Bradford City trip to Fleetwood Town enjoyable in own way
It’s a privilege to have a free seat on the halfway line, knowing many Bradford[1] City and Bradford Bulls supporters are relying on me to cover their team and report back on the action. When people ask what I always wanted to do, it is genuinely this, at least from the age of about six when I realised I did not quite have the footballing ability to replicate my hero Alan Shearer. I always wanted to be involved in sport, football in particular, so if I can’t play it, beyond five-a-side level anyway, then this is the next best thing.
But a weekend reporting on Bradford City, as I had last Saturday at Fleetwood Town, is not quite the glamorous 24 hours or so you might think, even if, to a large extent, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. For starters, this was my biggest challenge yet as a driver, having only passed my test two months prior. But after my SMASHING time on the train down to Nottingham and Meadow Lane last November[2], I was glad to be in control of my own travel destiny on this occasion.
Everyone has been asking for ages whether I’d tackled a motorway, making out they were akin to driving on a narrow road halfway up a mountain. But I loved it, the hardest part genuinely being having to navigate my way out of Leeds, before a journey to Fleetwood that takes place almost exclusively on the M621, the M62 and the M55. Pulling up into spaces is not yet my forte, see the Nissan Qashqai I bumped into pulling into the forecourt at Evans Halshaw Sunderland on the test drive of my little Corsa, but I got incredibly lucky in that street parking around Highbury Stadium is excellent.
After being told by three different groups of people I was trying to enter the ground in the wrong place (something I’ve still never mastered since I started here in 2018), I finally got in around 1:45. Aside from the street parking, another huge bonus was the rarity of fast-working WiFi in the press box, but there was less luck for the bloke next to me, whose whole radio broadcast was kiboshed by technical problems. Graham Alexander did not exactly help me out with his team selection, as I tried to explain how City would line up without having much of a clue myself[3].
The Remembrance service pre kick-off was beautifully observed on the pitch and in the stands, though a video of Fleetwood goals with Eminem as a backing track while veterans formed a guard of honour by the tunnel was somewhat jarring. As for the game, yes of course there is an element of neutrality as a reporter, but ultimately you’re living the game too and are desperate to see the team you’re covering win. On that front it was a hugely disappointing day and perhaps it was not my finest hour reporting in full on the less-than-friendly chants from City’s fans towards Kian Harratt, so I’ll hold my hands up there, but in my defence, the game was VERY boring at the time.
Games at this time of the year are also a pain at full-time, because your hands are starting to lose all feeling from the cold, so you’re praying the manager and player come to do their interview with you in decent time. Luckily Graham Alexander and Sam Walker were relatively prompt[4], but I had to scoot on out of there around 6:30pm, when a club official, keen to get home, told us to clear off. And having been locked in at both Odsal and the Keepmoat Stadium over the past 18 months, I wasn’t about to take that risk again.
Doncaster away in August with Bulls, great result, rubbish trying to leave the place. (Image: Tom Pearson.) That meant a wander back to the car, to sit in the dark and spend another hour writing post-match content up before driving home, typically my laptop dying just before I sent my last piece. The drive home in the dark was okay, except the alarming moment my sat nav died in the middle of the motorway and I had to try to fix it without taking my eyes off the road.
Oh, and the fact I’d tried to fill my petrol up perfectly to fulfil the expenses criteria for my trip, meaning I was running worryingly low for the final half-hour of the journey back. It was a late finish too, and after one curry house back home told me they were closed at 9:45 (they were supposed to be open until 11 by the way), I finally grabbed a lamb dopiaza from elsewhere at 10:30. The rest of the night and the next morning my body made sure to inform me that was not the wisest meal choice in the circumstances.
I also still had two or three hours of work to do on Sunday morning[5], before finally getting out for a run at 12:30pm. Again, the previous night’s curry had something to say about that. Exhausted, I watched the first half of Newcastle at Nottingham Forest in bed (rubbish), the second at the pub (brilliant), the perfect way to toast a job (well?) done.
Same again later this season?
You bet, but not sure I have much choice anyway!
References
- ^ Bradford (www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk)
- ^ But after my SMASHING time on the train down to Nottingham and Meadow Lane last November (www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk)
- ^ as I tried to explain how City would line up without having much of a clue myself (www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk)
- ^ Luckily Graham Alexander and Sam Walker were relatively prompt (www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk)
- ^ I also still had two or three hours of work to do on Sunday morning (www.thetelegraphandargus.co.uk)