12.19: The train pulls into Blackfriars on time. Change here for the District line. On the Tube there are a group of guys discussing where best to get off. I overhear one suggest ‘Play-stow’. I can only assume they are Palace fans.
12.53: We arrive at Plaistow – correctly pronounced ‘Plar-stow’ by the train’s computerised Tannoy system. We, too, mind the gap and alight here.
12.57: Geoff and I fight our way into the Black Lion.
13.04: Geoff and I finally get served.
13.06: A quick exchange of texts reveals that an arrangement to meet Blowing Bubbles editor David Blackmore has gone awry. Pity. He’s an interesting man, is David. He describes Bubbles as a fanzine, which worried me at first. To me, the word ‘fanzine’ conjures up images of badly typed sheets of A4 paper, folded, stapled and handed out by its angry contributors who want to sack the board and get a new manager. Don’t get me wrong – I’m always in favour of sacking the board and there’s rarely a time when I don’t want a new manager. But, at my time of life, I really can’t be persuaded to hang around the gates of the Boleyn Ground before kickoff trying to flog something that, more often than not, is going to be used primarily for wiping away the remains of a burger from greasy fingers. Happily, David had something rather more ambitious in mind. His vision was to produce a package for this digital age; not merely a print version, but something that could also be read on just about anything else as well – PC, mobile, tablet … if he could find a way to have a Blowing Bubbles chip implanted in your brain, I wouldn’t put it past him. However, digital-age technology can’t help him at this particular moment in time. It turns out he’s on a dawdling Tube at Earls Court and unlikely to be joining us any time soon.
13.30: Geoff and I opt for the second pint, but it’s pointless ordering food. There’s no chance of getting a table. Again there’s a wait before we’re served. Next to me is a bloke who is also brandishing a note in the traditional manner of someone who wants to attract the bar staff’s attention. They ask him what he wants – but he insists they serve me first because I have been waiting longer. I thank him for his courtesy. He nods briefly, knowing that a man who’s done the right thing needs no thanks, and contemptuously points to another fella who didn’t observe the time-honoured tradition of waiting his turn and is now sipping illegitimate beer. I concur with his terse assessment of the other man’s manners. That prompts a brief conversation in which we agree that Palace fans are a decent bunch but disagree on the question of whether the Premier League should be open to clubs from Wales and Scotland. We part on the best of terms. If you know how a pub works, you will understand football supporters – or, at least, the West Ham supporters.
14.03: Geoff and I quit the Black Lion and join the steady procession through the streets of Plaistow. I don’t envy the motorists’ fruitless search for parking spaces. I’ve had plenty of that over the years. Now I prefer to leave the car in Brighton.
14.13: We’re in Walton Road. The Boleyn Ground is directly ahead. The 21st-century stadium looms large over the nineteenth-century streets. We reach the junction of Green Street and turn right, which takes us past the tiny house once occupied by Di’s Auntie Vi. What I would have given as a kid to have lived directly opposite Upton Park. Better still would have been the flat rented by Auntie Marjorie. She had a place in Priory Court, which overlooked the pitch. And there was me, having to put up with my parents’ choice of a centrally heated three-bed semi plus garden and garage in leafy Berkshire. Talk about a deprived childhood.
14.20: Geoff gets a programme. I buy a copy of Over Land and Sea, the last of West Ham’s old-style fanzines.
14.22: Lunch is two Mad Dogs from Britain’s best burger stall, handily positioned for supporters of West Ham United outside the south-east corner of our ground on Priory Road. I usually prefer bacon to a hot dog – even if it is named after a cult hero – but, having had a drink, the sausage seems more appealing. For me, booze and bacon don’t work well together.
14.26: As Geoff attempts to wipe the splodge of ketchup from the front of his shirt I idly tune in to some of the chatter going on around us. One bloke wants to see us play two up front – you’ll be lucky, mate. Another fella is on his mobile, arranging to meet someone after the game. I recall overhearing a similar phone conversation earlier in the season: to the left of me, one guy had asked the precise whereabouts of the man he was due to meet; to the right of me, his mate had explained that he was standing in front of the Priory Road burger stall. I had looked at one, then at the other, and wondered briefly how much fun it would be to introduce them while they were still speaking to one another. In the end, I let them work it out for themselves.
