TT GROUNDHOPPING

Jamie Holmes

Jamie discusses his trip to East London

THE PLAY-OFF FINAL

What a rollercoaster of a week.

From the highs of Dorking on the Saturday, to the lows of being told how many tickets would be available, then the high of realising they would at least put the game on at Plainmoor — and then an even bigger high when we realised we could actually get a ticket for the away game.

By Thursday and Friday, the nerves had really kicked in. Time was spent thinking about logistics: where we would meet, what food to take, what drinks to take on the train.

So it came to be that we all met at Newton Abbot train station for the 7:31am departure: all aboard the Promotion Express to Paddington.

Kristy had yellow and blue ribbons in her pigtails, her husband Keith had decided not to.

We didn’t know everyone, but as always it’s a pleasure to share the journey with diehards like Kirsty and Keith, and Trust champions Joe and Clive.

Absolutely no-one in our group opened beer or cider, or G&T, or prosecco at 0732, and anyone who says otherwise has burning pants.

The journey up was fairly uneventful.

At Reading we were joined by Home Counties based musketeers Al, Johnny and Tom.

Somebody, who shall remain nameless, thought it would be hilarious to keep playing the first eight bars of KC and the Sunshine Band’s That’s the Way (I Like It), followed by a rousing chorus of “Gulls Away, I Like It!” This continued through to the Tube and was all good-natured fun.

Our large group of intrepid Gulls divided up, with the majority heading to Stepney for the traditional pre-match Wetherspoons breakfast. Meanwhile, Ruth, Joe, Alan and I headed on the Lizzy Line to Liverpool Street, where we bumped into Manchester-based Elliot, who had pulled an all-nighter after being out in Manchester the night before and had simply decided not to bother going home. Incredible stuff, really — though I suppose you can get away with it when you’re in your twenties. I’d need a week off work if I tried that.

We headed to a local hostelry called The Woodin’s Shades. I popped outside to remind myself of the pub’s name and noticed The Astronomer opposite, which immediately made me think of Torquay United’s very own BBC professor and all round legend Chris Lintott. By extraordinary coincidence, Chris then messaged to say he would have gone in The Astronomer (reading this back it’s hardly a coincidence is it- but I can’t be bothered to change it now!).

We were swiftly joined by Doncaster-based Tony, dressed in the brightest yellow Torquay United zip up I have ever seen.

Talk soon turned to the game, and it was fair to say the nerves were really kicking in at this point. Messages were coming in thick and fast: Guernsey-based Scott had landed in London after flying in that morning, while Dayle, an LA-based Gulls fan, had flown in the day before just for this game. It simply couldn’t have felt any bigger.

I tried to get a game of “Dobble” going, but was swiftly told where I could shove that.

A swift 25 minutes on the Shoeburyness-bound C2C train took us to Upminster. Thanks to my failure to keep my eyes open, we missed a good pub at the top of town and ended up in the BrewDog (boo). Generic BrewDog pints purchased we headed to a table. Al bought himself a pint of Black Heart, where some “comedian” had scratched the word heart to resemble fart. Al seemingly enjoyed his Black Fart.

The pub did have one redeeming feature, though: an excellent rooftop terrace where we sat and watched, firstly, a road rage incident; secondly, Gulls fans walking down the street; and thirdly, the team coach arriving. We cheered, waved and shouted, though with the mirrored windows we had no idea whether the players actually saw us. Still, we did our best.

Next came the 12-minute walk up to the Windmill pub, stopping only to have a photo taken in front of the actual windmill.

There aren’t enough windmills in my opinion, it’s a beautiful building, and it was apparently open day, so we could’ve had a look inside…

But today wasn’t a day for sightseeing … I’ll leave that to TorquayTalk’s very own Clive when he reports back on the next castle visit.

