No. 76: Oakwell [Barnsley]

Sunday, 7th December 2014.

Barnsley v. Chester FC [FA Cup 2nd Round] 0-0

Well the last thing you need on a freezing December Sunday morning when you have to drive 80 miles across the Pennines is a pulsating, nauseous hangover brought on by a night drinking JaegerBombs with the Liverpool branch of Hell's Angels.

But that's how I roll.

Barely able to hold down breakfast in my charming Preston B&B, I nevertheless had to slap myself into shape and get on the bloody road early unless I was going to miss the game in Barnsley.

The M62 Cross-Pennine Route in December. Bleak.

And so off we set, a little later than I had planned across the stark, barren moorlands of the high Pennines that the M62 cuts through, crossing from red rose county to white, and into Yorkshire.

I had been recommended a pre-match pint in the Old No. 7 in the town centre. There would have been no struggle to find real ale in this award winning pub, I was told!

I'd love to tell you I went in there and had a hoot of a time with new best mates Dickie Bird & Michael Parkinson over a couple of pints of best bitter, before picking up other fellow Tykes Darren Gough and Mr T from the A-Team on the way into the ground - but I'd be lying. 

My Saturday night out on the wrong side of the Pennines (from a a Barnsley fan's point of view) had put the kibosh on seeing anything of this apparently quite charming town surrounded by the South Yorkshire countryside.

Barnsley Town Hall with a statue of a very small man in front of it.

So the picture above of Barnsley's Town Hall, which looks like something from Ceausescu-era Bucharest, was lifted off the internet, not viewed in person by me. And what a shame, as it looks amazing. Sorry readers, I let you down.

Mind you, it wouldn't have looked that nice had I actually seen it on Sunday - as just as I pulled up to park outside the ground the heaven opens to a hailstorm of biblical proportions.

Barnsley Street Scene: Sunday Hailstorm in December.

Just look at that fucking sky! I got absolutely drenched. Welcome to Barnsley I thought - the town's weather was punishing me for getting there late and not seeing anything of the town. Bastard.

With only 30 mins till kick-off, and the hail destroying my natural perm, I couldn't really do very much else than buy a soggy programme and take my place in the ground.

I always like to do a circuit of the ground first of course, just to see if anything else is worth seeing before going through the turnstiles. So I headed past the historic West Stand, around the 1990s-built South and East stands to take my seat in the North Stand behind the goal.

Although I couldn't get through to the pigging North Stand that way, could I? There was a whopping great metal fence separating the walk around the ground in the North-East corner, wasn't there?

I stood there in the hail looking at it for a minute, wondering if I could somehow get around that way and avoid a 10 minute freezing cold trudge back 3/4 of the way around the ground.

"You can't get around that way, pal" said a helpful steward. 

Thanks for that, chum.

East Stand, Oakwell

On eventually getting back to the North Stand entrance, I realised for the 2nd game in a row the ticket I'd been sold in advance on the internet hadn't quite gone right. Yesterday at Preston I'd been sold a seat that didn't exist within the team dug-outs. Today at Barnsley, I'd managed to buy a ticket in the away end with 2,000 very over-excited travelling Chester fans.

Not that I have a problem with over-excited Chester fans of course. I'm excited for them myself after all the shit that happened to their predecessor Chester City just 4 years ago. Read about it here, if interested. To have got back into the Conference so quickly is a great achievement, and having already knocked out a League side in the last round to be playing Barnsley today - you can understand why the Blue Army were so boisterous.

Outside of the Old West Stand, Oakwell.

So I decided to just go with it. Certainly all the atmosphere was coming from the travelling support in the North Stand - a total crowd of 7,227 was made up of 5,100 subdued home fans and 2,100 all-singing, all-jumping around alcohol-fuelled away fans (I think the other 27 in the ground was basically me and a 26-strong singing-section from the back of the home end).

It was standing room only in there, and if you weren't jumping around or singing along to the "We hate Wrexham" chants you were in danger of being approached by a burly, rather drunk gentleman walking up and down the packed stairs (seemingly known to everyone in there as "Curly") who would put his hand on your shoulder in a gesture of encouragement and shout "COME ON AND SING YOU BORING BUNCH OF BASTARDS!!"

Players come out infront of the visiting fans.

And in fairness to him, I hadn't really been giving the anti-Wrexham vibe much gusto up to this point. I tried for a bit but at half-time, I decided to try and switch ends and go and experience the home end, as I'd originally intended to. I'm all for supporting the underdog, especially in these potential giant-killing cup ties, but I was meant to be visiting Barnsley and too much of the day had been about hangovers and Chester so far.

