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!

Salford City Reds 10 Les Catalans Dragons 0

Some days are just so perfect they should be preserved in the memory forever. While this day won't be remembered for breathtaking sporting entertainment it will be remembered (by me anyway) as the day that Salford finally got their first win of the season AND United took a huge step towards winning back the title with a famous win at Anfield. Happy days!

I was up unfeasibly early for a Saturday, an admin cock-up at work had meant that I had to go to my branch of my bank to get my hands on my hard-earned pittance. Only problem being, my branch is in Leeds! After sorting out my cash & dashing back to civilisation, I got a taxi down to the Height to join everyone in the Dog for the early kick-off from Anfield. I walked in the Dog to find row after row of unfamiliar faces, a quick phone call solved the mystery "We're in the Welly" thanks for telling me lads!

Optimism was very low around the table, the feeling was we'd be more than happy with a draw. Bobby however was his usual up-beat self and was confident that Vidic would do the job for us, so much so that he'd staked 2 whole pounds of his hard-earned on the no-nonsense Serb opening the scoring. Nic & Janice turned up just before kick-off & we started to frantically look for a corner with no view of a telly to stick Janice in (she's a notorious jinx when it comes to Utd games).

The game was frenetic stuff as you'd expect from a Scouse v Utd game where the stakes are so high. To be fair Liverpool had most of it but Ronaldo always offered us a dangerous outlet. The 2nd half was real backs to the wall stuff though, the freak looked to have made the breakthrough but Van Der Sar made an amazing save & the draw was still on. It might have got better when Saha tricked his way through & was clearly brought down but a penalty? At Anfield? At the Kop end? No chance! Things got steadily worse for United; Rooney limping off, Scholesey lashing out at Scallygher (sadly not connecting) and earning a red card, John O'Shea coming on as a sub, oh dear.

As the clock ticks into the first of 4 long minutes of stoppage time that we have to hold on for, Giggs wins us a free-kick on the left. That'll waste a bit of time! Ronaldo's delivery is a beauty, low & hard, and Saha dives in but doesn't connect. However, it's enough to fool Reina who fails to collect & the rebound drops to a white shirt on the edge of the 6-yard box who sidefoots it into the roof of the Kop net. Absolute bedlam ensues.

As the bodies pile on top of me, as I hug the 10th random bloke in as many seconds, I start to realise what has just happened; John O'Shea, of all people, has written his name in United history. The man who scored the goal that will surely bring back the title is one of the players whose blinding mediocrity is the reason the trophy has spent so much time in the capital recently. The irony is fucking superb!

With the euphoria of the Utd victory fast subsiding, we turned our thoughts towards this evening's game. A win is vital & if we don't get it here then it would be a crisis point. Most of us seem confident of nicking it & a taxi is booked to take us to Weaste & a few beers in the church hall. As we make our way onto the Shed the heavens start to open. This cannot be a good sign for a fast-flowing open game (which given that we're on Sky it would be nice to serve up) & sadly I'm right. To make it worse for the viewing public, kids get in free tonight (a good move by the club if I may say so) & are given an annoying horn on their way into the ground (a shocking move by the club if I may say so). For 80 minutes a pathetic, annoying whine is the backdrop to a shocking game of RL. What an embarrassment.

The performance didn't really matter, getting the confidence boosting W was all that counted. We certainly made the perfect start with a sweeping right to left move creating the space for Luke Dorn to go over on the 6th tackle play. Johnny Wilshere added a superb conversion & all was well with the world (except for those bloody horns). If anything though, the play became even scrappier after the try. Robbo put a nice kick in for Daley Williams to chase but the Video Ref correctly ruled out the score.

