Dundalk  0  Shamrock Rovers 2

St Patricks Athletic  1  Derry City  1

 “If South Armagh was ‘Bandit Country’ then Dundalk would always be ‘El Paso’, the frontier town that had been taken over by fugitives of the law. After internment was introduced, scores of Official and Provisional IRA men fled to Dundalk and many of them remained for years.”

Taken from Toby Harnden’s superb book ‘Bandit Country’, in which Dundalk regularly features, the author goes on to describe a scene typical of the times.

“They thought that had come to paradise or ‘Utopia’ when they arrived in Dundalk. They played cards at the Imperial Hotel with their revolvers left casually on the card table beside their stake money, were often drunk, and fought……”

So when the Belfast bound train pulled into Dundalk Railway Station at noon on Thursday, and I stepped out into the car park, I had to stop and remind myself just why I had made the journey to a place that less than twenty years ago was a definite no-go area for your average Brit.

It was overcast, and spots of rain were in the air, no one was around, while up ahead stood a pub. I cast my mind back to Harnden’s book and thought about the revolvers on the table, but then suddenly the overpowering smell of hops and yeast from the adjacent Harp Brewery filled my nostrils. Welcome to Dundalk, the town that even the tourist guide recommends you avoid!

I had time to kill though, the game between Dundalk and Shamrock Rovers was over seven hours away at the adjacent Oriel Park, whose traditional floodlight pylons dominated the skyline around the station. I was hungry, I’d been on the road since 4am, I needed to find an appropriate eating and watering hole, but it wasn’t that easy. Most of the pubs in town appeared to be shut, so spying a Gardai wandering down the street, I asked for guidance and was directed to the Jockey where I refuelled accordingly. No revolvers hung alongside the coat pegs, and no eyes burned into my back as my Englishness became apparent when ordering a drink, Dundalk, it seemed, had mellowed through time.

Once checked into the guesthouse it seemed appropriate to have a look round, and I can see why the tourist guide suggests by-passing the place. It’s not rough, far from it, in fact it’s very clean and tidy, but quite frankly, it has nothing of any significant note to attract the visitor. The pubs look ok, the minimal number of shops are what you would expect in small town, but as for tourist attractions, forget it. Having said that, Dundalk was on quite a high at the time, for the Gaelic Footballers from Louth (named after the County in which Dundalk stands), had an historic game against neighbouring Meath at Croke Park in Dublin just two days later. So numerous red and white flags hung from windows, while the local sports shop seemed to be doing a roaring trade in souvenirs and regalia.

With nothing else to do, the only option available seemed to be to sit in the pub and read the local paper. Dundalk Football Club had made the front page of the Dundalk Democrat! You may ask why? Well, it appears a young, locally based, player had rather foolishly let it slip that he had bet the team would lose the previous weekends game against Finn Harps, which they duly did, comfortably! Suggestions of match fixing abounded, and questions were raised about the players, and indeed the clubs integrity, but realistically it appeared a foolish mistake had been made. It was big news in Dundalk, but you have to assume not much else of note happens in the town for such a story to become front page news. Also in the paper I noted that former Belper Town player Niall Hudson was playing at right back for Dundalk, and I had wondered what had happened to the quiet Irishman who we captured from Dublin City a few seasons ago.

Dundalk Football Club is arguably the most successful League of Ireland side outside of Dublin. They won the Championship twice in the nineties and once in the lat eighties, breaking the Shels / Shams / Bohs and Pats dominance. While European adventures have seen the might of Liverpool, Tottenham Hotspur and Celtic in opposition within the last twenty five years. Times have been hard though over recent seasons, the team has struggled, crowds have dwindled and now they sit mid-table in the second tier of Irish football.

