July 25th: Shrewsbury Town v Leicester City (Friendly)
It's a sunny Saturday morning at 10.22, and the train to Birmingham has just left South Wigston station. I've had a good breakfast, I'm wide awake, I've got my flag with me. Nothing can ruin this mood I'm in.
Except some bastards talking loudly on a train. In high voices. In a foreign language.
At Hinckley, some more twats get on. I ignore them and turn my attention to the playlist I arranged on my iPod last night. I can still hear them, I need to turn it up. That's better. Until five minutes later, when the first group of bastards suddenly starts talking much louder. I picture throwing them out of a moving train, and have a little private chuckle as I select an appropriate door.
There are also other City fans further up the train, but they're not people I socialise with so I'm not going to start now.
At Nuneaton, a load of people in black and white striped shirts get off - obviously football fans. I catch sight of a badge as one walks past and ascertain that they're Corby Town fans. Corby's a shithole.
Some time after 11, we arrive in Birmingham, and I make the decision to take the next train to Shrewsbury. I arrive on the platform and see Bernie squinting at the screen. As I stand there in my Leicester City shirt and with a Leicester City flag draped over me, he takes his eyes off the screen to ask "Are we on the right platform?" No, Bernie, we're not. Even though the screen I've just seen you stare at for the last forty seconds lists, quite clearly, 'SHREWSBURY' among the related train's stops, even though I'm standing here looking like the LCFC club shop has vomited on me, even though there are another six Leicester fans standing on the same platform, I suspect we've got this one wrong.
[Mad as a bag of snakes that bloke, but I'd not change anything about him. Except maybe by giving him some deodorant. Carry on Bernie.]
I sit at one of the tables on the train and moments later, a woman sits down with her two kids. We start with polite chat, during which I find out she's going on holiday to Rhyl (I've never understood this phenomenon). I explain that I'm on my way to the game. Then she asks "Who do you support?" Good question. After some more polite chat, she happens to mention that her nephew plays for West Brom. Seeing the look on my face, she clarifies: her nephew is Luke Moore. I take it that means she's ex-Leicester loanee Stefan Moore's auntie too. About 50 minutes after getting on the train, we hear that it's approaching Shrewsbury station.
"Time to get off Bernie."
"Is this it?"
"Yes Bernie."
"Is this Shrewsbury?"
"Yes it is Bernie."
As I come out of the station, a young bloke with a Shrewsbury Town t-shirt comes out at the same time. This seems inconsequential. I make my way to the bus station, armed with a scribbled list of buses which go past the stadium. As I wander around, another young lad in a replica shirt starts to talk to me. He seems harmless enough, and he also seems to be the only member of his group of about six who supports Shrewsbury. He chats away about the Shrews' ins and outs of the summer (including the most recent one - the sale yesterday of Grant Holt to Norwich). He also gives me helpful information about the buses.
Shortly after 1 o'clock, I run into him again. We end up getting the same bus, and we pass Bernie (walking) along the way and after we alight he points me in the direction of the stadium. So I walk in that direction and eventually find New Meadow (I'm not using that other name).
[Incidentally, the claim that the 25 stops near the stadium is slightly stretching the truth. Only slightly, but still...]
I arrive at the ground at the same time Matty Fryatt turns up. Not being 'one of those' fans, I just give him a thumbs up and carry on towards the club shop. Inside, I grab myself an STFC badge (new obsession number 1) and an STFC mug (new obsession number 2) for under a tenner. Bargain.
Being one of the first people in the stadium makes you feel like a sad fucker. Never mind. I have time to eat the chicken sandwiches I made before I left the house this morning, and take in the view. And what a view this is. I reckon New Meadow is near the top of the list here. From where I sit, the view of the pitch is superb; in the distance, impressive countryside. Some of it's Wales though. In the hour and a half before kick-off, I locate several regulars and converse to pass the time. Among these is Bob, who has travelled up from his home in Kent. This is his first pre-season game this year after his holiday in Ireland. As usual, Bob is in shorts (this is the same Bob mentioned here, someone I enjoy talking to because of his breadth and depth of knowledge - most of which is pointless but still in some way interesting).
