EDITORIAL It’s not a particularly funny issue this one. It has its moments don’t get me wrong, and I don’t want to discredit those who’ve submitted lighter pieces, but I feel it’s only fair to call it up front. You’re good people, you deserve honesty, and likewise I deserve a break from the inevitable ‘it’s-not-asfunny-as-it-used-to-be’s that greet any request for feedback. It’s still good though, so don’t even think about asking for your pound back. You’ve committed now, roll with it.
But, and this is a but of John Doolan’s proportions, it does mean something. Our connection to it shapes us, and moulds us, and ultimately it offers us, as James reflects, a place to escape and forget everything and contemplate everything in equal manner. And it gives us that precisely because it doesn’t matter. You can’t stride into your job, loudly deride twenty-two people, leave two hours later and expect to be able to come in and do the same all over again next week. Your job matters. Your family matters. Your relationship and your friends matter. Football matters not one fucking bit.
See, the thing is, James McMahon’s piece on pages 30-31 is the most brutally and frighteningly honest piece of writing you’ll read in a football fanzine, and I don’t want to see one of my regular contributors put themselves out there on their own. So forgive now if I weave away from how long Darren Ferguson has to sort it out, and whether John Marquis is a one-season wonder, and instead look at the bigger, broader picture because we, particularly we men, well frankly we don’t do that anywhere near enough. If anyone ever recites that Vince Lombardi lifted Bill Shankly quote to you about football being much more important than life and death, then you have my permission to punch them in the face, and use this editorial in your defence. You won’t get away with it, but least you’ll have just reason. Of course football isn’t bigger than being. It’s a sport, a pastime, a hobby, a game. In actual terms it’s never more than that and ultimately it doesn’t matter. We will play on and on ‘til the end of time, yet there will never be a finite winner, so why stress it.
But. Yes another but. This one of a similarly meaty presence to Adebayo Akinfenwa’s rump. It’s still the thing that helps me through; watching football has always been the handrail that runs alongside the steps of my life. Why do I go to football each Saturday afternoon? Because I don’t know anything else. It’s a tie to the safety of my childhood, and in all frankness, it stops me from falling down a hole. The unhappiest period in my life came when I lived furthest from a football team I could pitch up and lose myself in. It’s no coincidence.
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Even before that, living a ten minute walk from Worcester City’s St George’s Lane saved my life. And that’s no exaggeration. I’d reached a point where it came down to knowing that if I can just stretch out through the darkness for three more days I can be at the Lane for the Monday night match with Solihull, and escape this flat and my thoughts and then everything will be OK. It saved me.
But with any crutch their comes the problem of over reliance. Football has become an extension of me, and so then has this fanzine. I don’t open up about anything else, to anyone, and so when I meet up with people they ask me about football, and they ask me about this fanzine and then the conversation goes cold. I lament this fact, but know it’s down to me; I am ‘that Doncaster fan’, or ‘that guy who does the fanzine’, I have shaped this depiction by shutting myself off and clinging too keenly to my safety blanket, and not allowing myself to be anything more. I live my life in seasons and in Saturdays because that makes it easier, but I’m 34 now and that’s no way to be.
Talk. Say something. Because statistically, of the people you surround yourself with here in this stadium every other Saturday, one in eight of them aren’t finding it easy right now. So whether you’re one of the seven, or the one, talk. Use the football as a gateway, just don’t treat it as the all. Life and death aren’t matters of football; they’re more important that. So yeah, it’s not a particularly funny issue this one. But I’m fine, and so, I believe is James. And so next issue I’ll get back to moaning about ticket prices, or television deals, or Chris sodding Sutton’s sodding punditry, but every now and again you have to shake off your marker and make a darting run into space. I hope you’ll forgive me that.
So football is an escape and a coping mechanism, or if you’re one of the lucky ones, then it’s just a thing you do. However it also isn’t what you are, and it isn’t what I am. Being a football fan is not an excuse to fold in on yourself. Being a man is not an excuse. I’m not really one for conversation is no excuse. We need to stop finding excuses. We don’t tolerate them from football managers or politicians; we shouldn’t tolerate them from ourselves.
The Campaign Against Living Miserably (CALM) is dedicated to preventing male suicide, the biggest killer of men under 45 in the UK. Whilst Muted, provide support and knowledge of depression in men. Should you need to, you can always talk to either of these charities. thecalmzone.net or muted.org.uk
INSIDE THIS ISSUE 5 9 10 12 13 13 14 16 18 19
The Bernard Glover Diaries It’s All About the Giving The Fan Panel Remembering the First Time In Off the Post Bag Tweet Disposition Howard’s Marks Tolling on the Belles, Again Reasons to Love Football A Christmas Carl
23 24 26 28 30 32 34 36 38 39 4
The Strikers’ Graveyard For Peat’s Sake Lazarus Comes Forth Voice of the Pop Side Gary Brabin Memorial Lounge Marshall Matters Beneath the Statue Windmills of Your Mind Reg Ipsa Trump on Rovers
THE BERNARD GLOVER DIARIES YES, TIME IS FLYING AND NO, I CAN’T BELIEVE IT’S NEARLY CHRISTMAS EITHER TUESDAY 17 OCTOBER ROVERS 2-1 PORTSMOUTH
SATURDAY 21 OCTOBER ROVERS 0-3 WALSALL
It’s a mark of confidence in your side’s ability to find the net that when a cautious glance at Twitter five minutes after kick-off tells you Rovers are 2-0 up, your first conclusion is that the social network’s algorithm must be buggered. But no, such wonders do exist. Liam Mandeville and Tommy Rowe putting Rovers well in front before you could say ‘ooh, I’ve not checked the line-ups yet’.
Typical. I’d spent time crafting a reasoned, balanced fanzine editorial for issue 90 on how managers need time and things aren’t really that bad, then on the day it went out Rovers forgot what football was. Abject. That’s what this was. In a first half that offered up the lesser part of very little, Rovers crafted its only real chance, and then spectacularly wasted it when John Marquis somehow contrived to sidefoot wide of a near open net.
It could’ve been 3-0 before the clock had struck eight too, but Portsmouth managed to scramble clear Andy Butler’s header. From that point Pompey finally found their feet and almost found a way back in, firstly as Joe Wright headed Christian Burgess’ header off the line, secondly when Conor Chaplin’s free-kick struck the post.
Early in the similarly stodgy secondhalf Darren Ferguson chose to change formation in an attempt to open the game up. Objective duly achieved, though not as he would have hoped, as within ten minutes Walsall, and their diminutive midfielder Erhun Otzumer, had struck two goals courtesy of a couple of calamitous counter-attacks.
But then 10 minutes into the second half the visitors were back within a goal in bizarre circumstances; Ian Lawlor vastly underestimating the size of a modern football, to allow Mathieu Baudry’s back-pass under his foot and into the net. Luckily for Lawlor, he would have chance to redeem himself late on, making a brilliant one handed save down to his left from Jama Lowe’s header at the death.
The visitors duly wrapped things up with their third, ten minutes from time. Rodney Kongolo completing the sort of cameo that Ali Dia would’ve scoffed at by under-hitting a pass as last man and Kieron Morris finished the resulting break. Those were the only shots Walsall had on target… tellingly it was all they’d ever need. 5
SATURDAY 28 OCTOBER BURY 0-1 ROVERS
SATURDAY 4 NOVEMBER EBBSFLEET UNITED 2-6 ROVERS
Win one, lose one seemed to be the way of Rovers of late, and they duly maintained that sequence at Gigg Lane, when a defeat might reasonably or unreasonably - have seen pressure on Ferguson rise to their highest levels since relegation. The conditions at Bury - heavy rain and swirling wind - didn’t really lend themselves to flowing football, but then neither did the two teams, with a first half of clumsy, cagey unconfident play seemingly destined to reach the interval goalless. But that changed on the stroke of half-time when Bury’s centre-half hauled down Marquis on the edge of the box and received his marching orders.
I decided to honour a long-standing arrangement rather than head to Ebbsfleet, and so you can imagine how relieved I was to just miss the eight goals, and a sending off, and a comeback. The Conference side sent Rovers’ fan forums and messageboards into a frothing ‘Fergie out!’ meltdown in the first half as they raced into a 2-0 lead, aided by a goalkeeping blunder and some pretty hapless defending. Even before half-time such vitriol had been made to look a little foolish as late strikes from Tomy Rowe and Marquis made it 2-2 at the break. The second half would bring four further goals in front of the travelling Rovers contingent on the open terrace. James Coppinger struck first, his deflected effort looping in as the home side’s keeper inexplicably break-danced on his line. Jordan Houghton poked in the next; then Coppinger Panenka-ed in a penalty before Rowe completed the scoring.
Against ten men things didn’t improve all that markedly as though Rovers dominated possession, much of the play was sidewards and backwards and when they did get close to goal there seemed a reluctance to shoot. The introduction of Andy Williams, two up front and things started to happen. Williams could have had three – with one miss, an empty net from four yards out that will surely make the TV bloopers reel – but his presence caused panic and eventually, with ten minutes to go, Ben Whiteman took advantage to score though a crowd of players for a hard fought three points.
Into the next round then, and a home tie against Scunthorpe - following their replay win over Northampton - duly awaits. Not especially magic, but a proper FA Cup date all the same.
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Once ahead Rovers could and should’ve added to their lead; Rowe glancing a header just wide; Marquis passing when he should’ve taken the net off the posts. And as Rovers kept stumbling Rotherham kept knocking at the door; Jonson Clarke-Harris knocking hardest as he struck the post.
