Into The Valley

Bradford City 1:2 Shrewsbury Town
(Ademeyi : Bradshaw (2))
Leccy Board League Two: 26/03/2011
Valley Parade, Bradford (Ground no.66)

This is what makes me odd and slightly bonkers. I am attempting to complete the 92 grounds of the Football League as quick as I can before responsibility gets hold of me. So this means trips alone to games where I have no feeling for either team and on most occasions, I have to endure at least three hours alone going up and down the motorways of England. If you think that's odd, here's a couple of odder revelations.

1) I actually enjoy it. I have seen a lot of the country in the same someone does backpacking across the world. When I drive, I normally go through a months worth of CD purchases.

2) I am not alone. Groundhoppers are actually quite common, in fact I am just tip of the iceberg so to speak. Non-League, Europe, Reserve games, they'll all do (there's three or four non-league regional divisions which based themselves around their actual attendance on bank holidays. For example, the kick-off would be staged from 10.30 a.m. onwards to 8 p.m. The grounds all know they're on a winner. Gate receipts tripled and takings on the refreshments huts tenfold).

Upon visiting Valley Parade, that was 66 grounds done; leaving half of the Premiership, half of the League One, five of the Championship and Torquay to be done. Every ground within pretty much two hours drive has been done. When Leicester don't have a fixture on the Saturday, I strike hence the blog name. No Leicester this week, unattractive England's game on SKY and this was the only 3pm Saturday fixture ironically left (largely down to Bradford refusing to pay Shrewsbury's hotel fees)

That's introductions out of the way. Now time for some context. Yesterday's tale of Bradford City's European adventure was their highpoint of their history in the past eighty years. As eluded to in that post, it was when the evil began and Geoffrey Richmond, the chairmen of the time got a nosebleed. He chased the dream like Leeds were doing down the M62 and even Leicester were proving that a smaller club could consistently overachieve. He wanted in. How times have changed, it backfired for all three of those clubs mentioned. Now in West Yorkshire, Leeds (5th in the Championship) are beginning to recover alongside Huddersfield (2nd in League One) and Halifax (1st in Northern League [two tiers from the Football League]) who both suffered from financial disaster in a similar period but Bradford are still paying for it.

There are not many teams who can compete with Bradford's fall from grace. From beating Liverpool and Arsenal in the Premier League season to replacing a manager in an attempt to ensure staying in the Football League in March 2011. The big plus is that the fans have stayed with them which is normally the case when the going gets tough, fans seem to have some unreasoned quality which sees them stand by in times of need. Crowds of 10,000 plus for every League game season is some mean feat at the fourth tier regardless of how those figures are achieved (local rivals say the numbers are supplemented by freebies and season ticket holders who don't turn up being counted).

I parked virtually in the centre of the city centre because I basically need a pee and knew I'd find a fast food outlet more quicker than parking next to the ground and having to let go in some wasteland. Bradford as a city takes a lot of stick but I found it a fairly clean city which thankfully hasn't replaced every white stone building it ever had with concrete like some do. I didn't stay for long however to take in Bradford's delights and approached the ground which can pretty much be seen from anywhere in the city due to the two massive stands built in the Premiership excess days.

Walking along the Manningham Lane, it already possessed something a lot of League 2 grounds don't. You could actually tell there was a football game going on, the pavements were buzzing with people approaching towards the ground. I went down to get a ticket at the ticket office, waited in line and then a local tapped me on the shoulder. He offered me a £20 ticket for £10, you'll do I replied. I thought it was odd but then thought well, I can't turn that down really and complain.

That was until I seen my neighbour. Probably nearer 30 than 20, he was unshaven, looked like he'd been working in a garage all day, wore a tracksuit with a Bradford City replica shirt and ripped jeans. To finish it off, scruffy white trainers. Oh dear, that bastard has flogged me a seat next to Bradford's version of Bernie (he did not beat Doncaster's stinky and kid-beating bastard of one though). I just took a seat three away from I should have been, thankfully no-one wanted my new seat.

Plenty of empty seats anyway with the two mega stands to my right (this is the replacement for the wooden stand which led to the Bradford Fire Disaster in 1985) and The Kop, what I was sitting in. They really look as good as any modern extension to a stadium in the country of the past two decades, even the concourses and toilets were reasonably set out in design. To the left, the Midland Stand which can't be that old and then the TL Dallas Stand opposite the Kop which is dying breed of a design, two tiered but with hardly any angle for the Upper tier, no doubt restricted views throughout and your knees up against the seats for the lack of legroom.

