If I hadn't seen such riches...

Rochdale AFC 2 - 3 Stockport County FC

Journey:

Why did it have to be Stockport? Why?

I have already come clean about my origins in earlier reports – but if you missed it, I grew up in Stockport. I went to school there. I got my first job there – curiously working with a Mrs. LeFondre: yes, that Mrs. LeFondre. My wife is from Stockport and my son was born there.

It was this connection that forced our first stop as we headed south on Sunday morning. My brother-in-law had managed to get hold of a ticket and needed a lift. A ten minute stop- over in Cheadle meant I was the proud keeper of a County fan. Lucky me.

In loose convoy - Dale colours flying, Mr. Keane in the HMS Zafira and me in the ‘Big Jag’ joined the motorway and plunged southwards.

Through an evil tempest we roared past Stoke and Birmingham making landfall at Watford Gap for tea and buns. At this point, it is probably worth introducing our cast for this weekend:

In the Zafira: Mr. Keane, Mr. Keane snr, Keane jr, young Mr. Bentley and young Mr. Eden-Maughan. In the Jag: Me, Mrs. Eden-Maughan, Lady Luck, Miss. Pixton and County boy.

And then onward. Some fancy SatNav work finally extracted us from the traffic jam at the bottom of the M1 and a little before 15:00 we rolled into the car park of the Quality Hotel, Wembley. I know a trading standards officer – I will be passing on the details of said ‘Quality’ hotel.

Having checked in we made for the bar. Two lagers & two cokes - £12.60. As half-cut Leeds United fans milled around us we discussed moving on – when Doncaster scored, the discussion was over – we moved.

We could dwell upon whom suggested which tube train to get on – but we have already had that argument at length – thank god for all day tickets is all I can say. My three visits to Edgware Road tube station will always remain close to my heart.

After the long and frustrating foray into central London – we gravitated back to the bar of the ‘Quality’ hotel – the assorted juniors having been safely despatched to bed. Hemmed in on all sides by morose, beered up Leeds fans – at just after 22:00 Mr. Keane took the ambitious step of calling a ‘Big Hour’. At 00:30 I retired hurt from the ‘Big Hour’ – it had been a very ‘Big Hour’.

Weather:

Clear skies over Rochdale degenerated into a monsoon as we pressed southwards. The storm cleared only just as we arrived in London. Match day dawned to leaden skies, a bitterly persistent gale and sideways rain. Just like home really.

Food:

Sunday night tea had been hosted in The Wembley Diner – just across the road from the stadium. Good food, not bad prices – only marred by young Mr. Bentley’s allegedly wilful consumption of young Mr. Eden-Maughan’s specially prepared salad-free burger. At this stage I can say no more. Young Mr. Eden-Maughan’s legal team are preparing papers.

Match day began with my ‘complimentary’ breakfast at the ‘Quality’ hotel. It was a good breakfast – but considering what I had been obliged to pay for one night – it wasn’t much of a compliment.

Still, it was nothing compared to what the food stands at Wembley felt was a fair price for a burger and chips – £7.60! The time before the turnstiles opened was spent in the lounge bar of the Plaza Hotel. Mr. McCabe and Playboy Dan had stayed there on Sunday night – jammy beggars – nicer hotel, cheaper and bar prices which didn’t cause a coughing fit. Oh, and the semi-finalists for ‘Britain’s Got Talent’ were staying there – I met half of ‘Signature’ in reception.

Mr. Turner turned up at 12:30 – wearing a roman centurion’s helmet – this lucky hat thing has got completely out of hand.

Ground:

The new Wembley is a truly shattering sight. Nothing really prepares you for the size of it – let alone its undoubted good looks. I was never really convinced of the need for a replacement for tatty old Wembley – well, not until today anyway. Breathtaking.

As awe inspiring as the outside is – the inside is quite other worldly. The scale is stunning. Row upon row, upon row, upon row of seats rise up as far as the eye can see – nothing in League 2 gets within a million miles – not much in the Premiership gets any closer. The message boards had been alive all week with speculation about just how many fans for Dale would turn up – my usual techniques for guestimating crowds failed me in this venue. Official sources suggest that 17,000 Dale fans watched the game. The sea of black and white was simply the most inspiring thing I have ever seen. 17,000 voices rose to the eloquently simple ‘Dale!’. At this point, I think I may have had something in my eye.