I end up sitting with Paul and Janice during the game, which is always good because I get stories from his other football trips (seriously, this bloke goes to the most obscure games purely because they're happening. That sounds like a marvellous way to live).
In the first quarter of an hour, it's obvious that City's players have spent a lot of time with each other. In the 12th minute, Jack Hobbs heads a Nicky Adams corner through the defence and into the net. Six minutes later, Lloyd Dyer chips the keeper for a second after a ball from Adams. Ten minutes after that, Adams plays another good ball to Dyer, who crosses for N'Guessan to fire a third. Only nine minutes afterwards, a long throw from Robbie Neilson (apparently his trademark) leads to Dyer smashing a fourth. Half time, 4-0.
The second half isn't so one-sided, and the most interesting thing on the pitch is an incident between Michael Morrison and a familiar-looking Shrewsbury player. Town's Andre Gray challenges Morrison in a way the City defender doesn't appreciate, and earns a football-style shove (and now I know why he looks familiar - he's the kid who walked past me at the station). Off the pitch, City's fans are getting in piss take mode for the new season. I hope that girl doesn't break down and cry on the way home.
I end up walking and talking with Bob back towards the town centre. The rain starts shortly after we start walking, and it's that pleasant-but-not-really type of rain you get when it's also quite warm. After about 40 minutes, we reach a bus stop. We're now soaking wet. Standing here are a young girl and a woman I'll assume to be her grandmother. Not because she's especially old, but because the girl is young - perhaps 15 or 16. We decide that a bus is the only way we'll get to the station before the 1747 train leaves. As we stand there, we make idle conversation. They've just come back from the cinema, having seen the new Harry Potter film. Bob asks if the buses are exact fare only. The grandmother replies "No, we rather enjoyed it." Somehow, the following seconds are the funniest moment of my day, with Bob looking at me with an amused yet slightly bewildered expression on his face, the young girl wearing an embarrassed but also somewhat tickled look on hers, and me biting my lip trying not to laugh at the absurdity of the answer. For some reason, I now want to laugh more than I've ever laughed in my life, but think it might be considered impolite.
We reach the New Street train just before it's due to leave the station. We find ourselves a couple of seats, and a few moments later a familiar face appears. It's Andre Gray again. Some of the City fans talk to him as he walks past, someone mentions the clash with Morrison, but it's all very friendly, and he walks on down the train grinning. Bob disappears to the toilet and I start to talk to Kirsty, who sits opposite. She's on her way home to Telford. I suppose someone has to live there.
At Telford, the train is held up. "We're just waiting for a gentleman to get off the train" says the announcement. A non-payer then. It's not a big deal though, the train arrives at New Street more or less on time. Bob can catch his train to London, and I can wander off upstairs and bugger about for a bit before the 1922 to Leicester. Soon, I find a couple of Wolves fans. They've just come back from a 2-0 defeat at Bristol City, and they think the side is a couple of players short for the new Premier League season. Never mind.
Down to the train then, and I find myself sitting with Amy, who's from Chorley. She's on her way to Leicester, because she's going on holiday. Sounds like a good holiday that. Actually, her holiday's not in Leicester, she's just flying from East Midlands. As it turns out, Amy's my sort of person. She reads, she can have a more or less intelligent conversation, she's polite, she's the sort of person you'd want living next door. As such, the next hour is more than bearable, but I won't bore you with details of the conversation. I get home just after 8.30 and have plenty of time to reflect on a genuinely enjoyable day. I could do this every week.
Final score: Shrewsbury 0 Leicester 4
Time: 10 hours 40 minutes
Ticket: £15
Train: £18
Total: £33
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