It was a struggle at first but I did manage to convince a steward in the corner of the stand that I was a Barnsley fan by flashing her the club badge I'd bought in the clubshop beforehand. I was clearly a Barnsley fan, she told her supervisor, as I had a Barnsley badge. 

The Historic West Stand: Built in 1904.

Troublemakers take note - You only need to spend £3 on a badge at Oakwell to sneak into the home end. Top tip there for fans of football-related violence. Luckily, all I was after from the home end was a tray of chips and a pie without having to queue for 20mins like I would have had to in the packed-out away end.

I was walked along the back of the magnificent West Stand, which for whatever reason was closed for this cup game but for the important bods in the Director's box. One of the fans I spoke to before the match told me that most fans have a great love for this stand - there is even a fanzine named after it ("West Stand Bogs"), and in his opinion it should be a listed building.

I quite agree with him - these old stands, even though unfortunately converted to all-seater, are becoming more and more of a rarity as I travel the 92 this season, and the 92 Club is all the poorer for that.

Oakwell's East Stand: Completed in 1993.

Take a look at the facing East stand in comparison - yes ok it's modern and more comfy and full-covered and all that jazz, but take away the lettering in the seats and that could be any number of stadiums these days. Bring back the Archibald Leitch style Edwardian terraces, I say!

But then I'm a traditionalist at heart.

2nd Half View of the Chester Fans in the North Stand as Barnsley attack.

The game itself, well - it wasn't actually that bad as a 0-0 would suggest. It was certainly entertaining in the 1st half being with the excitable visiting fans. In the 2nd half I was surrounded mostly by disappointed Barnsleyites distraught that they were probably going out of the cup to non-league opposition, but most of the action came in the last 25 minutes.

Barnsley did have the lion's share of the game and a number of chances they should perhaps have done better with. And in the 2nd half, when the stout No. 11 Dale Jennings came on, he started to terrorise the tiring Chester back lane down the left and sending in crosses and slot-balls that a red shirt should have been on the end of.

East & North Stands: With the odd 3-tier Corner Stand in the middle.

But it was Chester who had the clearest chances  - a couple of scrambled-away goal-line clearances and an effort in the 2nd half pushed onto the crossbar by the Barnsley keeper in front of the travelling fans. Who all went "OOOOOH!" collectively, of course.

It was a tense finish to what might have otherwise seemed a drab game, and a late bit of pressure from Barnsley was batted away by Chester keeper Jon Worsnop (great name!), who himself played almost the entire match with a smashed-up cheekbone and minus a tooth after an early save and a clumsy leg left in late by a Barnsley player nearly spelt the end of his afternoon on the pitch.

It took Worsnop a good 5 mins to even stand up straight without wobbling after the collision, but he was eventually passed fit by a doctor who had run onto the pitch from the director's box to check him out. Well, I assume he was a Doctor and not just some random man in a sheepskin coat who ran on the pitch. Now I think about it I never saw anyone ask for his credentials before he treated Worsnop.

Even if he was a charlatan, he seemed to do the trick and Chester would have been glad to keep Worsnop between the sticks for his deserved clean sheet.

Sun came out in the end for the start of the game. Nice shot that.

So, back to Chester's Deva Stadium for the replay then Tuesday week. I mean, I won't be going, obviously - I'm not mentally ill, you know!

So, that's another ground done then and as I waved goodbye to Barnsley I'm also having a little break  from my little 92 club quest for a few weeks at least. I have got so carried away with all this that I've not seen my own team play for a while now. 

So next weekend, I'll be going to watch them.

Don't worry though - I'll be back in January for more of this nonsense! 

Only 16 left to do now - can I knock them all off by the end of the season in May?

With thanks to Paul Robinson (@BFCDrinkers)

No. 75: Deepdale [Preston North End]

Saturday, 6th December 2014

Preston North End v. Shrewsbury Town [FA Cup 2nd Round] 1-0

Deepdale: The true home of football.

A strong statement. But one I think is arguable. That said, anything is arguable. I could argue that my Uncle Bob's penis is worshiped by tribes in Papua New Guinea for example. Doesn't make it true. I don't even have an Uncle Bob. But I digress.

Deepdale today is made up of four stands all completely re-built between 1995 & 2008 - The most recent 5,000 seater "Invincibles Pavillion" that I was in this afternoon being opened just six years ago. But this is hallowed ground, being still on the site of the original ground that Preston North End have played on since 1878.

In 1889, the Football League's inaugural season was won by Preston North End, along with the FA Cup to complete the first ever "Double" - and the team that did it remained unbeaten all season in both competitions, and have gone down in history as The Invincibles. In the 125 years since that 1st Football League season, only Arsenal have equalled those 1st Invincibles and gone a league campaign unbeaten in English football. 

