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!