Duck14 pdf

LIFE

LOVE

Duck magazine

Issue 14 | ÂŁ2.50 March 2015

HOPE

Stoke

It’s been almost two years now since DUCK first hit the streets.

Two fantastic years, where we’ve met any number of brilliant people, of both a Stokie and non-Stokie persuasion. Sales have grown steadily, we have more subscribers than ever, and we have received 100% brilliant feedback. We have any number of lovely folk who send us superb contributions, we’ve met a number of Stoke and non-Stoke icons and we do our best to put our city and football club in the light that they deserve.

So what does the future hold? On a personal level, I’m not sure, as it’s a period where I my career has changed drastically. I’ve taken the biggest gamble ever. I now need to find work – something I’ve never had to do. It’s scary, and I hate using precious magazine space for personal reasons – but that time is now. If you know of any content or copywriting that needs doing…….. ta! x But what won’t change is my devotion to DUCK magazine and to those of you reading this, right now.

This isn’t a call to arms and neither do I want to seem like I’m passing the begging bowl round: all I ask from you, the DUCK reader, is that if you think the magazine is

talking stoke and taking stock

Editors: Anthony Bunn & Lee Hawthorne Words and pictures thanks to: Danger Mouse; David McAvelia; Justin Welford; Titanic Brewery; Rob Doolan; Cade Key; Lauren Corbishley; Angela Smith; Ian Corbishley; Regina Colclough; Clive Bickley; Martin Tarbuck; Luke Smith; Dan Strong; Steve Roulstone; Jim Thornton; Michael Bell; Invergordon Potters; Steven Bebe; Ian Cranson’s Knees; Sue

half-decent then please tell your mates. And enemies.

DUCK is now a monthly magazine – you may have noticed that on the front cover we now put the month.

That’s Orfy’s idea and is a sign that we will be bringing the mag www.duck out on a far more regular basis. And we stoke. hope that means this co.uk summer, too – maybe in the form of a one-off Makes the pdf issue?

But DUCK will internet ALWAYS be out in hard-copy format. a better We love the printed word, love it. That place won’t change. But we also need to look at reaching as broad a readership as possible and we want to alienate nobody.

So keep yer eyes peeled, especially to us on twitter (@DUCKmagstoke) and on our website at www. duckstoke.co.uk. My changing career means I will be devoting far more time to our website and you will see more content on a regular basis: more news: more articles; and more competitions. It’s what you deserve.

I have literally gambled with my family’s future. That’s not asking for help, support or sympathy – it’s more a demonstration to producing a quality magazine and website for Stoke City fans, and those who simply like a good read on the things that matter.

But what we really do need is more sellers around the ground (and at aways), plus if you know of a shop, pub etc that would stock DUCK – please let us know.

Commission is superb. Also, if you want to advertise with us or sponsor an issue then please get in touch – it really is pretty bloody cheap!

Talkin’ bout a revolution. Or summat.

Thanks.

BUNNY

Bailey; Ant Sutcliffe; Duts…….. and sincere apologies to anyone that we’ve missed.

Designed by: Bobby M Printed by: the superb folk at Graphix. They’re ace. Use them.

Cover: Photo courtesy of The Sentinel.

Cover design: Joe Barbieri (contact him for ace design on twitter @JBstokie) Website: www.duckstoke. co.uk Email: duckstoke@gmail.com

Twitter: @DUCKmagstoke Facebook: https://www. facebook.com/duckmagazine Buy DUCK, Subscriptions and DUCK merchandise at: www.duckstoke.co.uk DUCK Issue 15: out vs Southampton (h). April 18th.

Contributions/adverts to us by April 5th, ta.

DUCK Issue 16: out vs Burnley (a). May 16th.

Contributions/adverts to us by May 3rd, ta.

TheDuckTeamissue#14 New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

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1st The transfer window has to legally ‘slam’ shut and it did so this time without any fuss or drama. Nationally, the Skyball machine for once coughed, stuttered and eventually conked out before forming a big, yellow and slimy mess. It really should be renamed SkySports-Specualtion, as ‘news’ is pushing it at times. In our own world, Clayton Wood remained relatively specimen-free and it’s always time for a quiet celebration whenever we secure the continued services of Begovic, Shawcross, and Nzonzi.

Although it was pleasing to see us avoid the panic room, and Goodison Park is welcome to Aaron Lennon’s delightful charm, the lack of fresh attacking blood and lease of Huth to Leicester, might yet return to haunt us….. hope not.

a certain ‘it’s all about me’ manager, then such incompetence makes headline news.

10th The Premier League announce a monstrous £5.1 billion broadcasting rights deal, seeing Sky and BT increase television coverage and introduce live Friday night fixtures (please God, not Sunderland or Palace away). All of which, will naturally guarantee: reduced ticket prices; top-class grass roots facilities; an adequate number of qualified English coaches and a successful national team. Or, er, something like that. Either

14th Stoke endure a date to forget in a St. Valentine’s Day FA Cup nightmare at Ewood Park. And that was just on the pitch. It finally becomes clear, that the authorities were thinking of our well-being all along - it would have been an unforgivable dereliction of duty to allow any more members of the public than necessary to witness such a performance. No love in the air then but our hopes of silverware are up in smoke for another year and what a woeful way to bow out. All angles of blame are evident in the fall-out: naive transfer policy; poor tactics; individual shockers; the tough schedule and our unprecedented list of absentees.

Whatever the cause, Bojan’s gem at Rochdale seems like an age ago and the ghosts of Wembley 2011 will continue to cast a shadow.

Every step

along

8th We grab a late point at St James Park with our crowd-surfing diamond geezer Crouchie netting a peach.

How beautifully life-affirming are late equalisers and winners? Overall, a decent point and performance, given the lengthy queue outside the physio room. Star-man of course was top official Kevin Friend, who decided to book everything in red and white for ball-winning challenges but leave goal-scoring Geordie Colback on the pitch after bottling a nailed-on second yellow. Still, at least he was an improvement on Martin Atkinson’s efforts last season. Of course if Atkinson upsets Chelsea, and

21st On National Tim Sherwood day, we are the only team lucky enough to receive an invite to the showbiz event of the year.

And how wonderfully Stoke City upset all manner of journalists, pundits and cameramen by spoiling all fun for the esteemed host. It was however a shame that the uniquely dour Paul Lambert was so swiftly replaced by the bookies’ favourite for everything, as I had a tenner on him finishing Lucy Beale off. So, a 5th away win before March – a dizzying stat for your long-suffering, weary traveller. On the back of his admirable honesty post-Ewood, Whelan sets the tone, firing into tackles from the off, but stand-out performer is the classy Nzonzi who bosses the centre of the park throughout. To top it all off, in the national newspaper report I read, we actually got a mention nine paragraphs in... once a certain media darling received due attention of course. Not a great game but good character shown and another late mental shown on the cover of this very issue – lovely stuff, Victor.

the way

4

It’s those darn ‘Duck’ Diaries, or summat . #1: February 2015 way, their own generous piece of the pie clearly isn’t enough for Aston Villa, who charge a whopping £41 to sit in their crappy away end. They are not alone...that well-known, impoverished Stamford Bridge outfit decide that £50 is the way to go for our televised date next month. What an utter joke this wonderful game of ours can be.

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

11th Billionaires Manchester City, who must alone always be referred to as ‘City’ by the media because they are very, very special, leave ST4 with the points (the first time since our return to the topflight). Silva and Aguero inspire a ruthless response to our inability to capitalise on our first-half dominance. Without Shawcross, cracks in defence are starting to appear (hopefully, none in his back), although most don’t leave too disheartened, following a spirited Stoke performance.

Such is life, in an end-toend tussle against quality individuals.

26th ‘Duck’ snatch an interview with 1990’s legend Vince ‘Oh Vinny,Vinny’ Overson... at Vale Park! We’ll explain all in issue 15.

DANGER MOUSE

Name: Justin Welford Age: 42 Live: Cheadle Job: Electrical engineer Reads: Irvine Welsh – The Marabou Stork nightmares, Stuart Maconie – Pies and Prejudice, David Walsh – L.A Confidential TV: Vic and Bob, DIY SOS, Gogglebox, Early doors Film: Taxi driver, Jaws, Field of dreams Pub in the ST postcode: Malt n Hops Fenton, Huntsman Cheadle, Black Lion Consall, Joules pubs are good, at present.

Where did/do you stand/ sit at the Vic/Brit and why? Butler St seats as a kid then wherever best atmosphere was. Boothen Paddock (Stoke End side) was brilliant for a couple of seasons in the eighties. I also enjoyed standing in the Stoke End Paddock when we had it.

Boothen End was ok, but never had the magic for me like it did others it seems: similar with the Brit, it would be the last place I would sit. The Brit: always been, with many my age, Family Section.

Make S-O-T better in less than 50 words: Stop the obsession with Hanley being the focal point. Stoke has the station, a large student population and the connection to the potteries, but is totally neglected.

Prefer the Victoria Ground or the Britannia Stadium? Victoria Ground. It felt bloody awesome at times with <10k in. The Brit has earned a place in the heart and is incredible when rocking, but that generally requires a full house and the North London comedy act to be in town.

Name a junction on the M4: 6, which I used to get off at for the Reading festival!!

First Stoke game and memories: Sunderland at home 1977, opening day 0-0. Remember very little other than a lot of people were very angry and swore an awful lot!!

Alec Lindsay was playing full back, I remember this as he was the one player all game who had the physio on!!

Favourite Stoke XI: Begovic, Dixon, Smith, Shawcross©, Griffin, Chamberlain, Hudson, Bracewell, Crooks, Bojan, Stein.