Shamrock Rovers on the other hand, are still technically one of the big clubs of Ireland. From the staunchly Republican Dublin suburb of Tallaght, they have led a nomadic existence for many years after the sale of their old Glenmalure Park ground, and despite promises and plans, a new stadium in Tallaght has yet to be delivered to the club. I might add though, it is partly built, but the annoyance that is the GAA (Gaelic Athletic Association) is trying to throw a spanner in the works and the whole project is back on hold again. Why are they in the lower tier of football though you might wonder? Last season they were deducted nine points for going into what is termed ‘Examinership’, it’s a bit like ‘Administration’, but not as severe, although the penalty is still a nasty one. The deduction meant they were relegated. They are without doubt a big fish in small pond.

Shamrock would go top if they won, so around 400 Dubliners had made the trip to Oriel Park, and made up about a quarter of the crowd, which in itself was Dundalk’s biggest for a number of years. Segregation was in order, not just because Shamrock had a big following, but also because both sides carry something of a reputation as having fairly boisterous supporters. The Shamrock Ultras are indeed a renowned force off the field, not only in Ireland, just ask Cardiff City! The Shamrock fans were guided towards an area of terracing to the right of the main stand, while the rest of the open ground was sprinkled with fans, although the bulk of the Dundalk vocal element stood on the half way line on what is known as ‘The Shed’. It is purely a bank of shallow terracing, albeit fairly new, so I can only assume it once had a cover to be named as it is. The other interesting feature of Oriel Park is the synthetic pitch, and I have to say it played well, although it was the visitors who were the more adept at playing on it.

Shamrock took a first half lead, and then scored again in the second half to record a comfortable 2-0 victory. They also finished the game with ten men but it didn’t seem to affect their domination of the game. Dundalk, I don’t recall having a shot on target, they looked low on confidence and lacked any kind of cutting edge. Either that, or the odds on an away win were just too attractive to turn down!

As the game wore on it was becoming increasingly apparent that a group of Dundalk fans seemed more concerned about taunting the Hoops fans. At the final whistle this group made for the exits with some haste, and given the fact that their was only one exit route from the car park that both sets of fans had to filter into to make it onto the main road, a skirmish was inevitable.

I was about fifty yards down the round when I heard a roar go up behind me. I turned to see a group of Dundalk ‘hoods’ hurling abuse and missiles at the Shamrock fans as they attempted to get into the street. The limited number of Gardai on duty seemed a little overwhelmed as scuffles broke out, and it was only when reinforcements arrived a few minutes later that some semblance of order was restored. It appears the Gardai were on a mission though as one young Dundalk fan was taken away in an ambulance after receiving a very nasty eye injury when he nearly had it bashed clean out of its socket after a heavy blow from a truncheon. It was like something from a 1980’s football violence video, and while not to be condoned, provided an entertaining finish to the proceedings!

With tension in the air, it didn’t seem a wise idea to head back to the pub opposite the station where I had camped pre-match, the Jockey where I had begun the day looked a better bet, and while sat at the bar I got talking to an old guy in a shirt and tie. He claimed to be a Dundalk fan but hadn’t been to a game for forty years! He knew the result though and knew their had been some trouble, although he wasn’t at all surprised about it.

“This is Dundalk you know!”

Close to midnight he left, I finished my pint and looked around, only a few people were left in the bar. Dundalk suddenly felt a very lonely place, it was time to go.

Dublin Connelly was reached by about 11am the following day, and it was time to see the sights. For most people the sights of Dublin tend to be O’Connell Street, Phoenix Park and the James Joyce Tower, but not for me, I had an altogether different agenda. First port of call was the truly magnificent Croke Park. The Gaelic Stadium that, according to the draconian rules of the GAA, must only house traditional Irish sports such as Hurling and Football (of the Gaelic variety). That rule has since been changed though and from this year Rugby and Soccer can be played at the stadium, although cynics argued that the GAA had no such issues when it came to money spinning rock concerts and Grid Iron taking place when it suited in the past. Politics aside, it has to be one of the finest stadiums in Europe, but because of past attitudes, it is a relatively unknown venue in comparison to the likes of Wembley, Nou Camp and the San Siro.

