Spain v Italy, Thursday 20th June 2024, 9pm

September 18, 2024

It’s my job these days to sort out the tickets when Paul and I head off for a tournament and, despite hours spent in online ticket queues, it didn’t go well. We only got tickets for one game at the Euros and so when writing about it there’s a lot to cram into a single post. This might just be my longest write-up ever. Or maybe it will just feel like it.

Of course, it’s not helped by my tendency to mention what I got up to the afternoon before, which on this occasion, was watching The Wedding Present at the Georgian. They’d put on a matinee show to avoid clashing with the England game and that suited me fine, especially since they played both Brassneck and Kennedy, the only two of their songs that I whinge about not hearing.

Next day Paul and I flew into Cologne. Paul’s job was to take care of the flights and hotels and without going into detail, he’d absolutely nailed it on both counts. Well done, mate. After a quick cab ride into the city centre, we dumped our bags and headed off to the fan park to watch the Belgium v Slovakia game on a big screen.

Cologne was full of Scots who were in town for their game with Switzerland two days later and a lot of them had pitched up at the fan park. We had a few Bitburger beers, which were nothing special, and watched Belgium curse the advent of VAR when they had two Lukaku goals disallowed for infringements that they would likely have got away with in the past.

We left the fan park to watch the final game of the day in a nearby Italian restaurant. Clearly, they hadn’t anticipated that Cologne would be full of people looking to eat and drink. Or perhaps they had but simply weren’t able to put extra staff on. We solved the staffing issue by ordering a bottle of different coloured wine each in the knowledge that once they had arrived it would no longer matter too much how long the food would take to be served.

The memorable moment from that Austria v France game was Mbappe’s broken nose and I called him out for timewasting until I saw the blood. The evening finished with brandy and cigars on the terrace. All in all, a very good start to the trip.

Day two started with breakfast in a café by the Rhine and then some wandering around to see what Cologne had to offer. There were some buildings that looked older than the nineteen-forties, notably the cathedral. That was quite surprising really considering the extensive WW2 bombing raids that, on one particular night, had involved more than a thousand aircraft.

Once again, it was the Scots fans that stood out. I think it’s great that they’ve qualified for a tournament. I remember back in the seventies when for two World Cups they were the only British representatives and it’s a pity that they had so long without the chance to follow their team abroad.

As we passed the cathedral, there were a few of them playing bagpipes. Be grateful that I don’t add videos with sound to these posts.

There had been some storm warnings which were severe enough for the fan park to be closed for the day. However, the rain held off until five o’clock which meant that we then had to dodge the downpour to get from our hotel to the pub that we’d identified earlier as being the place to watch the six o’clock game featuring Turkey and Georgia.

This was one of the fixtures that I’d tried to get tickets for, but when we saw the torrential rain inside the stadium at Dortmund, I was glad that we were sat inside a bar eating pork knuckle with mash and sauerkraut, washed down with ongoing servings of the local Kolsch beer. When you’ve drained your 200ml glass, the barman just appears with a fresh one and then marks a beer mat to keep a running total. Perfect.

The game was decent too, with a couple of cracking goals from Turkey and then, at two-one and with the Georgian keeper up in the Turkey box in added time, a quick break allowed the Turks to knock the ball into the empty Georgian net and seal the win.

For the nine o’clock game we sought a change of scenery and headed a hundred yards or so up the road to an area with a few bars that had tables outside. It was still raining but we found somewhere with large umbrellas and settled in for Portugal’s game against Czechia. I must have missed their change of name from when they were the Czech Republic. Perhaps they’ve installed a monarchy when I wasn’t looking.

Ronaldo’s presence overshadowed everything else that was going on in the game, or at least in the eyes of the tv director. He doesn’t really contribute much these days though. Czechia took the lead with a goal that was celebrated first in our bar and then again, ten seconds later, in the bar opposite with the delayed feed.

There was more rain, but we were safely under cover and with our now customary order of a bottle of wine each, we didn’t have to worry about any drop off in service. Portugal equalised from an own goal and then had what looked like the winner disallowed for Ronaldo being a fraction offside. They nicked the points anyway in added time.

On the morning of day three we took a train from Cologne to Gelsenkirchen. It should have taken an hour but instead took two and a half. We overheard lots of complaints from those around us about the German rail service. It seemed cheaper than the UK, particularly as we bought our tickets shortly before travel, but just about every train listed on the boards appeared to be running late.

