You're So... We're So...

This is dedicated to Woody (my son Daniel). A dad always dreams of a son who comes to football with him and Woody has done so.

That's the way God planned it: That's the way God planned it Toby.

Billy Preston 1969

The End and the Beginning

Thank you to all those who have stood (and I emphasise the word 'stood') on the Glebe Road side of the Posh ground over the past few years. Next season we will have to sit down and watch United if we want to stay on the Glebe Road side. Time has marched on and a stand is to be built on our beloved concrete. No more stamping feet to keep warm. No more wandering about. No more dandelions.

It is very self-indulgent, I know, but I I would particularly like to thank Woody, Les, Trevor, Stewart, Colin, Geoff 'the Pieman', Steve, Jack, 'Eastern Gas', David, Derek, Angus, Phil Walden, Vern and the gang for their friendship, jokes and extra strong mints. But, most of all, I would like to recognise all those people that we all nod to, or say 'hello' to - the sort of folk whose names we never get to find out, the people who just go down in folklore as 'the Man Behind Me', 'the Fan Club' or 'the man with the Dodgy Glasses', people who, if we were to meet on the sea front at Great Yarmouth in high summer, we would greet like long-lost friends.

These 36,623 words are a personal diary of a year in the life of supporting a football club, MY football club. This is not intended to be authoritative or comprehensive. There are hundreds of others who have their own point of view or could describe away games and thankless journeys better far better than me.

The title refers to a pretty ordinary, or even wretched, season for the Posh. The management might claim that we have had a season of 'transition'. As the cliché goes, 'That's as maybe'. There have been games when the familiar old terrace chant of 'You're so shit it's unbelievable' could easily have been replaced by 'We're so shit it's unbelievable'. Don't you agree?

Still, there's always 1995/96.

Come On You Blues!

Toby Wood July 1995

Saturday 23rd April 1994 St George's Day

The connection between Swindon, Dundee and my own beloved Peterborough United is that we were all relegated on the same day, Saturday 23rd April 1994, St George's Day, two full weeks before the end of the 1994/95 Football League season.

Posh's cause had appeared hopeless for ages. Despite glimmers of hope including early optimistic home form beating Barnsley 4-1, defeating Oxford away 2-1, and a home draw with Crystal Palace it was clear that our slippery fingers would not be able to hold on to First Division status. Indeed Dominic Iorfa's wonderful winning goal at Oxford had been, for me, the only real highlight of the season; the 30 yard shot had left his foot like a remote controlled speedboat buzzing and winding towards its target on a Sunday morning boating lake. The away game at Charlton this afternoon would undoubtedly be the beginning of the last rites of our two season stay in the First Division. I decided not to go to to attend the wake. I had enjoyed the home matches standing on the Glebe Road side of Posh's neat and comparatively well-maintained London Road ground. Going to the game on a Saturday with the lads had been part of the weekend ritual of forgetting about work or paying the bills.

I settled down in the front room with my little personal radio tinkling Radio 5 into my one good ear whilst fiddling with the remote control of the television. At precisely 3 o'clock I flicked over to BBC2, just in time to see the start of 'Zulu', the intrepid, if slightly dated, tale of how a rump outfit of the British Army had held out against the Zulus at Rorke's Drift in 1879. I remember my father taking me to see the film when it had first been released in the 1960s. Stanley Baker (all hard face and determination), other British repertory regulars and 'introducing Michael Caine' were all there in smart red uniforms facing inevitable defeat. This was just like Posh at 'The Valley', attempting to stave off the ever-increasing probability of relegation.

Battles in our own previous campaigns came to mind; scoring 52 goals in the 1960/61 season, our first in the Football League; beating Arsenal 2-1 in the F.A. Cup in 1965 and, more recently, the defeat of Souness' 1-0 in the League Cup in December 1991, Garry Kimble scoring the winner in the nineteenth minute. Indeed, thanks to this one game, Peterborough United have a 100% record against Liverpool and not many teams can claim that!

By half time I heard on my radio that Posh were 4-0 down and all hopes of surviving were evaporating rapidly. Outside an unseasonal hailstorm strafed the garden. I recalled the most famous day in the club's history, the 2-1 defeat of Stockport in the Third Division play-off final at Wembley on 24th May 1992. What a daft system the play-offs are but who cared on the day when Ken Charlery scored the 89th minute winner that sent us all into the new First Division. Going straight from the Third to the First Division in one go AND having finished sixth in the Third Division at that. Pretty impressive, huh! My gaze wandered back towards the television set - the thin red line was still warding off the unwelcome approaches of the 'fahsands' of Zulus. Gosh, Michael Caine was still going great guns. 4.30 p.m. and he and his mates were still hanging on. Indeed they were a damn sight more successful than the thin blue line down at Charlton. The teleprinter soon tapped out its messages, Scottish and non-league games, closely followed by the all-important final result: CHARLTON 5 PETERBOROUGH 1. That was it - the final nail in the already constructed coffin. Having conceded 17 goals in the last four games we didn't deserve to stay up. Who would have thought that our defence, so resolute for much of the season, could have disintegrated so badly?

I didn't need to watch the teleprinter or James Alexander Gordon further. At 4.55 p.m. I turned over to watch the end of the film. They were still at it. The uniforms were now tattered and blood-stained but the lads were still fighting. The Zulu warriors, having won decisively, turned and walked slowly back over the hill, occasionally looking back to survey the damage. The credits started to roll and the names of 11 Victoria Cross winners were displayed on the screen. Darren Bradshaw, Ken Charlery, Tony Adcock and the rest were not amongst them.

The hordes of First Division players had given us a good mauling throughout the season and were now leaving us for dead. Relegation was our reward. Posh had not scraped together enough points and had conceded far too many goals - 'fahsands of 'em'.

Feeling Demented at the end of April 1994

Standing on the Glebe Road after the Bolton game; Another home defeat has passed before my eyes again; The realisation's hit me - we're going down, down, down.

All right, in the last two home games we've scored five Trying to keep our First Division hopes alive; Trouble is - the other teams have scored seven.

It was fun while it lasted, it would have been fun to remain For at least another season playing good teams again; Now it's not my groin that's strained - it's my heart.

So now the Second Division is behind the relegation door; At least we've never been there before; Let's hope we escape back up before the year 2000. Next season's games could well be boring and dull Playing the likes of Rotherham, Wrexham and Hull And what's worse we'll be meeting Cambridge as well.

Playing Cambridge once is like a living hell; Worse than being with Ian Paisley in a death row cell And we've got to play them twice - home and away.

There's nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide And I'm seriously contemplating relegation suicide 'But wait', a voice says, 'don't do it - there's always hope.'

'Next season we could be invincible and bounce straight back With Dominic Iorfa scoring eighty goals in attack!' Father Christmas does exist and pigs might fly.

We could be brilliant, we could go far; Who needs players like Giggs and Cantona? We do, and Beckenbauer, Charlton and .

But I know that I'll keep going despite the anguish and pain; Being born a Catholic I know it's all part of the game And, besides that, I would have nothing to write about.

Saturday 30th April 1994 Posh 2 Nottingham Forest 3

From very early in the day it was obvious that our last home Saturday of the 1993/94 season was going to be memorable. We were already assured of relegation from the First Division at the end of our second season. The 5-1 thumping by Charlton on the previous Saturday merely ensured what most of us had know for a few weeks - we were just not good enough to stay up. Sure we had done well enough in our first season in the league and had held our own against the majority of teams. Our tenth place position was exceptionally good for a side that, for the first part of the season, was still floating on the post-Wembley cloud of euphoria and success.

But, on the last day of April, we knew our fate. So, as Geoff would later say, pride was all we had to play for. Irene, Becky, Woody and I had gone to town during Saturday morning and had seen a steady trickle of red shirted or red and white faced Forest supporters arriving in town. A couple were the worse for wear by 10.30 a.m. so God only knew what their condition would be later in the day.

By the time that Woody and I picked Les, Jack and Trevor up for the match the feeling of impending doom was set in concrete. The only real question was how many goals would we concede against a Forest side that had proved itself to be strong, organised and destined for a quick return to the . Whereas, a year ago, everyone had said that Forest were too good to go down from the Premier League, now they were too good to stay in the First.

After we had parked the car, with surprising ease, we made our way to our normal Glebe Road side only to find that, just as for the last game of the season last year against Leicester City, half of our beloved terrace had been set aside for away supporters.

What was worse was that the Forest fans had exclusive use of the toilet facilities and we had to put up with dingy blue and pink portaloos with ill-fitting doors and little or no way of telling if there was someone inside. Indeed myself and a steward had to help a bloke extricate himself from one of these synthetic Tardis-in-reverse creations who had got stuck inside. He was banging from the inside trying to get out and we had to manhandle the door from the outside. Eventually the door popped open and together we bemoaned these potential plastic coffins, complaining about them in the same way as we do about those useless wobbly plastic glasses that you get at beer festivals.

Colin turned up wearing all black for the occasion and told us that he had placed a bet at 80-1 during the morning that Posh would win 3-0. No wonder you don't see a poor bookmaker. Les and I had a good whinge about the fact that, yet again, we had not been able to buy a programme outside the ground. Indeed Les persuaded one of the stewards to let him back out into the street to try to find the elusive programme seller but to no avail. We vowed that letter would be sent to Chris Turner.

Stan Collymore looked a lot bigger than I had remembered. When a player is quick and skilful the mind tends to put him into the average size pigeonhole, reserving the top drawer in the mental filing cabinet for gangly useless Ormondroyd-type players or players from the Pallister dynasty or the Adams family. Privately I was pretty impressed by the Collymore physique and was worried that he would be more than a handful for our hardworking yet plainly average defenders. I was relieved to find that, for the first couple of minutes at least, he didn't look anything special.

Incredibly, and before the match had established any kind of pattern, we were 2-0 ahead, yes 2-0 ahead. Brian McGorry and Ken Charlery had, without any apparent difficulty, scored in the 5th and 7th minutes. I turned round and looked at Colin's face, alive with the sudden realisation that his 80-1 flutter could in fact become reality. The Posh section of the crowd had come alive and the Forest fans were still, silent and open-mouthed. 'At least we can go down with a bit of pride', muttered Geoff and he was right. Whatever happened over the next 83 minutes at least we knew we had given them a scare.

