EIGHT games.
Eight games in which I've gone from the depths of despair to the heights of elation.
Eight games in which my nails have been bitten raw, my fingers permanently disfigured from being crossed for so long, my blood pressure up, my throat sore.
Eight games into a 46-game season.
And tonight.
Tonight's the night.
Tonight, I'll actually be able to SEE my beloved Gas for the first time this season.
No doubt I'll have a few more notable injuries by the time the final whistle goes in our home game against Tranmere.
A game that will show us exactly where we are going.
Because we are finally on a roll.
We have had back-to-back victories, turning over the might of Dagenham and Redbridge and Notts County.
We have jumped to the lofty heights of 13th in the League One table.
And a win at home over the bottom team in our Division, Merseyside's poor relation who have a physio as manager and a pretty dire away record, will put us up into the top half of the table.
Ah, home. As Gasheads we have led a pretty nomadic existence.
I count it that we've had FOUR home venues over the last 40 years, but I accept I might have missed some.
I grew up on the terraces at Eastville in the 70s.
At the time it boasted the fact that it was one of only two stadiums in the country.
The other was Wembley.
Unfortunately, like most things Rovers, we didn't own it - only rented it from the greyhound company.
But it was our ground, surrounded by a huge dogtrack/speedway track, with a vast open end for away supporters and a famous home area nestling under a roof with a huge sign on the front, which displayed a number of clocks, plus all sorts of other information.
Not about the football, about the dogs.
A big sign on the left hand side of it said that the display was the Totalizer.
This was the Tote End.
I spent a couple of seasons on the Tote in my early teens when I began going to Rovers games with my mates. I remember it being packed out for our first game in the old Second Division after Don Megson's Smash n Grab side were promoted - a 0-0 draw against Notts County on a very hot, sticky day.
Later I graduated to the North Enclosure, but at some stage I stood on every terrace and sat in every stand at that ground.
But it didn't matter where you were, you could always detect the faint whiff of gas in the air from the Gasometers behind the Tote.
Hence, Gasheads.
We lost Eastville because the dog company put the rent sky high, but even before we left I remember a short time, after one of the stands mysteriously burnt down, that we had to start the season at the hated Ashton Gate - Trashton.
By my recollection we played about five 'home' games there under the ex-England fullback Terry Cooper - and didn't win one. And people from outside the area often asked why we don't "ground share".
It is an alien place, the wrong side of the city. It belongs to someone else. I don't even like going near it. I refused point blank to even take my wife to a wedding fayre there before we completed our nuptials.
For a Gashead, it is a cursed place.
It was even before that season - in which, incidentally, we were relegated - and it is even more so now.
Before we left Eastville, by the way, I had never heard of us being called Gasheads. I think it came about much later, and was a way of keeping our spiritual home in our hearts.
In fact, when we left Eastville we spent a long and fruitful spell at Twerton Park, home of Bath City. Or Trumpton as it became known.
Gerry Francis built a side to take us to promotion, famously finishing as Division Three champions - one place above City. Our most famous victory was the 3-0 home win over City on May 2, 1990, which secured us the title ahead of our neighbours - a day still etched on the memory of every Rovers fan.
Then, after a long spell in exile, we finally came home. Back to Bristol.
Just up the Muller Road from Eastville - which is now a retail park - we settled in at the home of our rugby playing cousins Bristol RFC at the Memorial Ground, or Mem.
And that's where I'll be going tonight.
It isn't perfect, far from it.
It has taken a while even to resemble a football league ground.
But we've made it our home and even bought it off the rugby club.
Now there is talk of developing it into a brand, spanking new all-seater stadium.
Then again there has been talk of us developing a new stadium since I was 10 years old.
I'll believe it when I see it.
That doesn't mean I will particularly like it.
It's progress I guess.
But tonight I will enjoy standing shoulder-to-shoulder on a terrace for 90 minutes alongside this diverse and unique bunch of supporters they call Gasheads. Tonight I will probably be with my mate and his son on the family terrace.
I'll enjoy the banter, a pasty and probably a good shout at the ref.
And hopefully, with the Gas heading for three more points and a place in the top half of the table, I'll be joining in with a chorus of our song, Goodnight Irene.
Tuesday 28 September 2010
Tuesday 21 September 2010
The first football-playing Skinhead
THE great TV chat show host Michael Parkinson always used to go on about one player who, to him, epitomised Barnsley and why he loved the club. The guy was a raw, tough-tackling half back called Skinner Normanton.
According to the obituary that Parkinson wrote for The Times, Skinner played for Barnsley between 1947 and 1953 and achieved legendary status. He was the hard man of the side, providing protection for the ball carrying, more creative midfielders.
He became such a legendary figure that there was a Skinner Normanton Appreciation Society in Kuala Lumpar, and mothers used to threaten their children that if they didn't behave they would "Send for Skinner".
Parky says: "There wasn't much of him, but every bit counted. He was as relentless as a heat-seeking missile in the tackle".
He suggested that Barnsley should name a stand after him because "it would be a constant reminder that no matter how much we merchandise the modern game we must always remember what we are selling.
