TT BLOG

Clive Hayward – @Byehorse

ABINGDON UNITED 0-1 TORQUAY UNITED

With Torquay having left the FA Cup too soon and Dover having survived too long, there was a blank Saturday to fill- something that has been happening too much in recent seasons.

So I improvised, and having scanned the Saturday fixtures I opted for Oxford. Sort of. I was headed for the dreaming spires anyway, because a small faction of the Dan Hayfield Appreciation Society had long since pencilled in Abingdon for an inaugural trip to a Women’s away game. This wasn’t enough to feed my football habit, so I decided to tack on Oxford Utd v Stevenage in the First Round Proper.

Saturday night and Sunday morning were to be choreographed by Professor and Torquay fan Chris Lintott, who took a break from physics and The Sky At Night to shepherd us around some of his favourite pubs.

Saturday dawned brightly in the South West, but my first train of the day never made it as far as Torre. It didn’t really matter, and arriving at Newton in time for a coffee I set off for Bristol on one of Cross Country’s legendary Manchester services.

I kept myself entertained with “Bear Hunt.” This is a recently-concluded podcast series which I can highly recommend. Without giving too much away, it begins in the aftermath of an aircrash in which 200 Brits lost their lives as a result of the Russians jamming the radar. The victims included the sister-in-law of our outgoing Prime Minister, and he and a dying MI6 operative hatched a plan for revenge. The incoming PM (Liz Truss on steroids) is keen to cosy up to Moscow and does her nut when details of the British plan come to light. It all leads to a cliffhanger in China with frantic attempts to prevent the assassination of Vladimir Putin. It’s a cracking yarn, but if you want the final score you’ll need to listen yourself: I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The journey from Temple Meads to Oxford via Chippenham (ugh) and Swindon was uneventful, and I caught a bus from the station out to the Kassam Stadium on the outskirts of the city. It was slow going through lunchtime traffic, with students and American tourists hopping on and off as we made our way up the Iffley Road, passing the track where Sir Roger Bannister ran the first four-minute mile back in the fifties.

The bus stops right outside the ground. Many readers of this blog will have been there. It hasn’t changed much, and there is still a car park where no West Stand has ever been built.

I was in the lower tier of the South Stand, which was populated mainly by pensioners. It clearly wasn’t the liveliest part of the ground, but I have to say there was fierce competition in the apathy stakes. I don’t suppose, these days, that a cup match between two middling League One sides is ever likely to set the pulses racing, but the atmosphere in all parts was quieter than a meeting of the David Walliams fan club.

It wasn’t helped by Stevenage starting brightly, and scoring with a well-worked header after only 3 minutes. Although Oxford grew into the game I felt the visitors were good value for their 1-0 win.

Bus time. The traffic wasn’t much better on the return trip and by the time I got back to the station I was hot, tired and a little queasy- possibly the aftermath of a cold.

My companions Keith and Kirsty arrived soon enough, and a bottle of water and some company perked me up no end. We made our way across town via an Irish Bar to the Rose & Crown, Lintott’s local.

Oxford as a whole is quite quirky, and the R & C is no exception. It’s probably not changed much in the past 100 years, and is a warren of little rooms and “snugs”, with some questionable toilets and temporary structures out the back. When we arrived, a group of Spaniards were murdering some folk tunes from their homeland. They really were quite spectacularly bad, and it was no surprise to learn that they were merely tolerated and definitely not paid!

There was grub available, with the highlight of a pretty basic menu being their famous “Pint of Sausages.” I don’t know what you’re imagining, but it’s exactly as described. Five cooked sausages are shoved into a handled pint pot and offered with or without chips. There was nothing wrong with the beer. Six of us had a happy couple of hours swapping stories and downing local beverages. Matt & Pea had endured a fairly fraught drive from Real Tennis in Cambridge that afternoon, whilst the Prof’s team had also been whacking balls across roofs down at Hampton Court.

As almost always happens, the night went on one or two rounds longer than anticipated, and eventually three of us found ourselves on the last train to Reading. The last one for some time as it turned out…..

The decision to stay overnight in Reading made financial sense, but an overnight SNAFU involving a mechanical digger and the railway line meant that we had to scramble on Sunday morning. What should have been a quick train trip turned into a 90 minute bus ride on the X40. We saw all the villages of South Oxfordshire and most of its joggers from the top deck. Our much-anticipated brunch would have to wait.

But we got there in the end. What The Oxford Brunch Bar lacks in quirky names it more than makes up for in top quality nosh. There is high class black pudding and fried eggs that make your heart sing. It is very popular, and by the time we arrived there was a queue along the pavement. The wait was worthwhile, and we noshed our way towards lunchtime.

What followed can only really be described as a pub crawl. We started at The Grapes, made our way to The Covered Market and rounded things off at The Lamb and Flag: a low-beamed venue with ivy growing up the walls, no gas and enough ex-servicemen to cast Dad’s Army all over again.

Our Saturday Six had become a magnificent Sunday Seven with the arrival of the hat-burner in chief, Jimmy Ball impersonator and general good egg Simon Bittlestone. He had- glory be- driven up in his 7-seater, and we poured ourselves into it for a trip around the ring road to Abingdon.

The timing was a little tight but as old hands we knew that the last time a Women’s match kicked off on time Jill Scott was merely a glint in her parents’ eyes, and we got in as near to the first whistle as makes no difference.

Ray Duffy was in position in the stand, we had two on the bench, and the starting eleven tore into their opponents. The player we sponsor, Jas Barker, was assured, and Sarah Stacey scored early from a Beth Everson cross. We really should have been out of sight by half time. There was, however, a big scare just before the interval. On a rare attack, Abingdon got in on goal and had surely equalised with a cute finish, lifting the ball over Hannah BIshop. With any normal bounce, the ball would have gone in about three feet under the bar, but it took a horrible/beautiful yellow bobble, and smacked off the woodwork into our keeper’s warm embrace.

We met the groundsman at half time. He was a broken man, weeping softly into his pint. To their great credit there were also two Brynsmen in attendance: Simon Robinson and Rob Hawes. We engaged them in conversation- some of us probably making more sense than others- before making our way out of the welcoming clubhouse for the second half.

It was one-way traffic again, and only a combination of poor final balls and very safe goalkeeping kept it at 1-0. With 20 to go, Simon B suggested we should have a little sing. We did it with gusto, and it seemed to go down well with the team. We clapped them off at the end- a job well done.

There was time for a final pub stop. Chris organised a taxi which deposited us at a place which was within easy walking distance of the station. They had managed to get the trains running again. Our luck held with a smooth journey home.

If Carlsberg did Awaydays, they wouldn’t beat this one. Top stuff.

Up the Gulls!