#16 Ashton Gate, Bristol City

England 1 Bosnia and Herzegovina 0 

Sunday 29th November 2015, Women's Euro 2017 qualifying

*sigh* I really haven't been looking forward to this. When Loulou and I drunkenly came up with the idea of visiting every ground in Avon the prospect of actually paying money to watch my team's sworn enemies seemed a very distant one. My plan was to wait for a friend's team to play City and invite them down with the promise of board and company. Luckily I got wind of Bristol Sport offering tickets to this Euro qualifier for a mere £5 and I'm not going to get a cheaper opportunity to cross this one off the list. Work had kept me from my last chance to legitimately visit the Gate, the 2013 League Trophy Bristol derby which ended 2-1 to City.

Despite my misgivings, I was looking forward to seeing my first international match ever and supporting the girls. England's world cup run made for a great distraction during the summer and I suppose it was pretty cool that they were coming to Bristol, even if it was the dark side. Thanks to the unique way that the group stage of this competition works, Bosnia and Herzegovina had played 4 games and were currently 2nd in the group (2 wins, 2 losses) whilst England had played 1 and were 4th (1 win). I confess I had no idea where Bos & Herz stand in the grand scheme of women's football but those ever-reliable FIFA rankings tell me that they're currently 72nd out of 147 teams.

Mmmmm... sacrilicious.

I left for the match straight after the early Spurs Chelsea game had finished, as I'd heard talk of there being a 10k crowd descending on my old stomping ground of Bedminster. I knew all too well that parking would be an arse so I decided to stop near the waterfront and brave the 20 minute walk towards north street. The weather for the afternoon was truly shite, with constant gusts of strong wind and intermittent heavy rain. Once I'd made it through north street and started walking with the other attendees, I became aware that they were almost all young families with children. My apprehension about the stadium being lousy with the city faithful turned out to be unfounded but now I was worried about the fact that I was a lone bearded man crashing a family fun day. 

Kingsley's pet cat

Finally I arrived at Ashton Gate and set about finding the turnstile on my ticket. I went through and found myself inside a vast brilliant white concourse, quite a contrast from the warehouseish exterior I was used to seeing on my travels. It was full of the trappings of an international match with kids posing for photographs with creepy mascots or having a kick-about in the Continental Tyres sponsored inflatable mini pitches. It was all a bit much for this reporter so I got straight to work on my final piece of business before I took my seat: sicking an Ian Holloway sticker on one of the tissue dispensers as an act of petty punishment for my City-supporting mate Ian Hoffmann who was supposed to accompany me but decided he couldn't be arsed at the last minute.

Have that Hoff, you flaky bastard.

I was really hoping I'd find something I liked about the stadium so as not to appear biased but I just found Ashton Gate to be quite a sterile place with few of the quirks or charm I hope to encounter on these trips. It has the distinct feel of wanting to be luxurious Championship/Premier League pleasure dome rather than the beloved 100 year old traditional stadium I was hoping for. Something about the wood-panelled "Heineken Lounge" featuring advertisements for the beer that dominate that entire right corner of the south stand, or the airport departure lounge-like concourses full of fonts and colours you'd find in an EE shop just rubbed me up the wrong way. In fairness it probably didn't help that the place is one quarter building site at the time of writing. My favourite part of the stadium is the Ateyo stand with it's retro looking seat lettering. It's the little things. I'm also a sucker for curved seating which the south stand has.

Before you reach for your twitter to tell me what an idiot I am, I think reading any other post of this blog should clue you in to the fact that I am a massive football Luddite who get's twitchy if he can't stand or if a human being doesn't rip his ticket at the entrance. I am not Bristol Sport's target audience. I will admit that the new grandstand looks like it will be an impressive spectacle when complete and it's a real shame that city's admirable push for safe-standing ended up dying in a sea red-tape. 

