radio suffolk

Ipswich Town 0 Charlton Athletic 2

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Despite my father growing up in Gosport , the only football match I recall him mentioning going to as a boy was when his uncle George, who lived in Plumstead, took him to see Charlton Athletic at The Valley.  This would have been at some time in the late 1930’s when Charlton were one of England’s top teams and having been promoted in consecutive seasons under Jimmy Seed from the Third Division South to the First Division, the ‘addicks finished runners-up, fourth and then third in the three seasons before the outbreak of the Second World War.  Charlton had the largest club ground in the country at the time and in February 1938 a record 75,031 people piled in to watch an FA Cup tie versus Blackburn Rovers, it is reckoned that even then the ground wasn’t full.   If it was that match that my father’s uncle George took him too, and it might have been, it’s little wonder he remembered it.

Now, over eighty years on and nobody can go to the football anymore and the stadiums sit empty as we watch the games on the telly.  Not going to football is better than dying a horrible death from Covid-19 of course, so I’m not complaining, but footie on the telly is losing its appeal and logging into the ifollow each week is becoming a chore.  At least I think that’s the problem, but it might just be that my team Ipswich Town keep losing and against the background noise of social media and the silence of the empty stadium football is no longer as enjoyable as it was back in the good old days of Paul Hurst, Mick McCarthy, Paul Jewell, Roy Keane, John Duncan and Bobby Ferguson.

Although in melancholy mood, I nevertheless log in to my lap-top and the ifollow and make the connection just in time to hear the tail end of a report from Carrow Road on Radio Suffolk, which ends with the words ‘mind the gap’.  I understand these words are meant as a reference to Norwich City being in a higher division than Ipswich Town,  but I find it rather endearing that people from Norwich should find travelling on the London Underground so memorable that they have taken to repeating a station announcement in this way.  I settle into my Ikea Poang chair and as the pictures of Portman Road appear on my tv screen I take the opportunity to drink in sight of the pitch, seeking solace in a bottle of Titanic Plum Porter (two for £3 from Waitrose).

The mellifluous voice of Brenner Woolley introduces Mick Mills who waxes long, but not necessarily lyrically about the failure of Paul Lambert to prevent relegation in 2019 or to achieve promotion in 2020.  The failures of last season seem to be being repeated again; and not achieving promotion again, says Mick, is “what worries local people”.    Micks mention of ‘local people’ immediately has me thinking not of the Football League but of the League of Gentleman, and my mind’s eye puts  Mick in a floral headscarf, thick-framed glasses and poorly applied lipstick repeating ‘local people’ in a high-pitched voice .

The lining up of the players for the start of the game and a minute’s applause for the recently deceased Diego Maradona curtail the disturbing image in my head.  Maradona had, says Brenner “
 a pure love of the ball and it loved him back”.  Brenner’s attempt to get all poetic is appropriate given Maradona’s brilliance,  but I can’t help thinking that affording emotions to inanimate objects is just a bit weird.  Nevertheless, when it is eventually Brenner’s turn to shuffle out of his mortal commentary box I like to think that someone somewhere will be moved to say that Brenner loved his microphone and it loved him back, and that the same was true of Mick Mills.

Clearly inspired by the tribute to Maradona, Brenner is quick to get into footballspeak with the phrase “early doors from Pratley” as Charlton’s Darren Pratley does something or other early in the game.  On the pitch David Cornell, with his first touch of the ball in his first league appearance for Town, slips and sends his goal-kick out for a throw-in.  For the first five minutes Brenner can’t mention a Charlton Athletic player’s name without also telling us all the teams he’s ever played for.   It’s as if he has researched all this information and he’ll be damned if he’s not going to use it, and as quickly as possible.    The ball has been booted upfield by both teams several times in the opening minutes and Mick tells us this makes the game quite entertaining.  I’m not convinced, and gain more pleasure from Brenner’s reference to “the pony-tailed Woolfenden”, although in truth, whilst in favour of long-haired footballers, I am not that impressed by the ponytail itself, but give it time.

The weirdly named Keanan Bennetts falls to the ground in the penalty area and Brenner tells us that “ two or three players put their blue-sleeved arms up there”.  Mick however gives those blue-sleeved arms’ owners short-shrift and sounds somewhat disgusted that they should have appealed for what was clearly not a penalty.  ‘Good old Mick,’ I think to myself, ‘you tell these youngsters’.    Mick is having a good early afternoon and after Brenner tells us that Charlton have two ‘makeshift’ centre-halves in Darren Pratley and Chris Gunter, Mick explains his hopes for Town because James Norwood is a “very knowledgeable striker”.  This probably means however that Norwood will be mostly looking to win free-kicks rather than appearing in a future episode of ‘Only Connect’.    In a rich vein of form Mick goes on to explain why he and Brenner say that Town are playing a 4-3-3 formation, even though  Town manager Paul Lambert has denied this and refers to more complicated permutations such as 4-1-2-2-1.  “We’re trying to paint a picture” says Mick, although sadly he omits to mention painting by numbers, Abstract Expressionism or Kayden Jackson Pollock; it’s an opportunity missed by the Town legend.

In the thirteenth minute Luke Chambers wins Town’s first corner through the unexpected means of a shot with the outside of his right foot.  Three minutes later and Brenner says “Town the better side at the moment” and he’s not wrong, although it’s not long before Charlton are passing the ball within the left hand side of Town’s penalty area; it’s a situation “very similar to how McGuinness gave away a penalty 
.here

before”  says Mick sounding as if he is struggling to remember that it only happened last Saturday against Shrewsbury.  In the twenty-first minute Charlton score having made easy progress through the left side of Town’s defence once again.

Brenner tells us that Brett McGavin wins a free-kick because of a “high-shoe” from Andrew Shinnie, who we have to hope scores lots of goals with his lower leg.  Dozzell sends a lofted pass “over the top” but “ there’s too much on that from Andre “ says Brenner with cosy familiarity as the ball sails out of play.  From upstairs I hear a shout ,“Oooooooh”.  My wife is in the bedroom with Pompey, King’s Lynn Town and the FA Cup on BBC iplayer.  Not expecting to miss anything much at Portman Road I nip up the stairs in time to witness a replay of some Pompey player or other sweeping the ball into the top corner of the King’s Lynn net from a few metres outside the penalty area. “Is he allowed to do that?” I ask.  Apparently he is.  Pompey will go on to win 6-1, which makes my wife happy and me too  because it’s good to see teams from Norfolk lose.