14.45: We take our seats at the top of the East Stand Upper as four of the 1964 FA Cup winners are introduced to the crowd as part of the fiftieth anniversary celebrations. Eddie Bovington, Ken Brown, Peter Brabrook and Ronnie Boyce wave and accept the generous applause. I resist the temptation to tell Geoff how Boyce headed home Brabrook’s cross for the winning goal in the final minute, or that his mother and grandfather celebrated alongside thousands of others outside the town hall the following day as the team started their open-top bus victory tour. He’s heard it all before. Come to think of it, I’ve never told him that the morning of the final was the one and only time I was a Cub Scout. I hated it so much I refused point blank to ever go again. Not a particularly interesting story in itself, but it does explain why my son has never been subjected to the strange practices of paramilitary organisations.
14.55: The teams are out. They’ve been through the usual preliminaries and are now solemnly lining the centre circle. This is a black armband day. It’s the blackest of black armband days. We’re not being asked to remember a fallen veteran who has slipped away peacefully after a long and fulfilling existence – sad though that always is. Our grief is for a young man who died only yesterday, having been robbed of his rightful life by testicular cancer aged just twenty.
14.56: The family of Dylan Tombides have requested that he be honoured by a minute’s applause rather than silence – and that’s what we do. I glance across at the Palace fans and, to their eternal credit, they too are applauding respectfully. Tombides’ father Jim and brother Taylor bring out his No. 38 shirt – never to be worn again. The club are to retire the number. The only other time that has happened at West Ham was when Bobby Moore died and the No. 6 was decommissioned at Upton Park.
14.58: As the pitch is cleared for action I allow myself to remember the tragedy of Moore’s untimely death twenty-one years ago. The first game at Upton Park after he died was against Wolves. On that sad and mournful day, Moore’s claret and blue shirt – complete with number – was represented by a giant floral creation in the centre circle, carefully placed there by Geoff Hurst and Martin Peters. I look to my right at the Palace fans and recall how, shortly before the official remembrance, a Wolves fan had come charging out of the same end and made a dash towards the middle of the pitch. What was this outrage? Did he not know the meaning of respect? And what did he have in his hand? Abuse was heaped upon the interloper from all sides. Then he quickly laid his highly unofficial wreath on the halfway line, bowed his head briefly and, without seeking any sort of applause or recognition, dashed back to join his comrades from Wolverhampton. I’ve looked out for the Wolves score ever since.
15.00: The mood is still sombre as the game starts. I’ve never heard ‘Bubbles’ sung with less enthusiasm.
15.02: The team starts brightly and Stewart Downing gets a shot away. He’s not scored all season and is the subject of a sarcastic piece I’ve written for the latest edition of Blowing Bubbles. If he keeps this up he’s going to make a monkey of me today.
15.05: All the noise is coming from the Palace end. A section of the East Stand Lower tries to counter, but they’re fighting a lone battle.
15.08: Andy Carroll gets his head to a Kevin Nolan cross. For a moment it looks like his effort is destined for the top corner, but it goes just over. The re
action from the West Ham supporters is strangely muted. The Palace fans are asking if anyone can hear West Ham sing. It seems they can’t hear a bloomin’ thing.
15.11: Mark Noble plays a fabulous ball that allows Matt Jarvis to get to the byline and pull back a wicked cross. Carroll and Nolan are hunting as a pair on the edge of the 6-yard box, but the ball somehow eludes them. More of that please, lads.
15.14: Nolan concedes a corner, which produces a goal-bound header. Carroll blocks it clumsily, and the East Stand Upper breathes a collective sigh of relief.
15.17: Carroll fouls Mile Jedinak in midfield. The Palace man does well not to make more of it. The West Ham support remains hushed. The Palace fans have been inquiring politely if this is a library.
