TSLR053

TSLR

The Albion Fanzine TSLR053 November 2013

FRIGHT NIGHT:

IT COULD HAVE BEEN

SO MUCH WORSE

ÂŁ1

Inside: A Chat With North Stand Chat Exclusive Extract From Dick Knight Book Has Football Sponsorship Gone Too Far? Yeovil: The Dullest Away Day in Great Britain

the TSLR SHOP

Albion tat boutique www.tslr.bigcartel.com

Inside TSLR053 5.

What’s Hot, What’s Not

TSLR053 The Seagull Love Review is an independent Brighton and Hove Albion magazine.

Issue 54 / Nov 2013 The views expressed in the publication do not necessarily reflect the views of the Editors, or The Seagull Love Review.

Thanks this issue to BM, JT, KM, RM, BM, NB, JS, SW Edited by SS and SS Artwork/Photo by SS, DL Digital Publishing by BP

6.

TSLR Calendar 8.

Corporate Football 10.

North Stand Chat 14.

Monday Night Magic 18.

This Is How It Feels 24.

Reviews 26.

Extract From MAD MAN

By Dick Knight 29.

Plight of the Seagull 30.

Carter

tslr@hotmail.co.uk @tslr

Pah. International breaks are becoming the subject of our ire down at TSLR Towers. They just seem to get in the way.

Amazingly, international breaks and Halloween themed marketing initiatives are the most we can complain about these days. TSLR053 includes an exclusive extract from the Dick Knight biography just after his 1997 takeover - it’s here to remind you it wasn’t always this good. However, it’s been a muddle of mid table ‘meh’ watching the Albion so far this season but recent results have given us slight encouragement. With the injuries and disappointing results - especially at home - it’s testament to the way Gus left the club that the majority are backing Oscar so wholeheartedly. That, and his impeccable dress sense. There’s a great chat with NSC too, as well as all the usual tripe.

Up the Albion S&S

What’s Hot!

What’s Not!

Finally after months of need and speculation, we finally landed Leroy Lita.

Despite having no recognised strikers, Lita’s pace, power and goal scoring record at this level was good enough to continually earn himself a spot on the bench. Sub.

An injury ravaged squad, the opposition free scoring and some ridiculous PR stunt by the club calling the fixture “Fright Night,” it was all there for the pun writers and doom merchants to have a field day. But then the Brighton team actually turned up with a positive performance and point after being a goal down, Party poopers. Draw.

You could only laugh. Why get angry?

Craig Conway, clean through on goal, shapes to shoot, misses the ball, and falls flat on his face. It was so good it would make Dean Gaffneys Own Goals & Gaffs Christmas DVD. Lols.

Fair play to the club for listening to its customers, I mean fans. Stating on Twitter that Dicks Bar was going to open later than normal for Fright Night. The threat of fans spending money in town instead of The Amex Arms, prompted the club to open an hour and a half earlier than planned.

Wonga.

We won away. I repeat, we won away.

Thank you Doncaster Rovers, the loving between our clubs has always been great! The goals too, they were proper football pings, stuff you see on goal of the season montages and everything. Worldies.

That goal Watford scored against us, that was in wasn’t it? Even The Amex advertising hoardings were taking the piss out of them, with the displays of www.overline.com taunting them pitch side as they got to grips with their goal that never was. Technology.

@BrettMendoza

This is just so daft I had to show horn it in like Bruno to the starting XI. Former Brighton player Joe Kinnear (tedious link) scouting for Newcastle at Birmingham v Swansea liked the look of Shane Ferguson and tried to sign him. Only to be told he was on loan from, that’s right, Newcastle. What a Benny Kinnear is. Blunder.

It was reported in the papers that Kemy Augstien had his cars stolen from outside his house, but were recovered a few hours later. We weren’t sure if they were stolen or he had just misplaced them like most of his passes. Controversial.

Brighton have got so bad that even in fictional cartoons we can’t win.

Despite Ashley Barnes opening the scoring, we suffered a 3-1 humiliation against Warbury Warriors in The Sun. Demoralising.

That new billboard outside Brighton Station that says “2013: Brighton & Hove Albion in the Premier League” Well that was ruined by The Nigel’s up the road. And seeing Poyet do well against Newcastle is like seeing your ex girlfriend that dumped you, out with an Abercrombie model. Jealous

October 2013

tslr calendar

5 October Our wretched October form continued as Albion got pummelled

by Nottingham Forest at Falmer. The good news?

Some things never change, even if managers do: Albion goalkeeping coach, Ruben Martinez, was sent to the stand for backing Dagenham Dave’s insistence that waving an imaginary yellow card is absolutely honourable. It may not exactly be sportsmanlike, but Poyet’s legacy is funnier than this Olympic legacy everyone keeps banging on about.

7 October Whilst it may have been, ultimately, a decent draw for the youf team at Selhurst, old habits continue to haunt us. 2-0 up and cruising at half time of the ‘U21 professional mouthful development league 2’, the kids managed to give away two second half goals to P****e. We suppose that, when the development squad players become senior ones, they’ll know to eradicate conceding two second half goals against that lot in future. Just like they did in May. Oh... And who’s that young U21 year old playing for the famous blue and white stripes? Ah, Adam El-Abd of course.

8 October The orchestrator of that play-off collapse - and the orchestral conductor of flair himself – was announced as Sunderland manager.

Having just offloaded a slightly racist, foreign, tippy tappy, ultimate failure of a manager in Paulo di Canio, the north eastern club decided to employ a slightly racist, foreign, tippy tappy,

ultimate failure of a manager in Gus Poyet. TSLR Towers was reasonably pleased with this outcome as it meant we got to pen a whole guest article for the Sunderland fanzine, A Love Supreme, about our former Uruguayan hero. Their fanzine sells more copies each month than TSLR has in six seasons.

12 October The Albion reminded all Falmer NIMBYs exactly why they wanted to save their Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (we now have ours) from the claws of unscrupulous property developers. The club announced plans for a hotel at Falmer alongside 850 student apartments (we say apartments, we all know they’re the size of hotel rooms). A report recently found that students are charged up to £300 per week on average to live in university accommodation so they’d fit right in at Falmer paying over the odds for poor return. Ah well, if we get this built then we - like Forest can FOFFP for good.

15 October What’s that? Gus Poyet has a new job. And that means he’s definitely going to sign Liam Bridcutt and Leonardo Ulloa in January?

Of course it does.