The delay wasn’t a big deal to us and worked in our favour for checking into the hotel. After dumping our bags, we had a wander around Gelsenkirchen. There was a largely empty fan zone without screens and a bar close by with no free seats. We eventually found somewhere to watch Croatia take on Albania. The game had a Boro connection with Carling Cup winner Doriva on the bench as an assistant coach for Albania.

Modric was looking old, although he might say the same about us. Paul mentioned that we’d watched him play back in the 2008 tournament, but whilst I remember being at that game in Vienna where Turkey were kitted out in Boro strips, I’ve no recollection of what Modric got up to. Nevertheless, playing in Euros sixteen years apart is impressive.

Albania went a goal up whilst we were watching, but after we’d moved on Croatia scored twice before Albania nicked a draw. Well done, Dave Doriva.

We’d dipped out early from the Croatia game to give ourselves plenty of time to reach the amphitheatre alongside the main Gelsenkirchen fan park. We got there easily enough via a shuttle from the station and then followed the signs for what seemed like a very indirect route to the amphitheatre. It’s supposedly a six-thousand-seater outdoor area and apparently Scorpions have played there. That last bit of info may not be too unusual in Germany.

We were there to watch the host nation take on Hungary in the six o’clock game and got there early enough for a spot with a decent view. The efficient bar service meant that we kept ourselves topped up with beer and I had a foot long sausage in a tiny bun. That’s the right ratio in my book. Germany weren’t overly impressive but they managed the win that qualified them for the knock-out stage with a game to spare.

The amphitheatre emptied quickly after the Germany win, but we as we had somewhere to sit and there was still a bar open, we hung around to watch the first half of Scotland’s game with Switzerland. There were probably another couple of hundred or so people that did the same.

At half-time we made the short walk to the fans park proper. It’s on the site of an old colliery and it was good to see that in a nod to their heritage, some of the mining equipment remained in place. We had fish and chips from a bus, albeit without the option of vinegar, and watched Scotland achieve the draw that kept their tournament alive. By the time the game was over it was no trouble finding seats on the shuttle ride back to the station.

Day four was matchday and as I had some schoolwork to do, we didn’t head out until lunchtime. We had lunch at an outdoor table of an Italian restaurant and watched the Italian and Spanish fans wandering about town.

As the afternoon wore on, we took a taxi in the direction of the Veltins Arena, stopping off on the way at the social club for fans of Schalke 04. I’m not sure it was the venue that we’d intended but it had beer, food and televisions showing the Slovenia v Serbia game.

The Schalke social club operated the same system that we’d encountered in the Cologne bar two days earlier, where the beers just kept appearing and a mark was made for each one on a beermat. Maybe nobody shreds the beermats in Germany. I had currywurst for my tea for no better reason than I hadn’t eaten it already on the trip and we settled in to watch ex-Boro loanee Andraz Sporar turn out for Slovenia against Serbia.

A last gasp Serbian goal left the group wide open, and we stayed on to watch England take on Denmark. As was the case all over Germany, there were lots of Scots watching and they celebrated the Danish equaliser as if it were their own team.

The England performance was poor, but four points from the opening two games left qualification in our own hands as we left to catch a tram to the stadium.

The tram initially made good progress but then, with the stadium already having been sighted, we were held at a stop for longer than seemed necessary. When the doors opened, we took the decision to get off, despite it being one stop earlier than we could have done. I’d much rather be moving, even if it is under my own steam.

We were delayed a while by Paul’s ticket not being active, but it was soon resolved once we got a phone signal, and we made it through the first stage of security and then into the ground.

Our seats were behind the goal and handy for one of the bars. Whilst regular beer was on sale at the other tournament stadiums, the beer at the Veltins Arena was limited to 2.8%. I can live with that. It’s better than the zero percent Bud that we drank in Qatar and the non-alcoholic beer that used to be the norm at the Euros in the past.

The view wasn’t as good as it could have been with afew of the people in front of us standing and blocking the view. We could see well enough though to recognise that Spain were by far the dominant side and I doubted that Italy would be in Germany for too long.

