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.28 BURY

Wow, it's so friendly here in the League's nether regions. Already, I thought that Boston would scoop my end-of-season award for friendliest fans. They had a genuine small-club sociability about them. They seemed to be honoured to play with the big boys and, perhaps, wondered if they had strayed into the wrong playground by mistake. Looking at the current league table, of course, maybe they have. What a shame.

Then, along come Bury and what a great night they seemed to have. Losing a two-goal lead as well as the services of Carlos may give our Denis a slightly more jaundiced view, but it did wonders for the Bury fans. And, if you were a neutral, then weren't your pennies well spent?

Bury fans came in saying their team was playing well, but results had slipped recently and, for half an hour or so, that looked to be the case. Our lads obviously thought that history would repeat itself as well after Andy's penalty. And then it all flipped over, much to the delight of the travellin' fans.

Bury fans have been both friendly and lively in all of our recent encounters. They were dead chuffed 'cos they brought their biggest following this season - about 400 by my reckoning. Bye 'eck, what did they put in their liquorice? Well, actually it wasn't liquorice. It was summat' else. Whisper it quietly, but two naughty boys were caught smoking. So, you may well ask? In fact, there were bloody hundreds of 'em smoking. I reckon they must have evolved pollution-craving lungs, bred over centuries of living in good old northern industrial smog. 

Right, back to our two very naughty boys smoking. Not usually a problem. Telling them not to smoke is like asking the Titanic not to sink. Mostly, you have to satisfy yourself by suggesting that they don't wave their fags at the camera. Of course, this is precisely what half of them will then do.

The trouble is, our two naughty boys were smoking pot. 'Chin 'em Paula' spotted them and alerted the boys in bright yellow who came down to sort them out. They'd chucked the lot by then and were let off with a warning. Well done, Paula, though. If you've ever wondered why she features more than any other steward in my articles, it's 'cos she's harder than any other steward. There's one word that describes why I think she's the best. That word is 'intimidation'.

Personally, I'd give all the away fans as mush hash as they could inhale. That way, they'd be so laid-back we'd get our easiest ride ever. Wouldn't it be lovely to have 2,000 Cardiff fans stoned to their conkers for the afternoon.

Hey man, we hate North W…whoa, hey Llew, where the **** are we anyway?

Search me, man, in Heaven, I think.

We hate…no, that's not cool, man. We love North Thingy, we love North…hey, big yellow geezer…where the **** am I?

North Wales, mate.

O yeah…like, cool. That's like wow. I love whales, man and them other little cool wet things…

Dolphins?

Na, cool, wriggly things..oh yeah,**** me…got it…worms. They're really cool. Hey, aren't your lot great, man. Yeah, cool team playin' in red. Come down and see me when you next visit our house. The one with the nice roof that keeps slippin' off, man. Bring your Swansea mates. Yeah, real chill time. Lookin' forward to the party.

Yeah, right. Fantasy Land. And I'm voting Tory at the next election. Well, I think I did. Only the ******** went and changed their name to New Labour, or something. Actually, I think I'll vote Bury. It would all be very friendly for five years, at least.

Unless you happen to come from Bolton. So quiet are Bury fans, usually, that I was never sure who their hate-club were. On the basis that hate clubs have to be a) geographically close, and b) of similar status, football-wise, I'd assumed Rochdale would have counted most. But, they don't. From beginning to end, Bury fans chanted all the familiar ditties with the word 'Bolton' put where we would put 'Chester'. Yes, I know where we would all put Chester, but I think I have used up my quota of swear words already.

One of their chattiest fans pointed out that Bolton is only eight miles up the road so that's basically it. I love this idea of local rivalries. There are still some clubs I don't know, like Gillingham, but I'm getting there. 

Anyway, despite a little horseplay, I found it difficult to believe this lot would want to fight anybody. As usual, the ones who had caused me the most bother were the first to shake hands and slap shoulders at the end. It was ever thus.

Still, I wonder what would have happened if one of their lads had been sent off? And they hadn't scored an equaliser in the second half? Ah well. Stay cool. Love everyone. Yeah man, even Chester. 

S***, put my fag out someone, quick!

No.29 - EVERTON

Oooohhh. What a big horde you Scousers have. Not since Stoke last visited have we used the Lower Marstons. Now, there's a bad design, unless there's some structural stuff I don't know about. I mean, why isn't it just one big load of seats all the way down to the bottom? Every time there's a big game we have to recruit extra, better-paid stewards to help us out. Jealous? Moi? And then there's the temptation, never resisted, to scale the fence and give us a bit more to do dragging them back. There is always the plank who is in the wrong bit and the drunk who forgets he is more like Chris Evans than Chris Bonnington and nearly dies in his attempt to scale the fence.

Nobody scaled my fence. I had a crackin' match, ably assisted by a well-experienced Everton guy. We decided to get stuck in from the beginning and it worked. We cleared the steps and hauled back any trainee mountaineers, so the fans nearby quickly got the message and a good time was had by all. Except for the result, of course. 

