Apparently what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. If that is the case the merest slip of a bairn supporting SAFC must have the strength of Atlas. Just over 48 hours after the disappointment of the semi we were packed into Wetherspoons on Midsummer Boulevard. In our hearts it was still the frozen aching hurt but outside it was midsummer. Actually, it wasn’t it was bliddy freezing and throwing it down so why was it called “Midsummer”? And what exactly is a “Boulevard”? These were some of the questions that were not incessantly being asked by the visiting red and white army.
The Milton Keynes National Hockey Stadium is a weird place. Situated right next to the train station, it’s a bit like someone had put some temporary stands up at the Archibald Stadium in Durham. One of them is canny but the two behind the goals are roofless as is the fourth stand, which extends about as far down the pitch as the stand at the Archibald but is git tall. The amazing travelling army of 2,500 (more than half the total crowd) were behind the goal we attached in the first half. For some reason the ones in the front section of the middle sat all match. Fortunately we were with a wiser group who stood all game, which at least helped us keep something like warm (the something being a notch above deep freeze) – at least it didn’t rain. But please forgive me gentle reader, you don’t want a weather report you want to know about the pie. Wait a moment longer – all good things come to those who wait (well sometimes they get spilled in wild frenzied celebrations, but, no, I’ve said too much).
Much of the conversation was about our cup exit (how could we get beaten at home by Huddersfield for crying out loud) but a lot of the rest was about what the team would be. Clearly some players needed resting but we really, really needed three points. I was almost as nervous as I had been on Sunday – a win and we’d feel we could get over the disappointment and really make a push for promotion; a defeat and we might suffer an appalling hangover; a draw and we’d get a mildly unsettling feeling which is very familiar but for which there doesn’t seem to be a word. Anyhoo, the team conversation was brought to an end by the miracle of Black Cats Text to my phone. Poom in goal (a sensible choice), Old Dazza at RB (Wright had struggled through injury to make the semi so no surprise), Ringo at LB, Bjork and Breen in CB (I’d thought Cooper would play but apparently he has been recalled to Boro), Piper starting for the first time in ages at RW, Thirwell and Robinson in CM, Arca at LW, Kyle and Stew up front. The surprise for me was that Byefiedl wasn’t starting but he was on the bench (to come off later and score the non-pie related goal). Oster wasn’t even on the bench – exhaustion? Hope not injury.
The game had a surreal feel to it. I think it would have in any case but it was made stark by the fact that two days earlier we’d all been in OT. Sound went straight up into the air so it all felt like a reserve game. You’d struggle to say it was enjoyable but we were at least pushing from the start. Piper in particular was looking very interesting. After about 10 minutes, he got clattered and the trainer came on. We were just wishing Piper good luck and hope to see him in January when he got up and resumed play. Good lord, the new non-breakable Piper. I like it. Kyle was looking dangerous and Stewart was looking anonymous. We really should have got at least one but possibly the nearest we came was when their giant goalie went to catch the ball and somehow threw it backwards just past the post. We were just thinking “ah well, level at the interval – let’s pick it up in the second” when a ball came over from the right and Stew got a head to it to nod in what eneded up looking an easy goal (but so often Stew does that – particularly when you’re just thinking he hasn’t done much). The sheer joy of this prompted one lad who must have just got back from the huge pie queue to run onto the pitch to celebrate with the lads. Unfortunately his joy not only knew no bounds, it also rendered him temporarily incapable of holding on to hot pastry and his pie ended up on the floor in a dangerous position in the penalty box. There wasn’t enough time left for us to take advantage of the meat gravy sodden turf (an accurate Julio ball in could easily have skidded off it and into the back of the net).
So at half time we took the traditional SAFC supporters’ route of splitting into factions: those who thought the pie was a standard meat one; and those who thought it was a Balti. Certainly the pastry casing was made of strong stuff as it had held most of the contents inside making a definite conclusion hard to reach. There was a small third faction who asserted that the rest of us could defy reality if we wished but they knew for a certain fact that Bob Murray had knocked the pie out of the supporter’s hands.
Anyway you’ll be pleased to know the lad got back into the stand unmolested and the pie-removing machinery did its job as we defended the end that we were all sat/stood at. This allowed us to see (or maybe imagine) that Breen and Bjork don’t seem to have a lot of confidence in each other. We were pushing for a second but Wimbledon were always looking lively – perhaps having so many young lads just gave them that bit more speed, energy and stamina. We seemed to miss what from the opposite end looked like a couple of sitters and then Wimbledon came worryingly close. You can either let that be a lesson or decide to give them another chance. We chose the latter course – Wimbledon’s first shot on target all game inevitably ending up as a goal. Bugger!
Byefield then came on for Stew – I personally would have been tempted to keep Stew on as we really wanted the winner and three strikers seemed the best option. As so often I was wrong, the ball came in from the left and Byefield stabbed it home. He is really building up a good goal scoring record this lad. He ran the length of the pitch with a huge beam on his face to celebrate first with Mick Mac and then with us. We jumped up and down and said “hurray” and “does anyone know any good Darren Byefield songs?” As the answer to that question was “no” we sang “there’s only one Darren Byefield”.
Our nerves calmed a bit after that even if legs were looking a little tired. Towards the end a very tired looking Piper went off (I hadn’t thought he’d manage more than 60 minutes so this was encouraging) and Thornton came on too late to make much of an impact (other than get in a tangle and almost let them through).
Look, this wasn’t five star entertainment and the location and temperature didn’t help but we got what we needed, so three cheers for that. We now have two games coming up quickly that will be much harder but who knows – we may yet be in the Premier next season. I still find that prospect mind-boggling.