Wednesday, December 5th, 2007...1:46 pm by Richard

‘She’s a Lesbian’ ‘FIT! Even better’ (Part 2)

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Eve Olivia Power (West Midlands) wrote at 8:30pm yesterday:

hello its eve from the train lol :) how are you?

Amazing. Anyways, where was I?! Ah, the trip to Vale Park. Our cab driver (recommended by our Italian friends no less) was useless, and barely knew where Burslem was, let alone the ground itself. Arriving just as the teams ran out, a mad dash to the ticket office ensued, as we purchased our tickets in the Chasetown end (or the GO2 Telephone stand). As we ran towards the office, me and Northern Tom spotted a vale fan in distress. For reasons unknown to logical thought, he had purchased six cans of stella artois, and was caught between whether to drink them all before the game or leave them behind. The fact that he was on the verge of falling over the steps made the latter argument more appealing, as we found the six cans on our return from the ticket office. I just want to say that I don’t think I have ever laughed as much as the whole ‘Stella man’ incident, and it still makes me chuckle now, thinking about his confused face.

Having gunned a load of cans, we made our way in, and after a brief period of confusion as to where everybody was, Team FA Cup Run sat down together to enjoy Port Vale vs Chasetown.

To call the game awful would have been a compliment. But we don’t come for the quality of football, I think that was established a long time ago. Port Vale are rock bottom of League One and they look it. Despite this, they took the lead with a 25 yard free kick from Luke Rodgers. I only knew this from the match report the next day, as I was too busy laughing at ‘Stella Man’. Clutching my Chasetown balloon in one hand, the first half flew by in a display of banter hithero unkown. Then all of a sudden, hysteria.

I assume Mark Branch, a trainee accountant by day, probably realises that he won’t play in the professional ranks. But he can always remember the day when his forty-yard free kick eluded every single player in the Port Vale box and nestled in the back of the net. Possibly the worst defended free kick I have ever seen, but for all I care, it could have hit every player and gone in off the ref. It was beautiful.

The scenes that followed were incredible. A team bundle, a running high five to all members from myself, and hugging anyone from Chasetown in sight. It was a beautiful FA Cup moment. The referee’s whistle blew for half time soon after, and it was met with roars of delight from the massed throng behind the goal. Chasetown were actually holding a team 101 places above them.

Half time came and went, with our desperate attempts to have a fag meeting with scowls from the Vale stewards. In all the confusion, I lost my balloon, and sat down to enjoy the second half.

The atmosphere by this point was fantastic. The little team that could were outsinging a League One team. Having said that, I could have outsung Port Vale, as they couldn’t muster a song, apart from, ‘you’re not fit to wear the shirt’. But for all the silence from their fans, Vale dominated the second half, without ever looking threatening. As the final whistle drew near, four minutes of injury time was announced, to groans from the ‘town fans. Only the cries of ‘You are my Chasetown’ kept everyone from having a nervous breakdown. That and the massive conga line I had joined.

Then, after the longest four minutes since ‘It’s Getting Better (Man!)’ by Oasis, the whistle was blown. We had done it! I’ve never hugged as many people in my life. It was sensational. But the fun was only just about to start.

The town fans raced onto the pitch to celebrate with their heroes, and were joined by Browne and Knapp (after a period of debating whether we would get nicked). Instantly, Tom slipped due to what can only be described as unbridled joy. Covered in Vale Park mud, we laughed as we danced, sang Ring of Fire with the team manager and had our photo taken with the hero of the hour. Fair play to both stewards and fans of Port Vale, they let us enjoy our moment of happiness, the stewards letting us pass by and the fans applauding us. It was a genuinely beautiful moment that encompasses everything that is great about the FA Cup. That and pretending you come from a small town near Walsall, even if you were born in Edgware general hospital.

After the post match hugs with all members of Team FA Cup Run, we departed for the nearest pub. Sambucca was downed, awful fruit machines played and I proved once and for all that Emmerdale Farm is better than the Bill. It was amazing. Sebastian Larsson adding to the joy by cracking in a 30-yard screamer in the last minute to beat Spurs.

From there we headed back to The Fawn, where they had erected a snowglobe, possibly in our honour. This is were sadly we lost Tom and Steve, who headed back to Manc, whilst we headed to the WORST HOTEL EVER.

As soon as we walked in, something was wrong. The place fucking stunk. Somehow we managed to ignore it to order a round, only to find that the world’s worst barman had no pound coins at his disposal. I honestly expected a sign saying proprietor: B Fawlty.

After being hustled out of a tenner by Brooner and Tom, we tried in vain to locate an offie, to purchase amongst other things, a bottle of Baileys. Unfortunately, the locals sent us in the wrong way and we had to get our train to Birmingham. Thank the Lord for Pumpkin cafe’s on train platforms, as we purchased 10 cans and two G&T’s for the princely sum of £28, which was more than most paid to travel to and from Stoke itself.

The train journey back (via Birmingham New Street, to London) was sensational. After collapsing on an escalator, bamos had had enough, and promptly turned into a dribbling wreck, tossing his G&T over himself in the process. Whilst we chatted about Religion, wrestling and other hot topics, bamos suddenly rose in Christ-like fashion, only after 50 minutes and not 3 days. We were collectively stunned.

I lost count of the times we said, ‘Where the fuck is this?!’ as I fully expected us to have to change at Narnia at some point. Then in a moment that I will probably never live down, this happened…

As they were getting off the train: “Facebook me, yeah? Facebook me! Richard Browne! With an E! No, not you! Blondie! Blondie! Facebook me!” “She’s a lesbian.” “Aaagh! That’s even better! Fit! FIT!” *doors close* I was absolutely helpless with laughter. joeymahone | 3 Dec ‘07, 11:48″

A wonderful day. God bless the FA Cup.

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