Predictably Forest got a goal back, Stan the Man scoring in the 42nd minute, and we all knew that the second half would be a 'backs to the wall' job. The opposition fans were becoming increasingly animated and one buffoon gradually climbed one of the floodlight pylons despite the tannoyed loudspeaker warnings. The oaf in fact reached the top, paying absolutely no attention to the official pleadings. Where are the police ferrets when you need them? Where were the squirrels in blue who would scuttle up the pylon and gather his nuts and hide them away for the winter? Later I was to discover from Daniel that one of his friends had said that the way to get the bloke down was to give Dominic Iorfa the ball and tell him to have a couple of shots at the goal. Some other idiot gingerly joined him and the pair pinned a banner to the floodlights which read 'Forest' although this insecurely fixed piece of Nottingham lace soon flapped so that only 'rest' was visible. Rest in Peace.

It was inevitable that Forest would equalise. A scrambled 82nd minute close-range header saw to that. He lay spread-eagled in our net with Collymore, Gemmill, Woan et al piling on top of him. If such football-shirted shenanigans had happened in a Tory minister's bedroom the government would have fallen. The referee urged the players back to the centre circle but the damage was done. The Forest fans were baying at their team and nothing was going to stop them surging forward again.

Two minutes left and Collymore rifled the ball into the net with such left-footed venom that left goalkeeper Scott Cooksey with no chance. In fact Cooksey, playing only his second full league game, had, as they say, 'played a blinder' although I'm never quite sure what this phrase has to do with the fact that he had made a succession of brave saves that would do a great deal for his confidence. After all it was only a week ago that, on his league debut, he had fished the ball from the back of the net five times.

The Forest supporters went barmy and a substantial number invaded the pitch. On came the stewards, police dogs and horses. Forest fans at the Moyes End seemed to spill out from behind the protective barriers as if caught in a squash. We hoped that nothing too serious was happening and, after about five minutes or so, order was restored and the last couple of minutes of our home season was played out, somewhat half-heartedly. The final whistle went. Our last First Division home game had come and gone. Despite the 3-2 defeat we had seen a spirited performance and had witnessed players attempting to leave us with the memory of a battling, if outclassed, side.

We waited for a few minutes and watched as first the Forest, then the Peterborough fans rushed on to the pitch at the end despite the A5 pleadings not to dished out at the turnstiles on the way in. A thin yellow line of stewards stretched across the pitch but their presence appeared hopeless. Thankfully everyone seemed good-natured and friendly although some of the earlier exuberances had looked potentially a great deal more ugly. And so back to the car - we had seen the last First Division home game, the last for at least a year, perhaps for all time! What a dreadful thought.

Our homeward footsteps almost anticipated the next season: ... Wrexham... Brighton... Hull... Bradford... ... Bournemouth... Brentford...

Friday 6th May 1994 Premier League Tomorrow we'll know

Poor old Swindon!. We already know that they're down. They tried their best but, without Glenn Hoddle to give them flair, organisation and shape, they were well and truly sunk.

So, tomorrow, the last day of the 1993/94 Premier League programme, who will it be that goes down with them? It could well be Oldham, the perennial survivors: might finally run out of games, points and friends. Sheffield United, managed by the ever-optimistic Dave Bassett, could well disappear into the First Division. Ipswich, who have become victims of defensive invisibility, could be the ones to suffer or, incredibly, Everton might slip and be replaced by Tranmere. What price would have been given, a year ago, for a Liverpool/Tranmere ?

The only thing I do know is that Posh don't play until Sunday. All the First Division games have been switched to that day so that Central Television and all the other regions can cover the final pre play-off throes of this season on the same day. We're away to Bristol City in a totally meaningless end-of-season fixture.

So who will go down from the Premier League to the First Division? Watch this space!

Saturday 7th May 1994 Premier League Day of Reckoning

Well most of the predictions weren't far out. The last Saturday of the season was exciting, close but, in the final analysis, unsurprising. The relegation places chopped and changed throughout the afternoon as I listened to Radio 5 on my little personal radio. (If Sue Lawley asked me on 'Desert Island Discs' what my luxury was to be then my little radio would be it. The garden would look a damn sight worse than it does now if it hadn't been for the fact that the cigarette packet -sized item has accompanied me into the garden on many of spring and summer afternoon).

Sheffield United were relegated, beaten 3-2 away at Chelsea. A draw would have been enough to ensure survival but a last minute goal by Mark Stein, from a flick header from Glenn Hoddle, sent them down. Everton came back from 2-0 down at home to the awkward and determined Wimbledon. They eventually won 3-2 and were undoubtedly helped on by the fervent crowd just willing them to stay up. They managed it but it was a close run thing. Oldham could only manage a 1-1 draw so lost their, what seemed perpetual, fight to stay up. In fact Oldham had only been in the top division for three seasons - it just seemed longer. Going down for them was almost a relief. It was a bit like watching a middle distant relative eventually die from some long terminal illness.

Swindon conceded their 100th goal for the season, beaten 5-0 at home by Leeds United. They just weren't good enough.

Sunday 8th May 1994 Endsleigh League First Division Rogation Sunday, Relegation Sunday

The entire First Division programme for the last game of the season had been switched to the Sunday just to suit the TV schedules. Why Central TV chose to broadcast Wanderers v Leicester City for their last live league match of the season only they will know. It meant very little in terms of final placings. Wolves were unable to get into the play-offs and Leicester, barring a miracle, were already there. Much more important issues were at stake. Who would be relegated along with Posh? Would Birmingham City get their comeuppance or go-downance? And, more importantly, would Posh leave the First Division with pride with a good performance away at Ashton Gate against Bristol City. We had to put up with scores flashed from the games involving West Brom away at , Oxford at home to Notts County and Birmingham away to Tranmere Rovers. We were 'treated' to touchline wurblings from at Tranmere. Barry is never one to shy away from the cameras even though Birmingham's last match of the season was crucial to them. In the event West Brom, Oxford and Birmingham all won so the last two went down with Posh.

Posh had left the First Division with a whimper, losing 4-1 to Bristol City and I had to wait until an 'Anglia Sports Special' at 5.00 p.m. to see the action from the game. The first half of the programme was devoted to Diss Town's FA Vase win the previous day against Taunton. Then I watched incredulous as Bristol scored their first goal within 13 seconds of the start of the game. What was worse we gave them another goal within 10 seconds of the start of the second half! The delightfully named Junior Bent scored his first two league goals against us and the only highlight of what looked a thoroughly inept performance was Andy Furnell's first goal for Posh. Perhaps this is an omen. He could be the Second Division's leading scorer next year.

Back in the Anglia studio Chris Turner (why wasn't he at Bristol?) casually announced that there was to be a press conference at London Road tomorrow to reveal details about our new manager. Was it to be Mick Halsall?

Monday 9th May 1994

No it wasn't to be Mick Halsall although he is to remain as assistant manager. The new manager is to be , the 44 year old ex-manager of Dagenham and Redbridge. According to the 'Peterborough Evening Telegraph' he managed Maidstone when they first came into the Football League and he is credited with early links to Ken Charlery. That can't be bad! I have no idea if this appointment is a shrewd one or not. Time and the close season will tell. Now I wonder how many of our existing players will be retained or will there be a clearout?

Today was also the historic day when Nelson Mandela was inaugurated as president of South Africa following last week's elections. He takes over from F.W. de Klerk. I wonder what F.W. stands for - Frank Worthington?

Paul Hardcastle's '19': 1994 Relegation Version

In 1965 Vietnam seemed like just another foreign war. But it wasn't. It was different in many ways and so were those who did the fighting. In World War Two the average age of the combat soldier was 26. In Vietnam he was 19.

In 1993/94 the football season seemed like just another campaign. But it wasn't. It was different in many ways and so were those who did the playing and the watching. In 1993/94 the average age of the Posh relegation side was 26 and the average size of the crowd was 6,019.

In Vietnam the combat soldier typically served a twelve month tour of duty but was exposed to hostile fire almost every day.

At London Road the season ticket holder typically served a nine month sentence but was exposed to lengthy periods of mediocrity almost every game and occasionally to outright crap.

All those who remember the war they won't forget what they'd seen. Destruction of men on the ground whose average age was 19.

Destruction Destruction Destruction

All those who remember the game they won't forget what they'd seen. Relegation of men on the pitch whose average age was 26.

Relegation Relegation Relegation

According to a Veterans' Administration Study half of the Vietnam veterans suffer from what psychiatrists call Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Many vets complain of alienation, rage or guilt. Some succumb to suicidal thoughts.

According to a Football League report half of the London Road and Glebe Road crowd suffer from what psychiatrists call Post Relegation Stress Disorder. Many supporters complain of degeneration, rage or guilt. Some succumb to homicidal thoughts.

Eight to ten years after coming home almost 800,000 men are still fighting the Vietnam war.

Eight to ten hours after coming home almost 8,000 supporters are still fighting the last home game.

None of them received a heroes' welcome.

Saigon Saigon bygone gone down

!9 19 has-been bad dream

Vietnam Vietnam don't give a damn

Oh yes I do.

The ball flew past young Cooksey yet again. Looking in the wrong direction didn't help.

Monday 8th August 1994 Posh 1 Norwich City 2

For me the new season sort of started today.

I put on my new replica 1960s 'Old Fashioned Football Shirt Co.' shirt that my wife Irene had bought me for my birthday. I had ogled at these shirts for ages in the Club Shop but wasn't sure if I had the bottle to wear one of them. My hand was eventually forced and she had bought me one, probably due to the fact that I had dropped a couple of hints. I have never owned a football shirt of any sort (except for one I had to play football in at school). So I wore my 43rd birthday present with some pride but a great deal more trepidation.

Daniel and I picked up Les and Jack. Daniel was wearing his new Posh away kit, bought for him by his mum in recognition for him being selected for Deacons School first XV rugby team next season. This is quite an achievement for a fifteen year old and I am proud of him. The 'old boy' done good. The fact that the away shirt looks absolutely awful does not seem to have put hundreds of fans buying the offensive article. It is basically red with streaks of all sorts of other colours sploshed onto it. It is a couple of quid more expensive than the old away kit (a comparatively sober green, vaguely Irish jobbie) and I reckon that the extra money is to pay for the extra toppings on this Pizzaborough monstrosity. Perhaps the Club will soon be having them delivered by spotty sixteen year olds riding mopeds that sound like clapped-out shavers.

Arriving at London Road we were met by an amazing queue - yes, a queue to get into a friendly match! I have never seen such a line of people waiting to get into a Posh game before. It was both incredible and stupid. I wandered to the front of the queue and saw that only two turnstiles were open. Plainly ridiculous. As I hung about the entrance two more were opened but the patient line of pre-season punters seemed to stick to the old one. I went back to the others and told them to come to the front of the line where the new entrances only had a few customers. Within a couple of minutes I was at the front of the line although I could hear that inside the game had already started. When I reached the turnstile and asked for one full ticket and one junior I was informed that juniors had to go to the next entrance.