19 October Has anyone found a taxi or public transport in Yeovil yet?

We’re still at the Huish Park industrial estate, trying to find a way to get back to the train station.

22 October Albion signed a striker from Arsenal. Yep, he’s 17 and we’ve never heard

of him either. He couldn’t possibly be as bad as Justin Hoyte, could he?

23 October Ian LOLloway sat at a press conference with the new Simon Jordan and admitted that a summer of bizarre signings (lest we forget Stephen Dobbie for 800k!) had led to their awful, awful form in the top flight this season. As he headed back to the west country with his Wurzel-voiced tail between his legs, ‘Ollie’ actually departed with something us Albionites won’t be familiar with when it comes to managerial departures: dignity. TSLR Towers was cocka-hoop – had the sacking come a couple of weeks earlier, we may well have been writing this with the worst case scenario possible... Gus getting his revenge on the Lizard with a red and blue tie during a press conference at Smellhurst.

26 October The only time anybody should be kicked out of football grounds for flares? The 1970s. Unless Oscar was wearing them.

Surely, OG is the only man at Falmer who could pull off wearing clothes from 40 years ago.

28 October The scariest thing about fright night at Falmer? The pumpkin pie.

Even amongst Brighton’s

vegetarian fraternity (who incidentally tend to avoid football crowds entirely), nobody actually likes pumpkin, surely. Has anyone else noticed that these marketing matches don’t even have extended bar opening times or ways of generating the club extra money? Who knows how much it cost to pin up a couple of dilapidated Spanish flags or make some Gully masks splattered with some sort of ketchup? Make money marketers, don’t waste it.

29 October With every game, Oscar Garcia becomes our kind of manager. His suits are consistently flair (the kit man really needs to keep him out of Errea, mind you); he kisses the club badge on regular occasions; he has a wonderful accent that inspires tippy tappy football; but, most importantly, he uses ‘I didn’t see it’ as a genuine post-match excuse, like when talking about Watford’s phantom goal.

Incidentally, the whole of the ball needs to be

over the whole of the line.

Conclusively. We didn’t see it either, we were still drinking beers in the concourse.

There wouldn’t have been any debate had centre-back Germaine Greer cleared it first time.

2 November A win. An actual win. With goals.

Actual goals. Dagenham Dave became Spanish again.

And October left us to pick up some points. Admittedly against the league’s worst.

Plus we’re still moaning at JFC for shooting from so far out. It’s been a bit meh watching Albion this season so it was lovely to finally hear that Albion beat P****e. Although it seemed odd as it was in the top flight and we were playing (sorry, WINNING) at Donny. Thanks West Bromwich, who inflicted the magnificent seventh defeat in a row for that team from the filthy end of the A23.

4 November Haven’t got a story for a local newspaper?

Why not report that Gordon Greer will definitely this time play for Scotland because he’s made the squad again. And then wait. TSLR

CORPORATE FOOTBALL Sponsorship and football is nothing new, but at what point does the official partner become more important than the bloke on the terrace?

D

oes it make you laugh when you hear the matchday announcer state that there will be a minimum of two minutes’ added time, “sponsored by Julie’s Jewellery of High Street, Doncaster”? Or that each of the substitutions was “brought to you by the Quedam Shopping Centre” as was the case recently at Yeovil? Presumably that was where lots of people had gone that Saturday afternoon having heard similar announcements previously, such was the lack of crowd at Huish Park.

It seems that almost every aspect of our beloved game can be sponsored these days. Match sponsors, ball sponsors and kit sponsors have been around for a while but Clubs are becoming ever more inventive when trying to attract corporate money. It can’t be long before a red card causes a PA announcer to explain that “Lee Cattermole’s early bath was supplied by Quality Bathrooms of Sunderland” for example.

I noticed recently that every e-mail from our Club now has a section at the bottom containing corporate logos of Club spon-

sors. Maybe they’ve been there for a while and I haven’t spotted them before due to a general lack of interest in the subject matter of the e-mails (sorry, but I really don’t need a pre-match brief to tell me that there will be programmes, pies and Club merchandise available at the game). But it looks like Brighton have loads of sponsors, each presumably paying the Club plenty of money in an attempt to get their company’s name on our lips whenever any of us feel like buying a new BMW or two.

In addition to sponsors, I note that we have several ‘partners’. Call me old-fashioned but I assume a partner is involved in a closer, more meaningful kind of relationship and having more than one partner is somewhat alternative but not necessarily unacceptable provided there is trust and understanding on all sides. But I digress. Presumably these partners also pay money to the Club in return for advertising their companies which few of us ever use.

It’s easy to scoff at the Football League having an Official Pizza Partner and

to adapt an old joke, if Budweiser choose to put money into football, you shouldn’t take the piss as there’d be nothing left. But whatever we think of the companies involved, we have to accept that our Clubs’ incomes are becoming less and less dependent upon season ticket sales and gate receipts from the likes of us, and increasingly reliant on television money and corporate sponsorship.

What we don’t have to accept though is an attitude that the ‘ordinary’ fan is less important than the businessman who can afford to put hundreds or thousands more pounds than us into the Club. In our case especially, we’d like to think that we are more important than them. The part played by the ‘ordinary’ fans in getting the Club back from the brink of extinction can never be forgotten. The investment we made was in emotion, time, effort and determination. Subsequent investments in pounds and pence would not have been possible without us.

It’s a delicate balancing act though.

Our Club has been criticised for becoming too corporate and concentrating its efforts on at-

tracting new business money instead of looking after its core support. Banging on about FFP and maximising revenues and minimising costs doesn’t help because those are business terms, not football-speak. As I’ve mentioned before, the ordinary fan doesn’t judge success or failure of a football team by looking at the accounts.

Personally, I feel that the balance hasn’t yet tipped too far towards corporate football rather than fans’ football at Brighton, and that our contribution to the success (or otherwise) of our Club is still very much recognised and valued. But we are watching increasingly carefully. TSLR

Midfield Diamond

A QUICK WORD WITH NORTH STAND CHAT @JemStone

12

months ago this week; An Albion fan from Polegate who uses the pseudonym; Withdean Wanderer, started a new thread on the internet forum; North Stand Chat (NSC). One of the 40 or so new discussions started by fans every day and one of over 20,000 posts by “Wanderer” himself in the last 10 years; “Spanish Dave - what exactly does he do?” ; was a rather provocative and negative summary of the ex Athletic Club de Bilbao midfielder who’d had a quiet start to last season. There followed, within minutes, a typical NSC response; some agreement, a fair few articulate rebuttals “He’ll come good”, ad hominem attacks on Wanderer himself (“the biggest wind up merchant on here”) , and weak jokes (he’s awesome on Fifa13”).