From Croke Park it’s a short walk to the colourful Tolka Park, the delightful home of Shelbourne and also temporary base of Shamrock Rovers. Tolka is located in the pleasant and somewhat leafy suburb of Drumcondra, and is a fully seated venue on the banks of the River Tolka (hence the name). In contrast, about a mile away in the area known as Phibsborough, just beyond the notorious Mountjoy Prison, is Dalymount Park, the home of Bohemians.

Once the pride and joy of the FAI, Dalyer (as the locals call it) has definitely seen better days, with crumbling terraces, and a large section of the ground used during the day as a public car park. It is not a small venue by any means, but it appears to be badly in need of investment, and a walk around the perimeter shows a high degree of vandalism and graffiti. Dalyer is definitely located in one of the poorer areas of Dublin, and if Tolka Park reminds you of say a visit to Oxford United’s old Manor Ground when it comes to the surroundings, Dalymount is very much like a trip to somewhere like pre-development St Andrews or the old Den.

Dublin as a City is great, but seemed to me to be suffering from far too much tourism and commercialism. I drew a comparison with Belfast, which, for obvious reasons, hasn’t suffered from years of pissed up stag parties descending on it on a weekly basis. Belfast is a nicer City, and some of the Irishmen I spoke to were of the same opinion. But having said that, I wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity of a trip to Temple Bar.

Temple Bar is probably the drinking capital of Europe, but they do know how to rob you blind. Roughly speaking a pint is £3, but when you have had your brain pickled throughout the day by copious quantities of Guinness as many of the inhabitants seemed to have done, I don’t suppose you either notice or indeed care. I stopped for a few pints before getting the bus to the West of Dublin and the suburb of Inchicore, the home of St Patrick’s Athletic.

St Pats have won the League of Ireland on five occasions since 1989, but right now they are not really regarded as one of the ‘super powers’ of Irish football like say Shelbourne, Cork City or indeed the visitors to Richmond Park, Derry City. The ground is another traditional old stadium, tucked in behind a row of houses on the main road, and somewhat hemmed in with the River Camac running just behind the terracing on the far side. Indeed, the clubs offices are inside one of the houses that backs onto the ground, while the unofficial home is the McDowells pub which sits at the end of the row of houses, just next to the ground entrance.

Once inside the ground I decided to wait and see where the Derry support was going to congregate before selecting my place in the ground. Once the Brandywell faithful had turned up it became apparent that they were going to occupy the Inchicore end of the Main Stand, complete with drums and whistles. I had a slight problem though, I had a terracing ticket, and they were in the seats, so I had to go and plead with a steward to let me in, but it was much easier than I thought, he just opened the gate and let me through. This is one of the things about Irish football, most of the standard rules about segregation, alcohol and the like, seem to go by the wayside, despite claims to the contrary. Indeed, the match ticket says that there is strictly no re-admittance to the ground, but at half time everyone seemed to pile out and into the pub!

The Derry fans (about 200 of them) were as fantastic as always, they never stopped singing, and the drum beat never seemed to stop. Around 1,500 braved what was now a wet night, and it was City who took the lead through an early Barry Molloy goal.  St Pats battled back in the second half though and equalised through Paul Keegan after an uncharacteristic error by City goalkeeper David Forde. In fact St Pats finished the stronger side and could have won the game in the last minute had it not been for a goal line clearance. After five straight wins, Derry had been pegged back, but the point was enough to take them to the top of the table, where this time around, I sincerely hope they will stay.

The crowd spilled into the rain soaked streets, and the bus seemed to take ages to arrive, but arrive it did and a last couple of pints was enjoyed back on Temple Bar. Across the River Liffey the floodlights at Dalymount Park shone brightly as Bohemians beat Bray Wanderers 3-1, just over a 1,000 had been to watch that encounter, but many thousands more were starting to drift towards alcohol induced oblivion in the heart of the City. It was a tempting thought, but with a 7am start, it didn’t seem a wise idea, I concluded that I’d seen enough of Dublin for one day.

