The Travelling Hordes

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

NO.8 OLDHAM

Yippee - new season, new chairman, new players, new ambition…oh yeah, sorry, that's Oldham. Never mind, we had new…erm (thinks hard)… let's see…I know!…there was a new kid on the snack bar! Oh, and the pigeon **** on the front seats of the Marston was quite fresh. Obviously, great strides are being made now those interfering buggers from Holywell and Coventry have cleared off.

Right, down to business. About 800-1,000 fans were forecast for the Oldham end. There were, of course, twice that number and, as usual, the club were unprepared. Hundreds of away fans were still outside when the match kicked off. You don't make our job easy, do you lads? Too few gates open, overpriced crap food and shit on the seats! And we're told we did not need a new commercial manager. If we really want to annoy away fans even before kick-off then, fine, let's keep up the good work. However, there's only one way I want to p*** off the away fans and that's by beating their team hands down on the pitch!
And, of course, we managed that for 89 minutes, which doesn't quite count. That's rather like bungee jumping with a rope that is just an inch too long. Never mind, Oldham's late equaliser allowed a generally well-behaved bunch go home happily enough. Despite rumours of BNP hit squads roaming the countryside between here and Welshpool, the only evidence of racist flag-waving thugs was the presence of a couple of gangs who went through the BNP hymn-book with a lot more vigour than usual. While the bulk of the crowd occasionally burst into traditional football folksongs like, 'WE HATE MAN U, WE HATE MAN U!',
the flag-wavers kept up a barrage of real abuse including that old heart-warmer: 'KEEP ST GEORGE IN MY HEART, KEEP ME ENGLISH!', with it's stirring finale, 'NO SURRENDER, NO SURRENDER TO THE IRA!'

I lost count of the number of things I could 'stick up my a***'. They ranged from my '******* dragon' to my 'foreign language'. Only in Wales are we supposed to listen to that without complaining. Why not go to Serbia, boys, and suggest they stick their 'Serbo-Croat' where the sun don't shine, along with their '******* eagle' or their 'bleedin' Milosovic'? 

Never mind, the remaining 99.5% of Oldham fans were extremely friendly. Normally in a match where the lead changes hands and where six goals are scored you spend a lot of time keeping over-excited fans off steps and fences but, on this occasion, I did not have to argue with anybody once. Three seats were broken where the 'Waffen SS Saturday glee choir' had been, but they hadn't been thrown or anything. Just jumped on probably.
A couple of things I mulled over later. Firstly, I watched the police deny entry to a drunk. He was well gone yet his mates continued to argue until three coppers were needed to get shut of them. Why argue? The police and stewards were right in barring him. Arguing meant that none of you got in. Shutting up would probably have got even your pissed mate in as long as he slept quietly in a hole somewhere.

On a completely different topic, a friendly Oldham fan who had been to the Isle of Man gave me his views on Wrexham fans: 'Fantastic bunch of guys.' Wasn't he nice? Then he proffered this view of our very own Trundle: 'One foot, no head and a bad temper.' Of course, he's still a nice guy, isn't he? I just hope he's wrong.

NO.9 COLCHESTER

I had a lovely chat with an elderly lady and lifelong Colchester fan in that boring hour before kick-off when we are at our stations with the trains still at Crewe, so to speak. Fans like Colchester's drift in quietly, giving us time to chat a bit. We seem to have a lot in common with Colchester - small town, isolated, rural fan base etc. My lady friend informed me that their hooligans are known as the Barsiders and, on this occasion, I counted four of them. Maybe they can combine with our hooligans and then there would be seven of them and they can call themselves the Sideliners perhaps? I quite warmed to them, despite them wearing Chester City's colours. Then, at the end of the game, I called to my lady friend wishing her a safe journey home and hoping she had enjoyed the game. She ignored me completely. Why?

If you were there you would know why. We equalised for one thing. And there was a goalmouth dust-up right below us for another. What I saw was a nasty little forward smacking into young Kristian and setting off the whole brouhaha. What she saw was young Kristian flinging their forward away, ably assisted by little Dennis. And that is all it takes to transform a motley crew of bank clerks, pensioners and spotty youths into a true horde. Great, isn't it? From then on they launched into a frenzy of 'sheep' jokes and insults, flung especially at Kristian Rogers.

Advice for aspiring comedians in the away end:
For a guaranteed belly laugh substitute 'sheep' for any word in standard English phrase. Works every time and no doubt gets you a free pint of ale (sorry, sheep piss) down in the New Inn (Ewe Inn) to eat with your sheepburger while 'ewe' watch your mates tucking into their 'ram' rolls. One Colchester clown is now on the club security video performing an obscene act with his blow-up sheep. This act was first seen at Crewe 35 years ago and is repeated roughly monthly by similar juveniles from various towns around England on their trips to 'Yekky Da' Land. 

Actually, I've had quite enough of sheep. I mean it. I live in Glyndyfrdwy for God's sake. If I can't sleep, I look out of the window and count real bloody sheep jumping over my own fence. Actually, for fun, I visualise Englishmen leaping over fences - ones like Kenneth Clarke or Phil Jupitas. Only then I can't get to sleep for laughing so much. It's even better if you picture them in their underpants but then you can't sleep for worrying about yourself and the deep sadness that is your life.

Right, back to the subject. Apart from my lady friend, the rest of the Colchester fans went away reasonably friendly, if disgruntled. Like Wrexham fans they regard any kind of success as an aberration, something that happens when no-one else is concentrating or as a sort of seat-warming arrangement with a millionaire-backed outfit such as Cardiff or Wigan.

One disturbing observation. This was the third match in a row in which an overtly right-wing and/or racist element manifested itself. With Oldham it was the BNP. With Hull we had the Red Hand of Ulster flag brought in by a trio of guys from Belfast who spoke proudly of their Loyalist tendencies (I didn't get a chance to question them about their Hull connection, I'm afraid). Then, with Colchester, we had the monkey chant for the first time in ages and I had to have a very strong word with the forty-something who called our Dennis a 'nigger' during the goalmouth punch-up. He should have been thrown out of course, but with no police presence this is unrealistic. Perhaps it is due to the presence of the Trinidadian contingent in our team, but is it part of a wider trend, I wonder? 
Right, back to sheep. It's always best to turn these remarks back on the away fans. The best Wrexham chant of all is: 'ONE-NIL TO THE SHEEPSHAGGERS!' Not as good as 'SIX-NIL TO THE SHEEPSHAGGERS!', of course, but I can tell you from deep in the heart of enemy territory it doesn't half shut them up. It's just a shame that the prerequisite of actually being one-nil up doesn't occur quite often enough.