As our five intrepid heroes wend their way North into
the industrial heartland of this fine country, newspapers read and re-read, even the
children’s section, new diversions are required. At such a time, train spotting,
especially for the elusive Deltic, seems de rigeur, but no! Spot the towpath is now the
trendy pastime for the great and good. Canals I have known and loved fill the void before
the first pint, where once one would have discussed the positive side of the previous
week’s Claret performance.
Thence into Shrewsbury, where the famous five transforms into the
secret seven with the inclusion of the overnight brigade. Shrewsbury, the home of the
English Border Front (EBF) whose usual warm (sometimes burning) welcome to strangers
prompted local publicans to employ bouncers on their doors. Apparently, last week they had
challenged the hordes of Marine supporters to a dual with handbags at dawn. Clutching our
personal assault handbags and passing various hostelries advertising Cameron's sold here
(sorry Whitto), we entered Fish Street. Inevitably, whilst in the company of a certain
'World of Fish' impresario we had to enter the Three Fishes, for a half of curiously
titled ale by the name of NOSMO KING. It was some time before the curiously clean air and
lack of ashtrays connected with the ale told me that this was a fairly unusual hostelry.
Talking of handbags, what sort of name for a soccer ground is Gay
Meadow? Laughing Grass or Happy Turf maybe, or maybe more descriptively, Small Dump.
Against the in-form team in the division, the last thing the Clarets
needed was a poor start, and inevitably that's what happened. Harrison concedes a penalty
for handball after 8 minutes and is sent off for laying said hand on ball deliberately.
Geddo’s reactions must be pretty sharp these days. A harsh decision by the Stockport
referee which Evans converted to give Shrewsbury the lead. Berkeley should have extended
the lead before Adrian Randall decided to gift them a 2-0 lead, by dribbling expertly
towards goal (Beresford’s!) and losing possession. Evans again accepted the present.
A Spink header almost made it three before Swan attempted to join Harrison for an early
bath with a challenge on Stevens which, in fact, led to the Shrewsbury captain’s
early bath through injury. Half time - thank God. The only positive thing to say about
this truly abysmal performance, particularly after wins at Bournemouth and Peterborough,
is that the second half couldn't possibly be worse. The Clarets pushed Swan up front
(wither Cooke?) but were caught out inevitably on the break by that man Evans, whose pass
found Scott, giving Marlene no chance. Anthrobus missed a sitter in the six-yard box and
Marlene saved from Woods in a one on one situation late in the game.
All in all a fairly dismal afternoon, but the worst was yet to come.
My attempt to leave the ground slightly early, with many others, to catch the train home,
was halted by a locked gate.
When the local constabulary agreed the gate should be opened, this
was vetoed by the Chief Policeman on the ground who said, "We are keeping you in [for
the last three minutes] because I have a duty to the people of Shrewsbury." Having
queried this strange comment his response to me, in what was now a potential riot
situation was, "You should not be at a football match anyway." Both of the
quotes are word perfect as they burnt their way into my memory.
I definitely needed a pint after that, and a swift train home to
compose my letter to the Chief Constable. Give me the Millwall Police every time.