"Nowadays they talk about image. There was a time, when Skinner was a lad, when it had soul."
The reason I mention Skinner is that I, too, had a hero in that mould during my younger days supporting the Gas.
To me, he was the soul of Bristol Rovers, a player who wore his heart on his sleeve, a Gashead through and through, who remained loyal for 13 years and made 362 appearances.
His name was Frankie Prince.
What I remember most about Frankie - and this shouldn't read as an obituary because I imagine he's still alive, but have no idea what he is doing now - was that he looked like the first-ever football playing skinhead. He had tight cropped hair and it always appeared that while everyone else was wearing the latest fancy football footwear, he was playing in bovver boots. Not surprisingly he wasn't blessed with pace.
He certainly put himself about a bit, though, and at the time there was a regular argument between Rovers and City fans over who was the hardest - Frankie or their midfielder Gerry Gow, who went on to earn a big-money move to Manchester City, where he played in the 1981 Cup final which Spurs won in a replay thanks to Ricky Villa's wonder goal.
I don't think they ever organised a boxing match between Prince and Gow, but it would have sold a hell of a lot of tickets.
Frankie had a softer side, too, from what I understand. Apparently he once bought the lady who swept the terraces a cuddly toy Koala Bear as a present.
I also found an old diary when packing to move house in which I had noted he actually gave me and some of my mates a lift home from a Rovers game once when the bus failed to arrive on the Stapleton Road. I'm amazed I can't remember it, but perhaps that is why he has stuck in my mind as my all-time Gas hero.
A Welshman from Penarth, he was an apprentice in 1967 and I imagine he was a product of our very successful South Wales nursery. It's a shame we don't have one now.
But I mention Frankie simply because we have another young Welshman playing for us at the moment who has had plenty of critics, but is starting to win them around.
Byron Anthony is happy to play in any position the management require of him, and has been getting top reports this season. On Saturday, taking a bullet for the team, he turned out at left back, even though he has been performing well on the right and in the centre of defence.
With club loyalty as it is these days, I doubt Byron will ever become the kind of hero to youngsters that Frankie is to me.
But I hope he continues to improve, wins around the boo boys and stays loyal so that one day he will be considered "a true Gashead".
According to the obituary that Parkinson wrote for The Times, Skinner played for Barnsley between 1947 and 1953 and achieved legendary status. He was the hard man of the side, providing protection for the ball carrying, more creative midfielders.
He became such a legendary figure that there was a Skinner Normanton Appreciation Society in Kuala Lumpar, and mothers used to threaten their children that if they didn't behave they would "Send for Skinner".
Parky says: "There wasn't much of him, but every bit counted. He was as relentless as a heat-seeking missile in the tackle".
He suggested that Barnsley should name a stand after him because "it would be a constant reminder that no matter how much we merchandise the modern game we must always remember what we are selling.
"Nowadays they talk about image. There was a time, when Skinner was a lad, when it had soul."
The reason I mention Skinner is that I, too, had a hero in that mould during my younger days supporting the Gas.
To me, he was the soul of Bristol Rovers, a player who wore his heart on his sleeve, a Gashead through and through, who remained loyal for 13 years and made 362 appearances.
His name was Frankie Prince.
What I remember most about Frankie - and this shouldn't read as an obituary because I imagine he's still alive, but have no idea what he is doing now - was that he looked like the first-ever football playing skinhead. He had tight cropped hair and it always appeared that while everyone else was wearing the latest fancy football footwear, he was playing in bovver boots. Not surprisingly he wasn't blessed with pace.
He certainly put himself about a bit, though, and at the time there was a regular argument between Rovers and City fans over who was the hardest - Frankie or their midfielder Gerry Gow, who went on to earn a big-money move to Manchester City, where he played in the 1981 Cup final which Spurs won in a replay thanks to Ricky Villa's wonder goal.
I don't think they ever organised a boxing match between Prince and Gow, but it would have sold a hell of a lot of tickets.
Frankie had a softer side, too, from what I understand. Apparently he once bought the lady who swept the terraces a cuddly toy Koala Bear as a present.
I also found an old diary when packing to move house in which I had noted he actually gave me and some of my mates a lift home from a Rovers game once when the bus failed to arrive on the Stapleton Road. I'm amazed I can't remember it, but perhaps that is why he has stuck in my mind as my all-time Gas hero.
A Welshman from Penarth, he was an apprentice in 1967 and I imagine he was a product of our very successful South Wales nursery. It's a shame we don't have one now.
But I mention Frankie simply because we have another young Welshman playing for us at the moment who has had plenty of critics, but is starting to win them around.
Byron Anthony is happy to play in any position the management require of him, and has been getting top reports this season. On Saturday, taking a bullet for the team, he turned out at left back, even though he has been performing well on the right and in the centre of defence.
With club loyalty as it is these days, I doubt Byron will ever become the kind of hero to youngsters that Frankie is to me.
But I hope he continues to improve, wins around the boo boys and stays loyal so that one day he will be considered "a true Gashead".