On the football front England dominated the entire first half with Bosnia & Herzegovina taking a leaf out of the Sammarinese book of defending against teams that vastly outclass you, that is playing 4-6-0. England came ridiculously close in the 9th minute through a lovely lobbed shot from Nobbs which Hodzic touched just enough for the ball to hit the crossbar and bounce around the goal line. The keeper had to contest with a header from the rebound and an outfield player blocked a shot to the near post. England did a lot right in attack but always seemed to over-hit the final through ball needed to set up a decent shot on goal. In fairness this may have been due in part to the wind. 

Half-time came and I ducked back inside in search of sustenance. The attendance was a hearty 13,040 so I decided to see if I could track down one of the vans I saw on the way in rather than spend forever queueing inside. I found a Christmassy one selling bratwurst but I wasn't in the mood to stand out in the torrential rain. Then I saw a bizarre sight.

Ashton Gate has a coffee shop.

Not a tea hut. A full on coffee shop. With muffins, croissants and leather chairs.

Now don't get me wrong, the coffee shop saved my damp chilly arse on this occasion but I think things may have gone too far when a person can nip outside, open up a MacBook and have another crack at the old novel at a football ground.

Anyway, thanks for my BLT and Americano Ashton Gate Coffee Shop, you are a lifesaver.

Back to the action and the weather had now whipped itself up to the point where it was seriously affecting play. We were denied a penalty when Steph Houghton was shoved in the back in front of goal and a Bosnia player was a little lucky not to pick up a second yellow for pulling down Christiansen. The frustrated crowd began amusing themselves the only way the English know how: Mexican waves (ugh) and getting out the phone flashlights.

England's moment finally arrived in the 68th minute when Aluko, who I didn't think was having the best of games up to that point, sent a lovely cross into the box for the lofty Jill Scott to neatly head into the net and that was the end of that.

Franny <3

It hadn't been a classic match by any means but England put in a great shift in some truly horrible conditions and got their reward. Hodzic, the Bosnian goalkeeper should give herself a pat on the back despite the fact she was eventually beaten because she single-handedly kept her side in the game at times. I stuck around to clap off the players then started my long walk back to the car alongside the rain bedraggled parents and their overexcited children. When I'm in charge of the country, selling whistles to children who only know one chant at international fixtures will earn you two weeks in the acid pit.

Thanks to women's football I had ticked this ground off the list for next to nothing. Now let's never speak of it again.

Rovers might be tinpot but at least we've never released a Christmas jumper.

#15 Lodge Road, Yate Town

Yate Town (Reserves) 2 Bristol Manor Farm 5 
Wednesday 25th November 2015, Gloucestershire FA Challenge Trophy 3rd round

Post-punk band Half Man Half Biscuit once referred to Yate as "the kind of town that referees come from". Unless you are a South Gloucestershire native you can't really hope to appreciate how bang on a statement that is. Yate was one of those towns that most likely had more cows than people until it was randomly selected in the 60s to be crammed full of building projects until it resembled a real place. It's the ends of the earth as far as "greater Bristol" is concerned with sweet bugger-all for miles apart from a place called Chipping Sodbury where I was once, as a child, forced to do an overnight hike and found that I could quite easily nap in the middle of the road for hours without being squished by traffic.

Yate Town are one of the "big boys" of South Glos footy, the other being Mangotsfield United located 8 miles down the road with whom they share a half-arsed rivalry. The first team are enjoying a rather average season in the Southern Football League Division One South & West where they sit in 14th place having exited the league cup in the second round. The reserves play three steps lower in the Gloucestershire County League and are currently 13th.

Bristol Manor Farm on the other hand are having a wonderful time of it of late. They sit in pole position in the Western League Premier Division and have made it to the third round of the FA Vase at a canter. I imagined as I waited for the game to begin with my Styrofoam cup of ludicrously milky tea that the Farm would throw themselves into this one with a decent amount of gusto in the interests of maintaining those ever elusive "winning ways" and predicted a 3-1 win for the Western League side. Eagle-eyed readers may recall that this was a trophy that Manor Farm won last season.

