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As someone who is frequently accused of ‘Groundhopperism’ – where do people get
that notion – I feel obliged to operate to certain standards, and pay homage to
a series of self-imposed conventions governing my branch of this hobby (for
hobby is what it is). A match has to be a competitive fixture for me to ‘tick’
the ground; a game has to at least kick off for me to count the tick (even if
only a minute is played); and although a programme isn’t essential, it’s
certainly desirable.
Aside from that, I’ve learned one or two lessons over the years, such as
preparing a ready list of alternatives if the target game is subject to a late
cancellation. Another custom I invariably practise is, if I’m using a city as a
transport ‘hub’ I get back there as quickly as possible after a game, just in
case there are any unforeseen complications. Because you can bet your bottom
dollar if you don’t do that, something will occur.
Which is why today, when my match day is done and I foolhardily decide to check
out one more of the local pubs prior to heading back to London Coach Station
for my return 440 to Loughborough, I’m standing in Whitstable station staring
at the departures board with the word ‘delayed’ prominent, and the very real
prospect that I am likely to miss my booked bus from London back home.
The day starts well as I arrive in London in good time to pay a prince’s ransom
to purchase a South Eastern trains ticket to Whitstable in Kent. Arriving in
the seaside town with just enough time for a couple of pints prior to heading
for The Belmont Ground, I initially eschew the Black Dog micropub to visit the
GBG-listed Pearson’s Arms, where I’m hoping to find a pint of Gadd’s Ramsgate
beers. Unfortunately it’s a popular foody pub, with most tables laid out for
dining, and of the four beers on handpull, only two are localish and neither is
from Gadds. I decide not to dally and head back down the road to the
afore-mentioned Black Dog.
This relatively new venture is in the classic micropub style, with just the one
room and the beers served by gravity dispense from the chill store visible
behind the counter. The seating is in the form of high benches and the decor
very smart in dark green and burgundy, with some unusual picture decorations.
The beers are mainly Kentish, and I choose a Wantsum Imperium, an excellent
ruby beer, shortly to be followed by a very fruity Kent Brewery Porter.
My route to the ground takes me past several inviting looking Shepherd Neame
pubs, the cask ale-equipped Whitstable Labour Club, and the art deco ‘Peter
Cushing’, a Wetherspoons refurbishment of an old cinema. I vow to return there
later, to my cost!
As I enter the Belmont Ground, the programme man asks me if I’m a groundhopper.
Can you tell? I enquire. Look in the mirror, he replies. Luckily, I can’t
locate one, but vow to don a frogman’s outfit and adopt a Tim Howard facial
hair configuration in the unlikely event I ever return here. The stadium sports
two old stands plus a ‘kit’ terrace stand, the latter behind one goal. At the
other end the ancient covered terracing is set well back from the pitch, while
down one side is an unusual affair of a vintage stand where the step terracing
serves for either seating or standing purposes.
Opposite is the clubhouse which, although offering no cask beer, has bottles of
London Pride and Old Speckled Hen in the fridge. The nearby snackbar is cooking
chips, but all the pies, sadly, are of the meaty variety.
I’m not expecting a cracking game today, with Whitstable Town and visitors
Corinthian-Casuals both struggling near the bottom of the table. But the
standard in the first half is pretty poor, with both sides habitually giving
the ball away in turn. It doesn’t really liven up until 25 minutes, when a
goalbound drive is spectacularly parried by the home shot-stoper. Sadly, he’s
wearing the No3 shirt and the red card that follows is not entirely unexpected.
C-C convert the resultant penalty and at 1-0 up facing 10 men, you have to
fancy them.
So it’s something of a surprise when Whitstable manage to level on 32, again
from a penalty,and it’s still all-square with ten minutes to go. And that’s
where the real action starts. Making of a mockery of their numerical
disadvantage, the home team lay siege to the visiting goal and score twice late
on to take the points. And there’s still time for the visiting No3 to emulate
his home counterpart by enjoying an early bath after kneeing an opponent to
earn his second yellow. In the resultant round of afters following the decision
to send him packing, the Corinthians No11 calls the Linesman “a f*cking cheat’
and his team mate No6 offers to see the lino ‘outside the ground half an hour
after the game’.
Maybe these miscreants should visit their club website and read the section
marked ‘The Corinthian Spirit’ which includes the sentence ‘to bear aloft a
cheerful countenance under disappointment’.
Which is exactly my frame of mind as I stand on Whitstable Station, trying to
get some sense out of the woman on the National Express helpline, and sweating
as my prospects of getting home at a reasonable hour rapidly recede.
Happily for me, my ‘Corinthian Spirit’ prevails and I make it just in time.
There's more on my blog at: http://flynn123.wordpress.com
Always played in the right spirit...
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