Monday 20 September 2010
Divine Intervention
DRIVING to work on Saturday I heard that a lot of the roads in Central London were closed. Glad to see the Met Police were anticipating a lot of travelling Gasheads for our game against Dagenham and Redbridge, I thought.
Actually, it was because the Pope was in town, but we were lucky to get some divine intervention ourselves.
It came in the form of Jeff Hughes, a player who, so far this season, has been taking a lot of flak on the message boards for his performances this season. Someone even said his displays, along with those of our highly rated young midfielder Chris Lines, had amounted to "a comedy show".
And the general concensus seemed to be that the two of them should be dropped for our game against the Daggers.
Well, who's laughing now? Ninety minutes later, and Rovers have won 3-0 to land their first success on away soil.
It's a fantastic result.
And what is more, Hughesy grabbed a hat-trick.
Thank goodness our manager Paul Trollope doesn't listen to what we fans have to say.
I guess Trolls, who hasn't been Mr Popular himself of late after a pretty ropey start to the season, will survive or fall by being his own man.
Fair play - that, at least, shows he has some managerial credentials.
I've known men in charge of teams before who have reacted to just about everything the fans have to say, with dire consequences.
Management by Committee simply does not work.
As an example, I remember an Irish winger called Miah Dennehy who used to play for the Gas. He had been booted out by Brian Clough at Nottingham Forest to be replaced by a certain John Robertson.
He started ok, but pretty soon we were getting a bit fed up with his inconsistent performances.
One Boxing Day 1978 I turned up to watch the Gas in a League game and Miah was playing. Well, in truth, he was wobbling around the pitch looking every bit like he had a serious hangover from Christmas Day.
Me and my mates all agreed - the manager should take him off. He was useless, just useless.
No doubt we shouted similar messages to the dug out.
The game ended something like 4-2 to the Gas, the manager ignored us and Miah weighed in with a hat-trick. *
He got the man of the match award even though, to this day, I still maintain he had been abysmal for the majority of the 90 minutes.
Still. What does the Dagenham result mean to my beloved Gas? Not that much, taken by itself.
The three points came against a side who had managed just one win this season after being promoted to the lofty heights of League One.
They don't have the same resources as us, and were only playing non-league football a short time ago.
But, to be fair, they had been unbeaten at home so far this season and if they are to survive under the wily management of ex-Gas assistant boss John Still they know it is at Victoria Road (or the catchily renamed The London Borough of Barking and Dagenham Stadium) where they will have to get the majority of their points.
I think a lot of teams will find it pretty hard travelling to this outpost of East London and achieving the same kind of result. After all, as the joke goes, you are up against two teams - Dagenham AND Redbridge.
Key for Rovers and Trolls now is the confidence that this result will have given the team, and the hope that they can carry it on into two consecutive home games against Notts County, another promoted team, and struggling Tranmere.
This division looks pretty tight at the moment and even the sides most predicted would be charging away with it - Southampton and Sheffield Wednesday - have had indifferent starts to the season. Two wins and we will find ourselves among the early pacesetters, two poor results and we will be down among the dead men.
Intriguing, but at least this week I'll be walking around with a smile on my face.
Might even find myself praying to the great redeemer Jeff Hughes to produce a few more miraculous displays.
*Anyone remember this game, know who it was against, or can enlighten me on whether I've got the facts right? Please let me know
Actually, it was because the Pope was in town, but we were lucky to get some divine intervention ourselves.
It came in the form of Jeff Hughes, a player who, so far this season, has been taking a lot of flak on the message boards for his performances this season. Someone even said his displays, along with those of our highly rated young midfielder Chris Lines, had amounted to "a comedy show".
And the general concensus seemed to be that the two of them should be dropped for our game against the Daggers.
Well, who's laughing now? Ninety minutes later, and Rovers have won 3-0 to land their first success on away soil.
It's a fantastic result.
And what is more, Hughesy grabbed a hat-trick.
Thank goodness our manager Paul Trollope doesn't listen to what we fans have to say.
I guess Trolls, who hasn't been Mr Popular himself of late after a pretty ropey start to the season, will survive or fall by being his own man.
Fair play - that, at least, shows he has some managerial credentials.
I've known men in charge of teams before who have reacted to just about everything the fans have to say, with dire consequences.
Management by Committee simply does not work.
As an example, I remember an Irish winger called Miah Dennehy who used to play for the Gas. He had been booted out by Brian Clough at Nottingham Forest to be replaced by a certain John Robertson.
He started ok, but pretty soon we were getting a bit fed up with his inconsistent performances.
One Boxing Day 1978 I turned up to watch the Gas in a League game and Miah was playing. Well, in truth, he was wobbling around the pitch looking every bit like he had a serious hangover from Christmas Day.
Me and my mates all agreed - the manager should take him off. He was useless, just useless.
No doubt we shouted similar messages to the dug out.
The game ended something like 4-2 to the Gas, the manager ignored us and Miah weighed in with a hat-trick. *
He got the man of the match award even though, to this day, I still maintain he had been abysmal for the majority of the 90 minutes.
