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.12 QPR

As my knowledge of this country's geography south of Birmingham is akin to that of Prince Phillip's knowledge of the Common Man, I am always interested to know where the fan base is for the average London club. At one time I used to think it was, well, London, and the clubs all sort of shared them out like dolly-mixtures. I used to think that they all stayed in for fear of being beaten up by fans of the other dozen or so clubs who lived all around them. Now I know of course that they all have their own 'manors' which they occupy with great ferocity.

Thus, a Chelsea fan will tread very warily on the Isle of Dogs (home turf of Millwall and with a place name like that I think that I would tread very warily too), while a Millwall fan will tread very warily…well, actually, he doesn't tread warily anywhere in my experience - he just treads very hard, probably on your neck. I tread warily in Chester but only because they still insist on walking their bloody poodles around the walls (see Isle of Dogs above). By the way, and this is totally irrelevant, did you know that Millwall were started by a bunch of workers in a Scottish- owned jam factory on the Isle of Dogs. That's why they play in blue and white. Amazing stuff, eh?

I have also discovered that QPR's home base is Shepherd's Bush in West London and that their rivals are the nearest clubs viz. Chelsea and Fulham. They rarely see other London clubs' fans because of the sheer time it takes to cross from one bit of London to the other, thus making a Millwall fan as relevant to a QPR fan as a Huddersfield fan is to us.

The QPR fans were a bit miserable for quite obvious, and rather delightful, reasons. Stand up Dennis Smith (not that he needs much persuasion if the Rangers game was anything to go by). Thank you, Denis, for giving 'our boys' in the PG Stand their first opportunity to sing 'ONE NIL TO THE SHEEPSHAGGERS!' this season. Music to our ears along with the rather pleasant chorus of deafening silence behind us. Never mind the team, it was a bravura performance by our manager that set the boys off. We have now replaced big chief 'He Who Sits In Stands' and lesser chief 'He Who Stood Next To He Who Sits In Stands' with our very own brand new big chief - 'He Who Bounces Up And Down And Does Not Appear To Want To Sit Down Anywhere' aka Crazy Horse. And the smoke signals are looking good, Hawkeye.

Right, back from the Wild West, or Rhyl as its known in my neck of the woods, and on to QPR again. They are not, perhaps, as arrogant as some other London fans, although events on the field may have had something to do with that. Actually, I've compiled a brief and not-to-be- taken-seriously table of fans' attitudes below. Here it is:

How the average fan from different parts of the country reacts to being asked by a steward to sit down or stop making obscene gestures at rival fans:

London fan: Will look at you like you have just splashed up after plopping into toilet pan and will then sit down IN HIS OWN TIME.
Northern fan: Will threaten to throw you over the (******') fence before standing back for his wife to nag you for the rest of the bloody game.
Midlands fan: Will threaten you, but because he sounds like Jasper Carrot or Frank Skinner, you will roll about laughing. (Oh boy, am I looking forward to the next Stoke match after that one).
Rural fringe fan: Will take it in his well-oiled stride, unless he is from Bristol where he will manage to sound like Joe Grundy from The Archers as he displays his 'loveable country rogue' persona by dismantling all the seats from Row A in the Marstons to Row Z in the Deva Stadium.

For the first time in four years I managed to tell two fans off for starting up the Sheepshagger chant. I got booed by a few fans around me as well, so I must have been doing my job. Well, actually, I told them off for standing in the middle of the aisle and would happily have let them go to their seats IN THEIR OWN TIME (these are important people, remember, born within the sound of the M25). However, I thought that starting up the 'Sheepshagger' chant while being parked illegally, you might say, was pushing it a bit, so in I went. They will not be the most annoying people I will have to deal with this season.
In fact, all things considered, the usual comments apply. They caused no real trouble, had a few beers, watched a game of footie with their mates, and just went home a bit sulky because they LOST ONE-NIL TO THE SHEEPSHAGGERS! And for that we all say: 'Thank you, Mr Smith'.

