Trail of the Lion King

For the past four years I’ve been doing some college stuff in Chelmsford and so usually head down there for some chit-chat every few months. Whilst I’ve still not managed to see Chelmsford City play, I usually try and tag a game onto the weekend either on the way down or when coming back.

On this occasion I targeted a Friday night FA Trophy Qualification game in Potters Bar, which although around an hour’s drive from Chelmsford, made it an easy journey the following morning for those ten o’clock starts that are the norm in the academic world.

The other attraction of that game was the opportunity to stay at the Comet Hotel in Hatfield. It’s somewhere that I’d last stayed back in 1981 after leaving home as a sixteen year old following a house party that resulted in all sorts of damage including a toilet bowl with a sheared off front section.

It’s all a long story, that if I got into, I’d be here all day. Anyway, those of you who were around in those days will know how it all panned out. Pun intended. Suffice to say, the nerd in me found the idea of revisiting the Comet Hotel forty-two years on an interesting prospect.

It was of less interest to the receptionist, whose eyes glazed over as she came to regret asking me if I’d stayed with them before.  I cut the tale short there as well and headed for the match at the LA Construction Stadium.

I’d not had time to eat before leaving the hotel and so called into a chippy on the row of shops outside the ground. It was nearly twelve quid for fish and chips. How can that be? They were southern style as well, with the skin left on the fish. Dirty bastards. We should start selling jellied eels up our way and top them with breadcrumbs and bechamel sauce to see how they like that.

It was thirteen quid in for a game between sides in the seventh tier. Something which I should have been more outraged about than the fish and chips, but as Mogga would say, it is what it is. I took a seat in a three-row covered stand along one side. There was another one a little further along as well as three covered standing areas in other parts of the ground. I like it when grounds evolve like that, with an additional space to sit or stand appearing every few years, perhaps as ground improvement requirements after promotion.

Potters Bar Town had a lot of debutants, suggesting that either they weren’t prioritising the FA Trophy or perhaps they were suffering from an injury crisis. At this level it’s also possible that there had been a management change and the outgoing boss had taken his players with him like a pied piper. They were in a maroon kit with Berkhamsted in white and black, so imagine Hearts v Darlo.

The ref seemed familiar, but I soon concluded that was because he was a dead ringer for that posh army major who was rattling Lady Di back in the day.

It started badly for the home side when a Berkhamsted striker who was miles offside and ambling back towards his own half had the good fortune to be played onside by a Potters Bar defender who inexplicably headed the ball towards his keeper. The attacker swivelled and whacked it past the goalie who, on his debut, must have been wondering just what shitshow he had got himself into.

It turned out ok in the end though with Potters Bar taking control and running out four-one winners. I headed back to the Comet Hotel, where nothing except part of the building façade seemed to be as I remembered it. Maybe I’ll come back in another forty-two year’s time. I doubt it though.