged van, and were whisked to Moor Green to ensure plenty of time for us to make inroads on their lager stockpile. We also put on our thinking caps for Chris’ epic score prediction gambit encompassing all the days fixtures in the Nationwide League as well as the DML. Noticing that we had been joined by a further fairly sized contingent of Hawks including our favourite exile, ‘Cheshire Hawk’, we took up position on the rickety uncovered wooden terrace placed bang in front of the main stand. You’ll no doubt be aware that this stand occupies the unusual position of being behind one goal. Whether we upset the regular seat dwellers with our racket I don’t know but they were treated to our debut rendition of the ‘Sweet Kylie Minogue’ medley. If you want to hear it, best come get drunk at an away match, you’ll soon pick it up. A relatively untroubled 1-0 win later, a top finish from Paul Wood, courtesy of new terrace hero Bobby Howe (Sexy Football)’s sublime pass, we returned to the vidi-printer to eventually find that the winner of the predictions quiz had been…Chris. A recount was demanded. The post game relief/euphoria also afforded Ade his usual opportunity to remonstrate with the chairman, plant a kiss on the Crazy World of Steve May AND inform the entire bar that Champs IS the new guv’nor, a cry which has echoed around the WLP social on many occasions. We jumped once again in the van and sped away from Hall Green to catch the 18:08 train to Banbury by the skin of our teeth. Already populated by Fulham fans singing, quite bizarrely, “Micky Adams’ Black And White Army”, some of our number upped the ante by banging out a rendition of “Under The Moon Of Love”. In their response it became clear that they sang, mostly, nothing relevant to the last couple of decades of FFC action. I half expected a rattle to make an appearance at one point. Our number was split after a couple of Banbury beers, as some went home early or onto other events. Rreports suggest that those who stayed in Banbury were next seen wobbling around on Cosham station frighteningly past the witching hour to conclude another excellent Hawk beano – and a victorious one, which never happens. Not used to having our cake and eating it! skif So, as another season draws to a close, and myself and my companions reflect on another nine months of our lives etched away at with journeys throughout southernmost England and Wales via land and sea, I find myself walking alongside the River Cam watching Ade and Ketchup chanting “you’re ducks and you know you are” at the relevant creatures lining the embankment. This is as sedate as it gets. Beginning our respective journeys from Fratton, Cosham, Havant and Hedge End, we congregate at Waterloo just prior to 9:30 and do the metro to Kings Cross in time to pursue the traditional hot coffee approach. End of season, long days out - mustn’t peak too early especially with the small matter of Chris’ excellent pub-style quiz to attend to. The air on our WAGN train is soon thick with cries of “Oh yeah, of course” and “I was going to say that”. Clearly, in a genuine public house contest, we’d have waved goodbye to the quids we slung in the metaphorical tankard ages ago, even taking into consideration Barry 2-Pints’ commendable dexterity on the ‘celebrity arses’ picture round. Upon arrival in Cambridge, we soon settle in front of the Tottenham - Liverpool game on Sky with Chris, proving himself to be our very own Mr. Entertainment, hastily arranging a ‘first goal-scorer’ sweep to spice up the contest. Despite early calls of ‘cheat’ against the Gamesmaster for pulling out Michael Owen for himself, it is soon Simon ‘Reg Varney’ Lynch who is celebrating, via the golden boot of Gustavo Poyet, a handsome haul of eight (count ‘em) pounds. Despite having the day off from driving, Reg kindly ploughed the bunce straight back into the fighting fund as we entered our second public house. Once the Tottenham match had finished and we had realised we hadn’t made a great deal of progress on the 2-mile journey between the station and the ground, we high-tailed it through the city centre, with 2-Pints less than successfully negotiating a lamp-post en route. Once in Cambridge’s leafy ground, we took post on the half-way line instead of behind the goals due to lack of cover, some very black clouds and our desire to make a decent racket under their small tin lid. Cambridge’s fans clearly came with a similar choral intention, but rode their luck with the elements and our 90 minute vocal battle commenced. Safe but for some freak goal action (“We’re gonna win 12-0” we told them), Cambridge soon put any fears to rest with two quick goals early in the first half. Despite clawing one back just prior to the half-time whistle, the second half petered out in the fashion of many an end of season encounter. Not that I could tell you much about it due to becoming the Hawkmob crèche for the second 45 with all the assembled nippers latching onto me for some reason. Not that I mind, of course, Hawks of the future n’ all that and all rather adorable little urchins to