NO.13 BLACKPOOL

Pound for pound, I reckon Blackpool fans are the noisiest in the division, even without that bloody travellin' band of theirs. Even the Seasiders get fed up of it as it's intrusive at a distance of several miles, never mind within the confines of the tin shed that is the average stand in the lower divisions. They were quite happy noisy this time as their team, containing a lot of reserves apparently, played us off the park.

There was one thirty-something just behind me who was giving it some and 50% more. When he got a bit over the top I had to warn him gently. He told me to '**** off', of course. So then Dave, our supervisor, had to come over to watch him for a while. And yet, I have known far worse. There is a big difference between an ordinary guy letting off steam in grand style and a genuine yob. This guy was just going OTT with a long rant of 'F' words, 'C' words and 'W' words. The trouble was, as he V-signed with his right hand, he was holding, in his left hand, a kid of two, maybe three years old. And I don't think that's on. They had brought a lot of kids along and, while they caused no trouble at all, there is something doubly obnoxious about hearing the words 'Sheepshaggers' and 'The referee's a ******' coming out of the mouths of babes and children.

Now, 'kids' brings me to the big question. Where is Rex the Dragon? Now that Rockin' Robin has been dropped through a big hole in the netting of some Mascot Cattery, where is his replacement? Is he still an egg? Has he hatched yet or did somebody take him out of the nest by mistake and put him in the fridge? Has he, in fact, left the fridge and become a soufflé? We need to know. Is he, even now, following his big green mummy dragon dressed in a big red nappy learning his first words:

Cue to kitchen in chez Dragon:

(Little dragon is busy smashing up his Lego Deva Stadium and struggling with the verbals).

'Da---da---da------da------------------------Denis!'

Oh well done, Rex. (He is placed proudly on his mother's knee). Now try the 'M' word.

'Ma---ma---ma--------ma-------------------Mickey!'

Oh well done. That's lovely! Uncle Mickey who's been teaching you how to dribble. Yes, I'll have to have a word with him about that. Now what else have you learnt?

(Little Rex thinks for a while and then proudly tries a new one)

'Fu----fu----------------fu-----------------f-ouch!'

(Big red scaly hand descends firmly on big red nappy)

You can stop that now, you bad boy. You've been playing with those naughty Chester fans again, haven't you?

OK. I think I'd better return to the real world at this point. Actually, no, not for a few seconds anyway. Dragon…dragonettes! Yes, I suppose they're our replacement for Robin. And very nice too. It's just a shame we can't have the benefit of their talents on our side of the ground. I just thank the Lord that somebody has obviously told them never to visit that dark recess commonly referred to as The Away End. Well done that man.

Girls - if anybody, and I mean anybody, even Uncle Denis the Boss, ever tells you to go and dance in front of the away fans…please, please, please…DON'T DO IT! Believe you me, the stuff you would hear would microwave you in three seconds flat!

However, Blackpool fans, in the mood they were in, would not have been the worst to have performed for. Like nearly all fans, before the match anyway, they were complimentary about things like the PG Stand and the friendliness of the local alehouses (the Turf always comes out well in this). And, I must point out that all away fans agree on one thing - the pitch is in wonderful nick. Week after week, come flood or rugby match, that pitch gets the plaudits from the travellin' hordes for its excellent playing surface. So stand up and be saluted all our groundsmen. All two of you, I think. Of course, the Blackpool fans had to distort this into a chant of, 'NICE GROUND, SHIT FANS!', but, there you are, you can't have everything, as my mum would say.

It's the metamorphosis thing again. One bank clerk in collar and tie is…just that…a banker. But, twenty bank clerks in bright tangerine combat gear and, wow, the Lytham St Bernard is Supermutt! No stopping him now. The Tangerine Terriers hit town and, for a couple of hours, from the safety of a crowd of 1108 in an old tin shed in a faraway town, Billy Banker can become W---- W----- and good luck to him. For tomorrow is another day, another mortgage, and the tangerine soon fades to grey again.