WEDNESDAY 8 NOVEMBER A bit of good news for Rovers on the injury front, with Alfie May - who was expected to be out for a couple of months after limping off at Charlton - back in light training. ‘They actually didn’t need to do an operation on him, just some manipulation stuff,’ Darren Ferguson tells the press, which is one reason why I won’t go private; the opportunistics bastards. Anyway, Alex Kiwomya - remember him? - is also said to be making decent progress, having being diagnosed with the autoimmune disorder Guillem-Barre after he arrived in the summer. ‘He’s come on quite considerably,’ says Ferguson, which is pleasing to here, both for Rovers and the player himself.
Eventually the pressure told, and deep in injury-time the Millers piled forward with one last attack Keifer Moore squeezed an effort between the mass of defensive bodies. 1-1. On balance probably a fair result; in reality, absolutely gut-wrenching.
THURSDAY 16 NOVEMBER Suggestions that the unthinkable could be thinkable in the Yorkshire Post’s interview with James Coppinger, with the man who made his 550th club appearance against Rotherham discussing the difficulties of continuing to play; ‘It is difficult to make that decision (to carry on). It is not just me; I have a young family and travel in from Middlesbrough every day. It does take its toll, not physically, but mentally more than anything.’ Mercifully there was hope for us all elsewhere in the interview with Coppinger stating ‘I would love to get to 600 and 700’ appearances. I mean, that was in the paper, so that’s legally binding, right? Right?
SATURDAY 11 NOVEMBER ROVERS 1-1 ROTHERHAM UNITED In the classic Hollywood good versus evil trope; the good guys wear white, the bad guys wear black. Rotherham dressed for their role. Big, brutish, and ultimately heart-breaking; they duly nailed it. Richard Wood set himself up as the archetypal scheming pantomime villain when, at an early corner, he elected to sling a knee at Joe Wright’s midriff off the ball. It was a coward’s challenge, and satisfyingly the coward went on to have the afternoon of a clown. First Wood missed the visitors’ best chance; somehow conspiring to head against the bar from two yards, with the goal hilariously open. Then, in the second half Wood had more luck finding the goal - his own goal. Stretching to volley in Kongolo’s whipped right wing cross and put Rovers ahead in a game where they’d enjoyed possession, but rarely looked like scoring. 7
SATURDAY 18 NOVEMBER FLEETWOOD TOWN 0-0 ROVERS You have to wonder why we even bother with these matches against Fleetwood. We may as well just call it a goalless draw the moment the fixtures come out; share the points and save everyone the hassle of pretending any of this matters. No-one looked like scoring. The world kept turning. Onto whatever comes next.
SIMON MARPLES
In the cafe at Wentworth Garden Centre observing the two minutes silence for Remembrance Sunday. @BenThompson84
TUESDAY 21 NOVEMBER WIGAN ATHLETIC 3-0 ROVERS
MATHIEU BAUDRY
It’s weird what one full programme of fixtures can do for the perception of your fortunes. A hefty defeat at one of the favourites for promotion, a couple of unfavourable results elsewhere and just like that we’re shit again. If you’re looking for ammunition against a manager, you’re not going to find it in a game you were never expected to win.
Losing his child in The Dome Ice-Breaker Bar. First time I’ve ever seen him panic, and I’ve seen him do a Cruyff turn when last man.Child was fine by the way. Matt Harriman
PAUL MARQUIS
Sorting letters behind me at work, but then that is his job Lee Jackson
A Joe Wright own goal set Wigan on their way, before Winger Ryan Colclough put the home side three up before the hour; scoring twice ‘before being substituted in time to see the birth of his son’ is how the Wigan press described it, though why his poor wife was made to go into labour in a DW Stadium dugout we’ll never know.
QUINTON FORTUNE
Buying pizza at Altrincham markets @naaconsultants
MATHIEU BAUDRY
In Auckley Co-op. He smelt glorious @Louis_Bailey_
LEO FORTUNE-WEST
As for Rovers; chances were missed - as they so often have been this season, including one gilt-edged one for Marquis whilst Athletic were only one goal to the good. ‘The areas we’re getting into, the quality has let us down’, said Ferguson afterwards; the key area in question presumably being the big green rectangular one between the touchlines and bylines.
At Lakeside one Saturday on a bike, wearing Lycra. @AndyfromDonny
MATHIEU BAUDRY
In the pool at Nuffield three days in a row. I didn’t go a fourth day, as reckon he thought I was stalking him by day two. @ChrisDonald92
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Seen a current or ex Rovers player out and about? Tweet the details to @vivarovers and it could feature in issue 92 of the ‘zine.
IT’S ALL ABOUT THE GIVING THANKS TO YOUR SUPPORT, POPULAR STAND IS MAKING ITS BIGGEST DONATION EVER TO LOCAL CHARITIES As you’ll be acutely aware - not least because we bang on about it at every opportunity - this publication is ‘not for profit’. What that means is we meet our costs - printing, postage, envelopes - and then whatever’s left we save up ready to give away to local good causes.
DRASACS
Doncaster Rape and Sexual Abuse Counselling Service help local people who have suffered from rape or sexual abuse, by offering confidential counselling and support. They aim to relieve the distress of people who have faced abuse, and advance knowledge and awareness of such crimes.
Since I took over as editor in 2011, we’ve been able to give away over £5,200 to a variety of local causes and charities; from kit for local football teams and player sponsorship to donations to the NSPCC and Luey Jacob Sharp Foundation and more.
Donmentia
Established by Eileen Harrington, following her experience caring for her husband during his suffering with Alzheimer’s. DonMentia supports care, projects and initiatives for dementia sufferers in Doncaster.
Quite pleasingly, thanks to your generosity and support this year - by paying extra for your copies and buying our badges - we’re in a position to be able to give away our biggest sum to date, £1,500. And in an effort to support as many local endeavours as possible this will be split between five local charities who all do vital, and often undervalued, work for the people of our borough.
SY Women’s Aid Doncaster
Established to replace the closed Doncaster Women’s Aid, SYWAD face a regular battle to stay afloat and continue to offer therapeutic advice and support to women and girls who are going through or have been through domestic violence and abuse.
Open Minds
M25
Open Minds provided one-to-one and group counselling to some of the most vulnerable and disadvantaged people in Doncaster; people who would otherwise be excluded from receiving such services. They also seek to provide mentoring, and training opportunities for those groups.
Recent statistics from housing charity Shelter showed that of all Yorkshire’s towns and cities Doncaster currently has the highest levels of homelessness, with one in every 642 people currently facing homelessness. That’s why we’ve chosen to donate to M25, who offer advice and specialist help in community care, housing and welfare benefits for people who are homeless or threatened with homelessness.
Thank you once again, for enabling us to support these charities and organisations at this time. 9
THE FAN PANEL CANVASSING THE VIEWS FROM THE STANDS Ferguson still seems undecided on his best attack; from the current squad, what do you think is the perfect forward line?
Kindly answering our questions this issue are Adam Stubbings, Shane Maughan, Steve Matthews and Rob Johnson...
The jury still seems to be out on Darren Ferguson; where do you sit, and why? Fergie in or Fergie out?
Adam: Alfie May is vital for me. His hustle, his energy make a big difference as does his willingness to get into shooting positions. May alongside John Marquis allows more freedom for Marquis to play his own game; it’s the best pairing we have.
Adam: Our form is improving even if the performances aren’t anything to shout about. If we can get through the next six weeks or so with our heads clear above water, then I’ve no qualms keeping Darren Ferguson in the job
Shane: I like Marquis and Liam Mandeville. They’d both support each other and cause real problems for defences. I’m a big fan of Mandeville. Unfortunately I don’t think Ferguson shares this view.
Shane: I’m still thinking his time at any other club would be up. The football being served up is ponderous at best and most of the time bordering on turgid. A new man would hopefully fetch fresh ideas like running at teams on the break rather than passing round them.
Steve: There isn’t one right now. For me, there’s only one forward who can be pleased with himself so far and that’s May. Marquis tries but has been very poor, however, he’s always likely to nick a goal. Mandeville has been ineffective, Andy Williams hasn’t been given a chance. What a tough question! If it’s two up front, I’ll go with Marquis and May but that’s because of a serious lack of options.
Steve: I’m happy to let him have another transfer window, however, it needs to be a successful one, which means, of course, he needs to be well backed in January. At this moment, despite his very worrying record with us at this level, I don’t think it would be the right decision to sack him, so, for now, Fergie in. Rob: Fergie Out. Not for results but for performances. Our league position isn’t a disaster but I don’t see an improvement in our overall play from the day that Ferguson took over. 10
Rob: When everyone is fit I would say Mandeville and May with Tommy Rowe, James Coppinger and Ben Whiteman behind them. Marquis has been our worst player this season, he needs to be dropped or rested. Unfortunately, he has no meaningful competition. Which brings us nicely to...
Left: ‘vital’ and the ‘only forward who can be pleased with himself so far’, Alfie May
Would you rather take a lower mid-table finish and an FA Cup run, or a second round exit and a play-off push? Adam: Lower mid-table and a cup run. I don’t think a top six place is realistic this year so as long as we’re safe, it’d be nice to go on a cup run to capture that excitement again. Arsenal was just a taster.
Which player, or which type of player (if any), do you think Rovers ought to be looking to bring in, in the transfer window? Adam: A leader. Someone experienced at this level who can grab the rest of the team by the scruff of the neck and drag us to our maximum performance. Think of players like Neal Bishop at Scunthorpe, someone in that mould.
Shane: FA Cup run every time. I still believe in the magic of the cup. Whilst the magic has left Doncaster a little since leaving beautiful old Belle Vue. To get a team like Manchester City or any other Premier League team down to our place would be great. Even better if they sent their kids and we stick a few past them. It would remind the local armchair fans we exist.
Shane: One thing we lack is a real target man to aim for, instead we seem to lump balls up to players like May. I’d like to see a target man, who we can then deploy with a finisher like Mandeville or May buzzing round and mopping up.
