Usually, when I do a follow Lincoln away piece, it’s nothing special to me personally. It might be a great day out and an exciting game, but I am not invested in it any more or any less than those around me. There would be no reason for me to remember it personally any more than anyone else. This game was different.
Oddly, Morecambe fell on two big weekends for me – the home game fell on my birthday weekend, but this trip was for my stag weekend. Organised by my mate Pete, it quickly became apparent that a Bank Holiday weekend within driving distance of the Lake District made for a great start to a stag weekend. I’m not here to tell you about what happened after the Imps game, but I thought it might be nice to discuss a bit about the actual match we went to. After all, there’s no match report from me (can’t remember it at all), but it was an away day to remember.
Before I left the house at 7:20, I popped on Twitter to a deluge of good wishes for my weekend, which was cool. Chris Wray tweeted how they’d dressed his mate Paul in a Grimsby kit for his stag, and I joked how I’d wear anything but that. Put me in Geri Helliwell’s dress, or even the gimp suit from Pulp Fiction and I’d be less embarrassed. That’s filed under ‘tweets that come back to haunt me’ now.
Dress me up as a cowboy in arseless chaps, a Spice Girl, even in a pink mankini but I draw the line at a Cods shirt.
— The Stacey West (@Staceywestblog) April 29, 2023
The proper day started, as most home games do for us, in the Corn Dolly in Wragby, only there was a twist. With it being both a stag weekend and the final away game of the season, we dressed up for the occasion. I wasn’t told what I was wearing, but we had a Mr Motivator, The Fresh Prince, David Hasselhoff, a generic Scouser, Keith Flint, and Liam Gallagher. Me? I wasn’t afforded a single character. Instead, I was presented with what can only be described as a St George gimp suit, head-to-toe lycra. It had a couple of drawbacks – no pockets, gloves so I couldn’t operate my phone, and the need for an odd sock (or maybe two) to be strategically placed. Nobody told me to bring an odd sock, so I was glad it was a bit chilly, which gave me another excuse.
I can heartily recommend the Corn Dolly, by the way – they were brilliant, taking an order in the week so we could be served when they opened at 8 am, and on our way by 8:30. Of course, we couldn’t actually be on our way at 8:30 because Keith, otherwise known as Ben, had forgotten stuff, and had to get Rachel to drive all the way from Lincoln to drop a belt off. It meant a late departure (by about ten minutes, but tardiness is foolhardiness in my eyes) whilst we waited for something to keep Ben’s trousers up (fairly essential).
The first can was cracked before we’d reached Market Rasen – Matt was the offender, but Dave didn’t need much convincing. I was presented with what I can only refer to as a sippy cup – a drinks container featuring a picture of me looking like the sort of mugshot which usually gets comments of ‘hang him’ on social media. Given my restricted abilities (the suit, nothing else), it did mean Dave was pouring my drinks for me. It also meant the first stop at the Doncaster services to pick up Pete, was also the first toilet break. A toilet break involved me stripping my suit down to the waist and trying not to wee on it, which was some challenge. Our final pickup, Pete, was also wearing a Baywatch costume, meaning we had two lifeguards, should our trip to the seaside go a little awry. He also had an inflatable, something synonymous with Grimsby Town matches, not ours.
There was another stop, but I don’t know where it was. That’s because by the time we made Manchester, I was five or six cans in, and that’s usually my limit. I feared it being only the start, and rightly so. Why? Because it means you’re getting a rundown of how much we drank, but very little football from me at all!
Eventually, we made Morecambe, but as I didn’t have access to my phone, we went to the first pub we found. Given that we were in fancy dress and all buy Dayle and Ben were drunk, someone popped in to check we’d be okay. Just to clarify, Ben had volunteered to drive from Morecambe to Keswick, and therefore was sober. Dayle had driven from home to Morecambe, and was starting behind us.
The pub (The Exchange) let us in, and they even pulled my pint directly into my sippy cup. Charlie from the podcast turned up and offered me a drink; I asked for a single vodka and lemonade and got a double (a recurring theme throughout the day), and then the final guest turned up. That’s Jason; he’s Liverpool based and was running a wrestling event over the weekend, but came over for the day. He had a bag up his shirt, my second costume. I should have guessed what it would be – a full Grimsby kit. Very funny. Now, there’s been some complaints about me enjoying the kit too much, but unbeknown to my friends, I was delighted. Firstly, it meant I could operate my phone and stay in touch with people. Secondly, it meant I didn’t have to strip to the waist every time I wanted the toilet, and finally, if I did accidentally urinate on it, I could just say I’d done it on purpose. Three birds, one stone. Lovely.
