FIRST VISIT TO LONG BUCKBY AFC IN 2009-10: A 2-0 WIN v COGENHOE...

Waffling and Raffling In Baffling Long Buckby (A Lighthearted View...)

Surrounded by rugby and other soccer pitches, Long Buckby’s football ground nestled behind a derelict, not-so-grandstand, at the far end of a concrete path, which passed the long, rear gardens of a row of private houses. 

HMM...

The entrance to the ground housed a table, which blocked a gap between the end of the club’s grandstand and a breeze block hut, in which the money collector huddled. The table offered wares: programmes in black and white, plus raffle tickets in yellow, both sold by a tall, follicly challenged chap, sporting an upper limb injury. The toilets and refreshment room were outside the confines of the playing area, resulting in the movement of spectators in and out of the ground, like the incessant passing to and fro of worker ants through a narrow gap between lumps of garden rockery.

LIKE THE ENTRANCE TO AN EGYPTIAN TOMB...

The programme seller suggested that my son and I bought raffle tickets, something I rarely do but Jamie sanctioned the “Why not buy one?” sales pitch, so we forked out a pound apiece and I stuffed the strips into my pocket without a second thought. Once we had paid entrance, programme and raffle fees, we simply walked away again with no proof of payment at all. The fellow who warmed the sausage rolls, not with his breath or warm hands I supposed, could have been the cook on a coastal collier from the 1950s but he was to turn his hand to a really important job later: attaching rope across a gangway and lowering a wooden hand barrier to protect the players’ entrances and exits to and from the pitch.

NICE RAILS...

The ball-boy had already entered the field of play with a bag of balls slung over his back, seemingly dwarfing him and when he tripped, he disappeared underneath, rather like ‘The Prisoner’ was devoured in the classic TV series by the infamous wobbling bubble. 

WHAT WAS MORE IMPORTANT TO JAMIE?

Jamie proceeded to knock some of my tea onto my plastic, backless seat, thus soaking the left buttock area of my track trousers, thus aggravating a need to walk in the sunshine and dry the offending area. At least when I fielded a ball from beneath the trees, the warming-up goalkeeper didn’t yell “Bastard…” at me, as had happened at Coalville on the previous Tuesday evening. The ‘keeper had missed a shot and was cursing, just as I retrieved another ball for him, so I responded, “Thanks a lot. I was only fetching the ball for you…” He was suitably embarrassed but then grinned after a moment’s hesitation to take in my sardonic retort.

ACROSS THE BACKLESS SEATS...

The delinquent midfielder Quigley ravaged the Cogenhoe midfield like a tearaway playing ‘British Bulldog’ on a school playground. His pole-axed frame led to accusations, pointing and general hate between the two sets of coaches and visiting striker Taylor failed to gain a point or three with awry finishing but at half-time, the raffle winner was announced. It had to be me. It was. I was told to go the refreshment room, I walked to the front of the queue, enquired about my prize and the rather scary cook asked if I was the winner. “Er, yes…” I could have been Mrs Onion the grocer for all he knew but he handed me a bottle of wine anyway. I expected Jamie to knock that over too. He failed. The Bucks won 2-0, Jamie admitted to enjoyment and another non-league ground had been ticked off. 

PLAYGROUND SCRAP...

Gods, was this ‘Groundhopper and Son’?