Now your dream is real...

Rochdale AFC 2 - 1 Darlington FC
AET (3 - 3) agg

Rochdale win 5 - 4 on penalties

Journey:

Probably the longest journey of the season. It began on the car park outside the Darlington Arena. It continued down the A1, M1 & M62 and through booking my summer holiday (Turkey, for those of you who are interested). It dragged on through a week of meetings, presentations and 'creative workshops' (to my way of thinking anything which does not involve a saw, a hammer and a G-clamp is not a workshop - a room full of people talking about 'paradigms' and 'concepts' definitely is not a workshop).

All this time I had just one thing on my mind - noon on Saturday.

I was suffering from advanced Dale Fever. Worse still, I appeared to be contagious. My staff had all watched our outing to the north east of England on Sky (Manchester United and Wigan fans). Many of my peers - none of whom had heard of, much less cared about Rochdale a few months ago - had watched the game.

In a strange twist, the chap who sits in the office next door to mine popped in on Tuesday morning to tell me he had watched the game - and that he knows Keith Hill. It turns out they played centre half together at Canon Slade School in Bolton. He hadn't seen him in more than 20 years - until Saturday that is.

My personal excitement levels went off the meter when news trickled through on Wednesday that Spotland was sold out! Not only that but Darlo had failed to sell all of their tickets.

And so, Saturday finally dawned.

Mr. Turner had discovered that the Regal Moon in Rochdale would be opening early today - so that is where we convened at 09:30. I would have been earlier but Lady Luck was a little reluctant to leave her slumber - but on a day as important as this, there was no way on earth she would not be coming.

After a hearty breakfast and a fortifying drink we saddled up and headed to Spotland. I sauntered through the Sandy Lane turnstiles at 10:30 - the ground was already filling up.

Weather:

After a week of clear blue skies and flag-cracking temperatures today marked a return to more traditional British weather. A heavy overcast lurked menacingly over Rochdale accompanied by a chilly breeze which held the occasional hint of drizzle.

Food:

Having gorged myself on the substantial full-english laid on at the Regal Moon I needed no further sustinance and opted for a coffee. Mrs. Eden-Maughan and Lady Luck who were also weighed down by their breakfast's elected to have hot chocolate. Mr. Keane on the other hand was observed savaging a cheese burger - in spite of having seen off a bacon barm only minutes before. On what would prove to be an extraordinary day - the thing I was least prepared for was Mr. Mitchell. He cantered up a few moments after I arrived - clutching a pie - which he then ate. I watched intently in stunned silence.

Away Support:

As I mentioned earlier, Darlington had failed to sell their full ticket allocation. Therefore, it was 2000 or so Quakers who made the trip south. Puzzling considering they were carrying a goal advantage into the game.

Pretty vocal throughout - but largely drowned out by almost 7000 Dale fans.

The support for Dale today was truly out of this world. Mr. Hill's request for a 'cauldron of noise' was met in full measure. We even had a half decent stab at 'Wonderwall'. As it was Mr. Hill's birthday it seemed the least we could do.

Action:

So, simple maths. Score twice, don't concede.

If only it were to be so simple.

Mr. Beeby of Northamptonshire blew the whistle and Dale roared forward. With just minutes on the clock Dagnall passed up a gilt edged chance to open the scoring when he headed over the bar from six yards. Minutes later Dagnall failed to capitalise on a mistake by Stockdale - firing wide of the empty goal.

Fifteen minutes in and the initial Dale onslaught subsided giving Darlo the chance to re-group and consolidate. Having got their breath back the Quakers began to impose themselves on the game. Dale continued to press the issue - but Darlo were now right back in the tie and began to create opportunities of their own. Only some classy work from the Dale defensive unit held Darlington at bay - Stanton in particular shone - it was good to have him back.

Mr. Beeby had left both sets of players and fans scratching their heads a few times in the opening half hour. What happened next was perhaps the most baffling incident I have ever witnessed in a game of football.

An innocuous Darlo attack saw the ball sail harmlessly across the area - but then I noticed that the whistle had gone and Mr. Beeby was vehemently indicating the penalty spot. Judging from his little pantomime he felt that USS Howe had been pulling Kennedy's shirt. Players and fans alike were mystified. USS Howe went in the book. Keltie stepped up and duly despatched the spot-kick. 1-0 Darlo, 3-1 on aggregate. Not in the script - not at all.

Despite this curious little interlude, Dale responded. It took until almost the last gasp before half-time - but Dagnall got Dale on the score sheet.

A Rundle freekick saw Darlo's Stockdale flapping at air and in the ensuing chaos Dagnall poked the ball home from close range. 1-1, 3-2 on aggregate.

Half time. As I have already mentioned I had taken the wise precaution of dragging Lady Luck along today. However, you can never have too much luck - so lucky hats all round was the order of the day.

