I’d had a few opportunities to get to a game over the last week or so, but the weather had been pretty poor. I generally don’t mind if it’s raining, as long as I’m going somewhere with some cover. The dog had been staying though and he’s less keen on heading out in the drizzle, so I passed up the various options and let him spend his evenings dozing on the settee instead.
Soph had taken him back for a couple of nights, the first of which coincided with a game down in Bradford. Whilst an hour and a half drive for a match that doesn’t involve the Boro seems a bit much, I’d just received the Revolver re-issue and was happy to spend time in the car listening to the two rareties discs. There’s little that I like better than hearing the formative versions of familiar songs, particularly when it’s The Beatles.
I’ve never been much of a fan of Yellow Submarine and would happily have seen it replaced on Revolver by Paperback Writer or Rain, which were recorded at the same sessions but put out on a single instead. It was great though to hear Lennon’s early demo and then the way it developed into the nursery rhyme final version that still forms the basis of football songs fifty-odd years on.
The game was between Bradford Park Avenue and Gloucester City in the sixth-tier National League North. Park Avenue are famous to me for being booted out of the Football League when I was a kid and then going bust. Apparently, they had a stint as a Sunday side before restructuring and eventually making their way back up the pyramid.
Gloucester never strikes me as a football place. Rugby, yes, fancy sausages, yes, Doctor Foster, that’s about it really. Plus, it’s down south, how on earth did they end up in the National League North?
I arrived at the Horsfall Stadium with twenty minutes to spare to kick-off and with the rain coming down was tempted to stay in the car for another rendition of Eleanor Rigby. I was hungry though and so paid the fourteen quid charged at this level and got myself a pork pie and a coffee from the food kiosk near to the main stand.
I also got a programme which covered both this game and the one two days earlier. There was a cabin that sold old programmes and second-hand books. I’m trying to cut down on bringing that sort of stuff into the house these days, but it was fine for a brief browse.
Bradford, who went into the game third from bottom of the table, were in green with Gloucester, who were up near the top of the league, in a red and yellow kit of the kind that shouldn’t really be worn by anyone other than Melchester Rovers.
I didn’t hear any away fans but there were a couple of sections of home fans at either end of the covered stand and we got renditions of ‘Avy, Avy, Avy, Avy, Avenue’.
Gloucester took an early lead, but Bradford levelled before the break and went ahead in the second half. The visitors pushed hard for an equalizer and came closest with a speculative shot from around forty yards in the last minute of added time. It hit the bar and bounced out. If it had gone in it would have been real Roy Race stuff. At the final whistle and with the rain still coming down heavily I legged it to the exit along the running track that surrounded the pitch. I doubt I’d have covered the ground any faster in my prime.
Trail of the Lion King 
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