Still. What does the Dagenham result mean to my beloved Gas? Not that much, taken by itself.
The three points came against a side who had managed just one win this season after being promoted to the lofty heights of League One.
They don't have the same resources as us, and were only playing non-league football a short time ago.
But, to be fair, they had been unbeaten at home so far this season and if they are to survive under the wily management of ex-Gas assistant boss John Still they know it is at Victoria Road (or the catchily renamed The London Borough of Barking and Dagenham Stadium) where they will have to get the majority of their points.
I think a lot of teams will find it pretty hard travelling to this outpost of East London and achieving the same kind of result. After all, as the joke goes, you are up against two teams - Dagenham AND Redbridge.
Key for Rovers and Trolls now is the confidence that this result will have given the team, and the hope that they can carry it on into two consecutive home games against Notts County, another promoted team, and struggling Tranmere.
This division looks pretty tight at the moment and even the sides most predicted would be charging away with it - Southampton and Sheffield Wednesday - have had indifferent starts to the season. Two wins and we will find ourselves among the early pacesetters, two poor results and we will be down among the dead men.
Intriguing, but at least this week I'll be walking around with a smile on my face.
Might even find myself praying to the great redeemer Jeff Hughes to produce a few more miraculous displays.
*Anyone remember this game, know who it was against, or can enlighten me on whether I've got the facts right? Please let me know
Saturday 11 September 2010
Tired excuses
LARGE European Metropolis 0, Miniscule Area of London famous only for a defunct factory that produced cheap and uncomfortable bedlinen 0.
Six games into the season and I thought our team might finally be "gelling".
But once again I was left biting my fingernails, just hoping we could get the better of Brentford.
Then, with 20 minutes still to go and the score nil-nil, we had a player sent off.
Our left back, Gary Sawyer, was shown the exit after picking up a second yellow card for a rash tackle.
After that, by all accounts, it was only our goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen who kept us in the game.
Two home points lost against the kind of team we should be beating.
It's ok for our manager Paul Trollope to suggest that we will struggle to beat teams like Southampton. After all, it wasn't long ago that they were in the Premiership, and they have had plenty of money thrown at them since they sank to our level.
But Brentford? Come on.
Having once again been trapped behind a desk unable to watch my beloved Gas, I needed to get the full story before throwing my toys out of the pram, trouncing Trolls and barracking the boys.
So where better to find out what really happened than to look on the fans forum of our team's website?
I logged on eagerly, just hoping that I could salvage some glimmer of hope. Drawing your home games against ordinary opposition and losing against the bigger clubs is, after all, a surefire recipe for relegation.
And what did I find? A post labelled "hooters".
I thought, for an instant, that I had been transported into the realms of ice hockey, and that a blaring claxon had been introduced to signal the end of the game. Maybe we had been deprived at the death by a hooter sounding as one of our strikers took aim at goal.
But, no. In my search for the truth, I was able to learn that the half-time entertainment supplied by our kids dance troupe the Blue Flames wasn't up to scratch and that perhaps we could invite the buxom barmaids from new American bar Hooters to turn up and bring cheer to our disgruntled fans.
Don't get me wrong. I am all in favour of the idea.
But these well-endowed ladies are hardly going to stop our alarming slide, provide us with the firepower up front (though some might argue) or shore up our weak backline. I can't see Chesty Cheryl or Big Jugs Jemima providing the incisive pass from midfield or coming off the subs bench to give our attack more impetus.
I know we are called Bristol Rovers, but it doesn't mean we need more Bristols.
Thankfully I did find more pertinent comments from fellow Gasheads which cheered me up a bit.
Apparently we played quite well in the first half, though never possessing the cutting edge required to bulldoze Brentford.
It was the second half that most fans took issue with - and there were only around five and a half thousand at the game. That's a worrying turnout with the season still relatively fresh.
What was even more worrying, though, was the comments of our manager.
Trolls thought we were quite adventurous in the first half. But what happened after the break?
Apparently some of our players looked "a bit tired".
Hang on. We have only played SEVEN GAMES this season.
Some would argue we didn't even turn up for two of them.
Tired?
I think I won't turn up for the afternoon at work next weekend on the basis that I felt "pretty tired" by lunchtime.
Sorry, but it sounds like a load of nonsense.
What sort of condition can these full-time professionals be in if they fancy a nap after just 45 minutes? After all, they hadn't played a game since the previous Saturday.
And how are they going to feel when the games come thick and fast - Saturday, Tuesday, Saturday, Tuesday - as they will later in the season?
I admit I am completely baffled by the goings-on at my favourite club.
Still, if they're that tired perhaps next time the same opposition turn up they can bring some of those polyester sheets leftover from the time Brentford Nylons went bust.
And come to think of it calling Hooters wouldn't be such a bad idea, either.
I am sure they could provide a few comfy pillows on which our puffed out players could rest their aching heads during the interval.
Six games into the season and I thought our team might finally be "gelling".
But once again I was left biting my fingernails, just hoping we could get the better of Brentford.
