TT No.150: Andy Gallon - Sat February 14th 2009; Scunthorpe United v Bristol Rovers; Coca-Cola League 1; Res: 0-2; Att: 4,156 (196 away); Admission: £17.50; Programme: £3 (64pp); FGIF Match Rating: ***


After a February of firing weather-enforced blanks, I was determined, come what may, to squeeze some football into this day of (with apologies to fans of a certain Edinburgh club) hearts, hearts, glorious hearts. My work rota, made more miserable than ever by a colleague's paternity leave, had me shackled to a desk until 1pm, and already-restricted options were reduced by the latest wintry front to chill eastern England. As the morning minutes ticked along, fixture after fixture fell by the deep, crisp and even wayside. The dreaded P-P virus affected league websites with the speed of a flu bug sweeping through an air conditioned office. Pitches everywhere were frozen, snowbound or waterlogged. In the end, and given the additional complication of a middle-of-nowhere rendezvous with my partner, a return visit to Scunthorpe United became our Hobson's choice. Let it not be said I don't know how to show a girl a good time on Valentine's Day, eh? 

I am, in fact, selling myself short. My partner, recently a sports virgin, had never seen a Football League match, so the fare on offer at Glanford Park immediately acquired an improbably glamorous mystique. I don't watch much football of this calibre, or expense, these days, and found, on the drive across the flatlands of North Lincolnshire, the excitement of my travelling companion to be contagious. There's nothing quite so interesting as seeing something through the eyes of a first-timer.

Glanford Park, opened in August 1988 as the first new English Football League ground since 1955, is pretty much the last building on the western edge of Scunthorpe, and if approaching from that direction, there is no need to visit the town centre. Some would say that is a blessing. And I'd be inclined to agree. If you do find yourself lured, like a moth to a 10 watt light bulb, the Iron's former home, the Old Show Ground, which from 1958 boasted the country's first cantilever stand, was on Doncaster Road, its site now occupied by a grim and dated Sainsbury's supermarket.

United were Fourth Division regulars when they built Glanford Park. Grant aid was not available 21 years ago, so it was a budget design and build, and bears the hallmarks of such structures. Put simply, it's a crinkly tin box. When new, the ground was surrounded by fields, but recent years have seen a retail park encroach on the Iron's territory to such an extent that matchday traffic congestion on a key artery linking the town centre with the M181 has become a matter of concern for just about everyone. There has been talk of United moving again, but until now speculation is all it has been.

Glanford Park, compared to its bold, brash neighbours, looks plain and dowdy, and is reminiscent of the ugly girl-pretty girl axiom of teenage friendship. Slabs of grey cladding do little to brighten the exterior, and even signs in the club's vivid, if sickly, claret and blue colours have lost their lustre. Only the west side of the ground, where the main entrance, dressing rooms, ticket office and club shop are located, breaks the monotony of form. Thankfully, the ground, like a bed, is better inside than out. It's off-the-shelf stuff, though. Low, propped roofs run tightly around the pitch to create a pleasingly intimate atmosphere. Ironically, given United's epoch-launching cantilever contribution to stand design, the old-fashioned roof columns are a major irritation. In the seated areas, broadly speaking, you have to put up with what you're given by the ticket office. Or, on a day such as this, when the ground is merely half full, you can move if sold (without warning, to my considerable annoyance) seats with obstructed views.

Finding points of difference between the four homogenous single-tier stands, which all bear the names of sponsors, is difficult. The west, or main, stand features a slightly higher roof line, executive boxes to the rear and a players' tunnel positioned centrally. Both north and south stands, the latter for away fans, have first generation electronic scoreboards suspended above the goals. They must have been fairly sexy in 1988. In 2009, they are a turn-off. The punningly self-conscious Iron Bar (a gloomy social club) is located behind the former, and its occupants speak volumes for the shallowness of the gene pool in this part of the world. A glazed press box, rather an appealing one, sits above the halfway line at the back of the east stand, which, within its bowels, contains one of the least appetising and most fume-filled snack bars I've ever encountered. Tarmac car parking, not free, rings the ground. Immediately to the south, trains travelling between Scunthorpe and Doncaster cross a lofty embankment, and drivers like to sound their horns as they pass. The Corus steel plant, for which the town is noted, is some distance away and invisible from Glanford Park, though the steam-belching 'Four Queens of Ironmaking' - Mary, Bess, Anne and Victoria, nickname of the sprawling works' blast furnaces - can be glimpsed on the skyline as you approach from the west on the M180. The ground's floodlights, also spotted easily from the motorway, are beanpole masts.

Neither team had played for two weeks because of the wintry weather, and both went into this fixture on the back of decent results. United, third, had four wins in five, and Rovers, 15th, just one defeat in six. Rickie Lambert, swashbuckler-in-chief for the Pirates, was missing through injury, however. The home team began well in an opening best described as scrappy - appropriate, I guess, in a game in which one side was the Iron. Rovers, lumpy lads at the back, defended in depth, but were a menace on the break, and scored twice before half-time to leave the United fans in varying stages of despair. Darryl Duffy, who spent the whole game truculently contesting every decision, got the first goal with a sweet, low drive from the right side of the box having been allowed the space to pick his spot. And Jo Kuffour, whose dazzling footwork and shimmering speed off the mark were a delight to watch, made it 2-0 with a sweeping run in from the left flank and an angled drive under advancing keeper Joe Murphy.

Scunthorpe were booed off at half-time, and judging by the manner in which they began the second 45 minutes, had been given the mother and father of all rollickings in the dressing rooms. Garry Thompson sliced a great chance wide almost from the restart, and Paul Hayes, with 54 minutes gone, aimed too close to Steve Phillips from the penalty spot after Craig Hinton had handled, inadvertently, it appeared, a Gary Hooper flick. From a neutral perspective, that was a shame because an Iron goal then would have seen battle well and truly joined. United committed more and more men forward, leaving them vulnerable to Rovers' quick counters. It made for entertaining, end-to-end action, though the home team lacked anything close to the guile necessary to unpick the Bristol lock. United's Northern Ireland international Grant McCann got near twice in the closing stages. Phillips acrobatically tipped over his rasping 20-yard free-kick, and an even crisper drive from similar range cannoned off the underside of the crossbar and back into play before being hoofed away. Clearly, it wasn't meant to be one of Scunny's sunnier afternoons, and Rovers' sub Aaron Lescott soured the mood further by blowing kisses at the disgruntled home support every time he came near the east stand touchline, following some ripe language aimed in his direction by one of the least happy spectators.

Pleasant though this diversion undoubtedly was, and illuminating for my partner, it will be a relief for both of us when the weather becomes milder, and normal service at non-league level can resume. Tickets at £17.50, and £3 for a most impressive, if oddly shaped, programme, is a lot to pay for 90 minutes of sporting entertainment, and Scunthorpe must be one of the cheaper destinations in the lower divisions. No wonder fans these days are so quick to get on the backs of players who are not seen to be performing. It's the sort of relationship which needs the romance rekindling. Three points, rather than a dozen red roses, ought to do the trick.
 

contributed on 15/02/09