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

Back and forth

Rochdale AFC 0 - 0 Gillingham FC

Journey:

Depart Wigan 17.05 hrs. Arrive Spotland 19.34 hrs. Traffic jams are just my most favourite thing in the world. Ever.

After a spritely start on the East Lancs Road I joined the parking facility which some know as the M60 and proceded to crawl to the M62 - where things really began to slow down. I tried the time honoured approach of booming impotent fury at my fellow road users - 'I HAVE A PLAY-OFF SEMI-FINAL TO GET TO YOU KNOW!' - but curiously this didn't seem to have any effect at all. The traffic continued to move at something just less than walking pace. I mutely fumed behind the wheel.

After what seemed like hours - because it was hours - I finally escaped the M62. Now to make up some time, I thought - and then joined the queue on Roch Valley Way.

Time was ticking away by now and the traffic was barely moving. I had a go at pounding on the steering wheel and then tried screaming 'COME ON!' to no-one in particular - which, on reflection, proved to be surprisingly ineffective.

Just when it semed that I might miss the start of the game - and possibly my summer holiday, my daughters wedding and my own funeral - I was through the traffic lights and onto Sandy Lane. With the hated temporary replacement for the medium sized Audi abandoned across someones driveway - I am really sorry if that was your driveway - I ran (sort of) towards the blazing floodlight towers and the siren call of Underworld's 'Born Slippy'.

Red in the face and more than a bit out of breath I arrived at the Sandy Lane turnstiles. But, where was Mr. Keane? He had my ticket! Having faced seemingly impossible odds just to get here - not being able to get in was just too much. In desperation I spun on the spot, vainly looking for Mr. Keane - and then, a hand extended through the bars of the fence next to the turnstiles and in that hand was a ticket - just above it was the grinning face of Mr. Keane.

I'm in!

Weather:

Sunset over gods country meant that all the clouds had gone purple, pink and yellow. Either that or there was a massive chemical fire going on somewhere local.

Food:

With Sky TV in town it was predictable that the more 'part time' elements of Rochdale's support would turn out. They didn't disappoint. However, with home fans numbering 3,600 or so, it seemed that even the lure of getting your fizog on the idiot lantern wasn't enough to fill Spotland. That said, all of the extra's seemed to be on the Sandy - myself, Mr. Keane, Mr. Mitchell and his father-in-law Geoff, Mr. McCabe and his associate Andy had to fight for our regular spot with a hoarde of complete strangers.

So - now you're wondering, what has this got to do with food?

Imagine you are here and over there is the pie shop - and between the two is a substantial crowd - what are you to do? Enlist the support of Mr. McCabe and Mr. Keane and form a flying wedge - that's what...

I will not be denied.

Away Support:

After a sterling performance at the weekend which had seen 4 or 500 Kentish folk make the trip up the M1 - they managed to top it with 800 or more tonight. A fantastic turn out. Sang their hearts out all through the game.

On the subject of singing...

In the home play-off game last year there had been a rendition of Oasis' 'Wonderwall' by the Dale fans at Mr. Hill's request - I don't think Liam Gallagher had much to worry about - but everyone joined in. It was good. This year, Mr. Hill asked for Presley's 'The Wonder Of You'. Mr. Keane and I had a go - but quickly realising we were on our own and piped down. A bit rubbish really.

Action:

Fives days on - same place - same opponents. Part two of the Gillingham trilogy.

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

After the comedy turns at the weekend there was to be no mucking around today - no siree. No funny formations or interchangeable striker experiments. Just the best eleven players, on the field, all together. Bliss.

That said, after Mr. Flitcroft's little outing at the weekend I would wager the Gill's breathed a collective sigh of relief when they saw his name missing from the team sheet. Said Mr. Flitcroft contented himself with prowling his technical area and growling at interloping Gillingham players.

On a few occasions this season I have expressed polite reservations about the quality of some of the officials we have had to endure in the last nine months - but this evening we had a friend on the pitch. Referee Kevin Friend of Leicestershire.