The majority of threads on NSC, usually then die, never to be seen again replaced by that days normal discussion; a blur of transfer gossip, delusion, wild rumours, and the half full/half empty emotions of diehard football fans. But, “Spanish Dave”,proved hard to shake off. Every time Lopez scored crucial penalties last winter, memorably after *that* free kick and inevitably after he came good at Doncaster, the thread is bumped to the front page of the forum. And it makes us laugh again. But then someone genuinely asks again “Yes, yes but what does he do ?”. And so it starts over.

Over a decade old now; reading North Stand Chat is part of the daily routine of supporting the club for the 18,000 fans who have registered their details and the 6000 who regularly write and post online including myself, with a growing group of thousands of users who just lurk. Most fans are probably completely unaware but keeping Chat running smoothly, paying to keep it online and organising a group of volunteer moderators who strive to keep it safe and free from legal interference is quite a task. That extensive role falls to lifelong fan; Darren McKay or “Bozza” as he is known to Chat regulars. A Goldstone veteran who used to stand on a milk crate in the East Stand with his Dad. He still gets to

more than 30 matches a season and one of his daughters has the middle name of “Zamora”.

One of the gang behind pre-TSLR zine; Scars and Stripes, he now lives in Somerset and his season ticket involves a 400 mile round trips to the Amex. Supporting the Albion can often turn, as we know, into quite a commitment.

Darren, How did North Stand Chat begin ?

Around 2001/2, the internet was becoming more accessible and through Scars and Stripes I had met a few of the ‘internet Seagulls’,as they were known then including Gary Crittenden who had founded Seagull Server, a rudimentary bulletin board. The pre-cursor to North Stand Chat. The zine had been wound up and I liked the idea of a new project so I offered to take it on.

I expect most users think websites, like NSC, run themselves for free. Of course there’s substantial hosting costs especially when traffic is high.

At first it was probably costing me £40-50 a month, but this soon escalated. It became a constant juggling act in terms of minimising hosting costs, but ensuring there was enough capacity to handle demand peaks which, for NSC, typically occurred when managers came and went, and when signings were being made. In the old days, when NSC got busy it slowed down and then died.

Today we have, essentially, unlimited hosting capacity and we pay for what we use. Most months NSC costs in the region of £500-600 a month in hosting.Most of the time when UK users are likely to be awake NSC will tick along with 1000-1200 people online. Peak periods will bring over 3000 and our hosting arrangements are such that the site still skips along at a rapid rate. Our current record is 3,704 concurrent users which happened on transfer window day; August 31st last year.

So, all in all, NSC probably costs around £8000 a year to run. This is funded by

advertising with the most notable contribution coming from Google AdSense. Most users will be familiar with the big banner on the top right of every page. Those who are not logged into NSC, which are thought of as ‘guests’ see slightly more intrusive advertising but that seems a fair compromise - join the site and contribute to the community and you’ll see less adverts when you visit. Currently NSC is cash positive month on month which enables the site to support Albion related charitable causes such as REMF, AITC and Cancer Research.

Users are often unaware of their legal responsibilities when posting on forums and knowledge of libel is poor. How hard was it run the forum during “recent events”?

During the court case and during Gus-gate it all got a bit tense. It was suggested to me that I should either shut NSC down for a while or set the site up such that each post was manually reviewed prior to being published. I didn’t want to do either of those, so we tried to keep things running by doing things such as having a single discussion thread with very explicit rules. Most users understood this and NSC’s excellent group of volunteer moderators were able to react when required. There were still many heated telephone conversations but I think we did about as well as we could.

Perhaps users self censor but the tone of the forum is remarkably friendly or users sort things out for themselves even when Palace fans turn up. How often do you intervene. How often do you ban users ?

My ethos has always been to run the site with a light moderating touch, which i appreciate is not to everyone’s liking. There is a considerable amount of self-moderation amongst the community - those who post rubbish will generally be told as much pretty quickly and that shapes future behaviour.

Every post has a ‘report’ button alongside it and we encourage users to use this rather than responding to abuse with abuse it triggers an email allowing action to be taken if required. The site runs a points system that will be familiar to drivers. If a series of relatively minor offences are made the site will impose a 3 day posting restriction. More infringements will see this gradually ramp up to an indefinite ban for repeat offenders. Moderators can also impose an immediate ban if they deem it appropriate. This happens very infrequently however - I don’t run a message board to stop people posting messages. Fortunately most users react very positively to their first warning and no further action is required.

You must have good contacts and occasionally post information about contracts and transfers that stand up. How does the club itself use NSC ?

I have friends at the club but our respective roles are such that anything they tell me is considered ‘off record’ and wouldn’t make it onto NSC or our Twitter and Facebook feeds.

Anything I write - typically transfer gossip will come from other sources. The Albion is a sizeable organisation now and it will always be difficult for them to stop information leaking out on occasion.

Club management do read the site that much is clear from how often my phone rings when contentious matters are being discussed! It makes sense for them to do so though - it has to be the quickest and easiest way to get a quick barometer reading on how Albion fans are feeling.

I’ve been told that some players delve in and out. I would imagine human nature makes it difficult to not have a quick look, particularly in the day or two following a match.

Your relationship with The Argus seems fractious. You once closed the forum

temporarily in response to a piece in the paper where Argus journalist; Andy Naylor criticised “internet moaners” Most of the time we just poke a bit of fun at Andy. I don’t envy his job at all - having to fill column inches, and pixels, with Albion content each and every day can not be easy.

We have the advantage of being able to say things he can’t. I won’t pretend it’s not good fun though when, for example, he posted that there is no way CMS would be joining us yet we were posting that he was 100% joining us.

The other advantage NSC has is simple crowd-sourcing. People who work in certain Brighton hotels know when prospective players are booked in. People who do Gatwick to Brighton taxi runs sometimes pick up players when they arrive . These people often like to share their gossip and turn to NSC to do so.

NSC is known as a football forum obviously.

