It's a long one but bare with me. Now I have to make this very clear. This isn't about the match in itself but the somewhat ridiculous/surreal events that surronded a 90 minutes that would usually send me home grinning from ear to ear...however. It all started as any other Saturday. I'd enjoyed my lie in and was ready to leave the house at 10:45 for the 11:46 slow train up to Stoke. Ample time. Nonetheless the first mishap was a sign of things to come. No sooner had I closed the door did I realise I'd left both the matchday and train tickets for me and two others safely inside the house. As it turns out this was the first sign of a day where I'd stretch the saying "better late than never" to inordinate lengths. Anyway all goes well until I reach Victoria to take the Viccy line to Eustion at precisley 11:11. Those who had checked the tube lines will now be realising my massive mistake already. Very quickly I discover that nie on all the lines are closed leaving the quickest route to Euston being the 73 bus. "Around 30mins depending on traffic" said the much too happy underground man. To coin a phrase, "Cue the music." I dash to the bus stop and through sheer luck a 73 is waiting for me. The two others are already at Euston after I'd made them swear to be on time as at the best of times their unreliable. I call them to tell them the situation and they reserve a few choice words on my behalf. I reach Euston at a ridiculous 11:44 and the driver lets me off early as to make a mad dash for the train. I sprinted through crowds of people while discovering a natural talent for free running. As I get into the station the big clock says 11:45 and 10 seconds. Suddenly little spots are appearing everywhere and Im feeling distinctly light headed as I reach the platform in elation as I see the train sitting there. "IVE DONE IT" I think to myself "GET IN! COME ON...wait...wait...WHY IS IT MOVING!" I'd missed it. The two others didnt know whether to laugh at my appearence or cry as we've missed the train with the next train that our tickets were valid for an hour later meaning that at best we'd make the second half. We go to the ticket office (still jogging) to see if we can buy some tickets for the 12:00 fast train which would get us to the match easily. The price comes at £110. "I cant afford that!" We announced in unison. Well I say we. At this point you should know I've been saving up for months meaning I was distinctly better off than the other two meaning although it would be a significant chunk. I could afford it. Now we'd all agree that £110 is a lot of money. For a student. It's an absolute fortune. Still it was in effect my fault that we'd missed the train and I couldnt make the other two miss the match through my own mistake. Crying, I make the transaction and the next we know we're in Stoke. We make the match comfortably and as the match goes on I quickly forget about the days previous events. As the full time whistle goes the players head over to us and start throwing their shirts into the crowd. As this happens Anton Ferdinands shirt flies straight towards me and I catch it in a feeling of sheer elation which was cut short as quickly as it started. The man beside me had placed his hand on it and instead of yanking it. Gently pulls it towards his 7yr old daughter stating "OH WELL DONE YOU'VE CAUGHT IT!" At this point others congratulate her. Her face lights up and I'm still standing there, hand on shirt thinking"You sly prick. You cheeky, snide, stupid &%*&$**!^$" Now I know I shouldn't care too much, but having spent more than £150 to get there the shirt would have been just consolation in my eyes. Plus I'd outjumped my two mates both of whom are 6'5" I left the ground again in a disgruntled mood and was still didn't know how to feel as I reached the station. Then, to every Rs fans bemusement and especially mine. None other than Anton Ferdinand turns up to get the train. I quickly tell him my sob story regarding the shirt half expecting him to take off his current one and offer it to me. He didn't We reach Euston without event however from there the day continued in it's ridiculous fashion as one mate disappears on the tube leaving me and now one other taking a very scenic route to Clapham Junction. Finally I jump on the bus which will take me home in 10 minutes. Well it usually would. The driver missed my stop...and the next one.
Nice piece there Scotland. Enjoyable read, well written. Reminscent of another piece you did a few months ago. Similar trials and tribs of awayday trips theme but better this one's a bit better constructed imo. Feel for you about Anton's shirt... using his little daughter to psych you into withdrawing your claim. Pricks come in all colours mate - even hoops!
and to think i thought i had it hard,,,getting out of bed at 9 in the morning,,to watch the delayed coverage at 10.15
Simple tip Scotland, before any important journey on the underground check the TfL website which lists what is and isn't running or delays, the network is often crap at the weekend and I've been caught out myself in the past. Nicely written piece and I'd have mugged the 7 year old!...
Anton on the train and not the team coach? Maybe with the Stoke supporters! I ain't having that. Sorry but this sounds a bit brother's Grimm to me
Cheers guys. Brixton it seems I attract drama for awaydays which is defintely doing me no good. The most ridiculous away day story I have I havent actually written up as Im almost too ashamed to reaccount it. I'll try in the next couple days but ma chicken out!