I return to Portman Road in time to see James Norwood fall to the ground clutching his hamstring.  “That’s gutting for the lad” says Brenner going into footballspeak overdrive and thereby sounding like a public schoolboy straining for ‘street cred’.  “What is the matter with this club? asks Mick more pointedly,  querying why we have a whole team’s worth of players out through injury.   Mick believes someone seriously needs to carry out some research into why we have so many injured players.  Once the game restarts little Alan Judge comes close to scoring but for a fine flying save from Ben Amos in the Charlton goal , and then Judge becomes the only player of the afternoon to be booked.

Asked to sum up the first half by Brenner, Mick says “ It’s been indifferent really”.  Asked his opinion of Charlton, Mick says they have players who have “
been around a long time. They can play. They’re okay”.   What this glowing eulogy says about Town I can’t make out.   After a cup of tea and a Nature Valley chocolate protein bar the second half begins.

Ipswich win a corner, they don’t score. Eleven minutes pass and my eyes are feeling heavy. “We do have to think about changing direction again” says Mick as if Town had struggled with the change of ends at half time.  It’s the 59th minute.  In the 65th minute I open my eyes to see Town’s converted electric milk float ferrying Charlton’s Paul Smyth off the pitch. I’ve been asleep.  The wonderfully named Omar Bogle replaces Smyth and Town’s players don’t notice, allowing him to remain unmarked beyond the far post so that he can easily divert either a cross or a poorly aimed shot from Darren Pratley into the Town net. Charlton lead 2-0.

The remaining twenty-two minutes do little for me, although I do not fall asleep again and am kept entertained by the name of the next Charlton Athletic substitute, Ben Purrington, who replaces Chukwuemek Aneke.  I can’t decide whether  Purrington is having a great game or whether it’ s just that I find his surname so unlikely,  but the word Purrington is now all I can hear from Brenner’s commentary.  Mr Purrington, it sounds like the name someone might give to their pet cat. “Prodded away by an alert Purrington” says Brenner, sounding as if he is enjoying the substitutes surname as much as I am.

Mr Purrington ?

The final ten minutes of normal time arrive.  Little Alan Judge shoots at goal but his shot is straight at Amos the goalkeeper; if he’d shot like that at Amos the old testament prophet,  he would probably have saved it too.   “Charlton up to fourth, and third if they can get another goal” says Brenner optimistically.  Town win their second corner of the half.  Seven minutes of added on time are to be played, some of  it perhaps because the milk-float that carried off Smyth “ran into traffic”, a phrase I don’t remember Brenner using today.  “What do you think Mick Mills?” asks Brenner with a weary sigh.  “We lost to Hull and we deserved to lose this one as well” is Mick’s honest and accurate assessment.

With the game over I watch the players leave the pitch before the ifollow broadcast ends abruptly, a bit like my enjoyment of today’s game, although that didn’t last as long.  Whatever, I’ll be back for the next game.

Ipswich Town 2 Shrewsbury Town 1

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I first saw Shrewsbury Town back in February 1982.  I was an unemployed, fresh-faced graduate, Ipswich Town were sitting pretty somewhere near the top of what is now called the Premier League and Margaret Thatcher was vigorously laying the foundations for today’s unpleasant climate of self-centred, “I’m alright Jack” nationalist politics.  With that Shrewsbury match at Gay Meadow I witnessed an Ipswich Town performance over thirty years ahead of its time as Town dropped out of the of the FA Cup to lower league opposition, although to be fair we had made it to the fifth round.  I returned to Gay Meadow two years later for another FA Cup defeat and then in August of 1987 for a goalless League match.  Disillusioned with the poor returns from long trips to Shropshire I didn’t bother to travel the following season and consequently missed our 5-1 victory under the obviously inspirational captaincy of the World’s greatest living Canadian, Frank Yallop.

As I mull over those dark days of the 1980’s I log in to the i-follow on my lap-top and breathe a sigh of relief that it works.  I am just in time to hear the names of today’s virtual mascots being read out on Radio Suffolk; they are older people today, it’s something to do with highlighting or counter acting loneliness during lockdown. What I take from it is that a lot of the mascots seem to be called John.

The pictures from Portman Road appear on my screen and the dulcet, gently north-eastern tones of Radio Suffolk’s Brenner Woolley tell me that Shrewsbury Town, who are visible doing pre-match warm-ups, are today wearing all-white, although he omits to mention the purple flashes on their shoulders which for me give the kit a much needed je ne sais quoi.  Ipswich are soon taking the field and Brenner refers to captain Luke Chambers “Bursting out from the pack” as the players run from the tunnel, and to Tomas Holy’s all lime green kit.  My mind’s eye momentarily conjures an image of Luke Chambers bursting.

As the on-screen caption advises that today’s referee is Tim Robinson I start to beat out the intro’ to ‘2-4-6-8 Motorway’ on the arm of my Ikea Poang chair and the game begins.   Shrewsbury are kicking from right to left towards what was called Churchman’s back in the days when Mr Robinson  was on Top of the Pops before everything was converted into money.  I am just beginning to wonder if Brenner has his trusty co-commentator with him today when I hear a stifled chuckle in the back ground and Mick Mills joins in describing with much merriment how Town’s Mark McGuinness has been pole-axed by what Brenner later refers to as a “winding challenge”, (that’s winding as in forcing air from the body rather than turning something).

Mick’s presence is a blessing and he soon adds value to the commentary suggesting that Paul Lambert not only prefers Nsiala and McGuinness as centre-backs but as ‘individuals’.  This immediately makes me wonder what this might mean and whether Nsiala and McGuinness offer not only strength at the back but  also more interesting conversation than Woolfenden and Wilson; do they have better dress sense, better personal hygiene, give better presents at birthdays and Christmas, have broader musical tastes; are they better read and have more cohesive political views?  Which central-defensive partneship would you invite to dinner?

My reverie is cut short as Mark McGuinness betrays a lack of manners and clumsily trips Shaun Whalley to give Shrewsbury a penalty.   As  Oliver Norburn runs up to take the spot-kick Brenner tells me that Shrewsbury haven’t scored at Portman Road in 53 years; presumably Brenner says this just to make sure that Shrewsbury do score now. Brenner’s tempting of fate is successful, although had Tomas Holy not dived before Norburn kicked the ball he might have saved it; Brenner says as much in a roundabout way, asking if Tomas might not be “self-critical there”.