Yet for me the best and most knowledgeable threads are about music, food, and travel recommendations…

NSC is a site for Albion fans, not an Albion site. The difference in those terms may seem small, but it reflects the way the site works - it’s Albion fans talking about stuff and not people talking about the Albion. If someone doesn’t look at NSC very frequently they may view it as a somewhat testosterone filled hive of aggression, but I don’t think that is the case at all. If an NSCer has troubles, and some can be very serious, then the community really does rally round helping users with family bereavements, addictions and life-threatening illnesses.

The role of fans in saving the club is well known. How important a role did it play in the last decade ?

‘The war years’ were before my time as custodian

of NSC, but it was vital then in allowing coordination of activities in the battle against Archer et al. My time at the helm of the site has been about working with the club, not against it, as we campaigned for what is now the Amex and in that I think NSC was pivotal both in the creation of imaginative campaign ideas as well as allowing the rapid cascading of initiatives such as letter-writing . Would the Amex have been secured without NSC? Almost certainly, yes, but I think the site was a great help in rapidly getting Albion into action when required.

What keeps you doing this ?

I think it’s a fantastic community that I’m proud to be part of. It’s the first thing I look at in the morning, and the last thing I look at before I go to bed. It’s been ever-present in my life, which has had ups and downs, over the past 12 years or so and I’ve made many very good friends through it, and I know the same is true for many, many others. I still love being just a user of NSC and there will be stuff that makes me laugh out loud every day, often from the most unexpected sources. The positive effect it has on the club we all support is icing on the cake.TSLR

MONDAY NIGHT MAGIC @slightlysubdad brightononlyathome.wordpress.com

M

onday Night Football Stinks Like a Dead Tramp Picture the scene. It’s a Friday afternoon at work. You are dressed down and even Mandy in Accounts is a bit de-mob chirpy. Leaving at 4.30 is going to be a cinch. The only thing that could make this better is if, instead of going home, you went out for a few beers with your mates with a Championship football match as the meat in the piss-up sandwich.

Picture the scene. It’s a Saturday morning. You have got up late and treated yourself to a heart attack inducing breakfast. The only thing that’s going to improve the day, frankly is a trip to the pub followed by a trip to the football. It’s almost like some weird kind of tradition.

Picture the scene. It’s a Monday

afternoon. You are dressed up and Mandy in Accounts has just scolded you for sending an unsolicited email that your boss, in fact, did ask you to write. You have been booked in to a meeting about paperclips that may last till 5.15. What do you want to do after? Drag your sorry behind home to open the bottle of wine you said you’d give up on weekdays and watch something like Great British Bake Off that actually needs no brain cells to concentrate on. That’s what.

So the decisions to switch the Watford match to a Monday went down like Wilf Zaha in a submarine. Who the heck wants to watch football on a MONDAY? No one. Not when there are 6 other better days to watch it on anyway. Except for Thursday. Playing on a Thursday these

days just reinforces that you are the team that nearly made it.

But Sky want you to watch on Monday because they have a dedicated sports channel or four to fill. Never mind that some of the fans have already booked rail tickets and hotel rooms on the Friday the game was originally scheduled for.

This is content. There must be some sad saps out there with nothing better to do on a Monday than watch football on the tv.

Particularly the fans of the teams involved who can no longer make it thanks to the reschedule.

Perhaps the only thing that could make playing on a Monday worse would be if there was some kind of apocalyptic weather event that shut down public transport that morning. Oh wait.

I theorised that the Watford game would be the biggest difference between tickets bought and bums on seats since the Amex opened. In the event the amount of people that did make it staggered me. What’s more, annoyingly, it was one of the more enjoyable home games this season. But still. I’d rather eat Zaha’s rancid Palace football socks than have another game swapped from a Friday to a Monday.* *don’t hold me to that anyone. TSLR

THIS IS HOW IT FEELS A grim tale of being a Brighton and Hove Albion fan during the dark years.

Written by Albion Innit

F

riday March 28 1997:

Seven games to go. Chester, Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. Chester, Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. Chester, Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. The fixtures go through my head like a mantra, throbbing, pulsing, pounding inside me.

I can’t think of anything else, I’m zombified, life passes by and I have no idea what has happened since the previous Saturday, beating Cardiff 2-0.

It’s brought hope, we’re only two points adrift.

Hope is the blessing and the curse of every football fan, like a rainbow, it’s there but it’s not there, it can disappear in a trace.

Watching the Albion at present is Jekyll and Hyde under Steve Gritt. Home form incredible, away form pathetic, it can’t be the same set of players surely. The pattern is the same, clawing back a huge points deficit at the Goldstone every two weeks, the atmosphere electric, vitriolic, malevolent as we unite in our opposition to the twin forces of evil that are Archer and Bellotti, but other clubs inching ahead in the intervening matches as defeats at Orient, Torquay, Lincoln, Carlisle, Darlington and Hull prevent any positive momentum.

It’s like seeing a loved one die, I’ve been there before, but this is worse.

I finish work at five, but for the whole day I have been sullen, distracted, not hearing the phone, ignoring comments and smiles from colleagues. I’m given tasks to do, but procrastinate, prevaricate, I know I’m worse than useless, but work isn’t important, it’s not the Albion.

“Going to watch that lot again tomorrow are you?” colleagues ask in sympathy, I nod sullenly, fingers biting into my palms, chewing my lip, unable to eat. I can’t think of anything else, it’s all encompassing, nothing else matters, they don’t understand, no one understands, except my fellow fans, they know, they suffer too, we all do, we’re Albion.

Friday night, half heartedly play with the kids, keep looking at the watch, willing time away, wife wants a takeaway. Great, it allows me to

disappear from the house for 30 minutes to collect; it means I don’t have to talk to her. I return, she makes small talk, the kids, school, her mum, asks how was my day at work? What’s for dinner on Sunday? I stare back, resentful, doesn’t she understand? I’m barely able to grunt, let alone talk, monosyllabilic, distant, distracted. She knows something is wrong, but she’s not Albion, she’s not one of us, she’s an interloper, can’t feel the pain, an outsider in my ever shrinking universe.

She’s scared to ask any more, probably thinks I am having an affair. But nothing could be further from the truth. Women, booze, drugs I couldn’t give a fuck about, all that matters is tomorrow, three points, even one, but not defeat, time is running out too quickly, we must get something from the match.

She holds me close, but I stare through her, around her, anywhere but at the loving eyes before me. I’m a ignorant football obsessed cunt, but I don’t know it…. can’t see it….won’t see it. She pulls away, tears in her eyes, I stiffen, but do nothing to comfort her, she doesn’t matter, she’s not Albion. I shake my head, walk away, pretend I have something to do, anything to do, I don’t want company, care, compassion, consoling, leave me alone with my thoughts.

