It had been a good day. In the post came the train tickets for a couple of football excursions. Chipper and I were booked up for Hearts next month. From the Bay to the Haymarket, £77 each there and back. Can't argue with that.
Then in November, a trip up to the Stadium of Light. They tried to charge £130 return from the Bay to Sunderland. But Kings Cross to Sunderland? £35 return. Yep, thirty five quid. Bung on the cost of a couple of single tickets to and from the Bay and you're looking at a saving of 75 beer tokens. That'll pay for the match ticket and overnight hotel. Sorted.
That's the thing about the seasoned football traveller. We're very handy for non football uses too. Ask us what the best deals are on the plane or train, and if we don't know it already, we'll find it in less than 10 minutes on the interweb superhighway net.
Don't ask how, we just know these things. And automobiles. We eat road atlases. It's probably why I hate sat-nav's so much. Who needs them when you have the football traveller's brain on board?
Tonight's shindig didn't take much working out. Get my backside onto the London bound platform at the Bay. Train to Seven Kings. A five minute wander down the road. That'll do me. It's also the opportunity to revisit the place where this season false started in the middle of the summer. I was back at Cricklefield Stadium and this time there really was a game on.
Although the trip was simple enough, there was still a problem. Not with the trains. But people. Off at Upminster get the shuttle to Romford. At the top of the stairs, I see a mother struggling up them with a pram. A fella had helped her carry it up, so I done the decent thing and waited. Behind me a commuter walked to my side as if to walk past, saw the pram coming up, then shuffled behind me.
For five seconds. Then decided not to wait, walking around me, forcing the mother and helper to stopped as he barged by. I was my usual charming self. I shouted "What a prick." down to him. The mother thanked me for waiting. It was no problem. The problem, though, is selfish twats like him. He made a point of getting out of the carriage when I walked in to his. Wanker.
I digress. Ilford. Another great name from the past fallen on lean times. I always remember seeing their name in the Sunday papers as a kid, when they showed just the Northern and Southern Premier league tables. Since then they'd fallen down as far as the ESL and had settled in Ryman One North, only escaping relegation back once or twice thanks to ground grading issues or other clubs going tits up.
Their opponents tonight were one of those ambitious, go-ahead clubs, than enthuse positive attributes, so by definition bug the hell out of you. AFC Sudbury came into being just before the turn of the millennium, and in doing so wiped well out over a century of history from two others clubs, merging to form a super-club.
So super that they'd got as high as Ilford had achieved for decades. I know I'm being unfair, but bollocks, that's why grumps like me are grumps. Stubborn preconceptions rule.
Chipper and I's aborted trip in July showed the ground to be surrounded by a building site. This time it had all been cleared up. It was now the Isaac Newton Building. I didn't see any apples. I would have complained about it but I doubt anyone would understand the gravity of my point.
As ever, though, I was still lost trying to find the turnstiles. Graveyard, yes, big sports centre and running track in the distance, yes. But how the hell do you get in? I keep forgetting. Keep wandering straight down that unlit little road and there's a tiny turnstile. It's great though.
The guy on the gate is the complete opposite of the robot suits at Harlow. Straggly hair, denim jacket, shorts, and a Rangers Sevco fan. He asks me if I've been here before just to make sure I know where the bar is. Different class. Proper non-league, that is. The epitome of what's good with the game.
I take my seat and I see it all. My future. To my left are a collection of grey haired and blue rinsed pensioners. Nearer to me are single fellas, a bit older than me, studying their programmes or phones studiously. I never read programmes until going home but I'm already with them on the playing with my gadgets. I've been doing that since 12.
I give thought of walking around the athletics track, perhaps taking a pic of the main stand from the opposite side. But I then see this loan fella. A minute or two ago he was sitting near me. Now he's wandering off on his own, doing the thing I was thinking off. Then it hits me.
I'm not a groundhopper. But I soon will be. I'm already thinking like one. I've seen the future and I don't like it. I stay where I am. I tell myself I'm here for a night away from the telly rather than visiting a ground. But I'm less convincing than a Nick Clegg pledge.
