This weekend was one of the away days I’ve found to be worth writing about.
I do get away but don’t always write about it. Sometimes, like Derby and Shrewsbury, it’s me and a mate in the car, driving there, getting food, and driving back. They’re fun days, of course, but they’re not exactly the sort of thing you want to read about. I think the first time I did a ‘Follow Lincoln Away’ piece was Burnley in the FA Cup, but there have been plenty of other notable trips, packed with fun stuff to discuss – Port Vale, Crewe, AFC Wimbledon, Notts County, and Gateshead make up the majority of the other articles. The last one I did was last season, Cambridge United, on Andy’s Fun Bus.
I’m not a permanent fixture on the Fun Bus, but at least once a season, I go. Usually, my Dad joins me, but this weekend he had Covid, again, so it ended up being Chris and Matt. Chris and I went to Derby not so long ago, whilst Matt and I were at Wembley for the Blackpool game, and I see both regularly on a match day.
To say it was a long day is an understatement. I left my house at 7 am to get the bus to Lincoln. Given that it is 66 miles, and last week I ran at an average of nine minutes per mile, I could technically have set off at that time on my toes and made it for just after half time. Anyway, the plan was not to run to Sheffield, but rather to get the Louth bus to Wragby, where Chris would get on. That plan went down the pan pretty quickly, as my bus was late, and Chris found himself scouring the top deck of the Horncastle bus, wondering why I wasn’t on it. He got on the wrong bus, and almost got off to wait for my bus, which sailed past the Wragby stop without a care in the world. Finally, at 8:25 we got off two buses within seconds of each other on Broadgate to begin the day.
Being a man over 40, the first thing I needed was a wee, and it struck me how poor the toilet facilities are in Lincoln. Damn those drug dealers and pervs who got the public loos shut down, and thank the lord for McDonalds, as we paid our first of two visits to their High Street outlet, and didn’t purchase anything either time. Also, there’s an app that tells you there are public toilets at the Drill Hall. There are not.
As usual, the bus was bang on time and plenty of familiar faces got on. I’m not going through the list of people, because it’s both boring and like fan name-dropping, but there weren’t many faces you wouldn’t recognise. Of course, with football buses being dry, it was a fairly low-key trip to Rotherham. Yep, Rotherham. South Yorkshire’s finest are not known for their tolerance of away fans, and Hillsborough is about as fan-friendly as South Yorkshire Police, so it was decided to go to Rotherham, dock there until 2 pm and then head off to the game. After the obligatory Spoons breakfast, we planned to find a sports bar. Spoons didn’t disappoint – the breakfast was okay, but their interpretation of ‘toast’ is very different from mine. I could have done a better job with a clipper lighter low on gas, but the rest of the grub was up to scratch, as was the pre-11 am pint of Punk IPA. In fact, it went down a bit too well.
We caught up with the rest of the bus at a sports bar where there were no other patrons at all. The flags were up, the beer was flowing and yet a landlord with a face like a man who just stood on plug prongs was determined to spoil the fun., The flags had to come down he said, which I guess is understandable, but he said it was in case the Rotherham fan wanted to come in. Given they were away at Hull, it seemed unlikely, but the guy had such an attitude that the flags came down and the Fun Bus moved on. Just before we did, he brought in what we assume was his bouncer, a young lady with a tattoo on her face that, with the greatest of respect, couldn’t have been more ‘Rovrum’ if she tried. That said, she could definitely have folded every single one of us in half and posted us home in a jiffy bag, so leaving seemed like a decent shout.
You’ll notice how, up until this point, there has been no talk of football. That’s pretty much because of apathy. On the bus, there was a bit of chatter, but it mainly consisted of two things – how coming home with a point would be unbelievable, and how it was highly likely that the day out would be ruined by football. You’ll notice on my list of away stories, we’d won five and lost just two, and I’d seen us score four (Crewe), five (Cambridge), and six (Port Vale) as well as beat a Premier League side in the FA Cup. There are loads of away days I haven’t written about, defeats that barely warrant a mention, but a good day out, a really good away day usually has some sort of result about it.
We got a result of sorts in the Sport’s Box, our final destination in Rotherham. There was no resistance from the bar staff, and for a short while the bus took the pub over. There was lots of singing and chanting, the obligatory photo outside with flags, and usual mingling. I was a little perturbed by the multiple occasions on which the pro-Imps chanting turned into ‘Ben knows more than Gary‘, and I was put on the spot twice. I could sing Lincoln songs all day, but when asked for a song, twice, all I could come up with was ‘We Are Imps’. I blame the beer. again. The last stop before the ground is usually the best of the day, everyone is oiled enough to be having fun, and we haven’t had the two or three-hour dry spell at the ground.
https://twitter.com/madtomos2/status/1642408618971602945
Eventually, 2 pm came around and our bus turned up for drop off, and that’s where the ‘fun’ started. It should have been a 23-minute journey from the bar to the ground, but at a little before five to three we decamped from a coach stuck in traffic and headed to the ground on our feet. There were a few patrons willing to relieve themselves in hedges due to their desperation after knocking back pints, but I held mine in. I usually have a rule – if there’s a chance I’ll be seen by people, my old man stays firmly in my trousers.