The season had not yet started and already my heart rate had been raised and this was nothing to do with what was going happening on the pitch. It was a shambles and tomorrow I shall write to the club complaining. This is not something I normally do.

Posh scored after a few minutes - a free kick from the edge of the penalty area wasn't properly cleared and the ball was hooked in for one of the new players, Sean Farrell, to head the ball home. So far so good! However this early optimism was short-lived since Norwich soon equalised with bending a shot into the net from about twenty yards. Is he or isn't he wearing the new Predator boot that makes the ball swerve all over the place? No, he's just better than anyone we've got. A few minutes later Norwich took the lead when the sadly deficient Scott Cooksey fumbled and some guy poked the ball into the net. 2-1 to Norwich.

There's not really much more to report. The second half was boring pre-season stuff with no player risking a hamstring injury or a strained ligament, whatever that is. The game faded away just as the heat from a reasonable summer day did. Indeed my legs were pretty cold at about 9.00 p.m. Perhaps wearing shorts was a bit optimistic.

It was a classic pre-season friendly. Nothing ventured, nothing gained: from my point of view nothing learned. Saturday will be a better test - our first home league game against Bristol Rovers.

Saturday 13th August 1994 Posh 0 Bristol Rovers 0

The phrase 'nothing to write' home about springs to mind when recollecting this game so it's ironic that I'm indeed writing about it. The main decision of the day for me was whether or not to wear shorts. I tried to pretend that the occasional warm sun would stay all afternoon, on and off the pitch, so shorts it was.

Daniel, Les, Jack and I picked up Steve Norman from Orton at about 2.15 - Stewart normally takes him to the game but I've not heard from him so he must be away somewhere.

The first discovery on reaching the ground was that the programme had altered. On first glance it seemed a little more professional than last season with not quite so many mistakes and typing errors. Shame really - some of these mistakes, although frustrating, provided us with a good laugh last season and, from what we were later to see on the pitch, a good laugh might have been just what we needed. The first 'Peterborough Effect' fanzine of the new season, issue #34, was also on sale with a delightful cover depicting Diego Maradona having a drug influenced giggle about Posh's new away kit. Phil Walden had come to the game with his young lad proudly sporting his Posh home shirt and he told us the tale of seeing Chris Turner in the club shop the previous day. It's nice to get reports of friendliness throughout the club.

The game itself started fairly breezily with both teams going at it like early season colts in a 3 furlong race at Newmarket - lots of energy but very little skill. Our defence looked extremely open. Better opposition forwards would have made much more of the hesitance and uncertainty. I trust that things will get tighter soon.

The game gradually drifted away from both sides and it was evident even with half an hour to go that a goal-less draw was on the cards. I think that many of us were secretly wondering what the rest of the season would bring. It would, indeed, have been harsh to judge Posh on this performance but it was just about all we had to go on. Oh well, there's always the next game.

After the final whistle had blown for the inevitable 0-0 draw we all filed out and back to the car. 'Sports Report' was switched on for the first time in the season and we heard that Dominic Iorfa, recently transferred to Southend, had scored. Insult and injuries?

Stewart rang at about 6.00 p.m. from a bar in Minorca. He was keen for me to tell him how we had fared. There was not a great deal that I could tell him.

Saturday 27th August 1994 Posh 1 Crewe 5

The result speaks for itself. There will undoubtedly be recriminations and autopsies. But what a way to start the Bank Holiday weekend.

It had been a peculiar fortnight. Posh had won the first League away match last Saturday against Brentford, hitherto unbeaten. Ken Charlery scored the only goal in the 14th minute, latching onto a long clearance from Scott Cooksey. On Tuesday evening we were dumped out of the Coca Cola Cup by Oxford. They had beaten us 3-1 in the first leg and now we had been beaten 1-0 at home. I had not attended the game, deciding instead to spend the evening at the wonderful Peterborough Beer Festival. The Beer Festival is now part of the Peterborough social calendar and I am most grateful that, being a teacher, it's held at a time of year when I don't have to go to work the next day. Over the past few years the local branch of CAMRA have done a brilliant job organising this event. It can't be easy sorting out the massive marquees, bar staff, catering and, above all, the beers. The people of the city certainly seem to appreciate their efforts, coming in their thousands for the five and a half days of the event. And where else can you buy products with such engaging names as 'Headcracker', Giddy Ass', 'Old Tosspot', Owd Abusive' and 'Baz's Bonce Blower'?

In hindsight I wish that I had gone to the Beer Festival and stayed there instead of making the trip to the Glebe Road. Although the league season was only two games old Crewe had maximum points and had clearly started the campaign with the same verve and vigour that had seen them promoted last season. Within minutes of the kick-off we could see that they were tight, quick and well-organised and indeed, after five minutes, I could also see that we were 2-0 down, yes - 2- 0 down. We coughed and spluttered through the opening minutes and allowed the Crewe attackers more room on the pitch than there is on a dance floor when an unpopular record starts to play. They had acres of space, far more ideas and competent, confident players.

Marcus Ebdon, whom most of us were pleased to see back, was sent off midway through the first half for a second bookable offence. In fact the offence was the same one - chuntering on at the referee. Although the familiar drone of 'The referee's a wanker' emanated from the London Road end when the red and yellow cards were shown the truth is that Ebdon deserved all he got. We need players like him on the pitch, not turning on the hot tap for an early bath. On the Glebe Road side we had very little sympathy for him - he's now been sent off twice in five games and I would think is in danger of becoming a disciplinary liability.

There is an old saying that 'it's always hard playing a team with ten men'. Not today it wasn't. We were 3-0 down by half time and the second half was no better. Crewe added a fourth goal when Cooksey clumsily brought down an opposition forward and, although 'Sherpa Van' Morrison scored a pretty good goal late in the second half, the was 5-1.

I tried to think of reasons why we had played so badly - poor defence, shoddy organisation, weak finishing? Yes, all of those but it was only later that I realised the true reason for our terrible performance. Steve Norman had bought a Pizzaborough away kit with the additional toppings and had worn it to the game for the first time. That was it! The diabolical shirt was a bad omen. He would have to take it back to the Club Shop and demand his money back before the next home game.

Saturday 10th September 1994 Posh 2 Hull City 1

It had been a strange, frustrating season so far. We hadn't won at home yet so we all hoped that today would be the day. It was difficult to predict what the score would be. Early season form doesn't count for very much. had been quoted as saying that the defence ought to be like a fortress. Currently it was just plain thoughtless. Hull had had a couple of wins but these had been against Plymouth and Chester, hardly the Manchester Uniteds of the Second Division.

Still our away form had been promising (possible due to the pizza away shirts?) Since the Crewe debacle we'd beaten Bournemouth 3-0 and drawn against Shrewsbury 2-2. Already we'd shown better away form than for the majority of last season. But it's at home where it matters. That's where the fans are; that's where you have to prove yourself in order to get any semblance of potential away support.

It had been a momentous couple of weeks. The IRA had declared a cease-fire and there'd been great discussions on whether or not it was going to be permanent or not. The Loyalists had been sceptical and this scepticism had been fuelled by the fact that last night six prisoners attempted to escape from Whitemoor Prison in March. They had all been recaptured but an inquiry is to be held since one of them had managed to obtain a gun from somewhere. Some people will do anything to get to see a Posh home game.

The opening few minutes of the game didn't help me to think that anything was going to be different. We were running around reasonably eagerly yet without any real shape or purpose. The midfield was non-existent and we seemed to only have eight players on the pitch. Every time we got the ball, especially in our half of the field, we seemed to pass it back to the Hull players who were wearing a most peculiar kit which reminded me both of the IRA 'dirty protest' of a few years ago and the ever-present dogshit that we have to wade through along Glebe Road on the way to the 'Cathedral'. 'Whoopsey' Cooksey didn't look at all safe and in fact nearly conceded a goal when his clearance from a back pass hit an advancing Hull forward and looped just passed the post.

Hull went ahead and we weren't surprised. It was going to be one of those days. Even the weather couldn't decide what it was going to do. Sunshine, a fresh breeze, dark clouds and squally showers vied for supremacy. However, in the latter part of the first half David Morrison collected the ball on the edge of the penalty area and precisely placed the ball into the far corner of the net. In truth it was the first piece of real skill we had seen during the afternoon. Geoff, always one with a mind of information and shrewd comments, had already warmed to 'Sherpa Van' Morrison. I always listen to his opinions. Despite his passion for the Posh he seems to retain an objectivity about the side and the games he sees and often comes up with sharp analysis.

One all at half time and, despite the lack of midfield, we were still in there and there were some encouraging performances. I've got no idea what John Still's half time team talks are like but this one seemed to have some effect. In the second half some sort of midfield materialised, Lee Williams in particular being much more apparent. He was working quite hard as was Liburd Henry. The team started to have some sort of shape and the work rate was commendable. The only player not to really have any effect was Sean Farrell who chased around, always arriving at the scene of the crime a couple of minutes too late.

Midway through the half Ken Charlery scored a second goal and we proceeded to hang on, not always convincingly, for the rest of the game. I was sure that Hull would get back to draw with us. Les bet me my season ticket that we would hang on but I was too cowardly to accept the bet. Just as well! At 4.45 p.m. the final whistle blew and we had won the first home game of the season, putting us well into the top half of the table. Hull's best efforts in the last twenty minutes weren't good enough and our often fragile defence held out. Even the much maligned Cooksey had brought off a string of fair saves to help the cause.

The 'Sports Report' signature tune seemed more jaunty than usual as we drove home and I wondered if the recaptured IRA prisoners had tuned in their radios. On second thoughts they were probably in solitary confinement without so much as a friendly screw to tell them the good news.

Whitemoor Prison: IRA Breakout

On Friday 9th September 1994 seven prisoners, six of them convicted IRA terrorists, broke out of Whitemoor Prison at March.

Some people will do anything to see a Posh home game.

They needn't have bothered.

Sure, the following day Peterborough United beat Hull City 2-1, giving us our first league home win of the season. Our performance was not awe inspiring.

Before the game Steve Welsh, one of our trusty centre backs, had said that our defence ought to be like a fortress..

Early in the game Hull took the lead.

Fortress Whitemoor?