I hate to keep using the comparison of how low Bradford have fallen but it's worth mentioning the personnel of both sides. Bradford City's starting eleven had five players with non-league backgrounds (they have actually been their better players recently), a long way, way from the days of Stan Collymore and Benito Carbone playing in the distinctive Claret and Amber combo shirt. It's easy to see why Bradford have begun to struggle.

Shrewsbury Town have however been consistently good at this level for a number of years and this summer decided to turn towards Graeme Turner, former legend of the club in order to achieve promotion. He's sensibly built a side containing the likes of Mark Wright, Ian Sharps, Matt Harrold, Lionel Ainsworth. All players who've achieved promotion from this division on one occasion and everything points at the moment to them achieving the playoffs at least.

Baldie aka Ticket Tout plays Spot the Ball

The difference was plain to see in the first half with two golden chances falling towards Shrewsbury who displayed a decent brand of sensible, passing football. Joe McLaughlin in the Bradford goal however excelled, his double save from James Collins and Wright had the Bantams off their feet. McLaughlin then did well to close down Nicky Wroe's whose one-two with Matt Harrold put him on goal only for him to bottle it when McLaughlin came rushing out. My friend to the left wasn't the most annoying thing, neither was the lad in front of me questioning whether Scott Dobie ever did all them goals for West Brom (I have to agree, the former Forest player was shite...maybe Megson needs him at Wednesday) but it was the idiot to the right who got up and down at least three times to check the England score. All this despite the scoreboard reading 2-0 at 14 minutes for anyone who wanted to know.

There was a certain resignation amongst the Bradford support that they were going to lose and to be fair, they are more right to possess that. For all their players' efforts, to me they just didn't look good enough. James Hanson who up until the past two seasons was working in the co-op part-time is their great hope, signed from Guiseley; he won player of last season despite his age of just 23 being top goalscorer the process. The reasoning he's managed 17 goals from 63 games and nearly a good a game in non-league? He's a shit brickhouse at 6ft 4, he's always going to be a targetman ideal for this division and to be fair, he was Bradford's best player bar the keeper McLaughlin having a header tipped over and then setting up Scott Dobie for a sitter which was kept out by a Shrewsbury player who didn't have a clue it hit him.

Bradford did however find some confidence, something which is so 'English' about 'English football' is the random build of excitement cause by the most basic skill in Football, a few passes. The few passes put together by Bradford which was all caused by someone winning a hefty tackle and the fans loved it. The flow had changed all of sudden and after centre-back Steve Williams wild 35 yard attempt (much to the amusement of my ticket tout friend who I spotted a row below me) Bradford got the opener. One punt of a free-kick, a keeper's flap and Tom Ademeyi calmed half-volleyed into the open goal on the edge of the box.

Turner made a change. Off came Wright, on came Ainsworth. Tom Bradshaw on for the English and Aston Villa contracted James Collins. Bradshaw was the game winner and probably the only Welshmen who got something to celebrate on Saturday. His first was a beauty, aiming for the top corner of the goalkeeper's nearest post from an acute range. It was one of those you were expecting to be an illusion and hit the side-netting.

The former Main Stand

Then after the interlude of Dobie's miss and with just three minutes left, pint-sized Jon Taylor ran down the left wing and squaring to Bradshaw who did well considering the ball was passed behind him to get enough purchase on the shot. That feeling returning to Bradford fans. After a few late shouts at the referee for not giving a free-kick, it was over. Back down the Manningham Lane to moan that City fucked up again, sound familiar?

No waiting around for me either, thought about a Ruby in the supposed capital of it but straight back down the M1 to conclude another Saturday.

Highlights are available on the BBC for six more days.

Schoolboy Memory #1: Bradford City's European Adventure

I am only 22 but I love looking back on Football with some romance. It's funny how the 90s or earlier 00s seem like some sort of age when Football was 'better' and innocent but it was the midst of the Premiership buzz with clubs adopting a spend big, worry about the consequences later attitude. It was the start of the evil as perfectly proved by Bradford City.

When returning from Valley Parade yesterday, I was asked when were Bradford last in the Premiership. Ten years to be exact, 2000/2001 season they were relegated from the top flight. The previous season led by Paul Jewell, they managed the so-called impossible. Final day at Valley Parade, Liverpool the visitors, a David Wetherall (whose still at the club today) goal ensured Premier League football at Valley Parade next season. A teams with the likes of the forementioned Wetherall, Stuart McCall, Dean Windass, Neil Redfearn were never going to give up. To complient these were Lee Sharpe, Peter Beagrie, Robbie Blake and of course, Jamie Lawrence. A bunch of decent footballers really who bar a few never really had the quality for the top level.