Your biggest letdown following Stoke: Screwing up a chance at Premier League football twelve years earlier than we did. A bit of investment then under Lou would have got us up. Just imagine, we would have moved to a new stadium whilst in the Prem instead of being in the third tier. We could have a totally different stadium now!! Lou is still my favourite all time Stoke manager and I am sure we would of thrived under him in the Premier League at that time, if only the internet was a few years older eh??

Save one thing from a burning house (not family): My new Fjallraven coat.

Do you have a relative called Barbara? Yes If you could watch Stoke in any country, which one and why?

Spain, and I have done it sorry,

Bunny.

Germany (Dortmund to be picky) Best value, best atmosphere, most knowledgeable fans.

Where will we finish this season? Tenth (would have better with Bojan all season) Who shot JR? Kristen I think her name was. I never missed when I Was young, I still occasionally think of April Stevens!!

Win a cup and Stoke go down, or not win a cup and stay up. Which and why? Toughie. I am still 60% for the cup win but seeing what Birmingham, Forest, Leeds etc have gone through over the last few years does make you realise what you would be giving up. Still, the idea is to decorate your cabinet, and in sixty years time will anyone mention finishing tenth in the top flight??

FROM CRADLE TO GRAVE New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

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of deflation lingers. Of course, we’ll outcome, positive self-talk about I had forgotten how much Stoke strive to finish as high as possible the promise of opportunities to put could hurt me. but an extra million in the bank or it right, then complete detachment Defeats are inevitable and position higher in the league table before a calm perspective emerges most don’t cause more than a are not rewards to stir the soul and some days later. Remembering to brief emotional hangover for any in years to come, at story-time, my avoid Radio Stoke, The Sentinel, hardened supporter but this one Grandkids won’t give a monkeys the internet and ideally any other was different. It has been a while about either. I love the FA Cup human being helps, too. But on since we ticked all five agonising and will not rest until we finally some occasions there can be no boxes on one day: a) heavy defeat win the thing. Bridesmaids know remedy and such sudden kicks to b) dire performance c) devastated their place – they are gracious, the gut leave you exposed big away following d) important patient and deferential – we are and weak, like a young novice match e) none of us saw it coming. not. We are bitter, needy and often with tears streaming through his Ouch. impossibly drunk some time before face-paint. Or like an adult Perhaps those who endured the big event.

Geordie. So, I’m left with Selhurst Park in January last year might disagree, but Blackburn away left the first permanent scar of the Mark Hughes era. At least in the Greed League, there’s always next week. There will however, be no quarter final. No Wembley. No redemption for 2011.

I only have myself to blame.

Mark Hughes and his players won’t be taking too much flak from Last month’s shambolic FA Cup exit came as a shock to this Stokie; I don’t often agree the system and brought back similarly painful memories with Sam ‘The Gob’ Allardyce but his assessment of his own team’s Within three hours of the merciful dismal capitulation at West Brom final whistle at Ewood Park, I was rung true 100 miles further North – sat inside the cultured confines of sometimes squads just can’t cope Hanley’s Regent Theatre, watching when ravaged by injury in a threea perfectly decent show but my game week, especially on the back mind was elsewhere. It was like of a taxing festive schedule. being ejected from a raucous stagHowever much you pay do session at some offensive seaprofessional footballers or rage at side resort and then parachuted their incompetence, their minds without warning into the evening and hamstrings remain imperfect calm of a civilised church and more fragile when fatigued. service, somewhere in It was my fault for becoming Cheshire. Gear changes complacent and assuming That’s the that are so sudden are we’d be automatically in painful price not good for the health. the bag for the Monday you pay as a Responding to my wife’s night draw. But then concern for my welfare, that’s the painful price ‘supporter’ I remarked that I had you pay as a ‘supporter’. a ‘Cupset stomach’ but We’re not all customers or luckily, I don’t think she heard tourists, despite what Rupert correctly.

Murdoch or Richard Scudamore On stage, the talented young might wish for. If my local branch of actor investigating the murder of HSBC charged me 40 quid just to a neighbourhood dog deserved watch them in action, I’d withdraw better and so did Mrs Orfy, but I my funds and walk away. And if was shamefully showing the same they lost 4-1 in a grudge match at level of commitment as a someone arch-rivals Barclays, I wouldn’t give trying to challenge that Josh a flying one. Just keep my cash bloody King felar. Where has he safe fellers - my loyalty investment been hiding?! is saved for my football club.

I have actually developed a You would have to feel gloomier normally reliable system for dealing than Paul Lambert looks, to label it with defeat: early acceptance of the ‘season over’, but a horrible sense

what becomes of the

broken hearted?

6

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

one option to numb the pain.

After standing barefoot on a plug once, I successfully diverted my brain’s attention from that hurt, by punching myself five times in the face. So here goes with the only five matches I can remember (having swerved the 0-7 Birmingham trauma) to cause that lasting dull ache: 1992/93 0-1 vs. Port Vale: Autoglass Trophy, Southern semi final I could have opted for the night Dave Regis was puddled in Burslem or the 12-seconds fiasco, or when The ‘Dodgers frolicked about in the snow after a winner from the chunky Bogie man. But this one topped both.

We battered eventual-winners Vale at the Vic and for once, Steino missed a hatful of chances to put

that lot out of sight. It wasn’t to be and John Rudge’s men secured the crudest smash and grab in the history of association football. The only thing more testing than hairy loon Robin Van der Laan’s winner was the sight of delirious folk in the away end sharing silhouettes of single hand gestures (involving 2% of their finger allowance?), as we trudged past the gap between the Stoke End and Boothen Stand.

School the next day was hell.

Naturally and somewhat frustratingly, our special number 9 grabbed a brace to get our league title back on track with a demolition of Chester just three days later.

1995/96 0-1 vs. Leicester City: First division Playoffs, semi-final second leg Lou Macari had somehow turned a makeshift squad into unlikely candidates for promotion to the Premier League. After the scoreless first-leg at Filbert Street and that flaming Graham Potter miss, neutrals fancied us in the return at fortress Victoria but any seasoned Stokie was sceptical, fearing our chance had already gone.

We froze on the night and Martin O’Neill’s men prospered. If I close my eyes and look past his considerable nose, I can still see that classy Garry Parker volley in front of his followers and the crushing impact it had on those around me. Horrible.

2000/01 2-4 vs. Walsall: Second Division Play-offs, semi-final second leg The previous campaign’s loss at the same stage against Gillingham had been tough to take but we had avenues for our anger then: an abysmal referee, after a gallant 9-man display and the thought that Gudjon had got us so close at his first attempt, the next year would definitely be ‘the one.’

Twelve months later though, the honeymoon was over and the pill was bitter. Unfathomable team selection and tactics saw us collapse after an early Kav beauty only teased us. Bloody Walsall.

2007/08 1-2 vs. Crystal Palace: The Championship After this one in early April I was 100% convinced Pulis and co had blown promotion to the Prem and I remember waking up early for work the next morning feeling like any reason for living had long since vanished. But that’s the crazy allure of that division - you can lose, lose and lose again but still bounce back to secure an escape route.

That night though, Palace ran us ragged before a spirited late flurry and Neil ‘I love me, me’ Warnock’s gloating grin was the last image in my head as I settled down for one, long nightmare. No matter, it was to be THAT game at Coventry five days later.

2012/13 1-3 vs. Aston Villa: The Premier League Our form had been poor since sliding rapidly down the Boxing Day peak when Jon Walters showed Gerrard and Carragher what a real Scouser is made of.

The Pulis debate was in full swing but most still believed - until this one. Will that young Villa lad at full-back ever score another volley like that?

The in-fighting reached uncomfortable levels in the days after before we ground out enough points to survive. The only day in the last 6 or 7 years that we looked genuinely doomed.

Apart from one particular day, as yet unmentioned, it has never felt worse than that lot. We all know that you can only appreciate the highs if you understand the despair of rock bottom and this passage ensures we earn those supporting stripes.

And one band did warn us all in 1985 about the choice we’ve made: “Welcome to your life... there’s no turning back.” How right they were – those tears and fears are as much a part of this ride, as our hopes and cheers. And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Apart from that day in the final, nearly four years ago. I still can’t bring myself to acccept that one.

ORFY New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

7

“I’m not paying £25 for a crocodile.” My mum, circa 1982.

I’ve been crestfallen many times in my life, its part of the terms and conditions of going to the match, but without the low points the highs are not appreciated as much.

In 1982 though, it was as much about clothes as it was the match and both my age and my mum were conspiring against me.

I was ten and the terrace clothing transformation was in full swing.

Having older sisters meant that I got to know some of the senior lads in their year who all wore the latest clobber. It made me feel reasonably cool but increased the frustration at not being able to afford what they had. My mum wasn’t prepared to see the potential benefits in plying her son with the clothes the other kids had.

Lacoste was the first unrequited love of my life.

Anybody can get their hands on anything these days (and cheaply), meaning it’s taken for granted. At that time though, it was anything but.