Thankfully, the teams come out to stir me from my reverie. Soon Ilford are on the back foot. The regulars are used to it, and have a gallows humour about football in general. The Hammers insipid display at the weekend is discussed. One old fella behind me says to the Sevco fan "I've got a half season ticket at West Ham." "You get to see 10 matches a season?" "No, it means I can leave at half time."
Sure enough, AFC Sudbury take the lead, to polite applause from the admittedly agreeable away following. I spend my time taking in the oddballs that non-league attracts. In front of me there's a bloke not just taking vid clips, but taking a video of the entire game. Another bloke on the terrace looks around at everyone all the time. I've seen the future and he has hair like the professor from Back To The Future. I feel at home. Sadly.
Half time comes and goes, and the visitors continue to press, thwarted by their own poor finishing, and all the ruts and dust on the bumpy pitch. Tricky Trev would have a field day talking about a bit of a bobbler. Or a Cricklefield day. You can see it coming. Then it does.
A rare break forward from Ilford, and a mistimed tackle near the left hand edge of the penalty area. For the first time, the delivery is excellent, curling wickedly, putting the Sudbury defenders on the back foot. There's an Ilford head on the ball and suddenly, from absolutely nothing, it's 1-1.
The Suffolk side try to show their punch and go forward relentlessly. They know there's two dropped points at stake. Crosses into the area come in, headers at goal, blocked shots. The Ilford keeper makes a fabulous save just a minute after the equaliser, parrying a shot onto the post and out. Which makes up for the rest of his performance.
Very fittingly, a black cat starts to roam around at the back of the athletics track, behind the Ilford goal. Behind pussykins, equally fitting bearing in mind Ilford's nickname, is a fox. And in the crowd there's a female Sudbury supporter. At least I think it's female. Howling like a banshee as the near misses pile up.
Somehow, Ilford hold on. It feels like a win for them, against a side that gubbed them 5-0 just three weeks ago in the FA Cup. For AFC Sudbury, though, they trudge off, patently not believing they didn't win. Nor can anyone, really, but there's that wry chuckle of people who have seen it all before.
The journey home is quiet, with no arseholes blocking other people's passages. Or getting in the way on stairs. Going to Cricklefield is always good for the soul. It's just seeing the future laid before me that wasn't.
Ilford's, though, will be a lot perkier if they keep riding their luck like that. So long as they can stop that fox getting to that black cat.
Ilford 1, AFC Sudbury 1
Then in November, a trip up to the Stadium of Light. They tried to charge £130 return from the Bay to Sunderland. But Kings Cross to Sunderland? £35 return. Yep, thirty five quid. Bung on the cost of a couple of single tickets to and from the Bay and you're looking at a saving of 75 beer tokens. That'll pay for the match ticket and overnight hotel. Sorted.
Don't ask how, we just know these things. And automobiles. We eat road atlases. It's probably why I hate sat-nav's so much. Who needs them when you have the football traveller's brain on board?
Tonight's shindig didn't take much working out. Get my backside onto the London bound platform at the Bay. Train to Seven Kings. A five minute wander down the road. That'll do me. It's also the opportunity to revisit the place where this season false started in the middle of the summer. I was back at Cricklefield Stadium and this time there really was a game on.
Although the trip was simple enough, there was still a problem. Not with the trains. But people. Off at Upminster get the shuttle to Romford. At the top of the stairs, I see a mother struggling up them with a pram. A fella had helped her carry it up, so I done the decent thing and waited. Behind me a commuter walked to my side as if to walk past, saw the pram coming up, then shuffled behind me.
I digress. Ilford. Another great name from the past fallen on lean times. I always remember seeing their name in the Sunday papers as a kid, when they showed just the Northern and Southern Premier league tables. Since then they'd fallen down as far as the ESL and had settled in Ryman One North, only escaping relegation back once or twice thanks to ground grading issues or other clubs going tits up.
Their opponents tonight were one of those ambitious, go-ahead clubs, than enthuse positive attributes, so by definition bug the hell out of you. AFC Sudbury came into being just before the turn of the millennium, and in doing so wiped well out over a century of history from two others clubs, merging to form a super-club.