The Windmill pub was something else entirely — completely taken over by Torquay United fans, with flags and scarves hanging resplendently over the small picket fence. Here we caught up with Dayle and Scott, as well as DHAS founders, Matt and Pea, and Tufc’s very own celebrity cheerleader Helen Chamberlain

The atmosphere in the beer garden was incredible: absolutely rammed. The drummers were in full voice, smoke bombs were going off, and Pea had even brought her very own hand-crocheted Gull (finished apparently in the car on the way)

I’d like to think the pub made a fortune, and indeed the bar was busy, but unfortunately it was too busy, with only a couple of people serving. Many fans ended up popping across to the Co-op opposite for cold cans of beer, discreetly poured into empty glasses back in the garden.

The local constabulary — and apparently Devon and Cornwall Police too — kept a relatively respectful distance, albeit with camcorders pointed at those with smoke bombs.

And so onto the game.

The much-talked-about issues regarding the small ground and lack of facilities were clearly not exaggerated. Torquay fans entered via recently installed — and presumably borrowed for the day — turnstiles, though to be fair this process was fairly swift.

The majority of Torquay fans congregated along the right-hand side of the pitch in a combined seating and terraced area. Lots of fans climbed on top of the shipping container above it, and although a steward did ask them to come down, they obviously chose not to, and that was pretty much the end of that. It looked terrific from where I was standing.

Those who know me know my wife, Ruth is certainly not the tallest person you’ll ever meet, and at grounds such as Truro, Dorking and Weston-super-Mare, unless she’s right on the fence, she often doesn’t get to see much. But despite being a long way from the pitch, standing behind the goal with a running track and grassy area between us and the action, we could actually see most of the game — an unexpected bonus.

The weather was absolutely boiling, as everyone knows, and I certainly didn’t expect to be standing under a tree, watching the game with a relatively unobstructed view, but that’s exactly what happened.

Well, we all know what happened in the game.

Heartbreak in the 90-something minute. Then even more heartbreak in the 100-something minute.

We looked our best when we kept the ball on the floor and actually played football, but we just didn’t do that enough. Watching us repeatedly hoof the ball forward became increasingly frustrating.

As is always the case with these things, it’s the hope that kills you, and I genuinely thought this year might finally be the year. Sadly, it wasn’t to be.

Extra special mention to the TUFC fans, sometimes at games like this the nerves can affect the atmosphere, not today. They sang from start to finish, and it sounded fantastic.

At the end, we didn’t hang around too long. There’s only one thing worse than losing, and that’s watching the opposition celebrate. The pitch invasion was instant and boisterous, with red smoke bombs and players lifted into the air, but I didn’t see any Hornchurch fans heading towards the Torquay supporters, which was good to see.

We headed back towards the Tube station, where some “Hornchurch fans” (note they weren’t actually Hornchurch fans, they were Spurs, but came to see a better standard of football) were complimentary about our supporters and the game itself.

Then came the final nail in the coffin: standing on the platform waiting eight minutes for the Tube, we heard the cheers from inside the ground as Hornchurch lifted the cup.

The atmosphere was despondent, to say the least. Lots of sad faces. People I’ve known for years could barely speak.

It’s all a bit of an emotional vague memory really, I bumped into TorquayTalk’s Tommy K. We hugged. But said little.

It was a swift journey back into central London and then onto Paddington, where I somehow managed to spend £47 on three Burger King meals before boarding the 8:03pm train home. Some clearly took it harder than others: some drowning their sorrows with hastily purchased alcohol from Marks & Spencer, while others simply sat quietly.

The main topic was the train loos and which one was “usable” 🫣

So that’s that.

Now, I know my stepson Joe doesn’t like me saying this, and I understand why, but a couple of years ago we genuinely woke up one morning and thought we might not have a football club to support. I know we can’t always fall back on that and simply say, “Well, it doesn’t matter if we fail because at least we’ve got a team.” But as I write this on a Sunday morning listening to French band “Air” to try and rid my mind of the result , it isimportant to remember that we do have a team.

I can’t thank the Bryan consortium enough. I couldn’t be prouder of them

Will we be there again next year?

You bet we will.

Is Jimmy Ball the right manager

Absolutely.

What an incredible run of results we’ve had over the last few weeks.

I can’t wait to do it all again.

All together now “Gulls away, uh- huh, uh-huh, I like it.