Saturday morning, set off early, very early, that way I don’t have to talk to anyone at home.

Driving by myself, don’t want anyone around me; the thought of conversation does my head

in. But the fixtures go round and around, Exeter v Mansfield, Barnet v Darlington, Hereford v Fulham, Carlisle v Doncaster, Hartlepool v Colchester. I know which of the lads are going, and have heard stories that numbers may be swelled by some equally disaffected …..desperate….confused……..emotionally crippled.

We may be inarticulate, we may be immature, we may be insecure, but we…they…all of us…. want to be there today, see the Albion, get a result, to have the collective joy and suffering that only football can bring, but this is more intense than anything before. Promotions, Wembley, play-offs, they were fun, a knees up, a piss up. This is more, much more, this is everything. This is the last twenty odd years of my life about to be extinguished. If we are relegated we’re done for, talk of consortiums is fine, but with nowhere to play, and players who no want will want to watch, I can see the end of the club, taste it, fear it, live it, hate it, hate me, hate everything about me.

Roads are clear, get to Chester for midday, go to the boozer where I know the Albion crew will be. Nods, whispers, sideways glances as we check to see if any police are there. Word is that

Bellotti is going to be in the director’s box. Big decision for the lads, get shitfaced before the match, or send out a welcoming party for the slimy weasel that is our CEO. As I’m driving my decision is easy, I’m keen to get to the ground, talk in the pub is easy for others, not for me. I need to release the hatred inside me.

There’s a few of us milling around at the players entrance, we see the Albion coach arrive, Steve Gritt gets off first, gives us a wave, players look nervous, we give them a cheer, weak smiles in response, no sign of Bellotti, must have been a false alarm. Still 90 minutes before kick off, so few locals around at this time of afternoon. The Deva is a dump, four sets of glorified breeze blocks in the middle of a trading estate, so no one apart from the devoted and the insane gets there too early.

We mill around, not sure what to do, will look like a bunch of clowns if we go into the ground at this time, so agree to nip back to the pub for a couple, probably need it given our away form.

As we are sloping back a black Mercedes passes by, take a look in the back seat, it’s Bellotti.

He sees us, eyes widen, shouts at the driver.

We turn, chase, but a dozen fat blokes in their 30’s are not too swift, the car parks next to

“The fixtures go round and around, Exeter v Mansfield, Barnet v Darlington, Hereford v Fulham, Carlisle v Doncaster, Hartlepool v Colchester. I know which of the lads are going, and have heard stories that numbers may be swelled by some equally disaffected …..desperate…. confused……..emotionally crippled”

the directors entrance, Bellotti alights, sees us arriving en masse, and legs it like a rabbit being chased by a greyhound into the sanctuary of the stadium.

Security guards stop us getting any further, a few coppers trot over. “What’s going on lads?”

They ask. We look at each other, awaiting someone to be our spokesman, no one steps forwards, we know deep down that we have been outmanoeuvred by Bellotti. The security lads look a bit tasty, and it’s not their war, so no point kicking off, they’re not Albion, they wouldn’t understand, no one does, only us, it’s us against the world.

People start to arrive in ones and twos; we have a chat with the lads who stayed in the pub, we all curse Bellotti, typical of the cunt, using club funds to get chauffeured to the match. Rubbing our noses in it, taunting us, his smug grin is embedded in my brain until the match kicks off. if only we had stayed at the players entrance a couple of extra minutes, might have given him a shoeing, made him realise what he was doing to the club, to us, to our mates, to our town, to our identity, to everything that makes our shitty little lives bearable.

Match kicks off, we have a decent but not spectacular turnout. Can’t blame people for not wanting to watch this shite to be honest. It’s not enjoyable, it’s not fun, but it is the Albion, and all that matters at present. Thirteen minutes of hit and hope, we get a corner, ball is headed out, runs to Jeff Minton, but instead of shanking it, or putting it over the roof, he unleashes a screamer from outside the box and we’re fucking one up. We can’t believe it, run up and down the terrace like lunatics, hugging ourselves, hugging each other, shaking fists.

Perhaps…..perhaps, this could be our turning point away from home. If we can hold on, but there’s a long way to go.

Half time, still leading, get out my radio, tune in, await the reports from the higher divisions.

Then come the division three scores. It’s not great, everyone else is either drawing or winning, but at least we are not falling hugely further behind.

Fifty six minutes gone, still ahead, but Chester are pressing, but we are looking solid. They have a meaningless free kick half way in our half, ball is tapped out to their full back, he cuts inside Paul McDonald heads towards our area and leathers it straight past the keeper. Shit,

“Maskell superbly brings it under control, lays it off to Reinelt, fifteen yards out, he blazes it high over the bar. Fucking Reinelt, useless twat, he’ll never do anything for this club, we curse, scream, agonise, suffer, suffer, suffer”

shit shit, never saw that coming. Heads are in hands at our end, we’re not creating much, we’ve been here too often before too.

Hang on, hang on, hang on. Hour gone, seventy minutes, seventy five, hoof upfield from Hobson is headed back into our half, midfield disappears, their forward taps through the flatfooted defence and the unmarked Andy Milner slots it in from six yards. I can’t believe it, we’ve played better this match than for the last half dozen away from the Goldstone, but the same result away now beckons.

One last attack, into injury time long cross from the right, Maskell superbly brings it under control with his back to goal in the box, lays it off to Reinelt, fifteen yards out, he blazes it high over the bar in the end behind which we are congregated. Fucking Reinelt, useless twat, he’ll never do anything for this club, we curse, scream, agonise, suffer, suffer, suffer.

Silence amongst our crew, players come over, half heartedly clap us, we respond in kind.

Results are now filtering in, Barnet won, Hartlepool won, Donny drew, Hereford drew, Exeter drew. It’s a disaster, we’re fucked, it’s over, no coming back from this.

Walk from the Deva heading back to the car, I don’t see anything, car with a Chester sticker in

it nearly takes me out, driver slows down, waves a hand in apology. I run up to the motor, kick the back panel, driver gets out. He’s with his family, took the kids to the match, nice day out for the bairns, see the local team win, chicken nuggets before the match for the young ones, probably a nice bloke too, but I fucking hate him. He looks at me, sees the loathing in my eyes, sees there is no damage to his door, gets back into the car, does the right thing, the wise thing, he’s not the cunt, I am. He can go back home to Noel’s House Party, chicken madras, a bottle of chardonnay with his missus, then a choice of Match of the Day or a jump with her if she is up for it. I envy him, pity him too, for him football is entertainment, he doesn’t understand what it’s like when it’s a religion, when it’s in your blood, when it’s your life.