Our defence looked as sluggish as a prison officer laden down with shopping bags filled with tins of salmon (John West's the Best).

Our midfield, like the Whitemoor security, had gone AWOL and our players kept presenting the opposing forwards with weapons cunningly disguised in gun shaped birthday cakes.

However we equalised when David Morrison bent the ball round the defence and the goalkeeper with all the skill of a man throwing knotted sheets from a cell window.

In the second half Ken Charlery scored our winner and we hung on to win 2-1.

I wonder if the recaptured prisoners ever got to hear the Good News.

Tuesday 13th September 1994 Posh 2 Huddersfield 2

I love floodlit midweek games. They break up the working week beautifully and provide a perfect excuse (not that I need one) to go to the pub afterwards. Indeed Trevor, Les and I ended up at 'Alice's Restaurant', the 'Hand and Heart' in Highbury Street for a couple of pints of John Smith's Magnet and Marston's Pedigree. But that was later on.

Before the game I would have settled for a draw and, indeed, secretly thought that we might be beaten by the team that we so famously defeated in the Third Division play-offs in 1992 on our way to that famous Wembley win against Stockport County. I remember that Huddersfield had been a resilient, reasonably exciting side and it would certainly be great to put one over on them today.

There was a full house of 'the chaps'. As well as Les, Trevor, Steve, Stewart and myself, Derek was there with Angus and Wal. Instead of an early mid-season fixture it felt like a late season game with some importance attached to it. Angus and Wal had travelled from Birmingham and respectively and had brought a friend who supported Huddersfield. The only person missing was Geoff the Pieman who, quite naturally, found it nigh impossible to travel from Gloucester for these midweek home games.

Before the game Stewart showed us a collection of football memorabilia. The school of which he is headteacher, Gorefield Primary near Wisbech, had held a celebrity auction towards the end of last summer term. Stewart, inventive as ever, had organised the event and had drummed up trade by writing to loads of personalities or their agents asking for items. He proudly showed us 's captain's armband from his Wimbledon days (he has since been transferred to Aston Villa, nearer to the studios where he records ''). had sent the school a pen which looked strangely unused. Perhaps he didn't like using it, 'Fountain pens - do I not like them!' He also showed us a dental card from Alan Ball. I remarked that was still in need of his. The real prize, a training top from , with the letters 'K.D.' embossed on the top had gone to someone who had bid £15. They've got money to throw away, these fen types!

The game itself started brightly. Huddersfield clearly weren't at London Road to defend a point and Posh looked a damn sight more organised than we had done at home previously. The defence had a reasonably shape although, from defensive clearances, we still seemed to find opposition forwards with alarming and regular accuracy. The opening twenty minutes were fast and furious - it was obvious that this game was going to be won by the team that displayed the greater early season fitness. By half time we were 2-0 up, the first goal from Sean Farrell who had hovered around on the far post and had toe-poked a goal following Ken Charlery's great approach play and cross, the second from our Ken himself, a chip from the right hand side of the penalty area, reminiscent of that famous Wembley goal. We thought that was it, 2-0 up and only a couple of minutes to half time. we could surely hang on to this. But oh, no! We hadn't reckoned on 'Whoopsey' Cooksey, our 'keeper who had played less than ten league games. A minute before half time Steve Welsh passed the ball back to him.

Instead of booting the thing into the back gardens on the Glebe Road side Cooksey chose to try to effect a piece of delicate footwork. It didn't work. He was easily dispossessed by a persistent Huddersfield forward who merely side footed the ball into an empty net. Half time 2-1 and that solitary Huddersfield goal had boosted their confidence for the second half.

It was no great surprise when Huddersfield equalised soon after half time. Chris Billy, an impressive full-back with far too much space, took a shot which Cooksey could only parry across the goal into the path of the predatory Iain Dunn who scored his second goal. Both sides fought and hurried throughout the rest of the half and I firmly believed that we could have won. 2-2 was the final score. A few more lessons had been learned and there were signs that things were gradually beginning to gel. Most of the crowd of just over 5,000 left the ground still talking about Cooksey and his current vulnerability. It's easy for fans to criticise a keeper when his luck and confidence are low. I am sure that John Still would urge us to get behind him and try to bring some of that confidence back. Indeed there was applause for Cooksey in the second half but it was hard to tell whether it was genuine, generous or ironic.

Sunday 18th September 1994 Birmingham City 4 Posh 0

This was an unusual afternoon for me. Posh on television on a Sunday afternoon! This was not only the first (and probably last) time that we would be on the box during the season but also probably one of the few times that Central TV would delve into the Second Division for the post Sunday lunch entertainment. It was also an opportunity for me to sit in front of the telly and make notes on the game as I watched, pretending to be some sort of ace reporter for a newspaper. It was more difficult than I had imagined.

The pre-match banter was, inevitably, mostly about Birmingham and their indifferent start to the season. They have a squad of over thirty six and have spent incredible amounts of money since Barry Fry became their manager and Karren Brady their young thrusting Chief Executive. She was rabbiting on about the pressure that Barry Fry was under to produce the goods and Fry himself was being London cabby wideboy dismissive of pressure. Either he's supremely confident or a fool.

Since Scott Cooksey had had such a dreadful time during the last game it was no real surprise that , a seventeen year old bright new hope, was given his chance. I should have known that this was going to happen. Interviewed on Radio Cambridgeshire after the last home game, John Still had said that Cooksey had to be given a chance and he had backed him in just the same way as chairmen do the day before they give the manager the sack. I kept my fingers crossed for Tyler: if he failed then we were really in trouble for the foreseeable future. For the first fifteen minutes he had very little to do and what he did do was fairly safe and reliable. Indeed it wasn't until the fourteenth minute that the commentator even mentioned that he was playing his league debut.

In the fifteenth minute Posh had their first clear-cut chance but Liburd Henry managed to pirouette and completely miss the ball which was only a few feet from the goal. At any level you have to take your chances. Just a couple of minutes later Tyler saved securely from a free kick - this must have boosted his confidence no end. However the team was to be dealt two quick upper cuts when first Gary Bull, on loan from Nottingham Forest, and then Paul Tait scored easy goals from six yards out. Tait's goal was made all the more simple when our own Kevin Ashley headed neatly into the path of three advancing Birmingham forwards, giving Tait the easiest header he's likely to have for many a long day. I hoped that our stuffing would remain in place and prayed that we would not get thrown around like an old well-worn teddy bear. The stitching stayed in place - just about - and we still looked as if we could get back into the game. But, in the thirty third minute, an impressive Birmingham move ended with a Claridge cross and Gary Bull scoring again. 3-0 to the home side.

Birmingham continued to look the stronger. Steve Claridge was busy. With his socks round his ankles he reminded me of a builder on a site. I wondered if, when he bends down, he displays builder's bum cleavage. Danny Wallace was niggly and actively disturbing our flow. Our defence was all over the place trying to keep out the Brady Bunch. At this point Oscar, the Spanish student who had been living with us for a couple of weeks, came downstairs to see what was happening. He's not a football supporter. We told him that we were 3-0 down. He looked bemused, clearly wondering why we were football supporters. I began to wonder myself.

At half time the apprentices and ground staff came on to the pitch and did the ritual gardening. It was fairly obvious that St Andrews would need to be turned into a field of sugar beet or turnips if Posh were to have any chance of recovering in the second half. Please, I thought, build a housing estate on the pitch and get the match abandoned.

Posh looked a bit more determined at the start of the second half. Ken Charlery came close and even Farrell looked slightly lively. McGorry was fading, leaving our midfield even more wide open. Birmingham made a substitution, taking off Danny Wallace and bringing on Jose Dominguez, a Benfica reject who, had he stood next to Kylie Minogue, would have made her look like a six foot tall Amazon. By the sixty fifth minute I was tempted to fall asleep. 66.45: Dominguez had a run at our defence and was brought down by Liburd Henry. Steve Claridge hit the post but, just a minute later, the diminutive Portuguese ran towards our goal yet again and scored. 4-0.

Williams and Brissett came on for Morrison and Farrell late in the game but the damage had been done. They didn't make any real difference.

Looking back at the game the 4-0 scoreline didn't really do us justice. Sure, Birmingham had been the better side on the day. They were able to chew on their piece of meat with a full set of teeth. We were struggling to eat the same piece of meat with ill-fitting dentures.

At the end of Central TV's broadcast, when everything was being wrapped up, came up with a classic phrase that made watching the whole sorry tale worthwhile. He had been talking about the possibility of managers being sacked before the end of the season and said, 'The fertilities are going to be very high indeed!' Obviously both Jimmy and the Posh players had had their minds on other things this afternoon.

Saturday 24th September 1994 Posh 2 Rotherham 2

This was a day of wind and wine gums. The wind was fairly stiff, blowing towards the London Road end and Trev had brought a packet of wine gums to enliven the proceedings. I hadn't eaten wine gums for years. But as I chomped into the first green one I thought how soft and squishy they were. When I had been a kid I was convinced that they had been more tough and longer lasting. Still, they made a change from extra strong mints.

Jack wasn't with us today. He had got himself a Saturday job at a barber's shop near the Market. This must surely be an indicator of our indifferent season so far. If we had been top of the league would he have forgone this career opportunity and just stuck to his paper round?

This did not look a particularly scintillating fixture but was surely one we had to win. Rotherham only had seven points as opposed to our eleven but, at this stage of the season, league positions are largely irrelevant unless you're either miles out in front or rooted to the bottom. Autumn was rapidly approaching, so much so that Trev bought us a cup of tea before the game even started. He also bought himself a cone of chips and informed us that this was his breakfast, having had a late night the night before, staying up with Derek Lopez until 4.00 a.m. Silly sod!

Unbelievably Liburd Henry put us ahead in the second minute. We always like to equalise first and so it turned out. Goodwin scored for them ten minutes later and Rotherham went in front after twenty minutes with a stunning turn and volley from Shaun Goater, a Bermudan international signed from Manchester United. 4,894 supporters saw us go in at half time 2-1 down and with not much sign of dramatic recovery. We had to wait until the 79th minute before Liburd Henry equalised with a lovely drive into the far corner.

Earlier we had been discussing the potential 'man of the match'. We couldn't think of anyone. Liburd's goal at least settled that argument. We drifted out through the exits with none of our questions having been answered. If I had been a betting man I would have predicted that we are going to end up in twelfth place at the end of the season.