The following day saw much of Dublin grind to a halt to watch a football match, the F.A. Cup Final between Liverpool and the Hammers. It was a classic Cup Final apparently, I missed it though, I spent the first half doing the shopping, and the second half in the bath. I’m not one for singing in the bath, but with the TV on downstairs I could just about hear the proceedings in Cardiff. I heard the Liverpool fans singing, it wasn’t the obvious tune either. 

“By a lonely prison wall, I heard a young girl calling…….”

Far more appropriate, I thought.

Christmas Eve, December 24^th 2005

(1) Whitworths  1   Wellingborough Town 2004  2

(2) Irchester United  0  Blisworth  0

“In thirty yards, take the next right”

It was the ‘must have’ gift of 2005, along with a pet monkey and a baby penguin, a satellite navigation system that is. However, after only having had the thing for a couple of weeks, I was starting to spot the flaws.

For example, all was going swimmingly a week earlier as I made my way to Atherstone Town, but it wasn’t aware that due to the M6 Toll Road, the A5 had been moved slightly to the right at the bottom of the A38, well, the first few miles of it anyway! For a short while I was allegedly in a field, under orders to turn round, until it finally got back on track again.

I don’t like Christmas that much, I now see it as a an expensive marketing ploy that keeps the kids happy, but having said that, it’s also a chance to fill ones boots with excessive amounts of football. I’d looked at the fixtures and a double header stood out, an 11am start at Whitworths for the top of the table derby clash with a resurgent phoenix like Wellingborough Town, followed  by the 1.30pm start just down the road at Irchester United who were playing Blisworth.

A couple of nights earlier I’d had the bright idea of going to see Rothwell Corinthians play, and while sat in the car I spotted my mate and fellow fanatic Steve wandering down the road. I beckoned him over and it soon transpired we had the same idea but I had a slight worry.

Every Christmas time I always have a night out with the Brother in Law to be, Martin, and it usually involves a lot of ale and a curry. And having only just managed to surface in time last year for a game at Chadderton after a very painful Fish Karahi, I was conscious of the fact that I had to take it steady. Bearing in mind to get to Whitworths for 11am, or 10am as the website recommended due to a large crowd anticipated, I had to be up early. The alarm went off at 7am, and for a few seconds I waited for the pain to kick in, but it didn’t, so after a bath, I was in the car for 8am, and the sat nav was programmed accordingly.

The roads were clear, and by about 9.30 I was within a drop kick of a dwarf away from Wellingborough as I cruised happily along the A14. The sat nav took me into the complicated one way system in the town centre, and then uttered to me that I needed to be taking the next right, but it was a no entry! I carried on round the one way system as the thing re-calculated the route, and after being told to turn round, fill up with petrol, get some chips and feed the cat, it finally got me onto London Road and the entrance to Whitworths.

I’d better explain the setting, Whitworths play on what is basically a field behind the enclosed Dog & Duck ground that Wellingborough Town play on. Facilities wise there isn’t much at Whitworths, a couple of covered shelters, a bit of hard standing and some dressing rooms behind the goal. A small clubhouse sits just outside the ground, while car parking wise it was first come first served on the entrance road, and it was a good job I arrived early as I shall explain later.

I was hungry and I needed a poo! So it was over the road to Tesco’s for a full English, but not before I’d made the fatal mistake though of sitting down and reaching for the Andrex, only to find it had gone. It was one of those awful moments where I had to wait until I was sure the room was empty before I waddled out of the cubicle and into the next one that had a plentiful supply! It was time for a hearty breakfast.

Sat in the café I noticed something that I had been anticipating since I planned this little Northamptonshire jaunt. With the United Counties League being one of few leagues with fixtures on the day, and also with staggered kick off times, it was going to attract a good proportion of the subscribers to Football Traveller Magazine. Sat just behind me was a typical suspect, reading his programme, they were sure to be out in force.

