Huddersfield Giants 16 Salford City Reds 18

Sometimes when you give up all hope, when you think that nothing good will ever happen in the rest of your days, something unexpectedly wonderful occurs. This was one of those days and it started in the most unanticipated of fashions. A healthy throng of Salford supporters were gathered on the concourse of Piccadilly station for the early train to Huddersfield, all of which were agreed that there was no chance today that we could stop our fellow strugglers from gaining the W. And by all, I mean all, even Bobby could see no possible way that we could win today! This was a very unusual (and slightly disturbing) turn of events.

The day got off to a very bad start, our early train was very, very delayed. The kind of delay that Transpennine Express have made a signature of their piss-poor service. This meant that the Wetherspoon's breakfast which had been long anticipated was a non-starter, Koppabergs all round instead then! The return of the Pakistan cricket team was headline news after Bob Woolmer's apparent murder & Karl came up with the joke of the day; "Pakistan are giving up cricket. Apparently they're taking up Bobsleighing".

We stayed in the Cherry Tree for quite a while before heading down towards the ground. We managed to squeeze an extra passenger in our cab by getting Deano to lay on the floor, however, the driver had the last laugh by dropping us in some side-street miles away from the ground and charging us £7 for the privilege. Cnut!

After getting our bearings back we stopped for a quick un in the Market Tav & headed to the Galpharm and it's wonderfully named Pink Link away stand. Alker's injury left us without a recognised hooker & the club had moved quickly to sign Catalan Dragons' David Berthezene on a month's loan. Despite only arriving in England a few days earlier Bertie was, as expected, thrown straight in to the starting XIII.

Huddersfield looked fired up from the word go but our defence looked far more resolute than in recent weeks & after 6 minutes we got the start we wanted. After initially running the ball on the 6th, Wilshere 's options seemed limited so he placed a smart kick across the sticks. Skandalis should have dealt with it comfortably but he inexplicably allowed Robbo to pounce & give us a 6-0 lead. Huddersfield huffed & puffed without ever seriously threatening our line until Hodgy failed to deal with a harmless looking kick & Gardner pounced. We were being hammered in the penalty count & it was no great surprise when we were eventually reduced to 12 men as Berthezene's promising start was slightly tarnished with a yellow card.

Most of us would have been thrilled if we could just keep the Giants at bay until Bertie came back on for the last few minutes of the half but Luke Adamson had other ideas. Making a great break from his own 20, the young 2nd rower just kept on going and going and going. He was finally caught about 20 metres out but Hudds just couldn't get the numbers back & Robbo scampered over from the resultant play the ball.

12-4 up at half-time would surely have seen us coast through to victory against a team whose confidence was slightly more fragile than even ours but right on the siren some poor defence allowed Nero through & Thorman finished the move off. 10-12 at half-time.

The consensus on the concourse at half-time was that the next score would be crucial & our early pressure paid off when Robbo put young Jordan Turner through the gap to ground wide out. The goon from the players seemed to suggest that they thought this try was crucial too! John Wilshere's fine conversion restored our 2 score advantage & it was happy days again.

Any thoughts that we might cut loose & give ourselves a nice relaxing afternoon were quickly dispelled, Hudds started to pile on the pressure towards our line. Eventually & inevitably we conceded & Andy Raleigh crossed to being the Giants within 2, squeaky bum time. We were being mullered in the penalty count by Mr Silverwood from nearby Dewsbury & when the Giants got another pen 30 metres out I prayed that they'd elect to take the 2 and we could escape with a draw. They did, phew, and even better Thorman missed the kick! The remaining minutes were absolute agony, I've no idea how much stoppage time they played but it seemed to go on forever. Finally, with time surely up, we put in a poor kick on the last in the Huddersfield 20 and throwing caution to the wind, they worked the ball to the left wing. I have no idea who broke down the flank but I could sense the heartbreak that was looming as he roared towards our line. Thankfully Dorn got across to cover & dump him in touch sparking goonage in our end (in which I took an elbow flush in the face). So much jubilation that we didn't even hear the hooter, I only noticed the game had finished via the players' wild celebrations!

So, for once gleefully, we left a ground to concentrate on the pressing matter of getting as much beer down us as humanly possible. First stop was the Bradley Mills club, just a short walk from the car park (where we paused to consider various ways in which to deface Richard Silverwood's car) for a quick pint before heading across Leeds Road to take in the adult 'entertainment' in Ricky's. After the usual interminable wait while the management get us to part with as much beer money as possible, the ropey stripper duly arrived on stage. It's hard to believe but Ricky's used to provide top quality birdage for the entertainment. Today's was another cellulite-ridden hard-faced girl going through the motions for a bit of pin-money. I swear I'll never return to that place, most Reds already seem to have made that decision, there can't have been more than a dozen of us in there.

