| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) 16:24 - Apr 27 with 1288 views | Warkystache |
So it comes to the last two games. Saturday looks like a day to be drowned in cheap alcohol from a Wetherspoons, immersed in it even. Balls to lining the streets armed with cardboard clappers for the Town luxury coach; no, I need to be floating in £2.49 a pint beer. Sorry to the fine members of Blue Action and that, but this is one to be celebrated AFTER we've won. Anything else is premature ejaculation.
Two difficult-on-paper games were anything but. The walk on Saturday morning was as nervy a stroll as I've had since I thought I'd done my achilles in 2020. That was purely physical then. This was emotional nerves, that feeling of hope being overcome by resignation at two frigging defeats away (let's face it, we're due one said the voice that nagged in my head) at bloody Peterborough and then at Barnsley. It was the same in 1992 when Magic scored for Oxford and it looked like another week of waiting, especially after the dull 0-0 at home to Tranmere a few days before.
But as ever with the Town, when we're good, we're bloody good. I was in Huntingdon when I saw the score. 3-0 away. My current partner Helen was moved to say "Poor Peterborough - that's only a few miles down the road" as I had spasms of joy and then she caught me mid-grin and she understood.
And Tuesday, the day I finally became officially old at 49, and the cards reflected it, as did the presents of clothes and books and whisky and hankies (not looking forward to 50 if this was the gauge) and meals out went on the credit card and Paula ignored me completely, even on Facebook, and Tel met me for evening drinks and pressies of booze and rude cards and the Leicester game on BT, yes Tuesday, the 25th April, the same birth date as Al Pacino and Marconi and Cromwell and Edward the Second and Rene Zellweger and Eric Bristow, yes Tuesday was the day we could all finally look forward to promotion automatically by beating Exeter at home on the following Saturday.
Tel was happy. He can't come to Exeter (thank heavens as I forgot to get him a ticket anyway and, judging by the posts on here from people who have never posted before asking for tickets, I suspect I've missed the boat now) as he moves tomorrow to Halstead. I've helped him with a bit of packing yesterday, just odds and sods here and there, managed to accidentally break some horrific sixties-looking vase by chucking something heavier in a box without seeing the damned thing. He even forgave me for that. "S'orlright, it was the wife's farver's, 'e bought it in some flea market in Barking in 1971, don' worry, the wife'll be relieved". She didn't mention it when she came back from some swimming group thing at 9pm so I didn't ruin the late-night drinks and fags after all.
The house echoed in the emptiness. Every room looks like a burglary happened. The boxes, all badly-spelt labelled, sit near the front door, piled up, awaiting removal tomorrow. The garden furniture has already gone. Storage with Tone and Sandy. They're coming to the new house tomorrow to help. I wasn't invited, which was a bit hurtful to start off with but then I was secretly a bit relieved. It'll be bedlam. They're leaving at 11am.
End of an era then but it's not as if they're emigrating, so I suspect it'll be a continuation of contacts and brief nipping over to see each other. Halstead's only 30 miles away. They've already shown me pictures of their new home. It looks like the old one, only newer and a bit more space outside.
We had the house-leaving last Saturday, hours after the Posh game, came home from Huntingdon early Saturday evening as Helen was out with friends as well. Paula didn't come in the end. Not a word to say sorry she couldn't and all that. No reply when I rang her either, then a brief text at 9pm asking what I wanted. So I reminded her of the Terries party and she didn't answer. Then Tel got a call on his mobile and answered in the garden and I heard him say "Yeah, oh right" a lot and then he came in and said "Tha'ss Paula, she's sorry but 'er ovver 'arf's got 'is kids this weekend an' they've taken 'em to Chelmsford for the pictures an' dinner". I didn't know he had kids. Oh well.
So the neighbours left at eleven and it was just us, the Terries and me, laughing and drinking in the garden despite the chill, Mrs Tel wearing her dressing gown as a warming aid, smoking my fags and sipping her Malibu'n'Coke. Then the taxi came at twelve and I went, hugged to death by both and waved at dementedly by Tel as the cab reversed on his drive and a good day, indeed a good night, ended.
Tuesday was bizarre. Even more nervy than Saturday. Tel deliberately didn't look at his phone in the pub and we watched a dull Leeds v Leicester game and Ian Darke's even duller commentary as we drank our pints and ate our ribs in sauce. Then he suddenly had a 'ping' and pulled out his mobile. "Gawd - Town just scored!" he said, amazed. Then someone else came in and said it was 2-0, Hirst, George Hirst with it. And we all relaxed and laughed at how silly it was to get so wound up by a game of footy.
By the time it was three, I was half-cut and Tel was ordering more brandies. He'd already asked me to come on Wednesday evening for "A chinky an' 'elp us pack the last bits if yer fancy it, like?" and I'd nodded. It seemed just penitence for a win at Barnsley. And being newly 49, it seemed the middle-aged thing to agree to. Even if part of me winced at the prospect of a teary farewell to both.
But it was nice when it came last night. Light, yet nonetheless heartfelt. Their bungalow, they and their belongings felt like they were all ready for a fresh start, someone new to fix the boiler and potter around the garden. Like us getting promotion back to the cut-throat world of the Championship, all things must pass eventually. And whereas Tel and Mrs Tel will probably fit in all too well in their new environs, we all secretly hope the Town will just be passing through the Championship and on their way to far bigger (if more exasperating, telly-restricted and odd-thumping-led) things in a few seasons.
We dreamed a dream all that time ago. Now it's time to dream again.
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| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:12 - Apr 27 with 1018 views | farkenhell |
A great read as ever, although sorry to be a pedant, but I believe the dull 0-0 a few days before Oxford in '92 was against Hull.
Looking forward to the Promotion Report! |  | | |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:19 - Apr 27 with 996 views | TrumptonBlue |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:12 - Apr 27 by farkenhell |
A great read as ever, although sorry to be a pedant, but I believe the dull 0-0 a few days before Oxford in '92 was against Hull.
Looking forward to the Promotion Report! |
Grimsby. |  | | |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:21 - Apr 27 with 986 views | nodge_blue |
I did my Achilles in 2020 as well. Pogoing (if that's spelt right) in the kitchen to the idols. It's a real misery isn't it. |  |
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| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:51 - Apr 27 with 937 views | farkenhell |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:19 - Apr 27 by TrumptonBlue |
Grimsby. |
Lol - that'll teach me! In fact, after I posted it, I wondered whether it was Grimsby, but couldn't be bothered to look it up.
What I do remember from that game was bunking off work early to drive to PR all the way from Northampton, arrived just before kick off, felt a right wally dressed in a suit, then let down by a poor performance and result, then having to drive home again. | | | |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 08:34 - Apr 28 with 779 views | Warkystache |
| The Warky Report - Peterborough, Barnsley, Tel (a) on 22:51 - Apr 27 by farkenhell |
Lol - that'll teach me! In fact, after I posted it, I wondered whether it was Grimsby, but couldn't be bothered to look it up.
What I do remember from that game was bunking off work early to drive to PR all the way from Northampton, arrived just before kick off, felt a right wally dressed in a suit, then let down by a poor performance and result, then having to drive home again. |
It was Grimsby! Why do I always think it was Tranmere?
There was no room standing in the old Churchmans. It was like sardines. Dozzell missed an easy header in. Grimsby played with ten men behind the ball all evening. It was the ultimate let-down, 30,000 fans crammed in expecting promotion with a win (Blackburn were miles behind us) and they played for a draw and got it. | |
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