Depressed by Shrewsbury taking the lead and Brenner’s silly commentary (this is only the fifth time in 53 years that Shrewsbury have even played at Portman Road), I console myself with the thought that there is plenty of time to equalise, score a winning goal and apply icing to a metaphorical cake.  As if to celebrate Shrewsbury’s goal Brenner unleashes some of his familiar commentator-speak, referring to little Alan Judge “running-into traffic” as he brings the ball out of defence and Tomas Holy “putting his foot through the ball” as he  boots it up field.  Not satisfied with this, Brenner proceeds to wilfully muddle up his footballs suggesting that Brett McGavin is playing in a “quarter-back” position.

Despite their goal deficit Town show only occasional urgency along with a very limited ability to equalise; they don’t exactly play badly, they just don’t do enough to make Shrewsbury worry that that they might not win despite being a goal ahead.  In the sixteenth minute Shrewsbury make claims for a second penalty as someone in a white shirt with purple trim “goes” in the words of Brenner “to ground”, which makes him sound like a small animal retreating into a burrow instead of a footballer falling over.

Time passes and Jon Nolan is hurt and replaced by Jack Lankester, and Shrewsbury’s Marc Pugh becomes another “Shrew” to fall over in the penalty area, and he gets short shrift from Brenner for doing so. “Crawling along the deck in rather embarrassing fashion” says Brenner of Pugh sounding every bit as witty and cutting as Oscar Wilde might have if he’d been a sports commentator for BBC local radio.

Town earn their first corner.  “A little opportunity for us with the big boys coming up” says Mick.  The opportunity is spurned by the ‘big boys’ and the small ones too.  Little Alan Judge is not having a good game, every time he has the ball he passes to a Shrewsbury player or just loses it.  I notice that the Shrewsbury goalkeeper Harry Burgoyne, who is a vision from head to toe in pink, is also sporting a moustache that any mid-twentieth century European dictator would have been proud of.

There are about seven minutes until half-time;  Kayden Jackson successfully chases a pass into the penalty area, pulls the ball back to set up Jack Lankester for a shot that is blocked and thereby sets up Freddie Sears for a shot that is deflected away for a corner; it’s the most excitement I’ve had all half.  Four minutes of time are added on and pass without incident worthy of mention.  Half-time arrives, the pitch is vacated and I wonder to myself why it is that referees and their assistants always walk off the field together, it surely makes them an easier target for a well-aimed grenade.

Half-time passes in a flurry of tea, half-time scores, stats and an advertisement for the ifollow in which a threatening Scouse voice claims that there is no better way to show your love than the ifollow; by the end of the advert I feel that  if I don’t subscribe I should start avoiding dark alleys .  The players appear for the second half and Brenner tells me that Town are now “attacking the Sir Bobby Robson end”, which seems a little disrespectful.   

The standard of play does not improve, nor does the commentary; a pass is under hit and Brenner tells me “the ball doesn’t have enough steam on it”.   Teddy Bishop is substituted for Emyr Huws, who I have decided to make my favourite player because he sounds like an extra from ‘Ivor the Engine’ and unlike a lot of modern players doesn’t have a haircut that makes him look like a First World War conscript.  

Not very much happens, or at least not enough to result in Town scoring a goal.  Brenner airs his obsession with Tomas Holy’s nationality “The Czech was dependable” he says as Tomas catches a cross.  Mick Mills embarks on a long explanation about something, but is interrupted without apology by Brenner as something happens on the pitch that looks like it could result in one those “goals” that I’ve heard about, perhaps predictably however it doesn’t.  It’s a pattern that is repeated and I can’t quite decide if Brenner is rude to interrupt or if Mick just tends to witter on a bit too long and needs to learn how to be more concise.  It also worries me that Mick doesn’t notice what is happening on the pitch and doesn’t interrupt himself.  Either way, it adds to the fun.

Town’s patient approach isn’t producing very much in the way of excitement although a shimmy and a cross from Freddie Sears almost results in little Alan Judge forcing the ball over the goal line, but his legs were just that bit too short.  The game enters its final 20 minutes; I haven’t fallen asleep yet because in truth it isn’t exactly boring and oddly I’m feeling quite relaxed and not frustrated at all by the absence of an equaliser.  Suddenly, the weirdly named Keanen Bennetts sends a low, not particularly good cross in to the penalty area and without another Town player touching the ball it runs just inside the far post and Town have equalised.   Not quite believing what I’ve seen I cheer, quietly in case it’s a false alarm, but happily it’s not.

The remainder of normal time runs out, much as the other 75 minutes did with nothing overly exciting happening and Town patiently and at times monotonously passing the ball.  Shrewsbury are provoked into trying to regain their lead and more of them fall over in the penalty area when in close proximity to Toto Nsiala, but unusually the tactic fails to influence Mr Robinson.  Substitution follows substitution follows substitution and there is so much added on time that new layers of geology are formed. It is the 97th minute, little Alan Judge pops up on the left , he cuts in , he shoots, the man all in pink with the moustache parries the shot and Jack Lankester hurls himself headlong to propel the ball into the Shrewsbury goal, “
 Town have won it,” says Brenner. I cheer in the same manner as before.

Despite a valiant attempt to snatch a draw from the jaws of victory, Luke Chambers clearing a Shrewsbury shot off the goal line in the tiny amount of time left, Town hang on to win as Brenner predicted. “What a huge victory this could be for Ipswich Town” says Brenner excitedly and without explanation.  Town haven’t really deserved to win this game “says Mick more soberly when asked to sum up.

The ifollow broadcast quickly ceases as the players leave the field, disappointingly cutting off Mick and Brenner in their prime.  Despite Brenner’s entreaties to phone in and talk to Mick, I don’t.  Having turned off my lap-top I head for the back garden where I light the fire-pit and celebrate with a bottle of Adnams Old Ale and my wife Paulene. “A win is a win is a win” we chant as we dance around the flickering flames and think of the unfortunate Shrewsbury Town players “truckin on through the night” back to Shropshire, as Tom and possibly Tim Robinson might sing.

Lincoln City 1 Ipswich Town 0

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Games against Lincoln City are like buses are supposed to be, you don’t see one for ages and then a whole bunch of them come along almost at once. Of course things have moved on in Suffolk and nowadays you don’t see a bus for ages and then find out that the County Council have withdrawn financial support for it.  But that aside today is the seventh time Town have played the Imps in the past four years, having not played them previously since 15th of April 1961, and despite an absence of passengers or paying customers at Sincil Bank the game is still going ahead.