be fair! But I’d have thought, being a well-built 6’4”, I’d scare the shite out of them. If I’d have been sporting our away jersey, I could have put it down to some Jolly Green Giant phenomenon but as it is, it’ll just remain one of those mysteries. Maybe I’ve missed me true vocation in life. At the final whistle, we bopped and jived on the terraces for a good long while to give our boys a good send off from the league season while the Cambridge fans invaded the pitch to mob their heroes, before turning to us and applauding our vocal efforts, which we duly reciprocated. A touch of class – just a shame we never got a chance to meet the infamous Lilywhite. At this point news filtered through that while Bath had sneaked a win over Worcester, Hednesford had beaten our friends over on the Island sending them back into the Eastern Division giving rise to further leaping up and down on the terraces. I half expected someone to come along and move us on, but the promise of a leisurely couple of sherberts in the CCFC social proved more than enough temptation for us to eventually stroll on. A jovial party atmosphere greeted us in the bar and we took opportunity to present our England National Game XI heroes, Jimmy Taylor and Timmy Hambley with framed portraits taken just prior to their international appearances, which Reg Varney had cobbled together at impressive speed. After a couple of hours we decided to leave, and eventually happened upon a young fella trying to impress his mates by steering them down the Cam on a gondola. It took only one round of “You’re going round in a circle” for our boys’ chant to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. One final Cambridge pub and a chip shop later, we finally set off back to London aided by yet more quiz action courtesy of the Gamesmaster in which I discovered I knew more about arse Saturday night telly than I had previously thought, much to my chagrin. The trip also saw some activity involving several mobile phones, a Mr. E. Rith and references to pleasuring budgerigars. Oh yes. Needless to say, we partook in our traditional trip to Central London’s finest juicer, ‘The Hole In The Wall, by which time Barry 2-Pints look like he’d had about that amount too many and settled for orange juice. Myself and Adie, however, were in no mood to stop and also raided Viccy Wines before leaping on the 22:50 back home. One of our finest beanos to date, if not THE finest, I for one am glad we’re going back there next year. Especially as, considering the spectacular post-match mood in the bar amongst players and supporters, I still need convincing we actually lost the game. skif There’s nothing like an FA Cup for giving quality beano opportunities and, of course, the dream is to cop an away tie at a league side in the 1st round proper. Being drawn at home to Conference side Southport in the 1st round the previous season had been fantastic, but naturally was not what either we, or Southport, really wanted. Initially, on hearing we had been drawn at home to Barnet in the 4th Qualifying round, two schools of thought came to the fore. Barnet had retained their professional status after leaving the Nationwide league the previous May and despite taking a while to re-settle in the Conference, were bang on form. Therefore our chances of reaching the 1st round and facing a league side were slim. However, despite Barnet being, like Southport, a team you’d rather not draw in the ‘proper’ rounds, as an occasion for the fans, it was certainly an entertaining proposition. So it was decided to treat it like an away game and start the drinking in Havant town centre rather than meeting in the social club as per, and by the time of kick-off, the atmosphere about West Leigh Park was certainly carnival-esque – especially with the myriad of Bees filtering through the turnstiles. You probably know the story by now, we went into the break 1-0 down, but capitalised on a goalkeeping error early in the second to force a draw. Indeed, we were bloody marvellous in the second half and all things considered came within a whisker of beating our strong opponents. Still, a draw presented an opportunity for a quality London excursion and thanks to Barnet having a tie in the LDV Vans Trophy the following Tuesday gave us a week to prepare. I joined Shaun’s train at Havant station and our wagon then ambled like an octogenarian rambler towards the capital. Instructed by the guard to join a faster train at Haslemere, our alighting was thwarted by the station announcement that the other train had in fact become 20 minutes behind schedule. We decided to take the money rather than open the box and remained on our original carriage which eventually enabled us to meet up with Ketchup at the wonderful Hole in The Wall tavern underneath Waterloo station. The fact that he was a couple of pints up on us probably influenced his next suggestion that one of the ways we could spend our afternoon was to take the next London Eye flight, which we did! The later sight of Ketchup’s white knuckles clinging to the pod’s central bench belied