Steve: I would always prioritise the league over the cup. We’ve had a great cup experience already this season so let’s get ourselves firmly focused on the league, start improving our performances and results and climb away from danger. Mind, it’d be lovely to get past Scunthorpe in round two.
Steve: An effective target man would be top of my wish list. Someone proven at this level would be nice. That is an area we really lack in. I’d also suggest a right back or right wing back. Matty Blair is too inconsistent and Niall Mason and Craig Alcock don’t cut it for me.
Rob: FA Cup run. We got a tantalising glimpse of the big time at the Emirates and it would be nice to have another day like that. We are nowhere near good enough for the Championship anyway. It would be a poisoned chalice at this point.
Rob: An experienced striker, proven at this level, to take the burden off Marquis and help the younger members of the front line to fulfill their potential. 11
REMEMBERING THE FIRST TIME ANOTHER ISSUE, ANOTHER FIRST MATCH MEMORY AS WE JOIN SIMON ANGEL BACK IN 1982 ‘Does the lad fancy comin’ t’Rovers?’ ‘Dunno, ask him’ replied my dad.
The game itself was the embodiment of an entertaining 0-0 draw. Although I still say that Rovers should have won as the ball definitely crossed the line after a goalmouth scramble at the Town End (even my eight-yearold eyes saw it!) It was the first, but certainly not the last, time a referee let me down in that old ground.
I looked at my Uncle Raymond and immediately said ‘Yeah!’ despite being unsure of what a Rover even was. But whether it be walking Bess, the dog, or popping to Armthorpe shops to pick up the Green’Un, if my uncle was going, I was going with him.
On the way out we stopped off to buy a 100% nylon Rovers branded flat cap - available in red and white or green and white. He bought both and as I’d got to go to the match, he gave my little sister first choice. Obviously she chose red and white, which left me with the green and white one. I’ve hated those colours ever since.
We were back up north for one of our regular school holiday trips to visit family. This usually meant a few days back in Doncaster to see my dad’s side of the family, then a visit to Scunthorpe to see my mum’s side. If I’m totally honest I wasn’t entirely sure of the year, or the opposition for my first match, although it was definitely nil-nil, and a recent trawl through a loft and the old record books has pinpointed 10 April 1982, versus Chesterfield.
No one, especially my uncle - a fan from the 1950s till his untimely passing in 1987 - could’ve ever imagined the journey that he had just set me on. It’s been far from an everhappy ride, but whether it be that fateful day in 1998, the triumph at Stoke, Wembley, or a shocker away at Kettering, I always think of him.
What I do remember was the sheer excitement of walking up to Belle Vue amongst what seemed like thousands of people, my uncle buying me a programme that would keep me amused for days after, and queuing, full of anticipation. to get in. Up to this point in my life I had never been near a football ground, and our seats in the Main Stand towards the Town End seemed so high up; the pitch looked huge.
We all know eventful supporting Rovers is. So imagine how dull my life would’ve been if my mum had a brother, who’d supported Scunthorpe. A potential bullet dodged there. Anyway Raymond, as you would’ve said ‘Thank you,me old cocker’. 12
IN OFF THE POSTBAG
tweet disposition
YES, THAT’S RIGHT, WE’VE HAD SOME ACTUAL POST! Dear popular STAND, Just glancing through my copy of issue 90 on my return from holiday. I was interested in the article, remembering his first time, by Bill Rollitt.
Love is... Public expressions of love, featuring Jordan Houghton and his poor, poor girlfriend...
Whilst it wasn’t my first time at age nine, attending a Rovers game, it was a memorable one. It was the first time I’d experienced or heard the words ‘football hooliganism’. Indeed there was an incident of objects thrown at Harry Gregg by Liverpool fans at the Rovers Kop end, as Bill writes. However, my uncle ,who was with me at the time, and who was in the Observer corps during World War II, determined them to be salt and pepper pots stolen from various cafes in Doncaster, including Priestnalls. I’ve a recollection too of bananas being thrown at Charlie Williams. However, it must be said that Harry Gregg wasn’t all innocence, as he used to swing on the goal crossbar one handed and scratch under his other arm in the pre-match warm up to wind Charlie up. Suffice it to say I’ve never liked Liverpool football club or its supporters ever since. Justice and respect for bananas I say. Clive Norbury, Crickhowell Got something you want to get off your chest about Rovers, this fanzine, or even your local council’s approach to bin collections? Write to us at popularstand@outlook.com 13
HOWARD’S MARKS THIS ISSUE HOWARD BONNETT UNDERTAKES SOMETHING OF A PERSONAL PILGRIMAGE In Doncaster we are surrounded by old industry. The town was built on coal, rail and, apparently, butterscotch. Whilst there are few pitheads or factories remaining, our heritage is never too far away; and football is closely intertwined with it. As the grandson of a coal-miner I was often stood on a windy touchline in the 1970s watching Miner’s Welfare teams knock lumps out of each other. Here I saw tough men playing a tough game, and learned new swear words. The smell of Fiery Jack, snuff, sweat and men coughing up omelettes of phlegm hung heavy; I remembered to stand upwind of the latter. On my trips around non-league I am yet to visit one of these clubs. It’s time to put that right; by seeking out another team carrying on the pit legacy. In the Northern Counties East League you can find reminders of our working heritage. Most of it’s teams are based in old industry towns and villages; there are five ex-colliery sides in the Premier Division, four more in Division One; I went to see two of the latter.
Nostell Miners Welfare were founded in 1928 when the club bought the Welfare Ground at Crofton where they still play today. The old pit houses near it have long gone. Crofton had three pits in a two mile radius, but two of them closed in the 1980s; Sharlston did likewise in 1993. Even though it is 24 years since there was a mine round here, the name has remained. Like many others though, I wonder for how much longer. The club joined the NCEL in 2006, after notching silverware in the West Yorkshire League. They went straight through Division One at the first attempt, only dropping back into it from the Premier in 2016. Last season they finished 22nd of 22, and were only spared emotion back to the Yorkshire leagues by the ripple effect of Ilkeston Town going bust… again. In those past two seasons they’ve gone through numerous managers and a huge number of players (147 apparently!), painting all too common a story of clubs on the way out. They’d made it to the dizzy heights of 20th when I pitched up; a 2-1 win at fellow strugglers Brigg Town offering some hope. Their opponents, another former colliery club who you’ll perhaps be more familiar with, Rossington Main, are having one of their better seasons, sitting 10th. Left: Nostell Miners’ Welfare’s jagged stripes 14
Trying to turn Nostell’s fortunes around is chairman Kevin Allsop. A businessman who has also coached youngsters across the Wakefield District, Allsop has brought in a stricter approach to player recruitment and the experience of ex-pro Dez Hazel as manager. Finding and keeping players remains hard; the goalkeeper was the third in as many games, the back three had an average age of just 21. Balancing home life, work and studies with football at this level, with long distance midweek games, is a constant challenge.
Whiz Kallifa’s Black and Yellow sounded over the tannoy as the teams came out, a nod to Nostell’s home colours. The game itself was a hard fought affair, with the decent condition of the pitch helping efforts to play football rather than hoofball. In truth Rossington looked the better team for much of the game. Nostell offered little up front with Billy Mole struggling to make the earth move, and impact on the visitors’ defence.
Projected changes to league structures at this level and above; with divisions dropping from 22 clubs to 20, means up to seven teams could be relegated at the season’s end. That would mean a drop to the 11th tier of football; something which could spell the end for Nostell. Efforts have been made to boost attendances, but it’s not easy. Wakefield may be a city, but rugby league rules. Add in Barnsley just 10 miles away and Leeds 15, and another half a dozen non-league sides fighting over the the scraps and it’s a losing battle. My daughter counted a crowd of 52 at this match, rising to 54 when the two ladies from the kitchen came out to watch.
Goalless at the break, Rossington went ahead on 50 minutes, with a penalty twenty minutes later securing a 2-0 win. In total my daughter and I counted over 20 balls kicked out of the ground that had to be fetched back, which gives you an idea of the quality of some of the finishing on display. All I spoke to at Nostell loved their club; and that was echoed in the family feel of the place. Whilst the mining history of the area gets ever distant, one ex-miner at least remains on the committee. However, there is little other connection and possible changes to the club name may be considered in the future. Truth is, it isn’t a pit team anymore and never will be again.
When not watching the game, they could be found in a kitchen at the leisure centre next to the ground, though alarms were raised when a fella sat down next to us loudly complaining his chip butty had no butter in it. A full and frank debate about whether it could be called a chip butty followed - even on the drive home. At half-time we ventured over but were told they had run out of food. They did offer to do some for us, but we let it go.
These clubs and all they stand for represent a large part of our history. If we don’t look after them then they won’t be part of our future, and that will be a crying shame. Like a chip butty without any butter. 15
TOLLING ON THE BELLES, AGAIN THE FOOTBALL ASSOCIATION ARE MESSING ABOUT WITH WOMEN’S FOOTBALL AGAIN. GLEN WILSON ISN’T IMPRESSED ‘Eee-i eee-i eee-i oh! Up the Football League we go!’
That’s because in September the Football Association announced plans to again reshape and restructure the top levels of women’s football in England. The upshot of this latest missive is a 14 team top flight (expanded from the current ten), but one which comes, quite literally at a price. The FA want this top division to be fully professional, and as such any team wishing to be in it, needs to apply for a licence; crucial to which is showing that they can stump up the projected six figure sums to be able to afford it. And they were given just six weeks to work out exactly how.
We’re seasoned enough football watchers, all of us, to know that actual joy is one of the lesser-used emotions spent during a typical 90 minutes. However, there are certain football chants that you only sing with a smile on your face. You sing them only when things are going well, when your club is going upwards, and ‘up the Football League we go’ certainly fits that category. But imagine if you couldn’t sing that song. Even though things on the pitch are going perfectly well, and your top of the second tier, and the club, though far from flush, is just about holding its own on its merits, you can’t sing that song. And the reason you can’t sing it is because you can’t go up the League. And there’s pretty much nothing you can do about it.