The walk back into town is punctuated by a pop into the Market Tav to see if anyone's around. Nic's in there & so are Bobby & his crew so we stop for a quick pint before piling into a taxi to the Warehouse where we pick over the bones of the game with some Huddersfield fans (with the pleasing spectacle of Warrington getting humped playing on the TV's around us). From there I head into town with Martin where we make camp in a pub that has a singer on. His set is lapped up by a throng of Reds singing & dancing along. As he finishes Danny Holmes comes up with a new song for our much maligned stand-off as Paul Johnson's "Get, Get Down" becomes a mass of Salford fans dancing around & changing the lyric to "Dorn, Dorn, Dor-Dorn"! This spectacle continues all the way down to the Cherry Tree where we kill the last hour or so before getting on a train home, pausing only to nick posters & antimacassars from said transport. The night is complete when we stop the taxi home to pick up a traffic-cone & bring home the souvenir that Martin's mum had requested. Great day/night.

Salford City Reds 6 Wigan Warriors 25

Yazz has been lying to us all these years. Sometimes the only way isn't up you know & this night was only ever going to prove that. Finishing work at 7pm meant a mad dash to The Willows was in order & arriving at 7:30'ish I decided that the best course of action would be to get in the ground asap & get a beer in there. Having queued at the turnstiles for an age, I was congratulating myself on a wise decision. However, when I saw the queue for a can of warm Carlsberg, I decided that abstinence would be the best course of action after all & got myself a burger instead. This, however, was definitely not a game to be watched in sobriety.

We started off fairly brightly, Korki had a couple of good carries & we looked to have more urgency across the park. Nevertheless, the pie-eaters got the first points on the board when Pat Richards slotted home a penalty. John Wilshere levelled things up for us but to be honest things could have been far worse with Wigan's handling letting them down frequently when the line was begging (Gareth Hock being a repeat offender), worse news came though when Mal Alker was helped off the pitch, if he goes off it must be a serious injury. Nevertheless we stayed in touch & as the clock counted down, I was reminded of last season's challenge cup encounter which was 0-0 at the turn-around before we ran out victorious. Such hopes were dashed when Thomas Leuluai's kick took a freakish bounce & Ganson missed a blatant push in the in-goal that allowed yawnion rent-boy Chris Ashton to give Wigan an 8-2 advantage. The decision not to go to the screen incensed the Salford players & Robbo made a point of walking out to the 20 metre line to watch the reply of the try before giving Ganson a look of disdain.

Any hopes that a sense of injustice might fire us up were quickly dashed; Wigan eased further in front with a Richards pen before the pube-headed high-tackling machine crashed over from Millard's short pass. The officials then conspired to miss 2 forward passes in a row which really shouldn't detract from the quality of the move that Mark Calderwood finished off. Further goalkicking from Richards & a Barrett drop increased the advantage to 25-2 before a late Buddha try in the corner added some ill-deserved gloss to a woeful performance against a Wigan side that still looks mediocre. If only I could apply a term like mediocre to some of our performances. Mark Edmondson (probably our most consistent forward of the season) was also lost to a nasty looking shoulder injury in the 2nd half.

Not surprisingly, the mood in the Tav post-game was very subdued. Not much to report from the rest of the night I'm afraid.

Bradford Bulls 56 Salford City Reds 18

Of course any chance of keeping the momentum going after the morale boosting win of the previous week had been effectively ended by the fixture computer. The visit to Odsal is so pointless (in every conceivable way) that it's a relief to just take the thrashing, head home & be thankful that it's over for another year. Of course last year we were misled into thinking that when in reality the Gods had us marked for our first ever play-off appearance back at the bowl (or should that be hole) where the hosts tore through us with depressing regularity. Only a blind optimist (hi Bobby) could see any other outcome this time.

A reminder of how much everyone was looking forward to this one came when Nic, Jan & I arrived on the waiting train at Victoria. Only Roy, Jay & Frankie of the Red Army were on this one. Everyone else was coming down later. When we arrived at Bradford, the latecomers may have made the right choice. After failing to find an open pub in the streets around the station we admitted defeat & headed to a Subway to discuss Stuart Fielden's close personal relationships & the music of Kasabian over freezing cold coffee (which the staff eventually warmed; in the microwave. Thanks. For. That!)

Eventually, after waiting for the traditional signal of the 12 bells, I headed back to the Queens to await the arrival of my mates. They were rightly punished for their decision to take a later train when police at Victoria mistook them for Citeh fans heading to Blackburn haha. The conversation quickly turned to our non-existent chances later on before Bobby rounded on us for our pessimism. "IF & I mean IF we do lose, it won't be by much"! Despite our obvious disdain for his comments, Bobby kept his opinions coming in a manner that suggested that he'd taken vast quantities of hallucinogenic drugs just recently. "Attack their left-hand side, no-one ever attacks their left-hand side". Quite Bobby & I wonder why that is when you have Solomona, Hape & Vainokolo just waiting to pounce on any errors, just why teams would continue to batter away at the likes of St Hilaire, McAvoy & Ben Harris instead is quite beyond me.