So it was apt I thought that on the day when Premier League leaders Chelsea gave up this season's last unbeaten record at Newcastle, I saw the exclusion of another entrant into Preston & Arsenal's exclusive club on a TV screen underneath the Invincibles Pavillion. 

St Walburge's: Tallest in England.

This game was the first of a weekend double-header of sexy 92 club action - so I set off early for West Lancashire on this cold, sunny December morning to check-in to my B&B for the night on the edge of town.

From here it was a leisurely 25-minute walk into the city centre, past one quite impressive landmark of St. Walburge's Church - famous (apparently) for having the tallest spire of any Parish church in all of England. 

Well, it certainly was fucking tall.

I had about 2 hours to kill before kick-off at Deepdale, so I headed on into town wondering what I'd find. 

I didn't hold up much hope of finding very much; having asked a couple of Prestonians what there was to see I was told the only point of interest was the biggest bus station in Europe. So I was quite surprised at how impressive some of the centre was.

Preston Market Square: Very Nice.

There were some quite lovely civic buildings, especially the library and museum in the Market Square, and I only wish I'd had enough time to have give the Harris Museum & Art Gallery a once over. I like to pretend I understand high art sometimes by walking around such places and holding my chin and humming knowingly to myself.

As it was, I barely had time for a cup of Parched Peas before it was time to head up to Deepdale. Yes, that's right - Parched Peas. There were a couple of Parched Pea-merchants set up around Market Square, but I was quite obviously drawn to this chap and his "Prestonian" stall.

Parched Pea Vendor Extraordinaire.

A Cup o' Parched Peas: Preston Favourite.

"You haven't been to Preston if you haven't tried a cup o'Parched Peas!" said the vendor. Well - I've now been to Preston - and the peas were quite nice - basically black peas slow-boiled to create a delicious & filling mushy pea variant. Lovely stuff.

Halal Meat - Haram Football?

It was another 25min walk up to the ground, to which I took a slightly longer back route via some classic red-brick northern terraced streets in-between the Deepdale & Skeffington Roads, which was very much a South Asian and Muslim residential area these days, framed by a mosque and Islamic learning centre on the edge, with Sari shops, family-run newsagents or Halal Butchers on seemingly every corner in this bustling part of the town.

60 years ago, these streets would have surely been the heartbeat of core support for the successful football team on it's doorstep. 30 minutes before match day the streets would have surely been thronged with working men and children, on their way to the game with their scarves, flat caps and wooden rattles.

Maybe that's an overly nostalgic & rose-tinted view of what it would have looked like back then, but I couldn't help feeling it was sad that the streets were more or less deserted this afternoon. 

What a shame that PNE doesn't draw much support from such a vibrant, working-class Asian community right at the club's door. Indeed, it still seems to be a very rare thing to see many South Asian faces at football games in England, even in cities such as Preston with a large ethnic population. 

Why is that? Lack of acceptance by the traditional white working-class communities you associate with football? Lack of integration into said communities by an insular immigrant population? 

Either way it is a shame. Surely a question for another time but I'd be interested to know if many clubs with such communities on their doorstep ever try to reach out and get their neighbours invested in their community's football team?

Finney Statue: Football Legend.

The highlight of any visit to Deepdale is of course the remarkable "Splash" statue of Sir Tom Finney in front of the ground. Finney is hands down the greatest player to have run out in the white shirts of Preston, and indeed to fans of his generation many would say one of the greatest ever to play for England. 

As one Preston fan told me, his death earlier this year brought the city to it's knees. Behind Finney's statue, in one of the corners of the stadium, is an ugly and starkly empty concrete and glass structure that until 2010 was home to the National Football Museum.

An empty shell that used to be the National Football Museum. Shame.

Since then the museum has re-located to a new home in Manchester city centre- apparently a better location to take advantage of a greater footfall of visitors. Sure enough, there are more people that might pop in now it's in the country's second most populous urban area, but I'm sure that misses the point somewhat. 

Preston's Deepdale might arguably be an ugly modern concrete 4-sider, on the edge of an unfashionable city, but there is real football heritage here - and was as good a place as any for siting a museum charting the history of the game in this country. It should have remained here, in my opinion.

So, into the ground. As noted above Deepdale has just finished being completely rebuilt, the re-development based on the Luigi Ferrari stadium in Italy - home to Serie A clubs Genoa and Sampdoria.

It's not a bad ground to be honest - what it lacks in character of the actual stands it makes up for a little bit with the faces of old Preston heroes in three of the stands that respectively bear their names - Bill Shankly, Alan Kelly and of course - Sir Tom Finney.