Bunny speaks to star of stage and screen, and big Stokie, NICK HANCOCK

The look, initially, was about being values and principles were right of different and staying one step ahead. course, and they’ve stood me in That summer, I remember my sisters good stead ever since. You have having a row in our living room whilst to earn things in life and, with three watching McEnroe at Wimbledon. kids, justifying that outlay for me The key item of debate was whether would have been impossible and it was ‘Sergio Tacchini’ or just financially reckless. I now respect her ‘Tacchini.’ Utterly ridiculous, but it Lyle & Scott v-neck jumper rebuttal highlighted the importance of being (#L&SVNJR) because in footballing accurate with the detail and the hold parlance she demanded both the it had on people. style and the result which is only Steve Archibald, purportedly, to be admired. once described the pain (in Unfortunately, as I got Lacoste defeat) of being so close was the first to an age where those to the European Cup as labels were within reach, unrequited he walked past it, and it was over. Something love of not being able to touch it. that started in 77-78 That was how I felt with the had peaked, become my life clothing scene and explains mainstream, and then turned why I nearly exploded with many lads off as a result. joy once, when my mum said a lad Timing is everything and mine was across the road didn’t want his beige, flawed (although it wasn’t in my v-neck, Lyle & Scott jumper any control). more. It was a bit tatty, so she said I Ultimately, I would have to wait my could have it, but I wasn’t allowed to turn and technically I’ve more than wear it to the school disco! made up for it, particularly as a lot I’d just raised Archibald’s of the gear has been re-issued over devastation to a new level. the last ten years. But it still feels There I was, both like the football equivalent of seeing metaphorically and your team win something in 2015, as literally, stood on the opposed to the 1980’s. These days edge of the dance it’s all Jim White and replays/analysis floor. to death. In the 80’s football was still My mum’s ours, Des was doing Grandstand, ‘that’ vidiprinter was churning out results and Match of the day showed one or two games maximum – less being so much more.

Later in the 80’s, the football roundup was delivered with “the way it is,” (by Bruce Hornsby & The Range), as the backdrop. As the music faded out, the headlines would be read before the music came back in. I day-dreamed often that one day Hornsby would be the musical feature of a league title for us, but judging by some of the players we had, we probably should have signed him instead.

If I could have married that trophy with Bruce, Des, the vidiprinter, whilst being top to toe in Tacchini, Fila, Lacoste, Adidas, and with the much-older woman I secretly fancied, I’d have told the world to stop, because it was never going to get any better.

Duts

Once in a lifetime

8

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

9

@HuthFacts Robert Huth once killed a bird by throwing it off a cliff.

Robert Huth can slam a revolving door When learning CPR, Robert Huth actually brought the practice dummy to life The full quote by President Roosevelt was “we have nothing to fear but fear itself, and Robert Huth” Robert Huth doesn’t get lost, everything around him is in the wrong place.

Robert Huth doesn’t need a torch. The darkness just gets out of his way.

Robert Huth pours the milk first, then he pours the cereal. Then he places the bowl.

Robert Huth narrates Morgan Freeman’s life.

Robert Huth once sold eBay to eBay on eBay Robert Huth once won the Tour De France... In Spain.

Kings sleep in Robert Huth size beds When Robert Huth plays Dodgeball, the balls dodge him Lions consider Robert Huth to be the king of the jungle Robert Huth can make a slinky go upstairs

Stoke train station To call it small and unassuming would probably be doing a disservice to small and unassuming train stations, but like everything in this city, it’s ours. And cue the hilarious Miranda/Corden-like BANTER of “at least it gets you away from Stoke, eh?”

Guffaw.

There’s always something special about an away game on the train. Meeting mates, cans on the go, one of them has hopefully brought some oatcakes; another mate a pack of cards; another a few newspapers. And there’s always one who has either not brought any dosh or their ticket with them, isn’t there?

Platform 1 also has a special place for me as that’s where I took my eldest lad George (then aged 7) to see off the team as they headed off to the FA Cup Final on Thursday 12th May at 6.30pm.

I’d had a tip off that this was when they were departing for their base in Harpenden and it was to be a bit hush-hush. There were only about another dozen folk there (plus a TV crew from Staffs Uni) and we literally had open season of getting stuff signed and pics. So my FA Cup semi final programme was signed by the entire squad, resplendent in their new blue Adidas tracksuits.

The players were all sound, my lad was beaming, and we got to see the team of before our first ever FA Cup Final.

And we made it home for tea and told my mummy all about it etc, etc…..

Market Square Arcade, Hanley Where TK Maxx now resides.

Lamb Street.

Up the steps/escalator you’d go and you’d have the likes of Trilby, Palladium and that comic shop at the end (which always had a few football fanzines in).

Nowt salubrious, but full of decent independent shops,

1O

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

The Scouse manager was a good lad

4midable Some things that I like(d) just as city centres should be.

My stock winter warmers Pair of jeans; pair of Desert Trek Clark’s Originals (warmer and more grown up than trainers for a man of my age); M&S check shirt; and a plain, crew neck sweater (really like the Bruun and Stengade I got from TK Maxx for £15). Oh, and my bloody awful facial hair.

ZZ Top and even that Mumford lot – who, let’s face it, have nowt to laugh about - would be arfing their woolly heads off. But it keeps me warm when selling the mag in Winter, it saves me time, and once past the itchy period it’s alright, comfort-wise.

So, up yours.

Gios In the main street in ‘Castle, next to Laura Ashley. Always thought it was the best bar that the town had ever had.

It had an ‘x’ over the i in the name, and was a superbly laidout bar that was simply perfect for an after-11pm beer as it also had a food section at the back which had booths up above.

Cracking burgers and ‘tater skins to soak up the late beers, and a really cracking bunch who went in there too.

The Scouse manager (Tim?) was a good lad and to avoid the inevitable 10.45pm queue, simply say that you wanted food.

Straight in.

New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

11

Every now and then the old ‘who would you support if Stoke went bump?’ question rears its head on message boards and in the old drinkeries (if it is not a word, it should be) of our fine city.

It is usually one of those that I just dismiss as tittle tattle and file in the ‘What would you do if you won the lottery… zzzzzz bore off file’. But sod it, I’m going to have a crack at it.

The Glory Hunting Option Or the ‘not an option, option’ as I call it. Supporting a football club for me is like a representation of your personality; your upbringing, loyalty, pride for your area, respect for your forefathers, and so if Stoke did slip into a sink hole, I would have an issue.

However, I would not, ever, think that a trip up the A34 every other week to watch Manchester United or Manchester City (they’re their names, use them, Sky) would fill that void. To sit amongst smarmy, quiet, expectant, selfie stick waving weapons would turn me to golf. And no one deserves that.

Odds 200/1

Millwall have Ric? God, no. TP’s WBA? Shudder.

For some reason you always see Stoke flags at Dundee United’s big games, and vice versa.

There were a load at the Brentford Play Off final in 2002. That would be fun. 4 or 5 times a year, up to Tannadice to watch The Terrors a few wee drams, night out in Dundee, but that wouldn’t fill the weekly void, and my betting is that Dundee is even harder to get to from Silverdale than the Brit is. Just.

Odds 40/1 The Other Local teams option In the early 90s I went to a school that was about 50 yards from Vale Park. I was the only Stokie in the School. This was before Murdoch invented football, so everyone else supported The Vale. I learnt to stick up for myself and defend my club. However, I subsequently played for the Vale Youth set up, and my Father in Law played for the Vale for years, so, maybe, just maybe, I could.

Crewe would bore me I’m afraid, and I have no affinity to that place.

I was born in Macc and sometimes venture back to watch a game.

Besides, they still hold the chant of the naughties for me, I was in the Moss Lane Stand in 2003, Sammy Mcllroy had returned to the club with Stockport. He walked out to a chorus of “Oh Sammy, Sammy Mac, when are you coming back? Oh Sammy, Oh Sammy, Oh Sammy Mac, please will you hurry back”. Kudos Macc, Kudos.

Odds 12/1

Where would

YOU

go to

The Non-League Option A good call and a refreshing change following a good number of years munching on the forbidden Apple and prancing around the Premier League’s Garden of Eden.

Who would we go to? Newcastle Town would be my closest club, well Silverdale Athletic are about 9 yards from my back garden.

But even the likes of Leek Town, Stafford Rangers and Nantwich Set up AFC Stoke Town often seem to be constantly fighting uphill Now we’re talking. Isn’t there just something so raw battles for no reward. and real about AFC Wimbledon? Sticking two fingers Maybe that is romantic for some, but for me, I would up to nu-football, calling their own shots, back in the miss that chance, albeit small, of some real glory. league. It would be hard work, mind. And I personally They will never realistically make the football league, have no money. and if they did, it wouldn’t be that thrilling after the Where would be play? We could ground share first few introductions by Manish on TFLS. You could with Longton Rugby Club and invite Arsene And you could end up like that Wealdstone Wenger’s mardarses for an exhibition match Raider bloke. end up to kick things off. Would Wilko be player That said, a few beers pitch side, blood like that manager? Could we go back to a proper old and thunder, real community and local Wealdstone school badge? pride, probably knowing or having played against half the players, I could fancy that Raider bloke We would have to enter the Midlands Regional Alliance Division 2 with huge games for a bit. against Pastures Reserves and Woolley Moor Odds 14/1 United Reserves. Ace! Odds 4/6 The Stoke-Link Option I remember back in 1996 when we sold Vinny The verdict: Valencia. I’d support Valencia. How Overson and Nigel Gleghorn to Burnley, there was good was Valencia?! a family who stood (yes kids, stood) by us on the Boothen Paddock who just started supporting Ant Sutcliffe Burnley. Bizarre move. Anyway, we could do that.

my lovely?

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With giddy competition winners and groupies in-tow, the Duck team spent the evening at the HQ of a local gem Street pavements; the Black Sheep It was like March, 1993 all over beer came about fittingly after a again. A stylish bunch of Stokies, family dispute and that the Boots heading down Moorland Road. store in Hanley was once the most From Smallthorne, towards deepest proportionately profitable store in the enemy territory they would stride, country. except this time, they’d be taking Stoke ladies papering over the a sharp left, without a V-shaped cracks or Stoke blokes struggling floodlight in sight, before familiarising with personal hygiene? Crucially, themselves with the home of the I also discovered that my nearest Titanic Brewery.