Thankfully, Salford didn't heed Bobby's advice. However on the evidence of the 80 minutes they hadn't heeded any advice whatsoever (unless Harrison had asked them to not move off the defensive line, take the ball in very slowly & to attempt to tackle in an unconvincing, ineffectual manner). We managed to hold out for about 8 or 9 minutes before that notorious weak-link David Solomona put Deacon through the gap. In a moment of supreme inevitability, Harris eventually put Salford cast-off Michael Platt in for the opening score. Almost immediately afterwards, Solomona burst through some poor line defence to score before bursting through again to put that other liability Hape in for a third try in the space of around 5 minutes. Each of these tries had been accompanied by the nauseating Odsal Muppet Show of "Bully, Bully" blasting through the PA system at thousands of decibels & the strange sight of disinterested looking ZZ-Top wannabes on Harley's riding around the old speedway track (I preferred the stock-cars for what it's worth).

Andy Coley gave us a brief glimmer when he managed to hold onto the ball long enough to get over the line for us with Wilshere adding the extras but Bradford soon replied when St Hilaire dived over on the right from close range. What followed was easily the highlight of the game from our perspective; Bradford were camped on our line & looking menacing again as the ball moved out to their left. Young Daley Williams (who had defended manfully against Vainokolo all game) picked off what looked like being a scoring pass & then set off. His mazy running took him clear & then he tormented the covering Platt before feeding the supporting Dorn to race over & touch down. Amazingly despite our lethargic performance we were going in at half time trailing by just 22-12.

Any thoughts that the players may be able to raise their game & maybe challenge for the points in the 2nd half were short-lived. In short our 2nd half was even worse and to be truthful I can't be arsed summarising it. In short Hape, Henderson & McKenna (twice) all crossed with ease while Michael Platt was allowed to grab a hat-trick which he no doubt thoroughly enjoyed. The irony that we can't currently field a specialist full-back while one of our rejects tops the SL try-scoring charts is lost on no-one, believe me. Right at the death Daley Williams' superb efforts were rewarded when he was given a penalty try, Daley is fast appearing as a bright spot in our otherwise awful season.

So back we go to the Top House to mull over how poor we really are over a couple of pints. The only real cheer of the day is when we arrive in the pub to see Citeh are already 1 down. As the 2nd half goes on and the massive club eventually concede a 2nd to provoke much anger from the assembled travelling support, our own travelling throng treat football's version of Warrington to a chant of "31 years....FUCK ALL"! This brings a Bradford fan over to ask if we're Utd fans, I reply in the affirmative. "So at least there are a few of them in Manchester then", I treat this comment with the contempt it deserves of course, all it displays is a supreme lack of knowledge about either M/CR or Utd's support. I don't even bother pointing out that I am the only Mancunian in our bunch, the rest are very proud Salfordians (apart from Paul who hails from Preston but he supports PNE anyway). He asks how I think we'll get on this season & I tell him that while winning the FA Cup or Champs League would be nice, winning the title back is the main aim. "I'd better hide this then", he says before showing us a Chelsea badge! I can't help but point out the irony of his out of town reds comment so he explains that he supports Chelsea cause it used to wind up his Leeds Utd supporting brother. Good enough reason for me.

Anyway, it's now time for the highlight of the trip to Bradford as me Martin & Paul make the short walk to Shah Jehan for one of the finest curries known to man. My Madras is spot on, hot but not too hot and as Martin would later remark upon, there wasn't a grain of rice left on my plate by the end. The helpful staff get us a quote for a taxi to Halifax & within half an hour of mopping up the last of the curry, Bobby & I are serenading the good people of the Railway Inn with our karaoke stylings.

A short pub crawl around Halifax beckons (minus Deano who's stayed in the Railway to pull some ropey-looking bird) stopping only to play on various diggers & steam-rollers left in the streets. We end up in a big Wetherspoons when a couple of midgets walk in surrounded by a very familiar-looking huge mate, it's Andrew Brocklehurst. As our occasional 2nd rower makes his way to the loo, we start a chant of "Stop the Brock, you can't stop the Brock" which he acknowledges while looking very embarrassed. On getting himself a drink he comes over to talk to us about the game today & our general malaise. Worryingly, he continually describes the club as you eg. "I think you'll do alright this season" or "you're too good to be down at the bottom for long". Whilst trying to be diplomatic, it's clear that he doesn't rate Harrison too highly & tells us that assistant coach Jimmy Lowes is the heart & soul of the club. Thoroughly nice bloke all in all but I found our chat to be very illuminating and slightly worrying.

Everyone heads back for the train now but me & Martin fancy stopping out for a bit so a quick call to Nicola & we meet up for a few more beers. We leave on the last train out of Halifax (which is heading to Leeds) leaving Frankie & Ray on the platform who are convinced that there's another train to Manchester, they're wrong!

We arrive in Leeds & put Paul in a cab to take him on his short journey home before heading to Flares. Almost as soon as we get in there though, it shuts & we join some locals in heading to The Birdcage but they won't let the girls in as they're wearing Salford shirts. It's the same outcome at The Hi-Fi club too so we head back to the station (getting into a small altercation with some locals on the way). A by-now wound up Martin does himself some damage by punching a toilet roll holder with LUFC written on it, in his confused state he thought it was Liverpool, I point out that the U in the middle would suggest Leeds United.

A very long train journey (due to work on the line) is enlivened by a concerted effort to steal as many posters & antimacassars (sp?) as possible, Which Martin's mum was thrilled to see scattered all over the house the next morning!