15.18: Palace miss a great chance to take the lead as central defender Scott Dann fails to make the most of a one-on-one aerial contest with diminutive full-back Pablo Armero on the edge of our 6-yard box.
15.19: They take the resultant corner short while the West Ham defence has a little doze. Adrián Mariappa accepts the invitation to enter our penalty area without let or hindrance and has a pop from 12 yards. Kevin Nolan throws his body in the way. Did he stop that with his arm? It looks horribly like a penalty to me.
15.22: Palace’s Yannick Bolasie goes down after a robust challenge by Armero. And he stays down. Many of those in claret and blue believe he’s making a meal of it. At least it gives us something to shout about.
15.26: Bolasie has recovered sufficiently to set up another Palace attack.
15.27: That’s more like it! Mohamed Diamé cuts inside and has a dig with his right foot from outside the box. Palace keeper Julian Speroni tips it over easily enough.
15.28: Palace defend the corner well and break rapidly. Armero is quick to get across and cover, but is forced to put the ball out in front of the Bobby Moore Stand. That’s Palace’s fifth corner in less than half an hour.
15.29: Diamé gives Palace their sixth corner, swiftly followed by a seventh as Downing heads behind. We haven’t defended set pieces at all well this season, and you can feel the jitters in the stand.
15.30: Bolasie’s getting booed every time he touches the ball. He goes down easily, takes the free kick and makes a hash of it – earning himself the ‘who are you?’ treatment.
15.31: The West Ham support has gone back into its shell. Carroll is sent crashing in the Palace box by Jedinak. FFS ref, that’s got to be a pen!
15.33: Winston Reid is up-ended in his own half. The howls of protest prompt the Palace fans into taunting us with: ‘We forgot that you were here.’
15.35: We remind them of our presence as there’s an outbreak of activity in the Palace area. Diamé’s shot is saved. Nolan scrambles the ball wide to Downing, who crosses for Carroll. It’s a bullet of a header, but Speroni saves brilliantly. That really should have been 1–0. The effort prompts a decent rendition of ‘Bubbles’ at last.
15.38: It’s the thirty-eighth minute and, in recognition of his squad number, West Ham supporters all around the ground are on their feet and applauding the memory of Dylan Tombides. What a tragedy. The poor kid had battled with cancer for three years. It’s said he had limitless potential. Few of us in the ground had seen him play – his only appearance for West Ham was as an eighty-fourth minute sub in a League Cup tie against Wigan. But that, of course, is not the point. Football more important than life and death? I don’t think so.
15.39: Carroll gets in another header but it’s off target.
15.46: After a minute of added time, referee Martin Atkinson calls a halt to proceedings. Palace leave to huge cheers from their travelling support. The home fans keep our thoughts to ourselves.
15.50: No half-time beer, no provocative texts to Mark and no great expectations for the next forty-five minutes. Geoff and I chat quietly. It’s agreed we’ll have to play better in the second half if we’re going to win this.
16.02: Palace show their intent as Mariappa clatters into Noble. The Palace man is wearing a face mask to protect his broken nose. A bloke on my left dubs him Tonto. That’s wrong for all sorts of reasons, but it’s the first time I’ve smiled in over an hour.
16.05: George McCartney is booked for pulling back Bolasie. Poor old Linda has been asked to play out of position, and he’s struggling. Still the West Ham support lacks its usual passion. It’s as if the Tombides tragedy has affected us all.
16.12: Carroll tries his luck with a left shot from outside the box, but it is saved easily. That’s his third unconvincing attempt in just over five minutes. You can sense the growing frustration around the ground.
16.14: Palace win a penalty as Armero brings down Cameron Jerome. To my left, the Lone Ranger reckons the decision is ‘bollocks’. Hmmm. I think you’ll find, Kemosabe, that is a stonewall pen.
16.15: Jedinak smashes the ball past Adrian’s right hand into the top corner.
16.16: We kick off again and the home support demands a fightback with a united chorus of ‘Bubbles’. There’s some real passion in that.
16.19: Downing tries his luck and wins a corner. It comes to nothing.