Lodge Road is a quite basic but nice enough ground, even if every structure is made of grey corrugated iron. There is a fairly large seated stand to one side of the clubhouse near one of the goals and a small terrace behind the other goal and the rest is tarmac. A nice feature of the ground is the wall of huge evergreen trees that line the side of the pitch opposite the turnstiles and waft a lovely Christmas tree smell over the whole place. The clubhouse looked decent (even though I only nipped in briefly to use the facilities) with a large bar and plenty of places to sit and watch the scores from the Champions League roll in.

I'm not sure where else I'm going to be able to shoehorn this anecdote in so I'm just going to go for it here. While I was waiting for kickoff by the Manor Farm bench I was treated to the sight of their water boy bringing the bottles over in a FULL BODY BRISTOL MANOR FARM BOILERSUIT. I've let you all down by not taking a picture of this I know but I was so astounded my hands stopped working. If any officials from Bristol Manor Farm are reading this and can tell me where I might purchase a FULL BODY BRISTOL MANOR FARM BOILERSUIT please don't hesitate to get in touch.

Where Yate are hiding the bodies.

The game began and this reporter got straight into the action by punching a stray ball back into play and spilling his tea everywhere. Silky.

Still stood by the technical areas I overhear one of the managers scream "DUMMY RUNNER" at his players, which has got to be the single worst way to organise that particular tactic. I decided to move so that this report wouldn't consist solely of ridiculous things I overheard managers say.

A mere 10 minutes had passed before the first goal, a stonking strike from just outside the box by Liam Farmer, a player I always think looks particularly decent when I've seen him play for the Farm. The action didn't stop there and in the 13th minute a defensive mistake from a Farm player caused the ball to go airborne, the keeper committed too late to the catch and it was an easy tap-in for a Yate forward. Yate 1 - Farm 1.

Amazingly it only took Farm another 3 minutes to reply when a glaringly unmarked Jordan Metters caught a cross and fired it in, once again from outside the box. Yate seemed to be defending way too deeply and had serious trouble dealing with crosses and corners, which Dean Stamp used to his advantage in the 41st minute when he gently rolled in a third for Manor Farm from a low cross. Yate 1 - Farm 3, half time.

My previous inkling that Manor Farm wouldn't take their foot off the peddle when it came to this game was given a lot of credence by Mr Stamp's inclusion in the squad. The big man has been enjoying a spectacular run of form, scoring 29 goals so far in all competitions. A doff of the Partizan Bristle cap to him.

Half time provided me with a chance to get my food on. I hadn't eaten since 10 that morning and I was getting grouchy. Luckily Yate can provide you with a burger and a decent portion of chips for a mere £4.50 from the friendly old man in the static caravan. And you can have onions. If your club doesn't have onions then it's tinpot.

I figured I'd grab a place on the terrace behind the Yate goal because I could see it would be getting most of the action for the rest of the game. Due to it's close proximity to the pitch this was quite a scary place to be when the absurdly well spoken ref awarded Stamp a free-kick on the edge of the box, causing everyone to shuffle down to the bottom step. This set-piece came to nothing but minutes later Stamp powered through two defenders to slot home his second. What a man. He could even rival Pete Sheppard in my affections one day. Yate 1 - Farm 4.

I should point out that although this report sounds like the game was one-way traffic, Yate weren't without their moments and forced a number of saves from the Farm goalie including a powerful effort that curved strongly, producing a fantastic diving save from the man in net. The plucky gaggle of teenagers were finally rewarded with a second goal in the 79th minute with a shot so powerful it ricocheted off all three goal posts before going in.

Despite this brief comeback it took Farm only seconds to reply. Again exploiting Yate's weakness against crosses the ball was rolled across the face of the goal to a player who made a short pass to Metters in the centre of the penalty box for him to nutmeg the Yate goalkeeper and end the game. Yate 2 - Farm 5.

I stuck around to clap off Manor Farm who I am developing a bit of an affinity for and took my leave feeling pretty good that I'd just paid 28p per goal. Viva non-league!


For a less stupid more tactically astute write-up of this match, may I suggest this one by Jack Davies.

Maybe next season lads.

