Saturday, 21st November 2015 Dagenham & Redbridge v. Oxford United 0-1 [League Two]
It's been a spartan autumn for 92 blog updates, for a combination of reasons. Mainly me not being in the country. But I was resident and able - so it was time to visit another League ground as the weather turned frozen this past weekend.
There was only one real choice today - to visit the Essex-end of London and take in some more of Oxford's remarkable season so far. Dagenham was the destination, for a visit to the team currently rock bottom of the Football League, Dagenham & Redbridge.
A game in London, especially the eastern side of it, would normally mean a train and tube adventure. But today, The District Line that usually takes you to Dagenham East station was closed. I had a choice of either fucking about with overground trains, buses and taxis in the arctic weather or just hopping in the toasty car and driving around the M25 for an hour or so.
The car won. Having only ever approached Dagenham before from central London, I was surprised at how leafy and rural it was on the approach from the North - via pretty villages like Abridge that I passed through, skirting past the M11 towards Romford on B-roads that passed fields and forests.
Don't be fooled by their beauty though - these forests aren't full of wild boars and faeries. The forests on the North-Eastern outskirts of London are full of dead bodies dumped out of Range Rovers by Essex drug-gangs. That and dogging couples. Best to drive straight on past and not look too closely.
Forests of London: Full of Bodies & Doggers.
There are also the odd mock-Tudor or bright-bricked stone-clad mansion behind 8ft high security gates nestled amongst the fields to remind you that you were in Essex. Homesteads not necessarily all been built on ill-gotten gains or have anything to do with the dead bodies in the forests...but were certainly built with an absence of taste or aesthetic decency nonetheless.
It wasn't long before the fields, forests & fucking gaudy mansions gave way to the city edges and before you knew it I was pulling up outside the ground.
I've been here before of course. My first trip here for an August 2006 game under floodlights being the first away trip of Oxford's 4 seasons of non-league exile. 2,022 souls were in this small ground that night, and it felt like the majority of that crowd were squeezed in together on the tiny four-step open away terrace.
D&RFC - Victoria Road, Dagenham.
Late in that game, a few of the floodlights failed at the other end of the ground, the travelling fans barely able to make out what was going on. It was at that moment time it truly sunk in for me we were now non-league and on a par with teams like Dagenham. We simply had to get the hell out of it and back into the sanctuary of The Football League ASAP.
Dagenham won the Conference that season - so for many of the past 9 years since that first visit Oxford haven't been on a par with them, Dagenham have been the side in ascendency - even going up to League One in 2010 for a season.
1st Half Action, Victoria Road.
The away terrace I once stood on was replaced during their 2009-10 promotion season with the all-seater 'Traditional Builders Stand'. This apart, I can't see anything else has changed at Victoria Road since August 2006, save the sponsorship naming of the ground (The Chigwell Construction Stadium, if you must), and the respective fortunes of the two clubs playing each other this afternoon.
In 2006 Oxford were destined for probably the worst 4 seasons of their existence, dealing with the misery of being unexpectedly outside of League football, whilst Dagenham were embarking on undoubtably the best seasons in their history.
Victoria Road: Minute's Silence for the Paris Terror Attacks.
Now, the tables are turning again - Oxford riding high and strong contenders for the title this season, and Dagenham, who have still yet to win a home game this season, find themselves 92nd out of 92 and clear favourites for a return to non-league after their 10 year adventure with the big boys.
Regular readers of the blog will know I like to get a feel for each town I visit on these 92 Club trips. Sadly, like many suburbs there isn't an awful lot to do or see in Dagenham. Besides which, it was absolutely freezing so I didn't fancy walking up and down the high street trying to find some culture that probably didn't exist.
Dagenham Shops on Rainham Road: Not exciting.
Dagenham basically came of age in the early 30s when Ford moved its motor works plant here (then the largest in Europe) and the bulk of the residential and retail around the ground is from the decades that followed as the plant drew workers in to live nearby.
The only thing that looks like it was built in the last 40 years is the brand new Pipe Major 'pub' on the main road, which unfortunately wouldn't let me sit down for a pint inside unless I ordered one of their meals, which looked to be variations on reformed chicken breasts coated in different sauces and oily cheese, all served of course with ubiquitous chips.
As a general rule, if the pub has a laminated menu with idealised pictures of the food on it, you are probably in for a disappointing meal served by someone who doesn't give a fuck whether you are disappointed with it or not. So I left.