Titanic boozer (and the newest - in I wasn’t convinced at first. A beerCongleton) was said to do the best tasting session sure, but... on a work food. Visit booked for a post-Hull night... at a location meaning no session. affordable taxi or generous lift A Our guide looked for yours truly? Nah, I’ll stick with the gloom of Tuesday beer-tasting remarkably like Saul from Channel 4’s ‘Homeland’ night and the predictability session (again – get a grip and of the Silent Witness on a work watch it but skip the second act, thanks. final series) and carried a But not for the first time, night?! similarly calming authority. I peer pressure won the day. just hope we were a pleasure It turns out there is an to teach. impressive science behind brewing Intros over, the business end of decent beer and that certain wellthe evening was soon reached and known American and English Lagers the lovely Sam Warrilow, hosting are full of what people in the business the evening equally as lovely and literally term ‘crap.’ enthusiastic. That part of the bar The retired gentleman leading that was missing when Del Boy the tour displayed an infectious tumbled over was caked in a Port enthusiasm for the industry and vale badge and on a match-day, clearly knew his stuff. Behind the the boys from the Bycars often nip cosy bar at front-of-house, the scale in for a pre-match sup. It’s not easy of barrels, pipes, cylinders, tubes, finding a reason to be jealous of machinery, levers and switches was our neighbours and our own White all very ‘Breaking Bad.’ If you haven’t Star pub in Stoke is ace, but a local seen this outstanding box-set, brewery lounge within ten minutes get with it. It will change your life... walk of kick-off? Pretty good option, particularly the way you view Science that. teachers and large recreational We were honoured to taste a range vehicles. of anonymous third-of-a-pint-beers, There is a risk present for beer lovers. I’m no expert but I do love a golden ale of an evening, so perhaps stealing a glimpse behind the scenes into the inner-workings of a favoured treat might be a little unromantic.

However, Mr Heisenberg of Burslem (oh, just watch the damn show already) kept his thirsty audience hanging on his every word and revelled in his role as ‘master of the house.’ And his expertise did not stop with those fine liquids. His passion for our city was quite something.

As was his knowledge. We learned that: Stoke-on-Trent actually consists of 89 villages, as opposed to those noted six towns; there are tram lines underneath Hanley’s Trinity

judge each in five different categories and contribute to the naming process for new iconic Stoke-on-Trent ale – the ‘Sir Stan?’ ‘The Golden One?’ ‘The bloody A500?’ All will soon be revealed. Anything but the ‘Tunstall Robbie’ will do.

A beer similar to the Iceberg pint I’ve enjoyed in Leek’s ‘Roebuck’ and Stone’s ‘The Royal Exchange’ came out on top and Edward J. Smith, captain of the famous liner and renowned owner of an unjust legacy, should rest in peace at the pleasure it gives.

We spent the next two hours sipping, ticking and licking our lips in amongst much talk about our beloved but oft-degraded city.

Despite the cursing, the doom and the six towns vs city centre debates, there are shoots of hope for the future.

Certainly, appreciating such hidden local delights as we did that night should be something we do with more interest.

By the time you read this, the paparazzi-stalked Duchess of Cambridge, Kate Middleton will have visited the Emma Bridgwater pottery site in Hanley. I just hope she took time to take some ale back to hubby to wash the inevitable oatcakes n’ cheese treat down with a locallybrewed swift ale.

I would recommend Kate that secret choice number 3 - a light and gentle taste to toast the impending baby Bojan (surely a given name, in light of his mid-season form)?

ORFY

Breaking Bad (in Burslem)

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In a northern town, in a well tendered northern garden is a greenhouse.

In the greenhouse sits a fifty-something northern bloke, elbow deep in compost and grow bags. His medium wave radio blares out the ramblings of a burnt-out ex-football pro, in chorus with a local commentator with nasal tones building up to the big game. As he works, he whistles a happy tune, warbling the old terrace chants he sang years ago.

He’s disturbed by his son, opening the fragile glass door with a clatter. The old fella winces.

“Dad, I’ve got a ticket for the match. You want it?”

“No thanks son, I’m just going to potter around the garden” Back in the late 1990s, the above scenario was replayed regularly across the months of August and May. I’m sure he won’t mind me saying so, but my Dad is a bloke with simple desires. A retired welder, he likes a pint, likes the Stones and Motown, drinks tea by the gallon, loves gravy dinners, he’s a creature of habit. Typical of blokes his age, he is comforted by routine with regular week nights assigned for bowls, visits to the social club and fish and chips. It’s a routine he dare not change for fear that the world may stop turning should he fail to eat cod on a Friday night.

To him, a newspaper is read back to front: football is a passion of similar worth to his greenhouse and prize tomatoes. He’s a true football fan, supporters of his local club threading back generations of his kin through thick and thin.

Largely thin, but the odd bit of thick. His mind is an almanac of information and tales, footballing greats he has witnessed over the years and anecdotes from away games in the sixties and seventies.

So in the mid-nineties when the club he’d supported since being a boy were flying high in

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Reading

newspapers from the back We have any number of lads and lasses from the other Newcastle who buy or write for this mag.

Here’s another welcome, superb addition….

the Premier League, he’d jump at the chance to watch a game with his only son in a 50,000 capacity stadium. The son he took to his first game back in 1986. Wouldn’t he?

No; he’d rather “Potter around the garden”.

Back then, my match day would often start on the train with my mates exchanging amusing tales of the plight of our elders. Our fathers, this band of ageing brothers with football branded upon their soul, had each turned down the opportunity to watch top level football to be dragged to Marks and Spencer’s by their wives.

Or maybe they would labour and pot rhododendrons, wash the car or creosote the fence.

They didn’t know what they were missing.

I look back on this time with great pleasure. My friends and I travelled the UK, we travelled Europe, we drank, we sang, we laughed and we laughed and

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we laughed a hell of a lot more.

Back then our mediocre wages and student loans subsidised our trips away and overpriced season tickets. The cost of football was time, and we had more time than anything else.

Fast forward twenty years, and there has been incomprehensible change in football. We’re no longer able to stand, we’ve witnessed the first full eleven, non-English football team to play in the Premier League. Diving is no longer a trait of ‘cheats from abroad’ but the norm. Sky TV provide us with hundreds of camera angles allowing us to analyse if there was ‘minimal contact’ resulting in a swan dive from a remonstrating centre forward.

Fancy illuminated boards parade the numbers of subs and time added on.

Football has changed dramatically, but in my eyes, not for the better.

It’s 2015. Now I’m the father

with two lads under 7. Although I don’t have the greenhouse, I have a carefully manicured lawn and a decent sized shed with paint pots arranged in size order and brushes sitting in white spirit. The worm has turned. I am my father’s son.

My boys have inherited the football bug showing the same passion I did at their age.

Football magazines, Panini stickers and replica shirts fill their bedrooms. They regularly update me with the movements of international mega stars I’ve never heard of.

Come Saturday afternoon, its match day. We wrap up warm, we discuss the game ahead.

The tension simmers. We jump in the car, ignoring the turn off to the internationally recognised football stadium our Premier League team calls home.

We head to a stadium that holds a few thousand fans to watch non-league football.

Joe at the gates nods his

the region. The huge expense, heads and asks how the lads the cheating and diving, the are. The committee line the dishonesty and the hollow side-lines, cracking jokes with corporations who have claimed my boys. The cabin has two bags of pic-and-mix at the ready or eroded all the hereditary rights to our game.

(50p a bag) and we walk around For me, in a deal to broadcast the pitch to chat with my best games forevermore, the price mate, the assistant manager. was tradition, soul, and most A tour of the ground takes 30 importantly, feeling. minutes as fans exchange We fans, we hold shares in pleasantries, complain about our club. Worthless paperless top flight football and comment shares perhaps, but they’re on the state of the pitch or the shares in our hearts and minds weather. that we cannot sell or barter or Last week the lads picked up destroy. They will always be with a pound each in pocket money us. We still read the back page from a lad I know in the pub first, the radio will always be on, upon finding out my eldest had but my desire to line the pockets scored a hat trick in his game of others is waning. earlier that day.

My football team is Newcastle The half time whistle blows United, my non-league team and the kids are on the pitch, is North Shields. The former is scoring goals in front of the my wife, the latter my mistress. fans whilst the subs warm up.

Currently I prefer to spend my A CrackerJack local who’s old time with my fancy woman. enough to know better runs She’s rough around the edges, on to the pitch to supply the corners. The players play honest but she makes me feel alive.

As for the wife, I’m happy she’s football, we know the players, around. we associate with them, we Newcastle: A team content show our appreciation for the show they put on each week. By with top 10 finishes to preserve profitability, a lack of interest 5pm we are back in the car. The in cups that would jeopardise result is largely forgotten. My league form. We’re an wallet is £8 lighter. advertising vehicle for a retail The kids got in for free but ate business that I cannot bring their body weight in Haribo. myself to mention. But anyway, This is football. that’s another story.

My boyhood team are still Until I see major changes in England’s top tier but the in my club or the Premier Premier League has ripped League, I won’t be a from me almost every regular. You’ll catch me ounce of interest I have My boys at the odd game for in professional football.

Despite my pessimistic have inherited the sake of my boys, but you’re more likely sentiments, I have the football find me watching nontaken the lads to a few bug league football.

Premier League games.

So, Dad……

I see their excitement on Back in the 90’s, I match days, they can see understand why you wouldn’t my sheer horror as I travel home come along. I, too, have having spent £80. reached my football mid-life So back to the old fella in his crisis. Apologies for ever greenhouse. doubting you and for mocking Dad, I can see now the you whilst on the train with my reasons you’d lost interest in mates. attending games. The soulless I’m sorry. all-seater stadiums, the Now where’s that lawn feed I unrecognisable players who bought… begrudge the shirt and have DAVID McAVELIA no association with the fans or New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

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Who knew being a fan of Stoke City FC over in the United States would be the best decision of my life?