#14 Lancer Scott Stadium, Ashton and Backwell United

Ashton and Backwell United 0 Chippenham Park 2

Friday 30th October 2015, Western League Division One

Not wanting to get lazy with my hopping again, whist also hoping to catch Bristol Manor Farm's FA Vase match on Saturday, I was on the lookout for a Friday night match. As a rare treat Loulou was up for this one as well, so I was on the hunt for a ground I could get to from Pilning via Bedminster all in the space of an hour. Let this be a lesson kids: if you want it hard enough, there is always football to watch.

Ashton and Backwell United are based in the North Somerset village of Backwell. They were formed in 1911 as Backwell United but eventually absorbed Ashton Boys, presumably from the nearby village of Long Ashton, to become the team we see today. They currently play in Western League Division One (level 10) but have played in the Western League Premier before. Their relative success considering Backwell's size leaves me pondering why my own home-town of Pilning and Severn Beach with it's population of 3,647 can't even maintain a Suburban League team.  

Chippenham Park have the weird origin story of being an AFC Liverpool-style "little brother" club but one that was set up by the parent club itself (the Southern Premier's Chippenham Town) rather than disgruntled fans. Town launched the club in 2012 to give local youngsters a chance to break into the football pyramid as a separate club rather than a reserves side (Park actually have their own reserves). Despite being technically a separate entity the hope is that many youngsters that do well for Park will make the step-up to Town. Both teams play in the same kit and stadium.

Because we'd had to rush a bit I hadn't had time to check whether this was a league game or an early FA Vase tie as we entered the ground but I can now confirm it was a league game. Looking at the tables now, it meant we were going to be watching 12th-placed Chippenham against 15th-placed Backwell. Tasty!

The Lancer Scott Stadium was easy enough to find, just off Backwell high street. However it was also pretty well hidden. I know Backwell fairly well and I never had a clue there was a football ground there until now. The first noticeable feature of the place is their seemingly honour based ticketing system: a garden shed with a single turnstile hanging off of it and two arm-widths of space between it and the clubhouse wall. Happily there was a club official on hand to take our money and prevent any gatecrashing shenanigans. Once I'd paid I wondered whether the polite thing to do would be to push the turnstile rather than simply walk past it, eventually opting for the former and looking like a massive tit.

Once inside I noticed that the rows of seats were lettered. Leading to metal images of some high-profile cup game where the kindly official would be forced to attempt directing people to allocated seats from his garden shed outpost. 

Silliness aside, the seats by the clubhouse were quite a nice place to be, well lit and right on the edge of the action, with a roof to keep the old boys warm and dry during the winter months. On the opposite side of the pitch there is another smaller stand named after Bill Coggins, a goalkeeper who won league titles with Bristol City and Everton before retiring and becoming landlord of The Rising Sun in Backwell.

I was amused by the token effort that had been put into setting up nets to catch wayward balls; a strip of orange barrier fence only slightly wider than the goal erected slackly above it, which proceeded to save exactly no stray balls. 

The first half was a case of squandered chances for both teams. An Ashton player broke free in the first five minutes but skied his shot. The home team had a number of other chances that were cleared from the goal-line or rattled the woodwork. Eventually the tide turned against them as a Chippenham player was pulled down in the box for a penalty, which he gratefully put away. A easy follow-up from the corner of the box shortly after was to be the only other action of the 90.

I was disappointed that the first game I'd been able to drag Loulou to in a while hadn't exactly been a classic, even as the game got fractious and there looked like their might be a scrap on the cards. I also enjoyed the Chippenham fans calling out to their player to "watch out for Messi" in reference to Ashton's suspiciously Barcelonaesque strip and their mop-topped winger.

Considering it was the lowest standard of football I've covered so far, Ashton and Backwell was a decent enough little ground with plenty of cosy seating and the locals were hilarious. For £6 you can't go wrong.