Back at the ground, and it was now 10.15am, I fancied a pint, well, a pint was available so it seemed daft not to have one, so I did. Just as I was about to leave the bar Steve turned up with his wife so I had another one for good measure, and that was when we had a cunning plan. Steve’s car was facing the wrong way on the entrance road, I was facing the right way for a quick getaway to Irchester, so we would go in my car, and be navigated all the way thanks to Tom Tom technology.

By kick off time a crowd of 1150 had crammed into the ground, it turned out to be a modern day record for the league, and within minutes Town had gone 1-0 up. They looked the more confident side as you would expect with them being unbeaten, while the hosts, who were the league leaders, looked a little nervous in front of such a big crowd. It was soon 2-0 and it appeared to be all over but Whitworths got one back just before half time to at least make it interesting.

The second half was a bit tame by comparison, no more goals followed, and while Whitworths put in plenty of effort in an attempt to get an equaliser, they hadn’t quite got enough quality in front of goal to make the breakthrough.

With ten minutes remaining, the travelling fraternity made their way to the exits, no doubt wanting to make a quick getaway to the next port of call, and as we wandered back down the track to the car some seemed to be talking about Irchester, others I heard were heading for Buckingham Town.

With the car loaded up, the sat nav primed, and the crowd finally dispersed sufficiently to allow us to exit, it was down the road to the small village of Irchester. The sat nav didn’t let us down, but it did appear that the gateman wasn’t prepared for such an influx of spectators.

“Can I have three adults, two programmes and two of those UCL Mags please.”

After much deliberation, and confusion, the flustered gateman said,

“Just call it a fiver!”

Once parked up, it was apparent that quite a few neutrals had picked this out as a game of choice, and once in the bar it was like a convention! I saw a couple of chaps from the Sheffield area and also a somewhat freaky Southerner and his mate who I described in some details following his attempts to fold a map earlier in the season at Grimsby Borough! Steve and I retired to a quiet corner and sampled another pint, it was a decent bar, a fairly basic ground though with a bit of cover behind the goal and some floodlights hat looked pretty new.

The match between Irchester United and Blisworth ended 0-0, and to be fair it was a pretty dire game. Both sides put in plenty of effort, but from a skill point of view I felt both of the sides we saw that morning would have easily beat the two sides on display at Irchester.

So it was all over at around twenty past three, I could drop Steve and his wife off back at Whitworths, head North, pick up the kids about five o’clock, and then give the ex missus plenty of time to prepare for the party at her folks house that I was desperately not looking forward to.

After dropping Steve off I programmed the sat nav for ‘Home’ but then just as an afterthought, I took a quick glance at the map, I suspected it might have been quicker to head along the Southern Northampton ring road and join the M1 a bit further down, as opposed to going back through Wellingborough town centre and suffering the exceedingly dull A14.

And that was what I did, the sat nav re-programmed itself after first telling me on numerous occasions I was going the wrong way, but then I hit a problem.

Somewhere in the Daventry area a couple of lanes of the M1 had been shut for roadworks, I was held up for nearly an hour, and what made it worse was that the sat nav kept recalculating my time of arrival in Belper. The ex-missus was going spare, and her mood was to be a pre-cursor to what was to turn into one of the most unpleasant Christmas Eve’s of my life, in the company of a pissed up ‘Tashed Prick’ who very nearly became my Father in Law. I failed to pick the kids up and was treated to some silent treatment for a good hour before she finally accepted that it was a situation I could do nothing about.

“Why the fuck did you go so far on Christmas Eve?” was her stock reply to my excuses, but I snapped.

“Why the fuck don’t you shut up you whinging bag!” was my reply

If only I’d listened to the sat nav, maybe the evening would have been much more cordial. Steve, by the way, was back in Chesterfield while I was still in the Daventry region, so I discovered a week or so later, I bet he had a far better Christmas Eve than I did.

Mr X goes Dutch in the Eridivisie

It could only happen in Holland.

Sunday night, sat in a bar in the quiet Gelderland town of Duiven, while being bought drinks by locals who felt honoured that ‘us’ English had chosen to visit their home, the Goombay Dance Band burst into life on the jukebox, and the locals all joined in!