We’d heard the tales of woe from the previous game at the stadium with England fans having to wait three hours for a tram and with that in mind we legged it ten minutes from time. The tactic worked and we were soon on board and back at the main station almost before game had finished.

And so that was it. Another very enjoyable tournament despite only seeing the one game live. Next up is the World Cup in 2026 where I’ll be looking to add Mexico and Canada to my list of countries where I’ve seen a game.

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Boxing at Riyadh, Saturday 18th May 2024

August 14, 2024

There had been a few boxing promotions in Riyadh when I was staying there. Tyson Fury’s little brother comes to mind, as well as a selection of influencers and MMA fighters. The bills weren’t of sufficient interest though to drag me across town and keep me up long beyond my usual bedtime.

The undisputed heavyweight championship of the world is a different story though and there’s no way I was going to miss that, even if it was a two-hour flight from Al-Ula.

I’d picked a hotel in Riyadh that looked as if it was in walking distance of the Kingdom Arena, but the route followed some pretty major roads without pavements, and I concluded that walking was something that I’d only really want to do in an emergency.

I’d bought my ticket online a month or so earlier for two hundred riyals, which is only about forty-odd quid. At that time there were plenty of seats available, and I’d chosen one in the banked seating, square on to the ring and three rows from the front. My thinking was that if everyone on the floor area ended up standing, I’d still be able to see over their heads from my seat.

I arrived early at the Kingdom Arena. It’s a new venue that opened this year. It only took six months to construct and is big enough to stage football games with a thirty-thousand crowd. Al-Hilal are using it for home games and with a retractable roof and air-conditioning it’s suitable for any time of day or year.

The stewards were as brand new as the venue and directed me in a full lap around the stadium before grudgingly accepting that my entrance was the one where my taxi had dropped me off twenty minutes earlier. I received a wristband and headed inside with seven hours to go to the main event.

There was a garden area with food trucks and tables for those who didn’t want to watch the undercard. I was struck by how civilised it all was when there’s no beer, cocaine or blokes who had pre-gamed with a Peaky Blinders box-set binge.

I paused at one of the merchandise stalls and looked at the souvenir gloves signed by both Fury and Usyk. There was a time when I would have been tempted. In a past stage of my life I used to have memorabilia from all the linear heavyweight championship fights, going as far back as Jack Johnson. Most of it is long gone and these days I try to avoid filling my house with stuff like that. I even skipped the programmes, although mainly because the size was too big for my hand luggage backpack. In the end, I decided that keeping the wristband would be sufficient.

My seat was as good as I’d hoped and directly above an entrance tunnel to the floor area. In football terms I was close to the front of the lower tier, bang on the half-way line. The tunnel served as a celeb spotting area and a lot of those in the floor seats spent most of the undercard facing away from the ring and waiting for the likes of Ronaldo, Neymar Jr and Anthony Joshua to make their entrances.

As in the UK not many came in for the undercard and those who stayed outside missed out on some very good fights. Tom was watching on telly at home and his texts suggested that he was very impressed. I suppose that’s one of the benefits of the Saudi money in that it’s big enough to encourage fighters to take competitive contests.

As the clock ticked around to 1.30am we got a couple of songs from an American pop star called JID. I presume that he’s reasonably well known in certain circles. He appeared in a box suspended above the ring although I’ve no idea how he got up there. Perhaps he’d been hidden in the ceiling since lunchtime. After that we got the ring walks. Usyk first, despite having the most belts, then Fury, who I thought expended too much energy with his dancing.

Even if you didn’t see the fight, you probably still know the result. For what it’s worth I gave Usyk the first round and then Fury the next five. I thought it looked easy for Fury at that stage and Usyk didn’t seem able to get near to him. Fury took a breather in seven and eight, conceding those rounds, before the fight turned around in round nine. It could very easily have been stopped at that point in favour of the Ukrainian.

By the time Usyk took the tenth, I had him a point to the good. I gave the eleventh to Fury, although I remarked to the bloke from Stoke sat next to me that the solid punch landed by Usyk right on the bell might well have nicked it. I scored the twelfth in Fury’s favour too, giving him a one-point victory on my scorecard, but all that was needed was for the judges to disagree with me on any one of the close rounds and the belts would go the other way.