#13 Aggborough, Kidderminster Harriers

Worcester City 0 Nuneaton Town 1

Sunday 18th October 2015, National League North

Day two of the West Midlands double header didn't get off to the best of starts when Daz's new kitten Oscar decided to hide his wallet down the back of the sofa during the night. The 20 minute hunt that followed, mixed with some hefty M6 traffic meant that I walked through the turnstile at Aggborough with two minutes to spare before kick-off. If I wasn't in such a rush, I might have noticed that parking at the ground itself cost a mere £1, rather than the £2 I was charged to park near a pre-school much further away by man who on reflection may have just been some guy in a high-viz rather than a steward.

Eeeevil

Worcester City, like most of the clubs featured on this blog come to think of it, have fallen on tough times in the last few years. On the plus side results have held up and they continue to play in the sixth tier, their highest ever position. This is thanks in no small part to a reprieve they received in 2010 due to a number of clubs going bust. On the negative side they no longer play games at their original home St George's Lane in Worcester. Instead fans must now travel 15 miles to the nearby town of Kidderminster to the home of Kiderminster Harriers, Aggborough.

How did they lose their home you ask? The club sold it in 2013 to a housing developer in order to fund the building of a brand new 6000 capacity stadium. Which sounds great but they sold it for less than their project ended up requiring. Ouch.

Despite this setback, Worcester have been having a lot of success in the FA cup of late, making it to the 2nd round last season, beating Coventry at the Ricoh in the process and only going out after a replay against Scunthorpe 14-13 (!) on penalties. At the time of writing Worcester have beaten national league Gateshead away to qualify for the first round for the current season. A doff of the PB cap to them.

Nuneaton Town are a club I'm more familiar with after Bristol Rovers met them last season in the conference and recorded two convincing wins in a season that would see Nuneaton relegated. They've existed in three incarnations, for a while going by the name Nuneaton Borough. Conference National is the highest they've ever played but they did beat Stoke City in the 2000-01 FA cup.

Having to groundshare in a different city can never be too fun but all things considered I don't think I'd feel too hard done by if I were a Worcester supporter by coming to Aggborough every other week. I wish I'd bothered with more away trips with Rovers last season so I could have seen it sooner.

I'd describe it as the (in my world at least) the ideal lower-league ground: close to the action, a terrace behind each goal (there should always be at least one terrace behind a goal) and a large seated stand with the team name spelled with seats (always love that). The ground was only about a quarter full so we could have sat anywhere but we went for some front row seats on the stand in front of the clubhouse for easy half-time access. 

We had to dip into the clubhouse straight away to get programmes and a scarf. I had to pry myself away from a man selling historical programmes and badges because I only had enough on me for a scarf and lunch. The kindly old lady who sold it to me joked about how I would need it to get on the coach to Gateshead next week an 8-hour round trip. Don't tempt me madam. The clubhouse was as nice a place to be, despite the swarm of kids running between their anxious pint-carrying elders and offered excellent pitch-side views for the chilly/hopeless alcoholic punter. The first obligatory quirky non-league feature presented itself in the form of this trophy shelf, which was at least a head taller than Daz and I rendering it's contents unreadable. Perhaps Kiddie and Worcester aren't too proud of their silverware to date.

There's a Champions League medal in there somewhere I'm sure of it...

Back out in the stands, I noticed something I'd never seen at football before. Between the pitch-side and in programme advertisements for pies and boiler servicing there appeared to be a political throw-down going on between the local Liberal Democrats, UKIP and Conservative parties:

I know politics and football have been bedfellows throughout history but this was a funny little window into solidly Conservative rural Worcestershire. Maybe in the Harriers' heyday ultras carried banners demanding the downfall of modern football and the immediate cutting of the deficit and the public sector but I digress...    

A surprising number of household names have washed up in the ranks of Worcester and Nuneaton, including Pompey, Wednesday and Derby mainstay Deon Burton, former Hammers and Forest star and petite-Heskey Marlon Harewood and Lee Hughes, who has come full circle since leaving the criminal line-up at Forest Green Rovers returning to where he began his career with Kidderminster.