But let’s first go back to how my passion for a small football club over in England came about…..

Growing up in a small town of around 900 people in the United States, most children play soccer.

(Yes, I know it should be called football, but you will have to excuse my American vocabulary.) However once a kid becomes around 11-12 years old, the soccer playing days become non-existent. American football, basketball, and baseball begin to be the main sports. Soccer became non-existent to me for around 10 years of my life.

I went to college at Texas A&M University. While I was there, most of my friends were all

fans of this thing called the Premier League. My curiosity kicked in. I wanted to be a fan too.

Most Americans are fans of the larger clubs. Manchester United, Chelsea, Liverpool, so on and so on.

I couldn’t stand for that. That seemed too easy and too boring to be a fan of one of those clubs. So I began to do some research.

It was the summer of 2008. This club named Stoke City FC had just been promoted.

“They have the best fans,” I read.

“Stoke City are the oldest club in the Premier League. They play a physical style of football that other clubs can’t stand.”

I was hooked. That’s it. I decided I was to be a Potter, and I haven’t looked back.

Every Saturday or Sunday morning, I wake up early I decided to watch my Stoke I was to be a City. I am Potter and I constantly haven’t looked reading threads back on “The Oatcake.” I went to both games last summer when the squad was over here in Texas for pre-season training.

I try and listen to the Knot FM Sunday Sports Show every week. I also own numerous articles of Stoke City clothing, which by the way is very hard to buy in America.

One such article of clothing was

Stars and red and white stripes

DISCLAIMER DUCK is not in any way, shape or form an official product of, or directly linked to, Stoke City FC. We are a totally independent publication and simply aim to provide a platform to those that want to write about our club and/ or our city. Rest assured, we also have no affiliation to any other magazine that may bear our name.

We have a deep, neverending love for our football club and our city and hope this shines through in the magazine. We have no agendas, and expect none against ourselves. The views and opinions expressed by our contributors are theirs alone and may not necessarily

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my red Stoke City toboggan, or beanie hat, if that’s what you‘d like to call it. I was out with my friends one Saturday night around a year ago. We were talking to some girls around the bar. One of them came up to me and pulled my toboggan off my head. She looked at it and said “what is this?” So, I had to explain my whole fan story. I was used to this. Not many people I come across know what Stoke City is.

She was intrigued. She might’ve been faking it, but I didn’t care. She was a beautiful girl and she was interested in my Stoke City. She then asked if she could wear the toboggan for the rest of the night.

After a couple of hours and a few drinks later, it was time to head our separate ways.

As we were saying our goodbyes, I said, “I’m going to need that toboggan back.” She said “Really? I kind of like it. Plus I think I look better in it than you do.”

It took a lot inside me to let some stranger walk away with my Stoke City toboggan. I told her she could hold on to it for now, but I’m going to need to get her phone number so I can get in touch with her and get my hat back one day. Great move by me, right? Not only was it a great move, it was the best thing I’ve done in my life.

We just celebrated our one year anniversary together. She is now a Stoke City fan and is also the love of my life. As the saying goes, “Everything in life happens for a reason.” Little did I know becoming a fan of a medium-sized football club half a world away would be the best decision of my life.

Cade Key

reflect the views of the magazine editorial team, but we fully support their right to air them, unless they are racist or libellous. Anyone who feels misrepresented has a full right of reply. We hope you support our advertisers as they have supported us, however DUCK accepts no responsibility for the services offered by our advertisers.

Basically, in brief, don’t be a mardarse, don’t nick our stuff or pretend you are us. Cheers.

COPYRIGHT Please do not use anything from this magazine without our permission first, please. Our spies are everywhere.

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For most kids going to their first football match is a winter thing......wrapping up warm, a scarf, a warm coat and hat, maybe even hot Bovril in a flask……this was the 1960’s after all!

For me that wasn’t the case at all.

You see, my first football game was on a warm Spring day in glorious sunshine. The penultimate game of the 1968-69 season, and a special birthday surprise for my sixth birthday.

Although that is now.....ahem.... some time ago, I can remember a surprising amount about that day.

Firstly, it was very much a surprise. I had shown no great inclination to like football. Indeed, the only previous game to this one that I can actually remember is the 1968 FA Cup Final……and me howling all the way through it because I wanted something more interesting on the TV like the Banana Splits....sorry, West Brom and Everton.

So it was a big surprise when my Uncle Arthur arrived with a spare ticket for the Potters versus Arsenal at the Victoria Ground and whisked me off for my birthday treat. My father was not a great football fan and I guess the garden was a greater attraction than an afternoon at the football.

And so off we went: me in my anorak and short trousers and Uncle Arthur in his pork pie hat.

Now Uncle Arthur wasn’t what might be termed talkative and this was probably the only time he ever took me out for an afternoon and so it was quite a quiet drive to the ground with me not really knowing what to expect. And when I looked back on that

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game in later years I wondered bare in the goalmouths and why we were watching the game extremely hard. Banks in goal for from where we were. No standing us, even I had heard of him, and in the noise and hurly burly Bob Wilson in goal for Arsenal. In of the Boothen End, perhaps fact it was a pretty good Arsenal understandably with a six year team. Looking back they had six old in tow. But nor were we in of the double winning team the Butler Street Paddock of two years later. Wilson, where I would spend Uncle Arthur McNab, Storey, Graham many latter Saturday Armstrong all played arrived with a and afternoons listening to that day: And who did spare ticket the sly comments given we have......Banks to opposition players as of course, and Willie for the they prepared to take a Stevenson!

Potters corner in front of us.

Willie was a Scottish, No, we were in the City ex- Liverpool, centre half who End…….Now, for those who played a couple of seasons for may only remember the Victoria us. But that afternoon he would Ground in its later years, you always be the guy who scored may remember the City End as a an own goal. To be honest I can perfectly ordinary covered football remember nothing about that stand , normally housing the goal or any of the other three scored but I do know that Willie Stevenson scored in the wrong end. And that when I got home that evening and my mother asked me if I had enjoyed myself and how the game had been, the first thing I said was “ Willie Stevenson is rubbish, he scored an own goal...”

And to this day, that’s how I remember him, as the guy who scored an own goal.

We lost by the way, did I opposition supporters. However mention that? Three-one to the that stand was built in the lateArsenal. Armstrong, Court and 70’s sometime. In 1968 it was an own goal (guess who?) for the completely open, and still housed Gunners, a solitary reply from the opposition supporters. To my Harry Burrows for us. Afterwards knowledge Uncle Arthur was not it was a pretty sombre walk a Gooner, and back to the car with the taciturn it was the one Uncle Arthur. One point from the and only time last three games of the season in hundreds starting with that defeat to Arsenal of visits to the meant that we only avoided Victoria Ground relegation by three points that that I was ever year. in that end. To But the sun had shone all this day I know afternoon and despite being not why! beaten, despite Willie Stevenson, And so to the despite the curious place to watch game. Arsenal the game, despite the end of in their yellow season atmosphere, a seed had shirts and blue been sown. shorts away Within a few years I would be a kit. The pitch, season ticket holder and life-long as this was Potters fan, all thanks to Uncle the end of Arthur…….and Willie Stevenson. the season, looking very IAN CORBISHLEY

Mar first tarm

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After our well-deserved win over Wet Spam in the quarters and the elation felt over an impending visit to the new Wembley, my world suddenly came crashing down in front of me!

The date only fell right slap, bang in the middle of the annual School Ski Trip to Bormio in Italy that I had organised.

to the name of ‘Proud to be a Potter’ CLIVE BICKLEY I remember the quarter final against West Ham like it was yesterday. I had never felt such overwhelming, sickening nerves in my life as I

t a u o y We saw

y e l b Wem time! f l a h t a you left 17th April 2011/5-0/Wembley/one day like this….

However, I purchased tickets for the game for my daughters Lauren and Kate.

I was a nervous wreck all day on the piste (no bones broken though!) but the feeling I had when my daughters rang me from Wembley, with a chorus of ‘Delilah’ in the background, screaming we had won 5-0 will never ever fade. Just to hear their voices full of emotion raised the hairs on the back of my neck and made up for not being there, but I was in all reality because they were there living the dream for me.

After nearly 50 years of supporting The Mighty Potters that phone call will never be forgotten. My girls had been to Wembley and seen us win and although we were all there for the loss in the final, Stoke City had been to an FA Cup Final something I thought I would never experience.

Come to think of it my girls have been on a bit of a rollercoaster of emotions with The Potters having seen them in Division 1, the play-off in Cardiff, The Championship, and now The Premiership, followed by Europe.

Heady days, with more to come hopefully, and certainly living up

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watched the clock tick towards the 90th minute. Then, with the final whistle my nerves dissolved into disbelief and pure joy. We were going to Wembley.

The semi final was unquestionably the best day of my life. Not only because of the match but also the fact that I, a mere juvenile, proved to be a prophet. Just before kickoff all the fans were predicting the result. I was going to follow the trend with a close 1-1 or a tight 2-1. But no, In front of 6 or 7 witnesses I naively said “I reckon we’ll beat ‘em 5-0”.

My hair was ruffled and I was on the receiving end of a few giggles. However, once the goals flew in fans all around were turning staring at me in amazement. Then when Jonny Walters’ second and Stoke’s fifth went in I was mobbed and hugged by all of the fans who were lucky enough to hear my prophecy.

An unbelievable event to cap off an unbelievable day.

LUKE SMITH Just 5 words from me - I laughed my ***s off!