Then, with 20 minutes still to go and the score nil-nil, we had a player sent off.
Our left back, Gary Sawyer, was shown the exit after picking up a second yellow card for a rash tackle.
After that, by all accounts, it was only our goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen who kept us in the game.
Two home points lost against the kind of team we should be beating.
It's ok for our manager Paul Trollope to suggest that we will struggle to beat teams like Southampton. After all, it wasn't long ago that they were in the Premiership, and they have had plenty of money thrown at them since they sank to our level.
But Brentford? Come on.
Having once again been trapped behind a desk unable to watch my beloved Gas, I needed to get the full story before throwing my toys out of the pram, trouncing Trolls and barracking the boys.
So where better to find out what really happened than to look on the fans forum of our team's website?
I logged on eagerly, just hoping that I could salvage some glimmer of hope. Drawing your home games against ordinary opposition and losing against the bigger clubs is, after all, a surefire recipe for relegation.
And what did I find? A post labelled "hooters".
I thought, for an instant, that I had been transported into the realms of ice hockey, and that a blaring claxon had been introduced to signal the end of the game. Maybe we had been deprived at the death by a hooter sounding as one of our strikers took aim at goal.
But, no. In my search for the truth, I was able to learn that the half-time entertainment supplied by our kids dance troupe the Blue Flames wasn't up to scratch and that perhaps we could invite the buxom barmaids from new American bar Hooters to turn up and bring cheer to our disgruntled fans.
Don't get me wrong. I am all in favour of the idea.
But these well-endowed ladies are hardly going to stop our alarming slide, provide us with the firepower up front (though some might argue) or shore up our weak backline. I can't see Chesty Cheryl or Big Jugs Jemima providing the incisive pass from midfield or coming off the subs bench to give our attack more impetus.
I know we are called Bristol Rovers, but it doesn't mean we need more Bristols.
Thankfully I did find more pertinent comments from fellow Gasheads which cheered me up a bit.
Apparently we played quite well in the first half, though never possessing the cutting edge required to bulldoze Brentford.
It was the second half that most fans took issue with - and there were only around five and a half thousand at the game. That's a worrying turnout with the season still relatively fresh.
What was even more worrying, though, was the comments of our manager.
Trolls thought we were quite adventurous in the first half. But what happened after the break?
Apparently some of our players looked "a bit tired".
Hang on. We have only played SEVEN GAMES this season.
Some would argue we didn't even turn up for two of them.
Tired?
I think I won't turn up for the afternoon at work next weekend on the basis that I felt "pretty tired" by lunchtime.
Sorry, but it sounds like a load of nonsense.
What sort of condition can these full-time professionals be in if they fancy a nap after just 45 minutes? After all, they hadn't played a game since the previous Saturday.
And how are they going to feel when the games come thick and fast - Saturday, Tuesday, Saturday, Tuesday - as they will later in the season?
I admit I am completely baffled by the goings-on at my favourite club.
Still, if they're that tired perhaps next time the same opposition turn up they can bring some of those polyester sheets leftover from the time Brentford Nylons went bust.
And come to think of it calling Hooters wouldn't be such a bad idea, either.
I am sure they could provide a few comfy pillows on which our puffed out players could rest their aching heads during the interval.
Sunday 5 September 2010
Survivors
THERE are two different types of Gashead.
There is the eternal optimist and the raging pessimist.
My mate Haydn is of the first variety. Every time we go to a game he says: "I've got a good feeling about today."
And at the start of every season he predicts: "I think we're going to do well this season."
I guess I sit strictly in the second category.
I can't help it.
Although after 40 years of supporting Bristol Rovers I prefer to call it realism, rather than pessimism.
But I look at it this way... if I don't get my hopes too high then every time something goes well it comes as a pleasant surprise.
Mind you, I still cancelled my wedding because of our chances of making the play-offs last year, though I had no firm grounds for believing we would. We had just finished the previous season with a run of poor results.
The date was all set when my brother sent me a text, warning: "You do realise that the date you have planned for your wedding co-incides with the League One play-off final, don't you?"
My Mrs wasn't too happy, until I explained: "Imagine us walking down the aisle and all I can think of is what is happening at Wembley. Just think. It would come to the point where we make our vows and I'd somehow get confused and say 'I Rippers, take you Ricky Lambert to be my lawful..."
She had no option. We brought the date forward two weeks.
And cursed any chance of Rovers making the play-offs in May.
The reason I mention my pessimism and how it can sometimes work in my favour is that on Saturday I held out absolutely no hope of us getting anything from our trip to Oldham.
We had just been thumped 4-0 by Southampton while our opponents were sitting pretty in the top reaches of the division after a good start under new manager Paul Dickov. Added to that, our loan goalkeeper Mikkel Anderson was away with the Danish national side, and our best midfielder Wayne Brown was ruled out injured.
But I must say by the end of the day I was feeling pretty chirpy.
For two reasons. Let me backtrack to the start of my Saturday...
I jumped in the air, shouted, and sat back down again.
People in the room must have thought I'd sat on a particularly sharp nail.
