The recurring dream

Gilligham FC 2 - 1 Rochdale AFC

(agg. 2-1)

Journey:

I have a dream. I have it a lot. It is always the same dream.

It goes like this:

I am stood on the Sandy. It is a hot sunny day, but dark and cool under the roof. Dale’s keeper (oddly I don’t recognise him at all) is dawdling over taking a goal kick. The Rochdale faithful are crowded against the fence whistling at the referee, the referee checks his watch and indicates that the keeper should get a move on. Eventually the unknown keeper launches the ball into the big, blue sky, the opposition centre half rises, nods the ball down and their midfielder scurries in to collect. The referee looks at his watch again, lifts the whistle to his lips - and blows.

A primal roar rises from all around Spotland. A couple of the more athletic youngsters vault the fence and run onto the pitch, then more, and more - soon the trickle becomes a flood. The stewards give up chasing people and open the gates. Soon everyone is on the pitch. Even me. The opposition fans are clapping and the Dale fans are singing, ‘AND NOW YOU GONNA BELIEVE US – THE DALE ARE GOING UP!’

That’s it. My dream.

It’s a good dream - but considering that after an 06:45 start in Rochdale I am stood in the Livingstone Arms in Gillingham it is probably likely to remain just that. A dream.

It would have made a brilliant ending to the 101 Project though – should it ever be made into a movie (which is very unlikely) I imagine they would play the music from Chariots of Fire over that bit – or possibly the theme tune from Bullseye, either’s good. I am here for part three of the Gillingham trilogy – the League 2 play-off semi-final, second leg.

Mr. Keane and I had tried to watch the Bury vs. Shrewsbury play-off game in the Livingstone – but were denied by a meeting of two Mancunian pub teams – whom everyone seemed to want to watch instead. In the end it didn’t matter. A mighty shout followed by a torrent of mischievous cackling from a small knot of Rochdale fans told us everything we needed to know. Bury had lost to Shrewsbury. On penalties. How awful.

With every Dale fan’s heart just a little lighter, something like a street party broke out outside. The pavement in front of the Livingstone filled up with Dale fans, people began spilling onto the road, the Police duly arrived – and the Dale fans dutifully spilled back again. Mr. Mitchell arrived, as did Mr. McCabe and the Playboy. The Royal Borough of Dagenham’s Cultural Attache, Mr. Evans, rang in to wish us luck and let us know he would be watching the game, in Exeter, wearing a Rochdale Shirt (does this seem slightly surreal to anyone else?). Rochdale’s chairman Mr. Dunphy popped in for a swift half and Mr. Culshaw put in a guest appearance accompanied by Mr. Brookes – who reminded me that today could be his last game commentating on Dale.

It wasn’t a total surprise, he had mentioned it before – after twenty years of eating, sleeping and breathing Rochdale AFC he has decided to retire at the end of the season.

For his work down the years – a trip to Wembley, if not a little more, would seem the only fair repayment. Under that blue sky, with the sun beating down on my face and two plucky Gill’s fans engaged in a good natured exchange of chants with 100 or more Dale fans – it seemed that it just might happen.

Weather:

They call it the garden of England for a reason – absolutely glorious.

Food:

Having fallen foul of the Priestfield pie once before (burnt to a cinder you may recall) I didn’t bother. However, the ladies at the Livingstone had put on a handsome selection of sandwiches at jolly reasonable prices. £3.00 for a baguette full of freshly roasted beef and horseradish has got to be the bargain of the season.

Ground:

I have done this one before – so I won’t dwell. It is a nice, tidy ground. I like it.

Tucked away at the back of the open Brian Moore stand sat (mostly stood) 600 Rochdale fans. In spite of being out numbered more than 10-1 by the home fans they managed to make a decent amount of noise in support of the cause.

As for me – well I was in the main stand, sat beside Mr. Culshaw in the press area. Due to technical thingumyjiggery I wouldn’t actually be commentating tonight – Mr. Culshaw would be doing updates by phone. So I was basically just a spectator - or if you will moocher - with one of the best seats in the house. Being a play thing of the media does have definite upsides.