D&R Social Club, Victoria Road.
Only thing to do really with time to kill before the game then was head to D&R's Social Club at the ground - a lively old place that gets packed out before the game as the only viable place to have a drink around the ground - and the club's lifeblood.
I was told that this place is busy most nights of the week with locals, and its steady revenue allows a club that barely pulls in 1,000 people though the turnstiles each week to compete with clubs that have double their attendances at this level.
I met an old colleague who lives in Dagenham in there for a quick few pints. He used to be a Dagenham player shortly before their most successful years, and spent much of the afternoon scouring all the team pictures on the walls trying to find one with him in it. Unsuccessfully, bless him.
Soon it was time to leave the warm comfort of the Social Club and head into the new away stand. This new stand is a carbon copy of many in the lower leagues, holding about 1,200, raised above pitch level and set back a little but steep so the view is still reasonable.
Oxford fans housed in the new Traditional Builders Stand.
I've always thought it odd that a club would stick away fans in its 'best' or newest stand - but considering they were charging Oxford fans £21 for the pleasure of sitting behind the goal when the home fans were paying £18 in the older stand on the side, I can see why - especially as the away fans often make a good proportion of the crowd here. It's a money spinner, innit?
I'd much rather be on the old four-step terrace, personally. But then I'm a miserable old bastard. Despite there being enough space in that stand for 2 seats each for the 680 travelling yellows, there was still some argy-bargy with the stewards over the netting over of about 1/3 of the seats, meaning there wasn't actually enough room unless you wanted to sit right in the corner.
Even the intervention of the Oxford chairman, watching the games with the fans, couldn't change the minds of the stewards. Apparently they wanted the Oxford fans all together. Perhaps they were just trying to keep us all warm in the freezing conditions? That was nice of them I guess.
Victoria Road, Dagenham & Redbridge FC
The game itself, well it wasn't a classic. It always looked like a potential banana-skin for Oxford, the team that haven't yet won at home against one fully expected to beat them. And when Plymouth went 2-0 down, meaning Oxford would gain ground on the league leaders if only they could grab a goal at the League's worst performers, it almost seemed sod's law that they wouldn't.
But, of course they did - thanks to a moment of dead-ball magic from Kemar Roofe.
A late Oxford Attack on The Daggers.
What looked set for 0-0 disappointment for the travelling fans, or a Daggers late winner as they pressed late on, was settled in the end by Roofe calmly slotting a free kick over the wall and into what looked like a momentarily unmanned Dagenham goal as the keeper was left flat-footed by its accuracy.
And so that was that. My toes were freezing and I was trudging out of Victoria Road to my car - probably for the last time for a while, with Oxford and Dagenham looking like they are heading different directions this season.
But football is a funny old game - just look at how different it was 10 years ago. Who's to say I won't be back here in the social club in another 10 years with my mate looking in vain for pictures of himself on the walls again?
Saturday, 17th October 2015 Leyton Orient v. Oxford United [League 2] 2-2
After a couple of weeks' enforced absence from football (work and illness, it wasn't deliberate), I was never going to miss this weekend's clash between my Oxford and Leyton Orient - two teams vying for promotion from League Two this season.
It had the added edge of being the clubs' first meeting since May 2006, when Orient's win sent them up to League One, as their fans danced on the pitch as Oxford were relegated out of the football League with fans crying in the stands.
May 2006: Orient on pitch at Oxford
Online forums were full of talk of the slight some Oxford fans felt at the pitch-dancing at our expense a decade ago. Bit silly really, isn't it? After all, any group of fans would have done the same and I think it was mostly joy at their own promotion prompting the pitch invasion, rather than schadenfreude at Oxford's misery. The Orient fans were dancers, not fighters that day.
Certainly, one group of Orient season ticket-holders I spoke to in the pub before the game weren't even aware there was any acrimony - so the expected 'needle' of this game might have been a little one-sided.
The day started with an early train to Paddington and a Central line tube ride across the centre of London to the east end.
The last time I visited Leyton was for a blind date 10 years ago. I met my fully-sighted date at the tube station where she suggested we save money by her cooking for me at her place. I had no reservations about this of course. Then she locked me in her room, served me up pasta with cat food in it and told me how she'd tried to kill herself twice that week.
Leyton Underground Station, Central Line.