Get to my car, start the drive, silent again, hands gripping the steering wheel as if it is someone’s neck, my eyes are bulging, it’s a long long way home, but no recollection of time, place or space. It’s just a blur, my head is scrambling, doing calculations, working out next weeks fixtures and potential results, we’ve got a match on Tuesday, then Scunny away next Saturday, another early start, another long trip, alone, with my thoughts, my schemes, my plans, my hopes, dreams, nightmares.

Arrive home, pray the wife has gone to bed, I

want to be by myself, but she’s waited up for me, even cooked me my favourite, she’s heard the result on the telly, wants to cheer me up.

She puts her arms around me, big brown eyes, searching for a response, pleading innocently at me, wanting me to know how much she loves me. I brush her aside, face in a snarl, contorted, distorted. I’m not the man she thought I was, I’m not the man I thought I was.

“They don’t deserve you” she says, “Why don’t you support a proper team, one that wins a bit more?” I can’t believe what I have just heard, clench my fist, I’m going to really lose it now.

She sees my reaction, flinches, this can’t be true. I lean over into her face “It’s the fucking Albion, innit” I rage.

Her hands are covering her face, she’s terrified, tears silently streaming down her face, but I pull back from the brink, I can’t believe what I have nearly just done, what is happening to me.

No man should ever hit a woman, I hate those wankers who boast about giving the wife a slap when I’m out with the lads, but now I’m nearly one of them myself.

I look around, need to escape grab the dog’s collar, yank him from his slumber and storm out from the house. It’s all too much, I need

space, I need help, tears are in my eyes. I walk fast, far, forever. I don’t know where I am going, but anywhere but home.

I’m away sitting in a park for hours into the middle of the night. I should be feeling remorse, shame for my actions, for breaking the heart of the one who loves me most. Telling her I am sorry, telling her I love her, telling her I will give up the football, it’s only a game, the kids are more important, she is more important, but I can’t.

All I can think is Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. Barnet, Scunthorpe, Wigan, Cambridge, Doncaster, Hereford. This is the Albion, and it’s all that matters, and I am an Albion fan. TSLR

On the up side my personal injury to AmEx visit percentage is down to 33.33%. So well done me. On the down side I have managed to miss more goals this season already than in in all the games I’ve seen in the last decade put together. This time it was Lansbury of Nottingham Forest’s equaliser straight after half time.

A couple more quick goals killed off Brighton and even when Forest were reduced to 10 men we never really looked like getting the draw. We were alright first half as well, not great but better than against Wednesday. Crofts continued his excellent goal scoring form this year. And a good bloody job as well considering the lack of goals from our non-existent forward line. I like Crofts, he was gash last season but has improved considerably this one.

What I don’t like though is bloody timewasting. I don’t like it when we do it but I goddamn hate it when the opposition do it EVERY SINGLE GAME. It appears endemic in 2013 for our opponents to resort to such annoying childish tactics. Forest loved it though. Even the keeper managed to get booked though this of course meant that the referee proceeded to ignore his subsequent timewasting. The bastards. Phen

For people who’ve never visited Yeovil before it seems like a great idea: A small club, non-league ground (terracing), West country setting means good beers and local eccentrics right? Instead the uncovered terrace lacks any sort of atmosphere and for such a small ground it feels completely characterless. The ground’s miles from town and when you get there the pubs are average, even worse it’s miles further to get to the station and home.

The Albion mirrored this experience on the day - expectation was for a win as the bare minimum, a convincing performance to get the season back on track was a realistic aim.

Instead the most excitement we got in a dull game of very few chances was when the idiotic substitute warming up on the touchline near the Albion faithful decided to ‘do a Kazim-Richards’ and invite us all on to the pitch to enjoy a spot of sodomisation. Cue some spirited whinging at the stewards from the more lubricated of the invitees, who were more outraged than a copper bumping into George Michael in a Kemptown public toilet.

David was poor again, Buckley waited until the last 10 minutes to show any sort of creativity or pace, Barnes looked lost and frustrated, starved of service leading the line on his own. Our first glimpse of Lita wasn’t encouraging – the suspension on the Albion team coach might not have withstood the journey had Agustien been ‘fit’ and travelling too.

So we settled for a point on a dull day. No-one is a dead cert for relegation after a dozen or so games (not even Palace) but as Yeovil are probably more likely than anyone on paper, and didn’t do anything to dispel that impression on paper, so you have to be a bit disappointed. HHL

The anticipated fright night we all expected - Watford scaring Albion into submission - ultimately failed to emerge. It was truly cold for the first time at Falmer this season, which was sort of scary in itself, the game was anything but frightening.

There was quiet condemnation that we found ourselves at the AmEx on a Monday night. Like Thursdays, Monday is a day that - however far we travel in time away from tradition - football should never be played. Especially as it was served up on Murdoch’s home cinema. TV coverage means that the Albion are not just assessed from TSLR Towers and Albionites but by all top tier armchair fools that populate my office.

The first half was alright, even if we fell behind when nobody closed the ball until it was late enough to take a severe deflection past Tomas Kuszazakazak. Oscar’s imprint is slowly making itself obvious on the pitch, and we passed the ball well enough amongst the back six. Half time saw us reflect on a poor game wondering how both sides made it so close to the top flight last season.

Second half, our enclave returned after a goal line clearance from Gordon Greer. Or was it? Our incredible positivity after that (we didn’t lament the Albion once) surely led to our deserved equaliser from Andrew Crofts (again) - a man who must be one of the few enjoying this season. A point a fair result. @Swiftenburg

What are you doing? You can’t shoot from there! Oh yes, you can!

This was my reaction as JFC shaped to shoot at Doncaster, from our vantage point behind the opposite goal it looked like he was minimum 30 yards out. Turns out having watched the highlights now, he was 36 yards out (is it a bit geeky to count the stripes on the pitch?). ForsterCaskey’s strike is certainly goal of the season thus far for the Albion. The first half performance was very good; it seems that we are finally seeing a bit more of how Oscar wants us to play.

