What canna
say aboot this game?, the ultimate nightmare, and mee worst EVER! game watchin'
the Toon!.
Me and '
Punter the Hunter'! <("He comes from Lobley Hill!") decided tih hitch hike doon for the
replay, after non league Hereford's shock two's each draa in the forst game at
St. James'.
It was
f***** freezin' as wih set off for the Welsh border country. Ah had a foldy road map tih
keep wih 'on the reet track' and after aboot five hours and a dozen lifts later, wih hit
lucky, as the car driver said he was gannin tih Hereford.
F*****
brill!, wih thought!. We were 'cream crackered' and fell asleep exausted in the
back of his 'jam jar aalmost straight
away.ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"Hereford!,
Hereford!---here we come!"
.---Er'---well!---not
exactly!.
After aboot
two hours he woke wih up.
"We're
here lads!", he shouted az he stopped at a road junction.
Ah looked
oot the window and saw a sign for London---
Bloody
LONDON!!???.
"Where
the hell are wih---like?", ah said, wipin' the sleep from mee 'mincers'!
Driver:
"HERTFORD, MATE!".
"Wih
not gannin tih HERTFORD!, MAAN!!"---"Wih gannin tih
HEREFORD!!!", ah shouted at him! az 'Punter the Hunter' looked ready tih strangle
him!
"Sorry
mate, thought you said Hertford!".
'SHIT!'----We
were ower a hundred and fifty f***** miles from wor destination, and time was
gettin' on!.
Wih said
wor farewells (cursin' him under wor breath!) ,waved him off, (two fingers
style!) and started PANICKIN'!!!.
We looked
at the map and decided that the best course of action waz tih 'hitch' across
country, via Oxford.
The next
lift (sometime later!) waz from a 'Yank' in a big flash 'jam jar', who, in a
broad American accent said he waz heedin' for some univorsity IN Oxford.
(GREAT!)
Wih jumped
in the back seats and he asked us which 'highway' we wanted? '
Quick az a
flash', ah said that ah would'nt mind 'Stevie Highway' (who played for
Liverpool!)
(Az yih
might expect----he DID'NT! get the joke, az he looked like one of them American
basebaall fans who did'nt have a clue aboot the 'worlds greatest game'!----so
ah did'nt elaborate!)
"ER!---Just
keep gannin' this way mate!", ah said pointin' towards the road aheed.
He gave iz
one of those: 'I CAN'T UNDERSTAND A F****** WORD YOU'RE SAYING'---looks!, and
carried on in the direction of mee index finger!
"Are
yoo heading for some kind of 'pop festival"?, he then asked curiously? ,
lookin' at wor 'barnets' in the process through hiz rear view mirrah! (wih both
had lang hair at that time!, az it waz aall the rage in the orly seventies!)
('T' Rex'---'Slade'---'Led Zep' and aall that!)
"Not
exactly man!"---"not exactly!",said 'Punter',puttin' on a 'hippy
style American accent'!
He did'nt
ask us anymore questions and dropped us off on the ootskirts of Oxford.
"Cheers
Buddy!", said 'Punter', salutin' him az he drove off intih the distance!
Wih had tih
wait aboot half an hour for wor next lift, but we were in luck, as the gadgie
was gannin 'wor way'! and after a couple of more lifts, we eventually arrived
in Hereford, EIGHTEEN HOURS! and SIXTEEN LIFTS! from Tyneside!.
(Aye---wih
coonted them!)
'Punter'
asked the local 'Officer Dibble' ,who waz deein’ ‘the roonds’ on hiz push bike
where the groond was?
"AARRRR!---IT'S
BESOYD YONDER CATTLE MARKET!", he said as he pointed us in the reet
direction.
"YOU'RRR
NOT FROM NEWCASTLE BOIY ANY CHANCE ARE YOO?", he enquired with a puzzled
look on his face!. (Obviously a 'Sherlock Holmes' in the makin', az 'Punter'
waz wearin' a black 'n' white bobble hat with the Newcastle crest on the front
of it!)
"WHEY
AYE, MAN---COURSE WIH ARE!", ah said.
"AINT
YOO 'EARD?"---he replied, in a voice that sent ‘shivvvers doon mee
spine’!,
“IT’S BEEN
CALLED OFF AGAIN!!!”
“WE’RE
DOOOMED!!!!”
Mee ‘Fred
Astair’ just stood on it’s end!, and ‘goose pimples’ enveloped
mee face! az
it felt az though a’d been telt that a close family member had just ‘snuffed
it’!