I even got one fan back. An historic first. Normally, once they're over the top and with their mates in the Lower Marstons, you can forget about them. This lad made the mistake of choosing one of the bobbies as his little friend. Using all the hi-tech gear at his disposal, the bobby near me bellowed to his mate who pointed in my direction. A quick, authoritative gesture from me (yep, really) and the lad came back up over the fence to re-occupy his seat in our bit of the ground. It was like watching a video in reverse. Can I have the security film please, Colin, 'cos it'll be a long time before it happens again. 

A few scallies pulled straight off the fence, and a bit more clearing of the steps and it all got nice and peaceful. A somewhat flattering scoreline helped, of course. I had a bit of an eyeball-to-eyeball with some Chester fans because, well, I suppose it's obvious, really. They were giving it some to the boys who had re-occupied their corner of the PGS following the early ejection of a bunch of Everton lads. Otherwise, apart from a strong smell of burning in the Gents and a drunk telling me to 'Calm down, calm down', it was an OK night. 

Apart from the pitch invasion, I think the 169 bobbies on duty also had a reasonably peaceful night as well. We all thought the lads who crossed the pitch were some sort of Wrexham Suicide Squad. If you want to top yourself in Wrexham, lads, there are easier ways. Just try and drive down King Street at the moment for a start. Anyway, the Everton fans obviously thought the same and flattened the poor sod (one of their own, remember) who got through the cordon of police and stewards. Ain't life s***?

One of my biggest problems on the night was being unable to see the flamin' game. We're supposed to stand sideways on with half an eye on the match and half on the crowd.

Hang on. That gives me a spare eye! Bugger. I'm a freak. Hang on a sec while I get over this panic attack. Okay. Think nice things. Think…Vanessa May…then again, she may not… right, try Zoe Ball…becomes Johnny Ball…oh God, now it's Alan Ball!…This is going to take a lot longer than I thought.

Phew, back in the real world. The problem is that when the Lower Marstons is full, I can see nothing of the match at all. I have to go on the crowd reaction. Foaming at the mouth, calling the ref a 'twit', a 'dockhead', a 'winker' or even a 'cookin' font' (sorry, have I got things slightly wrong here? The hearing's going a bit, old chap) and you can bet that things are going our way. Waving in strange ways at the PGS and offering me sweets and fags and you can be equally sure that things are going their way. I wouldn't mind a bit more than sweets and fags.

How I long for a wealthy Middle Eastern fan. 2-0 up and I might get a camel.5-0 and I could get the missus. I can see the team I would pick now. Vince O' Keefe in goal, Arkwright in midfield and the wife as striker, just to be sure. I might even swap them around to try and make it 8-0, then I could get offered the daughter as a bonus. And still keep the camel to boot. Oh, what a lot of lovely humps! (Remember, folks, not to read this before the 9 o'clock watershed.)

Ah well. Wake up, Bryan. You're in Glyndyfrdwy not friggin' Dubai. Aren't you happy with hundreds of sheep to choose from? Suppose so. Sigh. 

Still, they're very pretty sheep.

No.30 - LEYTON ORIENT

Sometimes, inspiration is hard to come by. Ask our lot on Saturday. Lousy match, a handful of pleasant, quiet away fans and a flamin' computer that won't log onto an Orient website! 

This computer lark pisses me off. They'll never rule the world. How can anything rule the world that sticks a squiggly red line under the word 'Leyton'? And, bugger me, now the CD is on the blink. Louis Armstrong is now sounding like a hippo with aching joints, instead of just looking like one. Actually, no, the computer's not on the blink, Ole Satchmo always sounds like that to me. God, the computer's stuck a squiggly green line under that one! Nag, nag, bloody nag. And now it's stuck a green squiggle under 'nag, nag…'! Aaaarrrrgghh. I think I'll go and get a pen.

Right, football. Mind you, there was none this afternoon, so why should you expect it here, huh? Their fans, 150 in number, maybe, were very family-orientated ('ORIENTated' - must be a pun there). They did not expect much before the game and reckoned defeat was the only likely outcome. That, of course, is fatal. If anybody wants to scupper our chances all they have to do is write, 'Wrexham are favourites' and add a couple of thousand to the crowd. It has never failed to the best of my knowledge. Apparently, a local DJ had asked his listeners which they preferred: a long trip to Wrexham with the prospects of a heavy defeat and a local rail strike or to stay at home and listen to his show. Only these brave, or sad, 150 took the first option. The rest probably switched their radio off and went shopping.

These were the first lot, by the way, who did not appear to have any serious local rivals. Is this unique? I haven't worked out Gillingham's yet, so, perhaps we can give them to each other. I know they both come from 'darn Sarf' and are insignificant so that should do it. Let's face it, it's only the same as national journalists who call our match with Swansea a 'Welsh derby'. The other London clubs have sort of tied the local rivalries up. As all of the others play in higher divisions, Orient were obviously left behind like the kid nobody wants in their team. And such a nice kid, too.