We didn't have a second date, but I was still concerned she might be waiting for me as I stepped off the tube onto Leyton High Road. Thankfully she wasn't, and my first impressions of Leyton were swept aside quite quickly as I strolled down a regenerated high street that was a far cry from the dodgy east end I remember before the Olympics landed on the doorstep.
It's not quite Hoxton or Shoreditch yet - before the breakfast cereal cafes and art college drop-outs take up residence you'd be pushed to call it 'gentrified' in the same way as those hipster black spots. But having the transport and shopping hub of Stratford and the Olympic Park so close, investment here has house prices shooting upwards and the lumberjack beards and skinny-jeaned dudes are just around the corner.
Leyton Technical: Cracking Little Pub.
Hipster base camp has already been established though - in the form of The Leyton Technical. A remarkable restoration of the old town hall, this trendy spot has marbled mosiac floors, drapes, refurbished chandeliers and most importantly of all, craft beers & real ales. As soon as I saw they did pretty decent pub grub as well, I knew I was set for pre-match in here.
I took up a position in the window with a beer, a burger and the match day programme (already having scouted out the ground when I first got here) and sat there waiting for the hordes to arrive.
Pre-Match in Leyton: Technically Excellent. Inset: Pratchett Loving, Craft-Beer Swiller.
If ever the charge that football fans are all slathering, knuckle-headed hooligans were true, the clientele in The Technical that early Saturday morning refuted it. My neighbour at the next table with an Orient scarf around his neck, was sat alone drinking a craft ale and reading a Terry Pratchett novel!
Ha ha, what a saddo I thought, as I sat there swilling ale from a pint jug and reading a sci-fi novel on my own, waiting for someone I knew to turn up.
Back of the East Stand, housing the away fans. Brisbane Road.
They did turn up though, and after a couple more beers in their company we made the five-minute walk up the High Road to Brisbane Road, or as it's known today for sponsorship nonsense, The Matchroom Stadium.
This is quite a unique stadium, featuring as it does three unique-looking stands. The main West Stand, opened in 2005, is probably the most unusual.
The Main West Stand, viewed from away seats opposite.
From the outside it looks like a cross between a modern football stand and a modern office block. From inside it looks like a modern football stand with a 1970s factory building on top of it. The hospitality section appears to be on a gantry overhanging the seats below, with a separate gallery above two rows of office windows which houses the cameras and press. It's an odd disjointed looking affair.
Then there are the North and South stands behind the goal, parts of which were sold away to property developers over the past decade who have grafted flats onto the back of each stand and filled in the corners with more flats.
Back of the South Stand: Turnstiles & Flats.
It does seem a bit weird to see football turnstiles in-between entrances to modern flats, then look up to notice people sat in their dressing gowns on balconies having a morning coffee as the fans file into the stand beneath them. But it's probably the future for a lot of smaller clubs - especially the likes of Leyton Orient owning a ground in an area with such a high land value on the outskirts of London.
South Stand: Brisbane Road. With flats above.
And I have to say - it doesn't look all that bad to be honest, and as a money-spinner for a lower-league club you can't really argue against it. Plus you could always buy one and save yourself buying a season ticket by sitting on the balcony and watching the game with a beer - like a few people did this afternoon in fact.
Old & New at Brisbane Road: Facades of West and (inset) East Stands.
The Oxford fans were housed in the southern end of the East Stand, the oldest remaining part of the ground, originally opened back in 1956. Apart from the fact plastic seats have been bolted onto the concrete and wooden base of the stand, it's still pretty original in there.
Packed Under-Stand @Half-Time.
It was a struggle to navigate your way around the stand squeezing past people. There are inadequate toilets in a dingy, dimly-lit area underneath the rickety old stand, where you queue for 20 mins just for the pleasure of pissing against a painted brick wall before risking a lukewarm hot dog of dubious origins from a portable kiosk just next to the bogs.
This is how football should be, of course!
Certainly, the 1,400 travelling yellows were able to create quite an atmosphere from the low roof and cramped conditions, singing throughout the afternoon.
There was also a good game to aid the creation of that atmosphere, with a pretty even first 15 mins or so of decent football from both sides. But it was Oxford's loanee Jordan Graham who was terrorising the Orient left-back early on with a succession of wonderfully whipped-in balls from the right - it was clear one of them was going to do damage sooner or later and sure enough, one found a man in the prolific Kemar Roofe 16 minutes in to put the visitors into the lead.