I hadn't. It was Oldham 0 Bristol Rovers 1 and our new boy Will Hoskins was on target again.
Then I looked at my watch. 82 minutes.
82 painful minutes to hold on to our slender lead. I knew it was going to be a tough afternoon.
Still, it was one of those days which was promising good possibilities.
You see, we have a game called Saturday Survivor in the office.
It goes like this... you put £10 into the kitty and then have to pick a different team to win every week. You can't have the same team twice.
Anything else but a win and you're out... it's sudden death.
The money rolls over until there is one person left standing, and he takes the pot.
It was the fifth week of competition, and I was down to the last three.
There were 12 original entries, meaning I stood to win £120.
The team I chose was Chesterfield. I figured they were pretty good at home and capable of scoring goals. Their opponents Lincoln don't travel well.
My opponents took the seemingly easier options. One bloke lumped on Southampton, thinking they were hardly likely to slip up at home to Rochdale, particularly after destroying us at the Mem.
The other thought Peterborough were a good bet, away to sorry Tranmere.
It was a nail-biting afternoon.
Saints went behind, Peterborough went behind and Chesterfield went in front... all before half-time.
Oh please, let it be my day.
Well, it was.
The two outsiders held on, and Chesterfield bagged a 2-1 win.
And though Rovers conceded just before half-time they also left me feeling relieved and happy, particularly after Danny Coles was sent off after 86 minutes and the ref then decided to play eight gut-wrenching minutes of injury time.
As I listened to Iain Dowie relaying the final moments from Boundary Park on Sky Sports my heart was in my mouth.
With the last kick of the game, Oldham hit the bar.
But we survived.
Fifth biggest town in Greater Manchester 1, Biggest city in South West of England 1.
And I was a Survivor, too.
I felt like I'd won the lottery - £120 better off and a point for the Gas after all the horrors of the previous week.
Mind you, I can hear those optimists even now. We have Brentford at home, Dagenham and Redbridge away, Notts County at home and Tranmere at home in the next month.
On the Gas fans forum one bloke is already predicting 12 points from those four games - conveniently forgetting one of our only three centre backs is suspended for Brentford, Dagenham and Tranmere have just won tough games at home, and Notts County have recovered from their early season malaise and are starting to look good.
Realism, you see.
But I'll be ecstatic if the optimists among us prove right this time.
There is the eternal optimist and the raging pessimist.
My mate Haydn is of the first variety. Every time we go to a game he says: "I've got a good feeling about today."
And at the start of every season he predicts: "I think we're going to do well this season."
I guess I sit strictly in the second category.
I can't help it.
Although after 40 years of supporting Bristol Rovers I prefer to call it realism, rather than pessimism.
But I look at it this way... if I don't get my hopes too high then every time something goes well it comes as a pleasant surprise.
Mind you, I still cancelled my wedding because of our chances of making the play-offs last year, though I had no firm grounds for believing we would. We had just finished the previous season with a run of poor results.
The date was all set when my brother sent me a text, warning: "You do realise that the date you have planned for your wedding co-incides with the League One play-off final, don't you?"
My Mrs wasn't too happy, until I explained: "Imagine us walking down the aisle and all I can think of is what is happening at Wembley. Just think. It would come to the point where we make our vows and I'd somehow get confused and say 'I Rippers, take you Ricky Lambert to be my lawful..."
She had no option. We brought the date forward two weeks.
And cursed any chance of Rovers making the play-offs in May.
The reason I mention my pessimism and how it can sometimes work in my favour is that on Saturday I held out absolutely no hope of us getting anything from our trip to Oldham.
We had just been thumped 4-0 by Southampton while our opponents were sitting pretty in the top reaches of the division after a good start under new manager Paul Dickov. Added to that, our loan goalkeeper Mikkel Anderson was away with the Danish national side, and our best midfielder Wayne Brown was ruled out injured.
But I must say by the end of the day I was feeling pretty chirpy.
For two reasons. Let me backtrack to the start of my Saturday...
I jumped in the air, shouted, and sat back down again.
People in the room must have thought I'd sat on a particularly sharp nail.
I hadn't. It was Oldham 0 Bristol Rovers 1 and our new boy Will Hoskins was on target again.
Then I looked at my watch. 82 minutes.
82 painful minutes to hold on to our slender lead. I knew it was going to be a tough afternoon.
Still, it was one of those days which was promising good possibilities.
You see, we have a game called Saturday Survivor in the office.
It goes like this... you put £10 into the kitty and then have to pick a different team to win every week. You can't have the same team twice.
Anything else but a win and you're out... it's sudden death.
The money rolls over until there is one person left standing, and he takes the pot.
It was the fifth week of competition, and I was down to the last three.
There were 12 original entries, meaning I stood to win £120.
The team I chose was Chesterfield. I figured they were pretty good at home and capable of scoring goals. Their opponents Lincoln don't travel well.
My opponents took the seemingly easier options. One bloke lumped on Southampton, thinking they were hardly likely to slip up at home to Rochdale, particularly after destroying us at the Mem.
