Usually bank holiday weekend awaydays are one to look forward to. So, when the fixtures came out and we got a trip to picturesque Buxton on the Saturday, I was absolutely buzzing. Of course, with it being a bank holiday as well as payday the bus sold pretty well for the trip south to support Graham and the lads.
Despite being buzzing for the trip myself, I made possibly the unwise decision to head out to the Comrades on the Friday night with Humey and Soulsby to test out the Madri they’d just had installed on tap. Thankfully none of us were tempted to stop out late and all got home for midnight but, I’d possibly sampled a few to many pints myself and went straight to kip without sorting any of my shite for the morning.
After waking up later than planned I ended up running round like Usain Bolt on speed trying to get me shit ready before Humey came to pick is up, and just about managed it as he rocked up in the car. Sadly though, Humey subjected me to some Eminem on the journey down to the Commissioners. I’ve no idea what I’d done to have my ears subjected to that shite and I’ll have no one even attempt to defend Eminem – absolute shite.
Once we’d picked up Soulsby (who was almost late, shock) we arrived at the Commissioners to be told the buffet breakfast was off as it was creating ‘too much waste’ according to one of the bar staff. So, I paid the tenner for the ‘Full English’ to be given something that must have been off the kid’s menu.
Safe to say we’ll be sacking the Commissioners from now on. If anyone can recommend a pub that is open early for breakfast and serves pints, hit is up.
Thankfully Malc arrived just a few minutes later before they tried to gouge anymore money out of us. After we packed up our shite onto the bus (with Jak refraining from volleying the speaking for a change) we set off to pick up the Delaval lads, but not before giving Malc his present.
Naively, I’d anticipated the journey down to be a quick and easy one (wey it was until we went through the Peak District) so I’d set Soulsby away with his new score predictor… which to say took him a while to go round everybody with would be the understatement of the fucking century. In the time it took him to sort it his hairline receded a further 3 inches, Parker gave us a full rendition of Sam Fender’s latest album (twice) and Hendy managed to get bombed off by Princess again.
Unlike the bastard of a trip to Kings Lynn this one wasn’t going down too bad. Flew down to Junction 37 just outside of Barnsley to pick Kev Walker up and started the climb up the Peak District and it’s delightful single lane roads, which ended up adding an extra half an hour onto the journey. Most of us were clamming for a proper pint by this point but for some, the journey way already too much.
Once we finally landed in Buxton we ended up parking straight up at the ground because admittedly… I might have forgotten to give Malc the address details for Wetherspoons which was actually only around the corner, just a shame said corner was a more or less down a mountain. We stopped off there for a few cheap Corona’s, watched Pieface drop the bandits (all 3 of them the lucky twat) then hiked back up the mountain to ground. To save a few quid I’d risked it and bought a 16-21 year old ticket and somehow it worked! Mind they didn’t even scan it or even look at it, so next time I might try an under 10’s ticket so save even more beer money.
Buxton’s ground was much improved from the last time I’d been (2015) with a brand new plastic pitch that they were watering for some reason. Didn’t bother with any of the bait as I’d filled up with shite at Spoons but they actually had a bait hut and weren’t serving hotdogs in burger buns so they’re already miles ahead of Spartans. Bar was actually canny as well, mind they only had Carling and Staropramen on tap sadly. No pre match entertainment sadly but they did have some blonde lass going round selling the 50/50 draw tickets and she was a solid 12/10 so of course the lads happily bought a few off her.
As we walked behind the goal near the bar were Blyth were shooting towards in the first half just about all the Buxton fans stopped as well up behind the barriers and started chanting at us, mainly calling us “Thick Geordie/Mackem bastards” etc etc. Clearly geography isn’t a strong point with the Buxton lads.
Once they saw Hendy rock up behind the goal their attention turned to his fire hazard DHgate t-shirt with chants of “YOU’VE GOT A SNIDE BURBERRY” too which we all started pissing ourselves at and joined in.
As for the football, I’ll admit I was only half confident going into this one. On paper at least Buxton’s team was pretty solid with the likes of Sean Newton, Jason Gilchrist and Harry Bunn as well as them having home advantage on the plastic but once again I was wrong, as Spartans were flying early doors and looked the better team.
A few early injuries for Buxton killed the tempo of the game a little bit but as the half went on Spartans looked like the only team that were really going score and created some great chances but it just seemed like we were a bit sloppy in the final 3rd. Corey, Devs, Macca and JJ all had chances in the first half but obviously it was Buxton who took the lead. Apparently we had a good shout for a penalty in the first half but I was either too pissed to remember or was chewing someone’s lug off.
Thankfully in the second had no local whoppers to deal with, just Sellar. Mind they had no bogs or can bar on that side of the ground, so if you needed a piss you had to do a lap of the ground. I’d stocked up on a few cans of Carling (don’t judge is please, it was that or pale fucking ale) and headed round to watch Rhys ‘warm up’ by missing the target from 15 yards out with no fucker in goal.
As the second half started Parker had made some friends with some canny lads from Scouseland who were Everton fans. I was too pissed to remember why they were in Buxton but they were great craic. Sadly the same couldn’t be said for the game as Buxton started the 2nd half as the better team. Thankfully though Blyth slowly started to get a foothold in the game again, with a few half a chances and plenty of corners going fairly close.
It looked like we’d be leaving without any points until, Alex Nicholson popped up with this beauty.
Most of the lads would have taken a draw at this stage, but a few of us dafties had some pennies on the game and the momentum was flowing Blyth’s way as Jordan Hickey ran into the box and was taken down for then Pen. Then the main man Alex Nicholson stepped up and then.. pure ecstasy.
What a moment. Honestly, Graham Fenton, Alex Nicholson, Jordan Hickey.. I want to marry them all. Winning in that fashion is honestly one of the best feelings possible.
After stopping to thank the players we fooked off back to the bus high on life to crack open some more cans, sing some shite songs and drink some more cans. For the first few hours going home the bus was absolutely fucking bouncing.
Admittedly I don’t recall why Hendy had his top off like. Possibly Sam Fendor might have been hoyed on the Bluetooth for the 239749235045th time (nout wrong with that though) as we sang shite and chatted pissed up bollocks all the way home with one of the highlights of said trip home being Hendy losing his voice and turning into a demented barn owl. Unfortunately though young Uddgren began to tap out early.. giving Crammy a bad name in the process.
I’m not 1000% sure how we all got back to the Comrades that neet once the bus dropped us off but we managed it, just about. Even Hendy despite nearly leaving his Jaw on the bus. I don’t recall a word anyone said to each other in the Rades but I’m sure we had good few hours till closing. My overriding memory of the night would be Hendy chewing the Parker’s lug off.
Looking back, that easily goes in the ‘top awayday’ category for the last few years. Great day out with the lads, superb fight back from the players to bring home the 3 points. All it needed was a better breakfast. Roll on the next one! #HowayBlyth