It's like a joke - just smaller. Much, much smaller. Let's press on...

With the Noisy Boys providing backing vocals Dale roared into action. Two early, although fairly wild efforts, from Rundle got the crowd going. Buckley mesmerised the Gill's defence with an elegant pirouet and a low but sadly wide drive and Thorpe directed a thumping header just off target. All this in the opening few minutes. Exciting stuff.

Gillingham looked to be reeling a little but drew themselves together to produce a good spell of pressure of their own although generating few authentic chances. And so it went in the first period. Each side would have a go while the other defended frantically and then on some secret signal they would swap. Very gentlemanly.

Dale would have the ball in the net courtesy of Buckley, which was chalked off for off-side - but it would be Gillingham who would have the best effort of the half when a Curtis Weston cross was diverted goalwards by a combination of Ramsden and Andy Barcham. Only an excellent reaction save from Fielding saved the day.

Half time and 0-0, but surprisingly enthralling.

Mr. Golden Gamble weaved his magic and Mr. Mitchell quipped that in the event that the perma-tanned one ever hung up his microphone I should apply for the job. I wasn't quite sure what he was getting at here - but it got me thinking - I really would quite like to be Mr. Golden Gamble. This probably says quite a lot about me - most Dale fans want to be the clubs first choice striker or the midfield playmaker; Keane jnr. wants to be the goalkeeper - but I want to be the guy who does the half time draw. Sad.

Having laughed ourselves hoarse at yet another inept cross bar challenger the second half got underway. Dale had looked pretty serious in the first period - now they really, really meant it. Buckley again shooting just wide and Jones inducing a TV camera friendly save from Royce in the Gill's goal from fully thirty yards in the opening minutes.

Then we were back to the 'you're turn old chap' approach. Gill's had a go, Dale had a go - and so on...

The Gill's Lewis produced a twenty yard thunderbolt from a mis-hit Fielding clearance which Frank had his work cut out to deal with and 71st minute Dale substitute Chris Dagnall had us all in a tiz late on when he appeared to have scored - from where I was, it really did seem to have gone in. I didn't seem to be alone either - people were celebrating all around me. However, our Friend had spotted the small matter of the ball not being in the net - which is generally accepted as the basic definition of a goal. It turned out that Royce had tipped it behind - which should have been a corner - but our Friend gave it as a goal kick.

The clock ran down. 0-0.

Summary:

Fascinating to watch, easily Dale's best performance for weeks - if not months.

In the pantheon of footballing cliche's - which includes: over the moon, sick as a parrot, game of two halves, swings and roundabouts, the boy done good etc there lurks the phrase: cancelled each other out. It pains me to wheel this one out - but it is exactly what happened tonight. Both sides played with pace, skill and desire. Both sides created chances to carve out a lead...

BUT!

Both defences turned in truly fantastic performances meaning that in spite of the very best efforts of both sets of attacking players there would be no break through.

Before the game I was concerned that Gillingham would simply out muscle and outclass Dale - not a bit of it. Dale got somewhere close to the type and style of play we have come to expect from them and for longish periods in the first and second half the Gill's looked a little rattled.

Basically, it is half time and the game is poised at 0-0. To use another great footballing cliche: Everything to play for!

Let's face it - we were in a worse position last time around.

Onward to Kent!

Turner Watch:

Mr. McCabe revived his bid to have Turner Watch replaced with a section dedicated to his good self this evening. He feels his deep understanding of the arts, sciences and retailing refridgerated deserts, not to mention his encyclopedic knowledge of the Sex Pistols, would bring something fresh, something rich, something vital to this section of the report.

I said no.

7/05/09

Low Expectations

Rochdale AFC 0 - 1 Gillingham FC

Journey:

I was waiting at the traffic lights at the top of Roch Valley Way, looking at the assembled Rochdale fans outside the Cemetery Hotel – when it suddenly struck me. I have done it! At the beginning of the season I said I would - and I have! I have been to every league game this season – well, after today’s game I will have.

