WEDNESFIELD FC, MY ONLY VISIT IN 2011-12: A LIGHTHEARTED ACCOUNT...

Following the splendid news of Wednesfield FC's confirmed promotion to the West Midlands Premier League for the 2017-18 season, I looked back through my unpublished articles to find a lighthearted account of my only visit so far to watch Wednesfield play at home, a game they lost 2-3 to Haughmond in 2011-12...

The humour therein is just that, simple humour but in the light of the club's recent success and the current fine state of the ground, I hope that a smile or two will be raised by my account of my visit some years back... 

The three images directly below were Tweeted to me by the club's Twitter operator which I thank him for...

Good luck to Wednesfield for the coming season...

Malfunctions In Wednesfield…  

Reaching Wednesfield in midweek from Solihull proved not to be the easiest of journeys, although I did pass a fish and chip shop called ‘The Codfather’. I liked that… 

I had driven the M5 and the A4123, rather than losing my temper along the busier M6 but roadworks slowed my progress anyway and I was relieved eventually to spot the bent, once red railings of the Wednesfield F.C. entrance gates to my left. 

REMINDED ME OF TRYING TO DECIPHER EGYPTIAN HIEROGLYPHICS...

I was greeted in my car by an attendant, I paid my fee with difficulty, having to delve deep into my jeans for coins and then I asked him for a programme, which sported rather a strange glossy cover. Touching it was rather like dragging my nails down a school classroom’s blackboard in the 1970s and my whole body seized up and that was not because I was in Wednesfield…  

SOMEONE DEPOSITED A STOOL ON THE GROUND...

I drove alongside the dull, red shed of a grandstand but the tiny parking area near the clubhouse, changing rooms, tea-bar, skip and piles of general garbage looked more like a corral for wayward sheep in truth and I was forced to turn and leave my car alongside a touchline, behind a rail. I could have watched the game from the driver’s seat but of course I wanted to experience the real thing… 

SIDE-ON IT REMINDED ME OF A CLOSED HELMET FROM A SUIT OF ARMOUR... 

I bought a cup of tea from two women, the younger looking like a clone of the older and enquired why the original date for the game against Shawbury had been waived. I expected them to tell me of involvement in some cup-tie or other but I was informed that the pitch hadn’t been ready “…loike…” I am certain I tasted sterilised milk in the tea, something which reminded me of my childhood and I am sure that a number of blades of grass died as I poured the remnants of the dangerous liquid from my cup.

PLEASANT OUTLOOK...

There was a skip full of refuse and debris near the refreshments hatch and the courtyard seemed like a deposit for trash of various kinds. A bonfire’s remains littered wasteland behind one goal-frame and dark clouds threatened this interesting and cluttered venue. 

AN ARCHAEOLOGICAL DIG...

I asked about getting a copy of the two teams and stepped into a V.I.P. lounge which was actually the right-hand side of the refreshments hut, fronting the changing area. A burly chap looked at me helplessly, shrugging, “O’r manager has ‘em in ‘is pockit…” Fine, thanks then.

CONFUSING...

I took pictures of the really unique and fascinating scene but those black clouds glared, daring me to stand out in the open during the game. A random whistle then beckoned me back to the lounge and like Rex the Collie, I sniffed out the rather robust chap I’d spoken to earlier and because my reading specs were in my car, he proceeded to read out the players’ names to me. He was unable to explain why the visitors had a guy on the bench called ‘David Well Be Off’. It turned out to be David Walbyoff. However, I was grateful for the information.

GREAT SKY THOUGH...

A sign at the end of the facing clubhouse wall pointed vaguely towards the lounge/changing rooms/refreshments window, maybe even a gap between the two buildings and indicated where the toilets were situated. I investigated all those possibilities and was eventually told that the facilities were actually inside the clubhouse. Helpful that… 

There were youngsters in the grandstand, who were later joined by some local girls, making for a slightly less than romantic setting for courting. I stood behind a rail along the touchline near my car but was forced by those evil clouds to make two or three rushes for cover, as heavy showers poured down. I leaned too hard on the rail at one point and an iron pole collapsed. 

THE DUGOUTS...

I had already grazed my shin on the underside of a wooden advertising hoarding whilst poking an errant ball beneath it to a player and when I sheltered during the final lashing of rain, I unwittingly stood beneath a rectangular hole in the roof and those clouds successfully dampened me at last. 

Two men had balanced a couple of drinks cans on the shelf of the grandstand’s frontage to catch a persistent leak from the ageing roof and I still have no idea why, for the water still splashed the fellows anyway.

The youngsters then began to berate the referee, as Wednesfield began to falter and one lad remarked about his own goalie, 

“He’s got it in his locker but he’s lost the key…” Then he, plus the others, guffawed with laughter. I don’t know why. So he repeated it several times. And they all laughed. Several times. 

When Shawbury netted a surprising late winner though to claim an unlikely 3-2 victory, the lad described the referee thus: “Ref, you’re a dysfunctional knob…” 

I liked that.

The Wednesfield skipper was a brick shithouse in boots, one of the strikers was an out of condition heavyweight boxer and one of the coaches bounced about like a giant space-hopper. Shawbury weathered the storm however, the youths took mobile-phone pictures of each other and the dysfunctional knob blew the final whistle. 

Me? I drove home. 

It’s what I do.