his initial air of confident intrigue. Shaun and I were quite happy what with the elderly couple acting as our guide to Metropolitan landmarks, and the fact the wheel was, at least, moving at a faster rate than our train. As the colour returned to his cheeks, Ketchup then led us for a stroll across to Embankment and on to a sports book store which allowed me to thumb through many a tome and leave with nothing, as is the way of a tight git. Later on, after a couple more refreshment stops, we found ourselves accosted by a Barnet fan in a Carnaby Street sports shop, who confidently predicted that our journey was to be a wasted one. It was at this point we realised we had better point ourselves in the direction of High Barnet and a 40 minute tube ride later, we found ourselves firmly ensconced in The Weaver where were eventually joined more members of the Hawk travelling army. Hearing that large contingents of Hawks, as well as a legion of Barnet fans, were soaking up the atmos at the Old Red Lion we made our way down Great North Road. However, our journey there was marred by Ketchup’s serious ankle injury but as a legend of football ground slapstick, our hero’s potential ligament damage wasn’t going to stop him watching us lose 3-0. You know the story, third fastest FA Cup hat-trick of all time – 3 in 4 minutes by Wayne Purser (the first two of which I missed due to requiring, as Ade might put it, some beer-induced ‘winkle action’) and that was our campaign over. However seeing 150-odd Hawks away in darkest Hertfordshire was a joy to behold, and Ketchup is now back on two legs! I don’t think we can be too disappointed with what ‘the world’s greatest cup competition' was able to offer us this year. Better than losing to Langney at the first hurdle! skif BURTON ALBION (Dr. Martens League) 21/04/01 Some people decide to spend their 23rd birthdays at the local pub, some go abroad, some stay at home, some go to Eton Park, home of Burton Albion FC. With a preface such as this, guess which I chose. With Shaun having sorted the rail connection from St. Pancras weeks before to take advantage of a dirt-cheap fare for a group of 10, I journeyed up to London the night before visiting a pal, who wished to peregrinate Hawk-style on the horse-drawn to the home of the Brewers. The promise of having a quiet night for the early rising on Saturday morning was soon dashed when a quality bit of after-hours was realised in one of Lambeth’s finest public houses. Having started off before 7am, the 8 who had journeyed from Fratton and Hedge End certainly looked bedraggled as they stumbled onto the platform, which made me feel a great deal better about my post lock-in 9am-glam. Perkiness was soon restored by Mental Mick’s brunch-style picnic of cheesy scones and Strongbow, whilst Ketchup kept us entertained en route with his non-league quiz. At Derby, we climbed on a connecting coach to Burton itself. Once we set off Ketchup insisted that now the time was right to blow things up. Do not assume from this that we had suddenly become a terrorist splinter group for, unlike Clark Kent leaving a phone booth, we entered the coach as 10 ordinary people and left it as 10 ordinary people. However Superman never had 2 bananas, a 6ft bottle of lager, a daffodil, a boxing glove and a dolphin shaped hammer in his arsenal. Today, you see, was INFLATABLE DAY!! If not an entirely logistical success, walking the couple of miles to Eton Park certainly became an entertaining proposition, especially when you add the 5 or 6 pubs and many a raised eyebrow. The volume of pubs can be explained solely by our need to avoid local urchins wielding knitting needles – honest! Once suitably refreshed with skipped through a back garden towards to ground. Upon arrival at Eton Park, a stern faced steward walked towards my 6ft bottle of Bud. Here comes a killjoy, I thought. The steward then put his hand on my bottle and said "Sorry mate, no alcohol in the ground". A total geezer defying my expectations - brilliant! This was to set the overall tone for the afternoon with 1,000 Burton supporters appreciating our patented Hawk-brand hullabaloo ("BANANAS...LAGER" set to the ‘WHO ARE YA’ tune with appropriate raising of inflatables was particularly good I thought). 5 of their supporters seemed determined to ruin our day by offering us out for fights and there was talk of an ambush after the game. However we found out later that their fellow Burton-ites had ‘sorted ‘em’ in the car park whilst we made our way to the station. We met them later in the pub whilst waiting for our coach back to Derby, but the threat was seemingly gone. On the whole though it was a fantastic place to be. Indeed as we paraded in front of their ‘popular’ side terrace whilst changing ends at half time, hands were shaken and the bottle of lager brought cries of "Waaaazzzzuuuuuuuppp" from several wags. The beer continued to flow in Derby and London and having stocked up at a Burton offie, the day did not stop at the final whistle. By the time we reached Havant, many a word had been slurred and there were brief flirtations with unconsciousness interspersed with bouts of putting the world to rights. Mental Mick and Edd had the better idea of simply continuing the drinking with some Kingstonian supporters in London til the early hours!. Those boys certainly have stamina! We lost the game 4-0. We didn’t care. skif TAMWORTH (Dr. Martens League) 12/12/99 5:15am: The alarm goes in Ketchup Manor 5:20am: Up I get 6:00am: Leave Ketchup Manor 6:05am: Get to arranged pick-up point at agreed time 6:50am: Lift arrives. Lateness is due to Shaun being unable to rouse Hamster from his slumbers. 