Saturday 15th October 1994 Posh 0 Stockport County 1

Gosh, it seemed ages since we had played a home game and indeed it was three weeks. All the party conferences had come and gone since our last home game. Tony Blair had survived his first Labour Party Conference, silhouetted against a background of pistachio green and hardly mentioning the word 'socialist' once. He had clearly been on a smiling course. (Incidentally, why is it that none of our politicians can say more than a sentence without saying the word 'clear' or 'clearly' when, in fact, their opinions and views on a particular issue are nothing but clear?) John Major had managed to wallow his way through the Tory Party Conference without being too badly mauled by either Portillo or Heseltine and the LibDems, well I had totally forgotten about their Conference. I think they had met on a lifeboat off the south coast bit I wasn't sure. Now we had two home games on consecutive Saturdays, such was the whim of the FA computer. We were lying in 11th place mainly thanks to our away form. In fact had our away results (won 3, drawn 2, lost 1) been matched by our home form at the start of play we would be in joint 4th place. Conversely, if our home form had been matched away we would have been in 18th place, holding hands with Plymouth Argyle! Our current away form was equal 2nd - only Huddersfield, the league leaders had a better away record and we had been responsible for one of their only two draws. Since our last appearance at London Road we had won 2-1 away at Cardiff and drawn 1-1 at York.

A famous old rivalry was renewed today. Stockport County. The last time we had played them was on that famous day at Wembley on May 24th 1992. Every day I remind myself of this incredible occasion when I walk up the stairs. The montage of photographs surround the actual ticket itself tucked safely behind glass. The average British male is supposed to think about sex about once every eight minutes or something daft like that. The fact that I think about beating Stockport at Wembley in the Division Three play-off Final about once every seven minutes perhaps says something about my thoughts and priorities!

Of course it was never going to be the same. In fact it was extremely likely that we would come a cropper against our old foes. They were 3rd in the table and had a much better goal tally than us. In addition we all knew that our main fault was that we left gaping holes all over the pitch, a bit like fields laid fallow by EEC set-aside. Secretly we knew it would be tough. Stockport had undergone many changes in their side but Kevin Francis was still there, 79 inches of gangling, awkward target man. Lee Todd, a fullback who had impressed me before, also played and, looking in the programme I spotted that he was still only 23 years old. Indeed Francis himself was only 26 even though he had seemed to have been around since the end of the Second World War.

The first half was undistinguished. (It's strange how it's very hard to think of words that aren't from the Motson Book Of Clichés but 'undistinguished' suits and is accurate). Nothing really happened although Stockport seemed to know a little bit more about how to pass, run and counter-attack.

One player who impressed me was Alun Armstrong, a forward player for County who was unnaturally blond, the sort of blond that turned up in an episode of 'Star Trek'. Perhaps he was a Clingon or some other alien. He had been bought from Newcastle for £33,000 - it was obviously New Year Sale time in the north-east. He looked easily worth three times that much. He had the knack of turning up in dangerous positions and was giving us jip.

At half time we were still in it but, more ominously, so were they. The one highlight of the first half for us was that Mark Prudhoe, our on-loan goalkeeper from Stoke, looked solid, reliable and unflappable, much in the Fred Barber mould. Half time also gave us the opportunity to buy issue #35 of 'The Peterborough Effect'. The fanzine had been given a facelift since it was now being produced locally with a much higher level of design and improved wordprocessory (my word!). I approved and must find out what their costs are. Who knows - I might even use 'CMS RallyScene Promotions Ltd.' myself someday! I also chatted to Stewart, one of whose fingers was heavily bandaged. He had cut himself the previous Saturday afternoon trying to prise some piece of plastic off the front of his son's 'Bug' magazine with the help of a Stanley knife. He blamed the FA computer - he wouldn't have done it had he been at London Road!

Back in the real world the second half kicked off much like the first. In truth we looked least likely to win and the spaces were still there despite reasonable individual efforts from our defenders. We still looked like individuals rather than a tight unit. Bring back Lee Howarth to partner Steve Welsh, that's what I say!

Bang on the hour Stockport broke away and, not for the first time, found acres of space where our full backs had pushed forward. Kevin Francis astutely pushed the ball crossfield to an advancing forward who poked the ball to the unmarked Clingon Armstrong who stroked the ball home as easy as you like. From then on Stockport looked a cut above us and indeed could have scored four or five - we wouldn't have been surprised. Indeed we survived a couple of virtual direct hits merely thanks to Simon Clark who, on one of more occasion, just happened to be in the way on the line. Ken Charlery missed a good chance towards the end but, when the final whistle went, justice had been done. They had been better than us today. Thank God they hadn't been on 24th May 1992!

The Queen in St. Petersburg October 1994 The Truth

In October 1994 our Queen was visiting St Petersburg and had opened two new supermarkets: Tescovich and KwikSaveski. She was walking round the streets, like she does, when a Russian student came up to her and said, "Your majesty, do you like football?"

"Well," replied the Queen, "As a matter of fact I've been to a number of F.A. Cup finals and have presented the trophy to teams like Boringarsenal and Tottenham Harryhotspurs."

The student went on, "That's interesting, ma'am. Have you got a favourite team?"

Our Queen's reply, although ostensibly part of a private interchange between monarch and minion, was overheard by a press man, a half-deaf reporter, who thought that she said, "St. Petersburg is better than Manchester.

In fact what she said was, "Peterborough is better than Manchester."

She went on to say,

"Peterborough's better than Manchester: Of that there is no doubt: They don't call me Posh for nothing And I'm blue-blooded throughout.

Peterborough better than Manchester! Yes, of course we are: I much prefer Mick Halsall to .

They may have had Bobby Charlton But we had Big Jim Hall And compared to Craig Goldsmith is nothing at all.

And our Steve Welsh is certainly At least ten times more use Than Donkey Gary Pallister Or Geriatric Bruce.

So it's been nice talking to you, My Russian football friend But I must go a-walkabout: I might see you again.

And the Queen walked off into controversy Created by the press But I've told you the true story Despite what anybody says.

So now you know that Lizzie Is a Posh fan most devoted And she maintains her dignity Despite being savagely misquoted.

Saturday 22nd October 1994 Posh 1 Wycombe Wanderers 3

'Skeletons in the closet and fingers in the till'. It's my text and I'll use clichés if I want to!

It had been one of those sort of weeks, the sort where the news had been full of so-called 'pillars of society' failing to live up to public expectation. The new Bishop of Durham had a twenty year old conviction for gross indecency, two Tory MPs (Tim Smith and Neil Hamilton) have been accused of taking money for asking questions in the House of Commons and the Jonathan Dimbleby book about the Prince of Wales referred to a 'loveless marriage' and a tangled web of deceit.

So where were the role models for me to respect and look up to? Perhaps I would find them at London Road where, for the second week running, Posh were at home. The crowd on the Glebe Road side looked sparse but the Moyes End where the visitors congregate was the fullest that it had been all season. Wycombe were doing well and were lying in fourth place. Their travelling support looked to be an impressive size - there's no doubt that Martin O'Neill has had a tremendous effect on the club. Who know, they could be the next Wimbledon!

Trevor and I had a giggle about the fact that they wore shirts with 'Verco' across the front. I've got no idea what 'Verco' is or was and, in fact, couldn't care less but since Trev's surname is Vercoe we were able to have a joke about his secret wealth (not something that can be gained from being a Maths teacher at a local comprehensive, GMS or not!).

A major talking point before the match was the referee. Mr Uriah Rennie had thighs like tree trunks. We were sure that he would have had to get to the ground a good half hour before anyone else so that he could be tyre-levered into his shorts. Either that or he was deliberately wearing shorts that were far too short for him - the referee's equivalent of the 'little black dress'.

Sean Farrell was in the side for the luckless, and currently useless, Brissett. The fact that we welcomed the change was proof enough of what we thought of Brissett. The game kicked off and we all hoped for what would be only our second home win of the season. Unbelievably we were ahead after only four minutes. Charlery won the ball on the left, Simon Clark crossed and Liburd Henry once again showed that he had the knack of being in the right place at the right time.

For the next forty minutes we looked pretty good value for the lead. There was brisk intelligent passing, particularly from Marcus Ebdon and even the defence looked sharper and quicker to the ball. Wycombe looked well organised and I was especially taken with Terry Evans, a huge central defender who had been in the PFA Third Division Team of the Year last season. I could see why. Only a minute remained until half time when Cyrille Regis, that wily and 'much travelled' pensioner scored for Wycombe. Typical - all that possession and pressure and we still went into half time in just the same position as we had done forty five minutes previous.

At half time I managed to spill tea Trevor's coffee all over myself. I was attempting to stand on an empty plastic cup placed upside down on the terrace without breaking it. I got within an ace of managing the circus-like feat when the cup collapsed and I fell into Trevor, spilling his coffee down myself and all over my programme. I later found out that one of the attributes of Posh coffee is to weld programme pages together with all the strength usually associated with Super Glue. God know what it does to our insides!

The second half belonged to the visitors. We went back to our bad old habit - trying to bite through the opposition with those ill-fitting dentures. Another experienced forward, Simon Garner, put Wycombe into the lead in the 53rd minute and Steve Thompson wrapped it up with a header from a well-worked free kick after an hour. I hoped that we had learned two lessons from this match: one - we needed to work on free kicks and corners (there's no excuse for a corner not reaching the penalty area) and two - we needed an experienced professional or two to help out the younger members of the team. Cyrille Regis and Simon Garner did just that for Wycombe and made them look possibly the best side that we had played so far this season.

Our woe was summed up when, during the second half, Brian McGorry or 'Baywatch' missed an absolute sitter following intelligent work by Liburd Henry. Even I might have toe-poked in Liburd's cross but McGorry chose to blast the ball high over the bar. Mark Prudhoe looked the sort of keeper that we might want on a permanent basis but there were still gaps - huge ones. We needed a defender, a midfield player and a forward. Now, that wasn't too much to ask, was it?

On Sunday I read that Wycombe had risen to third place and we had dropped to thirteenth. At least we had 5,924 fans watching the spectacle: Meadowbank against Brechin, in the Scottish Second Division, had attracted a mere one hundred and forty nine. 149! That's only one pot of tea at half time. I also learned that we had drawn a home tie against Northampton Town in the first round of the F.A. Cup. Perhaps that could be start of something big.

P.S. Stewart's finger was all right now but he couldn't bend it since he had new skin on his knuckle. Still, thanks for asking.

Saturday 5th November 1994 Posh 2 Chester City 0

'Sleaze' seemed to be the word of the moment. The government appeared to have been embroiled for many days in accusation of perks and underhand dealings. The integrity of Members of Parliament was under severe scrutiny and the general public seemed to have very little faith in its leaders. Alan Sugar at Spurs had also lost faith with Ossie Ardilles and had sacked him. was today's favourite to take over.