It’s a grey, overcast day, a dull end to the end of British Summertime and I have spent the morning half-watching live coverage of the Aussie Rules Grand Final between Richmond Tigers and Geelong Cats. The Cats are probably the under dogs, if that’s possible. I once stopped in Geelong for a cup of coffee and some food on a road trip from Melbourne and out along the Great Ocean Road, I also used to own a pet cat; these seem to me to be good enough reasons to be rooting for the Geelong Cats today.  My wife Paulene has an on-line subscription to watch every Aussie Rules game, every week of the season, and she is supporting Richmond.  Richmond win by 81 points to 50, but sportingly I join in Paulene’s celebration and share in the bottle of CrĂ©mant that I thoughtfully put in the fridge after breakfast.  Indeed, today my pre-match ‘pint’ is one of CrĂ©mant, which accompanies a light lunch of left over rice, salad and prosciutto.

Whilst Paulene switches her attention to the Giro d’Italia cycle race, I tune into Radio Suffolk on my trusty Sony transistor radio, plugging in the earpiece, and finely adjusting the dial to eliminate the hisses and crackles of the ether and Radio Essex just in time to hear a female voice handing over to Brenner Woolley and Alex Mathie in faraway Lincoln.  Brenner is quickly down to business asking Alex what he wants to see today; Alex is equally quick to tell us that he wants to see Town playing football in the attacking third of the pitch; thereby implying that he does not want to see the defence passing it aimlessly amongst themselves like they did at Doncaster Rovers last Tuesday in what could only euphemistically be called ‘building from the back’.  Meanwhile it sounds like Oasis are playing over the Sincil Bank PA system, but I could be wrong.

I didn’t watch or listen to the game at Doncaster on Tuesday, I’m not entirely sure why but I think it was the case that I simply couldn’t be bothered and preferred to sit and read a book.  Nevertheless, I was giving my support by wearing my button-collar blue T-shirt purchased on-line in the Planet Blue sale over the summer.  The T-shirt had previously not witnessed a Town defeat, but sadly by bedtime when I removed it from my rippling torso it had to be added to the huge pile of lucky garments that weren’t.

Back at Sincil Bank, or the LNER Stadium as the soulless lackeys of the capitalist system would now have us call it, Brenner helpfully describes how Town are wearing all blue whilst Lincoln wear red, black and red and are defending the goal off to Brenner and Alex’s left.  The reception on my Sony 310 transistor radio has become rather poor and I have to jiggle the radio about a bit whilst Brenner reveals that today’s referee is Mr Kevin Johnson.  The “ball runs to one of those red shirts” says Brenner, understandably unable to recognise the unfamiliar faces of the Lincoln players, although also suggesting to me at least that there could just be some red shirts strewn about the pitch.  Brenner fills his commentary with superfluous information about which clubs the Lincoln players have played for previously, where they went to school and what their first pets were.  Just three minutes have passed and it should be 1-0 to Lincoln.  â€œIt’s all Lincoln just now” is Alex’s expert assessment.

Ipswich’s goal survives the opening minutes and our heroes work their way into the game a little more.  Both Brenner and Alex pronounce Lankester as Lancaster betraying their far northern heritage with their ugly short vowels; but they both now agree that it’s a good game.  “You’ve never seen them win here” says Brenner to Alex, and then in an attempt to feign positivity he adds “It’ll change this afternoon, fear not”.  He doesn’t fool me.

Oliver Hawkins seems to be playing well. “When the ball comes in, he’s made it stick” says Alex muddling his tenses and using a sort of glue metaphor to tell us that Hawkins can control a football.  The ball goes “
into the palms of Palmer the ‘keeper” says Brenner, becoming enjoyably playful with his words before sharing the important fact that there has never been a goalless draw between the two sides.

Twenty five minutes have passed. “There’s not a great deal happening at the moment” says Brenner.  Glancing through the living room window it looks like the world has started to melt.    â€œRain!” shouts Paulene, and as one we dash out into the hall, through the Kitchen and into the back garden to rescue various socks, items of underwear and T-shirts from the rotary washing line, whilst I simultaneously hope I don’t miss a goal; happily I don’t.

A third of the match has now passed in to broadcasting history and Hawkins has a header cleared off the goal line. “He just rose and he’s hung in the air” says Alex taking one from the near the top of the pile of football commentating clichĂ©s, but sensibly eschewing any mention of salmon; it was “.. a phenomenal header” adds Brenner.  A minute later Hawkins shoots for goal and clears the stand; it sounds like it was a phenomenal shot.

Entering the final third of the first half Brenner refers to someone playing the ball with “his left shoe” and to Andre Dozzell getting “on his bike”, something Freddie Sears did in last Saturday’s match, and with Freddie not playing today I wonder if it’s the same bike or if each of the players has his own and if so how they all fit in the underfloor lockers of the team bus.  Does the presence of all the bikes mean that the kit has to be stowed on overhead luggage racks inside the bus?  Back in 1962 when Town won what is now called the Premier League, most of the players actually used their bikes to get to training each day.  Tsk, how times change, eh?

As the game drifts towards half-time, play has apparently stopped and there is talk of a drop ball and neither Brenner nor Alex seem to know exactly what is going on, or how we got into this situation, whatever the situation is.  It’s a most disconcerting few seconds of my life; it’s bad enough not really knowing what’s happening anyway when one listens to a radio commentary, but when the commentators don’t either it feels I’m like falling into a dark abyss, or at the very least being locked in the cupboard under the stairs.  It’s a relief when the action returns to my ears, although all too soon I feel my heart leap as Brenner’s voice suddenly rises in pitch and volume and Lincoln City’s Brennan Johnson surges into the penalty area, but thankfully shoots past Tomas Holy’s right hand goal post.  The half closes with Alex Mathie giving us his assessment that the game “deserves a goal,” although I’d argue that virtue is its own reward.

Over half-time I relocate from the living room to the Ikea Poang chair in the ‘back bedroom’ because I am struggling to concentrate on the finer points of Brenner and Alex’s commentary whilst also still able to hear the commentary of the Giro d’Italia cycle race on the telly.  I try out the kitchen first but for some unfathomable reason the radio reception there just isn’t good enough. I put the kettle on and make tea for Paulene but forget to pour a cup for myself.  Evidently under stress, but not knowing it , I settle down in the Poang to hear Alex conclude that it was an even first half but that “
Lincoln just shaded it with chances” before predicting that “whoever gets the first goal is likely to go on and win the game”, which suggests that neither team is very good ‘up front’.   At three minutes past four “Nolan rolls the ball back to Wilson” and the second half begins.  Town are now playing, Brenner tells us, towards the end at which little Alan Judge scored the winning goal in the FA Cup last season.  Disappointingly Brenner fails to mention the towers of the Gothic cathedral that can be seen up on the hill beyond the roof of the Stacey West stand but in his defence , he does mention the Lincoln City player with the “Alice band keeping his blond hair in place”.  Radio commentary is all about painting a picture with words.