The big man

The first half passed by without much to excite, no one looked like scoring but at least it was nice and open. The only thing I can remember is some woeful crossing from Nuneaton, who narrowly had the better of the attacking chances.

Half-time provided me with an opportunity to try one of the much-vaunted Aggborough pies and my stake and kidney with actual puff pasty lid (!) kept me happily distracted throughout the first ten minutes of the second half.

Oh baby.

Luckily I'd just about finished munching away in time to catch the main entertainment of the afternoon, namely: the worst fucking refereeing I've seen in my short groundhopping career.

Worcester captain Ellis Deeney gave away a free kick on the edge of the box in the 56th minute, which to me looked very suspect but that's unprovable either way now. The ref took his time about booking Deeney and forced the Worcester wall back a number of times, all the while being unaware of Nuneaton placing the ball yards back from where the foul took place. While the ref was stood in front of the wall, the shot, which was taken without a whistle being blown, hit a Worcester player's arm resulting in a penalty which Nuneaton scored.

As if that wasn't enough, Deon Burton was booked after complaining about the lack of action taken by the ref after Daniel Nti was pushed off the ball, which everyone in the stadium witnessed except from, it would seem, the officials. Finally Sean Geddes was shown a straight red for dissent just to top off Worcester's afternoon.

I've got to say seeing a referee just completely lose control of a game from a neutral point of view is actually quite fun. The ref, who I shall now name and shame as Darren Strain continued to infuriate the Worcester players by refusing to let them take any of their own free-kicks quickly. One that was in a particularly decent attacking position was de-fanged spectacularly by ol' Dazza blowing the whistle several times before the home team could take advantage of the situation, which ultimately came to nothing as the Nuneaton goalkeeper gathered it up. During this exchange Alex Gudger slipped over in the box; or possibly dived judging by the reaction of Jordan Keane, a Nuneaton defender who was in his face seconds later, resulting in him being sent-off. As the ball was still in-play at the time of this sending-off, the City players appealed for a penalty, which wasn't given. Nuneaton had a player sent off the pitch for a foul in the box which didn't result in a penalty. Darren, take a fucking bow my son for you are a troll of galactic proportions.

There's a man in there somewhere who just wants it all to end.

Staggeringly, most Worcester fans remained fairly placid throughout this whole ordeal with comments such as: "Well, it's only a game at the end of the day..." and "He [Strain] was quite good in the first half..." which I overheard, open-mouthed.

One man who was getting upset was a large bloke sat behind us who was throwing out every clichéd nugget of ref abuse he could think of as loud as he could, until he was told to calm down by an old lady.

With only ten minutes remaining, both teams were throwing everything they had for a share of the points. Marlon Harewood came on for Nuneaton to waddle around looking lost for the duration; to my delight performing the touch ground, make cross on chest and kiss hand thing as he did. You can take the player out of the EPL... 

Right at the death the Worcester keeper came up for a corner and his head managed to connect with it for an easy catch for the opposition goalie. Which was a shame as I was on my feet and right behind the home team by this point.

At the end of the game, the crowd gathered by the dressing rooms to clap Worcester off, this turned into a delightful North Korean-style mass booing of the ref, who if he'd had any sense would've sprinted right off.

I felt bad for Worcester but to be honest they never looked like scoring, in this round of shithouses vs. donkeys, the shithouses came out on top but that's National League North for you: just terrible refs, amazing pie and super Marlon Harewood.

#12 Marston Road, Stafford Rangers

Stafford Rangers 4 Rugby Town 0

Saturday 17th October 2015, Northern Premier League Division One South

It had been over a month since my last new ground. Some nights I would get the shakes and see little old men with radio Walkmans that weren't really there. I had three options available. One was the Western League groundhop, a gruelling seven match in one weekend event. This was tempting as it would've crossed a lot off the list for my initial goal of doing every ground in Avon above step 10 but it would have left me with a seven report backlog and I don't think I'd end up doing any of them justice. Another was a solo two-and-a-half hour each way drive to Mansfield to watch Rovers, which I couldn't be arsed with. So I decided to come good on my promise to pay Daz (Pint of Football) a visit and see what delights the West Midlands could throw up for us.