For those women’s clubs happily bankrolled by the owners of their male counterparts - in particular Arsenal, Chelsea, Manchester City and Liverpool - such a figure is of course a drop in the ocean. It’s just a fraction of their matchday takings, or the monthly wage of a second choice goalkeeper. Here’s the cheque, don’t spend it all at once - see you in a year.
A fortnight ago, I stood, on an afternoon as bright as it was freezing, in London’s northern commuter belt, watching Doncaster Rovers Belles deliver a perfect attacking performance as they put Tottenham Hotspur to the sword. A fully deserved, professionally executed 4-1 away win from a young squad with bags of potential to go top of the second tier. It should give great hope for the future, but in actuality this is probably as good as it can get.
But for those without the sugar daddies of male football’s largess it is a sizable sum, and one which it’s hard to envisage ever being within reach. This has already borne out, with Sunderland - who had been forced to go semi-professional after the men’s team’s revenue dropped through Premier League relegation - already confirming that they will not be applying for a top tier license. 16
Similarly, Watford too have been informed by their men’s club overlords that they will be reverting to a community model, which is effectively double-speak for, ‘we want the kudos of having a women’s football team, but bugger off if you think we’re paying for it whilst 15th place in the Premier League is still up for grabs’.
According to Kate Brazier, the FA’s head of women’s leagues and competitions, the restructure will ‘provide an elite performance environment will produce more and better players, increase the interest and excitement via a more competitive league, attract a greater number of fans and in turn deliver improved commercial viability for clubs and the leagues.’
Yeovil Town, currently in the top tier on merit after achieving promotion last season, are highly unlikely to find the finances. Within twelve months of being lauded by the FA as the ‘club of the year’, they now face being written out of being able to compete with their peers by that same governing body. Likewise, I imagine - though whether they have bid for a top tier licence or not is yet to be confirmed - the Belles; who’ve already been dumped out of the top flight once before at the expense of a wealthier men’s affiliated side, are likely to find themselves unable to find the funding to avoid being gazumped again.
It’s a bold strategy, and one which - like so many of the FA’s attempts to alter the women’s game - relies, in the interim at least, on putting a large amount of trust in the financial parity of the men’s game. Given that such a model of reliance has killed off Fulham, Charlton, Notts County in the recent past, as well as denting the progress of Sunderland and Watford, it’s not exactly a shining path forward as an overgrown dirt-track thick with brambles. Men can’t be trusted; men’s football teams even less so.
So, who fills these gaps? Well poised to slide into the empty seats at the table, like audience stand-ins at the Oscars, are a host of women’s teams who have never particularly excelled on the field, but have a familiar name and access to men’s teams bank accounts. Much like getting an in at the Oscars, it’s who you know over what you’ve done. Tottenham Hotspur, who the Belles so comfortably despatched on the field a fortnight ago, are one such club with a bankroll more ready than their team to make the stepup; Brighton, also of the second tier, another. So too, reportedly, are West Ham and Derby County, both of whom are currently in the lower reaches of the regionalised third tier.
As for increasing the interest and excitement, well it may draw a few more fans to those lucky enough to be handed a place in the top fourteen, but what about the rest? What is their to motivate fans, or even players, of the Belles, or Watford, or Yeovil when what they do on the field is always guaranteed to fall second to their bank balance, and the marketability of the male counterparts? Commercial viability over community - it may as well be the FA’s slogan. 17
REASONS TO LOVE FOOTBALL BECAUSE IT’S NOT ALL SUPER SUNDAYS AND ROBBIE SAVAGE NO.2 YOUR WINGER RUNNING AT A FULL-BACK Every minute around 300 hours of video is uploaded to YouTube. The whole world is on there; tragedy, comedy, documentary, history, fiction. All you could wish to learn or experience right there in your pocket on a little digital rectangle.
It’s instinctive. It’s guttural, almost animalistic. There was no conscious thought among those on the terrace; just an innate knowledge that this is meant to be, and that we should encourage it. Our player should run at their player, and our player should triumph, and that is the way of the world. The skillful defeats the staid; art defeats practicality. And in that we can all revel. No-one has dreamt of being that defender; everyone of us has dreamt of being that winger. We all wanted to be Ryan Giggs… none of us ever wanted to be Nigel Winterburn. Not even Nigel Winterburn.
Yet each month, without fail, I return to the same short clip; a three minute excerpt from a mid 2000s third division football match between Doncaster Rovers and Hull City. An estimated 3.25 billion hours of video is watched on YouTube each month, and I suspect my rewatching of this distorted vision of Belle Vue represents 2.5 billion of them.
It’s why, whenever the situation presents itself - which seems increasingly rare in football - we find ourselves leaning forward in our seats, moving onto our toes on a terrace, in collective anticipation; your mind already mentally instructing the winger… ‘Go on… run at him… run at him… take him on’.
A minute into the clip, the ball reaches the feet of Rovers winger Michael McIndoe in front of the Pop Side. Just inside his own half, all that lies between him and an open expanse of green is the cowering City full-back, Richard Hinds. McIndoe, looks up, sets off, pushes the ball one side of the hapless amber-clad stooge, and darts off round the other. And as he does so, beneath the camera those on the Popular Side terrace exhale collectively as one; ‘Gooooo-ooorrrnn!!’
You’ll do it today. Trust me. The moment the ball falls at James Coppinger’s feet in a wide position; the moment Matty Blair starts to stride forwards. You’ll do it without even realising. You just can’t help yourself.
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A Christmas Carl A CLASSIC CHRISTMAS TALE REIMAGINED BY MIKE FOLLOWS On a cold December, Doncastrian night, a Rovers fan sat poring over the Football League tables with grim despair. This was the longformed habit of one Peter Snow; a pervicacious, pessimistic curmudgeon, for whom the notion of pleasure was a distant and dusty memory.
Peter Snow felt his heart racing in his chest. He tried to speak but found that not only was he at a loss for what to say, but his throat felt paralysed with shock.
‘Na then,’ continued the ghostly former Rovers defender, ‘tha’s been watching Rovers for a long time and should be used to a bit of disappointment by now. Tha’s been spoilt, thee what wi’ all your Billy Sharps and your Neil Sullivans and your Rolls Royce bloody midfields. You’ve forgot what supporting Donny’s all about, lad. So for’ next three nights you’re going to have three more visions to make you buck up your ideas. Alreight then, tara cock.’
The closest he now came to feeling anything that could be tenuously described as jollity was in vindication of his bleak perspicacity for predicting perceived underachievement by Doncaster Rovers. Some people, it is often said, are only happy when they are moaning. There can be few upon whom this dubious honour could be more fittingly bestowed than Snow. Yet, on this otherwise unremarkable evening, shortly after posting another damning diatribe on Viking Chat, Peter Snow was to be visited by a mysterious apparition.
The next morning, Snow woke with a start. As he drew a deep breath he detected a faint, lingering essence of tobacco smoke and beer, but he shrugged dismissively and convinced himself the nocturnal visitation he’d experienced was nothing more than a dream. ‘Aye, a dream,’ he muttered to himself as he climbed out of bed. ‘Dead Vivid, it was.’
The room felt suddenly colder, and through a fug of beer fumes and tobacco smoke reminiscent of the Working Men’s Clubs of years ago, came a hauntingly familiar voice.
The day passed in unremarkable fashion and having proudly hammered out a twelve paragraph diatribe condemning the board’s lack of ambition, he retired to bed.
‘Alreight, me old flower? I’m the ghost of Charlie Williams and I’ve come to put you right on a thing or two.’ 19
As his eyelids began to bear down with the lugubrious fatigue that comes from living in a state of constant disappointment, he was startled to see another uninvited guest leaning casually against the wardrobe. Emboldened as he was by the experience of the prior night’s visitation, Snow immediately challenged the intruder.
‘Didn’t you play lead guitar in The Scorpions? Where’s your Gibson Flying V and what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?’ ‘Gibson what? I don’t know what you’re talking about, mate,’ replied the long-haired, moustachioed interloper. ‘I’m 17-appearance 1980s Rovers defender Carl Swan and I’m here to remind you of a time when success on the pitch was an unexpected bonus, rather than summat you take for granted. Remember how you felt when Billy Bremner cobbled together a promotion-winning team with fuck all to spend and zero expectation from the terraces? Buying a copy of the Green ‘Un to check the day’s scores when you got home from the match. Simpler times. Happier times. ‘Think how the likes of Little Alfie May will feel this Christmas with the pressure of all the keyboard warriors demanding instant results. But it’s not too late to change, Peter Snow. It’s not too late.’ As his words hung in the air, the vision faded away, leaving only a faint aroma of liniment in the room.
Snow had a fitful night’s sleep, dreaming of eighties Germanic rock and terrible defensive headers. As he rubbed the sleep from his eyes the following morning his olfactory senses picked up a distinct menthol vapour. Immediately, he recalled the encounter with Carl Swan and the smell of liniment but once again dismissed it as the product of an overactive imagination. He must’ve been sleepwalking and knocked over a bottle of Olbas Oil. Cursing his somnambulant clumsiness, he headed to the shower and onward to another monotonous day. Come the evening, some worse than expected news about Andy Williams’ ankle gave cause for Snow to vent his spleen about the club’s pathetic medical assessments, terrible grounds maintenance and short-sightedness of encompassing the Dons in Club Doncaster due to the impact they had on the pitch. A perfect hattrick of banal internet forum rage inducement, which brought him as close to happiness as he’d been for months, sending him to bed in a state almost approaching contentment. Until, that is, he heard heavy footsteps on his chamber floor.