The 2nd half unfortunately continued in much the same vein. We had most of the pressure & to be fair never really looked like losing, when Les Cats did pressurise us, our line defence was much, much better than in recent weeks. As the game went into the final 10 minutes, an Alker scoot found a big gap in the visitors line and the skipper touched down for the clinching score. In the dying seconds, the french failed to deal with a hopeful punt into the corner & john Wilshere appeared to have added a bit of gloss to the scoreline only to see the VR controversially chalk it off. Difficult one this one, I can see why he disallowed it but if you look at every try close enough & in super-super slo-mo, you'll eventually find something wrong with most of them.

The feeling in the Tavern afterwards was mainly one of relief at the victory, together with annoyance about those bloody horns. Of course it was a perfect opportunity to wind the Parkin clan up about earlier events at Anfield & that was too good an opportunity to miss out on. The lads were all scooting off to the Height & I was just about to join them when Nic called to say she was on her way to meet me with the girls. Shit! As it was we had a relatively uneventful night ti the Tav while I'm told I missed a classic night on the Height. Oh well, I suppose you can't have everything eh!

Wakefield Trinity Wildcats 36 Salford City Reds 24

And then there are some days which are just so mind-numbingly awful you just wish for the invention of a memory eraser so that you don't waste one more minute of your life dwelling over such a mind-numbingly futile day.

Optimism was definitely high after the previous week's comeback in the capital & as we arrived at Victoria station for the train to Leeds, the concourse was impressively full of reds ready for an earlyish arrival in Yorkshire. A laughter-filled journey to Leeds ensued with the highlight most definitely being Deano's attempts to make us believe he really does look like Tom Cruise. As we landed in my former home city we noticed we had a 30 minute wait for the next train to Wakey, only 1 thing for it then; pint. GT ordered some ridiculously strong ale which when I asked for it the barman enquired "Does he know how strong it is?". "Yeah", I replied, "I'm only letting him have four though. He's gotta drive us home after". The barman met me with a look of utter disgust before I assured him he was joking & made a mental note to myself to remember just how humourless Wetherspoons' bar staff can be.

As we made our way to the platform we spotted a familiar face clad in a crombie & a fedora. It was Stevo, Sky Sports analyst/tool for Super League coverage. I dashed across to request a photo & Stevo duly obliged before spending 10 minutes talking to us about the game, Luke Dorn, Steve Ganson (a wanker said Stevo, we agree said we) and his fellow commentary team. He then bade us farewell before heading back to London (having asked where we drink after home games & saying he'd have a few beers with us next week). Top bloke. So we headed through the barrier & made our way to the Wakey train only to be asked by some Loiner "Was that Stevo?", "Yeah", "Which game's he off to then?" "He's not, he's going home" "Australia?"!!!! This had us conjuring up an imagined platform announcement for the 13:10 to Sydney calling at Heckmondwike, Cleckheaton, Knottingley, Bangkok & Melbourne.

We landed in Wakey & headed to the first pub (I can never remember the name of it) & stopped there for a while bringing out Stevoism's everywhere "Someone's got to get the message out, this lager is warm" or "That boy Danny Holmes he is a BIG unit". Soon enough I had to head back to the station to meet Paul & we were soon heading more central to settle an argument; a gang of us reckoned that the Snooty Fox on the way to Belle Vue was the roughest pub in the world while Solly & Walshy reckoned it was some place they ended up in last season. The only way to settle it was by visiting both & I had to say that the youngsters had it spot-on. Time to head to the ground.

Wakey had the better of the early part of the game and their territorial advantage was pressed home by 2 Rooney penalties. However, Salford started to look more threatening after those early warnings & it was no great surprise when Finnigan crashed over from close-range & Wilshere tagged on the extras. We then had a lot of control in the game but tellingly fell away afterwards to allow Atkins & McGillivray to give Wakey a commanding half-time lead of 16-6.

Anyone for more 2nd-half heroics? No, we were even more woeful in the 2nd stanza (another Stevoism). The worst of the 3 Hendersons was allowed to score as was the very impressive Tevita Latu with a token effort by young Luke Adamson sandwiched in between these measures of Wakefield's superiority. A fight-back which never appeared on was briefly hinted at when Haggy went on a barn-storming break & stayed in support to touch-down by the sticks. Then Daley Williams squeezed over wide-out & we were back within 6 points. However, fittingly Rooney had the last say as he completed a deserved Wakey victory.

