Home comforts

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.