Leaving base camp at a little after 8am, the train journey north from Reading would traverse to Birmingham New Street, then up to Leeds, and finally across to the promised land: Bradford.
As a southern-based Notts County season ticket holder, I guess I could class most fixtures – in terms of distance ─ as away matches, although the hike to Valley Parade was just far enough to justify an overnight stay.
The wonder of match day travel, connecting with train journeys or the nation’s motorway networks, is the high probability of proximity with other travelling fans. Any thoughts of being in need of a mental assessment evaporate when, as happened on this day, I see a bunch of other supporters making a similar pilgrimage, in this case Reading fans heading to Carlisle.
As I edged ever closer, my mind wandered to predicting the scoreline ─ inevitably doused with the usual dollop of overt optimism. Given our recent form – with a defensive record that regularly brings tears to my eyes ─ a resurgent home side, and our resident lethal weapon, aka Macaulay Langstaff, there was only one result: 7-6 to Notts.
As the train pulled into Bradford Interchange the spots of rain on the carriage windows did nothing to dampen my positivity. Indeed, an earlier tweet from the home club at 1015am had confirmed that the pitch was playable “with no plans for an inspection.”
A ten-minute walk from the ground, and around 90-minutes before kick-off, I sought sanctuary at The Brass Owl pub in North Parade. Beforehand, I zipped up my top to cover my away shirt and removed my beanie with the resplendent Notts crest. No need to antagonise anyone, and call me old-fashioned, but my primary goal was to see the match and not get arrested prior to kick-off as some dope had been just down the street ─ no doubt as a result of uttering something less than endearing to the local police.
Scrolling through Twitter, I saw images of the Valley Parade pitch closely resembling a paddy field on a particularly rainy day. The guy standing next to me picked up on my astonishment and acknowledged that the match was more likely than not to be called off. The bartender was alert to this moment of emotional vulnerability and asked if I wanted another pint – I accepted and supped the first mouthful as the postponement was confirmed with a little over an hour to go. Assessing that I was a Notts fan, given my lack of colours along with the obvious pained expression, we struck up an immediate and convivial conversation. On hearing that I’d travelled from Reading, Richard updated his pal Andy, and like a domino rally, the home fan-base became aware of the plight of “the man from Reading!” What followed was one of the best away days I have ever experienced. And let us not forget that Notts didn’t lose, nor had they conceded any goals!
Rich and Andy took me on a guided tour of the great northern city that possesses several hidden gems, including the underground tunnel complex. I became acquainted with its places to socialise, chief amongst them, the amazing Omar’s Balti house in Great Horton Road. Here I discovered the home of the great naan eating challenge, where a free meal, a trip to Barcelona, and a hundred pound cash are the prizes on offer should you manage to devour a 3″ x 1’6″ monster alongside your main dish ─ within thirty-five minutes! According to those in the know, over 700 diners have attempted this feat and if you want to know how many have left for a Spanish holiday, I suggest you drop by soon and taste the incredible cuisine.
As the impromptu shenanigans came to an end, and I walked back to my hotel through the vibrant city centre lights, I was reminded of the wise words of President John F. Kennedy who, during a 1961 address to the Canadian Parliament, proclaimed, “What unites us is far greater than what divides us.”
I’ll be back for the rearranged fixture, but in the meantime, and forevermore, I’ll have an enduring interest in the Bantams’ fortunes thanks to Rich and Andy and their adoption of the Magpie from Reading.
© Ian Kirke 2024
@ianjkirke