I look at Twitter and catch up on the FA Cup scores at Leiston (drawing 2-2 with Barnet), and at Banbury where Bury Town are winning 1-0.  It’s nearly twenty past four now and Brenner again raises the question of whether this game could be the first ever goalless draw between Town and Lincoln City.  There is clearly little sign of there being a goal at Sincil Bank, which incidentally is one of my favourite names of any Football League ground; let’s hope the club’s custodians never think it’s a good idea to move elsewhere.

Back in the commentary box it sounds like Brenner and Alex are about to argue. I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have thanks to Twitter but I think that perhaps contrary to Brenner’s view Alex is trying to say that Town have had a good start to the second half “Are you admonishing me , Alex?” says Brenner. “No I’m trying to convince myself” replies Alex climbing down.  It’s the most exciting moment of the half so far. 

The game dribbles on; Brenner predicts that Lincoln’s Liam Bridcutt is heading for a yellow card as a result of a number of niggly fouls that “
he has committed since 3 o’clock”, from which I infer that Brenner thinks he may have been committing fouls before 3 o’clock too.  Bridcutt is not booked, although he was booked at Fleetwood the previous Saturday, so Brenner was right.   

It is thirty-three minutes past four and all of sudden Alex Mathie provides an object lesson to all co-commentators in how to sound exasperated.  “ You don’t need to do that
” says Alex before seemingly being struck speechless as Toto Nsiala nudges over Brennan Johnson, and Mr Kevin Johnson the referee, perhaps taking a lead from Boris Johnson about awarding honours and contracts to your friends and now it seems namesakes, awards a penalty to Lincoln City.   Brenner picks up the commentary from the stupified Alex, and Jorge Grant scores.  “He doesn’t miss many when he takes them” says a recovered Alex, devising an odd variation on that motivational poster nonsense about always missing 100% of the shots you don’t take.

“I’d like to see it again Brenner” says Alex to his colleague about the penalty, as if this is something that Brenner has the power to arrange.  We now have a female Dr Who, so in the interests of diversity why not a Time Lord who has a side line commentating on Town matches. Keanan Bennetts replaces Jack Lankester with ten minutes remaining and then the game expands into four minutes of added-on time.  In the fifth minute of added-on time Jon Nolan is shown a “straight red” for a foul on Lincoln’s Harry Anderson and Brenner’s and Alex’s commentary sends me tumbling into the  darkness once again, they don’t seem to know what is going on, or prudishly won’t tell me.   It sounds like there is a punch up, which judging by the rest of the commentary of this half is the most exciting thing that has happened all afternoon, but the detail in the commentary is sadly lacking.  I am sat in my Poang wanting to know who is pushing who and who’s restraining who from doing what, but all Brenner tells me is that both goalkeepers are involved; but involved in what? Throwing punches? Kicking opposition players? Kicking their team mates?  Wrestling people to the ground?  Pulling faces? Flicking v-signs?  “Frustration, that’s all it is” says Alex. I know how they feel.

The game ends and I rather wish I hadn’t bothered, but heck what else is there to do on a Saturday afternoon than pretend I’m at a football match. I wonder if there’s any of that Cremant left.

Ipswich Town 2 Accrington Stanley 0

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It’s Saturday again.  It’s football again.  The week has been worthwhile after all. Today sees a return to Portman Road for Ipswich Town, after a very successful excursion to Blackpool, and a return to the ifollow for me after the football of imagination through the commentary of Radio Suffolk.  Today has been a good day already, the postwoman having delivered a brown cardboard sleeve containing a pristine copy of ‘Snapshot’ – Scenes and stories from the heartlands of Scottish football.  I’m hi on the stink of glossy ink after burying my head in this wonderful book intermittently throughout the morning.  I’ve only ever been to one football match in Scotland (Hibernian v Raith Rovers, a one-all draw in January 2015), but leaving aside the boring duopoly of Celtic and Rangers I perceive the same humanity and lack of pretence in Scottish football that pervades much of English non-league football, with an added bleakness courtesy of its latitude.  The reverent prose of Daniel Gray and photographs of Alan McCredie bring it to life and are an absolute joy; recommended (£12.99 from Blackwell’s with free postage).

Clearing my head with a walk over the fields near my house I return for a lunch of last night’s leftover home-made curry and a pre-match ‘pint’ (500ml) of Dark Star Revelation (ÂŁ1.50 a bottle from Waitrose). Agreeing to let my wife Paulene enjoy the comfort and warmth of the living room to watch the Giro d’Italia cycle race on the telly, I consign myself to the kitchen where I log on to my lap-top and connect it to the kitchen telly in time to catch the announcement of the names of today’s virtual mascots; kids lucky enough to have parents with 25 quid to ‘spaff’ on a video message and signed letter from a favourite player, a choice of drawstring bag, gym bag, pencil case or beanie hat all costing a tenner in Planet Blue, a programme with their name in, a certificate and that ‘shout out’ on the Radio Suffolk ifollow commentary.  The fact that I am firmly into the second half of my lifespan is brought home to me as I smile at what I perceive to be the weird first names of today’s under tens; they sound to me like place names, surnames, occupations and the names of random objects not the names of people, but a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.

Brenner Woolley and Mick Mills snap me from my ageist reverie as Brenner asks Mick to provide some sort of summary of the state of the team, which he does, but stutteringly at first as he punctuates his monologue with frequent  ‘you knows’ until he gets into his stride, when he begins to talk quite normally.  It’s as if Brenner had asked him when he wasn’t quite ready.  In the background the teams appear and the Portman Road tannoy is blaring out the recently deceased Eddie Van Halen’s “Jump”, a tune I had hoped, vainly it turns out, would die with the sixty-five year old Dutch born rocker.  Brenner comments on how the Accrington manager John Colman and Town’s Toto Nsiala embrace, describing them as the “two Merseysiders”, which I like to think was the working title for the 1970’s BBC tv situation comedy the Liver Birds.  Clearly Brenner has still not caught up with the fact that Toto was born in the Democratic Republic of Congo.