Just after the half-hour and it was 2-0 - a wicked deflection from a Lundstram bolt from outside the box, and Oxford were cruising.
Cheeky Oxford Fan Taunts The Orient.
Perhaps Oxford cruised just a little too early, and in the early exchanges of the second half Orient punished Oxford's lack of urgency after the break by pulling one back on 64 minutes.
Then - disaster for the visitors when the man who had threatened Orient all afternoon was sent for an early bath for kicking the ball away. A very soft second yellow but now Oxford were on the back foot and Orient had their tails in the air.
Ten-man Oxford could have made it 3-1 mind you - midfield powerhouse Liam Sercombe had his screaming effort tipped away by Orient's Aussie keeper Cisak, when it seemed destined for the bottom corner ten minutes from time.
In the end though, you just knew it was coming from the home side - and true enough a minute into injury time and Scott Kashket bagged the equaliser - celebrated by the home side as a winner after looking dead and buried at half-time.
Oxford attack the North Stand end, viewed from East Stand away section.
And so the Oxford fans left the ground to the sound of Orient fans singing "two-nil up and you fucked it up!" in our ears. Ahh, bollocks. But that's football, isn't it?
Other than that, and having long since forgiven these East Enders for their foray onto our pitch 10 years ago, I quite like Leyton Orient. They are the oft-forgotten and unfashionable east London team, in the shadow of their near-neighbours West Ham a little perhaps.
Surprising then, that their neighbours' impending move just one tube stop and two miles away to Stratford and the Olympic Stadium doesn't seem to bother the Orient fans I spoke to. As far as these guys at least are concerned, ex-owner Barry Hearn was the one complaining about the West Ham move, and now he was gone from Orient, they were happy to just move on.
"They can get on over there with a half-full stadium once the novelty has worn off and we'll carry on getting 5,000 or so in Brisbane Road every week. Them being a couple of miles closer won't make a difference - the wankers who want to watch them would go anyway!"
Well, time will certainly tell.
I finished my time in the east end with a few beers and meal with the wife in Westfield Stratford. At the moment the only sign of what is coming being a shop where you can choose season tickets for the Olympic Stadium next year.
West Ham Season Ticket Shop: Stratford.
For now at least this part of the Lea Valley still belongs to Leyton Orient. But I can't help feeling it's wishful thinking that West Ham's move won't affect them though.
Either way, I look forward to visiting again next season with Oxford for a League One fixture, and discussing the continuing gentrification of the area with Orient fans over an organic feta and pulled pork flatbread, before washing it down with a Fairtade latte and heading off to the game.
Sunday, 13th September 2015 Leicester City v. Aston Villa [Premier League] 3-2
I've already revisited one city I used to live in on this odyssey, and this weekend I was able to spend a wonderful weekend in another - the east Midlands city of Leicester.
Having a friend who grew up in rural Leicestershire and follows the Foxes, I proposed a weekend in said fair city with our wives whilst taking in this exciting clash, and so it was we found ourselves arriving in the city early on Saturday intent on taking in what Leicester had to offer.
King Richard III's resting place. Inset: KRIII Visitor Centre.
The very welcome find was - it actually has quite a lot to offer. First stop was always going to be the brand spanking new Richard III Visitor Centre, which opened in 2014 next to the council car park where the body of the last Plantagenet king had been rediscovered a year earlier.
Richard III statue & Cathedral
Since he was re-interred earlier this year beneath an impressive granite slab in the nearby Leicester Cathedral, this city has gone King Dick III mad, and the visitor centre is an impressive focus for this mania.
Charting the doomed monarch's path to Bosworth and his skull's unwelcome meeting with a halberd, the exhibition then leads onto a remarkable section on the events leading to the excavation in 2013.
The final section deals with the science behind identifying his remains and how he met his untimely demise, including a replica of Richard's skeleton with fancy glow in the dark bones where you can play forensics and decide what actually killed the twisted-spined swine.
If you have any interest in the history of this fine country of ours, it's well worth a visit.
Richard has certainly been taken into the city's heart - there are KRIII banners all over the city, most shops seem to be selling something Plantagenet-related and even pubs have been re-named in his honour.
But he'd have a long way to go to rival the city's favourite son - England football legend and smug TV pundit, Gary Lineker.
Lineker's Fruit&Veg, Leicester Market. Inset: Gary working the stall in 1985.