Action:

Thursday night had been an exceedingly close encounter. Dale had turned in a performance Spotland had not seen the like of for weeks. For their part Gillingham had further emphasised that they are an excellent side, playing good football and with huge confidence in their abilities. All that said, it had ended 0-0. Which side was happier with the result? Gillingham could look forward to taking the tie home again with honours even after a few nervous moments – but Rochdale really did seem to have rediscovered their form at pretty much the perfect time. To wheel out a hoary old football cliché: It’s too close to call.

Your team for today: Fielding in goal. Ramsden, Stanton, McArdle and Kennedy in defence. Thompson, Jones, Toner and Rundle in midfield. Thorpe and Dagnall upfront.

Rochdale started well. The Gill’s looked a little fretful in front of their hugely enthusiastic crowd. However, with a little less than fifteen minutes on the clock the hand of fate intervened – or more specifically, the hand of Denis Oli.

McArdle had attempted to clear the ball upfield – but failed to get any height on it. It collided with Oli’s out stretched hand and fell into his path, completely wrong footing Ramsden who was marking him. As Dale players appealed in vain to the referee, Mr. Oliver, Oli swept the ball forward to Barcham who flashed the ball towards Rochdale’s near post – where Simeon Jackson was lurking. Stanton threw himself at the ball – but Jackson was more alert. His clever, flicked finish left Fielding helpless. 1-0 Gillingham.

Undaunted, Dale threw themselves at Gillingham – but with the comfort of a goal, the Gill’s shook off their early jitters and snuffed out every one of Rochdale’s increasingly desperate foray’s forward. It looked like the game was basically over – Dale couldn’t find a way through and Gillingham were looking more confident by the minute.

With ten minutes of the half remaining – and with Mr. Culshaw and I predicting the worst, Rochdale scored!

A determined piece of work from Thompson delivered a teasing ball into the box, Lee Thorpe created an amusing amount of chaos in the Gillingham area and Dagnall swept in to do the honours. As his left footed shot soared into the top corner – I soared into the Kentish sky. 1-1!

Half time rolled up without further incident and I disappeared into the press room in search of free sandwiches - with a smile on my face and a little skip in my step. Maybe it wasn’t my dream – but a dream was still very much alive – and I’m really not that picky.

Sadly, it wasn’t to last. Ten minutes into the second half the Gill’s Nutter burst into the Dale box where a horribly ill-judged challenge from McArdle sent him sprawling. Mr. Oliver had a good look, then another – and then another. Just when it seemed he might wave play on – he pointed to the spot. Penalty.

Jackson stepped up. Fielding dived left. Jackson fired right. 2-1 Gillingham.

The balance of the game felt a bit dream like. But not a good dream. Having allowed Dale back in once, Gillingham showed no such charity the second time around. Dale pressed ever more frantically but found a solid Kentish wall in their path – and to compound matters, Mr. Oliver went on a booking frenzy – showing four Rochdale players yellow cards for seemingly very minor infractions.

The minutes and then the seconds ticked away. I tried prayer. It didn’t work.

Mr. Oliver blew his whistle. The players ran for the tunnel. The Gillingham fans invaded the pitch. I stood up. I applauded for a moment or two. I left.

Summary:

On the long drive home, Mr. Keane and I had plenty of time to reflect on the game.

Irrespective of the handball in the lead up to the first goal, Rochdale really should have defended better – instead of which they were appealing to the impassive Mr. Oliver.

Dagnall’s goal for Dale was fantastic. A very classy finish. For just a few minutes it made every Rochdale fan believe that another trip to Wembley could be on the cards.

The penalty was the result of no more than poor judgement. I doubt McArdle intended to bring Nutter down – but having committed himself to the challenge so early the consequences were pretty predictable.

No complaints. No recriminations. The better team won.

From the beginning of this little adventure I had felt unshakeably certain that the end of the 101 Project would be just like my dream. Sadly, it wasn’t.

The 101 Project actually ended on Mr. Keane’s patio. With a mug of tea apiece and looking out over the moor’s above Littleborough we talked about summer holidays in Turkey, pruning strategies for Japanese Maple tree’s, Britain’s Got Talent and the grand re-opening of the Caldermoor Hotel.

Not the end I had in mind – but a good one nonetheless. Especially the bit about the Caldermoor.

I guess we’re done then.

I still have a dream...

10/05/09