The game begins. “A throw in for Accrington inside 90 seconds” says Brenner as if that is significant and thereby suggesting that he is perhaps commentating for the benefit of some sort of spread betting syndicate.  Meanwhile on screen, views of the interior of the stand roof and empty seats suggest that Luis Bunuel, Yoko Ono and Marcel Duchamp are taking it in turns to direct the camera. Town are looking timid and Accrington have the ascendency. “Trying to play football, Accrington Stanley” says Brenner trying to construct a sentence in the right order whilst simultaneously being patronising and stating the obvious.

“Accrington goalkeeper, young goalkeeper, very alert” says Brenner still struggling with his sentences and possibly implying that he would expect a young goalkeeper to be a bit sleepy.  Out on the left Miles Kenlock and Andre Dozzell pass the ball between each other four or five times without moving as if saying to each other “No, you have it, I don’t want it”.  It’s a cameo from the two Town starlets that sums up the team’s apparent absence of a plan. “Sears scythed down by Sykes” says Brenner offering some satisfying alliteration in the absence of exciting action. But then out of very little Freddie Sears is as good as through on goal, only for the Accrington ‘keeper, Toby Savin, who is sporting a shirt and shorts ensemble the same colours as the Ipswich Buses livery, to make a good save.  Quickly Toto Nsiala is making a weak, headed back pass and Stanley’s Matt Butcher,  appropriately wearing the number six shirt, has his shot saved by Tomas Holy.  The goalkeepers are the best players on the field and Brenner tells us that we “
don’t see many 20 year old goalkeepers at this level” implying that Savin is very young but clearly forgetting that Town’s last opponents at Portman Road, Rochdale, had a ‘keeper who is just 18  years old.

The camera work is moving from avant garde to a hint of inebriation in the cameraman and I wonder if James Norwood has arrived by taxi to join Luis, Yoko and Marcel up on the gantry.  Hopefully the ineptness is not a symptom of Covid-19, but it seems to have become contagious as a goal kick from Savin carries all the way through to Tomas Holy who boots it straight at Andre Dozzell; the ball falls to Stanley’s Colby Bishop who instinctively shoots wide of the open goal.  In midfield, Gwion Edwards keeps pushing the ball past opponents and forgetting to run after it, whilst the camera work evolves further to a state where it seems to be predicting where the ball is going to go, thereby showing an empty patch of grass whilst unseen Savin takes a goal kick.

Mick Mills’ first meaningful contribution to the afternoon is to remark that Stanley’s Ross Sykes, who incidentally is a towering 1.96m tall, reminds him of Allan Hunter or Jack Charlton, players who had retired almost 20 years before Sykes was born.  Brenner suggests that Sykes would be flattered, but I think Mick was merely implying that Sykes main ability is to kick people up in the air.  Accrington are looking more likely to score than Town and Tomas Holy saves a free-kick with a smart dive to his right .“ Well done by the Czech” says Brenner reducing our goalkeeper to a mere nationality.

Town win a corner and the camera zooms in on the corner flag before travelling up into the Cobbold stand for a close up of the rows of blue seats.  I expect Brenner and Mick to quote lines from a poem by Andre Breton.  The corner comes to nothing and my frustration grows.  I am happy to get to half time with the score still goalless.

I enjoy my fifteen minute respite from the combined hopelessness of Town’s performance and that of the ifollow cameraman through the medium of tea and a Nature Valley chocolate and peanut protein bar.  Adverts for products and services I do not fully understand are interspersed with the half-time scores from League One and match statistics, which reveal Ipswich have had three shots on goal to Accrington’s ten.  Ipswich however have had about 10% more possession and a slightly better passing accuracy; a paltry 73% for Town against a miserable 69% for Accrington.  But it is generally easier to pass the ball accurately if you don’t pass it forwards.

The games resumes and Brenner enlightens his radio listeners that it is blues versus reds with Town kicking off from right to left.  I of course already know this thanks to my possession of a colour television and having witnessed the previous 45 minutes.  Mick soon adds to the new found clarity advising that Sears and Edwards are now playing in their preferred positions (the middle and the left respectively). Accrington however have the first half-chance of the half as a through ball outpaces their number eight Jonathan Russell, who Mick tells us “
didn’t look like he could get away from the defenders” with something Mick calls “ a turn of foot”; I’m not surprised. 

Fifty-two minutes have passed and Teddy Bishop shoots past the post, “Better from Ipswich Town, a lot perkier” says Brenner. Two minutes later and Town lead after Gwion Edwards finishes a fine passing move. “Really incisive football from Ipswich Town” is Brenner’s wholly accurate assessment.  I cheer loudly out of sheer relief. The lifting of spirits caused by the goal is palpable and Mick introduces some jocularity into his co-commentary as he refers to the former Allan Hunter and Jack Charlton imitator Ross Sykes as “Big Sykesie”, an epithet Brenner considers “Brilliant” for its “familiarity”, something which is in itself brilliant. 

The goal has worked wonders and Mick is now clearly smitten with Ross Sykes.  Gwion Edwards runs in to the penalty area again. “Edwards absolutely ghosted past Big Syksie” says Mick now unable to stop saying “Big Syksie”.   This is the ingredient Mick’s co-commentary has been missing all season, a catch phrase character to liven it up like a few well-placed jokes in a best man’s speech.  I’m feeling a lot happier now and am still confident when Tomas Holy is forced into making another low diving save with about twenty-five minutes still to go.  My confidence is well placed and four minutes later a poor pass out of the Accrington defence is seized upon by Town and Freddie Sears is released in to the penalty area to ‘dink’ the ball over Sivon and make the score two-nil.  I cheer loudly because I think Freddie deserves it.

Nolan replaces Huws. Town play the ball around at the back like they’re in Ligue 1 not League One. Accrington’s Cameron Burgess becomes the first and only player to be booked as he fouls Luke Chambers.  The oddly named Keanen Bennetts replaces little Alan Judge.  Bennett has a shot on goal but “ It’s a trundle straight at Savin” says Brenner, unintentionally reminding me of Lee Trundle, the former Neath, Haverfordwest County, Llanelli Town, Rhyl, Swansea City and Wrexham striker.

An Accrington corner is cleared and an Accrington player is left in a heap on the ground.  The game carries on but is eventually stopped by referee Mr Lewis.  “He let play go on too early, he should’ve stopped it” says Mick confusingly, seemingly muddling up not stopping play soon enough with the abstract and illogical concept of letting it carry on too soon.  The game enters time added on, “Long kick from Holy and Sears is on his bike” says Brenner, attempting not to be outdone by Mick’s efforts to rival the weirdness of the earlier camera work.   Sears and his bike are quickly substituted before the referee notices, with Tyreece Simpson coming on in their stead.