When I lived in Leicester in the mid-80s, Lineker was the local hero still playing for his boyhood team at Filbert Street, and if you were lucky you could even catch him helping his dad out on the family fruit 'n' veg stall in Leicester market now and then, like in this video of him on the stall in 1985 just before his move to Everton.
I remember regularly dragging my parents to the glittery 'Linekers' sign that used to hang in the middle of the market, in the hope of buying an apple off of our Gary. Sadly, I never did glimpse him, and I think my chances have rapidly diminished today, as he's clearly too busy sitting atop a mountain of crisps in London, no doubt.
He's certainly not paying for the fancy glittery sign anymore, anyway.
Grillstock's Smokehouse Combo: A lot of dead animal.
After trying to find the toyshop I used to buy Star Wars figures from (I since found out it closed earlier this year!), it was time for a spot of lunch - and may I recommend to all and sundry the fantastic Grillstock on St Martin's Square? OK so this isn't exactly unique to Leicester, and this is a chain restaurant too - but I've genuinely never had better BBQ outside America. Fantastic.
That evening, following a walk we took in a couple of wonderful pubs in the city centre, downing some fine locally brewed Everard's Ales in The Globe as I reminisced about my childhood growing up here. Although I left here when only 10, I was amazed at how much of this unexpectedly beautiful city I recalled as I walked around.
Leicester Town Hall & Fountain: Civic Beauty.
Leicester is known for becoming the first city in Britain with white people as a minority - a milestone it was estimated to have passed a couple of years ago. It's only about 50.5% non-white today, but Leicester's diversity is very noticeable. It's one of the fastest-growing cities in the UK and the main growth has been from the Indian community - so there was clearly only going to be one option for this Saturday night's evening meal.
However, we spent too long getting pissed up on Tiger Bitter in the Globe, and all the restaurants were shutting when we tried to get a late table. I even pleaded with one waiter that I had travelled all the way from Oxfordshire for a curry in Leicester! His response was a very polite but firm "Please continue your journey."
The Hindi Elephant Deity Ganesh points the way to Leicester's Golden Mile.
I know when I'm beaten. So we had little choice but to opt for a cheeky Nando's and reconvene on the Golden Mile for a pre-match Sunday lunch.
Masala Dosa & Fried Spinach Pakora. Yum.
The Golden Mile is a promenade of Indian restaurants and shops centred on Belgrave Road to the immediate north of the city centre.
Like many places nicknamed 'something mile' in various UK cities, it's a slightly underwhelming first sight if you were expecting something akin to the Las Vegas strip.
But similarly, this is clearly the place to go for a dose of Indian culture, and more to the point, a delicious and authentic Indian meal.
The choice is pretty limitless, so we just picked a place that looked busy, and ended up here in the 4 Seasons Chaat House - where we overdosed on masala dosa, having already drowned in tasty fried potato and spinach pakoras for starters.
The walk to the King Power Stadium afterwards was a hard slog with all that pakora and dosa batter swilling around inside me. But it was an exciting matchday in prospect, so I managed to push past the post-prandial torpor as me and my friend quick-stepped along the banks of the River Soar to Leicester City's new home.
Today, Lineker Road that cuts through the middle of the wild grasses now sprouting from what was once Filbert Street is the only clue to what was once there. The old turnstiles that used to stand between terraced houses on Burnmoor Street have now disappeared - and a couple of houses I assume had regained front rooms.
Site of Filbert Street. Inset: Turnstiles now turned back to housing.
The new place is - well, it could be anywhere, of course. It's a great big modern single-tiered bowl - very comfortable, very neat and all that, and the glass frontage at the main entrance is actually a little different.
But once you are inside we could be in Southampton, or Swansea, or even Derby...these bowls all look the same. Which I think is a shame of course (have I ever mentioned that before?!!), but there is always an argument for progress and the need for a modern accessible ground, and I guess there is no reason why a ground like this can't whip up an atmosphere to rival an old terrace if it's packed full of excited and noisy Leicester fans.
King Power: Looks good from the riverbank.
And it was.
A great start to the season under new manager Claudio Ranieri had Leicester riding high in the Premier League. The club that sacked Ranieri in 2004 to make way for Mourinho's first wave were already 4 points behind his Foxes side going into this weekend. A win over Villa this afternoon and Leicester would pull even further ahead and into a vertiginous 2nd place. Unprecedented.