The other thought Peterborough were a good bet, away to sorry Tranmere.
It was a nail-biting afternoon.
Saints went behind, Peterborough went behind and Chesterfield went in front... all before half-time.
Oh please, let it be my day.
Well, it was.
The two outsiders held on, and Chesterfield bagged a 2-1 win.
And though Rovers conceded just before half-time they also left me feeling relieved and happy, particularly after Danny Coles was sent off after 86 minutes and the ref then decided to play eight gut-wrenching minutes of injury time.
As I listened to Iain Dowie relaying the final moments from Boundary Park on Sky Sports my heart was in my mouth.
With the last kick of the game, Oldham hit the bar.
But we survived.
Fifth biggest town in Greater Manchester 1, Biggest city in South West of England 1.
And I was a Survivor, too.
I felt like I'd won the lottery - £120 better off and a point for the Gas after all the horrors of the previous week.
Mind you, I can hear those optimists even now. We have Brentford at home, Dagenham and Redbridge away, Notts County at home and Tranmere at home in the next month.
On the Gas fans forum one bloke is already predicting 12 points from those four games - conveniently forgetting one of our only three centre backs is suspended for Brentford, Dagenham and Tranmere have just won tough games at home, and Notts County have recovered from their early season malaise and are starting to look good.
Realism, you see.
But I'll be ecstatic if the optimists among us prove right this time.
Thursday 2 September 2010
Adieu, Pardew
HANDED over the office bluey today.
It wasn't too painful. After all, I'd expected it.
Yet despite his new-found fortune the Saints fan was pretty glum.
Understandable, really.
They beat us 4-0 at the Mem, and then sack THEIR manager.
Alan Pardew, the man who masterminded not only last week's hammering but last season's 5-1 thrashing of the Gas at the Mem, has got the boot at St Mary's.
Meanwhile, our present encumbent Paul Trollope soldiers on.
People tell me his tactics are negative and defensive - well, if that's the case they don't appear to be working. The Gas have now conceded 16 goals in just five league and cup games this season.
Even so, it seems the fan base is split 50/50 on whether we keep the man who won us promotion back to League One, or thank him for his services and wave him goodbye.
Rovers used to have a rather unique claim to fame. It really suited us Gasheads.
It was that we had never been in the top flight and never been in the bottom one.
We were happy in our mediocrity.
All that changed after the most exciting team put together in our recent history was ripped apart after we failed catastrophically to seal promotion in the 1999/2000 season.
I recall that season well. We were racing along at the top of the division and almost certs for promotion.
Up front we had a lethal strikeforce of Jason Roberts and Jamie Cureton, and in midfield we had the creative genius that was the Latvian international captain Vitas Astafjevs.
The defence was built around the rock solid foundation of Andy Tillson and as manager we had the incomparable Ian "Olly" Holloway.
I saw that team a number of times, ripping apart Luton 4-1 away and dishing out a 3-0 hammering to Brentford. It seemed, to use that famous phrase coined by Radio 5's Danny Baker, "nothing could go wrong now".
But, in true Gas tradition, it did.
I can only assume our bottle went with about 12 games of the season to go because somehow we even failed to secure a play-off place when losing to relegated Cardiff City 1-0 at Ninian Park.
Bloody Cardiff City.
Next season - minus a number of our big names because of a budget-trimming exercise - we still seemed to be going along well, until we went back to Ninian Park in the FA Cup.
Then a young Welsh whippet named Rob Earnshaw tore our defence apart, scoring a hat-trick in a 5-1 win.
Confidence drained away in that moment. Holloway was removed from his post in January, and so started a terrible period in the Football League basement which lasted much longer than most Gasheads had envisaged.
A number of managers came and went including "God", or Gerry Francis as he is better known, returning for a second disastrous spell.
Garry Thompson, Phil Bater, Ray Graydon and Ian Atkins all had a go, but the football was dire and on a few occasions we dabbled with the ultimate punishment - relegation from the Football League.
It was only when we suddenly had a late surge of form under Trollope and former director of football Lennie Lawrence that we found ourselves in the play-offs and rode on a wave of euphoria back to League One.
And there lies a problem.
That sustained period in the basement has meant a lot of our younger fans being brought up on a diet of kick-and-rush League 2 nonsense.
Having endured that, understandably their expectations are pretty low.
They are happy to be in League One, playing the likes of Southampton and Sheffield Wednesday, rather than enduring a diet of Macclesfield, Bury and Port Vale.
They think we are punching above our weight.
I am inclined to disagree, and so, I imagine, are many of the 40,000 fans who poured into Wembley for our 3-1 play-off final win over Shrewsbury.
A lot of promises were made in the aftermath of that triumph. This team would not stop there. We would be going places. We had a plan to reach the glittering heights of the Championship.
Seems a long time ago. Mid-table in League 1 seems to be the height of ambition for some of us.
So, are we just lucky to be in League One?
Should we stick with Paul Trollope because "we won't get anyone better"?
And should we shelve our dreams and thank the Lord Francis that we are where we are?