Forty six games. All the way from Darlington in the north to Bournemouth in the south – from Exeter in the west to Gillingham in the east. It has been an awfully big adventure, complete with happy bits, sad bits, silly bits and quite a lot of pies – the thing is, whatever happens today - Dale are in the play-off’s. So it isn’t over just yet. Who knows, with a bit of good fortune another trip to Wembley could be on the cards and perhaps, just perhaps – the ‘P’ word. We’ll see I guess…

Having parked up I made my way to the Studd’s bar to meet Mr. Keane. Unfortunately he wasn’t around so I chatted to Mr. Culshaw for a moment – who gave me the team news and told me something so improbable that I had to check it wasn’t April 1st again - more on this later. As I said, ’No! seriously?’ for the sixth or seventh time – I got a text from Mr. Keane, to remind me that we were meeting in the Ratcliffe Arms.

This has been happening a lot lately – turning up in the wrong pub. I recently went to meet Mr. Keane in the Eagle to discover that we had agreed to meet in the Lion. In the words of the meerkat:- ’Not even sound same!’. Is this how dementia begins I wonder?

So having hot footed round the stadium I finally caught up with Mr. Keane and a full compliment of Keane jnr’s in the Ratcliffe Arms - and he had big news. Following a decision by the North Bury Under 9's (Roch Section) League – there will be no championship play-off with Chadderton. Littleborough and Chadderton have been declared joint champions and will both be promoted! Not bad for Keane jnr’s first season of amateur football – very well done to Keane jnr. and all of the Mighty Yellows.

So, for the last time in the regular season, Mr. Keane plus Keane jnr’s and I sauntered round to the Sandy Lane turnstiles, slipped inside and wandered over to where Mr. Mitchell stood waiting for us – just to the right of the goal, near the wonky piece of concrete that moves when you stand on it.

Weather:

Sun.

Food:

A tuna steak served with a warm salad of seasonal vegetables, drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar… not.

Meat and potato pie – but as it is the last day of the season, I took John Lennon’s advice and gave peas a chance.

Away Support:

4-500. Jolly impressive considering the distance and that it is highly likely that they will be coming back again on Thursday night.

Dale’s play-off opponents could be anyone of Wycombe, Exeter, Bury, Gillingham, The Royal Borough of Dagenham or for that matter Shrewsbury – but the chances are it will be Gillingham. The Gill’s currently sit in 5th place with Dale in 6th – the play-off format is 4th plays 7th & 5th plays 6th. This means they would have to get to gods country again on Thursday night – while we will have to get to the damp, grey, marshes of Kent (Charles Dickens words – not mine) for either a lunchtime or teatime kick-off next Sunday. What Larks!

The atmosphere around Spotland was strange today. Last season Dale had romped into the play-off’s on the back of a stream of swashbuckling victories. This season had been very different – and it showed. The usual crop of fancy dress adorned revellers were absent – where last season Dale fans had slapped backs, shared their stories to uproarious laughter and skipped through the turnstiles - this time around there was a pinched, pensive, nervousness to the assembling throng.

Action:

Last game of the regular season and both teams already secure in the play off’s. Two things were likely: a fairly uneventful game and numerous changes to the normal line-up’s of both sides. Well, one bit of that statement would prove true…

Your team for today is: Fielding in goal. Newey, McArdle, Holness and Wiseman in defence. Thompson, Jones (G), Jones (M) and Rundle in midfield. Shaw and Buckley upfront.

Yes, you did hear that right - Rochdale’s lesser spotted striker, Jon Shaw, has returned from a reasonably profitable loan spell at Crawley (5 goals from 17 games). Such has been the shortage of goals lately that a striker in any kind of form is a priceless thing indeed.

So, the rather spritely Mr. Deadman got things underway and we waited for the anticipated bore draw to unfold. The thing was it didn’t.

With both sides strongly suspecting that they would meet again in just a very few days – there was a definite desire to ‘get a marker down’. The opening few moments were pretty breathless with both sides grabbing the chance to test one another – and it seemed that the Gill’s had struck the early blow when Southall found himself where Newey should have been and smashed the ball past Fielding. However, the linesman spared Newey and Rochdale’s blushes by indicating off-side.