We heaved our masala-filled stomachs into our seats in the South-East corner, near the noisy buggers making all the noise in the corner of the South 'Spion Kop' Stand. And they did create a good atmosphere.
Modern Football: Fan Clappers & Cheery Mascots.
Albeit at times drowned out with the continual thwacking din of those fucking awful cardboard fan clappers that these days seem to be an officially-approved alternative to singing songs in top flight football fandom.
The Leicester side didn't respond the the Kop's rallying call in the first half and to be honest, it wasn't the most entertaining 45 minutes of football. Villa shaded it for sure, and deserved to be in the lead going into the break.
We were a little hungover and jaded after a heavy weekend and by the time the second Villa goal went in just after the hour I was already dreaming of my bed after the two-hour drive home to come. It had been an OK game with a few decent chances for both sides, but Villa had grinded out a good away win, and Leicester's early-season bubble of optimism under Ranieri had burst half-way through September.
...or maybe not.
First, a Ritchie de Laet volley on 72 minutes.
Then Jamie Vardy prods home the equaliser 10 minutes later! Tremendous scenes, what a comeback to salvage a point for the home side.
Surely there wasn't time for a winner was there?
Yes! Yes there was! What a comeback and deadline-day signing Nathan Dyer, on as a half-time substitute, bravely sneaks his head onto the ball before the onrushing keeper gets there - he gets poleaxed, but the ball trickles over Guzan and into the Villa net.
"These Foxes never give up!" says my companion. And neither would you if being chased by a pack of Villains I'm sure.
I wonder how far Leicester can go this season? I don't for a minute think even the most positive of Foxes fans would seriously believe Ranieri will keep them in the top four come May. But I wonder if he perhaps sees them safely mid-table by Christmas, that those still upset at Pearson's dismissal might start to warm to the jowly Italian.
It's a truism that when you have a finish to a game like that, you come away screaming to all who will hear you that it was an AMAZING game. You just forget that for the first 60 mins you were wondering why the game hadn't ended yet. As it was, by the time the game ended, I could have easily sat through another 60 mins!
Memory Lane, Leicester City.
But no, it was time to get home after a great weekend. Leicester was another pilgrimage for me - a quite literal trip down Memory Lane to a place I once lived in, and an unfashionable city that surprised me in what a genuinely pleasant space it was to spend a weekend.
I heartily recommend it.
The only other thing to say is that the Walkers factory in Leicester is the largest crisp production plant in the world. I couldn't find anywhere to segue that into the narrative above, but I just wanted to mention it anyway, hope you don't mind.
Saturday, 22nd August 2015 Mansfield Town v. Oxford United [League 2] 1-1
My dad was born in Mansfield and bred in its rural surrounds, so for this trip I invited him to spend the weekend with me in his hometown, visit some family and show me the sights. It was a memorable weekend all round.
We arrived Friday afternoon, checked into our B&B a short walk from the town centre, then went off to meet my uncle for an early evening beer in a pub my dad used to drink in 50 years ago.
Field Mill Stadium behind rows of houses.
Back then, it was called the Horse and Jockey. In an effort no doubt to make it seem a bit more upmarket and trendy, it was now called "...and why not?". It certainly looked a lot more posh than it did in the 1960s, my dad thought, with its craft beers, velvet drapes and padded benched booths.
Almost as soon as we arrived though and took a seat in the outdoor area, a fight broke out amongst a bunch of female drinkers that ended with a cocktail being thrown in one of their faces and a storming off from all 4 of their number leaving smashed glass and strewn chairs in its wake.
Initially taken aback by the scene, my uncle soon reassured my dad - "You are back in Mansfield now Dennis!". And truly we were.
Mansfield is in origins a working-class market town that grew in line with the main industrial output of this part of the East Midlands - coal mining. As such, you'd expect it to be a little rough around the edges. Although like many similar places since the decline of mining and the depression that came to the area as a result, the town has made efforts to pick itself up, redevelop the centre and smarten itself up a bit.
Mansfield Town Centre, looking towards Railway Viaduct
There are still a run of boarded up shops and former pubs on Leeming Street as you walk towards the market square. But as you turn right and pass under the imposing arches of the Great Eastern railway viaduct passing high above the town centre, there are signs of gentrification.
On the corner of Dame Flogan Street, there is the CAMRA-approved tiny 'Beer Shack' for a start - which was a swarm of hipster beards, waxed-moustaches and intelligent conversation as we walked past.