Ninety four minutes have passed and a bit more and Mr Lewis the referee confirms Town’s third consecutive two-nil home win.  Despite entreaties from Brenner during the game to phone 0800 212121 after the game to speak to Mick or to comment by text I decide that like all the people who will phone and text I have nothing worth saying and nothing to say that anyone should want to hear. Anyway, I’d rather return to the heady smell of the pages of Snapshot – Scenes and stories from the heartland of Scottish football.

Blackpool 1 Ipswich Town 4

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For someone who had already given up travelling home and away every week to watch my team, one of the good things about the current pandemic and so-called ‘elite’ football being played behind closed-doors is that when your team plays away from home, you simply cannot go, so there is no internal debate to be had about whether or not you should travel.  Equally, there is no longer that same feeling of regret or self-doubt come Saturday afternoon that you are possibly missing out on something when the decision has irrevocably been made not to go away.  Today however, is not such a day, there is no chance that I would have travelled to Blackpool because it’s a long way away and it’s a dump. I have been to Blackpool twice before, once in 1989 with a girlfriend, whilst somewhat bizarrely holidaying on the Wirral and staying in a hotel that looked like the Munster’s house.  That day the sun shone and we took the tram along the front, no football was involved.  Then, eighteen and half years later in January 2008 I was one of a car load of four Town fans who, along with several others witnessed a one all draw at Bloomfield Road.  That game has faded from memory, but the one thing I do recall is a massive, somewhat dilapidated public lavatory near the sea front; this is not a metaphor for Blackpool itself, although it could well be because I found it to be a seedy, ugly town, but the public toilet was actually quite impressive.  To be fair to Blackpool it does have a decent wrought-iron lattice tower (158 metres tall), but once you’ve been to Paris (the Eiffel Tower is 300metres tall), it is easily confused with numerous phone masts.

 In my experience the best thing about Blackpool is the football team’s tangerine shirt, something that first came to my notice in 1971 in the form of ten painted, moulded, plastic footballers on circular bases which I saw when I attended a Subbuteo club at school.  The thought of Blackpool’s tangerine shirts still thrills me a little today as over lunch I look forward to Ipswich Town’s encounter with the collection of living, breathing footballers who currently wear them for work. It’s a cold day of showers and occasional sunshine which I have so far spent indoors, save for a brief excursion to my garage to check its leaking roof and the positioning of five plastic buckets.   My wife Paulene and I eat our lunch of heated-up homemade curry, left over from last night’s dinner, and I enjoy a pre-match ‘pint’ (500 ml) of Fuller’s Bengal Lancer (ÂŁ13.95 for a case of eight bottles direct from Fuller’s brewery with free postage on orders over ÂŁ50), which coincidentally, given its name, goes down very well with curry.  

It feels grey and a little chilly in the spare bedroom today and pining for human contact I choose to listen to the match on the wireless in the living room, where I will be in the company of Paulene.  With Paulene watching the Giro d’Italia cycle race on the telly I have to find an earphone because she is strangely uninterested in hearing the fortunes of the Super Blues.  It’s easier to use an earphone with a smaller more portable radio and I therefore eschew the Bush TR82 today in favour of the Sony ICF-S10 portable radio.  After an initial unfortunate brush with Radio Essex, I delicately adjust the dial just in time to catch the hand-over from the Radio Suffolk studio in St Matthews Street, Ipswich to Brenner Woolley at Bloomfield Road, Blackpool.  Today Brenner is in the company of former Ipswich Town starlet Neil Rimmer who, whilst not exactly a Town legend or candidate for our Hall of Fame scored three times in twenty-two appearances for Town between 1985 and 1988 before he went onto play ten times as many matches for Wigan Athletic.  According to Wikipedia Neil is currently manager of Ashton Town.  Neil has a warm, almost mellifluous voice, perfect for radio, even if his mild scouse accent occasionally makes me think of Keith Chegwin, but that could just be me desperately trying to find humour in every situation.

Brenner helpfully tells me that Town are all in blue today and I strike up a colourful mental picture of our blue, Blackpool’s tangerine and the green of the pitch against banks of empty orange seats under a no doubt grey sky.  Brenner begins his commentary, relaying that it is former Town employee Grant Ward who “gets the ball rolling” before he treats us to some decent footballese, describing Blackpool as getting to the edge of the Town area “early doors”.  “Impressive stuff from the Radio Suffolk man.” he might say if he was commentating on his own commentary.  According to Brenner it’s a sunny afternoon in Blackpool, so I adjust the colour and brightness in my mental picture; and it’s very blowy, either that or one of Brenner or Neil is about to tap the microphone and launch into a kind of Norman Collier impression – “testing – testing, 1-2-3”.  Brenner will later say that he expects we can hear the wind around the microphone; he’s not wrong.

Unlike Mantovani or most of the musical content on Radio Suffolk, the early minutes of the game are not easy listening.  “Town have yet to have the ball on the ground in the Blackpool half” says Brenner. ”We’ve got to be precise with our passing” adds Neil offering a solution to the problem and simultaneously endearing himself to Town fans with his use of the first person plural.   “I think it’s all about results” says Neil explaining to Brenner what will make Town fans happy or annoyed, although Mick McCarthy might have cause to disagree, but thankfully he’s not with Neil and Brenner this afternoon.

Twelve minutes pass. “Maxwell puts his right foot right through it” says Brenner using an expression he tends to use once in every match to describe a goal kick.  Brenner carries on with a bit of filler as the action subsides, “Nsiala back in his native north-west” he says, displaying a woeful knowledge of the geography of both England and the Democratic Republic of Congo; Toto was born in Kinshasa which is in the West, not the northwest of the DRC.   Although Kinshasa was in Zaire when Toto was born, it has never physically moved and it seems unlikely that it’s ever been in Lancashire. 

Barely have I recovered from the thought of LS Lowry’s paintings of the cotton mills of Kinshasa and its Hot Pot and Barm Cake restaurants, than “Chambers shoots – fabulous goal!” are the welcome words arriving in my earpiece through the ether.  Town are a goal up courtesy of a shot that “
just about took the net away”.  Paulene missed my celebration of the goal because she has nipped to the toilet, but I tell her about it when she gets back; she feigns interest perhaps because her own team Portsmouth are also winning.