In response, Dale struck back with efforts from Buckley and Shaw which had to be hacked off the Gill's goal line.

However just minutes later, even the linesman couldn’t save Dale. Lewis’s header forward found Curtis Weston who applied the afterburners and left Newey trailing in his wake. Newey attempted to recover but his despairing lunge only succeeded in felling Weston just inside the area – surely a penalty? Mr. Deadman remained unmoved and Fielding swept in to secure the ball. He fumbled it. Weston now back on his feet collected and drove the ball into the empty net as McArdle and Holness looked on helplessly. 1-0 Gillingham.

In the run into halftime another effort from Buckley along with efforts from both of the Jones boys looked likely to get Dale back onto level terms – but it was not to be.

Mr. Golden Gamble made a valiant attempt to whip the reluctant crowd into a lather - but even the prospect of a couple of hundred quid in someone’s back pocket wasn’t enough to break the miasma that had settled over Spotland. But like all great showmen – he had a secret weapon. For the first time in ages someone actually got up for the cross bar challenge - and he was absolutely shocking.

The thing was people started smiling and then laughing. The hapless cross bar challenger had achieved the seemingly impossible – people actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ten minutes into the second half any remaining long faces were set chuckling by a fantastic showbiz touch. Rochdale’s assistant manager and sometime player, David Flitcroft, pulled on a shirt and joined the game in place of Joe Thompson – just as Mr. Culshaw had said he would.

I absolutely loved Flitcroft as a player. He wasn’t quick or especially gifted as a footballer – but he was always 100% committed to the cause. I remember years ago in a League Cup game against Blackburn that he grabbed every opportunity he could to launch his own brother Gary (who was at Blackburn then) up into the night sky – to the strains of ‘FLITCROFT! – THERE’S ONLY ONE FLITCROFT! THERE’S ONLY ONE FLITCROFT!’ from the Sandy.

His performance today was typically Flitcroft – and had the Dale fans variously roaring with laughter, wiping hysterical tears from their eye’s or rolling in the aisles. The effect on Gillingham was extraordinary – they looked terrified of him – and after a few trade mark bone rattling challenges they had very good reason to be. No one in a Gill’s shirt seemed to want to go any where near him – meaning he had all the time and space in the world – so he started spraying inch perfect passes to every corner of the ground to hearty cheers. He was having the game of his life – and I am sure that there was more than just me wondering what might have happened had he filled the void left by Perkins and played at Wembley last season.

Inevitably he collected a yellow card, but he also produced one of Dale’s best chances of the half with a thumping drive which had Julian in the Gill’s goal scampering to cover it – oh and he was awarded man of the match.

It occurred to me that we were actually losing this game – but d’you know what, it just didn’t seem to matter – today had been the best day at Spotland for months.

Summary:

The game didn’t really matter and Dale lost it – although they produced more than enough efforts on goal to at least level the tie, only some great defensive work from Gillingham kept them out. Dale could also feel a little hard done by not to get a penalty in the first period when a Gill’s defender seemed to be trying to plant Joe Thompson inside the 18 yard box.

Newey was pretty dreadful in defence but Shaw was surprisingly good upfront and looked twice the player we had seen earlier in the season. He may live up to his pre-season billing yet. I really hope so.

While the Dave Flitcroft show was going on the final positions in League Two were resolved as follows:

1. Brentford 85

2. Exeter 79

3. Wycombe 78

4. Bury 78

5. Gillingham 75

6. Rochdale 70

7. Shrewsbury 69

Brentford, Exeter and Wycombe go up automatically. Bury, although on the same points as Wycombe miss out on automatic promotion on goal difference. One goal to be precise – could it be that meaningless consolation goal that Will Buckley scored at Gigg Lane perhaps?

Bury will play Shrewsbury in the play-off ‘s and Rochdale will play Gillingham.

A Sunday in Kent beckons – What Larks!

Turner Watch:

I have a confession to make. In the course of this season I may have made up some of the content in this section.