Today began ominously. Irene, on her Saturday morning jaunt to Sainsburys, saw Steve Welsh at the checkout. I was amazed that she recognised him (perhaps that's a bit unfair) but the sad thing was that the very fact that she spotted him there meant that he was not included in the side unless he had been doing his pre-match shopping! Apparently an offer had come in for him from at Preston. Welshy played for Beck at Cambridge before he came to us. I would be sad to see him go if the rumours were true. Steve is a gutsy determined professional who gives his best. Sure, he had looked a bit exposed over the past few weeks but that's been the fault of the people around him.

Ironically Steve was on the front of the programme for today's match. It's odd how the player on the cover is sometimes in the news for one reason or another. Incidentally, thinking about programmes Trevor had given me the Plymouth programme from our match against them earlier in the week. We had won 1-0, with Liburd Henry scoring after 6 minutes. Apparently it could have been a far bigger win. The Plymouth newspaper reckoned that their 'keeper, Alan Nicholls, had been the 'man of the match'. Still it made the long journey to the south-west worthwhile. Last Saturday we had been beaten 2-0 away at Swansea so to have come home from far-flung parts without anything at all would have been most disappointing. Plymouth's programme, or 'Review' as it is called was impressive.

This particular edition was 48 pages long as opposed to our 32 although it cost £1.30, 30 pence more than our own effort. There was much more to read in the 'Argyle Review' and I particularly enjoyed features like 'The Story - part 9', 'This Day...Yesterday' and 'Away at Home Park', a well researched description of the away team, in this case us!

I've written about the quality of programmes before and I shall no doubt do so again. I always reckon that the true guide to what is a good programme is if it is something that is 'a good read' for those early November evenings. Currently I can read the Posh programme in about ten minutes and learn very little.

Our match against Chester was a perfect chance for us to gain only our second home win of the season. Chester were next to bottom of the league with only six points. They had conceded 24 goals and only scored 10 before today. So if we couldn't do it today the general feeling was that we never could. Mark Prudhoe, despite local paper talk that he was definitely staying at Posh for at least another month, had been recalled by Stoke and Scott Cooksey was back in goal. Uh- oh!

There was quite a small crowd to see the fireworks (November 5th - get it?). The away support must have come on a moped with seats to spare and the home support was disappointing. Surely not early Christmas shopping yet! The game got off to a mediocre start with nothing to suggest that Chester were anything to write home about. Their defence looked slow and cumbersome despite the presence of Kevin Ratcliffe, late of Everton and Wales who looked ineffective and well passed his sell-by date.

It soon became obvious that Chester were easily the worst side that we had played so far this season but, equally, it was obvious that we were going to make a right meal of trying to open them up. We lacked penetration and many of our attacks, although pretty at times, lacked bite. This was typified by Ken Charlery's first minute free kick at the edge of the penalty area, a tame effort that he could have struck far more cleanly. If we had been more effective from free kicks and corners we would probably have been top of the league! Eventually we went a goal up when the Chester defence disappeared, the goalkeeper made a hash of a fairly easy save and good old Ken Charlery walked round him and placed the ball into an empty net. This gave him his sixth league goal of the season, one more than Liburd Henry. Soon afterwards Scott Cooksey nearly flannelled the ball into his own net. He certainly did not inspire confidence but this was not helped by the fact that there were so many gasps, groans and sarcastic applause from the London Road end. This couldn't have helped his confidence. As Geoff muttered in his droll way, "Give it two years and we'll probably sell him to Blackburn for two million quid."

I told Trevor, Les, Steve and Stewart that Chester were so poor that we just had to give them a good seeing-to if we were any good at all. The stuffing never happened although we should have been three up at half time. The game rapidly became unmemorable until, right at the end, Sean Farrell scored with a strong header giving us a 2-0 win. This was indeed welcome particularly since the truly appalling Chester looked, for about ten minutes, as if they could claw back a goal and steal a point. This would have been remarkable since they didn't appear to have a defence, midfield or forward line.

To be fair Sean Farrell had a pretty good game. I've not been one of his fans (I have yet to meet one!) but he worked hard, won the ball well, and looked slightly fitter than on previous occasions. He took his goal well and 2-0 was a far better looking result than a 1-0 scrape.

We now had 20 points and were bang in the middle of the table. After 15 games an objective observer would have said that was about right. Next week we were to take a break from league drudgery and embark on the 'Road to Wembley'. We would renew our rivalry with Northampton Town at home in the 1st Round of the F.A. Cup. It should be an interesting game.

Saturday 12th November 1994 F.A. Cup 1st Round Posh 4 Northampton Town 0

02391. That was the number of the lottery ticket that I bought at the ground today. No, not the National Lottery - that starts next week; this was the Posh 'Win Up To £100 Instantly'. Instantly! That was a peculiar claim. I bought my 50p ticket before the game started and had to wait until half time until I found out that I hadn't won. Now that wasn't not very instant, was it?

There's a well-worn phrase that everyone knows - 'a week's a long time in politics'. This obviously refers to the changes, often shocking and surprising, that can happen during any seven day period. The same phrase can apply to football as well. During the past week Mike Walker had been sacked from the manager's job at Everton and this after his first win of the season. His place had been taken by Everton old favourite Joe Royle who, as manager of Oldham for the past few years, is well used to escape acts at the bottom of the Premier League. This year is so important for Premier League sides since four sides go down next May. David Pleat had decided to stay at , having been offered a post by Alan Sugar at Tottenham, and Gerry Francis had resigned from Queens Park Rangers following some shenanigans with the chairman, Richard Thompson (no, not that Richard Thompson). Incidentally Thompson doesn't look old enough to take his GCSEs let alone be a policeman. Perhaps I'm just exhibiting signs of old age. Thinking of old age Ronald Reagan announced this week that he has Alzheimer's Disease. How can they tell?

But the main shock news of the week concerned , the extrovert Zimbabwean goalkeeper, late of Liverpool and now of Southampton, who had been accused by the 'Sun' of accepting money from foreign betting syndicates for fixing the results of games. Of course, if these allegations were true, there could be horrendous implications for the standing and gradually improving name of football. The evidence appeared very damning. The television news had been given, by the 'Sun' , filmed 'evidence' and it was shown again and again on the box. The 'Ten O'clock News' on Wednesday dipped into the archives and dredged up clips of Grobbelaar's goalkeeping feats. They showed him flapping at Noel Luke's cross on that famous day when Garry Kimble scored THAT GOAL against Liverpool in the League Cup a few years ago.

Thankfully there was absolutely no hint that Grobbelaar had thrown that particular game. No, that was a triumph of unsurpassed skill and endeavour!

Nobody wanted to believe that these accusations could be true but most of us secretly feared that they could be. Of course the joke floodgates had opened. Les has perhaps come up with the best one - 'Brucie, Brucie what's the score?' 'Well, what do you want it to be?'

It seems improbable that any footballer would be able to influence a game in such a way as to produce a 'desired' result. After all there are twenty one other players on the pitch who presumably aren't part of the scam. I suppose that a goalkeeper is the most likely person who could possibly influence a result. Goalkeeping errors are less likely to be suspicious than a series of thirty five yard own goals from a defender. I do hope that Grobbelaar will be vindicated. The best outcome for the whole sorry episode would be for the 'Sun' to be found guilty of setting the whole thing up, be sued and face such huge legal costs that they were forced to go out of business. Now that would be nice!

The first thing that has to be said about today's game was that Daniel and I had to pay to get in. This is not to say that we get in free every week but, since we are both season ticket holders, it felt like 'free' football after that initial early summer wallet-denting outlay. The second thing to say is that, for much of the game I had a weird feeling that the ball was substandard. It seemed to keep wobbling about and often had such an uneven bounce that its performance reminded me of a wobbly plastic Frido effort of the sort that used to dace away along a flat, windy Norfolk beach.

The ground was pretty well populated. Indeed it should have been for this F.A. Cup clash between old rivals. There were 8,739 fans at London Road to renew old rivalries and this was the first time we had played the Cobblers (in the past few seasons 'Wobblers') at home since February 5th 1991 when we had beaten them 1-0 in the league, the goal being scored by Mick Halsall. Northampton were wearing shirts with 'Chronicle' written across the front, or was it 'Chronic'? It was great to see a good crowd which was large enough, I later found out, to have been the third biggest Cup attendance of the day.

The first half was even and not particularly inspiring. Sean Farrell went off in the early part of the game and was replaced by David Morrison. At least we were now likely to have a few useful crosses if nothing else. At half time we discussed the fact that the tactics seemed to be wrong. There was no real skill or guile. The ball went down the middle and the Cobblers' defenders soaked up the pressure with relative ease. Indeed they looked quite tasty coming forward but even their efforts seemed to evaporate in the penalty area.

The second half was more lively. During the early exchanges a couple of Northampton players were booked for reckless challenges and it could be argued that one of them deserved a sending-off. These incidents seemed to fire our players and, gradually, we looked much more likely to score. After about 65 minutes I casually whispered to Les, 'Ken Charlery's done nothing so far - bet he scores'. I felt that this was a bit like a child's Christmas wish - perfectly possible but unlikely. Five minutes later my wish came true as Santa popped down the chimney and Ken rifled the ball into the net from close range. Better was to follow when, four minutes later, the hard working Lee Williams received the ball wide on the left from Henry, cut in and chipped the 'keeper beautifully from such an acute angle that he must just have had the merest gap to aim at. It was perhaps the best goal seen at London Road so far this season. From then on it got even better. In the 85th minute there was a hand ball in the area and our Ken, by now full of confidence, rushed across, planted the ball on the spot and then hit it home with as much confidence as you like. The whole afternoon was finished off by Liburd Henry who, in all honesty, had been fairly quiet hitherto. He was perfectly placed to slide in a low hard driven cross from the left. And there it was, 4-0 to Posh. Easy! Well, not really but the sort of season we have had so far a 4-0 win against any opposition was more than welcome.

Tomorrow I was to spend the afternoon at Trev's house. Sky TV were showing the First Round tie between Kettering and Plymouth Argyle. I wondered what the score will be. Peter Shilton manages Plymouth. It had not been a good week for goalkeepers.