The summer of the 2000/2001 season initially went bad, Paul Jewell left Bradford to join the relegated Sheffield Wednesday (common theme with Jewell but at least it gives the whole summer for a club to find a replacement) and his assistant Chris Hutchings took charge. Then Geoffrey Richmond, the Bradford chairman got all a bit too giddy. Two new stand extensions announced to bring Valley Parade to a 26k all-seater, he spent galore in bringing the likes of Dan Petrescu and Benito Carbone to the club and made the naive move in accepting an invitation to the Intertoto Cup.

Intertoto was pretty much viewed as a joke competition by English football, playing games in July to ensure that there was still some fixtures for the Pools coupon across the continent. Originally, it was insisted that you play in but Spurs, Wimbledon and Wednesday all made mockery of that fielding their reserves, youth team or any trialist wanting a game in the first edition which included English teams. Eventually UEFA dropped that, no insistence; you can play if you want. It was the competition that you just seen mentioned in the minor results section of the paper, that kind of competition Channel 5 used to televise, the kind of competition no-one really wanted to take place.

Hence Bradford's inclusion in 2000, Aston Villa took the first spot. Bradford the other, in 17th. It's worth mentioning Villa were in 6th with only Leicester taking an Euro spot between the two teams. 9 other teams didn't want the hassle of playing FK Atlantas in Lituania during the first two weeks of July. But Bradford did. Bradford were off on a tour.

Now time for a video featuring some of the World's most ugliest Football fans and possibly one of the most 'straight to the point' interviews featuring Dean Windass. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gOhVm-3dv9w&feature=related

FK Atlantas dismissed with ease, 3-1, 4-1 , 7-2 on aggy. They now lie 10th in the Lithuania top flight.

RKC Waalwijk from the Netherland next. Again 1-0, 2-0, 3-0 on aggy. Still in Eredivise.

The optimism amongst Bradford fans was beginning to build, Richmond was buying players with much aplomb and the new stands were looking the part. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

No, as seen in this second video. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Gcjko4a-3og&feature=related

Zenit St Petersburg were the opposition, here are a club with some history and considerably more note than either Atlantas or Waalwijk. As mentioned in the video, just 12 fans made their way to Russia (well 1 was the quite deranged Dmitiri...I wonder whether he still follows Bradford now?) and to be fair they made a decent fist of it, losing by the single goal in a stadium environment which is known as one of the most fierce in Europe. The second leg though Zenit turned on the turbo, 3-0 winners and it's worth highlighting Peter Beagrie's comments.

That boy upfront who come on.... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sfkQXJXBP8k&feature=related Andrei Arshaving making his Zenit debut. Vitaliy Mutko also makes an appearance, a major player in the recent Russian World Cup big.

So that was it Bradford's European adventure. Remember it?

All credit to the chap who put the videos on youtube.

Hope, it's all we have.

As I expected I have severely delayed this second entry. I have been busy at work and with uni work but there was not the issue. It was the shock admission that my footballing idol, my Dad has decided that he's fell out of love with the sport and gave up his season ticket for the Burnley home game when a little effort means he could be in attendance.

I suppose it shouldn't be a shock. The signs were there back in September when refusing to pay an admission fee to watch one of his sons play under the lights at a local ground. Apparently it was the 'principle', paying for Sunday League football was just not on. It was a boycott to hit the league where it hurts. This is the man whose opinion on football is officially the best as it is to every child growing in the country, Dad knows the best players and Dad knows his stuff. Dad takes me football and Dad told me who to support.

He's had enough. Such was the spectacle of City v Portsmouth, last Saturday; it was the final straw. As soon as Nugent's volley hit the net, Steve Cotterill was informing his troops not to cross the halfway line and foul anything that went past them. This is the problem he reckons, too many teams with such a desperate desire for three points because the sport is so results based on performance and thereby there's a direct link to money. Higher up the table more money. Money's killed sport, people like Sven come in rob clubs blind of money, spent it like it grows on trees. Got to get those three points at all costs, no encouragement to ping the ball about.

He thinks this quietly though and then lets rip normally during the Sunday afternoon analysis in the pub or on the Monday afternoon dinner table (all this said Ben Mee was given some stick during Saturday's game). You feel like you can't disagree, this is man who knows best and was actually the best player in the world in his younger days. I am probably exaggerating all this because when he watches football subjectively as just a game, he's quite accurate.

