Rochdale v York – An Exiled Fan’s Day

Rochdale Till I Die.

The alarm clock wakes me from my slumber at 06:15 for my 08:15 flight from Dublin to Manchester. In truth I’ve been awake a couple of times in the night which is unusual. I’m usually a very deep sleeper but the mind is racing: family, work and football. For one day only the pecking order has changed.  

It’s one of six alarms set, the others being 06:21, 06:30, 06:37, 06:39 and 06:42. No idea why those times are saved in my phone. I’ve serious OCD in so many ways but never with tasks I consider trivial – be it the time I wake up, topping up the car with a round number of diesel or the cleanliness of my office or car.

The wife is already awake doing Trojan work with the one-year old whose day is made already with an episode of Teletubbies and a bottle of milk. I’m acknowledged with a smile from both, go for a quick shower, say my goodbyes and jump in the car.

The drive through Dublin pre-7am is always a pleasure. Empty roads and peace of mind. Comparable only to mornings during school holidays. Dubliners have yet to discover the phenomenon of the school bus so adults must continue to suffer on their daily commutes.

I’m into the airport car park at 7:20 with nearly an hour to spare. Bag check is a doddle mainly because I don’t have a bag. I’m on the 7pm flight back. This is a flying visit and the Airport Gods conspire to ensure I’m at the departure gate in plenty of time ready to put my life in the hands of Michael O’Leary and the good ship Ryanair.

I’m a bit of a nervous flyer these days. Having kids must have given me something to lose. The plane journey is relatively calm, thank god. This is welcome as I’ve no change of clothes (note: spare t-shirt for nervous sweating rather than spare boxers for anything more dramatic).

On arrival in Manchester I head to the Car Rental Village near Terminal 3 where there are big queues everywhere except Sixt whose desk is empty.  I’d rather walk. They dipped my debit card for a monkey 2 years ago citing scratches on the wheel arches. I hadn’t recorded any evidence to the contrary so got stung for the bill.  Luckily Enterprise step up to the plate with a very fair £81 for the day Subaru Soft Lad in bright blue. It’s Automatic. I learned to drive at 28-29 (monumental error) so Manual got binned off after one lesson. I was in a rush to get moving.

Arrive at the parents at 10:20. I moved to Ireland 18 years ago and don’t get back home as much as I should. Former neighbours of mine, and current neighbours of my folks, who I see occasionally say Hello and wish us/me/The Dale well. They know it’s a big game and how much it means. Although it’s hard not to think that the ‘Haven’t You Grown?’ rhetorical question now refers to the horizontal rather than the vertical.

Today I’m happy for Dad.

Mum rustles up a quick fry-up (fry to the Irish) consisting of grilled bacon. Refuses to fry it. Not sure why. It’s infinitely better that way. Beggars can’t be choosers. In the first big shock of the day my Dad is heading to meet some pals at 11am for a drink in a pub near the ground. He barely drinks, doesn’t go to pubs often, and yet he’s starting earlier than me! The older we get in life the more friends fall by the wayside for various reasons. Days like this are good for the soul and staying in touch with peripheral acquaintances, no matter how old you are. Dad lost the sight in his eye last year and only six weeks ago had a hip replaced. Today I’m happy for Dad.

Just after 11am (90mins to kick-off) I meet my brethren. There’s Jan, the tall and lanky one, whose nickname is Addict. No hard vices. Just addicted to Rochdale Football Club. A nickname he acquired in his youth. He’s a teacher now in the local area. Would somebody think of the children?

The hairy vagrant one is Jon. Ex-Goalkeeper in the team we all used to play for. Italian surname so is naturally known as Buffon. What he lacked in height he made up for in eccentricity and aggression. He’s mellowed now. Plays a lot of golf. We’ve been pals for the guts of 20 years and as I’m typing this I’ve realised I don’t know what he does for a living. Beg for change perhaps?  

The bald lad is Stevie. A scary centre half in his day. Now lives in Berlin and runs a boarding school. Told me in the airport before our respective flights home he doesn’t play football anymore as he keeps tearing his hamstring. Father Time catches up with us all.

We’ve done some mad trips together and separately over the years. A few of us were part of the ‘Swansea 45’ (google it). Our lowest away following on record. 45 of us. A 1-1 draw at The Vetch on a Tuesday night thanks to a Leo Bertos goal when we were near the foot of the table. A following so low a local journo at the Rochdale Observer walked into the away end and took all of our names and printed them in the paper as part of his match report.

Rochdale Till I Die.

We sit down in Jon’s and eat grilled bacon (might open a shop selling frying pans) and reminisce about Dale Of Christmas Past. The 4-3 win away at Chesterfield, David Perkins’ hat-trick and Glenn Murray rounding the keeper in the pissing rain. The promotions. The relegations. The near misses. That 7-2 win at Stockport. The 3-2 win at Chester to go top. Bury Away. A yearly fixture that is no more which meant everything. The drawn Cup games with Spurs and Newcastle. Billy Turley’s air-kick for Rushden in the play-off semi-final to put us 1-0 up with 20 to go. We lost 2-1. The first game of the Millennium away at Hartlepool. Premier League Fulham needing penalties to beat us only a few hours after the Twin Towers fell. Incredible moments in time for humanity and still it’s The Dale that tie me to them. The 5-4 victory over York gets a good mention. Lee McEvily (Evil) elbowing some hapless defender into next week before scoring a rocket.  