16.26: Palace are outplaying us. Manager Sam Allardyce has to do something about this. Carlton Cole is about to come on. Fair enough. But it’s Matt Jarvis who’s getting the hook – and he’s been our most effective player. ‘You don’t know what you’re doing,’ Allardyce is told by representatives from all four sides of Upton Park.
16.30: Some people have had enough and are heading for the exits.
16.32: Joe Cole comes on for Stewart Downing. Having started with two out-and-out wingers we’ve now gone 4–4–2 with a pair of giant strikers and no obvious wide men to supply the crosses. Interesting.
16.36: The exodus begins in earnest. ‘Is there a fire drill?’ ask the Palace fans. This is precisely the abuse we dish out as away fans. Now we have to sit and take it. It’s seriously humiliating.
16.43: After a flurry of substitutions on both sides, Palace bring on former Hammer Danny Gabbidon. I’m pleased that those of us still in our seats give him a decent reception.
16.46: The sign goes up to say there are four extra minutes.
16.50: Carroll is fouled outside the Palace area. He wants to go for goal himself but Noble rightly talks him out of it. This is it, our last chance. Noble floats the ball in, Carroll goes for it … and the whole thing peters out.
16.51: The final whistle. The Palace players are saluted as heroes from their end of their ground. West Ham troop off with their tails between their legs and jeers of derision in their ears.
16.52: My phone tells me I have a message. I know who it’s from, but read it anyway. Mark is thanking me for the three points. Worse still, he’s being nice about it. He reckons that, according to the reports he’s heard, we should have won 5–1. I must have been watching a different game.
17.03: We’ve escaped the ground and are on Priory Road. David has suggested we join him in the Black Lion, but neither Geoff nor I have much of an appetite for an inquest. We decide to head off to East Ham station.
17.05: We turn into the Barking Road with some serious punditry going on all around us. One middle-aged guy in a hooded fleece and denims tells his similarly clad mates what they already know – if you can’t score goals you don’t win football matches. But there is more than mere cliché to be heard if you listen carefully. We’re predictable; easy to defend against; too ready to hoof the long ball forward if there isn’t an obvious pass to be made in midfield. This is a crowd that has been brought up on crisp passing, triangles and a third man running. It knows what it is talking about.
17.15: On the junction of the Barking Road and the high street, the pull of the Denmark Arms proves too strong. I really fancy a pint after the way we’ve just played.
17.30: Tucked in the corner by the pool tables, Geoff and I check the results from other games. It is still mathematically possible to go down, but the chances are we won’t. A run of four straight wins in February, followed by victories agai
nst Hull and Sunderland before the present slump set in, are probably enough to see us safe. Fulham have lost, Cardiff could only draw at home and both Sunderland and Norwich have tough fixtures ahead of them. There’s got to be more to football than avoiding relegation by the skin of your teeth every year, though.
17.38: ‘Dreadlock Holiday’ comes on the jukebox and I try to console myself with the thought that the cricket season will soon be in full swing. But for someone who has the fortunes of Surrey and England close to their heart, there’s not an awful lot of consolation to be had there.
17.55: We call it a day after just one pint and make for East Ham station. This is not a prosperous area, but there’s more to the high street than Poundland and payday lenders. You can still buy a book, get some keys cut and shop for your supper without having to get on a bus. And it doesn’t have the ever-growing number of homeless people sleeping rough that affluent Brighton steps over on its way home.
18.03: The District line train has plenty of spare seats and we grab a couple, knowing there won’t be many left after Upton Park and Plaistow.
18.35: We get to Blackfriars just in time to see the Brighton train pull out from the mainline station. The ticket barrier guy jokes that the driver didn’t wait because he could see we were West Ham supporters. I counter with the suggestion that if he did know who we support, he’d have taken pity on us after the day we’ve just had.
18.50: The next train to Brighton – and we’re on it. Not that it was an unpleasant wait; Blackfriars station spans the river now, and the views are terrific. It’s easy to forget what a majestic city London is.
19.10: We pass through Crystal Palace station without stopping. South London is not majestic.
Nearly Reach the Sky Page 4