‘Peter Snow?’ enquired a stocky fellow as he strode resolutely toward the bed before tripping over a pair of boxer shorts, completely fluffing his intended purposeful impact. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ replied Snow, ‘Carl Alford? What the hell do you want?’
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‘I’m here,’ said Carl, ‘to remind you of the joy that Doncaster fans felt in having a club to support following the Ken Richardson fiasco. The fact that despite me being lauded as a marquee signing and failing to score a single goal, nobody really gave much of a shit as long as they could rock up on the Pop Side, have a burger with proper fired onions and watch Andy Liney dicking about in a dog suit.
‘What do you want me to do?’ asked Snow with a tremble in his voice. ‘How do I change? I haven’t had a decent night’s kip all week.’ ‘Tomorrow night, you’ll have one final visitor,’ replied the vision of Carl Alford. ‘He will show you why and how you need to change your ways.’ With that, he turned and jogged out of the room, aiming a boot at the discarded pants on his way out, missing and stubbing his toe against a chair leg.
‘You need to think about changing your attitude a bit, Snow. It’s getting close to the Christmas fixtures and Little Alfie May is feeling the weight of expectation on him.’ 21
‘It’s up to you, Peter Snow. Only you can make that change. Imagine little Alfie May in the packed schedule of Christmas fixtures working his socks off over and over again but having the spirit crushed out of him by a bunch of moaning bastards.’
Snow found even the simplest of tasks draining the next day as the lack of sleep took its toll on his weary body and mind. He tried to make a coffee to stave off sleep, but succeeded only in scattering coffee everywhere but his mug. In his diminished mental capacity he was missing things that he should easily be getting on target. Bedtime couldn’t come soon enough.
Peter Snow felt a tsunami of guilt rushing through his body. ‘That’s not what I want and it’s not what Christmas is about!
When the evening came, he barely had the energy to browse the internet; leaving his laptop undisturbed he made do with ridiculing a few ‘happy clappers’ for their ludicrously unfettered optimism on Facebook via his phone. He slumped into bed and rolled over to be greeted, as promised, by one final visitor.
‘Please tell me it’s not too late to change, Carl. Please say I can be a better supporter for Little Alfie May and all the Rovers players. I’ll change. I promise I’ll change. Just say it’s not too late!’ The very next day, Peter Snow awoke with a new outlook.
‘Hello Peter. Remember me? I’m Carl Ikeme.’
‘From now on, I’m going to enjoy going to the Rovers and supporting the lads. We don’t have a right to win every week but we give it a go and as long as I can see my mates, have a beer and watch a bit of football I’ll be happy with my lot.’
‘Of course I remember you, but what are you doing in my bed?!’ demanded Snow. ‘You recall me playing for Rovers in the Championship, don’t you? You remember how your club were at the highest level they’ve ever been and punching above their weight but still you never missed an opportunity to denigrate, moan and criticise? You remember how the desperation to keep the club in that lofty position led to ‘The Experiment?’ and how it’s been tough going ever since. Do you really want to end up in that spiral again? Or do you want to see a long-term steady progression? Or perhaps you just want to enjoy going to matches, having a beer with your friends, watching some football and going home refreshed for the experience?’
‘And if we do score loads of goals, go on a cup run or get promoted that’s the icing on the Christmas cake. ‘I’m not just a fan, I’m a supporter and I’m going to give this club as much support as I can. ‘Merry Christmas Little Alfie May and Merry Christmas to all!’
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THE STRIKERS’ GRAVEYARD TOM BILTCLIFFE CONTINUES HIS LOOK AT ROVERS’ FAILED FORWARDS WITH STEVE BROOKER I was there! It’s a rather hollow claim to fame in this instance, but I was indeed there to see debutant substitute Steve Brooker bundle in a goal at the far end of Vicarage Road for a point against Watford, the club where he had started his career.
Having scored six minutes in to his debut, the move became permanent and O’Driscoll perhaps thought he could resurrect a once promising career. But while SO’D may have been God to many a Rover, he didn’t possess the healing hands that poor Steve required. Try as he might, he didn’t play a single minute of the 2009-10 campaign as his career lay at the mercy of a physio with the ominous pseudonym; ‘Dr Death’.
I was also there for his second and, regrettably, last goal for the club too; a wondrous 30-yard volley against Leicester which also earned Rovers a draw; enough to keep Sean O’Driscoll’s side in the Championship. But what happened in between?
Alas, after 18 months, and with the calendar now rolled on to a new decade Brooker returned for the 201011 season, his 242 minutes of action spread so so sporadically you could forgive his teammates for forgetting who he was.
Well, Brooker proved to be the Keepmoat Stadium’s answer to the Loch Ness Monster. Actually, scrap that, Nessie made more notable appearances than a bloke with milk bottle tops for knees. In his pomp – which centred on spells at Port Vale and Bristol City - Brooker had undeniably known where the back of the net was - especially Rovers’ net. But eventually his archetypal centre-forward frame proved too much for his legs to bear, and the Ashton Gate hierarchy realised as such. After being shipped out on loan to Cheltenham Town he wound up in South Yorkshire as a short-term (and cheap) option for a team at the wrong end of the second tier.
There was however to be one last endearing moment of glory. Rovers may have played some technically brilliant football under O’Driscoll, but that was never where Brooker’s strengths lay. So when, thrust on as a half-time sub against Leicester, he chose - in a style reminiscent of Peter Kay in the John Smiths advert - to just wallop the ball the first time it fell for him. The next moment it was in the net; Rovers were saved from relegation and almost all was forgiven.
Graveyard rating
When you measure a player’s time at a club in minutes, it’s never gone well. 23
FOR PEAT’S SAKE ENGLAND HAVE GOT SOME WORLD BEATING YOUNG PLAYERS, BUT JACK PEAT ISN’T GETTING EXCITED But before we get carried away allow me to step in and crush your dreams while you still have chance to save yourself - it is, after all, the hope that kills us. For as the under 17s were ruthlessly putting five past Spain in India, many of their adopted teams were competing domestically as if home-grown talent was a foreign concept to them.
England are never going to win the World Cup. If you’re young, erase that dream from your mind. If you’re old, you should know better. But you can be forgiven for feeling a tinge of optimism following our recent performances on the international stage - particularly where our youth are concerned. This year has been quite a remarkable one for England’s youngsters, bagging the Under 20 World Cup in June and then the Under 17 World Cup at the end of last month. The former under 21 manager Gareth Southgate is now in charge of the senior national squad and has demonstrated an appetite for bringing in the youth, naming some of the most inexperienced squads in history to play the top two footballing nations in the world in Germany and Brazil. And what a job they did too.
Chelsea, who made for more than a third of that young England starting line-up, faced Bournemouth on the same day but failed to feature a single home-grown player for the match until Danny Drinkwater entered as a 79th minute sub. Manchester City, who account for another third, faced West Brom away with just three home grown players in the starting XI. Despite much praise given to both clubs for their respective youth set ups, it’s hard to see how any of it is benefiting England on the international stage. Even Loftus Cheek, who looked superb against the number one ranked footballing nation in the world, can’t find a place in his respective club. Without stating the bloody obvious, if as many German players were farmed out by their respective teams on loan you can be sure they wouldn’t remain top of the world leader board for long.
Ruben Loftus Cheek took home the plaudits from the first Wembley fixture against the Germans where he was ambitious, daring and showed more flare than the away end at Brentford in his debut for the three lions. But he was soon outshone against Brazil, where Dominic Solanke showed similar tenacity alongside rising stars such as Joe Gomez and Harry Maguire, all of which demonstrated a creative spark as part of a well organised outfit. 24
But England’s downfall is that we are home to the most lucrative football division in the world. To quote (bites lip) Gary Neville, ‘there’s pressure on managers and owners to win the league or to stay in the league for the monetary values. The manager will maybe think: “Can I cope with the mistakes a young lad will make, or do I go with the experienced lad, the safe option.”’ It’s a mentality that has made the Premier League a training camp for the best individual players in the world, with our own national side left to feed off the scraps that remain.
Antonio Conte and Pep Guardiola could both be sitting on a class of ’92 if they give them a run out every other weekend, but in this day and age they are unlikely to risk it if there’s a chance of it going wrong once in a while. Not that big ticket signings have to worry about such cut throat policies. Those who are signed for a big fee get to pay back their manager’s outlay, where those who have been invested in through the youth system rarely do. And that, quite simply, is where we Doncastrians will get hit in the gut once again come this summer. Forced to watch our lowly team train under 21 stars who are more likely to be punted out on loan than ever see the likes of a first class England shirt, we will have to sit back while our country gets turfed out in the last 16 because the Premier League has rid any opportunity for our players to get the experience they need at the top level.
And what does this have to do with Doncaster Rovers? Well, fuck all really, but some may argue that it paints the Checkatrade Trophy in a different light. Starved of the opportunity to get first team action elsewhere youngsters from the top clubs now have an outlet to ply their trade in front of first team squads and thou… sorry, hundreds of spectators. At least, that’s what my fanatical Manchester United supporting friend tried to convince me of this weekend. Pity he had to get an earlier train home.
So my advice is this. Keep this issue handy, for when next summer rolls around and you’re full of beans (or Borscht, depending on your location/ love of beetroot) remember this: we are England, and we are unlikely to ever succeed in World Cups as long as our own domestic league works against us ever doing so.
But what G Nev (can I call him G Nev?) was alluding to is that it takes a manager with balls to put their faith in youth.
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LAZARUS COMES FORTH WHY THE PESSIMISM? WONDERS LAZARUS Given how the first half ended, and the second half gradually transpired, all those wasted Caps Lock cyber-screams became more and more foolish by the minute. Judgement Day for Darren Ferguson, it turns out, will have to wait for another dark afternoon when things don’t go exactly to plan.