So super that they'd got as high as Ilford had achieved for decades. I know I'm being unfair, but bollocks, that's why grumps like me are grumps. Stubborn preconceptions rule.Chipper and I's aborted trip in July showed the ground to be surrounded by a building site. This time it had all been cleared up. It was now the Isaac Newton Building. I didn't see any apples. I would have complained about it but I doubt anyone would understand the gravity of my point.
As ever, though, I was still lost trying to find the turnstiles. Graveyard, yes, big sports centre and running track in the distance, yes. But how the hell do you get in? I keep forgetting. Keep wandering straight down that unlit little road and there's a tiny turnstile. It's great though.
The guy on the gate is the complete opposite of the robot suits at Harlow. Straggly hair, denim jacket, shorts, and a Rangers Sevco fan. He asks me if I've been here before just to make sure I know where the bar is. Different class. Proper non-league, that is. The epitome of what's good with the game.I take my seat and I see it all. My future. To my left are a collection of grey haired and blue rinsed pensioners. Nearer to me are single fellas, a bit older than me, studying their programmes or phones studiously. I never read programmes until going home but I'm already with them on the playing with my gadgets. I've been doing that since 12.
I give thought of walking around the athletics track, perhaps taking a pic of the main stand from the opposite side. But I then see this loan fella. A minute or two ago he was sitting near me. Now he's wandering off on his own, doing the thing I was thinking off. Then it hits me.
I'm not a groundhopper. But I soon will be. I'm already thinking like one. I've seen the future and I don't like it. I stay where I am. I tell myself I'm here for a night away from the telly rather than visiting a ground. But I'm less convincing than a Nick Clegg pledge.
Thankfully, the teams come out to stir me from my reverie. Soon Ilford are on the back foot. The regulars are used to it, and have a gallows humour about football in general. The Hammers insipid display at the weekend is discussed. One old fella behind me says to the Sevco fan "I've got a half season ticket at West Ham." "You get to see 10 matches a season?" "No, it means I can leave at half time."
Sure enough, AFC Sudbury take the lead, to polite applause from the admittedly agreeable away following. I spend my time taking in the oddballs that non-league attracts. In front of me there's a bloke not just taking vid clips, but taking a video of the entire game. Another bloke on the terrace looks around at everyone all the time. I've seen the future and he has hair like the professor from Back To The Future. I feel at home. Sadly.Half time comes and goes, and the visitors continue to press, thwarted by their own poor finishing, and all the ruts and dust on the bumpy pitch. Tricky Trev would have a field day talking about a bit of a bobbler. Or a Cricklefield day. You can see it coming. Then it does.
A rare break forward from Ilford, and a mistimed tackle near the left hand edge of the penalty area. For the first time, the delivery is excellent, curling wickedly, putting the Sudbury defenders on the back foot. There's an Ilford head on the ball and suddenly, from absolutely nothing, it's 1-1.
The Suffolk side try to show their punch and go forward relentlessly. They know there's two dropped points at stake. Crosses into the area come in, headers at goal, blocked shots. The Ilford keeper makes a fabulous save just a minute after the equaliser, parrying a shot onto the post and out. Which makes up for the rest of his performance.
Very fittingly, a black cat starts to roam around at the back of the athletics track, behind the Ilford goal. Behind pussykins, equally fitting bearing in mind Ilford's nickname, is a fox. And in the crowd there's a female Sudbury supporter. At least I think it's female. Howling like a banshee as the near misses pile up.
Somehow, Ilford hold on. It feels like a win for them, against a side that gubbed them 5-0 just three weeks ago in the FA Cup. For AFC Sudbury, though, they trudge off, patently not believing they didn't win. Nor can anyone, really, but there's that wry chuckle of people who have seen it all before.
The journey home is quiet, with no arseholes blocking other people's passages. Or getting in the way on stairs. Going to Cricklefield is always good for the soul. It's just seeing the future laid before me that wasn't.
Ilford's, though, will be a lot perkier if they keep riding their luck like that. So long as they can stop that fox getting to that black cat.
Ilford 1, AFC Sudbury 1
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