The thing is for a Leicester fan is he's actually quite timid in this respect. As Yakubu snatched a shot towards the end of the Portsmouth game and it landed in outer space, a million expletives rained down onto the pitch from the locals, my Dad didn't even bother like always but the shouty moron is well in existence at the Walkers, whether it's Ricardo (maybe actually valid), King or Yakubu, there's a scapegoat. Soon it'll be Sven.

'50 fucking grand a week for that piece of lazy shite' was pretty much the sum of it from all angles. Welcome to Leicester City, the club where a bit of form leads to false hope of glory (probably like every club to be fair). Ever since that win at rather shitty Derby, promotion was on according to the masses but they seemed to forgot this is Leicester City FC. I have never known them to have any bottle or the ability to go on a winning run which breaks records.

The lack of bottle was more than evident as Norwich outclassed us at hum. At the time, I was rather annoyed by Norwich but maybe that's because off the back of the performance at QPR, I reckoned that we would be sorted, back to winning ways. Instead Norwich produced a performance lauded by Canary fans as their greatest away display in years and I'd probably say the best team down here all season. Too good, we're aiming for top six, them the top two.

Whilst enjoying the day at Scunthorpe and the warm glow of three points (something I have only managed twice this season), I look back on it as an annoying de-tour to failure of my hopes for the playoffs. We scored three times and kept a clean sheet which was great. Issue was that those three goals came from set pieces and Scunthorpe had a penalty and a goal disallowed. It prolonged the hope. I went home, got out the calculator and probably produced better maths skills than I ever did at school. It's still on said calculator in 'if club x beat club z and club y have a negative goal difference due to a 6-0 hammering by the hands of Leicester City' fashion.

But then came the realisation, 30 minutes in on Saturday. 1-0 down to Portsmouth, I just knew. I sat there lifeless for about a minute. I thought no it's not going to happen. I looked at Portsmouth's eleven and thought they should be a lot higher up the league. Then King missed a sitter of a header. No, definitely not and the second half was just some mish mash of a football game where I never thought we were going to win. It was akin to monging out watching shit BBC3 comedy. Draw maybe but never two goals, they had us sussed. Pressure the back four into long balls, leave Yak on his own and watch the late run of Welsh Cryuff. All this feeling was later confirmed by every result going for us, the sort of luck which only happens when you failed to make the most of it.

Personally I just reckon my Dad has just gone through the same thought process I have. It's not going to happen promotion, not even worth hoping (he has an incredible knack of hiding emotion related to football, I have only seen it showcased in last minute winners). All this thing about losing his faith with Football is just some disguise to hide the disappointment. He's just the same as all of us. Just like that nobhead three rows behind is too but he chooses to do it more vocally. Just the same as Flask Army and just the same as the twatty fifteen year old kids in yellow shirts at Glanford Park.

Whereas my Dad has cut the supply for hope off, I spent an evening this week playing around a spreadsheet working out required points etc. and then decided that a first visit to Middlesbrough in some twisted football logic is probably worth it (plus I have watched win twice along that coast of the country).

The same twisted logic which sees me visit Valley Parade over watching England play Wales.

Kicked in the R's

Queens Park Rangers 1:0 Leicester City (Miller)

Leccy Board Championship : 05/03/2011

Loftus Road, London (Ground No: Already achieved)

It's a cruel game this sport. As per the cliche, I suffered both flipsides of it's cruelty in the space of 24 hours. 12.30pm on Sunday afternoon, I walked off a pitch having captained my Sunday morning team to a 8-0 loss. No excuses, we lost to a better side. No point in finger pointing, everyone of us was poor and there was no point in arguing with each other. After a mini-unbeaten run of four games where we claimed a 7-0 win and upset some title chasers with a 4-4 draw, the grit of previous weeks fell apart as we just gave up effectively as the goals rolled past us.

Then there's the other flip side of that cruelty. 86 minutes into Saturday's game taking place at Loftus Road, everyone in the stadium was probably content with a draw. A competitive, entertaining spectacle had been played out where neither side deserved to lose but one team did, Leicester as always with that familiar feeling of pride before result as Ismael Miller slotted past Ricardo into the net with just a minute of normal time remaining. The ground erupted and that horrid feeling developed as an away fan surrounded by three stands exploding into delight, you want a little hole to emerge in the ground swallowing you up.

They'd taken a huge step towards promotion, every other team lost around them. Every team around us won including two old-boys bagging for their current clubs claiming impressive victories. I wanted to be more bitter, someone to blame. I was trying to find some reasoning to be so gutted. No dodgy referring decision, no player to scapegoat ala Yann. QPR took their best chance, we didn't. Simple.