MARTIN TARBUCK (Wigan fan)

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My dad, grandad and I had been season ticket holders for some time now and we hadn’t missed a home game for all that time. But we had a holiday booked for the half term - about a year in advance -so we’d not contemplated in our wildest dreams. Our beloved club making it to the semis and obliterate the opponent we faced, let alone make the final!

So with that in mind, my dad and I went to the pub, full of us Stokies.

Matty’s goal went in, the roof went off, then Huthy hit that screamer, and I just lost it, beer flew across the bar, my arm was punching the air, and the landlord was watching all of this, and I got EVERYONE chucked out the pub!

Needless to say my dad didn’t talk to me for about a week afterwards but we managed to somehow get Radio Stoke down there and hear the other goals

hostelry, then two pints later, completing the trip and making our way along that famous Wembley Way with thousands of Croydon! Not the best place fellow Stokie’s, savouring every to celebrate on that night. All moment.

I wanted was to re-live it all, Meeting our mates outside take on board exactly what I the turnstiles, posing for photos had witnessed: that we were under the statues with that coming back to Wembley and mixed feeling of optimism, answering the biggest fear and revelry that question that had This was has been missing formulated in my mind since I walked away meant to be, for so many years in from Wembley, - would meant to be supporting the Potters.

For me, that feeling it ever get better? enjoyed last enjoyed (or endured) The day had started back in 72’ was just that, as I had hoped: I there to be enjoyed not travelled down with a feared. Back then as a teenager, mate, straight to the hotel and the feeling was one of pure fear. then walked to meet a fellow We just had to win, nothing else mate and Stokie, who worked would be acceptable. At Old and lived in London in the week Trafford, I shook so much my and who was staying over for old man was seriously worried the match. (How else does one for me. choose Croydon for the after the So history was awaiting us. match celebrations?)

Nothing could go wrong?

Then a nice leisurely trip to This was meant to be, Wembley stopping at a riverside go in. Such a bittersweet day!

DAN STRONG

meant to be enjoyed.

So in we went, more drinks were imbibed, more slaps on the back, bets laid (who was to know, eh?) seats found and up to kick off, I did enjoy it, every moment. From that moment?

Fear returned. The stomach was pitching, then we scored, 1-0 for us! Sink in we’ve scored, sink in and ease my worries.

But no time to – why? Because we scored again! 2-0! 2-0 to Stoke! To us! Blessed saints, I will, I promise, turn to religion, just let it stay this way, but with 3/4 of the game left? Could we survive?

Then Kenwyne made it three.

Half time arrived. 3-0 dreamland!

All I recall about half time was the length of the queue for the gents. Nothing more, just the queue. And of course crossed legs!

So we must win now, surely I could relax enjoy the rest of the match! Not a bit of it!

Bolton are bound to improve, oh the headlines! “3-0 up and still lost”. That was when one John Walters became a legend to me forever. Not only did he score a fourth, but he scored at my end! I saw it, clearly, I knew he would score, I saw it coming.

I floated through the rest of the game, SJW’s second goal finally stopped the nagging doubt in my stomach that even the fourth could not expel.

We were clear and in the final: we sung songs, hugs were exchanged, with smiles impossible to clear.

I do remember the meal in Croydon, but have no idea how we got there and can clearly remember willing other Stokies to join us. They didn’t: why should they? Stoke was four hours in the opposite direction and at that moment in time, I too wanted to be there: In the White Star, floating, drinking, sharing what turned out to be exactly as I thought it might!

STEVE ROULSTONE It didn’t happen…..

Stoke City supporters did not

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short 6 minutes later as a poor outnumber Bolton Wanderers Cahill header fell on the volley to fans by nearly 2-1 to render Robert Huth who faded it away Wembley a seething, heaving from Jaaskelainen’s despairing, molten mass of red and white. slightly feeble dive and into the Robert Huth did not throttle very same bottom right hand Kevin Davies in the penalty area corner of the net with one swing in the first 5 minutes and get of his mighty right foot. away with it.

I did not then grasp every Paul Robinson did not single man around me and emphatically confirm kiss all of them in an orgy his position as one of I did not of delight despite the the least talented grasp and fact I’d never met any of footballers ever to have them before, apart from a professional career kiss every my 14 year old son. by casually passing single man Who did not then look the ball infield to Matty around me at me and go ‘you’re Etherington 22 yards out such a loser dad’ with the on 11 minutes. biggest grin I’ve ever seen on And Matty didn’t meet it his face. so unbelievably sweetly he left Nor, on 29 minutes, did one of the best keepers the Jermaine Pennant nick the Premiership has seen grasping ball off Martin Petrov, who at thin air as he buried it in the promptly gave up the chase bottom right hand corner of the in a microcosm of Bolton’s net. afternoon, allowing Pennant to 36,000 Stoke City fans did not run half the length of the field then give a rendition of ‘Delilah’ unchallenged to slip the ball that must have been heard in to Jones who finished with, as South London, only to have it cut they say, aplomb. In no way whatsoever did we all then go absolutely completely and utterly disbelievingly mental at finding ourselves 3-0 up after half an hour in an FA cup Semi-Final.

I can categorically state that Stoke City didn’t come out for the second half and continue in the same vein so that we never for a single minute looked like conceding a chance let alone a goal.

And there’s not a shred of truth in the rumour that Jon Walters harried and chased and hunted the ball down across every blade of Wembley turf before nicking it in his own half and surging past 3 Bolton players before bending an inch perfect 20 yarder into the seemingly magnetic bottom right hand corner of the net.

It would also be ludicrous to suggest that we should have had at least a couple more before Walters finally made it 5-0 after Wilko hilariously fell over his own feet and accidentally diverted the ball into his path.

Finally, anyone who says we

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leisurely drive down from the Scottish Highlands. Although I’d become a bit of an armchair supporter since moving to Scotland 3 years before, nuclear war wasn’t going to stop me missing the semi-final. I was desperate to avenge the likes of Telford, Bath (nearly), and Nuneaton.

An eventful coach trip from The Queens in Talke, and a base camp on the retail park opposite Wembley were full of laughs.

Countless times we would bump into someone from school or we hadn’t seen in years; it was a proper gathering of the red and white clans. Yet nobody could have predicted that result.

Sublime, all 90 minutes worth.

The Delilah at the end alone will stay with me.

It was the return to Stoke later that evening when things ramped up. The atmosphere in the town was something exceptional. I had originally planned to get the wife to pick me up, but after securing an celebrated long and loud and emergency late pass, the night lustily long after the final whistle went on and on. Pubs were had gone both inside and packed, everywhere was rocking outside the stadium and all the and we were hopefully going to way onto the M40 is a downright be doing it again. liar.

The following morning, rough None of this, not a single, as a badger, I stopped off at solitary word of it, actually Asda Wolstanton on the way happened. home. I picked up a copy of The Because believe me, after 40 Sentinel and started to blart! long years watching Stoke City, The emotion of the previous day, I know that nothing like this coupled with a monstrous ever, ever, ever happens hangover, was too much. to us.

I picked up We were in the FA Cup JIM THORNTON We’ll be with a copy of The Final! you…

Sentinel and @beechy34 My dad always said “you’ve never known INVERGORDON started to proper disappointment POTTERS blart supporting Stoke until you have been 2-0 up at Just before our FA Cup half time in an FA Cup semi final run started, for some reason and gone on to draw 2-2 and I’d started to let my hair grow, lose in the reply”. At half time we something I’d not done since I were 3-0 up, and I was thinking was around 4 years old and had surely not! blonde curls and looked like MICHAEL BELL Shirley Temple. I was about three months into the experiment as April 17th 2011…. which began through laziness The pilgrimage to Wembley rather than a desire to make any started the day before, with a particular sartorial statement.

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I made an off the cuff comment after the third round win that I’d let it grow until we got knocked out, figuring it’d be gone by the end of February at the latest. The weeks and rounds went by and our run in the cup got deeper, the afro was the cause of all this. Forget Sorensen’s penalty save against Wolves or Higgy’s free kick against West Ham, and never mind Delilah - this was Stoke-on-Trent’s answer to Sansom.

Despite protestations from my wife that it would have to come off for our wedding photos I defied these demands, afraid that the run would come to a disastrous end. I have to say I looked rather smart in my suit, shirt and tie with my lustrous locks. I’d gone from sticking my head under the basin tap of a morning, to pinching her shampoo, conditioner and frizz ease. Anything to keep the curls in shape, and Stoke on form.

To the semi-final against Bolton then, a truly bizarre but majestic experience, a proper two fingered salute to all the self-proclaimed experts. The power of the perm reached its zenith that day. My old man and I were sat on the third or fourth row behind our goal with Cockney Ted and his followers dubbing me ‘Mcllroy’ and delighting in ribbing me about my questionable hair ‘style’.

To the final then. By this point it was getting a little ridiculous (well a lot ridiculous), and

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was a pain in the arse as the temperature warmed up. But by this point there was no way it was coming off. The only thing I can really remember about the final is seeing Kenwyne through on goal and screwing up our best chance to win it. I’ll replay that moment over and over every time I sit in the barber’s chair and watch my locks fall in front of me.

IAN CRANSON’S KNEES Wembley... Bolton... April 17th 2011....wow what a day. Did that really happen?

We began the long journey to that London full of hope and dread in equal measure.

We arrived at Wembley early and you could feel the buzz right away. I’ve never seen so many Stokies!! So after purchasing the brochure-like programme, a ludicrously underpriced £6.50 burger……. (it was nice to be fair) and a few pints of warm £4 lager (well, I think it was lager)

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I made way to one of the many fabulous wheelchair enclosures in the stadium to reveal the spectacular view (£700 million well spent, I say).

Onto the match, what I can remember of it!