It might not have been much of a draw for Preston fans - the visit of Shrewsbury. But nonetheless I was disappointed by the lack of any real atmosphere within the ground during the game. The travelling Salopians were in reasonable voice but didn't have an awful lot to sing about to be honest - it wasn't much of a game to write home about and Preston, despite missing a penalty late on weren't exactly inspiring.

Corner of Kelly & Finney Stands.

The Bill Shankly Kop

That late missed penalty by Preston substitute Paul Gallagher was a very strange one. He stood on the ball with his back to the goal, seemingly hyper-ventilating until the referee blew his whistle, then immediately took 7 massive strides away from the goal before rapidly turning around and running towards the ball with his head down and without ever looking at the goal... and proceeded to kick it 15 yards wide and 30 rows deep into the travelling Shrews fans.

Very odd.

My ticket in the Invincibles Pavillion seemed to be for a seat that didn't exist in-between the home and away dug-out seats. If I had demanded to be placed in my allotted seat I'd have been sat next to the fellow on his own on the back row. I think I might even have got a game, you know.

So I had to find another seat, and ended up sat with the posh folks in the padded seats at the back in the 2nd half, and even managed to sneak into the lounge after the game for a quick warming pint before heading back into the city. 

I had a night in Preston and I was up for a drink or two. I'd been recommended a good Indian Restaurant by a nice couple I was chatting to in the posh seats, and headed off there to East ZEast on Church Street.

Curry Lancashire Style: Nans the size of your Head!

Going for a curry in the North of England is a totally different experience from the South. No relaxing bollywood instrumental music to listen to here as you quietly crack a few poppadoms whilst waiting for your Jalfrezi amidst 70s wallpaper and warm-coloured carpets. 

Proper Northern Curry: Balti Beautiful.

It was pumping loud dance music, sleek black shiny flooring and red decor, and tables of 10-20 revellers a-piece tucking into family-sized nans and keema-sauced Baltis as the start to a night on the tiles in the pubs and clubs.

And it was a damn good feed, too.

After stuffing my face in there, I was intending to just have a couple of quick pints then head back to the hotel to write the day up.

The fact that it's now Monday and I'm only just getting round to writing this tells  that it didn't quite pan out that way.

I started by going across the road from the restaurant to Hogarth's Gin Palace, a beautiful old converted Victorian building where I managed to score the first real ale of the day.

Another difference to a night out in Preston to climes I'm more used to is the surprising lack of cask ale that is drunk in these parts - I'm not sure if that's an exclusively Prestony thing or whether I was just unlucky in my pub choices, but I walked into about 3 pubs in the city where the choice was limited to crap lager (usually Fosters), OK lager (Stella or Kronenburg) and shit keg bitter (exclusively John Smiths). 

It wasn't doing the city any favours in my lasting opinion of it until I headed into Hogarths and paid £1.95 for a real beer. Unbelievable value! The helpful barman told me that real ale prices were so low here simply because no-one drank it, so it was cheap to try and get people drinking it.

Hogarth's Gin Palace, Preston: A Real Tonic.

He also tried to peddle one of the 134 gins they had on offer to me, and even gave me a "gin bible" to skim through. By now though I was ready to go back to the hotel, my phone had died and I was only half-sure of the way back to it without google maps.

I walked passed one other pub that proclaimed to be a purveyor of real beer, and decided to have one last nightcap. It turns out that "Angels" pub was aptly named, as it was that evening hosting the Liverpool branch of Hell's Angels.

I'd already committed to entering the pub by the time I got the funny looks from the hairy, leather-clad chaps in there, so pushed on through what I perceived as a latent threat of getting my face smashed in for not knowing my Harley Davidson from my, errr... well exactly.

But as it happens, what I remember of the next few hours was nothing but a blur of being warmly welcomed by these biker chaps to join them in consuming copious amounts of alcohol in a variety of different forms. Sadly due to an expired phone, no photos exist of this part of the evening - and that is most definitely a good thing.

The Bikers took to me as a novelty - thinking I was absolutely mental to find myself in Preston on my own on a Saturday night having travelled up to watch a random football game. And they were probably right.

The last thing I remember of the night is the 2nd or 3rd round of JaegerBombs being ordered. My next conscious hour being waking up in my hotel bed fully clothed, still in my coat and with the lights still on at 3.45am.

To some that's the sign of a good night. To me, it was a wonder as to how the hell I got back to the hotel, and the realisation that tomorrow was going to start with an almighty fucking headache before my drive to Barnsley.

Preston didn't only win the football match on Saturday - Preston also beat me that night - quite convincingly.

With thanks to Olly Dawes (@OllyDawes)

NEXT UP - JANUARY and the FA CUP 3rd Round!