Last night, my friend Tony and I went to the famous Bramall Lane ground to watch our team - Hull City - play Sheffield United in a hotly contested Championship match. Of course it was also a Yorkshire derby.
It would have taken forty minutes to walk from our house to the ground but we went down in Tony's Ford Focus and parked behind the health centre where Shirley used to work. Now we only had a ten minute walk to the stadium which has hosted games since the 1870's. In fact, it is the oldest major stadium in the world still to be hosting professional association football matches. It has been the permanent home of Sheffield United since 1889.
For February, it was a pleasant evening. Balmy temperature and no rain. As we came closer to the ground, the nearby streets were filled with spectators. I bought a programme outside The Railway Hotel for £3.50. Inside that hostelry, United fans were swigging ale down their necks.
We found our way to turnstile number eighteen and queued up. A drug sniffing dog nosed along the line led by a police officer in a dayglo coat and when we reached the head of the queue we were body searched like all other "away" fans. This is something that incenses me but of course I kept my temper in check and endured the indignity. "Home" fans are not searched.
Under the Bramall Lane stand, there's a big lobby area with food and drink concessions and steps leading to allocated blocks. We were in Block 4 which meant we had to head to Gangway G. This involved pushing through two or three thousand other Hull City supporters. They were mostly younger than us and nearly all were male. They were having a wild time singing football songs, chucking beer around and laughing with mates but all Tony and I wanted to do was to make it to our seats. There were no signs of police or club stewards at this juncture and as I pushed my way through the massing fans, I naturally thought about COVID, past restrictions and the infection lottery that is still very much with us. Reaching one's seat at Hull City's MKM Stadium would not require progress through such a crowded bottleneck of supporters.
In England, it has become the custom for visiting supporters to stand up throughout the game even though they would of course be far more comfortable sitting down on their seats. People who wish to sit down - like me and Tony - are forced to stand in order to have sight of events on the pitch.
The floodlights illuminated the scene in a theatrical manner. Emerald green grass like a huge carpet and Sheffield's players in their traditional red and white stripes while our lads wore the famous amber and black of Hull.
Our team played like true Tigers against the mighty Blades who were in The Premiership just last season. They had far more possession and more shots on goal but seemed to lack the vital killer touch. It was as if our goalmouth was surrounded by an invisible force field... They Shall Not Pass! There were 27,000 people there to witness the clash.
We had breakaway opportunities and came close to scoring on three or four occasions but when the referee blew the final whistle the score remained 0-0. I turned to Tony and said, "It feels like a victory!" and he agreed.
Then we made our way back out into the bustling Sheffield night before strolling up Cemetery Road to the health centre. Tony had a ninety minute drive ahead of him - back to his home in East Yorkshire as I made it up to "The Banner Cross" pub just in time for last orders. Though it was an "away" match, it was in fact my only "home" match of the season! Up The Tigers!
from Yorkshire Pudding https://ift.tt/7F0mzph
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