Consequently, Mr. Keane was sporting his porkpie hat again, Mrs. Eden-Maughan was resplendent in a John Lennon style cap (whilst wearing it she has never seen Rochdale lose), Mr. Turner was out-fitted with an 'I Love NY' cap I bought him in America (which he subsequently dumped, there's gratitude for you!), Mr. McCabe was wearing some kind of fetish, peaked cap affair and I had gone for a straw cowboy hat (I looked like a cross between Rochdale Cowboy and Midnight Cowboy).

Would all this head-wear get Rochdale back into this game?

Early signs were not good as the second half kicked off. USS Howe was withdrawn from front line service and would spend the balance of the tie moored to the bench. St. Adam replaced him.

Whilst the Dagnall/Le Fondre combination looks good on paper - they do give away a good deal of height. Thus was the story of the second period - the Quakers defence more than capable of keeping the Dale strikers under lock and key. Dale pressed, but every thrust was comfortably parried. Whilst Darlo seemed happy to defend their advantage for most of the time, Dale nerves were jangling when Ravenhill crashed the ball against the Dale upright.

And so it appeared it would end - Dale frustrated, Darlington comfortably seeing out the tie. It is at times like this that something amazing is required - as 7000 mouthes quietly prayed for divine intervention - it arrived in the form of David Perkins.

Around 70 minutes Dale had a stone cold penalty shout turned down after St. Adam had been chopped down in the box - in the following confusion the ball fell to Perks, 25 yards out from goal, one touch, left foot, a flick off a hapless defender, top corner - SPOTLAND ROARED! - 2-1 Dale, 3-3 on aggregate.

Minutes later it seemed that the miracle was complete as in a confused melee the ball rolled over the line into the Darlo gaol. It was quickly booted out again and the trusty Mr. Beeby added not seeing things which HAVE happened to his ability to see things which HAVEN'T happened. Final whistle - all square.

Extra time was fairly event free. Both sides looked dead on their feet.

However, there would be one further twist. Throughout the game a fairly ugly little battle had been going on between Perkins and Ravenhill. Perkins by far getting the worst of it - Referee Beeby semed to be having another period of selective blindness. Therefore part way through the first period of extra time when Ravenhill chopped Perkins down yet again - the little lad lost his temper and went for him. Silly, but understandable. Having temporarily recovered his vision Mr. Beeby had no hesitation in producing a straight red. Perks left the field in tears. Heart breaking.

And so to penalties. I hate penalties - being English it comes with the territory. As the players organised themselves I disappeared to the toilet - possibly with no plans to return. The toilets were full - I mean literally standing room only. Full of grown men, shaking like leaves and fretfully puffing on an illicit fag. I spoke to one bloke who I had met down at Dagenham - he was as white as a sheet - I finished my fag and asked if he was going back - 'NO' came the answer - as I left he locked himself in one of the cubicles.

I can't watch penalties. I just can't. I look at the ground - wait for the whistle and listen for which way the roar comes from.

Whistle, roar to my left - 1-0 Darlo.
Whistle, roar all around me - 1-1.
Whistle, roar to my left - 2-1 Darlo.
Whistle, roar all around me - 2-2.
Whistle, roar to my left - 3-2 Darlo.
Whistle, roar all around me - 3-3.
Whistle, roar to my left - 4-3 Darlo.
Whistle, roar all around me - 4-4.
Whistle - roar all around me! Kennedy had missed, Tommy Lee had saved it!

Up stepped Ben Muirhead for Dale...

Whistle, EXPLOSION! 4-5 Dale!

The Sandy poured out onto the pitch - Dale had done it - we are going to Wembley!

Summary:

After the game we de-camped to the Flying Horse for a pint. Mr. Turner shoved his phone in my face and said 'say a few words - I'll post the video on Facebook later'. I couldn't think of a thing to say.

My clothes were stuck to me, I had a headache from shouting and a voice that sounded like I had been gargling spanners.

With the benefit of some time to recover - here are my few words: 'Brilliant, absolutely brilliant!'

You Have Been Watching:

Normally at this point Mr. Turner gets to steal all the limelight. However, on this special day I thought I would introduce you to the full cast:

Mr. Keane - the heart and soul of the operation
Mr. Mitchell - the 'looker' of the group - and secretive scoffer
Mr. Turner - court jester and whipping boy
Mr. McCabe - an ice cream man who hates kids - and driving
Mr. Jones - un-naturally hairy and something of a ladies man - you work it out
Miss. Eden-Maughan - Lady Luck, shine on
Mrs. Eden-Maughan - long suffering wife and chief editor
Mr. Eden-Maughan (Me) - vitriolic abuser of match officials and hack

It only remains to say that the last edition of the match report will be brought to you from Wembley Stadium, in 'that' London. Believe!

17/05/08