We got in just before kick-off, but a toilet break meant as I took my seat, the game was already in full flow. This isn’t a match report, so if that’s what you’re hoping for, you need to head here.
Hillsborough is not a stadium that’s friendly for away fans. The Leppings Lane end is dilapidated, and whilst it feels authentic, it doesn’t help when you want a drink. I couldn’t get served water at half time due to queues, and I tried again on 55 minutes and all the kiosks had closed. Half time was a bit of a battle to get outside for a cigar (yep, away day vice), but it was nice to catch up with a few people I wasn’t sitting near.
Of course, the game turned out alright, despite my pessimism (fuelled by beer) after the first goal. There was no rush to leave the away end as Mark Kennedy brought the players over for applause, and plenty of supporters were signing as we left the ground and heard for the row of coaches at the rear of the ground. This is where the fun started.
Our driver hadn’t managed to get to the right place, so as fans poured onto their coaches to leave, we were penned in by South Yorkshire’s finest. It also became apparent not everyone had enjoyed the trip – at least one of our bus had his ticket taken from him by a steward for being a risk (which he wasn’t), and another had been given a dispersal notice. These were supporters I’d been drinking with, in good spirits and certainly not a risk, or unfit to watch the game. There wasn’t an atmosphere as such, but it was clear some of the boys (and girls) in blue were demonising the support, and others, like the young lady telling us about her packed lunch, were much better at public liaison.
We waited, went to Asda to get some food and drink, and waited some more. After maybe half an hour the bus turned up and there was a huge cheer, but when we got on, we were one short. Mr Dispersal Notice had got lost in Sheffield, and we were struggling to locate him. In Fun Bus style, nobody gets left behind, so we waited and waited. When he still didn’t emerge, we set off in search of him, and eventually located him walking up the road. He got on the coach to a chorus of boos, but finally, maybe an hour and a half after the game finished we were on our way.
Briefly. After another couple of miles, the bloody bus broke down.
We don’t know what the problem was. The driver said brakes, but the break felt almost as long as a required tacho break. Anyway, we pulled onto the hard shoulder of a dual-carriageway and waited. At first, we were kept on the bus before we finally were allowed off, at which point I broke my Johnson in rule, and went in a hedge. One patron almost broke every bone in his body playing an impromptu game of Frogger with four lanes of traffic, but he did return with refreshments and shared them with me (and others) so all’s well that ends well.
You got another one of those beers, Gorge?
The journey home was hilarious, as my mate Matt got into some verbal jousting with the lads behind, all good-natured. That’s the beauty of the Fun Bus, everyone on there is up for a good craic, and if you’re not friends with the fans sitting near you on the way there, you will be on the way back.
Behind us, we had Jack and Jake (I hope I’ve got that right), one a keeper and the other wanting to be on the podcast (I said he could replace me, seeing as Ben knows more than me!). On the other side, I didn’t get the names of Giggler and Ryan Reynolds, but both were top lads, as was the whole bus. It made the delays and messing about just feel like part of the fun, rather than an annoyance. As for Mr Dispersal Notice, he apologised to Andy for the delay and took the stick he got from everyone else in good spirits. That’s the point, isn’t it? Everyone is a friend on the Fun Bus, we don’t leave anyone behind and we try to make the best of the day, or at least we have whenever I’ve been aboard.
Creeping into Popworld
There were some loosely made plans for beers after the journey, but by the time we rolled into Lincoln it was 8 pm, and Chris had got us a lift back at 8:30, so sadly there was no ‘creeping into Popworld’, which sounded more attractive than it could ever have been. Desperate for food and having not eaten since 10 am, we headed to Mcdonalds, only to get there at the same time as a train, and miss out. It meant a second abortive trip in a day, which we compensated at the Carlton Centre.
Of course, when we got back to Wragby it meant another pickup, this time Fe getting me, as the last bus back to Wragby is a Horncastle one. It’s madness that the last Louth bus is 5:15, but the Horncastle one runs at 9 pm. I call it discrimination, but I’m sure Roadcar call it economics.
Finally, at 9:50, I rolled into my house, almost 15 hours deep. I was hoarse from singing, had a throbbing head from the early beers, and was as tired as a 44-year-old man should be after 15 hours out of his house, but it was all worth it for another great away day on Andy’s Fun Bus.
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