Cardiff
One of the stock phrases we tend to use in these guides is "it's fair to say that [insert name of place] has a certain reputation". Well, Cardiff has a certain reputation and with knobs on. It's famed throughout football as one of the scariest places you can go. If 70s retro is your scene, then baby, this is what it was really like.
Nationalism, or rather the anti-English feeling which seems to accompany it, plays a large part. I can't see anything wrong in being proud of your origins, but am at a loss to understand why this has to manifest itself in hatred of people who do not share them. Nevertheless, history has shown this to be pretty much a universal and lasting human trait, so I don't think we're going to do much about it here.
Admittedly, supporters who have been to the Millennium Stadium have reported a markedly different experience, with the city gaining itself a favourable reputation as a place of many welcoming pubs. Obviously as a Burnley supporter I'm not in a position to comment on that. Perhaps Cardiff's a good city except when you're an away supporter and you're playing the local team. Maybe one day I'll go when there's no football on to find out.
And I really don't want to be accused of being guilty of exaggeration here, as talking up the prospects for crowd violence is often a good way of making it worse, and the internet has a bad reputation in this respect. Plus I know everyone derives a vicarious thrill from reading about football violence even as they condemn it. I know there are doubtless more good Cardiff fans than bad, but it can't be denied that things have happened here in the past. Think I'm exaggerating? Then in which city have members of our supporters' club been attacked? And from where did this club once receive a fake email enquiring what time our train arrived in town? In 1992, bricks and coins were thrown onto the away end after our late winner. In earlier days, one of our members ended up in hospital. This isn't hype, or over-caution. These things happened.
Oh, and let's not indulge in the ‘we are Burnley, we fear no one’ school of toughism. We have our yobs, and if they want to batter the other lot's yobs at a convenient location then I really don't give a toss. But let's do away with the false bravado which always seems to surface around games like this and Millwall, can we? Let's talk like evolved human beings, at least for a while. In a nutshell, I don't like going to places where I have to worry about getting my head kicked in. There. That's a less than shocking admission, surely? I want football to provide me with a good day out. If I get up at the crack of dawn, get home late and spend a whole heap of cash doing anything, I demand to have a good time while I'm doing it. And I like going to new places and new pubs. I like having a pint without having to look over my shoulder and watch what I'm saying and who I'm speaking to. And I can't do that in Cardiff, and part of the reason I can't do it is because of the yob element in Cardiff's support, but another part is that same element in our support. I know that Burnley supporters will spend 90 minutes taunting the opposition, and then they'll all get back on their coaches. Meanwhile, it's people like us who'll be walking down the street, trying to get a drink in the pub, going to the station and catching the train, all the while having to exercise excessive care and caution. Does anyone else find this depressing?
Anyway, for heaven's sake, watch yourselves, try not to draw attention to yourself and whatever you do, the golden rule is: don't wear colours.
This will not be the usual kind of guide. I can't really recommend any pubs, because I'm not prepared to take responsibility for what anyone may choose to do. I can only report on my experiences last time I went to Cardiff, which was in April 2000, when we won 2-1.
That day, I decided to do the bulk of my pre-match drinking in the nearby town of Newport. It has to be said that I wasn't the only one to have that idea. A train from the north had apparently got in not long before ours from London, and the police had been very keen to keep people on it. It was important not to look like someone who could be mistaken for a football supporter.
Once in Newport I went to a mediocre pub up a very steep hill. The Handpost, on Bassaleg Road, showed alarming rugby tendencies but sold an okay pint of Ansell's mild.
Better was the Hornblower, down in the town centre, on Commercial Street. This was a real bikers' pub, dark and grubby and with a serious jukebox. But the beer range was excellent, and included mild. There are still vestiges of mild drinking in these parts.
Further on, the Old Murenger House, on the High Street (and pray, what is a Murenger?), was an interesting, multi-roomed Sam Smith's pub - but four years on, I can still remember that the beer was complete rubbish that day.
Right across from the station was the Wetherspoon's (imaginative name), on Cambrian Road. It was a bland shed even by their standards, and in here post match it was not exactly filled with people you'd want to go on holiday with, but the Brain's dark mild was excellent.
By far the best thing about drinking around here is the large number of pubs that sell Brains, Cardiff's beer. Their standard pint, Brain's SA, is very drinkable, and widely available around the town, but the dark mild is something special.
So, after some indecision I decided to go for a drink in Cardiff. Here, police were stood at all the exits of the main station (Cardiff Central, one of several around the city), evidently not terribly keen on letting football supporters get into the centre, and I had to adopt the disguise of being an ordinary member of the public going about my business. Once out, I shirked the charms of the local Hogshead, the Owain Glyndwr, on St John's Square, right outside the station, and headed north, to St Mary Street, adjacent to the High Street.
There I went to the Cottage, a long, narrow Brain's pub, and slightly further up, the Albert, a larger Brain's pub, and the former brewery tap (the Brain's brewery has since moved to the bigger premises of the old Hancocks brewery, previously owned by Bass). Both were reasonably quiet, and so were we. The souls of discretion, we came to no harm. I seem to recall we had to smooth talk our way past bouncers.
I was also tempted by the local Wetherspoon's, the obviously-named Prince of Wales, on the corner of St Mary Street and Wood Street, but time and the need to get to the ground were against it.
The ground itself is about a mile west of Central station. You can cab it - although our cab refused to get too close to the ground - or catch a train from Central to Ninian Park station. Of course, you can also walk it. I am informed the road between the station and Ninian Park is one on which extreme caution is advised. Ninian Park is a real throwback dump, too, and now one of the worst grounds in the First Division. Apparently they've at least now put a roof on the former open away end. In 2000, it chucked it down, and even the toilets offered no shelter, as they had no roof either. There's a particular sense of futility that comes from urinating while being rained on. For away supporters there's a choice of terracing - the only opportunity to stand now offered in our Division - or a small stand which always sells out first. Home fans share this end, with the usual no man's land divide and predictable atmosphere. This is one of those rare exceptions where a mooted ground move might be for the best.
Apparently the area in which Ninian Park is built used to be called Temperance Town, so this suggests it may not be over-filled with pubs. Not that you'd want to sample them anyway.
We didn't get much choice either way back in April 2000. We were rounded up and forcibly marched - at a slow pace and via a roundabout route - from the ground to Central station. Police would hold us up, go ahead and seal off side streets, down which, behind a line of police, only abuse could be hurled by the natives. Opinion was divided about this. Some people appreciated the fact that they would get to the station in safety. Personally, I have years of experience of avoiding trouble at football matches and would have preferred to move unencumbered and at twice the speed. Plus, how do the police always manage to make being protected for your own safety so threatening? Any reluctance to do as told was met with the usual threat of arrest. Particularly galling was the fact that we were then held outside Central station for an age while the police ‘secured it’. We watched train after train head for our intended stop-off of Newport. Eventually, at a time when we'd got past the last point on my timetable, the police bundled us all onto a train bound for Manchester, which our London lot had to argue their way off. Quite whether visiting supporters can expect similar treatment this time is hard to predict - the police on that day in 2000 admitted they were using us as a ‘dress rehearsal’ for the following visit of Bristol Rovers - but don't be surprised by anything.
Oh, and enjoy the day - if you can.
Firmo
Last visited: April 2000
Last updated: April 2004
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