2/05/09

James May

Gillingham FC 1 - 1 Rochdale AFC

Journey:

Gillingham - away. The acid test. The whole of the 101 Project hinges on this trip - and I am doing it alone.

Wisely, in my opinion, my usual co-conspirators had all made plausible excuses - salsa dancing lessons, tarot readings, church and least probably of all - work. So, just me then. 540 miles. On my own.

Obviously I had my I-Pod with me for company. Hours of quality music to help while away the lonely hours. However, the contents of said I-Pod have been troubling me lately. I watched 'The 50 Worst Songs Ever' on BBC3. I have all of them. Perhaps Mr. Keane's endless tooth sucking and tongue clicking is not without foundation.

I had also hoped for the dulcent, school maam-ish tones of my Sat Nav, Jane, to keep me company. However, as is her want, she had decided that Gillingham was an unacceptable destination selection and had gone into her refusing to accept instructions mode. No matter. Let's see how clever you are when your batteries run out madam!

I joined the M6 and rolled southwards.

The facts of the matter are that long journeys on your own are - well - boring. I mean really, really boring. I needed something to occupy my mind...

A long road trip, on my own, tight deadline to meet - an idea emerged - Top Gear challenge!

I could be Clarkson - well at least in my own car I could - boomy voice, hand gestures, sarcasm - oh yes! I could be Clarkson. Granted, this would be limited to me talking in a Clarkson-esque manner to an invisible TV camera mounted on the passenger side about other road users - oh, and saying 'POWWERRRR!' in a deep gravelley tone everytime I overtook someone - but it passed the time.

Things were going well. I even had a stab at reviewing my car:

'The thing about the medium-sized Audi is that it isn't just about the throbbing power of the turbo-charged, fuel injected powerplant when you hit the loud pedal...

It is nothing as vulgar as that.

Consider the understated style of the cabin, the supportive yet comfortable seats, the effortless efficacy of the air conditioning, the oh-so satisfying quality of the switches, the metronomic tick-tock of the indicators and the concert hall standard stereo. It is just a really nice place to be...'

Hang on a minute.

That isn't Clarkson. That isn't Clarkson at all.

Oh god - I'm May. I'm James May. What a revolting development...

19:00 hrs arrive Gillingham. Not a moment too soon.

Weather:

Cold. Very, very cold. However, the Kentish variety of cold has a special quality all of it's very own.

Damp.

An insidious marrow chilling damp which meant that any attempt to keep warm was utterly futile. The seats where damp, the floor of the stand was damp and the pitch was coated in a silvery sheen of Kentish dampness.

Food:

In the less civilised parts of this England, meat and potato pies are not as freely available as they are in Gods Country. Consequently, I was obliged to sample the steak and kidney variant.

The pleasant young lady behind the counter relieved me of £2.20 and delivered me... A cinder. Burned to within an inch of it's life - completely black on top. Ruined.

Still, it was served on a paper plate - which was new on me. For only a further £1.30 I got a coffee - which helped somewhat in choking down my burnt offering.

Ground:

The Priestfield Stadium is not the easiest place to find. Let alone finding the away end. Due to it's location in the midst of a fairly built up area, you can't actually see it from the main road. However, thanks to the flood lights - I could play follow the glow.

Having made my way through the side streets of Gillingham I arrived outside the rather impressive Medway Stand. Whilst searching for the away end I strolled past what appeared to be an outpost of Emporio Armani, built into the stand - moody lighting, brushed aluminium display stands, stripped birch cladding etc. A closer inspection revealed that it wasn't an Emporio Armani - it was the club shop. Feeling a bit like the country mouse I asked a steward for directions to the away end.

Round a corner, round another corner, down a ginnel between two houses - and say hello to the Brian Moore Stand.

Named for the football commentator, the Brian Moore stand is of the temporary nature and open to the elements. That said, apart from the damp - not bad.

Pleasingly, 150 or so Dale had made the journey south including a detachment of the Sandy Lane 'Noisy Boys' - who were both vocal and stripped to the waist. Brave.