Rochdale Till I Die.

Talk moves onto who will get the winner for us today. We’ve had some quality strikers over the years.  In no particular order: Grant Holt, Rickey Lambert, Glenn Murray, Adam Le Fondre, Scott Hogan, Paul Connor, Chris O’Grady, Kevin Townson, Paddy McCourt.  Probably missing a few too. Mani D is writing his name on the list this season. Will today be his day?

We walk the 5mins from Jon’s to the ground. It’s heaving outside. I’m sat with the lads. Can’t sit with my dad. No seats near him. We’re in different stands. All of us sat down. Father Time again? I’m opposite the Sandy Lane End. My spiritual home. A terrace. Stood up. Behind the nets. Nothing better than that.

The first half is fairly even. We don’t seem to win many second balls. Something that repeats itself in the second half. We’re crying out for a Dale legend like Gary Jones to get a hold of the ball in the middle of the park and drive the team forward. We don’t have that today.  

York are really good, the best team in the league for me. The fact we’re within a goal of pipping them for the league is a testament to Jim McNulty and the team he’s built. 

Russell Brand

It’s an unfortunate week to be a Russell Brand lookalike but Ollie Banks looks a class apart for the team in Red. First touch immaculate, vision and technique second to none, never gives the ball away and his notable spatial awareness stands out a mile at this level. He might have been taken off a little before the end but he’s my man of the match. A pleasure to watch.

It’s a big day for our young keeper, the Man City loanee Oli Whatmuff. What he costs us in distribution he more than makes up for in shot stopping, coming off best in at least three one-on-one situations. We’ve also had some decent keepers at The Dale over the years.  The two that really stood out for me were Tom Heaten and Marcus Hahnemann. Honourable mentions of course to Steve Banks, Sam Russell and current Chelsea keeper Robert Sanchez. From what I’ve seen Whatmuff isn’t close to that level but should have a solid enough career further down the leagues.

In the 73rd minute Dale get a free-kick dead centre 20-yards out on the edge of the box. Aidan Barlow stands back looking like he’s going to try and curl one into the top corner. The aforementioned Lambert gets the nod from my group as the ideal candidate in an ideal world for this type of task.  The mind wanders to that free kick away at Leyton Orient.  Myself and Stevie mention our old left-back Lee Todd as a close second choice in this situation.  We digress.  Without Lambert on the pitch we decide the most optimal approach here is Head Down & Twat It.  Barlow curls it.  Just over.

41-year old Ian Henderson’s introduction sparks a little life into a tiring Dale team feeling the heat.  He’s loved by the non-exile element of the fan base and now Rochdale’s all-time leading scorer.  He’s also so close to being the all-time appearance holder he’s probably going to play on for another year. The last 42-year old I saw play for Rochdale was oddly a winger, our ex-assistant manager Tony Ford. ‘He’s 63 with an MBE, Tony, Tony Ford.’ I’m torn on Henderson. My subconscious can’t stop me thinking about him leaving for Salford, his red card record at crucial moments and his peddling of Herbalife. The guys who go every week know more than me. I need to let it go. 

Injury-time is six minutes, we hit the bar from a flicked header at a corner and that seems to be that.

With 95 of the 9 6minutes on the clock the ball drops to Hendo who bends a sumptuous cross to the back post with the outside of his foot. We’ve an overload of bodies at the back stick and thankfully one of them is Mani D who powers home a header. PANDA-FUCKING-MONIUM.  

Bodies everywhere

I lose half the skin on my right shin smashing into the seat in front of me.  Bodies everywhere. No idea who the lads are behind us but we’re embracing with tears in our eyes like we’re on an episode of Long Lost Families.

In the utter chaos half the stand we’re in empties onto the pitch. And in hindsight that’s a self-inflicted wound of the highest order. Realising the game is basically over we’re all shouting GET OFF THE PITCH and booing. The game takes an age to restart and in my mind there’s no doubt too much time is added on as a result. In reality when double checking days later, it’s a little over a minute. But it feels like a lifetime.

The break in play allows York an opportunity to re-group. Deep into stoppage time now and a York player allows the ball to run out of play seemingly unaware it’s a Rochdale throw. We’re all laughing. Surely that’s it now? We’re back in the Football League now? It’s not. We’re not.

I still don’t know how or why it happens but it does. From our vantage point down the other end I think the linesman’s flagging for offside. The celebrations from the opposition mean it quickly dawns on us what’s happened. We’ve fucked it. 1-1. We’re all in shock. 106 points and it’s The Playoffs.

Rochdale Till I Die?

Rochdale Till It Kills Me.

We beat Scunthorpe 2-1 in the semi-final last Sunday meaning this Sunday we face Carlisle’s conquerors Boreham Wood at Wembley.  It’s in and out again in a day. Landing at Heathrow @ Midday and leaving City Airport at Half 7.  

Me, Jon, Stevie, Jan’s Family and My Family will all be there to do it all again.

Praying to the Football Gods one last time.