Saturday 26th November 1994 Posh 0 Orient 0

The answer to the question 'Would Plymouth beat Kettering' was 'yes'. In a fairly ordinary game they won 1-0. I went round to Trev's to watch the game on Sky TV and walked home at 6.00 p.m. having consumed a couple of 'little green bottles'. It was a most peculiar feeling, getting home in the dark just in time for tea. These 4.00 p.m. kick off games are neither afternoon games nor evening ones.

We were still none the wiser as to whether Bruce Grobbelaar was a cheat or an innocent victim of a possible set-up. One thing was sure - he certainly had got bottle. He played his first game for Southampton last Saturday at home against Arsenal and performed with confidence and assurance. In fact he kept his first clean sheet of the season and was well received by the fans, home and visitors alike. It must have been extremely stressful for the bloke, being followed and filmed by the press, radio and television reporters. All credit to him for appearing so in control.

English football needed some good luck. Manchester United had a disastrous, but possibly predictable, 3-1 away defeat against Gothenburg in the European Champions league. It now seemed unlikely that they would progress any further in the competition and, in fact, didn't really deserve to. When will everyone realise that the English football does not have a divine right to be better than anything else in Europe? Manchester United, although a good side, are nothing like the Liverpool 'dynasty' teams of the 70's and '80's.

Arsenal's had admitted in the tabloid newspapers that he had a problem with cocaine. There was a joke going round that he must have been on something because it certainly wasn't speed! I felt sorry for the poor bloke. Journalists, particularly those from the Third Division rags, seemed constantly be on the lookout for any celebrity to make a slip. They always seem so righteous in their condemnation of any misdemeanour. Perhaps we ought to be given the low-down of the private lives of some of the reporters and commentators. Now that might be juicy indeed!

Things had been going quite well for Posh recently. The Cup win against Northampton cheered us all up and Cambridge beat Brentford in their first round replay thus giving us a juicy second round tie to look forward to next Saturday. We would be at home for three Saturdays on the trot and that would nearly take us to Christmas. Last week we beat Brighton 2-1 at the Goldstone ground AND achieved this with nine men for the last 25 minutes, David Morrison and Ken Charlery both having been sent off. This would mean that neither of them would be available to play against Cambridge although, in Ken's case, he won't be particularly missed. He hasn't looked at all sharp despite being the leading scorer with ten goals. Hopefully missing a few games might recharge his batteries and whet his appetite again.

The match this afternoon against Leyton Orient had ominous rings about it. Orient hadn't got a single point away from home so far this season and, as all football fanatics know, those sort of bad runs have to end somewhere so why not at Peterborough on the last Saturday in November. John Still was, until today, possibly in the frame to collect the November 'Manager of the Month' award - five games and five wins - pretty impressive by anyone's standards. Orient themselves seemed resigned to not scoring goals since their shirts bore the words 'The O's' on the back. Whether this was 'O' for Orient or '0' for Zero was unclear.

When I took the register at 3 o'clock, Daniel, Les, Trevor, Stewart, 'Geoff the Pieman' and Colin were present. Steve was apparently working but, since I did not receive a note, his absence would have to go down as 'unauthorised'. Earlier this week the government had published its league tables in the national newspapers and absences had been listed for the first time. It won't be long before registration is compulsory for people attending football matches.

The match started. We were missing Liburd Henry up front, perhaps the only player, in my estimation, to look likely to score. Tony Lormor took his place and gave a workmanlike performance without ever looking sparkling. I was hoping for a 4-0 Posh win: that was the score that I had picked out of the Gasman's baseball cap. Apparently he and his mates conduct a sweepstake every week as to the final outcome. It appeared on the surface to be 20p well invested. At least it would have been last week! The little piece of paper that I clutched in my hand all through the game advising me of the 4- 0 result was a fragment of a Galaxy chocolate bar wrapper. We know how to have fun!

At around the 20 minute mark we were playing pretty good football, passing well and appearing to be confident. Sadly this neat and natty play didn't get us anywhere mainly due to the fact that we had no Shearer, Sutton or Sheringham to polish the job off. Gradually the first half drifted away and the main excitement was consuming the ever-widening variety of sweets that the lads were now bringing to games. Gone were the days of only having the humble Extra Strong Mint. We were now treated to 'Blue Bird Milk Chocolate Coated Toffees' and 'Nuttall's Mintoes'. The competition could soon become fierce. We could soon be sharing exotic sweetmeats from Marks and Spencers and could even be providing each other with expensive chocolates from Thornton's. God knows what could happen on the first home game after Christmas!

The second half stayed mediocre. My word processor has a thesaurus facility and mediocre can be replaced by medium, average, fair, middling, mean or indifferent. All of them were appropriate for the rest of the game which drifted away towards 4.45 p.m.

Tony Lormor produced a good bending shot a few minutes from the end but the bend was not quite enough. Little else happened in front of goal and there were few original attacking ideas. One saving grace of the whole thing was the fact that Scott Cooksey looked pretty sound. He'd done well to come back from his early season horrors and had demonstrated reasonable skill and increasing confidence. He he'd kept a clean sheet for all three home matches since his return to the side and you couldn't ask more from a goalkeeper than that.

The final whistle went. 0-0 and no surprise at all. It was mid-table we were and mid-table we would stay judging by today's performance. Still it could all be different next Saturday. Bring on Cambridge!

Saturday 3rd December 1994 F.A. Cup 2nd Round Posh 0 Cambridge United 2

In the 'Hand and Heart' last night Les, Trevor, Colin, John and I all had guesses as to what the score of today's match would be. We all stumped up £1 each and, if the correct result was not predicted then the money would go to an AIDS charity since AIDS Awareness Day was last Thursday. The predictions 1-1, 4-0, 3-1, 2-1 and 2-0 were scrawled on the back of a Smiles' Brewery beer mat. None of us plumped for a Cambridge win so, in the event, charity won a fiver.

I was performing at a special AIDS Benefit Concert at the Key Theatre on the day following the match and had prepared a poem based entirely on a Posh win. That went out of the window and unless I had written something about the Samaritans then I something else would have to be found. It was a shame - I was looking forward to publicly crowing and taking the piss about our old adversaries.

Radio Cambridgeshire had been hyping up the game for the past week, talking about the clash between the 'mighty 'U's' and ever-improving Posh'. It was four years since we had played Cambridge at home and then we had lost 5-1. It was certainly about time that drubbing was avenged.

As we walked to the ground, having parked ominously easily, we tried to predict the size of the crowd. Again Radio Cambridgeshire had optimistically exaggerated the figure - 12,000 was never going to be attained although we all thought that 10,000 would be possible. In the event the attendance was 9,576, perhaps a little disappointing in the circumstances. However I suppose that this had to be set against the poor Cambridge support this season as well as the fact that the spectre of Christmas meant that shopping was an all-to-attractive alternative.

Ken Charlery and David Morrison were both suspended following their sendings-off of a couple of weeks ago. I didn't think we would miss Ken but, in hindsight, I think that he would have given a dimension that was missing. Liburd Henry never looked particularly fit and Tony Lormor, although keen and enthusiastic, badly needed a goal to settle his nerves and boost his confidence. He had the ability to get into the right place and the right time but, as yet, did not seem to possess a shot of any great venom. We still waited for the day when he blasted his first goal into the roof of the net. When that happened I was sure that another half dozen would follow without too much trouble.

In fact it was Lormor who, in the first couple of minutes, nearly scored for Posh. His shot cum lob skimmed the top of the crossbar and, had it gone in, would have not only been a contender for goal of the season but also would have surely set us on our way. As it was we dominated the first quarter of the game without having anything to show for it.

Although I didn't rate the Cambridge defence which I thought looked as though it could be breached by reasonable players at any time my eye was caught by the full-back, Junior Hunter and a midfield player, Matthew Joseph, a capable player who, according to the programme, had played both in defence and midfield and is a product of the Lilleshall School of Excellence. For me the twenty two year old was the man of the match. Now how often have I praised a Cambridge player?

Against the run of play Dean Barrick, the Cambridge number three, scored. His thump from the edge of the box was hit well enough, got a slight early deflection and went straight through Scott Cooksey who, up to now had had nothing to do. What Cooksey was trying to do Heaven only knows and the ball sped straight through his flailing fist. 1-0 to Cambridge - a lead that they didn't deserve. After this 14th minute gift their tails were up and they scored again after half an hour through Darren Hay.

We went quiet and the Cambridge fans too hardly made any noise. Perhaps they couldn't believe their good fortune or didn't know any chants for when their side is in the lead. Surely we could have got back into the game? After all Cambridge had proved that they were patently useless by losing both of their last two games 4-2. Perhaps therein lay the key. At least they had scored two goals in each of those matches. That had been our problem, scoring goals that is.

We never looked like getting back into the game. Despite Tony Spearing's urges to the crowd to get behind the team and 's attempted marshalling befitting to his new role as captain we couldn't do it. In truth we never came anywhere near scoring. Early in the game the loudspeakers had urged us not to block the gangways if we wanted to make an early exit. We couldn't work out why anyone should want to leave a frenzied local derby early but after eighty minutes we certainly could. Queensgate was still open, there were still presents to be bought and we weren't going to score. let alone draw or win.

Eventually the Cambridge lot shouted, 'You're so shit it's unbelievable.' We could easily have countered by just substituting the 'you're' for 'we're'. Jason Brissett came on as sub but made no difference and, to add insult to injury, Cambridge brought on John Filan as an outfield player. He's their reserve 'keeper!

4.45 p.m. We were out of the FA Cup without getting so much as a sniff at the big clubs in the 3rd round draw. Still, Cambridge didn't either - they drew Burnley at home, hardly a glamour tie. Serves them right. For me only bright spot of the day had been whilst watching 'Football Focus' at lunchtime. There had been a feature on , the goalkeeper, who had played for 17 (seventeen) clubs during his career. He was 43 years old today and was still playing, today for Falkirk in the Scottish Premier League. 43 years old and still playing. Being 43 myself and having watched Posh today I went to bed dreaming of those well-worked free kicks and smashed volleys. There could be time for a mid-life change of career yet!

Saturday 10th December 1994 Posh 2 Brentford 2

This game had 0-0 written all over it, or so I thought. The hollow sound of defeat from last Saturday's' debacle were still fresh in my mind. What possible interest could there be in a pre-Christmas mid-table contest?