I got a lot of info from two young lads and their mums(?) who got into chat overdrive before the game. Orient got their name from the Peninsular and Oriental Line (P&O) workers who founded the club. The name stuck because of a pun on the fact that Orient are in the 'Far East' of London. I bet you're in stitches over that one, eh? Harry Enfield, eat your heart out. 

They couldn't offer an explanation, though, for the fact that their club emblem is a pair of red griffins ie. two of our dragons sharing the four legs between them. Their stewards get £20 a match. Must be a London Living Allowance in that figure. They had an inexperienced, therefore probably dodgy, keeper on display. That was another warning sign. Dodgy keeper = no shots on goal by home strikers, just to be fair. Thank God, it's Hartlepool away next. I'm going to do Denis' job for him. HARTLEPOOL WILL WIN EASILY. Now, watch us go!

Struggling to come up with something for this piece, I started to work on some anagrams of the teams' names. I quite liked one for an Orient striker, using the letters in 'Leyton Orient' which came out as 'I, LOONY NETTER' and got as far as 'CHEERY TITS' for 'Chester City', but did not know where to stick the surplus 'C'. I'm sure Chester fans could tell me but I rest safe in the knowledge that they are as likely to read this as Bill Clinton is to get round to fixing his zip. By the way, an anagram of Hartlepool is 'HER TALL POO. Now, that's what I call a really CRAP anagram.

No.31 - HUDDERSFIELD

I was down in London for most of last week. Why, you may ask? Don't know, really, except that's where they record the quiz show, Fifteen to One and, if you're on it, it's pointless being in Wrexham while the other 14 are on the set in Wandsworth. They're weird down there. I mean, they've got trains nearly every bloody minute, yet they still run up the escalators. Why, for God's sake? What's going to happen if you miss the 14.03 to Wimbledon and have to catch the 14.04 instead? Miss your connection to Crewe up here at 06.00 and you have to wait until 07.00 before you can find somebody to let you know. You then have to get a calendar out to find your next connection which will probably go via Inverness (but not on a Saturday, or after 15 December, if you check the small print). 

Q: Why do First North-Western have the best football team in the railway network?

A: 'Cos they've got the most strikers. Boom, boom.

Now, back to London. We went to the Versace exhibition, which was actually quite good. The Liz Hurley dress was there. Actually, it's crap without Liz Hurley in it. We paid £120 for a meal in a restaurant which my daughter chose and £40 in one which I chose the day after. Guess who was paying on both occasions.

What's all this got to do with football. Nothing, of course. Just like the LDV Vans Trophy. This is a fact recognised by most football fans, which is why they mostly stay away from it. With a small squad and a rapidly diminishing chance of promotion, progress in this competition could actually be a bad thing. 

Certainly the Terriers' fans leaving after the match did not seem too bothered about their defeat. With massive debts and a possible freefall into the dungeon that is Division 3, they have more to worry about than losing to us in the LDV. Most of the 200 fans who bothered to turn up were of the young variety and spent the night exchanging 'banter' with a similar gang who occupied the PGS for the night. 

'Banter' is probably too polite a word for the usual torrent of obscenities and 'racisms' that flew through the evening gloom. It's all part of the game, of course, but I had to step in and do my 'teacher' bit after watching a trio of 10-year-olds V-signing and chanting at the PGS. It's well after dark in the middle of a school week. It's a 100 miles away in a strange town. I saw no adult with them. Am I old-fashioned or am I right in thinking the only place for these kids at 10 o'clock on Tuesday night should have been their bedrooms? This was not a one-off trip to play Man U or Arsenal in the FA Cup. It was Wrexham in the LDV, remember. 

When the crowd is small the 'banter' can get very personal. I don't know who the guy in the PGS was whom the Terriers nicknamed 'Gippo', but I liked the response, 'Gippo's lookin' happy, Gippo's lookin' happy, Na na na, na na na', when we won it at the end. Mind you, I don't think they said, 'lookin'', but you get the drift. Yep, I know 'Gippo' is a racist word, but how the hell do you stop 200 of them in full flow?

I was reading a report in the Observer last week and the journalist was getting on his high horse about the stuff he heard at matches. He wanted to know why stewards at a ground where Millwall were the visitors had not stopped the away fans shouting their standard Saturday afternoon stuff. Yeah, right. Like a steward is going to walk up to 500 Millwall fans and threaten to expel them for being racist. Great move. They wouldn't hear him, for a start. And for that, he could thank God. Of course, if they did hear him, he would be able to thank God face to face soon after. Observer journalists have as much knowledge of how to steward away fans as I have of how to write a poncy piece on pashminas (relatives of the guinea pig, originating in Ecuador, aren't they?).

So, it's Leigh RMI in the next round. Should be good for a couple of injuries four days before the proper cup match against Darlington. Yep, just what we need with our small squad. A fixture list compiled by somebody from a London broadsheet.