Then the second half happened. Our slow starts to the second half are becoming a worrying trend, and yet again we let the opposition back in to the game. Credit to Doncaster - they upped their effort but the Albion’s midfield seemed to lose their heads and stop passing sensibly, especially JFC. Of course, in the end Doncaster pressure told and we conceded our umpteenth bobbly deflected goal of the season.

Fortunately, we now have another striker to call on. Oscar took the positive approach to the disappointment of losing the lead, adding Lita to the front line. Suddenly Albion started playing properly again, Barnes came close with an excellent curling effort against the post. Following a Lopez corner that actually beat the first man; some bobbling around; an overhead kick and a handball the ball fell to Lita who hooked it in from close range. Cue much delirium in the away end, and a real sense of relief, it had been 42 days since we last secured three points.

Lopez put the icing on the cake with a superb curling free kick from 28 yards.

Still counting those stripes!

Pantani’s Ghost

DICK KNIGHT An exclusive extract from his new book.

“I wrote out two cheques from my personal account – one to Archer for £56.25, and one to Greg Stanley for £43.75, and took some pleasure in handing them to Archer ... I just about resisted the temptation to add, “Now fuck off.”

O

n Tuesday September 2 1997, the deal that changed the club’s ownership was finally signed. Archer’s shareholding of the club was reduced to 49.5 per cent.

His control over Brighton & Hove Albion was officially over. We’d done it.

At the club board meeting that day to ratify the takeover, there was one final, symbolic gesture that had to be made. I wrote out two cheques from my personal account – one to Archer for £56.25, and one to Greg Stanley for £43.75, to formally buy them out of Foray 585, and took some pleasure in handing them to Archer. He reluctantly accepted them, and I just about resisted the temptation to add, “Now fuck off.”

Stanley cashed his cheque a few days later, but Archer never did.

The following evening we had a league game against Peterborough at Priestfield. It was a cold and rainy night, and another forgettable match that we managed to draw 2-2. It was all rather ironic. The first game when people had called me ‘Chairman’ – when I was actually only chairman-elect – had been the last game at the Goldstone and one of the most important matches in the club’s history.

But the first game when I became chairman for real passed by pretty much unnoticed, in front of only 1,215.

There was no sense of occasion, there were no speeches, only a brief PA announcement followed by a smattering of faint applause

and a small ‘Stop Press’ item in the programme.

For me, and probably for the few fans there, it felt like a complete anti-climax.

My main emotion – and, I suspect, theirs – was anger that the takeover had taken so long. It should have been finalised soon after the Hereford game, exactly four months earlier. But Archer had continued to behave as if he could disregard any authority, and stonewall his way out of the situation. By the way he carried on dealing with the League behind our backs, he had treated the FA and CEDR – an international mediation body – with total disrespect.

I never felt like a chairman when we were at Gillingham. It was like a charade. I was more formally treated as a chairman at away matches. The staff at the Priestfield were very polite and deferential, but they weren’t our staff. We didn’t really have any.

Until the final agreement had been confirmed we couldn’t move forward, get on with doing the job. But at last, we were properly in charge. It was more a question of steeling ourselves than raising a glass of champagne, either at Priestfield that night or the next morning in the club offices in Queens Road, which we were now able to occupy. There was relief but also an awareness of the scale of the task ahead. I said to Bob (Pinnock), “The first time we can celebrate will be when we get back to Brighton. The second time will be when we are in the new stadium a couple of years after that.”

“Bellotti was paid through to the end of his notice period, which was three months, and he was ‘terminated’. He wrote back saying that he reserved the right to seek compensation but we never heard anything more”

If only we knew . . .

What we did already know was that, with the huge challenges ahead, there was little room for financial manoeuvre. We had scant resources to improve the playing squad, we were stuck at Gillingham with its minimal gate receipts – and we were about to incur serious legal and consultancy costs as our task of finding a new home back in Brighton got under way. The remaining cash in the company coffers would quickly be drained once we began the planning application processes for both temporary and permanent homes.

There wasn’t much we could do about those problems in the short term, but one thing I knew I had to address straight away, now the Archer era had finally ended, was to restore the club’s reputation within football and in the wider world. We also had to rebuild morale and pride within the club, among its loyal staff.

My first step was to ensure that they knew they were working for an organisation that was worthwhile. That would begin by immediately sacking Bellotti, the lamentable chief executive. He may have been Archer’s stooge, creating more problems for the absent chairman than he solved, but for me he could never deflect the flak from the real culprit.

No doubt quite a few Albion fans wished that Bellotti’s departure could have been conducted by a group of soldiers, lined

up with rifles, or by building a bonfire, as suggested by the song and then the book of the same name. Or at least with an Alan Sugarstyle ‘You’re fired’ pointed finger. But it wasn’t quite like that.

For one thing, I didn’t even want to see him. So I got our lawyer to draft a letter of dismissal and I ‘Dick’d’ it a bit, and then it went to him, on some new club-headed paper I’d had designed by Dean Bigelow, from my office in London. We’d been running down stocks of the old paper, with Archer’s name on it as chairman, never suspecting that we would have to make it last for months.

Bellotti was paid through to the end of his notice period, which was three months, and he was ‘terminated’. He wrote back saying that he reserved the right to seek compensation but we never heard anything more. TSLR Extract from MAD MAN by Dick Knight, published on 13th November 2013, published by Vision Sports Publishing, (RRP £20).

The Plight of the Seagull Oscar is pleased with Albion topping the passes made and passes completed charts, but without wins, how much do stats matter and do we even understand them? @EdwardWoodhouse

F

or better or for worse, the summer happened. A play-off capitulation, one of the more acrimonious managerial departures in recent times and, seemingly, a club in turmoil. And now here we are, vaguely closing in on the top 6. It is of course natural to draw comparisons between the old and the new, and praise/castigate the conduct of the club accordingly. One of the big differences since the change of regime has been the way the new management team interact with the media and what this means for us fans.

One of our old manager’s more distinguishing attributes was his frank and honest outlook not just on football, but on life in general (*cough* Suarez *cough* cheers mate). When asked about how he thought the opposition were going to set up pre-match, Gus would often describe the playing style of the team in question, and confidently proclaim that there would be ‘no surprises’, at least in terms of the tactical battle to come. As a fan, this was nice. A small window into the world of football management, and a sophisticated insight on the game ahead. We almost felt close to his level of understanding.

Nowadays, there is less of this.