That’s what happened and overall, it felt like the right outcome. As the announcement was made, I legged it for the exit so that I could get one of the taxis waiting outside. That enabled me to have three hours sleep before needing to get up for my flight back to Al Ula. If the two of them do it all again, then so will I.

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Al-Nassr v Al-Hilal, Friday 17th May 2024, 9pm

August 13, 2024

I hadn’t really expected to get to Alwwal Park again now that I’m based in Al-Ula, but the lure of a fight for the undisputed heavyweight title brought me back into Riyadh for a couple of nights. The fight was scheduled for the Saturday night and so on the Friday I headed for the football.

Ticketing as an arse on. I’d bought a season ticket for Al-Nassr back in August last year. It was decent value at around a tenner a game and whilst I knew I wouldn’t get to all the matches it meant that I’d be able to go to those that I wanted, even if the general sale of tickets happened before I became aware.

As it happened, I left Riyadh without even activating my ticket and so had to go through a convoluted process to do that, with my old Saudi phone number, for what was the penultimate home game of the season.

It got more of a hassle when I reached the stadium and the agile QR code wasn’t showing. A steward very kindly and patiently used his own phone signal as a hot spot and by the magic of wifi somehow made it appear on my screen. If I’d known that the game wouldn’t sell out, I’d have just bought a paper ticket at the stadium.

I was given a flag and a scarf on the way in. The scarf was a short satin-like number, ideal for tying around the wrist in the way that we did at Ayresome Park in the seventies. I’m not overly keen to relieve my youth in that way so wrapped it around my neck in the style that Harold Steptoe would do when trying to impress a girl or some theatrical friends.

My season ticket was for the home singing section behind the goal. I was right at the outer edge though in the final seat of the back row, so didn’t feel compelled to wave the flag that I was given, or join the chanting as directed by the bloke at the front with the megaphone. My only show of solidarity with my section was when I joined in with the communal coughing after the pre-kick-off smoke bombs were let off.

The game was a strange one. In theory, a big match with first placed Al-Hilal taking on second placed Al-Nassr. The battle for the league title was over though with the visitors having already being crowned champions and the hosts unable to finish anywhere other than the runners up spot.

The two sides were due to meet in the Kings Cup Final a couple of weeks later, so I suppose depending on your viewpoint they might either want to set down a marker or else keep their powder dry. Al-Hilal were on a thirty-odd game unbeaten run, so I suppose avoiding defeat was probably on their radar.

Al-Nassr have been boosted this season by the arrival of Sadio Mane, whilst Al-Hila have former Fulham goal machine Mitrovic up front. I can’t recall if the latter previously looked in good shape, but he didn’t seem to be in peak condition to me.

The smoke hadn’t yet cleared when Al-Nassr took the lead with a shot from the edge of the box into the top corner. Al-Hilal didn’t really pose much of a threat and if Ronaldo had taken any of the four clear cut first half chances that were laid on for him the contest would have been over before half-time.

As it was, Al-Nassr resorted to trying to kill the game with a series of time-wasting ‘injuries’ interspersed with more missed chances. Their failure to capitalise on their chances bit them on the arse in the tenth minute of added time when Mitrovic converted a penalty that most would have considered a little harsh.

So, ninety-nine minutes between the only two goals of the game. Probably a record of some sorts there.

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Camel racing at Al Ula, Friday 27th April 2024

August 12, 2024

I’ve been back in Saudi Arabia for a while, working in a place called Al Ula. It’s notable for the spectacular rock formations that circle the town and for a few touristy places such as Hegra, where tombs and accommodation were carved into the rocks of a trading route, back in the olden days.

It’s similar to the sort of thing that you’d see in Petra, Jordan, although on a smaller scale.

Whilst the surroundings are picturesque, there’s not a lot going on. The local football team is homeless as they await the construction of a new stadium and are currently playing their fourth-tier fixtures three hours away. I’ve yet to get to one of their games.

The lack of events meant that the announcement of the Camel Cup was very welcome, and I booked tickets for myself and a couple of fellas I work with for day three of a four day meeting.

We went for the VIP option, which turned out to be a wise choice. Apart from a large airconditioned lounge, there was a really good quality buffet. They were giving away bottles of aftershave, which I declined on the basis that I never wear the stuff, although in hindsight I suspect that my teenage grandson would have appreciated it.

