Edgy in Edgeley

Saturday afternoon, and I am leaning on the bar of a thinly-populated pub on the A6 in Stockport when a slight commotion to my side causes my half-drunk pint of Robinson’s Best Mild to teeter slightly. Grabbing hold of the pint I turn to find a bar stool on its side, and under it, a wailing child about seven years old, collapsed in a heap. ‘Are you all right, mate?’, enquires his dad, and after a moment I realise he is talking to me. He is concerned that the careless boy, while toppling from his lofty perch, may have committed the cardinal bar-room sin of spilling a man’s pint. ‘Aye, I’m OK- is he OK?, I reply. The man, clearly relieved that no major breach of etiquette has taken place vis-à-vis the pint of mild, turns to help the youngster to his feet, but while doing so delivers a warning: ‘that’ll teach you to wobble about son- now any more of that and you won’t be going to County’.

County is the local football team, who are due in less than an hour to kick off their season at home to nearly-local rivals Huddersfield Town. In ten minutes’ time the already thinly-populated pub will suddenly empty, as the vast majority of the clientele, as if responding to an invisible signal, will down what remain of their pints of mild (or in the case of the careless boy, pint of coke) and march across the A6 and through the railway station underpass into Edgeley, a quite unassuming district of Stockport which appears at first sight to offer nothing more than a stretch of neighbourhood shops and a drab-looking pub or two, until you turn the corner by the Ladbrokes betting office and find yourself facing the main stand and towering floodlights of Edgeley Park, 11000-capacity home of Stockport County FC.

The route from the A6 to Edgely Park, I should point out, is more familiar to the patrons of the soon-to-be-deserted pub than it is to me. I am not really a County fan- as you may know, I am a Newcastle United supporter exiled in south Manchester. Being unable to see my own team with any regularity, I have taken over the past few years to touring the grounds of greater Manchester looking for a place to get my weekend footballing fix. Some Saturday afternoons last year saw me at Maine Road watching Premiership Manchester City, while others were spent in the humbler, more windswept surroundings of non-league Ashton United. But the nearest team to my house is Stockport County, so this year I have decided to give them a go.

And it is a lovely time, this ten minutes of anticipation in the build-up to the first game of the season, as you lean on a bar with your second pint of mild, wondering whether there is just time for a third before ambling up to the ticket office, sorting yourself out with a seat and a pre-match hot-dog, and taking your place in the stand in time for the teams coming out. I am quite giddy with anticipation, in fact. So when the bloke beside me at the bar (we have become quite friendly since his infant son narrowly escaped colliding with my pint) casually informs me that Huddersfield have brought so many fans the game is a near sell-out, I become quite flustered, and- pausing only to down what remains of my pint of mild in one gulp- run out of the bar and over the A6, narrowly avoiding getting run over by a 192 bus in the process, and cover the half mile to the main stand ticket office in two minutes flat.

The man whose kid fell off the bar stool, of course, was talking rubbish. There are plenty of tickets left, and after a short queue I have one for the main stand. There are still 15 minutes to kick-off and I am feeling a little thirsty after my record-breaking half-mile run, so I retire to the Sir Robert Peel, one of the drab-looking pubs dotted among the row of neighbourhood shops, which is enjoying a bumper day’s business having been descended upon by what looks like half the population of Huddersfield, most of whom are drinking Stella and singing at the top of their voices. A pint of Stella seems a capital idea.

So to the match itself, which starts out less eventfully than the build-up. With half-time approaching the County regulars have started to turn to each other and bemoan some of the passing on display. ‘This is bloody ordinary, Stockport!’ one of them splutters, with what counts in the polite environs of the main stand at Edgeley Park as fearsome anger. Finding that I agree with him, I leave my seat to start queueing for the second of the afternoon’s brace of overpriced-but-delicious hot dogs. Moments later, there is a commotion, and I turn towards it just in time to see a Huddersfield player smash a free-kick from 35 yards into the top corner of the net. The main stand falls silent, but the travelling, Stella-fuelled cross-Pennine contingent (and there probably are 3000 of them as well, they have taken up two of the four stands) go absolutely crazy.

The opeing goal of the season seems to wake everyone up, and the second half, in contrast to most of the first, is a thrilling affair, in which Stockport, while never really looking the better team, somehow manage to take a 2-1 lead before proving they have not lost the fine art of clutching defeat from the jaws of victory by conceding two goals in the last five minutes to go down 3-2 and send the travelling masses into somersaults of delight. As the final whistle goes, the Stockport fans around me seem a little deflated, and I don’t blame them. Maybe when I have been back a few times I will join them in a show of annoyance, or at least in sighing resignedly while trudging towards the exits (that is one of the things I like about Stockport fans, they are a fatalistic lot, as you would have to be to support Stockport County when you have Manchester United on your doorstep). But for now I feel unable to trudge convincingly, so march down the steps and back towards the A6 with almost a spring in my step.

As I am leave the ground the Huddersfield fans, dizzy with the effects of Stella (and last-minute-first-game-of-the-season winning goals) are reeling dangerously around in the roadway while members of the Stockport faithful, dissapproving but resolutely civilised, tut at them pointedly. In the sidestreets you can still hear the stadium announcer, who is announcing that the next home game is in two Saturdays’ time, when the visitors will be Bradford City.

‘That could be a good one', I find myself thinking. And you know what? It might not be Newcastle United, but it sure as hell is football. I might well be back to enjoy more Edgy afternoons in Edgely as the season draws on.

Comments

[billy]

...*real* football :)...

[Paul]

"snatching defeat from the jaws of victory" - no wonder you feel at home there, it's just like watching Newcastle away from home!

[jonathan]

It is indeed. And the mixture of gallows humour and sometimes very mediocre football reminds me somewhat of St James during the 1980s.

Mind you after two successive 2-3 defeats I see Stockport won 4-0 away last Saturday- 4-0! Away!!This is worrying, I don't know if I could cope with following a succesful team...