There's only 1 way to react to a performance like that; beer. We headed over the road to Monty's & found a quiet corner to mull over how piss-poor we were. I don't really want to dwell on the events that followed but people who think that half pool-cues are a good accompaniment to a game of rugby league are just scum. The quiet pint ended up with me outside a pub surrounded by Wakey "fans" looking for an excuse to kick shit out of me while thinking that my blind mate was still inside wearing his Salford shirt & anything could be happening to him. Not a pleasant feeling at all, thankfully Ian & Martin had got Paul out of a fire exit and all was well. Unfortunately not all Salford fans in the pub could say the same.

We all met up again in the next pub down the road, Tony's face looked a lot better once it had been cleaned up & we felt it was only right to go on with the rest of the night. The usual suspects headed off to a karaoke pub near the station to serenade the locals. Bobby gave a virtuoso performance on Don't Let The Sun Go Down On Me (assisted by myself after those immortal lines "Ladies & Gentlemen, Mr Yorkie Red") which earned a standing ovation and of course Matchstalk Men & Cats & Dogs was given a good airing.

Then we did the usual routine; Reflex & Flares before heading on the last train to Leeds & back to the Wetherspoons where initially the barstaff claimed I was barred!!! After pointing out that errrr, no I wasn't and mass consultation between barstaff, I was eventually served. We arrived back on the platform for the train to Piccadilly to find that Paul had had his collar felt for having a piss on the platform & that cheered us all up no end. And still the fun & games were not over; as we made our way back over the pennines, some weird gay guy from Leeds started talking to us. After a while, he started to take an unhealthy interest in young Martin (to the point of following him to the toilet). Now Martin is only young and really didn't know how to handle the situation really so another fight looked a short-priced favourite for a while but we slowly calmed Martin down & explained to the guy that there was nowt down for him. However, when we got to Manchester & he was still following us I had to go & have a word. Freak!

All in all, a lot of laughs & predominantly a very good day but the events between 3:30 & 5:30'ish would be best banished from our memories I reckon.

Harlequins RL 18 Salford City Reds 18

The day starts unfeasibly early! A late-afternoon/early-evening/late-night drinking session with John_D while watching Half Man Half Biscuit had left me with a fair old hangover so the thought of a 4 hour coach-journey to West London did not fill me with joy. Anyway, three bleary-eyed people (me, Nic & Jan) in Salford shirts fell into a taxi to take us to The Willows (via the off-licence naturally) to meet up with the infamous Turkey funbus. And what a chariot it was! Looking like the bastard offspring of a Skoda and an articulated lorry, it appeared to have a suspension specifically designed by the Marquis de Sade. Any chance of hearing the choonage blasting out via Iain's MP3 was negated by an engine that was only slightly quieter than your average Boeing 747.

I had struck a deal with myself not to have a beer before 12pm. However as the M602 transformed into the M62, I found myself rummaging around in the bag to pull out a San Miguel. The satisfied look on my face after the first gulp obviously brought on a craving for ale from the ladies behind me & Nic asked me to get them a beer too. Struggling to hold my beer while rummaging around for their piss-weak brews & looking for the bottle-opener would ultimately lead to disaster as my ale toopled from its precarious grasp & proceeded to roll around the bus. We hadn't reached Warrington yet & the bus was swimming in beer while I was a bottle out of pocket. Not impressed at all.

The constant flow of beer on a bus built before the toilet was probably even invented could only have one inevitable conclusion; the whole bus pleading with the driver to pull over at the first M40 service station. As we pulled up & the whole bus de-camped to dash for the loo well let's just say that Salford shirts have never been seen to move so fast since Keith Fielding was in his pomp!

