Saturday Afternoon Safari

For the seasoned football supporter, the concourse of a mainline train station late on Saturday morning holds much the same fascination as the African savannah must do for a trained naturalist at the height of the migration season.   This thought comes to me as, bringing a plastic pint of lager to my lips with the same practiced movement as David Attenborough employs to focus his field binoculars, I peer out over the balcony of the Yates Wine Lodge at Manchester Piccadilly and take in the colourful array of 'wildlife' on the move. 

Down in front of the departure board, for example, that herd of creatures with unmistakeable blue-and-white quartered torsoes must be Bristol Rovers supporters on their way north to Preston.  And in the queue at Costa Coffee, a flash of red alerts me to what looks like a mating pair of exiled Liverpool fans, taking a short rest before the last short leg of their flight to Anfield for the fixture versus Crystal Palace.  And that lone red-and-white striped beast chomping meditatively on a cornish pastie at the entrance to WH Smiths?  That's a tricky one- but a quick perusal of the Daily Mirror fixture guide rules out Sunderland, who make the short trip south to Middlesbrough this afternoon, and places the smart money on this being an example of a rarer species, an aficionado of Lincoln City, caught half-way into the arduous journey West to Blackpool.

I could stand here all afternoon indulging in this Saturday afternoon safari, but I've got a train to catch.  Not for me, mind you, the bright lights of the Premiership, or even the dimly-lit backstreets of League Division 2.  I am taking a trip to the real grass-roots of the game this afternoon- I'm off to Glossop, a market town just across the Derbyshire border, to watch the town's North End FC take on Romulus (whoever they may turn out to be) in the First Round Proper of the FA Vase.

This short trip- just half-a-dozen local stops out of Piccadilly-hadn't been my intention at all twenty-four hours earlier.  All week I have been telling anyone who would listen that I am off to Carlisle to watch my 'second' league team Stockport County.  But a combination of the early morning start and the extortionate train fare has caused me to reconsider, and after a brief flirtation with the heady allure of Hyde United against Redditch in the Nationwide Conference, the promise of knockout football a couple of stations further East has won the day.  I board the 13:02 for Hadfield positively brimming with that little-reported ailment, FA Vase fever.

Arriving at my destination with an hour and a half to go to kick-off, I decamp across the road to The Star, which I recall from a visit a decade ago to be a rare friendly boozer in a town, despite its comparative prosperity, notorious for drinking dens that wouldn't be out of place in the Wild West.  The cheery landlady, who seems only a little surprised that anyone would be interested enough in the fortunes of Glossop North End to travel from the suburbs of Manchester to watch them in a cup-tie, remarks in passing that her son-in-law will probably be in goal for the home team this afternoon.  Now that's something you won't get in the Premiership.

There is plenty of time for a pint or two (the goalkeeper's mother-in-law has assured me that the distance from the town centre to its 'north end' can be measured in yards, not miles) so I settle into a quiet corner of the bar with the Glossop Chronicle.  It has been a busy week out here, apparently.  The shocking news of a toaster catching fire at the hospital (loss to life was averted when an alert canteen assistant pounced with a damp tea-towel) has been relegated to page two by the startling discovery of an escaped pet boa constrictor in the grounds of the secondary school.   This momentous development is given the in-depth treatment one would expect from a serious publication such as the Glossop Chronicle; there are interviews with the children who discovered the errant (but harmless) snake; their teacher; the relieved pet-owners; and finally, with the snake itself, who reveals it was attempting to make a break from the tedium of small-town life and start a new life in Droylsden.

For a moment I wonder whether the excitement of Glossop might prove too much for a simple Manchester lad like myself.  But no, I have a football match to go to- and so, fortified by a further pint of best bitter, I step out of The Star and begin the short journey to Surrey Street, home of Glossop North End FC.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

Comments

[Iain]

//the snake itself, who reveals it was attempting to make a break from the tedium of small-town life and start a new life in Droylsden.//

Made me laugh out loud in the office. Keep it up!

I'm also impressed with your seemingly boundless knowledge of local hostelries (though I would expect no less from a Geordie ;-)).

[jonathan]

You've obviously been to Droylsden, Iain... next part of the match report should follow next week, although I can't promise too many details of the match itself as after the first four goals (and OK, after the first four pints of bitter) it all got a little hazy. I can remember quite a lot about the crowd, though, and may include an in-depth analysis of the pies...

[Iain]

Without wishing to upset any fans of Glossop who may be reading this, I think I'd actually rather have an in-depth analysis of the pies...

[Simon]

Great story, reading like our very own version of "the Far Corner" that you lent me whilst i recovered from a broken metatarsal (before it became the popular injury for todays premiership footballer).
Bring on the crowd and pie analysis.

[looby]

Ha ha! Excellent stuff. This is going to be a ripping yarn, I can tell :)