One of the reasons my father always encouraged an interest in football was his belief that sport could be a teacher of some of life’s most profound lessons. Looking back on everything I learned in school, it’s fair to say that in the long run following Rovers has done more to make me who I am today than chemistry lessons ever did. If nothing else, the fall, and rise, and fall, and rise, and fall, and rise of Doncaster Rovers ought to give all of us a sense of perspective you couldn’t possibly duplicate either in school or out there in the real world.
Throughout the summer, my expectations for the season ahead were for a relatively sharp shock in comparison to League Two; mid table obscurity, with little prospect of a play-off challenge. I also maintained I had no intention of judging Ferguson’s performance until Christmas at least – and even then, any drastic decisions as to his future should only be made if it was clear we could easily upgrade to someone better.
Our recent eight-goal thriller at Ebbsfleet in the FA Cup proved a familiar microcosm of emotions that saw some elements of our fanbase experience all five stages of grief within the time it took us to go two goals down. Denial, Anger, and Depression came and went in two minutes, along with Bargaining as debate began to rage about how much greener the grass must be with a different manager. Acceptance rounded things off nicely, as our whole season was hence declared to be an inevitable failure that we’re all powerless to prevent unfolding.
Nonetheless, I think Ferguson’s position has been discussed at every game I’ve attended this season. Even in August there were people sitting nearby who’d already written him off, and wanted change before the end of the transfer window. Predictably, this line of conversation has continued after every goal we concede, and every chance we squander.
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What usually underpins the negativity is some variant of the ‘I’ve paid my money so I’ll say what I bloody well like’ philosophy. But surely being a true supporter of a club like ours has to involve a certain degree of sycophancy – it isn’t a case that we all chose to be Rovers fans after examining all the teams out there and arrived here via a rational decision. It’s an emotional bond above all else, like family, and so perhaps we should forgive the occasional indiscretion as an occupational hazard.
I’m not blind to the fact that Rovers’ record under Ferguson has – to put it mildly – had its ups and downs. I remember only too well the four-month run without a win that was a catalyst for relegation. There have indeed been occasions when our performances have been so awful, I half wondered if some players had been influenced by unscrupulous betting scams. Using such times as an invitation to unleash vitriol at the manager has become a socially accepted pastime over the years, and I accept that it is the men in the technical area who are ultimately responsible for the team’s performance and are generally well paid for that responsibility. However, I can also recall horrific afternoons watching Rovers under every manager we’ve ever had, to the point where I’ve concluded that such games just happen now and again, regardless of who the manager is, or who is on the pitch.
One of the biggest complaints you hear from football fans is how their club gets run like a business, with no consideration for devoted fans and their needs. Yet when the club performs badly it’s usually the same people who act like a dissatisfied customer returning a faulty appliance, yelling abuse at the manager as if he’s Customer Service patiently explaining how your guarantee has expired.
This isn’t a cop-out designed to glibly deflect criticism when it’s justified – hell, even I felt like kicking the cat after the Walsall game – but there inevitably has to be a point where a manager becomes as powerless to affect proceedings on the field as we are.
It’s 20 years ago this season since we collapsed out of the Football League with a still-standing record of 34 defeats, having been run into the ground by a convicted fraud and arsonist, and a lottery ticket salesman who thought our car park was worth more than we are.
At some point maybe fans need to consider that perhaps the only reason for their abuse is to make themselves feel better. It’s never healthy to keep rage suppressed, I suppose, but justifying angry, primal screaming as a noble way to motivate others towards the greater good? To me that’s a bit of a stretch.
We of all people should recognise that even when we aren’t challenging for the League One play-offs, or embarrassing anyone who dares to visit us with Total Football, things maybe aren’t quite as bad as they could be.
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VOICE OF THE POP SIDE JOHN COYLE LOOKS BACK AT SOME MEMORABLE DONCASTRIAN FA CUP GIANTKILLING The 6-2 win at Ebbsfleet United earlier in November has now set Rovers off on the road to Wembley. How far we will travel is, of course, uncertain, which is one of the things which makes the FA Cup unique and special. It’s fair to say that Rovers have not always enjoyed much success in the competition, their greatest achievement being to reach the fifth round, doing so on four occasions. With that in mind, I thought I would look back at five memorable FA Cup ties, when Rovers have been giant-killers or, in one very memorable case, almost giantkillers
Stoke City 0-1 Rovers 16 January 1930
This was Doncaster’s first excursion into the third round of the FA Cup, and the Division Three (North) Rovers were rewarded with a tie against Second Division Stoke City. The initial tie was played on Saturday 11 January and Rovers led 2-1 at the interval via goals from Bobby Smith and Joe Bowman. Stoke then equalised but after 75 minutes the ground was hit by a severe snowstorm, and with Rovers goalkeeper Ike Tate unable to see the goal that put Stoke 3-2 ahead the referee abandoned the match. The rematch was the following Thursday afternoon and Rovers suffered a blow when full-back Jim Smith was sent off after 33 minutes. But with Tate in heroic form they kept out the Potters for over an hour.
Then, on 66 minutes, Fred Emery gave the visitors the lead with a free kick. Rovers somehow held on to win an amazing game, but there was no fairytale ending; Millwall knocked them out at The Den in the fourth round.
Sunderland 0-2 Rovers 9 January 1954
It is worth stating that Sunderland circa 1954 were not the current husk of a football team which stinks out the Stadium of Light on a regular basis. Sunderland were known as the “Bank of England club” because of the high transfer fees they paid. In 1952-53 they had finished 9th in Division One and the team that took on Second Division Rovers in round three included eight internationals. A large contingent of supporters from Doncaster travelled up to the game and were rewarded when one of Rovers’ own internationals, Eddie McMorran, scored the only goals of the game in the first half. Rovers then beat Plymouth Argyle to reach fifth round for the second time but went out, losing 3-1 away at Leyton Orient.
Aston Villa 1-3 Rovers 15 February 1955
For several years, FA Cup ties have been restricted to a single replay, but back in the 1950s you carried on playing until a winner emerged. This was the case when Second Division Rovers met First Division Aston Villa in the fourth round in 1954-55.
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After a 0-0 draw at Belle Vue, the replay at Villa Park ended 2-2 after extra time. Further replays were then held on neutral grounds, Manchester City’s Maine Road witnessing a 1-1 draw after extra time. So it was on to Hillsborough where the stalemate continued, a 0-0 draw with bad light preventing extra time. With the fifth round looming, the teams reconvened the following day at The Hawthorns, and this time a winner emerged. Alick Jeffrey and Geoff Walker put Rovers 2-0 up after 50 minutes and after Villa pulled one back Jeffrey sealed victory on 87 minutes.
The replay, at Belle Vue, attracted 22,499 despite being played on a midweek afternoon due to power restrictions. Liverpool scored a goal in each half and went on to win the FA Cup and finish runners-up in Division One.
Rovers 1-0 Q.P.R. 5 January 1985
Rovers’ most recent victory over topflight opposition in the FA Cup came in 1985, after victories at Rochdale and Altrincham earned them a home tie with Queen’s Park Rangers. The Londoners were no mugs, having finished fifth the previous season and qualified for the UEFA Cup. However, anyone watching the game would have thought the team in red shirts were the First Division outfit; Rovers dominated. Glynn Snodin had already an effort disallowed for a narrow offside when, with ten minutes remaining, David Harle picked up the ball 20 yards out and curled in a shot for a goal that sent most of the 10,583 crowd wild. Rovers’ reward was a trip to the eventual League Champions Everton and a 2-0 defeat that was far from a disgrace.
Four days later exhausted Rovers were back in the Midlands facing Birmingham City, who beat them 2-1. Rovers had played enough games to get them to Wembley, but they only got to round five.
Liverpool 2-2 Rovers 5 January 1974
When Rovers, struggling in Division Four, were drawn to play the mighty Liverpool at Anfield in round three few would have bet against a cricket score. Instead, Rovers put on one of their finest ever FA Cup displays and came within an ace of creating a huge upset. Attention focused on Doncaster-born Kevin Keegan, playing against the club that had supposedly rejected him, and within three minutes Keegan had put Liverpool ahead. Peter Kitchen levelled three minutes later and on 18 minutes Brendan O’Callaghan shocked the 31,483 crowd, putting Rovers in front. They held on until early in the second half when Keegan scored again, but with a replay beckoning Kitchen broke free, lobbed goalkeeper Ray Clemence and saw the ball strike the crossbar and bounce to safety.
Can Darren Ferguson’s men create some special memories to add to this list? Only time will tell, but if anyone claims that Rovers never do anything in the FA Cup, point them in this direction please. 29
THE GARY BRABIN MEMORIAL LOUNGE JAMES McMAHON OPENS UP ABOUT RECOVERY THROUGH FOOTBALL It’s always there for me. Always. I forget that sometimes, because you do, when you’re in the hole. It’s dark down there. It blocks out all noise. You can’t see the things that are right in front of you. But it’s there. It always has been. Bit oblique this issue’s column. Sorry. It’s been a strange time. I’m trying out a few new things at the moment. Experimenting with personal boundaries. What I want to share. What I don’t. Some of its selfpreservation. Some of it’s just being exhausted by myself. Bear with me. It’s a Wednesday night. It’s my first time out of the house in a while. I get a cab to the ground, even though I should walk it really. It’s not far. It’d do me good. But everything feels so much harder than it used to. When I get there, I meet this fanzine’s editor. We’re watching Waltham Forest at their Wadham Lodge ground in Walthamstow. I’m smoking far too much at the moment. I ask him not to judge me. I think he’s just happy I’m there on time. Forest are playing Basildon United, a brutish lot. Sometimes sheer will wins football games, and Forest are too nice to take anything from tonight.