Daz and I attended Staffordshire University together and spent three years living in Stoke-on-Trent, the county's main city. Staffordshire is a veritable footballing paradise boasting not only three league teams (Stoke City, Port Vale and Burton Albion) but also a number of fairly successful non-league teams: Tamworth, Hednesford Town, Leek Town and Chasetown to name a few.

Rangers were last in the conference between 2005-06 and 2007-08 and made it to the second round of the FA Cup in 2006-07, going out to Brighton. The club's finest hours came in 1971-72 and 1978–79 when they beat Barnet and Kettering Town respectively to win the FA Trophy. However these heady times were not to continue and the club have suffered three relegations since 2008 leaving them at level 8, Northern Premier League Division One South (you're having a laugh). 

During a brief period in 2014 where I was on the brink of moving to Stafford I became somewhat fascinated by the club, this was fuelled partly by my trips to visit friends on the Stafford campus. While Stoke's landscape consisted of endless rows of compact terrace housing and industrial sprawl, Stafford was full of medieval-style timber frame buildings and had a sleepy market town feel. This contrast made me curious about what kind of club would be birthed from such a place: a Burton Albion Jr, without the fancy modern ground? A hangout for the old timers and young families of the town put off by the ruckus of City and Vale? A hidden gem filled with embattled non-league stalwarts? I had to know.

We spent the early afternoon in a nearby pub watching Spurs face the all-new Klopp wielding Liverpool. I volunteered to drive for the day as I was half way through Go Sober October, an absolutely murderous task when faced with cheap non-league beer prices (*cough* sponsor me if you want *cough*). The bar was nice and busy and a friendly local passed the time of day with us speaking fondly of Boro's Wembley trips of yore and the open-top bus parades that followed.   

I was impressed by the cushiness of the clubhouse. A well stocked bar with pitch-view windows adorned with images from the FA Trophy victories, a massive function room and an executive suite which we didn't attempt to enter due to the weird looks we were getting for getting overly excited by the obscure trophies the team had amassed throughout the years. 

Once we'd enjoyed the facilities, we made our way into the ground itself in plenty of time to have a poke about.

Marston Road, surrounded on three sides by peaceful green suburbia made up of new flats and typical Staffordshire brown terraced houses, is what we ground bores would call a good old fashioned ground. The kind of characterful, unpretentious place that makes seeking it out worthwhile. A ground, to get a bit misty-eyed, that you can instantly feel has seen a lot of history as soon as you enter.

The main focal point is the big seated stand pictured at the start of the post, which I'd guess is a relatively new feature. Opposite that is a long, rickety, corrugated metal roofed shed, which I'd guess probably isn't. The rest of the stadium is uncovered and has some of the widest terracing I've ever seen. One particularly enjoyable feature of the end opposite the clubhouse were the weather-beaten flags who's owners apparently had given up taking them home between games. Another were the lexically awkward words of inspiration (pictured below) of R. B. Woodward, the former chairman of the club (not the famous Harvard research chemist, that would be weird) which loomed over one corner of the ground suspended from a floodlight.

By the time we'd found a good spot to stand, the ground had filled nicely with up for it Staffies immaculately adorned in black and white scarfs and hats, not to mention a hearty smattering of Rugby(ites/ovians?) adding their own much more well kempt flags to the fences. All in the crowd was 562, pretty decent we thought for this level. And why not? Considering Stafford Rangers began the game in the top spot of the NPLDOS with the only slight party-pooper being the draw with Newcastle Town and the defeat to the bizarrely named Shaw Lane Aquaforce they had suffered in the two matches prior to today.

That wasn't about to ruin these fine folk's day though and everyone we passed was a picture of jolly optimism. We ventured into the club shop to bag my customary scarf and Daz had a chat with the proprietor which went something like:

D: "Optimistic about this afternoon then?"

SK: "Well they just gotta win really. We need to get out of this division. They gotta win."