Action:

Return of the Mc. That had been the buzz this week. The Dale legend that is Lee McEvilly would be returning for his third spell at Spotland - albeit on loan - and due to paperwork complications not tonight. We look forward to seeing Mr. McEvilly adding some 'weight' to the Rochdale forward line in coming games.

So here is tonights news...

Jonah would be taking no part tonight - his injury at the weekend was clearly more serious than we had hoped and to compound this, Dagnall was also injured and would not be involved. On the upside, Shaw and Ramsden were fit again and Higginbotham had returned from his loan spell at Accrington.

LeFondre would retain his place up front and Toner would rejoin the midfield, partnering Keltie.

A patient and purposeful start from Rochdale. Whilst Gillingham probably had slightly more of the ball - Dale had the better chances. Following a couple of speculative efforts, Rochdale forced the Gill's into some frenetic defending in their box as three or four Dale players attempted to make the opportunity count - but a forrest of Gillingham bodies beat the danger away.

On 17 minutes things took a turn for the worse. Dale lost the ball in Midfield. A cross field ball found Jarrett on the Gill's left, who deliverd a tantalising cross which found Gillingham's top scorer, Jackson, free of his marker. A powerful finish at full stretch from Jackson. 1-0 Gillingham. Oops...

Encouragingly, the goal didn't seem to effect Rochdale too much. After a few minutes of scruffy, nervy defending and an opportunity for Jackson to double the Gill's lead - Dale gathered themselves and began to roll Gillingham back. The best chance of the remainder of the half was another goal mouth scramble which saw Keltie lash an effort goalward from close range. Only Simon Royce's apparently unintentional intervention prevented an equaliser.

In spite of this, 1-0 to Gillingham it remained. Half time.

During the first half the 'Noisy Boys' had been involved in an elaborate game of stand up bingo with the Gillingham stewards. Up and down the men in orange went - to ask the 'Noisy Boys' to sit down. Up and down the 'Noisy Boys' went - to get them to come back again. All quite diverting.

Some time during the entertainment, the steward stood next to me quipped: 'Why can't they just sit down?'. 'Because you want them to?' I replied. He looked at me, grinned and reflected: 'Mmm, fair point - I was just the same'.

This little interchange would have some unexpected consequences later in the game.

In ever plummeting temperatures the players re-took the field. Dale started quite nicely with Thompson displaying some of the confidence which has been missing in recent weeks and running at the Gill's defence. However, it was - the to this point quiet - Kennedy who would carve out the breakthrough for Dale. A run from deep resulted in a quality pass to St. Adam. A tight turn - a look up - followed by the most exquisite chipped finish. Royce was left flapping at air. 1-1.

Dale continued to enjoy a good deal of the ball - but in spite of St. Adam's best efforts, the deadlock could not be broken. Perhaps devine intervention was required.

At this point I heard a voice.

'Your number 11 is coming off. Number 30 coming on'. Not quite how I thought my first discussion with the almighty might begin - nor had I counted on a Kentish accent. I looked round. It was the steward. 'Watch' he said.

Dutifully when play next broke down, the board appeared. 11 off, 30 on. Maybe he was God. They say he is always in the last place you look. I started to mouthe 'how?' - he tapped his radio knowingly - 'same frequency as the officials'. So not God then - that was a relief.

In spite of the Shaker Maker's introduction and a series of increasingly baffling decisions from tonight's match official, Mr. Cook - there is little further to report. I spent the balance of the game chatting to the steward. The advanced news that there would only be three minutes time added on was greeted warmly by my frozen joints.

1-1.

Summary:

As I trundled north at 69 mph, mentally calculating whether I would have enough fuel to get me all the way home - yes, I accept it, I am James May - I reflected on a James May like performance from Rochdale this evening. Solid and intelligent - occasionaly quite brilliant - but without ever being really exciting.

A good point away from home.

Turner Watch:

Producing Mr. McCabe's debut album which will be entitled: 'Do you want raspberry sauce on that?'.

25/11/08