As much as I welcomed the air-conditioning, I like watching my racing in the open air and so we headed outside once the action started. There were four races, all between six and eight kilometres in distance and on a single lap course. That meant that we only saw the camels as they approached the finishing line. The rest of the time we followed their progress on a big screen as they made their way through the distant countryside.

There were at least twenty camels in each race, and each had a small robot on its back that wielded a whip. I was disappointed that the camels weren’t ridden by monkeys. I’ve seen videos where that happens, and it was much more entertaining.

The robots were controlled by owners or trainers who followed their camel along a road beside the track. Each vehicle in the convoy contained someone frantically jabbing away at the ‘Giddy Up’ button on a remote to activate the whip and encourage his camel to get a move on.

Highlight of the day was when I got to ride a camel myself, not in a race, but just around the car park. It didn’t strike me as much different to riding a horse. So, overall, a good day out by Al Ula standards but one that would have been greatly enhanced by replacing the robots with monkeys.

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Horseracing at Aintree, Saturday 13th April 2024

August 12, 2024

I’m not sure when I first went to the National. It might have been in ’86 when West Tip won, or more likely I think for Maori Venture’s win the following year. It’s strange how I can easily recall the winners from the seventies and eighties but have no idea of the victors in recent years. A bit like the FA Cup, I suppose.

I can remember that I went on a bus from Stockton with Strach. It’s more likely to be ’87 as that was the year we did the Leger and the Arc too.

I know I went a couple of times in the early nineties. I was there for Party Politics and then the year when the false start didn’t get recalled. I’d taken my kids and, as you could in those days, parked in the centre of the course. I’ve a photo of my son somewhere, shorter than one of the fences.

It’s about fifteen years since my last visit. Paul and I went for a couple of years running and I recall him picking a big winner in the last race on one of those occasions.

This time I was there with Jen and had opted for some posh tickets. We were in the Earl of Derby Stand at one hundred and eight-five quid a pop. At least we got seats for our money. As with the previous day we were on the champagne, although the bar in our section was much less crowded than the day before, so it wouldn’t have been much of a hardship to keep making repeat visits for individual drinks.

I moved onto the whisky later on and then when they ran out switched to rum. That might have played a part in me tripping over some steps. Or perhaps it was just old-age.

Highlight of the day was bumping into an Irish wolfhound. The soldier who looked after him must have the best job in the Army. As the dog doesn’t go to war, neither does the handler. I could do a job like that.

Once again, we had little success with the betting and despite backing four horses in the big race came away empty handed. It was a shame really as it makes for a more memorable occasion if you’ve backed the National winner. As it is, I’ve already forgotten which horse came in first.

The weather turned ropey, so we hung on until well after the final race. By that time the storm had blown over and just about everyone else had cleared off. It made for an easy journey back to the Chester hotel.

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Horseracing at Aintree, Friday 12th April 2024

August 11, 2024

I’d booked tickets for a couple of days at the Grand National meeting last summer, soon after the football fixtures came out confirming that the Boro had an away game. These days I rarely know what I’ll be doing ten months into the future but sometimes you just have to make your plans and see if they work out.

As it turned out, the Grand National meeting coincided with a few days of public holiday in Saudi Arabia and so I headed back to the UK for a short break. Jen and I broke the journey to Liverpool with an overnight stay in Sheffield for a Paul Weller gig at the City Hall.

He was great, as ever. I’m not overly keen on long gigs, but the twenty-nine-song set flew by. He drew heavily on new stuff, which I’m fine with, playing just the two Jam songs and three from the Style Council days. He could quite easily have played an entirely different twenty-nine songs from his back-catalogue with no drop in quality. Who else could do that? Could McCartney get away with just two Beatles songs and three from Wings? And if he did, could he swap out the entire rest of the set for twenty-four different solo songs to those he usually plays? I doubt it.

It was amusing, as ever,  to see all the old blokes dressed as Weller, or even better, with their Weller haircuts. Dressing like Weller is fine as most of the stuff that he wears is more than decent clobber. But don’t do it at one of his gigs, fellas, you’re not cosplaying at a Star Trek convention. Save it for popping out to Aldi.

Next morning we drove across Snake Pass to our hotel in Chester. I picked it because it was a reasonably easy journey by train to the racecourse. The hotel looked ok from the outside, but it was one of those places that caters primarily for coach tours and so wasn’t up to much. I felt sorry for all those American tourists calling in there between Loch Ness and Stonehenge.

