Ah, the magic of the Northern Rail Cup. Our run to (hopefully) glory at Blackpool in July saw us start with a run-out to face Bobbie Goulding's Hornets side who hope to recover from last-season's disastrous campaign which culminated in an emphatic relegation to NL2. In the build-up to the fixture, most Salford fans seemed to be looking forward to this one; a comfortable victory seemed assured & Rochdale's usually a decent day out so I expected a few hundred or so to make the journey, I'd seriously underestimated.
The 1st sign that we were taking a few with us was when I got to Victoria station for the 11:14 train. Even before I'd got to the window the lady said "Return to Rochdale?", I answered yes & asked if there'd been a few come through already? She rolled her eyes & nodded her head; a good sign.
Getting on the train I sat with Solly, Walshy, Deano & Martin and the short journey to Rochdale was filled with slanderous comments about Sniffer Paul's monumental drug habit from Deano. Rochdale station is a bit of a walk from the town centre itself and the plan was to break the journey up at a Holts' pub on the way before heading down the hill to the Wetherspoons for 4 British Isles breakfasts, hopefully served up by a blonde bastard, from the future. However, contrary to the opening times on the door, the pub was shut and we decided to head down to 'Spoons despite Ray's encouaging shouts of 5 minutes lads when he'd managed to collar the landlord through the window.
The walk to the pub was given a humourous slant as we passed the offices of Cullen Financial Planning (corporate slogan "Invest millions for a very mediocre return"), sadly Walshy's new camera let him down & we were unable to record the premises for posterity. The good humour was needed as we arrived at the pub to be greeted by a sign saying they weren't opening until 12pm today. On a cold day we decided to head to the nearest open premises (a Ladbrokes), a plan which was rudely interrupted by the arrival of the retard branch of our support into the same Turf Accountants. Suddenly, the cold seemed a better option. The time waiting was filled in by Deano telling us all that he was having a quiet season this year, a quite shocking revelation really.
With the late opening times meaning breakfast was a non-starter, we had a bit of a nibble on the quiz machines before ordering food (my Goan vegetable curry was excellent) and with me & Solly having drunk up we jumped in Kate & Bobby's car for the short trip to Spotland. Having walked past at least 4 banks on the way to the car, Bobby suddenly remembered that he needed cash meaning we had to join the queue of cars into Asda for Bobby to use the cash machine. This meant that, by the time we arrived in the Church to meet Paul, all the rest of the lads had managed to finish their pints, get taxis & arrive in the pub before us!
A couple of pints later we made the short walk to the turnstiles & the Salford following was certainly looking healthy. Paul & I bought food as soon as we got in the ground & this turned out to be an inspired idea as the food ran out before half-time. Apparently they were only told to expect 200 Salford fans, what they got was around 1,200; very encouraging, especially on such a bitterly cold day.
The players took to a pitch that was surrounded by snow but which looked in surprisingly good nick considering the recent weather & the fact that football had been played on it 24 hours earlier. We started brightly enough and Paul White went over to open the scoring early on, Wilshere was to have trouble kicking in the strong wind & his conversion attempt was nowhere near. Shortly afterwards Gardner intercepted but looked supsicioulsy short on pace as he was hauled down near the line. It didn't take long however before Sibbit went in at the left corner to extend our lead to 8 points.
Rochdale caused us problems though & it was no great surprise when ex-Red Svabic scooted over & added the extras to cut our lead to just 2. We were always asking questions with the ball though particularly with Alker's quick scoots from dummy half & with one such he put Myler away under the sticks. Further tries from Fitzy & Alker himself gave us a comfortable 6-24 half-time score. Half-time was made far more bearable by GT's hip-flask which he probably needed more than most after Mike had smashed a lump of snow/ice on his head as he returned from the loo.
The 2nd half was always likely to be a bit more emphatic as our fitness would tell & it proved to be just about. Stapleton & Leuluai came to the fore with some big drives as we ran in further tries from Jimenez, Wilshere, Stapleton & a 2nd for Fitzpatrick stretching the lead to 6-48. Dale didn't lie down though & scored a fine try which was finished by Ainscough & drew warm applause from the travelling fans before Svabic added the extras. We had the last say though with Borgese going in to bring up the 50.
So back to the Church where we had a few pints & watched the end of Villa-Fulham before a long & very cold walk back to the town centre. When we returned to Spoons it was obvious that Deano's quiet season had gone very quickly pear-shaped. He was leathered & as usual he took to having a go at Mal about his shoes, the amount of time a pint lasts him, well, everything really. A sweepstake quickly took place on what time his cock would emerge.
From there we headed up the hill to the Last Orders wher a pint of Guinness & a pint of bitter set me back the princely sum of £3.20 while Deano took photos of everyone & everything proudly declaring of every one "That's a keeper, look at that, that's a keeper". By 9pm a few had headed home while Paul & Deano had headed off to some foam party in town. We headed to the Holts' gaff up the road.
Usually by this time, that place was rammed with karaoke in full swing. Instead it was silent with some old-timer in a WKD hat & this party of 3 (the woman of whom sprung into life when I put some tunes on & she proceeded to dance dunkenly around the pub to New Order & The Smiths). Ray & his crew arrived soon after & we received the shocking news that Frankie Birchall had been made redundant from his paper-round. Quickly the chorus of Panic was turned from "Hang the DJ" to "Where's the papers" and some extended chant awhich included lyrics that namechecked most if not all the UK dailies but which sadly no-one to this day is able to recall!
A very poor turn-out on the last train home and after putting Paul on the last train to Leeds we were left with me, Solly, Walshy & Ray on the last train to Manchester. The train journey flew by with anecdotes from Ray about his Wii bowling demonstration at ours last years "I don't miss spares do I Chris?", taking son Lee to a German(IIRC) brass-house for his 16th & finishing off with his arrest on the way back from Villa Park earlier this season for a dodgy train pass. The tale of him having to walk through Manchester after the police had finished with his PC, with the computer in a bag with evidence splashed across it was priceless. From there a taxi took us to the Crescent 1st to drop off Ray (although he'd just moved & was having trouble remembering where he exactly lived), then to the Height to drop off Solly & Walshy before heading to Winton to drop me off to a warm bed & a blissfull (but very snory apparently) sleep.
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