My answer to those - and to nearly any other question of that nature is...
Blackpool.
Yes, the same Blackpool that is managed by Ian "Olly" Holloway and shocked football by reaching the Premier League last season.
Here's some examples:
Rovers can't buy the players to match the biggest teams in the division? Neither could Blackpool.
Rovers don't have a decent enough ground to succeed? Neither did Blackpool.
Rovers' wage bill is much lower than others in the division? So was Blackpools.
My dream is one day - one day - we will go to the other end of the spectrum and grace the top tier of football.
After all, we've hit the bottom - and we hadn't done that before 2001.
But I must admit I think that to start on that course we may just need a bit more inspiration, motivation and managerial nous than Paul Trollope gives us now.
I hear Alan Pardew's available...
It wasn't too painful. After all, I'd expected it.
Yet despite his new-found fortune the Saints fan was pretty glum.
Understandable, really.
They beat us 4-0 at the Mem, and then sack THEIR manager.
Alan Pardew, the man who masterminded not only last week's hammering but last season's 5-1 thrashing of the Gas at the Mem, has got the boot at St Mary's.
Meanwhile, our present encumbent Paul Trollope soldiers on.
People tell me his tactics are negative and defensive - well, if that's the case they don't appear to be working. The Gas have now conceded 16 goals in just five league and cup games this season.
Even so, it seems the fan base is split 50/50 on whether we keep the man who won us promotion back to League One, or thank him for his services and wave him goodbye.
Rovers used to have a rather unique claim to fame. It really suited us Gasheads.
It was that we had never been in the top flight and never been in the bottom one.
We were happy in our mediocrity.
All that changed after the most exciting team put together in our recent history was ripped apart after we failed catastrophically to seal promotion in the 1999/2000 season.
I recall that season well. We were racing along at the top of the division and almost certs for promotion.
Up front we had a lethal strikeforce of Jason Roberts and Jamie Cureton, and in midfield we had the creative genius that was the Latvian international captain Vitas Astafjevs.
The defence was built around the rock solid foundation of Andy Tillson and as manager we had the incomparable Ian "Olly" Holloway.
I saw that team a number of times, ripping apart Luton 4-1 away and dishing out a 3-0 hammering to Brentford. It seemed, to use that famous phrase coined by Radio 5's Danny Baker, "nothing could go wrong now".
But, in true Gas tradition, it did.
I can only assume our bottle went with about 12 games of the season to go because somehow we even failed to secure a play-off place when losing to relegated Cardiff City 1-0 at Ninian Park.
Bloody Cardiff City.
Next season - minus a number of our big names because of a budget-trimming exercise - we still seemed to be going along well, until we went back to Ninian Park in the FA Cup.
Then a young Welsh whippet named Rob Earnshaw tore our defence apart, scoring a hat-trick in a 5-1 win.
Confidence drained away in that moment. Holloway was removed from his post in January, and so started a terrible period in the Football League basement which lasted much longer than most Gasheads had envisaged.
A number of managers came and went including "God", or Gerry Francis as he is better known, returning for a second disastrous spell.
Garry Thompson, Phil Bater, Ray Graydon and Ian Atkins all had a go, but the football was dire and on a few occasions we dabbled with the ultimate punishment - relegation from the Football League.
It was only when we suddenly had a late surge of form under Trollope and former director of football Lennie Lawrence that we found ourselves in the play-offs and rode on a wave of euphoria back to League One.
And there lies a problem.
That sustained period in the basement has meant a lot of our younger fans being brought up on a diet of kick-and-rush League 2 nonsense.
Having endured that, understandably their expectations are pretty low.
They are happy to be in League One, playing the likes of Southampton and Sheffield Wednesday, rather than enduring a diet of Macclesfield, Bury and Port Vale.
They think we are punching above our weight.
I am inclined to disagree, and so, I imagine, are many of the 40,000 fans who poured into Wembley for our 3-1 play-off final win over Shrewsbury.
A lot of promises were made in the aftermath of that triumph. This team would not stop there. We would be going places. We had a plan to reach the glittering heights of the Championship.
Seems a long time ago. Mid-table in League 1 seems to be the height of ambition for some of us.
So, are we just lucky to be in League One?
Should we stick with Paul Trollope because "we won't get anyone better"?
And should we shelve our dreams and thank the Lord Francis that we are where we are?
My answer to those - and to nearly any other question of that nature is...
Blackpool.
Yes, the same Blackpool that is managed by Ian "Olly" Holloway and shocked football by reaching the Premier League last season.
Here's some examples:
Rovers can't buy the players to match the biggest teams in the division? Neither could Blackpool.
Rovers don't have a decent enough ground to succeed? Neither did Blackpool.
Rovers' wage bill is much lower than others in the division? So was Blackpools.
My dream is one day - one day - we will go to the other end of the spectrum and grace the top tier of football.
After all, we've hit the bottom - and we hadn't done that before 2001.
But I must admit I think that to start on that course we may just need a bit more inspiration, motivation and managerial nous than Paul Trollope gives us now.
I hear Alan Pardew's available...
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