No need to go into details as we all know what happened, but at half time, it felt like I was dreaming!! Surely that wasn’t real? Then the dread kicked in more……..

We are going to blow this big style, this is Stoke City!!! Only when Super Jonny Walters scored THAT 4th goal that it all sank in....and set me off into floods of tears, a grown man weeping like a baby...and I didn’t care!!

I doubt I was the only one? If only Wilko had got on the end of the cross prior to that final goal……Wembley would have exploded!!! Full time and Stoke City had made history…...what a day! Right, where’s that DVD!!!!

STEVEN BEBE

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A factual drama that caught the country’s imagination.

A man that symbolises all this is good about human beings. Three people: Three stories: One Nello

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On a freezing cold night, when most sensible folk were relaxing indoors, the Waddington Suite was buzzing with expectation of a wonderful night to commemorate the legendary Sir Stanley Matthews.

This was a night to celebrate the eve of his 100th Birthday and to support The Sir Stanley Matthews Coaching Foundation (the Foundation helps youth in sport locally and world wide).

The Chairman of the Foundation and presenter for the evening Nigel Johnson opened with an introduction and a short resume on each of the special guests before presenting a film highlighting the special moments in Sir Stan’s football career. The large screens around the room ensured the audience enjoyed the wonderful story and spectacle of this unique talent.

Following this, the jam-packed audience enjoyed an excellent meal which was very relaxed enabling people on the tables of ten to share stories and memories of our beloved team and Sir Stan.

The meal over, Nigel started to introduce the Special Guests.

First up was Jimmy Armfield CBE, Blackpool and England team mate of Sir Stan. At seventy nine years young, Jimmy remains fit and well and is a wonderful speaker, someone you could listen to for hours. Meeting Sir Stan when he was 21 (when Stan was 42 years old ) was an eye opener to him: he was amazed at the energy levels, fitness, diet regime and the fact he never appeared out of breath.

When Jimmy sent a wayward pass to Stan in a league game he was met with a “glare” and a firm rebuke when back in the dressing room with a retort “not good enough”.

Jimmy explained that Stan perfected his unique dribbling by jogging at a very fast pace along Blackpool Promenade amongst the crowded pavements when tourism was at its peak: he would weave in and out without touching a single person! Jimmy also recalled being told off by him for retaliating!

Gordon Banks was next to speak, recalling past events and memories of Stan. His total admiration shone through as he explained how in 1962 in the Stoke v Leicester game some

five years before he signed for Stoke, he was face with face with Stan racing on goal having left the defence behind him, and just thought “Bloody Hell, I have had it !”. Stan obviously scored!

Terry Conroy had only heard of Sir Stan having never met him, when he came to Stoke. After acquiring the No 7 shirt, he began to realise the how much it was revered by the fans, so much so that he suggested in memory of the Legend in his Centenary year it should be retired at Stoke, though many feel that it should stay as a reminder of one of football’s greats.

100 Years of Greatness

Lou Macari’s contribution continued on the theme of his unique training and fitness, and yes, he didn’t score many goals but was a prolific goal maker. He wondered how the likes of Messi and Ronaldo would compare in those days when boots were heavier, the ground untreated, and the ball heavier: Would they have the pace and balance he had in those conditions?

Nick Hancock completed the guest list, and as we all know is a witty lifelong knowledgeable fan who is passionate about Stoke. He didn’t know Sir Stan, but says he followed a similar lifestyle in terms of fitness and health {lots of laughter}. He had no stories to tell, but had dozens of An amazing amazing statistics from Stan’s career. modest man Like other guests of style and he spoke about ethics this amazing,

modest man whose style, ethics and gentlemanly conduct was admired the world over and would probably never be replicated ever again.

When Stan’s daughter Jean Gough was introduced she briefly spoke about her wishes for the Foundation and how important it was to the Community in terms of how they support and encourage personal and social development regardless of ability. The main focus for The Centenary year is to train coaches in Rebound Therapy Coaching to deliver training to disabled children.

John Ruggerio from SCOBA assisted Terry Conroy in the Live Auction selling off donated items from local firms and artists. The Silent Auction was then announced: 9 lots in all, such as a beautiful Anita Harris vase and centenary mugs by Hudson and Middleton.

The evening ended with Comedian Martin Gold entertaining the audience before we all left to travel home in a snowstorm. No one who was lucky enough to get a ticket for the event could be in any doubt that Sir Stan was a great footballer, a modest man, but more importantly an icon of the game: a son of Stoke-on-Trent, and a legend for Stoke City, England and football.

Angela Smith / Regina Colclough

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I had a lucky escape on 14th February this year.

While 4,500 Stokies were busy counting the 4,000 potholes in Blackburn, Lancashire on FA Cup 5th round day, cloaking themselves in that familiar fragrance known as ‘Disappointment, by Stoke City’, I was spending my Valentine’s weekend drinking beer and watching football in Deutschland with three hairy Yorkshiremen.

Despite 50% of our party being married men, we had all opted to firmly shun romance of any kind on this particular Valentine’s as we plotted an almighty Rhineland pub crawl, taking in Dusseldorf, Frankfurt, Darmstadt and Mainz. Tickets were purchased for the big Bundesliga clash between Eintracht Frankfurt and Schalke, sandwiched in between two Second Division games (FOOTBALL HIPSTER KLAXON).

Dusseldorf Things got off to a less than auspicious start, a flight delay meaning we didn’t arrive at our first game until half time. This was the scrap between Fortuna Dusseldorf and tiny Erzgebirge Aue in the Bundesliga II (Electric Boogaloo). By the time we took our place high up in the stands of the impressive Esprit Arena, we’d already missed four goals as Aue, secondbottom in the table and one of the smallest teams ever to play in the division, streaked into a 3-1 lead.

It was Carnival weekend in Germany, so spirits were high amongst the home support

despite finding themselves chasing the game. The concourses and the stands were packed out with fans in fancy dress, with everyone from Beetlejuice to Scooby Doo roaring on Fortuna. It seemed to me throughout the weekend that fans of both teams could enjoy themselves regardless of the outcome, and that’s something we seem to have lost in English football, where every game is hyped to death and inflated high beyond its actual importance, to the extent that a bad result can ruin your whole weekend.

This was just a few thousand people having a good craic and watching football as part of their Friday night entertainment – though the awful crowd trouble just 20 miles away in Cologne the following day suggests this bonhomie does not extend throughout the country.

The second half in Dusseldorf is, predictably, less goal-laden than the first. The home side, traditionally quite a big club with aspirations of promotion, huff and puff, but their back line is a joke and Erzgebirge get in behind them several times. Two-goal US star Bobby Wood fluffs his chance of a hat trick when he capitalises on a poor headed backpass, rounds the keeper and then spoons his effort wide of the open goal in a truly dreadful passage of play.

Indeed, standard-wise it’s all a bit weird, as both sides attempt to play crisp, technical carpet football but in a woefully sloppy way – it reminded me a lot of the Boskamp season. The few moments of class are provided

by Fortuna’s Finnish playmaker Joel Pohjanpalo, and having whacked a post from 20 yards, he proceeds to win and convert a penalty to reduce the deficit. It’s too late though and Aue hold on for a famous victory.

Disappointing though it was to only see one goal of a fivegoal thriller, the atmosphere in the Esprit was tremendous.

Safe standing is in full effect, you can take your beer in with you, and tickets for this game cost around a tenner – amazing value considering one of our quartet had the previous week spent £15 to watch Guiseley in the Conference North.

Dusseldorf is known for its fine arts museum…so naturally we headed for BalkerstraBe, otherwise known as ‘the longest bar in Europe’, a strip packed with over 50 pubs, bars and restaurants. The night ends with us quaffing the city’s famous dark Altbier and consuming a massive tray of currywurst – sausage chopped up and swimming in curry sauce. Our German adventure is in full swing.

Frankfurt The sickly sweet aftertaste of

the bratwurst club 3O

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curry sauce is still clinging to our tastebuds the next morning as we scrape ourselves up to get the 09:20 high speed train to Frankfurt.

On arrival we excitedly sample some of the region’s muchballyhooed delicacy, apple wine (apfelwein), only to find out that the disconcertingly yellowy-green liquid is eyestingingly tart and flat-out unpleasant to drink. We also discover that there’s surprisingly little going on in Frankfurt, Germany’s fifthlargest city.

Perhaps that shouldn’t raise any eyebrows given its status as the financial capital of Europe (when the guides suggest the European Central Bank as the top sightseeing location you know you’re in trouble). However, the city also gave the world techno music – music so ear-splittingly tuneless that you have to be off your face to even pretend to enjoy it – so one could maybe have expected things to be a bit livelier.

Happily, things did pick up once we made our way towards Eintracht Frankfurt’s romanticallynamed Commerzbank Arena for a contest between two European hopefuls – ninth placed Eintracht and thirdplaced Schalke. We strolled through a vast park littered with merchandise, food

and beer stalls, and fans of At the final whistle, Eintracht both clubs merrily supping celebrate hitting the dizzy apfelwein together (it turns out heights of 8th as if they’ve the citric poison is marginally won the world cup, throwing more palatable when you heat themselves down in a it up). collective swan dive in front of I racked up the data roaming the home support. Like Crystal charges trying to find out Palace, Benfica and Lazio they how we were going on at are known as ‘the Eagles’, Blackburn. 1-0 up after 10 so we get the obligatory real minutes? Bring on the quarter eagle brought out, tethered to finals! its owner and looking bored By the time we took our but occasionally hovering seats in the ground of to reveal a terrifyingly course, things had large wingspan. We The night gone considerably ends with us head to the station downhill at Ewood while the Frankfurt quaffing the Park, and I tried to fans get ready to city’s dark put our shellacking party, presumably by to the back of my whacking on some Altbier mind as the pre-match acid house and looking choreography kicked in. at some spreadsheets.