Eventually we arrived at The Stoop to be herded around by various jobsworth car-park attendants who eventually found us a spot nearer to Birmingham than to the ground. How big an attendance were they actually expecting? To make matters worse, the ground wasn't open yet & so we had to walk into Twickenham to find some refreshment. Making our way into the 1st pub (The Cabbage Patch) we were greeted by a wall of heat & a revolting smell. It's as well that for most of us the 1st port of call was to be the toilet as it was the most fragrant spot in the boozer. Needless to say we just had a quick one in there before heading next door & then back to the ground.

OK, it's a yawnion ground but I love the Stoop. Huge bars, friendly locals, it's fast becoming one of my favourite away haunts & the only downside pre-game is the lack of Utd on any of the many screens in the Kings Bar. Luckily Iain manages to get one of the tellies flipped over & we set about watching 20 mins of the plagarist Red Devils before heading out to watch the originals.
15 mins into the game & I'm considering going back to watch Utd. A cross-field kick gives Tyrone Smith time to clean his boots before taking the ball over the line for the opening score (although he looked suspiciously offside to me). Chris Melling ran in a 2nd shortly after (with a possible hint of obstruction?) before some woeful defence allowed Sykes in for a 3rd. Only some poor kicking kept us remotely in the game at 14-0. We were atrocious.

A rare foray into the Quins half & Robbo gets it out to Finnigan who plays a smart pass around the back to Wilshere to scoot over, Hodgy adding a brilliant conversion. Then amazingly Wilshere hacks through from a clever kick and despite an obvious forward pass, Robbo pulls us right back into the game. How we go in at half-time only 4 points in arrears no-one knows.

We play a bit better 2nd half but it's Quins who apply the 1st serious pressure as Rinaldi goes close. He gets up to play the ball but Bentham puts the square in the air. To our relief the big screen nearby indicates a clear double-movement. Penalty to us, but wait he's still looking at it & slowly to my disbelief I start to realise he's gonna give the try. Surely not but yes the T-R-Y appears to our left & the Salford end goes mental. The screen shows Robbo's gob-smacked reaction to the award & Rhino's clear annoyance. In the ensuing protests from our fans stewards move in to calm some of our boys down & Ignito is dismissed from the touchline lmao.

We continue to plug away & the impressive Buddha goes close after a cross-field kick caused panic but we rarely look like scoring until we create an oprning for Andy Coley, with men over he chose to go alone but just manged to ground the ball & bring us back into the game. Come on. With a couple of minutes to go we're back on the attck when Dorn is tackled high; penalty. Korki drives the ball in & keeps driving & keeps driving & he's over the line, did he get it down? Back we go to the VR; he got it down! Absolute mayhem ensues amongst our fans, it is one of the great goons of all time. Only 92 secs remaining, easy kick to come. Beautiful!

Klein takes an age to make his mind up, here it comes; "TRY - Benefit of the doubt". WHAT FUCKING DOUBT? Anyway it is madness again in our section as we celebrate a dramatic win but then I see Hodgy getting ready to kick in front of us & you can see he doesn't fancy it. True enough he screws it wide & we're left with a draw. Still most of us would have took that at the start & we would have definitely took it 20 mins into the game. We all head down to clap the players, Nicknito comes back onto the pitch before stewards kick him off again. I get thrown over the advertising boards & on to the pitch before we head back to the bar.

A great night in the bar again, a good chat with some Quins fans & a good sing-off (even though they only have 2 songs). The band are decent too, a really good night had by all & we head back to the bus drunk but happy. There's plenty to laugh about on the way home:-
"Why are you late?", "I like a drink"
Gaydon
Oxford Services
Big hats

Eventually we all have a bit of a snooze & arrive back to a cold Willows about 2:30am. Good day out, we'll be back in September.