9:15am: Arrive in Tamworth for the Supporters’ match. 9:20am: Dave Clayton from Tamworth Supporters Club informs us that the game is off. Start to wonder whether this afternoon’s main event will be on. 9:30am: Head into Tamowrth town centre in search of breakfast and somewhere to get out of the rain. 9:50am: Find excellent tea-room serving huge breakfast, spend a pleasant hour chatting footie and drinking tea. 10:50am: Continue into town to look for a pub, many H&Dub roaming around looking for the same. 11:00am: Enter Yates wine bar 12 noon: Leave Yates wine bar and head for the ground 12:15pm: Get to ground and enter clubhouse to take part in a pool tournament, in which we get roundly thrashed. 2:40pm: Leave for the terraces 3:00pm: Kick off 3:10pm: Well on top. 3:27pm: 0-1. Full back cuts in and hits it into the top corner. 3:28pm: 0-2. Header from corner. 3:43pm: 0-3. Ref ignores assault on Dave Milkins and centre forward rounds Sal Bibbo to tuck it away. 3:45pm: Half-time. Hamster retires for the rest of the game. 3:59pm: Second half 4:10pm: Have missed a couple of chances to get back in it 4:20pm: 0-4. Just as tannoy announcer is giving out cup scores, Hallam lobs Sal. 4:30pm: 0-5. Centre-forward gets through one-on-one with Salv and goes around him to complete the rout. 4:45pm: Final whistle. Thank God. Worst performance for ages, as long as it’s sorted before next time. 5:00pm: Leave ground. 7:00pm: Stop at services. Hamster is not interesting in food. 7:35pm: Find Hamster chundering in car park whilst singing “I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday” to a bunch of cherry-striped fuck-wits. A priceless moment. 8:30pm: Arrive back at Ketchup Manor. Why do I bother? Because I thoroughly enjoyed the day! Ketchup RUSHDEN & DIAMONDS (FA Trophy 2nd Round) 27/11/99 Swinging’ & Missin’ With The Hawk Possee On Tour Inna Rushden Stylee After crashing out of the FA and Hants Senior Cups at the first hurdles we thought a chance of a Cup away-day beano had passed us by for this season. How wrong we were, as a fine 4-2 replay win at Aylesbury United in the first round of the FA Trophy was rewarded with a trip to Rushden & Diamonds in the second round scheduled for Saturday 27th November. Every year we dream of going to Carlisle or Torquay (difficult to please ain’t we?) but going to Rushden’s beautiful stadium was possibly even better. Not quite the FA Cup and no chance of making 90 seconds of non-stop racket on Match Of The Day, but as a consolation prize it was top notch. Malc and his boys arranged a coach, several cars were making the trip and me and my boys decided to rip the arse out of it and let the train take the strain. An 0730hr breakfast at Carole’s Café (the finest in all Portsmouth, fact not opinion) was followed by the 0830hr Fratton to Waterloo where we met up with Mr. Ketchup underneath the clock famous for the Delboy and Raquel liaison. Surprise to say, he’d already decimated Casey Jones’ stock for the next week. A luxury connection got us to Wellingborough, where we found a class juicer just outside the station. We were the only punters in the tiny bar and soon the pool table and jukebox were being put to full use as we entertained ourselves recounting tales of previous beanos. The landlady couldn’t have been more friendly or helpful, cranking up Elvis Costello, advising us of the local traffic situation and sorting out taxis for the five mile drive to Rushden. After a short time we came across the splendour of Nene Park. An impressive sight albeit in the middle of bleedin’ nowhere. Helpful stewards directed us to the various bars and cafes underneath the stands. The bar was more like a nightclub than a footy bat. No, that’s unfair, it was a lot better than most of the dives I’ve been known to frequent. The sort of place where you’d expect to see Simes and Liam* on the door with that “sorry lads not tonight” look on their mooeys. We took our positions in the away section about 1430hr and proceeded to belt out a constant racket for the next two and a quarter hours. We had a right noisy mob. The official count was 109. Including player stuff we must have knocked out around 35 songs without exaggeration. Oh yeah, the game. We played superbly without creating a huge amount, should have had a penalty and lost 1-0. We came away feeling very proud to be Hawks fans. Beers in the club, then a couple in Irthlingborough, then our various trains back to Fratton and Hedge End. A good day. Ade * = Messers Elley and Daish back to index |