High up in the gods, the ultras waved black and white Darmstadt flags while those in the tier Next up, Darmstadt for below unfurled a giant flag Sunday’s Second Division bearing the word ‘Eintracht’. game between the high-flying The stewards at the front then hosts – sitting pretty in fourth set up a display of big, bouncy having only been promoted castle-esque inflatable letters back to this level for the first spelling out ‘Frankfurt’, as the time in 15 years last season teams emerged and fireworks – against struggling big boys shot into the night sky. It was 1860 Munich, having a tough electrifying, goosebumpold time in the relegation zone. raising stuff and ratchets up We happen to be staying in the atmosphere a few more the same hotel as the 1860 notches. lads, and they look like beaten Unfortunately, the game men already. There are some doesn’t live up to this buildrecognisable faces here, up. Roberto Di Matteo’s once-promising careers that Schalke sit back and try and have hit the skids. Among pick off the red and blackthem are likeable ex-Fulham clad hosts on the break. But defender and Hasselhoff fan the Frankfurt ‘keeper has Moritz Volz, who once earned a blinder and keeps them the nickname ’20,000’ after at bay, and gradually their scoring a landmark Premier threat recedes. Ultimately it’s League goal. Also, there is the home side who take the Ghana star Anthony Annan, lead, courtesy of a looping who was tipped for the very header from nowhere by ontop after a storming 2010 loan Chelsea striker Lucas World Cup but now finds Piazon. The home ultras keep himself staring into the abyss the atmosphere going, even of the German Third Division. managing to make a song Darmstadt feels like quite bizarrely sung to the tune of a religious, authoritarian city wimpy Michael Jackson ballad that still observes the Sabbath ‘You Are Not Alone’ sound with fierce solemnity, but we vaguely menacing. However, nevertheless manage to find a that is the only goal of the couple of open pubs. The old evening, and there’s no further Ratskeller is full of home fans action. (who don’t refer to themselves New DUCK website at www.duckstoke.co.uk

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as ‘the Darmy army’. Missed a trick there lads), clad in the musketeer-like two-tone blue kit, which bizarrely shares a crest with the boy scouts.

A couple of delicious pilsners and a bratwurst later, we get the tram up to the Merck Stadion, which is to all intents and purposes a large-scale version of the Lyme Valley. Its standing room only right round the perimeter, and the pitch is Sunday League standard.

Annan and co wander round wondering what they’re doing here. The loud home crowd’s intimidation factor is quashed somewhat by the fact that there anthem is the kind of cheesy europop song that usually comes with its own dance craze that sad acts bring back with them from holiday, like the Macarena, or the Poznan.

The match, alas, is another dud. Darmstadt seemingly overawed by a decent-

sized crowd and looking like they, rather than 1860, are relegation fodder. A defensive error is ruthlessly punished as the men from Munich go ahead, then miss a penalty 10 minutes later. A chasm of nothingness engulfs the game for the next hour.

At half time we move round behind the other goal, and one of our number decides to follow the lead of other fans and climb onto a fence to get a better view. In doing so he manages to spill his pint onto an unlucky woman below, while also failing to notice that his fellow fence-dwellers are all about eight years old.

“Get down! You are not a child!” he is told in stern, flawless English by one home fan. He acquiesces shame-facedly, much to the amusement of the rest of us.

Darmstadt force a late, spawny equaliser, their carthorse of a

I remember seeing United’s escort from the station

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centre forward poking home a rebound at the first time of asking, but the game is so dull that we’ve long stopped caring. A kickabout in the park and a train to Mainz to enjoy the carnival festivities, and our Teutonic travels are at an end.

Though the quality of the football was fairly poor overall, I came home feeling, not for the first time, that English football could learn a fair bit from its German cousin.

The prices, atmosphere, safe standing, fan parks and general positive, friendly vibe around the grounds were a breath of fresh air and you wonder why we can’t have those things here.

Most of all though, I was happy I hadn’t gone to Blackburn. Stoke’s worst day of the season was my wurst day of the season. Auf wiedersehen, duck!

ROB DOOLAN

me) the self-fulfilling prophecy that I couldn’t believe he hadn’t many teams use today – blame given it. the ref for your own shortcomings.

Thankfully we won 2-1 meaning Diving and cheating has been it wasn’t a result breaker, but if a part of football for decades. we hadn’t got that second goal?

A penalty; a throw in; a corner.

Goodness me there’d have been Bogus appeals for all of those some teeth gnashing. Inside the have been part and parcel for box, cheeky footwork, brought years. But add in the increase in down – PENALTY! But no – regularity, the card waving, elbow denied. miming and the ‘Steven TaylorMy dad and I discussed the 90 face-hold-after-blatant-handballminutes as we drove home and in-box’ (which I actually think is couldn’t wait for MOTD. The BBC hilarious), and you’ve got a lot van had been spotted outside, more to contend with. we were definitely on. Chip Shop The problem now is that diving tea, Starsky and Hutch, MOTD – brilliant. We watched the highlights and the action had progressed to the point of the perceived aberration. There he goes, cheeky footwork – PENALTY! The replay then confirmed….er, wow – what a tackle that was by Kevin Ratcliffe!

Never a penalty in a million years.

Hmmm. We were wrong weren’t we dad!?

Considering referees were so much better back then before the ‘decline in standards,’ we should have trusted the ref would have been right all along? Wrong!!

Refereeing standards haven’t in particular, is accepted by the changed for the negative, if game itself. ‘He has a right to go anything they’ve improved. What down,’ is the phrase de jour and we do have though is the control essentially gives every player the panel from the Millennium Falcon opportunity to do something that’s to uncover the real truth of what completely unnatural. happens. We have virtual-realityWas theer contact? The big digital-freeze-frame-dissection question.

(VRDFFD). We also have a If answered in the affirmative collection of cheating b******s who then the ‘right to go down,’ make it almost impossible is invoked for the player for officials to get anything Diving and in question. If not, he’s right, so the fact they cheating has put in the same bracket often do is testament as Ashley Young, yet to how they’ve upped been a part there’s not a lot in it is their game, whilst at the of football there? When Warrington same time the players for ages Town won their FA cup have lowered theirs. tie live on the BBC, Robbie My dad used to check Savage at one point said he the programme before the couldn’t understand how the ref match and see who the ref had not given a decision. Yet was. This exercise was pretty Savage only made his mind up pointless given he’d say the ref’s on the second or third replay. name followed by some negative In essence that sums up what comment – eg,” It’s Keith Hackett, we’re dealing with – ‘told you we won’t get anything today.” so,’ punditry and misplaced, Given the fact we weren’t great in inappropriate ‘matter of fact-ness.’ that era, we rarely made our own With the social media swirl too, luck, which then gave my dad (and

we live in a self-righteous world of head-holding and hand-wringing about the state of our officials.

Accusations of favouritism have always been in football too.

Apparently, George Courtney favoured Liverpool, Howard Webb favoured Man United, while Roger Milford favoured his hairdryer and himself. But put all that aside and do the maths (I should probably say ‘math’ here, but you’d want to push me off the Boatcake and into the canal if I did). More camera’s, more angles, more reviews, more live matches (every game has a

don’t look ANY further

camera there!), more cheating, more complaints from managers (because of all of this), 24 hour rolling sports news and more smart-arsed punditry. There can only be one outcome – Guilty!

Officials are not perfect and sometimes you do wonder whether or not they talk to each other, even though they have those smart walkie-talkie headsets and vibrating things on their wrists.

These days the truth is that the blame lies predominantly with the players and the media. Given the overwhelming ‘after the fact’ evidence, how on earth could it not appear that the standards have dropped? But cut through the hysteria and, in particular, the ‘trial by hindsight,’ and you’ll see that they haven’t dropped, there’s just a lot more ways to prove officials wrong - and doesn’t the industry just love doing that!

Duts

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Waking up on a cold December morning and looking out of the window, the only thing that springs to mind is – it’s going to be freezing up the Brit.

As any Stoke City mum knows, wrapping the kids up to go outside is important, but wrapping them up for the match is even more so.

But, not only is the conundrum that it’s freezing, but it’s also the fact that it’s not your 14-year-old (who thinks he’s hard as nails) son that’s going to the match, it’s your

ever so dainty, ever-so quietly shy 4-year-old girl!

Despite having two boys in the house, it’s of upmost importance that the only girl becomes a diehard Stoke City fan too, and she will be at the match - come rain or shine.

Crazy you might think to drag a timid little girl into a noisy stadium with thousands of shouting fans – but would you believe that this once reserved angel, that wouldn’t say boo to a goose, has now become a loud, ever-so vocal supporter that her dad always wanted!

In fact, not only is she Charlie Adam’s number one fan, she now actively seeks him out at the beginning of each match. She even called her rabbit after him (He’s dead know, but that’s another story!).

See, when my darling husband suggested we buy her a season ticket – I almost laughed him out of

the room. I chuntered something about him ‘not being satisfied with the boys’ going’ and ‘why would he want to make her go somewhere she would hate?’ I’m glad he never listened (no change there then).

You see, as it turned out, what was once a little girl that was too shy to even say hello to strangers is now a confident, outgoing little 5-year-old that wouldn’t miss a single match. Thanks to football, it’s helped to bring her out of her shell – and for that we are grateful.

So, this is to all the fathers out there who have little girls – take them to the match. It will help them combat their nerves, give them confidence. Don’t dwell on the fact that you had a little girl instead of a boy and you never know, they might enjoy it more than a little boy would have done anyway!

LAUREN CORBISHLEY

Daddy’s little darling

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