This evening is the first time I have to talk about what happened a few weeks back. Not that there’s any expectation from the editor, but we’re close enough for me to feel like I need to explain a bit about how I ended up feeling so lost. He makes it easy. I appreciate it. We watch the rest of the match. I leave feeling less broken than I felt when I arrived. It’s a Friday night. It’s easily the worst day since what happened, happened. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’ve put a few bits together in the days that have come prior, so today feels a bit like I’ve regressed. I feel so lonely. My girlfriend has gone back to work. She needed to. I needed her to. We needed her to. I have to stand on my own two feet at some point. I’m sick of her seeing me like this. I need her to look at me like she used to, before it happened. But fuck do I miss her. I have no idea what I’d have done without her; her kindness, her love, her ballast. I decide to go to watch Clapton. I’ve known the Ultras for years. I know if I walk onto that terrace I’ll know people. I’ll get offered a can of Tyskie, that I’ll refuse because I hardly ever drink. Maybe all of this would be easier if I did. Maybe it wouldn’t have happened. And so I do, and so I am, and I do. And I watch the match – The ‘Tons versus a good Barkingside team, who currently play at Ilford’s Cricklefield Stadium - and I leave feeling lighter.
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It’s Saturday morning. Rovers are on the telly. I still get excited about Rovers being on the telly. It still feels… I dunno… bigtime. The fanzine editor comes round to watch, and the combination of wool garments I’ve strewn across my den and the warm glow of the side lamp make it feel a bit like Christmas. He says nothing about the door. I didn’t think he would, but I was nervous anyway. I’ve got pride back. It’s good to lose it sometimes, to ask for help. But pride is good. It stops you from slipping. I made a promise to myself a few days ago that I wasn’t going to slip again. And we don’t get heavy this morning. There are other things to talk about. I can’t speak for him, but I’m nervous. I can’t remember the last time this fixture was played. I feel like a little kid. Sorry Scunthorpe, but I’ll never feel about you like I do about Rotherham. Of course the result stings. Gutted. But it feels fair. Lots of what has happened lately has helped me put lots of things in perspective.
It’s Tuesday night. I’m at Oakside, with the Clapton lot again, watching them play Redbridge. I’m with my friend Andrew. We don’t have the chat. He asks if I’m okay. I am. He tells me that’s good. We watch the match. I’ve always struggled with male company a bit. Fuck. How many words do I have left? Not enough to go into that now. But I’m cherishing those friendships at the moment. ‘How you doing?’ GRUNT. ‘Good’. That’s what I need at the moment. Clapton aren’t as impressive as they were the week before. Redbridge are very good. The Ultras are typically brilliant. At one point there are two balls on the pitch. The pandemonium of two footballs being on a football pitch is one of my favourite things in the world. I’m properly enjoying myself tonight. It’s always there for me. Always. I forget that sometimes, but it is. It’s just football. Whatever that means. 31
MARSHALL MATTERS ROB MARSHALL MAKES THE CASE FOR THE OFT-CRITICISED IFOLLOW SERVICE I wrote a few months ago, on these pages, that I was growing weary of the ease and frequency at which we are able to consume football, looking back at the halcyon age of the Green ’Un and having to use some imagination when piecing together events of a game we hadn’t seen. I vowed that had I not seen the game with my own eyes, I would defer to the printed word and my own mind to conjure those missing events for myself. This resolution lasted a while before I lazily slipped back into my old ways. A highlights package here, a YouTube clip there, before I knew it I was immersed again in an on demand, one click away waterfall of football. I eventually have come to terms with my fate and have since come to embrace it. The flood gates opened their full width in August. The season in its infancy, infinite possibilities still lay ahead for our season and we visited Blackburn Rovers for a hotly anticipated match against one of the divisions likely title contenders. The only potential barrier to enjoying the clash was that I found myself 960 miles away from Ewood Park, in southern France. As I was at a relatively loose end whiling away an afternoon by the swimming pool my thoughts inevitably turned to Lancashire.
I’d spent the previous couple of days reading up about the new iFollow service and the promise that for a small fee equivalent to a large beer at Le Petit Cafe down the road, people outside of the UK could tune in and watch their team from the comfort of their sun lounger. For the time being at least, I was a non UK resident and so I decided that it was probably worth a spin. I was, like most, new to iFollow and had not been a user of the Rovers Player service that preceded it. I had heard lots of uninspiring things about its previous incarnation over the past couple of years of audio match day commentary, mainly around loss of sound, intermittent, patchy or just a plain non existent service the feature treated it’s membership to. I was sceptical as a result, if they couldn’t manage to provide a reliable audio service, surely the promise of a high definition all singing and dancing video service live to the comfort of my mobile phone would be too much to expect. Still, it’s only a fiver I thought, steeling myself against every instinct a Yorkshire man possess and pressed on, willing to risk the full 500 pence. I signed up, paid my brass and sat back and waited. Then it happened, to my surprise - James Coppinger, John Marquis et al, all right in front of me. I got comfy, expecting the smooth running both on and off the pitch to be short-lived.
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What happened next is well known, Rovers shaded a close first half before delivering a near perfect counter attacking display to humble yet another ‘bigger club’.
Yeah I watch too much football, but really all I want to watch is Rovers and now I have the option to do so on my terms. If I can’t sleep on a Sunday night I can rewatch Saturday’s game (usually a cure for insomnia, particularly of late) or if I wake up early on a Monday morning I can watch a rerun of our latest away trip. Never before have I watched so much Rovers. If you’d have told my 10 year old self what lay in store I’d have dropped the Green ‘Un in a excited daze and failed to comprehend a world beyond Goals on Sunday.
I can only image that to be there was pretty close to as good as things get for a Rovers fan but let me assure you, if there is a close second it’s watching it in 30 degree heat at the side of a private pool with a large number of cold, locally produced beers on hand. It’s easy to see how I quickly became a fan of iFollow. The fact was though it had worked pretty well, the odd spell of lower resolution footage now and again but nothing I couldn’t live with and all with added bonus of no commentary, half time analysis or expert input.
I can’t comment on the match day commentary iFollow offers, if I can’t get to the game it’s usually because of a heady mix of work, kids or DIY, none of which lends itself to listening in live. I’m greedy now in any case, if I’m going to over-indulge I want it on my terms, on demand when I want it.
Fast forward a bit and I inevitably had to bid farewell to the pool and the weather and found myself back in Doncaster, still with this iFollow app sitting on my phone. It wasn’t long until I discovered that for less than a fiver each month I could watch every Rovers game in its entirety, replayed from midday on a Sunday afternoon. Nothing compares to being there but if you, as I have done, work shifts or find away games an infrequent luxury then it turns out this is actually a viable alternative for matches you can’t get to.
I still miss the Green ‘Un and those days gone by. In an ideal world I’d still spend Saturday evenings piecing together sparse extracts from that afternoon’s away trip at Plymouth or Walsall from the paper, only now I’d spend Sunday evenings watching it too. I’ve accepted my fate and the future, the product that is modern football is so omnipresent that for me acquiescence felt inevitable. If you can’t beat them join them.
BERNARD GLOVER’S
BELIEVE IT or NOT In 2016, the most downloaded Snapchat lense filter in Galway was one which overlays users’ faces with an animated likeness of local celebrity and former Rovers centre-half Colin Hawkins 33
FROM BENEATH THE STATUE EDITOR GLEN WILSON ON HOW THE EFL’S ACTIONS SHOW US HOW MUCH THEY REALLY VALUE FANS The truth is an overrated concept. You can’t handle the truth. None of us can. We all expect it, but rarely go through with fully employing it. Like a trouser press in a hotel room, or a local library. And yes, we’re all of us guilty of not telling it like it is. That’s why we say ‘I’ll see how I feel’, when we categorically know we’ve no intention of going to that thing with those people, and it’s why we tell waiters and waitresses ‘yes, lovely thanks’ when it’s actually a big disappointment.
So if you want truth; if you want to know just how a company feels about its core customers, then you need to look beyond what is being said, to what is being done. And with that in mind, in the past month we’ve all been given a very clear signifier as to how the English Football League views its fans, and where it places its priorities. Back in August, Grimsby Town supporters were made to endure stewarding so overzealous it made UK airport security look lax, when they attended the Mariners’ League Two fixture at Stevenage. As if body searches on children under nine wasn’t bad enough, at least ten female Grimsby fans were made to show their bras to stewards before entering the ground - in view of male supporters and stewards - as part of security checks.
For those in the public eye the truth can hurt; particularly for the person telling it. You only need to look out the fallout from Gordon Brown being overhead to correctly identifying a pension-age female with racially prejudiced views as a ‘bigoted old woman’ to see that. No kudos for the keenness of the then Prime Minister’s powers of observation; just a drop in the polls, and a brave face and a wave on the way out of Downing Street. It’s why brands and companies sit on the fence. Better to trot out platitudes and and positivity than do the honest thing and tell people just how inconsequential and annoying their twitter complaints really are. ‘We so sorry to hear you’re having issues @Dazza986’; the sorrow being in the fact that they now have to look like they care and pretend that the £2 sandwich Dazza bought really is as important to them as opening up new markets in Eastern Europe.
According to the Mariners’ Trust, the ‘gross invasion of privacy’ went further when some female stewards asked to feel supporters’ bras if they confirmed that they were underwired. It’s worth repeating and reiterating at this juncture that all this was being done, not for people in combat fatigues attempting to get into the latest G8 summit of world leaders, but for ordinary fans attending a pretty nondescript, unimportant fourth tier football match. 34
It took the EFL two months to make any kind of statement on these incidents that went beyond acknowledging receipt of the complaints; two whole months, at the end of which they concluded;
Let’s be honest, if you earn your living by kicking a football, you should probably be open to, and adaptable to, the idea of kicking different types of footballs now and again - it’s not as if they were suddenly being asked to play with a dodecahedron, or a cabbage, or the concept of ennui. But leaving that aside, it was notable how much quicker an EFL statement appeared on this non-issue.