(Aaltogether,
the match had been postponed aboot ten times because of a frozen pitch!)
WIH
COULD’NT BELIEVE IT!---we were SHATTERED!---FROZEN! ---STARVIN'!---THIRSTY!---DOG
TIRED!---AND!---F*****’ TOTALLY PISSED
OFF!.
AAL THIS
F*****’ WAY AND THE F*****’ GAME’S OFF!!!.
Wih heeded
for a local 'greasy spoon' cafe for a hot drink and some 'Desperate Dan', but
aall that was left tih eat were some chocolate f***** biscuits! and what looked
like a stale 'stottie cake'!.
It DID'NT!
look 'ower clever', so wih opted for the
'biccys' instead!.
"FOWER
OFF THEM BISCUITS, PAL!", ah said tih the aad 'gadgie' with the 'handlebar
moustache' behind the coontaa!, pointin' towards the 'said' 'biccys'.
"AAARRRRR!---FORRRR WOYFORRRZ!", he
said az he hoyed them on a plate.
(Translation:
"AAARRRRR!---FOUR WAFERS!")
Wih just
burst oot laffin', at his 'Worzel Gummage' style accent!.
(Wih had
tih laff!---or wih would'iv F***** CRIED!)
After a few
'dodgy looks', he served iz, and wih sat doon tih wor tea 'n'
woyforrrz!---(sorry!---wafers!)
Wih then
headed for the local 'drinkin' establishments' tih drown (and 'down'!) wor
sorrows!.
Scrumpy
cider was on the 'menu' at EIGHT PENCE A PINT! (At last!---some GOOD! news!?)
(That's
reet!---EIGHT F***** PENCE!) so---(as yih dee!) wih got totally 'rat-arsed'!
alang with some other Toon fans who'd aalso made the wasted journey doon by the
supporters club, and at 'chuckin' oot time', they managed tih sneak us onto
their coach for the lang trip yem!.
(Wih hid
behind the seats at the back of the bus!)
"THE
ULTIMATE! DISASTER!"
When the
game was eventually played, wih both headed back tih Herefordshire, prayin' that the
match would be on!.
(This time
on the supporters bus!---which took seven hours!)
Anly tih
witness the most televised goal in 'futbaall history'!----scored (on a ploughed
field!) by---yee naa who!
(and then
prayed, that the ref would abandon the match, tih put wih oot of wor misery!)
(nee such luck!)
Of course
in the orly seventies there waz nee such thing az aall seater stadiums and the
vast majority of the crowd waz 'shoehorned' intih every available space!
(perimiter waalls, roofs, floodlight pylons, anything!)
The
thoosand or so Toon fans who were unfortunate enough tih be there!, were behind
one of the goals. At the front some wooden beer crates had been placed behind
the goal line az improvized seats so that the youngins' amongst the crowd could
get a better view of the proccedins' on the shallow terraces, and they
stretched from corner flag tih corner flag!
(That's
REET! F***** BEER CRATES!)
The anly
problem waz---that fans behind THEM!could'nt see a thing!, because the 'little
brats' at the front were STANDIN' on them! for a better view! (Taylor
Report!----divvint mek iz laugh!)
Soon, the
crowd behind pushed them ontih the runnin' track and that's where they ended up
sittin' az the game kicked off!
Look!---a'm
writin' this some forty three years after that 'fateful day' and it STILL!
HAUNTS IZ!--- SO!--- aall give yiz a (very) brief match report!---that's aall
yih gannih get!
The game
waz crap until 'Supermac' gave wih the lead late on in the second half and we'd aall thought wi'd won---UNTIL!---
(horror upon horrors!) a 'last gasp' equaliser which haz become the most televised goal in futbaall history, forced the game intih extra
time!
Oot of
frustration, 'Punter the Hunter' picked one of the beer crates up and hoyed it ower the
top of the crowd!
It hit a
'Dibble' who waz waalkin' aroond the pitch, smack on hiz bonce, knockin' hiz
helmet off and knockin' HIM! clean oot!
The 2nd most
televised goal ever! from the non leegue side, then followed in extra time----followed by hundreds of
'anoraks' runnin' across the clarty 'pitch'!---FULL STOP!*
(That iz
mee last recollection of the match!)
Tih cap it aall!---WIH PLAYED IN A F*****’
AALL RED! STRIP IZ WELL!
DISASTER
DAYS!???----
THIS ONE
WAS THE ULTIMATE DISASTER!---
NEE
KIDDIN'!!!.
©FINK™ (The Mad-Sad Gr☺undh☻pper!)
www.groundhoppers@hotmail.com
