My relationship with the Britannia dates back to November 2010; I decided to go for the league fixture just to tick one more stadium off my list. So began a very interesting link with a club I have never even looked at twice before. The day was great, the performance wasn’t, the result was 1-1 (a bit of trend these days) and I just had to go back. I’m not even sure why I always want to go, the place has no appeal to me at all, my friend is convinced it was the bacon (no idea, he just blurted it out in the pub one day) but something personal hit me that day, and my ‘Stoke rants’ are now a cause of amusement between mates. It is also worth noting that I have never once seen a win at Stoke in 4 visits, all have been 1-1 at full time (one 3-1 loss AET in FA Cup replay). This time just had to be different.
It was all planned out; I went for meal
to celebrate a good friend’s birthday on Friday night (hope you had
a good night Graeme!) and was going to go home, get a few hours’
sleep and meet R Dave around 4.15 to start the day off. It was going
swimmingly until I decided it would be rude of me to leave early so
followed on to a bar to have a few drinks and then someone mentioned
the phrase ‘all-nighter’ (yes you Ms Higgins!) and it all went to
pot. From I fall asleep 10 minutes before I am due to leave, then end
up spending £20 in a taxi picking Dave up and returning home again
having left something behind. It was now 8 o’clock and I was £20
down, and still at my house. I HATE Stoke away. I then realise,
whilst approaching the Met station that my darts are still in my
pocket; £30 worth of equipment getting confiscated from some
jobsworth steward? No chance, I needed a plan. Luckily some close
friends were driving to Stoke so kindly allowed me to leave them in
their car while the match was on (thank you so much Andy and Elaine,
absolute lifesavers!).
We see the lads at the train station,
but Dave having not been to bed, and me being in a foul mood, we
decided to get beer and sit down as if we were just going on a day
out, no chanting, no scaring people into moving carriages, and no
fun. This started to change when birthday boy Adam suddenly appeared
at Stockport along with girlfriend Shelley and plonked a Tesco’s
finest Pear cider in front of me. I started to perk up a bit and
became optimistic that things could only get better from here. We
spent the next half hour talking about skiing experiences (I have
none) and preparing ourselves for the day ahead. It’s only a short
journey to Stoke but Jesus was it chilly, and certainly a lot more
snow knocking about; this prompted a slight complaint from Shelley,
barely even noticeable, but produced one of the greatest lines from
Dave in the world; “Aw are you looking for sympathy? Check the
dictionary, you’ll find it somewhere between sh** and syphilis!”
This had me and Adam in stitches, and if I had a pen on me, I would
have written it down there and then!
We knew Stoke quite well, Adam boasting
some 14 appearances, so we barely glanced at the leaflets the police
were handing out, we just asked if we were being sent to The Terrace
or the Students Union; it was to be the Union, only a short walk, but
enough for Dave and Adam to have some fun in the snow. Bless.
Unfortunately the Union has a bit of a habit of producing the
flattest lager you have ever seen in your life so it was straight on
the bottles for me, along with the traditional Jager bombs, not a
great taste sensation at 10 in the morning. We tracked down the
lovely Tracey Greaves to get our tickets and retreated away from the
bar and stood in just about the coldest spot in all of Staffordshire,
as you do. One more jager bomb and we decided to leave the Union
about 11 to get to The Harvester; the Union wasn’t amazing and I
needed to relieve myself of my darts. There was time to hear one of
City’s finer fans tell me that the toilets ‘stank of piss’
(fancy that!) and we headed back on to the Stoke ice rink to grab a
taxi near the train station. Along the way we found a lost
Tits-out-Jackie (most of you will know exactly who I mean, those that
don’t will find out soon enough I am sure) so Dave helped her out
with directions before Adam perfectly aimed a snowball and ‘dick
head!’ echoed through the streets. Nothing particularly eventful
happened on the journey to The Harvester but after stowing my weapons
in the car we saw two girls in fancy dresses and high heels
struggling across the car park. Shelley told Dave to at least offer
to help, to which he replied, ‘Nah, you wanted equal
opportunities!’ Hero.
