NOWHERE ELSE I’D RATHER BE
The day history overcame heartache
Four days after the game and I still can’t bring myself to watch the highlights. Maybe I never will. Just pretend it never happened, or simply dismiss it as a bad dream. There were certainly dreamlike qualities to the occasion as I effectively made up the entire away following for the club I have supported since childhood. You couldn’t make it up.
Altrincham v Chester in the National League North Play-Off Elimination Round. An enormous game by any standard. Official attendance: zero. However, those at home watching the live stream may have spotted a grown man in short trousers stood among the flapping Altrincham flags on what is traditionally the away end. Reader, I was that fan.
The wonderful world of journalism has provided me with many privileges over the years, from playing football with Keegan, darts with Bristow and snooker with Davis. But a ticket for a match with no tickets is an honour that almost justifies the decades of deadlines and despair. On that terrace, at that time, there was nowhere on earth I’d rather be.
But why did it have to be Alty? Over the course of numerous visits in various competitions I can only remember us winning there once, which is once more than the times it stopped raining. However, on a beautiful July day I cruised into the club car park in eerie silence, strategically blasting myself with cold air before getting out of the motor. It’s a tactic that paid off as I passed the entry gate temperature test at the first attempt, having held back my burgeoning fringe to be zapped between the eyes. Strange days indeed. Allied to a cursory questionnaire and a spray of hand sanitizer, entry to the Amber Zone was secured, effectively giving me free reign to the bulk of Moss Lane with over an hour to kick-off.
Despite the sparse audience, the public address system broadcast frequent reminders to maintain social distancing, along with the distressing news that no refreshments were available. It’s no secret that eating and drinking are an enormous part of the football experience. Since the season was curtailed I have lost two stone in weight, robbed of the basic human right to pour lager into my face and raid the chip shops of the north. Sadly, the chippy outside the ground remained resolutely closed before and after.
Despite exchanging a few words with the Chester photographer and the Deva groundsman, it really was a case of me, myself and I, lost in silent reverie as kick-off approached. I’ve rarely felt more alone, the solitude of privilege akin to that time
Michael Jackson went round Disneyland on his tod. Mooching mournfully around the ground, I discovered bits of discarded machinery, a bag of sand, a shopping trolley. Poignantly, leant against the back wall of the home terrace was a faded poster advertising a league match on March 21st between Altrincham and Chester. Tickets sold, never played, a chilling reminder of the world we once knew.
Supporting a football club is basically a timeline of your
existence. Negotiating the away terrace I remained wary of the step that caught me out over half a lifetime ago on my Moss Lane debut when Chester City of the Football League visited for an FA Cup 1st round replay. Lost 2-0, including an absolute screamer that the BBC deemed Goal of the Month and proceeded to show at every available opportunity.
Surely this time it would be different. A goal down at halftime I decided to abandon the low profile approach and nailed my colours to the mast by donning my trademark blue smock. Seconds later we conceded a penalty and had John Johnston sent off, and this after I had tipped him as the Key Man in The Non-League Paper preview!
A third soon followed and that appeared to be that, but a two-goal salvo put Chester right back in it.
Sadly, the third goal never came, but it was a valiant effort from the ten men, who can hold their heads up high. And as I childishly said to all and sundry on my way out, see you next season, Alty.
Just watched the highlights: absolutely robbed.
Longlisted for the William Hill Sports Book of the Year 2018, The Card: Every Match, Every Mile by Steve Hill is published by Ockley Books.