The Travelling Hordes

Fans


Bryn Jones is a Racecourse steward. He's based in and around the Marston Stand, so he gets a fantastic insight into the psyche of visiting fans...

NO.3 - READING

At last a real horde, close to a thousand of them in fact. Unfortunately, they were rather too nice to be a proper marauding sort of horde. There was the usual 'banter' between them and our 'boys' in the PGS, but nothing to give us a heart-attack, despite the fact that this game was a non-policed one. Strange decision that, given that the crowd was bound to be half-decent for a change and the travelling supporters a bit keen as their team are doing rather well. Amazing, too that there were about three of 'our boys' for the Oxford game and then, suddenly, a hundred or so appear, along with about an extra thousand 'non-boys' in the rest of the ground. A week is a helluva long time in football, to be sure.

Anyway, back to the Reading fans. Perhaps it's their friendliness which is the reason nobody seems to hate them. They hate Oxford and Swindon too, apparently, but those two mainly hate each other and give Reading a miss. A bit like us really. We hate Chester and they hate us (what do you mean you hadn't noticed?) Shrewsbury also hate us, but who gives a **** about them?

It all helped to create a great atmosphere, and with a Welsh rugby win, me winning £13 in our 'Guess the Crowd' competition, plus another Trundle equaliser, it's a shame they had to bugger it all up by scoring the winner in the last 10 minutes. Then there was the pleasant but daft sod who kept us back a bit longer searching for his lost car keys, only for his mate to run back telling us they'd been left in the car.

You see, although much of this stewarding lark is a pain - keeping yobs off the steps, chucking out drunks, arguing toe-to-toe with ********* - most of it is great. As, for instance, when my colleague Craig held back the Reading fans so that a disabled guy could leave safely down the steps. Nobody complained - they never do in these circumstances. There were lots of 'thank yous' and 'great game, mate(s)' as they went like happy little sandboys to their Happy Little Sandboy Land somewhere past Birmingham. And the reason for these happy farewells?

No, it's because they won. First rule of football life, even for Reading fans. If you win you become magnanimous. If you lose, you become a prat.

One final insult courtesy of that old ginger Scouse bint. Reading's best chant: 'WAY-ULS ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, WAY-ULS ARE THE WEAKEST LINK!' When does that plane take off for America?

 

NO.4 - BURY

Recently Bury fans have been the pleasantest of all, full of that famed Lancastrian 'warmth' that seems to have by-passed their compatriots from Preston or Burnley more surely than the M6 has. This time thanks to the aggro on the pitch, they were a bit grumpier than usual, but that was as far as it got. Thankfully it wasn't Cardiff or Stoke. Give them a cold pie or a piece missing from their Yorkie bar and your whole town is razed to the ground.

But what a miserable night it turned out to be. It was cold, boring and even my burger tasted like it had fallen in the sugar. And nobody in the Bury crowd seemed capable of producing a decent insult or starting a moderately interesting chant. The only shout I can even remember was from the saddo who kept calling Dearden 'FATTY'. Where were you boy when the scriptwriters from Frasier needed you? Better was the fan who last year came up with: 'WHO ATE ALL THE SHEEP?' Even our Kev smiled at that one.

We had more fun at half-time when the two mascots had a penalty shoot-out. Imagine the job description for Rockin' Robin: 'Dress up as a fat bird and be able to waggle your bum and fall over in front of aggressive crowd of mostly young men who sometimes attack even normal people.' Mind you, give the lad his due. He was the only one to kick the ball straight all night.

Typically, we were policed for this match. Perhaps it's the same for the police as it is for us stewards. Two hundred peaceful fans from Bury and about 20 of us turn up to enjoy the night. Two thousand from Cardiff and we may manage three and that's only if they can drag someone screaming from the Yale to help out. Perhaps we should be paid on some sort of scale (we get £10 a match, if you're interested). We should actually pay the club for a game like Bury or Colchester, say, as long as they give us a Beckhamful to get our heads kicked in against Cardiff.

What is it about Cardiff? Aren't they Welsh just like us? Sorry mate, it wasn't me who nicked your rattle 39 years ago and it wasn't my English mate either. Perhaps it was that Icelandic guy over there. Cue complete obliteration of Reykjavik by 200 maniacs shouting 'BLUEBIRDS, BLUEBIRDS!' before their ferry sinks somewhere off the Orkneys because Mad taffy from Splott thought it was a good idea to undo all the screws underneath his bunk.