‘On receipt of detailed observations from both clubs, the EFL can confirm that no specific action is to be taken under its rules. The EFL will, however, continue to work with all its clubs to ensure that attending matches remains an enjoyable, positive experience for supporters and, to assist, will be issuing updated guidance regarding a number of safety, security and stewarding matters.’
Less than 24 hours later, EFL’s social media was being pointed at a press statement, that read;
‘The Mitre ball used in this season’s Carabao Cup is of exactly the same technical specification as the balls used in the Sky Bet EFL and Checkatrade Trophy… Clearly, preference is a subjective matter, but overall the entertainment provided across last night’s Round Four ties would suggest that the ball used is not having a negative impact in the competition’.
A statement as empty as Bloomfield Road for a CheckaTrade Trophy match. In short, more than our job’s worth, it’s probably blown over by now. A master class in doing precisely bugger all. ‘No specific action to be taken under [our] rules,’ is an odd one; it’s as if they’ve spent sixty days debating whether inappropriately touching up female fans should be punished with a direct or an indirect free-kick.
So forget what the EFL say; whilst they may champion that without fans football is nothing, in actuality, you can treat our fans how you bloody well like so long as you pretend to go on a course afterwards, but woe betide anyone who suggests anything even slightly less than positive about our one of our official suppliers.
In the same week this non-statement was released, Manchester City manager Pep Guardiola was earning a few extra column inches to detract from his side’s near-exit from the League Cup to Wolves, by complaining about the quality of the ball.
Quite succinctly, the actions and subtext behind these statements tell us just what the EFL’s words within them never would. That when it comes to protecting and safeguarding the interests of supporters, the EFL’s priorities are actually a load of balls.
‘It is not acceptable, the ball was unacceptable for a high-level competition… It is too light, there is no weight, nothing. It is not a good ball.’
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WINDMILLS OF YOUR MIND DUTCH UNCLE TAKES A LOOK AT ROVERS’ DOUBLE CENTURIONS The result is a fairly even spread over time in the 38 players on the list; eight playing pre-war (including Bycroft who also played post-war), five in the 15 years post-war and 12 across the 1960s and 1970s. There’s just six from the 1980s and 1990s, and seven from our post Conference years - Tim Ryan the only player to turn out for Rovers both before and after our conference spell.
I have heard it said on a number of occasions that ‘James Coppinger has broken all club appearances records,’ but that’s not quite true. Even if we are discounting the wartime appearances of Syd Bycroft, which would’ve taken the centre-half to 592 matches - as argued by Rob Marshall in popular STAND issue 89 - there remain a few club appearance records not yet in Coppinger’s name.
As you’ll see, Coppinger may be our leading appearance maker across all competitions, and in the Football League, but he doesn’t hold this title on all competitions. For a start the player with the most total Cup appearances is Colin Douglas with 64. In individual cups Bert Tindill leads the way in the FA Cup with 28 games, whilst our leading League Cup appearance maker is Dennis Peacock with 26. Douglas’ overall lead is cemented thanks to his boasting of the most matches in the Associate Members’ Cup (currently the Checkatrade Trophy) with 23.
To illustrate I have compiled a table (opposite) of players who have played 200 games for the club as of Coppinger’s 550th match against Scunthorpe last month. The table includes all competitive first team matches, with just a few exceptions. Not counted are the three fixtures of 1939-40 played before the outbreak of World War II; neither are wartime fixtures. Also omitted are non-league seasons prior to our return to the Football League in 1923-24 as sadly the data is simply not available, though I cannot see any suggestion that a player may have crossed the 200 game threshold in those matches. And, abandoned and annulled matches, are also naturally discounted, these include the infamous rained off Championship match at The Valley, and matches against Aldershot in 1991-92 prior to their resignation from the League.
From our most recent non-league sojourn, Simon Marples, Andy Warrington and Andy Watson each made six FA Trophy appearances, leading the way in that competition, whilst Dave Penney heads the Conference League Cup stats with 10 games. And last but not least, Paul Green is the only player to have played in both our play-off seasons, giving him twice as many appearances as his nearest challenger. 36
PLAYER F.Lge Conf FAC FLC AMC other Total 2004-16 488 0 25 24 10 3 550 James COPPINGER 1981-85 + 88-92 404 0 18 23 23 0 468 Colin DOUGLAS 1924-35 417 0 20 0 1 0 438 Fred EMERY 1945-57 401 0 28 0 0 0 429 Bert TINDILL 1950-61 353 0 27 0 0 0 380 Brian MAKEPEACE 1975-79 + 82-85 329 0 14 26 4 0 373 Dennis PEACOCK 1935-51 333 0 20 0 2 0 355 Syd BYCROFT 1976-84 + 98-99 309 1 16 14 5 0 345 Glynn SNODIN 1949-58 312 0 20 0 0 0 332 Len GRAHAM 1945-56 307 0 24 0 0 0 331 Ken HARDWICK 1954-56 + 63-68 262 0 23 10 0 0 295 Alick JEFFREY 1975-85 244 0 16 17 8 0 285 Billy RUSSELL 2001-07 198 38 10 11 15 7 279 Paul GREEN 1929-35 264 0 11 0 2 0 277 Bobby SMITH 1924-31 257 0 18 0 0 0 275 Jack BUCKLEY 1978-84 237 0 16 14 5 0 272 Steve LISTER 1971-76 236 0 12 15 0 0 263 Stan BROOKES 1952-60 240 0 15 2 0 0 257 Ron WALKER 1970-76 228 0 12 16 0 0 256 Peter KITCHEN 1966-71 227 0 16 9 0 0 252 Stuart ROBERTSON 1969-74 228 0 12 7 0 0 247 Archie IRVINE 2006-11 212 0 14 8 5 3 242 James O’CONNOR 1923-28 231 0 10 0 0 0 241 Tom KEETLEY 1930-36 226 0 10 0 1 0 237 George GLADWIN 1996 + 2000-05 116 94 8 6 8 4 236 Tim RYAN 0 15 10 0 0 231 Albert BROADBENT 1959-61 + 62-65 206 1979-84 + 98-99 188 13 15 9 4 1 230 Ian SNODIN 1994-99 125 72 9 3 6 14 229 Lee WARREN 1999-2005 89 107 7 7 3 15 228 Andy WARRINGTON 1979-81 / 83-85 / 89-91 189 0 11 8 11 0 219 David HARLE 2006-12 197 0 10 4 3 3 217 Neil SULLIVAN 2006-11 190 0 13 4 6 3 216 Brian STOCK 1973-77 187 0 10 15 0 0 212 Brendan O’CALLAGHAN 1980-87 180 0 9 13 9 0 211 Glenn HUMPHRIES 1965-70 188 0 10 10 0 0 208 Bob GILLFILLAN 1971-75 186 0 11 11 0 0 207 Steve UZELAC 1932-38 196 0 6 0 2 0 204 Stan BURTON 1924-31 189 0 12 0 0 0 201 Joe BOWMAN Not immediately clear from the table is who tops the appearance charts in each tier, but they are as follows. In tier two, Bert Tindill with 314 appearances; Coppinger’s 261 games lead at tier three. In the days of the regionalised third tier Fred Emery chalked up 380 matches at that level, then it’s close run in tier four where Dennis Peacock’s 237 games just pip Stan Brookes and Colin Douglas on 236. And in the Conference Simon Marples leads with 110 matches. No figures quoted in this article are official. Dutch Uncle uses many, often conflicting sources including club handbooks, Rothmans/Sky Annuals, and best of all, The Official Rovers History by Bluff and Watson. For definitive data, the reader is referred to Tony Bluff and/or Barry Watson. 37
REG IPSA: LEGAL BEAGLE OUR RESIDENT LEGAL EXPERT APPEARS TO BE ALMOST SOBER, SO HE’S BACK TOP FIELD YOUR QUESTIONS LITTLE FIX Dear Reg, I bought four tickets to see them Little Mix at the Community Centre; £3 each they were, which I thought was a bargain. Anyway, turns out it were a couple of midget strippers; male and female. I had to send my wife and daughters home and persevere through the two hours on my own, you know, just to be sure it wasn’t what I’d paid for. Can I sue em for trades description or summat? Roy Spigot, Edlington
REG RESPONDS You might have a case there Roy, though I’d need to see the poster, flower. Don’t suppose you know where they are on next do you? For, er, research with the case like. You understand.
LONG TALL SILLY My 6’ 9” son has been struggling for work. He’s tried allsorts but they all want him doing things like turning up on time and moving about and that. Any ideas Reg? Doris Bones, Balby
REG RESPONDS You’re in luck Doris. My mate Turkey Terry is putting a gazebo outside the Black Bull selling christmas stuff. He can use him as a tent pole. £10 a day and a bag of chips are his terms. Failing that if he can head a football he can go up top for Rovers and give Alfie May something to feed off.
FAT BIT I bought my fellah one of them fitness watches. He sits on the settee all day playing games so it just beeps “Fat Knacker” all the time. It’s right off-putting - especially as he keeps it on when we have a wrestle. Can you give me some insightful consumer advice? Kerry Gold, Hatfield
REG RESPONDS It’s doing what it says on the tin love. I’ll have it off you - for £2. I can give it to the opposition goalkeeper at the Rovers; be good to know he’s still there.
STAR LETTER Long story short, I’m taking water tablets at the moment. Anyway, last week I was at the football when I got short caught and had to sneak my old fellah out and wee on the pitch during the second half. I got sent off and face a long ban. Trouble is I was running the line at the time. Should I appeal? Rupert Slash, Brodsworth
REG RESPONDS I’ve seen the footage. Why didn’t you use your flag to cover your modesty? And, did you really need to spray it all over the winger and the full back, and that poor steward? I’ll try me old love but I reckon they might think you were taking the, er, proverbial. 38