Oscar’s English is not as fluent as GP’s and answers appear, on the face of it at least, to be a bit more tokenistic. “So, what are X’s strengths and weaknesses? How will you be looking to beat them?” “Every game is difficult at this level and we want to win in front of our fans”. As a response, it’s undeniably less meaty than it was and leaves us greedy beggars wanting more.

This is of course assuming that Oscar actually

does the interview; the increasingly irritable number 2, Nathan Jones has been assigned media duties more regularly in recent weeks.

The trouble with having this dichotomy between the old and the new is the fact that we (or at least I) preferred the way Gus spoke to the media. It made us (me) feel better and more in contact with what went on on the training ground than we (I) do now. However, when the realities of the modern game are unravelled, there are many things that fans do not know. Thousands of bloggers, writers and fans now consider themselves sufficiently qualified to engage in discussions about football tactics. The advent of statistics has led to a new ‘understanding’ of the game, with phrases such as ‘pass completion percentages’ now common (to the point of overuse) in the football lexicon.

However, the reality is that pretty much none of us knows what goes on on the training pitch. None of us understand football as well as we think we do. And while it was nice of the previous regime to give us a brief glimpse into their world, that is all it was. A detailed outlook is neither necessary nor forthcoming.

Oscar’s more guarded media presence may give less away to us folk, but it should and does not matter. TSLR

Carter On ...

Missing Games Too many people think that taking a holiday during the season is a cardinal sin. We should embrace our exile from The Amex. @CarterBrighton

I

stood outside a small bar watching a dozen Celtic fans. They’d perched themselves on sticky looking garden furniture and congregated around a wonky plasma screen showing their game against Barcelona. I probably stared for far too long at a group of Scottish blokes with tattoos, especially whilst wearing shorts and sipping a bright pink cocktail.

My thoughts had zoned out to Falmer; I knew we were behind to Wednesday and I had that guilty feeling of not being in attendance again. I felt bad and it wasn’t due to the cheap tequila or all that rushing around trying to beat a load of Northerners to the ice cream station at the dinner buffet.

But hold on a second, why was it okay for all those Celtic fans to be on holiday and not in Glasgow? A few days before, a group of Villa fans also dominated the same bar for the Man City game. I don’t think they were fretting that they were bad fans. Maybe I’m just jealous that they can confidently wear their shirts together – as a rule I wouldn’t wear an Albion shirt on a match day unless actually going to the game.

Otherwise, I feel like I should hide in a little bit of shame and perhaps self-flagellate. If everyone was like me we’d never overcome the restrictions of FFP.

Perhaps if Spanish Day had been more of a success, Keith Andrews’ late equaliser would have been the action being beamed into the warm Lanzarote evening and I could share a reassuring moment with other Albion fans.

The truth is, Scott McGleish is wanker – and also, I felt like I’d definitely gone a step further from Brighton fandom by taking a family holiday during the season.

It’s easier when it’s longer (she said).

For instance, I missed a large proportion of the 2007/08 season as I pissed off travelling.

I’d mentally prepared myself to miss so many games. In February ’08, I remember being in Darjeeling feeling very inspired having just ascended Tiger Hill and spying Everest in the distance. I text my Dad the finer points of this moment and awaited his reply that would hopefully reference the heroic exploits of George Mallory and the early Everest expeditions or the sheer majesty of planet Earth. I got something like: ‘El-Abd suspended for Cheltenham’.

The Albion don’t do holidays; but if they did, they’d probably be quite overpriced and we’d be getting emails about them every few hours. The opening of the new hotel – the Damian Hilton as I like to call it – will surely usher in some short break packages to suit all of the family. I can watch the match and buy pies, Mrs Carter can have a pedicure from John Byrne in the health spa and the kids can go off and play Pétanque or something with Gully’s Gang. TSLR

“Reinelt, fifteen yards out, he blazes it high over the bar.

Fucking Reinelt, useless twat, he’ll never do anything for this club, we curse, scream, agonise, suffer, suffer, suffer” Page 22

Meet Dick kNiGHt oN tHe

MaD MaN book tour

Your chance to meet the local hero who saved the Albion!

Be part of the audience as former Brighton & Hove Albion Chairman, Dick Knight, tells inspirational stories from his revealing new book, MAD MAN. He’ll give glimpses from inside the boardroom and the dressing room during his time in charge at Albion. A time that saw him rescue the club from immediate extinction, win multiple promotions and move to the magnificent new Amex. Sure to be candid and entertaining, the talk will be followed by a Q&A and book signing.

BRIGHTON & HOVE 7.00pm Wed 13th Nov BHASVIC Sixth Form College 205 Dyke Road, Hove Tickets (£8) from CITY BOOKS only Tel: 01273 725306 www.city-books.co.uk

BURGESS HILL 7.00pm Thurs 14th Nov MARTLETS HALL Civic Way, Burgess Hill Tickets (£8) from Martlets Hall Tel: 01444 242888 www.freedom-leisure.co.uk

BRIGHTON & HOVE 1.00pm Sat 16th Nov CITY BOOKS - BOOK SIGNING Free Event at CITY BOOKS, 23 Western Road, Hove Tel: 01273 725306 www.city-books.co.uk

WORTHING 3.00pm Sun 17th Nov CONNAUGHT THEATRE Union Place, Worthing Tickets (£8) from Worthing Theatres Tel: 01903 206206 www.worthingtheatres.co.uk

SHOREHAM 7.00pm Mon 18th Nov ROPETACKLE ARTS CENTRE Little High Street Tickets (£8) from Ropetackle Tel: 01273 464440 www.ropetacklecentre.co.uk or CITY BOOKS

LEWES 7.00pm Wed 20th Nov PELHAM HOUSE HOTEL St. Andrews Lane, Lewes Tickets (£8) from CITY BOOKS only Tel: 01273 725306 www.city-books.co.uk

EASTBOURNE 7.00p.m. Thurs 28th Nov WINTER GARDENS 14 Compton St., Eastbourne Tickets (£8) from Eastbourne Theatres Tel: 01323 412000 www.eastbournetheatres.co.uk

MAD MAN WILL BE ON SALE AT A SPECIAL PRICE OF £15 AT ALL EVENTS (RRP IS £20)

Events presented by CITY BOOKS, 23 Western Road, Hove BN3 1AF Tel: 01273 725306 www.city-books.co.uk MAD MAN, by Dick Knight, is published by Vision Sports Publishing in November 2013