I haven’t heard ‘Seven Tears’ by the aforementioned cheesy Dutch pop combo for years, and I suspect it’ll be a good number of years before I hear it again. But what I do hope is that it won’t be too long before I go back to this fabulous place, which is indeed a true mecca for the football fanatic. I’ll explain how it all started.

My folks have known Theo for over ten years now, they met in America and have got together on countless occasions ever since. Theo is a mad football fan, following Ajax, but he has also taken both Derby County and Belper Town under his wing, so when I got the call to say Theo wanted me to join my Dad on a trip to Holland to take in three football games, I naturally jumped at the chance. Not only that, Theo and my Dad had been discussing the possibility of inviting the local amateur club DVV Duiven over to Belper to play a pre-season game, so as a consequence a meeting had also been arranged with the board of DVV.

Oh, I forgot to mention, Theo likes a drink, a big drink at that, he is also now single, and I suspect his passion for both football and Heineken played a very small part in his recently found bachelordom! I think you can guess what’s coming next, it is Holland after all!!

So after being dragged out of bed at a ridiculously early 4am, it was off to East Midlands (I will not use the Nottingham prefix), and the first flight into Amsterdam. Arriving in Schipol at around 9am local time gave us chance to spend the day in ‘the Dam’ before heading down to Arnhem late in the afternoon to meet Theo. We started drinking about 10.30am, courtesy of he free ale given away on the tour of the Heineken brewery, and the drinking never really stopped throughout what was a beautiful afternoon. We almost missed the train, courtesy of the drink, but eventually we arrived in Arnhem after about an hours train journey. Theo then met us and we caught the local train to his home town of Duiven.

Theo’s house is great, he has a huge plasma TV with football on constantly, while his bookshelf is populated with old Rothmans Football Yearbooks. He has a football commemorating the ‘Germany 1 England 5’ game, sat next to his TV, while on the wall is a huge photo of himself with his hero, Jari Litmanen, taken at Pride Park before a pre-season game two years ago. It is a football shrine, while his fridge is a shrine to the Heineken brewery!

A meal in the local Chinese restaurant was followed up by a trip to the home ground of DVV to meet with some of their representatives. It was all a bit formal to start with, we were ushered to the Boardroom, and offered more drinks before the discussions began. Theo did a superb introduction, helped no doubt by his standing as a sponsor of the club and being the Chairman of the local Duiven Business Club. DVV’s team of three seemed worried about the costs of travelling, but we tried to put their minds at rest, suggesting we might be able to get some sponsorship. They had a discussion amongst themselves, and it didn’t appear to be going too great, but then the Chairman, Anton, turned to us and said,

“We want to bring a DVV team to England to play against Belper Town!”

It was a result, we handed them some photographs, a pennant and some programmes, while they gave us more Heineken in return! For the next two hours we drank and talked football, and with the team having trained that night we were introduced to some players. They were delighted at the prospect of coming to England to play football, and I have to be honest, no matter how hard we tried to pay for a drink, they wouldn’t let us! Comically, we spotted a couple of lads wearing England shirts, and it soon transpired that they had adopted Birmingham City as their favourite English club. It would at that point have been totally wrong not to have taught them the words to ‘Shit on the Villa’, we did just that, and as we staggered out of the bar close to 1am, we left to the sounds of half a dozen Dutchmen singing the song at full voice, it was a classic moment!