Action:

Mini-airships flying the Dale and County crests, columns of flame, fireworks and someone important from the Football League meeting the players. Things had moved on somewhat from that foul, storm lashed afternoon at the Moss Rose in December when I began writing these reports. Well, except the weather.

So this is it. The big day. The big chance.

The first ten minutes were a nervous, untidy and fairly even affair. County settled first and settled better – probing the Dale defences. Dale finally found their feet and began to ask some questions of their own. Twenty minutes in and both sides were very much in the game. Dickinson for County had taken the opportunity of a couple of ranging shots but it was Dagnall for Dale who created the first real chance of the game around the twenty minute mark. A powerful shot from just outside the area deflected just inches wide of the County goal. A corner.

Higginbotham whipped the ball into the area and then something amazing happening. McArdle thundered unfettered into the area and delivered an unstoppable close range header. GOAL! 1-0 Dale. 17,000 Rochdale fans went berserk.

County were stung into action. Only some breathless defending from Dale held them at bay. A Pilkington free-kick for County had the Dale support gasping as it shaved the top of the bar. On thirty four minutes County’s efforts were reward with a corner – taken short and then whipped in by Tommy Rowe – it seemed to be safely en-route to Tommy Lee when it cannoned off Nathan Stanton and past the helpless Lee into the Rochdale net. 1-1.

Despite further endeavour from both sides as Mr. Attwell indicated the interval: the tie remained balanced at one a piece.

I joined the food queue as half time commenced. I waited and waited and waited. I finally got to the front of the queue as the second half kicked off. I received three shocks in rapid succession:

1) Having mentally prepared myself for the outrageous prices – I discovered that all the food had gone.
2) As I stood open mouthed – a roar went up from inside the stadium – County had scored again.
3) With all the food gone – I asked for two cokes – ‘that will be £6 please sir’. ‘!!!’.

As I took my seat again I saw County’s second goal on the big screen – a stooping header from inside the box by Pilkington. Lee didn’t get near it. 1-2.

Dale sought a response and Gary Jones came closest finishing a determined run with a low shot which whistled just outside the post.

In the first half Dale had displayed an alarming tendency to lose the ball through a combination of misplaced passes and players caught in possession. If anything – in the second half things got worse. Dale continued to battle hard but Stockport were by now well and truly on top of the tie. Clean, thoughtful passing had Rochdale chasing shadows at times.

It wasn’t any real surprise when the Hatters further extended their lead on sixty seven minutes. An incisive pass from Pilkington cut the Dale defence asunder and released the ever dangerous Dickinson. An audacious near post drive did the rest. 1-3 County. Perhaps slightly flattering – but County fully justified their lead.

Had it ended there I doubt many would have complained. But, it didn’t...

Just ten minutes after Dickinson’s strike, Rochdale pulled one back. A long throw from ‘Pen’ Muirhead, an ineffective clearance, Adam Rundle’s right boot (yes, I did say right) and from eighteen yards out the ball crashed into the back of the net. 2-3. The Dale fans found their voices again.

Was this it then? Is this where the miracle would happen?

Well – no.

Dale pushed for an equaliser – Gary Jones in particular seemed to feel he could alter the fabric of reality by a feat of pure, unswerving will - but County held firm.

Today was not to be our time.

Summary:

At 1-0 Rochdale had a chance. However, once the equaliser went in County were very firmly back in the game and never really lost the initiative again until Rundle’s late strike. By then it was just too late.

Rochdale were not unlucky today. They met a team in County who played better and had quality where it counted in the form of Pilkington and Dickinson. Dale could do much worse than learn from Stockport’s performance this afternoon.

As I left Wembley I was disappointed but I wasn’t embarrassed. Rochdale Football Club had given a creditable account of themselves – giving County a good run for their money. They didn’t give up, even at 3-1 down. I am proud of how far we have come and what is more, I feel sure we have further to go.

Enjoy the summer - see you again in August.

Believe the Sign.

26/05/08