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.37 - Scunthorpe 

In keeping with great literary tradition, I must now point out that all names in the following piece have been changed to protect the innocent. Thus, the steward incorrectly referred to as Graeme in the last Hordes is actually called Alan (my apologies), but we shall call him Dennis now to protect him. Tony (Big Fish) Bradley is now, erm, Tim Gresford, and our supervisors are no longer Dave and Mike. We shall now call them Derek and Mavis. Perhaps not. Calling Mike 'Mavis' is treading on thin ice, methinks. So, OK, he's now Meirion. And our own Cheeky Chappie steward who is called Mark shall from now on be referred to as…Mark. (What the Hell, you've got to be brave sometimes).

Why all this covering up? I'm not sure, but in the current climate of political correctness and hyper-active lawyers, it's best to play safe. Added to the fact that our illustrious chairman is on record as reading Red Passion and that one of our players is a six- and-a-half-foot ex-soldier and, perhaps, I shall be more careful for a while.

So, Scunthorpe. 'So what?' is probably more pertinent as only a 140 bothered to turn up to watch their high-flying team. By the end there were only 139 as one daft bugger went and broke his seat. This was spotted by a steward 50 yards away, but not by me, three yards away. Well done that other, keen, steward. There was, otherwise, very little else to report. The police stepped in early as some of the Scunthorpe banter was a bit too raw and, apart from one or two foul-mouthed guys, it was much as you would expect from such a thin crowd.

And yet, before the game, we were warned of an impending battle in the PG, all arranged on the Internet, apparently. That is why we were policed, which is rare for such a low gate.

The Internet had been ablaze with threat and counter-threat in the days leading up to the match, like the ranting of two islands of cyber-chimps. I've often wondered just how different we are, really, from chimps. When they all start screaming at each other and hurtling around their trees at Chester Zoo, are they really any different from hooligans screaming across the little patch of green that separates their particular islands at the Racecourse? Are chimps basically shouting things like, 'Come over here if you think you're hard enough,' and calling each other names like 'Mango, Mango Mangoshaggers' or 'You're baboons and you know you are?'
Cue to the Chimp Enclosure at Chester Zoo on a freezing January morning. Bryan, the slowest of the chimps, has not realised quite how freezing cold it is, however. He is screaming abuse at the island opposite, in time-honoured fashion, and has failed to notice that he is, in fact, alone. There is no response from the other island. This, too, has gone unnoticed by Bryan, who really is, shall we say, slow.

'S*** on the Other Chimps, S*** on the Others Tonight.'

Suddenly, the consequences look a little ominous, even to Bryan, as four horrendously big gorillas appear before him from out of the mist (look, if you want originality, buy a proper book).

Slowly, it dawns on Bryan that something has gone horribly wrong. He turns to his best mate, Tony (Big Banana) Bradley, for assistance. In the great tradition of best mates, Tony shouts his advice from somewhere in the Penguin Enclosure, roughly a mile away. 

'What's going on?', screams Bryan. And, boy, do I mean scream.

'You missed the news last night, you prat', replies Big Banana. 'Too busy sh******, as usual.'

'Well, I'm an ape. It's what we do', replies Bryan.

'Yeah, but she was a tree, but that's not important now. Nobody appears to have told you that they moved the Other Chimps to their new Deva Island last night.'

Bryan: 'Right, and then.'

Big Banana: 'And then, my hairy brown flea brush, they moved the Gorillas in next door.'

Bryan: 'Well, that's OK, then.'

BB: 'Why is that OK?'

Bryan: 'Because gorillas won't cross water.'

'No, mate, but they will cross ice. See ya.'

I am not, of course, likening hooligans to chimps, by the way. Just so you know.

One of our local reporters remarked that our crowd was the lowest of the day. That was a little disingenuous, I think, as there were hardly any games played, thanks to the weather. Reporters seem, to me, to put spin on anything they print. As the saying goes, 'there are lies, damned lies and the Press.' How many times have I been to games and then read reports that could not possibly have been written from the same ground?

And that's it for today, boys and girls. Let's hope more fans, both home and away, make it for the Southend match in a couple of weeks. Unlikely, given that it is Southend. However, in the spirit of changing names, perhaps they are not Southend and, really, they will be Southampton. That should add another six to the crowd, at least.