Wearily we rose the following morning, and after a bit of sightseeing we got down to some serious drinking again before catching the train to Amsterdam once more for the game between Ajax and Heerenveen. The Amsterdam ArenA is a spectacular stadium, seating just over 50,000, it has a retractable roof, and has state of the art facilities for the spectator. For example, to get in the ground you put your match ticket through a swipe system to activate the turnstile, while the well policed away fans have a railway station with a secure gangway that takes them straight from the platform to their seats. Once inside, beer was available, but you don’t use cash, you have to buy what are effectively ‘top up’ cards. You can take your beer to the seats, and what seats they were, right at the very top of the ‘Noord Stand’ looking down on the action. 47,000 turned up to see a 0-0 draw, and by the standards of Ajax it’s a poor result in a poor season. They sit fifth in the league under former hero Danny Blind, and while they play some nice football, they have no one who can find the target on a regular basis. The atmosphere was very good, with the hardcore ‘fanatics’ sitting in the corner between the South and West stands. They love their flags and banners in Holland, and this noisy set of supporters had the slogan ‘Amsterdam Street Fighters’  underneath them on a red and white flag that must have stretched at least 100 yards in length.

Theo wasn’t happy with the result, he has a season ticket but to a certain extent he has ‘boycotted’ them this season because of the poor form. He made it to the game against deadly rivals Feyenoord earlier this season, but has barely been since. His season ticket only cost around £250 which is excellent value on comparison with England, while our match tickets cost around £25, which again wasn’t too bad I thought given the fantastic facilities on offer.

Somewhat wearily we stumbled into Theo’s place just after midnight, had a couple of bottles of Heineken, and then our host had a suggestion,

“The Remigius Bar is open until two, shall we go down for the last hour?”

It would have been rude not to go, and after downing seven more beers in a period of time that was just over an hour, we stumbled home, and back to bed. But again, the hospitality was superb, the bar owner Hendrik was constantly asking which English music we wanted playing on the jukebox, and I’m sure we didn’t pay for all of our drinks. I opted for Oasis by the way, and ‘Wonderwall’ seemed to go down well with the locals.

We had a trip over the border into Krautland early on Saturday, before getting back to watch the Chelsea v Blackburn Rovers game live on Canal Plus. That’s the thing about Holland, they have constant live Premiership football on view, all the normal Sky games plus a few more, so as a result the Dutch often know as much about English football as we do. A quick meal in a very good Greek restaurant followed before we made the trip to match number two, Vitesse Arnhem v Heracles Almelo.

Somewhat bizarrely, Theo took us to a bus stop outside the restaurant and told us that free buses run regularly from Duiven to the stadium on match nights. I was slightly sceptical as he seemed to know little about the times or the precise frequency, but fair play to him, within five minutes we were sat on the bus to the Geldredome. As we got nearer Arnhem, the bus started to fill up, and when we finally disembarked at the stadium, it was standing room only.

Once again, absolutely superb facilities were on offer, and another stadium with a retractable roof! But not only that, they have a retractable pitch also, which is removed when events such as concerts take place at the stadium, and if I recall, the Rolling Stones once graced the Geldredome. Access was easy, the away fans were bussed straight to the turnstiles, and never let within light years of home fans or indeed out of the sight of stewards or police. It transpires that to get a ticket for an away game in Holland you must also buy a bus ticket and travel on the official transport, otherwise you ain’t getting in, ticket or not! It all stems back to the horrendous crowd disorder issues Holland has suffered over the years, and consequently the authorities have gone to real extremes to discourage visiting supporters to attend games. Newly promoted Heracles is an hour away, and they bought a couple of hundred, as did Heerenveen to Ajax the previous evening, and that is little more than an hour from Amsterdam.

The atmosphere in the ground was superb, with the teams emerging to the spine tingling sound of Carmina Burana (that’s the Old Spice add to the less educated of you!!). It was pure theatre as flags were unfurled and the crowd were whipped up into a frenzy, but then in typical Dutch fashion, they had to throw in the element of cheese by playing Status Quo!

Vitesse won the game 5-1, and I have to confess being a little disappointed at the goal celebrations. You may, or may not for that matter, recall Vitesse Arnhem playing Dundee United in the UEFA Cup back in the early nineties. It was at a time when football on TV was not as prominent as it is now, so as a teenager I used to enjoy staying up on a Wednesday night to watch Sportsnight. Vitesse Arnhem had a cracking goal celebration in the aforementioned game, a player would run up to a team mate and reach forward with his left hand, lifting his right leg up at the same time. His team mate would do the same, but alongside each other, and they would literally grab each others raised boot! It was daft, but great, and two days later in the weekly Upper Sixth v Lower Sixth challenge match, myself and Lee Olney re-created it when I scored a vital equaliser just before half time!