The first half is half over and Brenner tells us that it’s so far so good. Ninety seconds later “Nsiala goes Route One for Ipswich” and Brenner revives memories of BBC tv’s fabulous Quiz Ball, a programme which was last aired in 1972.  I think to myself how I’d like to see Quiz Ball revived; Richard Osman could host it in place of David Vine, they practically wear the same glasses.   It sounds as if the goal has settled Town, although occasionally they continue to give the ball away in midfield; more than once Huws is the culprit but the defence recover well.  “Gabriel back to Marvin Ekpiteta” says Brenner using the best two surnames in the Blackpool team, adding that Ekpiteta has “
come up through the pyramid”, which makes him sound like he could have been an extra in The Mummy.   A move breaks down and “Again Town starting from square one” says Brenner omitting to tell us that he’s now using the system created for the very first BBC radio commentary for a match (Arsenal v Sheffield Wednesday in Division One on 22nd January 1927) whereby the pitch was divided up into eight squares and the commentator Henry Blythe Thornhill Wakelam described the game whilst a co-commentator said which square the ball was in; a diagram showing the football pitch divided up into squares was printed in that week’s Radio Times.

At about 3.35 Gwion Edwards runs into the Blackpool penalty area “He shoots – he scores” says Brenner and Town lead 2-0.  “Again, I think it’s deserved” says Neil displaying a level of enthusiasm and positivity towards Town not often heard. “Yeah clinical from Ipswich Town” replies Brenner putting the emphasis on the word ‘Clinical’ in a way that makes him sound either sarcastic or surprised.

Three minutes later Hawkins “scoops” a chance over the cross bar but Brenner kindly adds that it was “
not quite put on a plate for him”.  Neil’s audible smiles are having an effect on  Brenner who reminds listeners that Neil Rimmer is with him today and goes on to refer to Neil as “
so far a lucky charm”, which sadly implies that the 2-0 score line is nothing to do with Town playing well, but all down to Neil, and that that luck may change.  Other forces are at work it seems and as a Blackpool attack is broken up with a headed clearance from Town’s goalkeeper, Brenner announces “Holy’s forehead takes charge”.  Equally weirdly Brenner praises the teamwork of Town saying that when Miles Kenlock has been under pressure at left-back “
 a Huws, an Edwards or a Wilson has helped out.” raising questions about just how many players with these surnames we have at the club and why they are all playing at the same time.

Half-time is almost here but there is enough time for Teddy Bishop to win the ball and then “
he shoots – and oh, great goal!”.  “Get this for a scoreline” say Brenner; Town lead 3-0 and it’s time for a cup of tea, although not before Brenner asks Neil for his assessment of the half and Neil says “I was very impressed” before adding “Goals change games” because clichĂ©s and football are impossible to separate.

Unplugging myself from the radio I head for the kitchen but forego a half-time snack today because I had a slice of homemade carrot cake after lunch and still feel quite full.  Making a case for a return to the yellow and blue away kit of the late 1960’s and early 1970’s I take my tea in a yellow and blue Ipswich Town mug, which also features the old club crest and refers to the Premier League, dating it to the 1992 to 1995 period.

The second-half coverage opens with Neil again endearing himself to Town fans by telling us that “Teams like this shouldn’t cause us any problems”.  Brenner and Neil reminisce about Neil’s playing days at Ipswich and we learn that the highlight of his time with Town was his two-goals against Manchester City.  Brenner feels the need to explain to ‘younger listeners’ that  back then Town would often beat Manchester City, but omits to tell them that everyone did.

Blackpool win a corner. “They need a goal soon if they are going to get anything out of this game” say Brenner, unnecessarily seeing the game from the opposition’s point of view.  The 57th minute arrives and Kayden Jackson replaces Oliver Hawkins.  An hour has been played.  “Surely a chance, and it is” and Blackpool score through Gary Madine. That’s “really disappointing” says Neil perfectly catching the zeitgeist back in Suffolk.  “Have Town been guilty of sitting back?” probes Brenner turning the knife. “Yeah” says Neil, really disappointed.

There are twenty-five minutes left. “Anything could happen” Brenner tells us almost as if expecting Blackpool to score again.  It seems as if a substitution is about to be made and we learn that on-loan Keanan Bennetts is possibly coming on, “Paul Lambert certainly has his arm around somebody on the far side” adds Brenner injecting a hint of scandal into proceedings. Bennetts replaces Teddy Bishop, but as good as it is for Bennetts to get a ‘run out’ for the first team , I am slightly disappointed that Paul Lambert is not combining his Saturday afternoon job with some sort of romantic tryst.

“Surely not a penalty there” says Brenner suddenly. “Well played referee” he continues having evidently realised that he needs to want Town to win.  In the same vein Brenner begins to speak more quickly and with an air of excited anticipation “Bennetts cuts inside, shoots” then “Wide” in a flattened, deeper tone.  Brenner and Neil are conveying the feeling that Town are responding to Blackpool having scored, Paul Lambert is clapping his hands on the far side, presumably as an act of encouragement for his team and not because he’s cold. Brenner has not said what Paul is wearing today so we are not to know if he might be cold or not.

There are ten minutes left.  Brenner brings good news. “Edwards in behind Gabriel, is he going to make it four? He does”.  The game is won for Ipswich, but perversely Brenner’s thoughts are with the opposition and he finds it necessary to share his supposition that Blackpool manager Neil Critchley will “
be happy with the attitude”.  I’m not sure anyone back in Suffolk cares.

It’s ten to five and I realise I never drank my half-time tea.  I down the still lukewarm beverage and by the time I’ve done that referee Chris Sarginson, whose name I don’t recall Brenner having mentioned, has blown his whistle for the last time this afternoon.   The players, we are told, begin to “pat hands” and in my mind’s eye I see Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in tangerine shirts doing their “patty cake” routine in the “Road to” movies. Road to Blackpool would be a worthy addition to the series. After almost two hours of Radio Suffolk I can’t bear to listen to whatever follows the commentary and for me the broadcast ends with Brenner telling us that Neil will be “hanging around to take your calls”; my mind’s eye flits from musical comedy to a vision of Neil, hands in pockets loitering outside a dimly lit seafront phone box.

Four-one wins away from home are not common occurrences for any team, in the 1980-81 season when we were the best team on the planet we scored four goals away from home twice, at Coventry City and at St Etienne, so today’s result is one to treasure. Results like this however do make me want to travel away again and they highlight the sadness of football that we can’t be a part of.   But I refuse to let it bother me and I am now already looking forward to next Saturday and the reunion of Brenner with Mick Mills after what seems like a geological age without a home game. Inspired by the mention of St Etienne and Blackpool Tower I shall be wearing my Allez les Bleus t-shirt.