Into the stadium and it was time for
turbo shandies and the nerves to kick in, I can’t help it, I love
the FA Cup more than anything, I revert to my 10 year-old self every
time we play in it, and I couldn’t handle it if Stoke were to ruin
it for me this year. Dave and I headed down to the seats, second row
in use, right next to the players tunnel, we always end up somewhere
along those lines. The singing was starting, the players were out,
this was it, Stoke away was upon me again, I felt differing emotions
wherever I turned, hatred towards the fans, annoyance towards the
stewards staring at individuals, delight at the line-up Bobby had
chosen and amusement at the empty seats despite being frequently told
how much better Stoke’s support is than ours.
 |
| Zabaleta showing sheer passion infront of the City faithful |
The opening moments were all us, we
were up for it, Carlos looking more like his dangerous self than in
previous games, Milner once again working harder than anyone in the
team, and Spanish Dave creating some moments of magic, including
striking the post from distance. Zaba looked ace as usual, people
already touting him as player of the season, and he is not letting
off in his performances. Early worries were Vinny limping off after
half hour. I could see the anguish in his face as he limped off and
threw the armband to Zabs, not a great sign ahead of an away trip to
QPR on Tuesday night. For some reason Bobby decided not to bring
anyone on for almost 10 minutes, although it felt much, much longer.
Gail Platt came on and we suddenly had 3 at the back, not always
popular, but Stoke were not threatening at all so most weren’t
complaining. He changed it again second half to a more comfortable
back four, I wasn’t overly alert to the game second half as a
steward had taken a shine to me, and told his boss about me, not
entirely sure what I did wrong if I am honest but I had four very
stern eyes on me for a good 35 minutes. I did see a double footed
challenge from old boy Whelan but the my memory of the second half is
mainly focused on a few glorious minutes when Serg played the ball
across and Zaba went sprinting past us and the net was finally
bulging. It was unreal, we had taken the lead at last! I jumped,
danced, screamed and was eventually sandwiched between my two mates
(both over 6ft, not a comfortable scenario, but I wasn’t bothered
in the slightest). I could tell that Dave and Gambino both felt the
same as I did, but didn’t want to jinx it, we might actually do
this, we might actually win away at Stoke. Blue flares were popping
up everywhere and Stoke fans were calling it a day, more stewards
appeared in front of us and my friend was moved to a new post, he
cheekily let a few of us in on the secret that he was a United fan
before going though, abuse followed, he took it on the chin.
The whistle went, the crowd cheered, we
laughed at the few remaining Stokies and made our way to the exit. A
new steward (about 50) decided to have a go at me for walking the
wrong way, despite everyone going the same way; I asked him if he was
only picking on me because I was smaller than him or was it mere
coincidence that the taller people were allowed to walk past. He
blushed and the young girl he was obviously supervising seemed to
instantly lose respect for him, not my proudest moment, but anyone in
orange was automatically irritating me at this point. Dave had
somehow managed to sort us a lift back to Stretford so we waited near
a burger van outside. A ball of ice flew right into my back and we
suddenly found ourselves being pelted from the leaving Stoke fans,
one City lad deciding to pour mustard and brown sauce on some snow
and throwing back; but the police decided that anyone loyal to a team
wearing blue were at fault so we just had to stand there and take it.
I got my darts, helped Frankie get her wellies off and trekked a good
mile or so to where this lad had parked; Dave braving a Stoke pub for
the facilities, there was no way I was going in. Our journey back was
filled with laughter as the QPR score was reported and we made it
back in good time considering United were at home. I rang the old man
and promised to watch the game with him, but some other bugger can
report on that, I am going to keep smiling at finally seeing City win
away at Stoke; which isn’t a bad place really, once you get used to
it, terrible bacon though.
Mike Bray
Mike Bray
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