After dropping off our bags we caught the train to Aintree. It soon filled up with smartly dressed young people pre-gaming on Echo Falls rose. Our tickets were for the Princess Royal Roof, which is somewhere that Paul and I had watched the National from back in 2008. It seemed a lot busier on this occasion, despite it costing over a hundred quid and it not even being Grand National day.

It was Ladies Day and so a certain amount of dressing up went on. I’d been expecting to see some Peaky Blinder blokes, but that fashion seems to have slipped into the past. There was a good atmosphere about the place although the next day I read reports that some fighting had gone on.

The drinks were expensive. Maybe I’m getting out of touch, but over twenty quid for a pint of Worthingtons, a can of wine and a lemonade mixer struck me as outrageous. As did the scrum to get served. We switched to champagne at eighty-five quid a bottle from a dedicated bar instead, which didn’t seem too bad in comparison to the individual drinks, and I could buy it without having to stick my elbows out.

With just the one winner all day I avoided the scrum at the pay-out counters too.

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Olympiacos v Ferencvaros, Thursday 15th February 2024, 7.45pm

August 10, 2024

With my visa issues resolved and a return to Saudi Arabia imminent, I had a few meetings to attend at the company head office in Athens. As you might have expected, I checked out the possibilities for taking in a game during my three nights in town and got lucky with a Europa Conference League fixture at the Georgios Karaiskakis Stadium.

The match had sold out and so I picked up a thirty-euro ticket on the secondary market for fifty-two euros from Viagogo. I caught a train to the Piraeus area of Athens and arrived at a busy stadium a good hour before kick-off.

What I hadn’t realised was that all Greek football had been played behind closed doors for the past two months due to some violent incidents. This was the first game after the decision to allow the return of spectators. However, a new rule had been implemented that required everyone to show ID that matched the name on their ticket.

As my digital ticket had come from the secondary market it had something like Dave Zeus on it, whereas my passport, as you might have anticipated, was in my real name. I was turned away at my turnstile when I claimed that I didn’t have any ID with me.

I called Viagogo, but there was no answer. Fortunately, someone tipped me off that if I took out a membership in my own name for ten euros, I could use my shiny new membership card to buy a forty euro ticket. That’s what I did and was soon inside the ground. Ironically, the steward on my new turnstile didn’t check to see if my passport matched. Once he saw that I had ID he just waived me through.

Perhaps I should have tried that initially. On the plus side, Viagogo were very apologetic and had refunded my initial ticket price before we reached half-time.

There was a great atmosphere inside, which isn’t surprising when everyone had gone two months without going to a game. I was in the main stand with the home singing section behind the goal to my right. Ferencvaros had a section in the corner diagonally across from me and were celebrating a goal with less than a minute gone.

A VAR intervention brought the Hungarian joy to an abrupt halt and instead caused the sort of reaction around me that an Olympiacos goal would have done.

Ferencvaros had ex-Boro loanee Mo Besic on the bench and he remained there until there were just ten minutes to go. It wasn’t an inspired substitution as within sixty seconds of him coming on the home side went in front.

There were no more goals and the Olympiacos win meant that I was able to successfully leg it for the first available train at full-time whilst everyone around me celebrated the win.

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Middlesbrough v Bristol City, Saturday 10th February 2024, 3pm

August 9, 2024

After the Ireland trip, Jen and I took the ferry back to Holyhead and then the train to Manchester. We stayed overnight so that we could go to the Sea Power gig at the Albert Hall. It’s a great venue and, as always, they put on a decent show.

Next morning we travelled on the TransPennine Express to Thornaby. That’s a grand sounding name for what is a fairly mundane train. It was on time though and we had seats so they can call it whatever they like.

We were back early enough for Harry and I to get to the Boro game. Alistair missed out as he was at a party somewhere and as I didn’t have a car, we were happy to accept a lift from Tom. That meant a bonus couple of pre-match pints for me at the fanzone bar.

The game didn’t go well. Bristol City scored early on and then added a second within a minute. We looked as if we’d pulled one back with ten minutes to go, but it was ruled offside. An added time consolation from Sammy Silvera wasn’t actually much consolation at all.