So what's the best remedy to that feeling? Placing the result in context. Driving back from a 6-1 hammering to Portsmouth in October, I began to ask question my support and why do you enjoy following your team. Well I didn't see the whole occasion of Saturday falling as it did and just proving the very reason you do follow your team. A three-game stumble including this result sees us just five points away from 6th, we were bottom with five points from nine games. Neil Warnock marked us as their hardest opposition all season and it appeared all 3,200 in the away end agreed too. We were going to give them a game regardless of our performance against Coventry and so, we did.

Now, English football has it's critics whether it's pointed at the 100mph footballing style or the whole atmosphere created by it's support. If I was to raise a defence to such a critic, this whole day and game would fit perfectly. A sell-out crowd at a tight Loftus Road which is close to the pitch, surrounded by flats three sides of the way around and just a ten minute walk from Shepherd's Bush, a hive of activity which is sadly lacking from the outer city, new build's across the country. Take it in, this is why us English get so protective of it.

This game scored highly in terms of a competitive bout; it's often remarked how brilliant a nine-goal thriller. Exciting, it maybe but where's the appreciation of organisation and defensive work as showcased throughout by Shittu, Mee & Bruma in this encounter? It's the defender in me talking that I prefer a good quality ding-dong regardless of scoreline. Both teams were organised, calculated on the ball and played with suitable aggression without ever boiling over. Proper football, not ping-pong. I was cheering like we'd scored a goal when Ben Mee went thundering into Adel Taarabt, man and ball...into the stands. You don't see them often nowadays, it was met by a large roar across the Leicester end. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZywHy3XQ1Hk KABOOM! Watch quick before Football League get their hands on it.

The man Taarabt fits the villain of a Championship game perfectly, he loves a flick or a trick, he's gifted, he's scored goals these past two seasons which completely leave you astounded but typically there's a sulky edge. Picked out now game after game for special treatment...it supposedly opens up the game for QPR to exploit, well I didn't really see that on Saturday as City perfectly dealt with him and his partner in crime, Routledge (until the 89th minute). Taarabt's performance was summed in a sign of a dissent kicking the ball into the crowd after being caught off side. He's supported to the tilt by the QPR fans, his cock-up's are even applauded but surely it's frustrating.

There's a similar defence from QPR fans of Paddy Kenny, whose an equally superb performer on his day making fine saves from Yakubu's clever volleyed lob and Andy King's header towards the end. Ever since an incident with a diet pill and his missus running off with a friend of his, he's been a target for abuse (god knows why) but this season, he's on his own personal mission to prove everyone whose written him off that they are wrong. It's easy to criticise his explosive delight during the goal and final whistle, he looked straight at the away end and gave it both barrels. You'd like to think he'd be educated enough to recognise that he's proven nothing yet thawing Leicester City, that's next season when Arsenal attempt 675 shots on his goal at Emirates.

Ricardo, another topic of constant debate from us Leicester folk, was in equally good nick saving well from Helguson's low drive in the first half and bar the odd misunderstanding had his best Leicester game to date. Similar line followed in the performance of Mee and Bruma. Mee looked comfortable at left-back, nullifying the QPR wingers and Bruma with his Kisnorbo-esque mannerisms grew as the game wore on.

The best two Leicester chances fell to crowd favourite, Waghorn who came on in the second half for a poor and to me, clearly unfit Vassell. He twice bullied Connolly into mistakes off long balls and twice gave the Leicester fans something to worry about with wayward efforts placed towards Row C, Upper tier of the School End. All this was building up though, City had the flow of the game as time ticked down the ball was towards the QPR goal. A goalmouth scramble later when a nice bounce would have seen Waghorn with a tap-in, Routledge produced a through ball of pure quality beating Naughton to the ball initially and splitting the two Leicester centre-backs. Miller did the rest despite Bambi's best efforts.

So the Loft lost it's roof, QPR's lead was expanded to seven points and a difficult obstacle passed whilst we are picking up the pieces of a play-off bid. We shuffled off back to the Bush, trying to ignore those top of the league chants. It wasn't until about a hour after the final whistle, when I visited a bar off Goldhawk Road with a couple of old schoolmates and overheard a QPR fan at the bar commented on the battle they'd just had, that I began placing it in context and started chinwagging away rather than adopting a gutted silence. Forgot it I thought, don't let five minutes spoil a good day...normally with Leicester, it's the entire ninety minutes which do that.