After another drink, we made our way onto the seafront to find a bar populated by more Imps, and this is where specifics begin to fade a little. I know we headed for The Boardwalk, as we knew there were Imps in there. I also know there were a lot of familiar faces in there, but what I don’t recall is which visit to the pub is which. We went after the game as well, and I can’t remember who I spoke to the first time, and who the second! There are plenty of pictures of me there, with different people, but I don’t actually recall most of them. I do think I saw the main man, Cornell, at the pub before the game, but that’s about it. Sadly. I do know at this point at least one jager bomb was handed to me, but by no means the last. I’m not a big drinker and this absolutely proved why.
We popped over to Morecambe beach, and I have to say it was lovely. It was a bit brisk, and we posed for a few photos, but I hadn’t done Morecambe before. The town looks a bit rough around the edges, but it feels friendly and welcoming. It’s a shame that they’re still likely to go down, as I found all the people friendly. They pulled pints into my sippy cup, laughed along with us and generally made it a good day. Eventually, at a time unspecified in my mind, we headed back to the van, dumped my cup, and then onto the pub near the ground. One person dropped out of the stag, so I passed the spare ticket on there, had another drink (maybe two), and went into the ground.
I quite liked their ground – it’s not Pride Park or Hillsborough, but it is neat and tidy for the size of the club. The concourse was a bit busy, but by the time we drunkenly made our way in, I seem to recall we went straight to our seats. Obviously, they weren’t our actual seats; someone was in those, probably. We didn’t check; we just found some space and settled in. Now, as you might be aware, I am missing quite a bit out here – the stick I got for wearing my Grimsby shirt, complete with headband claiming I was a Cod Head. Of course, there was a lot of good-natured banter, but you’d be surprised that there were some who seemed a bit aggressive about it, as if I was wearing it for real. Don’t they know who I am? <— this is a joke, by the way.
I do recall snippets of the game. I remember our opening goal, another finely crafted move finished off by the Great Dane, a revelation at right wing back. I thought we controlled much of the first half, and by the time I retired under the stands at half time for another drink, I felt the game was in the bag. Now, at half time, the queue was massive and as is my prerogative, I got one of my friends to get me my sustenance. I asked for pie and a water, and I (obviously) got a pie and a pint. I also got carried away, and half time passed in a haze of people coming up for photos. I can’t remember everyone who did, but I’m sure I met some new people and if one was you, please send me the photos! I know Matt did; he had his tambourine pinched and disappeared for the second half as he tried to retrieve it. I also know this was the first time in a Lincoln game I’ve sang ‘Mariners’ at the top of my voice. Well, when in costume, you have to act the part. I’m sure Marcus Needham would have cracked a smile as me and Chopper got stuck into his song as well, especially given how I was dressed. This all seemed to go on for ages, and it did, well into the second half.
Ah, the second half. The first I knew of the second half, we’d scored. There was a roar and I thought I ought to go back to my seat. Before I even got to see the pitch it was 2-1, and there was already a bit of discontent around me. In fairness, it could have been my more frequent rousing renditions of Mariners, or me joining in with Morecambe songs when they scored. Sadly, it appears mixing jager, lager, and vodka turns me into a Lesser Spotted Prick. I was still in full-on antagonise mode when they bagged their third, after what I seem to think was a decent second half with plenty of action. Honestly, I couldn’t remember and, in the grand scheme of things, I don’t really care. We’re not going down, and we’re not going up. That’s how the song went, and it couldn’t be more apt.
In fact, all we really cared about was getting back on the beer, so after a photo stop with Michael Hortin and Mark Hone, and applauding the players, we made our way to the car. The plan was to head to Keswick, but seeing the traffic we went to The Boardwalk once again. I say ‘we’; Pete and Jay went ahead to get us booked in, but thought we were minutes behind, not an hour or so. Instead, we got back on the beers (and jager, and vodka as I recall), enjoying the warm evening sun. I could have stayed there all night, it was a great atmosphere winding down the day.
I’d love to have funny stories, but I can’t actually remember any. I know Matt still ended up without a tambourine, having retrieved it and then sold it to someone for a beer. I’m not actually sure what anyone else did throughout the game – the perils of drink. All too soon, we were back off to the van and heading to Keswick, for round two. However, that’s not the away day, so there are no tales to tell at all.
Now, if you enjoyed that, there’s a more sedate away day report on the next page from Richard Godson, who did our match report this week.
Page three is reserved for Bubs’ gallery, the last one in that white away kit. I shall be happy to see it go!
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