Olde Ramme Inn: Rustic Charm.
This new place wasn't for us on a nostalgia tour - instead we headed to The Olde Ramme Inn, another former haunt of my father's from back when it mattered not what the pub looked like or who else was in the pub where you drank your beer.
I'm glad to say that the 'Ramme' has kept those traditions up a treat - featuring a table of youngsters who looked like heroin-users, the pub itself looked like an absolute shithole. It had also added 'smelt like' to that impressive roster of charms in the intervening years since my Dad last sank beers here.
Still - we had a couple in here chatting away to the friendly barmaid, and my 67-year-old father was even approached by one of the scag-heads asking him if he was single as she was looking for a sugar daddy. Hmm.
I managed to drag my father and uncle away from this delightful young lady and we went looking for some food.
As ever, I fancied a curry. My uncle hadn't ever had an Indian meal before, so I was a little worried that Mansfield may not have somewhere good enough for his first taste. How wrong I could be.
Up near the arches again and past the Beer Shack was another gentrified establishment - a newly-opened restaurant called Mangrove that we'd been recommended. We were lucky to get in to be honest - the place was absolutely rammed but they fitted us in for a quick sitting.
Mangrove Indian Bistro, Mansfield. Inset: a man's first curry.
It was excellent - I had a Chicken Mirch Masala - which was a cheeky number that was creamy and yet had an extremely spicy chilli kick to it. My uncle had a korma (probably wise for his first time) and I'm glad to say enjoyed it immensely and had no reported side-effects the next morning. Which was more than can be said for me.
That was quite enough for one night - we said goodnight to my moderately-spiced uncle and my dad & I staggered home to the B&B to sleep off the Mansfield ales.
Saturday morning was up bright and early for breakfast and then off to drive around the many places my dad managed to live in during his childhood in Mansfield. First was the council house he was born in near the town centre, then the place he lived in from 3-7 years old out on the Bull Farm estate, then another a few streets away for another year, then his fondest childhood memories on Howard Road from when he was 8 till about 12.
A selection of my Dad's childhood Mansfield homes. Plus Social Club his dad was barred from.
I knew my dad had spent his early childhood in Mansfield but hadn't realised quite how many places he'd lived in. Why was it you were always moving, I asked him?
"I'm not sure, but I think it was because my dad was always upsetting the neighbours so the council kept moving us!".
This doesn't surprise me - my granddad was a bit of a rogue by all accounts, as I continued to find out on our day driving around residential Mansfield.
"Here is where he had a fight in the street which stopped the traffic."
"Over there is the Social Club he was barred from." "On that corner he threw a horse-drawn ice-cream cart onto its side, including both tethered horses and owner still inside, because he wouldn't serve your auntie another ice cream after she dropped it."
A pattern had certainly emerged!
What also emerged was my dad's amazement at how much of Mansfield's green-belt that he'd grown up in was now housing. Fields that he and other children had frolicked in beside their newly-built post-war council estate homes were now islands of ever-expanding concrete and expanding home-ownership.
A walk around Newton: Five-Pits Trail and Tibshelf Ponds.
Our final stop before the football was the ex-mining village of Newton just over the county border in Derbyshire, where my grandparents moved their expanding family of 8 children when my dad was 12 and this village remained their home until the late 1980s.
Newton in the 60s was a little different to today's pretty green rural village - there were still 5 pit-heads operating then and my Dad and his siblings' walk to school across the muddy treeless fields was the same path trodden by workers heading into the mines for a hard day of dusty toil.
Today, dense woodlands that my dad said didn't exist 50 years ago have have taken over, and the paths and railway tracks of old are now set aside for walkers tracing paths through the woods on the Five Pits Trail, or anglers at Tibshelf Ponds - which stand today on the site of an old colliery.
Pint of Mild & Bag of Scratchings: East Midlands Classic.
Having done a good couple of miles' walking around the trail in scorching sunshine, we returned to the village for a welcome pint of mild at my granddad's former home from home, the George and Dragon.
On hearing our story of re-tracing my Dad's childhood, the landlord pointed us in the direction of an old man in the corner who'd been using the pub for 60 years.
"Do you remember my father, Dennis Mason?" asked my dad.
The old man did a double-take, flinched slightly (my dad does look a lot like my grandfather did), then said with a smile "Oh aye. Every bugger in Derbyshire knows Dennis Mason!".
