Trail of the Lion King

This one turned out to be my last English football match of 2013. Or at least the last non-Boro match as I was able to squeeze in the home game against Bournemouth and an away trip to Nottingham before Jen and I left for a new job in South Africa.

I don’t write about the Boro games though so you’ll just have to imagine the joy of throwing away a two goal lead against Forest and then dropping another two points to a late equaliser in the Bournemouth match.

I did get to stand all game though.

The visit to Stotfold was brought about by the need to drop off visa applications at the South African Consulate. As you might know, it’s actually in London, but I thought that staying outside of the city and just getting the train in for the day might be more enjoyable.

We booked into somewhere in a village called Great Offley. It was quite posh by our standards but it had a footpath passing through the grounds of the hotel that allowed us to go for a hike. We’ve spent a lot of time walking this summer and probably the thing that sticks in my mind the most is the number of game birds that we’ve disturbed. There didn’t seem to be a hedgerow in England or Scotland that wasn’t full of grouse, partridge or pheasant. Or at least there wasn’t until we walked past and scattered them each time.

These two tried running away.

Stotfold isn‘t too far from Great Offley and when I spotted that their football team was at home to Hadley in a Level Nine Spartan South Midlands League Premier Division clash, I had a drive down to their Roker Park ground. Yes, Roker Park. You thought it had long gone didn’t you?

Despite its famous name Roker Park wasn’t the easiest place to find, even with a sat nav in the car and that blue dot thing on my phone. Eventually I spotted a sign on a gatepost and parked up nearby.

It’s hidden down that lane.

It was six quid to get in, the same as the pre-season friendly that I’d seen recently in Sudbury. That must be the going rate these days. The woman on the gate sold me a programme for a quid as well, just in case I needed the contact information for a variety of local tradesmen.

She wasn’t too happy to be photographed.

There weren’t too many people there, maybe a hundred or so. That seems fairly constant at this level too. Most of them were dotted around the Bill Clegg Stand. As you might have guessed I’ve no idea who Bill is. He does sound a bit northern though so I’m sure he’s a decent bloke.

The Foggy and Compo stands will be next.

The highlight of the evening was being served a cup of tea in a ceramic mug at half-time. I don’t normally drink tea, but on this occasion it felt like the right thing to do. Drinking it out of a proper cup that you were obliged to return when you’d finished made it all a lot friendlier. I don’t know why, but it just did. Homely even. Perhaps it’s the trust. There should be more of that sort of thing, although if I were doing the washing up I might think differently.

The tea hut.

As for the game and the score, I can’t remember. I think it might have been one-nil, but I’ve no idea who to. Maybe I should write these things a bit sooner after the event.

I’m not sure if I’d been to Croatia before this trip. I went to Yugoslavia in the mid-eighties and I’ve a feeling that I might well have stayed briefly in one or more of the towns along that coast opposite Italy but I’ve no idea really. Not that it matters, it was just that some of the names and sights seemed somewhat familiar. From what I do remember, Yugoslavia wasn’t much cop in those days. The beer tasted like Ribena and the bars closed around nine in the evening. That’s not what you want when you are twenty and so on that occasion we didn’t hang around.

These days I appreciate the quiet life, even if I’m still not too enthusiastic about Ribena flavoured beer and so Jen and I were happy to stay in the countryside near Porec. As old people tend to do we had a look at some of the towns nearby such as Pula and Rovinj. One of them had a big Roman building.

Some culture for you.

We even managed a day trip across to Venice, somewhere else I hadn’t been since the mid-eighties. It seemed a lot busier than I remembered it. Isn’t everywhere though?

There’s also a hiking trail in the area, Saint Simeon’s Way, and we walked a section of that on what felt like it might have been the hottest day of the year. Ideal for a fruit based drink I’d say. Maybe it all makes sense after all.

It’s a picturesque part of the world.

The good news is that the Croatian football season starts early and there was a game taking place at Rijeka, around eighty kilometres away from our apartment. We had to drive through a mountain range, a job made easier by the bloody big tunnel that went five kilometres through the hillside.

Stadion Kantrida

Rijeka has a ten thousand capacity stadium by the seaside. Handy really, as at thirty-five degrees it allowed fans the option of cooling down at the beach before the game. They’ve also got a sort of Braga-lite cliff down one side of a stadium. The only bad point is the running track that encircles the pitch.

The area around the ground was busy when we arrived and the home sections had already sold out. Fortunately we were able to pick up tickets for the Dynamo end for forty Kuna each. That‘s about five quid. As we went in we were searched by a copper who, on discovering that we weren’t concealing any weapons, advised us not to go into the away section.

“Bad, bad, bad” was his description of the visiting fans and he guided us toward the sold-out home section nearby instead.

I doubt these fellas issue many Section 27 Notices.

Safe as our new seats were, I’d have prefered something with a little shade. There were a few blokes with the right idea behind the opposite goal. They had somehow managed to nab seats in a bar that overlooked the pitch. That’s my type of terrace.

View from behind the goal as the sun went down.

Midway through the first half the game stopped for a water break. I wonder how long it will be before this becomes compulsory regardless of the heat. I find it hard to believe that the television companies and, as the money trickles down, the clubs and ultimately the players, are prepared to forgo that extra minute of advertising revenue. When the World Cup gets to Qatar I’d expect two breaks per half, probably of two minutes each.

On a less cynical note I was pleased to see bottles of water handed to the away fans. They didn’t have access to a drinks kiosk and  I imagine being “Bad, bad, bad” all day is thirsty work.

Dynamo had most of the attacking play as the half progressed but they weren’t able to make it count and went in at the interval with the game still goalless.

Rijeka fans and their flares.

Rijeka started the second half more positively, but they too weren’t able to take their chances. On the hour, and with the sun just dipping down behind what I think were the Ukla mountains, the home flares came out. An hour. Such patience. I’m the sort of fella that lets the fireworks off on New Years Eve once I’ve had that first can of beer, even if that is at four in the afternoon. Waiting an hour at a football game shows willpower far beyond me.

Bad, bad, bad.

Ten minutes later it was the turn of the away fans. As well as showing even greater patience they had also brought a lot more flares. Whereas the Rijeka fans had been content to hold their pyrotechnics, the Zagreb fans rained them down onto the pitch, or at least the ones who could clear the running track did.

I could now see why we had a fire engine standing by, with around thirty flares burning merrily away around the goalmouth.

Maybe that’s why there is a running track.

That was about it, action wise. The game finished nil–nil and the point consolidated the visitor’s position at the top of the table. As Dynamo had won the league in each of the previous eight seasons I don’t suppose Rijeka could be too disappointed about dropping home points.

In case the flares weren’t enough Rijeka thoughtfully provided post-match firework display for the mile long walk back to the car.