D: "Yeah. I mean they got to the play-offs last year didn't they?"
SK: "Yeah well they just gotta win lads. That's all there is to it."

D: "...Mmm."

The shopkeep unfortunately looked to have had some sort of accident recently and was hobbling about on crutches. He wasn't about to get any sympathy from the locals though judging from the Zimmer frame someone had gleefully left in the cabin with a note saying "Neil, it could not have happened to a nicer chap."

Other fun features of Marston Road include but are not limited to:

• The toilets being underneath the steps of the main stand and having several nests of non-league Starlings living in them.
• A fundraising drive for a new covered stand advertised with the Shedometer™, a picture of a thermometer coloured in with a red-felt tip.
• Four individual fold-out seats near each corner flag for the weary lino/cameraman.
• The same lady operating the turnstile appearing moments after taking my money at the next window along to offer me a programme.
• Someone misspelling Bovril as "Brovil" on the food van sign, then hearing someone ask for a cup of Brovil.
• Overhearing a player admitting to a young fan he was chatting with pre-match that he was "bloody knackered" when asked if we was ready for the 90 minutes ahead. Lovely bit of confidence for the supporters is what we like to see.

In the first half it was quite obvious that Rangers had recently had two goalless games. They had the ball in the Rugby half more often than not but were easily undone by the away side who made some good clearances but posed very little attacking threat of their own.

Our referee for this afternoon was none other than Lisa Rashid, who some may recall from a particularly shit article from an even shitter paper. Daz and I agreed that she controlled the game pretty well and took absolutely zero stick from the players, despite her diminutive stature. Sadly the same could not be said for the linesman we stood behind for the first half. A monumental berk who continually called throws and corners incorrectly, most likely due to his insistence on standing half a pitch away from the action often with the managers and technical team obscuring his view. There was one point where a member of the crowd had to tell him where to stand during a goal kick. Although this would prove to be small-fry compared to the baffling incompetence we were to witness the next day...

Official is boob

Official with boobs

Half-time reared it's goalless head and I got a burger which smashed the burger I had at Wolves in to bits because it came with FREE ONIONS.

Daz wanted to go in the stands after this and we ended up sat directly behind the players and manager for the second half. This gave us valuable insight into the Stafford manager's tactical ploy of repeatedly telling whoever was challenging to "compete" and screaming a player's name after they'd done something good until they turned around to see him give them a little clap. Positive reinforcement that, it's in all the manuals.

The second half was a slaughter by Stafford with Nathan Rooney poaching former Macclesfield and Port Vale man Levi Reid's saved shot. Ben Haseley scored from an advantage minutes later followed by Rooney getting his brace in the 62nd. By this point the home team were just having fun and a relaxed goal by sub George Cater was just the icing on the cake.

The main vocal support came in three flavours:

• A chant of "ROO-NAY, ROO-NAY!" in the style of the England captain enjoyed by the home fans.
• A small gaggle of 12 year old Rugby fans stood behind the Stafford keeper shouting what I think I heard as "YOU FAT BASTARD AND YOUR MUM'S A SLAG" to every goal kick.
• A solitary middle-aged lady who spent the entire second half doing vague commentary in an incredibly loud voice. My favourite was her haughtily shouting "in the mix!" during a scramble for a poor aerial pass.

Throughout the second half, a man sat beside me who seemed to be trying to construct a match report on his phone kept asking me who scored, to which I could only reply at the time based on what I'd heard over the tannoy as "uhh... Nathan something. I think... Sorry." I haven't checked the official write-up but there's a good chance I ruined it.

For my final bonus anecdotes that don't really go anywhere else:

• There was a man who had a dress sense and hair style that was strikingly reminiscent of present-day Paul McCartney who job it was to collect stray balls off the clubhouse roof (pictured below).
• After being subbed, one of the Stafford players' first order of business was to ask us for the Aston Villa score. Magic.

With my inexplicable curiosity for this ground thoroughly quenched, we headed back to Stoke to get ready for the next exciting edition of The Partizan Bristle/Pint of Football west-midlands weekend extravaganzaaa (tm).