Field Mill: Corner of Ian Greaves Stand & Quarry Lane End.
I wasn't going to stop and ask for any more stories as to why everyone knew him! So it was finally time to head back into town and off to the football.
Mansfield Town's 'One Call' Stadium, or Field Mill as it actually should be called, designates itself the oldest professional football ground in the world. I haven't actually checked this for veracity but having definitely hosted football since 1861, I'd believe them.
The newest bit at Field Mill - The Ian Greaves Stand.
Not much remains of course from these days. The two end stands were redeveloped in the late 1990s, and the impressive Ian Greaves (west) Stand opened in 2001. This two-tiered cantilevered 5,500-capacity stand would look good enough at many Championship grounds.
This is in stark contrast though to the dilapidated and closed-off Bishop Street Terrace which runs the length of the other side of the ground. As regular readers will know, I'm a lover of older 'characterful' terraces that are sadly diminishing around the country.
Bishop Street Terrace: Closed.
But this, in its current state at least - isn't one of them, sadly. Cracked corrugated iron, smashed glass and weeds growing through the broken concrete terracing, this has been closed for as long as I remember and is clearly in no fit state to be opening again anytime soon.
Apparently there is even a hole in the roof of the stand which the MTFC supporters association have sponsored as a comedy gesture!
I'm sure the club would love to knock it down and develop it in line with the other stands, but the rows of terraced housing behind make that look unlikely. A shame though that some thought couldn't be put into smartening it up a bit and re-opening some of the terrace section, if you ask me.
The Quarry Lane End. Inset: Stickers on Turnstiles.
Being rather hungover from the night before, I was hoping to be able to sit in the corner of the away end and doze off for some of this game. That wasn't going to happen with the boisterous travelling Yellow Army in full voice after an unbeaten start to the season, was it?
And it became even more unlikely when the game kicked into life straightaway, as the home side took advantage of a very sluggish start from Oxford; Craig Westcarr slotting home a low drive into the bottom left corner after only 3 minutes.
Oxford were not in the races and Mansfield were driving forward trying to push home that advantage. On 7 minutes, Oxford keeper Slocombe committed a clumsy foul at the edge of his box and conceded a clear penalty.
Oxford attack late into the game.
This was unbelievably the first penalty Mansfield had been awarded in 86 games. Even more unbelievably, they missed it - when former Oxford Wembley hero and current Stags talisman Matt Green scooped the ball onto the crossbar. It was to be a painful miss for Mansfield.
Despite further first-half pressure and a couple of chances that Green should perhaps have also buried, Oxford were coming slowly back into the game.
It was honours even half-way through the second half when an absolutely atrocious foul just inside the penalty area by Mansfield's Reggie Lambe sent Callum O'Dowda flying about 6 foot in the air.
From where I was sat, it looked like one of the worst, highest tackles since the era of Billy Bremner. From the Mansfield seats, one Stags fan who messaged me after the game said this and the Oxford performance in general was one of the worst cases he'd ever seen of playing-up to the referee to get decisions!
Shows you how this is very much a game of opinions. However, I invite any Stags fan to view the above footage of said tackle (at about 1min 30) and declare on reflection that this is a fair tackle and/or a case of play-acting!
The resultant penalty was duly despatched and there, 30 mins later without too much further fuss, the match ended 1-1. A tale of two penalties, one taken, one not, the difference between the home side coming away with all 3 points and Oxford remaining unbeaten this season.
Keemar Roofe slots home Oxford's equalising penalty.
Another night in Mansfield was still ahead but thankfully, my Dad was feeling as jaded as I was so I could just blame it on him and not stay out too late two nights in a row!
We had just the one destination, and thankfully it wasn't the Ramme. The weekend finished as it had begun, in the "...and why not?" with my dad and my uncle, my cousin, and a few Stags & Oxford friends of old who popped in to say hello before heading off for an evening of alcohol-fuelled hedonism into the Mansfield night.
For me, this trip wasn't about getting pissed up post-match for a change, it was about spending time with the old man and visiting family and the sights of his childhood. And getting pissed up with him as well of course!
I've tried to find something special about each town I've visited on these trips around the 92 for the past year - and my dad's connection to Mansfield is certainly what is most special to me.
With thanks to Sam Binch (@MTFCMusings), Danny Catling (@owzatdan) Danny Mason & Dennis Mason.
NEXT TIME OUT - BRISTOL ROVERS! Sun 6th September!
