Football away days, being mugged and #28



Windsor Juniors - this is where my love of football started.
I particularly like the unfortunately placed graffitti on the wall... 

Firstly - a big thank you to everyone who's taken the time to read my first few blogs - and to the remaining three people and my mom who will read this one - your indulgence is much appreciated.

Secondly - I must apologise to Clive and the good people at Wombourne Leisure Centre - I missed my swimming lesson this week after braving the arctic conditions to celebrate a good friend's birthday in Manchester. Swimming update this time next week I promise!

Now, when I started compiling my list of thirty things to do before I was 30, it started off as a list of things which I'd never done before that I'd always wanted to do.

But then it got me thinking - what have I given up over the years - things I used to love doing, but for whatever reason (work, relationships, money etc) have just fallen off the radar?



Port Vale FC's Vale Park - my first Wolves away game -
and my first (and only) introduction to a blow-up sex doll

I love football. I love watching it, love listening to it, love talking about it - and still love playing it.

But over recent years my interest in it has waned a bit. I play a lot less, I no longer quite feel the love and affinity for Wolves - something's just not quite the same. And I've been beginning to wonder why?


Weymouth's Wessex Stadium -
scene of many happy childhood holiday memories

Some of my happiest memories growing up were centred around football. My dad ran our local football team at Windsor park. He gave up countless hours of his spare time to coach a generation of school kids who would otherwise have had nowhere to play. The philosophy was football for all - didn't matter how good you were - everyone got a game - everyone was given a chance. I've never really said this to him before - but Dad - thank you. Hundreds of kids in Wolverhampton learned to love the game because of you (although the heavy training balls which were bought in bulk on the cheap has generated a generation of players in Penn who still won't head a ball). And it was with my dad and brothers that I attended my first football match at Weymouth FC's 'Wessex Stadium' as part of our annual jaunt down to Dorset. I still have a fond affection for that club and if I ever win the EuroMillions that's where my cash is going!

They were happy times. As were my early teenage years when me and my mates started going to Wolves away games. Rob Tranter, 'Bill' and Indi were my companions as we travelled the length and breadth of the country following the trials, tribulations and, if we're honest, downright mediocrity of Wolverhampton Wanderers. We visited the glamourous destinations of Tranmere Rovers, Oxford United, Huddersfield Town and Barnsley to mention just a few.

But there are three games which will stick forever in my mind:

My first Wolves away game:

A short trip up the M6 to see Wolves play Port Vale on the last game of the season in the mid-90s. I don't remember the score - I just remember the carnival atmosphere and being at an old-fashioned, proper ground, with my two brothers and my dad. I loved every minute of it. I particularly remember the blow-up sex doll which was smuggled into the ground and thrown around the terraces for 90 minutes. Happy days.

Late at Charlton:

The closest I ever got to Wembley...was when the coach driver got it mixed up with Charlton Athletic's 'The Valley'. A Tuesday night trip to the wrong area of London resulted in us not getting to Charlton until half time. We were losing 1-0 thanks to Clive Mendonca - and that's how it stayed. Thoroughly depressing - but when I look back now it's all part of the football away day experience!

Mugged at Swindon:

Now I've thought long and hard about admitting this, knowing that my mom will read it - and I will inevitably get interrogated as a result.

One Tuesday night -  I must have been about 14 - Tranter, Bill, Indi and I travelled with the Wolves fans to the footballing metropolis that is Swindon Town's County Ground. It was November, it was wet, it was cold, there was no roof and we lost. But the night had started as badly as it ended. Whilst Indi and Tranter waited on the coach outside the Molineux, Bill and I did the obligatory trip over the road to Asda to get some pick 'n' mix for the journey.

On our way out of Asda we were accosted by a thuggish looking chav - in his 20s I suspect, who accused us of robbing his younger brother and if we didn't hand over our wallets he was going to "do us in". I was still thinking about my pick 'n' mix before realising that Bill (who was 6ft 2 by the way) had duly handed over said wallet (as then did I). Now - that was clearly stupid, but at 14 when you're thinking more about who'll play left back tonight, rather than am I going to get robbed at Asda - you're in shock. But what happened next did make me chuckle.

Firstly, I got away quite lightly. I'd spent all my money on sweets so had about 75p  in my wallet alongside some orange and black balloons which were to be blown up at the ground and released at kick-off. However, for Bill, he lost a bit more - but in the process came out with what I assume is one of the funniest and least expected sentences mid-mugging: 'At least leave me enough change so I can get a programme'. Brilliant.

Now, football away days still bring back great memories. With my brothers and dad, or later with my mates from school - visiting new grounds, trying out the pies (Norwich City's lamb and mint is the best by the way - must be Delia's influence) and having a drink - I just loved it.

But I've stopped doing it. Wolves' stay in the Premier League priced me out of most grounds - and I guess other things took over.

So - #28 on my list is to visit at least ten new football league grounds over the next eighteen months. Doesn't need to be a Wolves, I'm happy to take in Bury vs Torquay on a cold Wednesday night in February - that's real football!

So - there it is - the next challenge.

I'll let you know how it goes...but I'll leave you with this from 1988 - the reason why the love of football can be so good - but so bad at the same time.