Salford City Reds 26 Leeds Rhinos 30

At last, the new season arrives. I awake to a very grumpy girlfriend (she has to work today & missing the season opener was definitely not part of her plans). Her mood is not lifted by my chirpiness as I get ready. A taxi is ordered for 11 am & I'm soon enjoying a coffee & a breakfast in The Eccles Cross in the company of Janice (Nic's mum). With a lining on my stomach I set about the task of consuming my own body-weight in alcohol! First up was a glass of Zenith-juice (a blue lagoon with lager) before jumping a tram down to the Weaste area.

Our planned destination was the church hall near the ground & the early signs were good. As we walked through the car-park a cheery voice shouted "Bar's open lads" before turning his attention back to his hot-dog. However, on entering the hall instead of being greeted by loads of beered-up rugby fans we are surrounded by tea-drinking geriatrics! The staff explain that they forgot there was a game on but we're still more than welcome to have a beer or ten. We politely make our excused & head for an already busy Tavern where I join the Turkey mob in demolishing some Guinness.

Ignito (Salford's bizarrely camp mascot) pops into the Tavern & glad-hands a few of the younger patrons prompting much mirth amongst us. I tell Iain that Janice popped into the club shop during the week only to find Ignito sat down eating a sandwich. Iain is shcked to find that super-heroes need to eat & this prompts his girlfriend to ask us if we know who the man behind the mask is. Neither of us do.

By 2:30 I'm getting restless & want to get in the ground. It's a good job I do, the Shed is heaving already & I struggle to get a good spot. The atmosphere pre-game is rocking but the players do there bit to kill it stone-dead! An early penalty gives Leeds a great attacking position & Brent Webb arrives in the line to score after just 2 minutes; 0-6 Leeds. Worse was to follow another penalty, another great attacking position & McGuire ghosts over; 0-12 Leeds. Salford rally and after some good pressure Wilshere sweeps in at the corner. We keep the pressure on & Leeds are now giving away pens allowing Robbo to reduce the arrears to 6-12. We're now firmly camped in the Whinos half but can't get back over their line. With 5 minutes to go we're pulled up for obstruction from the resulting pen Leeds are over again. Hodgy puts the restart out on the full & from the resulting pen....guess what. Somehow we go in 6-24 down. Gutted!

We start the 2nd half with more pressure on the Leeds line and Wilshere goes in again at the corner before Aaron, Aaron Moule burrows over from dummy half to give us real hope. However, a rare Leeds attack sees Wilshere go from hero to zero as he fumbles a kick to allow Tansey in to make it 30-16. Sinfield missed with the extras but surely it's game over. Somehow though we fightback again; Haggy drives over the line & grounds the ball then a lovely sweeping move ends with Aaron, Aaron Moule diving over to send the Shed into absolute bedlam. Sadly time is against us & once again Leeds just about shade it.

Paul asks me to guide him to the club-shop after the game so he can buy the new shirt. While we're in the queue to pay in walks Ignito (closely followed by Iain). I'm a little perplexed by him coming over to shake my hand but even more gobsmacked when from under his mask I hear "See you in the Tavern in a bit Yorkie". WHAT, that's Nick's voice, Nick is Ignito! Iain tells me that the penny dropped as he walked out of the ground only for Ignito to shout "Wait up Iain!" I only hope he gets well paid to do that shit.

The post-mortem in the Tavern is fairly positive. For all but the first 10 minutes & last 5 minutes of the 1st half we were in complete control. Edmo looked quality & we looked a lot more dangerous with ball in hand. We'll play worse this season & win comfortably, you can be sure of that. The beers continue to flow in The Tav & all the old songs are getting an airing before we're warned to keep it dowm. This brings out a trademark Solly rant "I'm not being told not to sing in my own club!" & taxis are ordered to take us up to the Height.

At this point things start to get a bit blurred. There's already a gaggle of Reds on the Height (including Nic & Janice) so we're in good company. There's some very camp dancing on display in the Dog and also a very poor karaoke version of Matchstalk Men & Cats & Dogs by myself & Nicknito the Gay Power Ranger. Business as usual I suppose.