After a fairly one sided game, we got on the free bus once again and went into the centre of Arnhem for a few drinks. It was all going quite tamely until my Dad had the bright idea of going to ‘Alberts’, a place he remembered from many years ago on one of his first visits to Holland. Bloody hell, this place was outrageous, the owner Albert is as camp as row of pink tents, in fact he put the ‘woof’ into ‘woofter’. Having said that, he knows how to run a bar, and the place was packed to the rafters with perhaps some of the less conventional members of the Arnhem community.

We spent all night in the bar, and after perhaps half an hour of apprehension in what was a gypsy / deviant filed environment, I relaxed and began to enjoy it. We drunk a ridiculous quantity of lager, and enjoyed some traditional Dutch music. I have to mention the music, because in Holland it comes in two formats, up to date Euro music that we hear everyday on Radio One, and the local pop music that is cheesier than an Edam factory. It sounded like Holland’s version of ‘A Song For Europe’ but the locals, of all ages I might add, were absolutely loving it and you couldn’t help but tap your feet, even if you didn’t know the words!

I kebab followed, which was a much more civilised experience than in England is it came on a plate, and then a packed last train back to Duiven, it had been a long day and a long night, it was time for bed.

Sunday was our final day in Holland, and for the final game Theo had excelled himself. Via his position in the local business community he had managed to procure some ‘business’ passes for the NEC Nijmegen v Sparta Rotterdam game. None of us really knew what they entitled us to, but we were soon to find out. We took the car to Nijmegen which is about a thirty minute drive away, and found some street parking within a fifteen minute walk of the Goffert Stadium. The newly refurbished stadium sits in the middle of a wood, and was once again a very modern and well equipped set up. It seats about 13,000, and is basically a miniature version of the stadiums at Derby County, Middlesbrough and Leicester City, in the sense that it only effectively has one tier of seats. After a few enquiries we found that we were entitled to enter the bar area in the main stand, but what we didn’t realise was that to get a drink we needed to buy some vouchers. When we ordered our first lager we hadn’t got any vouchers, but the Bar Manager, upon finding out we were English, gave us the drinks on the house!

I’ll not beat about the bush, the game was pretty poor and goalscoring opportunities were at a premium. It finished 0-0, but on balance Sparta were probably the better side, and of all the three visiting teams over the weekend, they had the largest and most voluble support. Both sides are at the wrong end of the table, and to be fair, the game reflected that. Atmosphere wise it was again good, and the pre-match entertainment was spiced up with a bit more ‘local’ music. Theo did tell me that one of the songs, which has been adopted by the Dutch as something of a football anthem, has got a bit of a story. I haven’t got a clue what the chap who sings it is called, or indeed what the song is called, but it appears the singer is a national hero, and when he died after many years of alcohol abuse, his funeral was so big it had to be held at the Amsterdam ArenA! Just quickly on alcohol in Holland, you can’t get a pint, you can get a half a litre at best, it’s not quite enough, you will never make as many trips to the bar in your life, you have been warned if you ever go………

Afterwards it was back into a packed bar to use up our newly purchased vouchers, before heading back through the woods and back on the road to Duiven. Once back in Duiven we had a quite superb meal in the best restaurant in town, and while this is primarily a football article, I have to mention the food. I have never had a shot glass with oxtail soup, topped with cream before, nor have I eaten raw eel, and I have to confess to having had doubts about eating figs, but I did, and it was outstanding. I never saw the bill, but I suspect it was a large one.

And then finally back to Remigius, the Goombay Dance Band, and some very generous locals. It was to be an early start the following day, but just before we retired to bed, Theo had a brilliant idea,

“I am already planning your next trip, Twente Enschede, De Graafschap and maybe Schalke in Germany?”