The defeat left us in twelfth place, only four points off the play-offs, but with a lot of other teams better placed. That’s likely to be my last Boro game of the season and it looks pretty nailed on that we’ll be in the Championship again next year.

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Bray Wanderers v Shelbourne, Monday 5th February 2024, 3pm

August 9, 2024

Ireland does well for public holidays with ten compared to the UK’s eight. They even manage to squeeze a couple in between New Year and Easter. One of them, St Patrick’s Day, I knew about. That’s pretty much a partying day around the world. The other is for St Brigid’s Day.

For what it’s worth, St Brigid would appear to be famous for giving stuff away, ranging from all the family butter, which in our house would be a maximum of two packets, to her dad’s sword. Presumably she couldn’t find the butter knife. I’m not sure that sort of behaviour merits a public holiday, but it gave me the chance to watch a weekday game in the afternoon rather than the evening. That’s always welcome.

I drove down to Bray, which is half an hour or so along the coast in Wicklow. We travelled along the same route and then a bit further the following day for a couple of nights in the countryside which was fine. It included a visit to some jail from the olden days and if the weather had been better might well have involved some hiking.

This afternoon was all about the football though and a game in the group stage of the Leinster Senior Cup between Bray Wanderers of the second-tier First Division and Shelbourne of the top-tier Premier Division.

It was five euros to get into the Carlisle ground, which I later discovered has been hosting sporting events since 1862. It may very well be the oldest ground that I’ve ever been to. I’d check it out but I’m loathe to add to my stats lists. I already keep records of far too many things and, if you’re not careful, that sort of behaviour can easily end up with you weighing and cataloguing your turds.

I initially took a seat in the covered stand down one side. There was uncovered seating opposite and level standing behind each goal. There had been a ‘Fun Day’ earlier and so there were a lot of kids milling around, presumably having had their fun and now having to stay and watch the game.

I spotted one young lad wearing an Al-Hilal shirt with Neymar Jr. on the back. As I doubt that he’s a diehard Hilal supporter, it shows the way in which players are followed these days, rather than, or as well as, clubs. His mate sported a more traditional Mo Salah Liverpool top and I wondered whether he too would be wearing the shirt of a Saudi Arabian club before long.

Bray took the lead midway through the first half when some fella switched the ball from his right foot to his left and having opened up the opportunity, curled his shot into the corner of the net.

Three minutes later the home side doubled their lead with an equally good effort. This time it was a shot from outside of the box that ended up in the top right-hand corner of the net.

I watched the second half initially from the stand opposite and then leaning on the barrier at one end. There were no more goals and Bray, somewhat against the spirit of St Brigid, held on to what they had and took the points.

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Horse Racing at Leopardstown, Sunday 4th February 2024

August 8, 2024

The sporting events were coming fast and furious over the bank holiday weekend. There was a horseracing festival at Leopardstown, and I’d booked tickets in advance for day two.

The night before we’d seen Depeche Mode at the Dublin Arena which was a very convenient two-minute stroll from our hotel. Jen is more of a fan than I am. They are not a band that I’ve listened to much, but I liked some of their early Vince Clarke era stuff when I was a kid and they’ve had enough hits over the years to keep my attention.

Next morning we caught the tram to somewhere near the racecourse. It was packed with people dressed up. I’ve never really seen the need to go to the races in the sort of clobber that you’d wear to a wedding. Mind you, I barely see the point of it for a wedding either.

There were double decker shuttle buses waiting at the final tram stop to ferry people to the course and despite there being a crowd of around thirty thousand, it was all very straightforward to get in and out.

We’d paid forty euros a pop for regular tickets, which were fine. We had access to the parade ring and to a terraced standing grandstand. There were plenty of bars and I didn’t ever have to wait long for my next Guinness.

In a stroke of luck, I was able to watch the Boro’s game against Sunderland on the telly between races, although I missed our no-doubt well-taken goal on the hour and then their spawny equaliser towards the end.

I was less fortunate with the horses despite having spent half-an-hour or so making my selections that morning. I seem to recall just the one winner, which wasn’t at big enough odds to counter all of the losers. Jen picked some more on the basis of their names and they did no better. Perhaps we need a new system.

With rain imminent, we skipped the last race to avoid any bus or tram queues and were soon back in the city centre to continue celebrating the bank holiday weekend.

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