I was still recovering from the high feelings I get when performing poems. I had done two 'turns' this week; last Sunday the AIDS Benefit night with Jo Brand at the Key Theatre which had gone extremely well but was not the perfect warm-up for a week at school and last night at the 'Gaslight', where I had felt strangely flat, probably because the size of the audience (about 350) was under a tenth of the size of Sunday's effort. I surmised that, with Christmas just around the corner, people were saving their money for the festive onslaught of present buying and seasonal office thrashes. The Chancellor's budget and the state of the government can't have helped the mood of the people either. Four important political occurrences had followed each other like venomous machine gun bullets. In his Budget the Chancellor, Kenneth Clark, had reiterated the government's' intention to add VAT on to domestic fuel, the move had then been defeated in the Commons, interest rates had risen and finally Clark, with some malevolent spite, had retorted with increases in the duties on fags, booze and petrol, just to get back at us all.

In the same week John Lyall had parted company 'amicably' from Ipswich Town who were firmly rooted to the bottom of the Premier League and Spurs had their six point deduction and expulsion from this year's F.A. Cup lifted. This left them free to take on the might of Altrincham in the third round. The whole question of financial irregularities is too complex to go into here but I will say that, just as we all moan about the inconsistencies of refereeing decisions, so there appear to be disparities right through the game.

There had been three interesting transfers during the week, one directly concerning us. First Ashley Ward, part of that Crewe side that had given us a right seeing-to earlier in the season had gone to Norwich City and had scored two goals on his debut. Second Wolves had signed the Dutchman John de Wolf from Feyenoord and immediately made him captain (a wolf made captain of Wolves - get it?). More to the point, we had acquired Tony Kelly from Bolton. Kelly had figured in the successful Bolton side of last year that had caught the eye in particular with a cup win over Arsenal. Quite a few of those players were now quite well known, John McGinlay and Jason McAteer to name but two and the appropriation of Kelly looked, from the outside, a 'good thing'. He was playing in the number eight shirt thus deposing 'Baywatch'. On first view he looked a bit unfit and overweight but seemed to have a good first touch and a better than average awareness of the play around him. In fact he looked like the sort of player who could do two things that I have often criticised the rest of the team for, namely taking free kicks and corners. He was to look pretty good in his first game and was rewarded with the 'Man of the Match' accolade although I personally though that the nippy and ever-improving Lee Williams deserved that particular recognition. Although initial indications were favourable I hoped that he wouldn't end up like John McGlashan - good for a few games and then worryingly anonymous.

Before the match the 'Posh Out West' die-hards had gone onto the pitch with David Morrison whom they had sponsored. This had been the perfect opportunity for Geoff to stand proudly and legitimately on the London Road turf. He was full of it when he joined us on the Glebe. I never cease to admire the true dedication of those fans who travel huge distances to home matches. Indeed there must be many occasions when it's far easier to travel to away games. I wonder if Plymouth Argyle or Exeter City have got 'Out East' branches?

Before kick-off I had guessed that the crowd would be 4,444. I wasn't too far out. 4,102 people attended the game; far more would have been Christmas shopping in Queensgate. In the event the shoppers missed a game that, as one of the men behind me remarked, 'This game is in danger of bordering on entertainment'. I replied, 'We always get fired up for local derbies', a direct reference to the fact that there was much more determination and concentration than in the Cambridge match.

The first fifteen minutes was dynamite or, at the very least, an explosive device made from fertiliser. We were ahead in only four minutes, Liburd Henry poking in a goal when the Brentford 'keeper, Tamer Fernandes palmed in straight to him. Joy unconfined was short-lived. Just seven minutes later Scott Cooksey was beaten on his near post after a short game of pinball in the penalty area. However a minute later something completely unexpected happened.

Tony Kelly took a 40 yard free kick from near the Main Stand touchline and, with a little help from the swirling wind, completely caught out Fernandes who grovelled around in the mud near his near post eventually helping the ball into the back of the net. 2-1 after twelve minutes. At this rate we were going to see twenty two goals! The first half remained pretty exciting without any further change in the scoreline.

We joked about the Brentford shirts which had, very usefully, the players' names on the back. The reason for mirth was that one of the players had the name 'Annon' inscribed on it. Either this was the guy's real name or it was 'Anon' misspelled. It must have been the former because the chap was quite good and would have been quite happy for us to know who he was.

At half time I scanned the programme which continued to gradually improve in terms of typographical errors. However there were still goodies to be found and today's was a classic. Brentford's luckless 'keeper's name was written three times: Tamer Fernades, Tamer Fernandes and Tamar Fernasndes! I kid you not. In addition I learned that, in the club shop, I could purchase a 'supper selection of T'-shirts'. This clearly takes the legend POSH to even greater height that I hitherto considered possible. We could now go to the shop and presumably buy tee shirts to wear at those social occasions to which we are all so often invited. I imagined turning up to supper with the Duchess of Gloucester sporting a subtle tee shirt with a bow tie printed at the top. The possibilities are endless. Entries on a postcard to ...

A 2-1 lead at home! It was too good to last. A home win was just too much to ask and, sure enough, the runes were proved right. Twenty minutes from the end the Brentford number eight, Nick Forster, who wasn't really going anywhere unleashed a speculative thump from thirty yards out. Cooksey dived late and the ball went straight under him. 'Whoopsey' Cooksey was reborn although, to be fair, he had looked much more solid in recent matches. But not today. We were just so good at throwing the lead away. When would it change?

This was the last home match before Christmas and John McGlashan scored for Rotherham today.

Monday 26th December 1994 Posh 1 Oxford 4

New gloves, hats and sweaters; bilge on the telly and the once a year visit from the relatives. That's what I associate with Christmas. Too much eating and no exercise whatsoever apart from the strain and effort of turning over the pages and trying to find the film guide in the Bumper Christmas edition of 'Radio Times'. And of course there is the usual mid-season flurry of football matches.

This match was notable for a new arrival on the Glebe Road side - Geoff's dad! Geoff had brought him to the match from his comparatively new home in Lincoln. Les asked him when was the last time he had seen Posh play. Geoff's dad answered 1979 with such a definite tone in his voice that I could tell that Geoff's fondness for dates, incidents and players was congenital. He said that he had stopped going after 1979. Les retorted that a lot of people had reacted the same when Thatcher's Tories had been elected at the same time.

Within a few days footballing fortunes can turn sharply. A team that has, through a mixture of bad luck and ineptitude, been at the foot of a league table can, in a matter of days, find itself climbing away from trouble and starting the slow climb into mid-table respectability. Conversely a team that has been plodding away without any great fears of relegation can, just as suddenly, find itself staring into the division below. I recognised that there was still a long way to go before the end of the season was reached but these holiday games can be so important. Supporters can enjoy a 'feel good factor'. Occasional supporters who have returned to their own particular Bethlehems can go to their one game of the year and then go back to their own homes and workplaces and report back to other exiles on the fortunes of the team.

I had spoken to my brother Simon on the telephone on Christmas Day. I would have liked to have invited him up to see today's Boxing Day match against Oxford United, the league leaders but I had thought better of it. Although I thought that we might see quite a good match I was afraid that we still had the same old problem - we couldn't score goals. In the match against Oxford yet another problem reared its ugly head. We couldn't get the ball!.

The past few games had convinced me that we weren't going to go anywhere or do anything until we found strikers from somewhere who could score. Liburd Henry, Sean Farrell and Tony Lormor weren't the answer and David Morrison and Lee Williams were both keen without sparkling. That was it - we needed someone bright in the sparkling stakes or at least someone to put a smile back onto our faces. If we couldn't have a forward who was going to bring us twenty goals in a season then at least give us someone who is going to give us a laugh and a smile. The Good Lord must have heard our prayers because he had sent us ... Fred Barber, yes the same Fred Barber whom we had mysteriously off loaded to Luton Town at the start of the season for a trifling £15,000. The Man in the Mask was back at London Road, albeit only on a month's loan to cover for Scott Cooksey who has been sent back to the Nursery to retake basic training. (Last Saturday's 3-1 defeat away at Bristol Rovers had again included a typical Cookseyism. An opposition player had had a speculative thump from about 35 yards out and, by the time the ball reached him, our Scott was flat on his back, appearing to palm the ball over his head). It was good to see Fred back again - I can hardly think of a more energetic and wholehearted professional. Why we got rid of him in the first place is a mystery.

Fred did not disappoint. He played as well as we had remembered and did well enough, in the absence of any other worthy candidates, to win the 'man of the match' award. He commanded his area well, kick solidly from back passes and, in true Fred style, saved a penalty.

Oxford looked organised and well-drilled. They looked strong in every department. Matthew Elliott looked strong at the centre of defence; Alex Dyer looked versatile and could play his way out of defence with patience and presence of mind and David Rush, Bobby Ford and John Byrne all looked lively in attack. Indeed, when Oxford attacked, they seemed to have about three or four players all looking for goal scoring positions whereas we only had Ken Charlery and occasionally Liburd Henry foraging around like terriers looking for elusive truffles.

There were long patches in the game where we were made to look ordinary. Oxford had scored first although we replied only a minute later when a lovely flighted Tony Kelly cross was headed in by Ken Charlery, making his home return following his suspension. However, a few minutes later something happened from which we would not recover. A long range Oxford shot was handled on the line by Tony Spearing who was dismissed without too much argument. Fred Barber saved the subsequent penalty but the joy was short-lived. It was obvious that Oxford were the better side and it would have been most unlikely if they had not won the game. Their second goal showed the differences between the two teams. David Rush got the ball on the left, ran at the defence, the four members of whom just stood and watched him pick the best place to shoot from. The resulting shot was well struck past Fred Barber. Les and I discussed the fact that it matters little whether you have ten players on the pitch or eleven if you allow a player time and room to run at your back four without making any kind of attempt to dispossess him. The dagger was further twisted by the fact that the Oxford player, David Rush, not only scored twice but was the very same player that we had tried to buy last season from Sunderland.

The second half was anticlimactic. There was a time, about twenty minutes from the end, when we thought that we might sneak a goal and plunder a hardly deserved 2-2 draw. But it wasn't to be. We did our famous last ten minute capitulation act, Rush and Murphy scored in the 84th and 89th minute respectively (if not respectfully!). 1-4 the final score - a much fairer scoreline.

Earlier in the week I had a letter from Holland, from a chap called Wim Moorman from a place called Horst. he had spotted the plug for 'Face in the Crowd' in 'When Saturday Comes': #95. I was indeed flattered to receive a letter from so far away and was, at the same time, a little disappointed that few people had contacted me from this country. I vowed to write back to Wim not only sending him a copy of 'Face in the Crowd' but also a Posh programme from today's game Letter from Holland. I was sure that even he, an obvious football nut, hadn't got a programme in his collection from a game in which Posh lost 4-1 at home. When was the last time that happened? Consult the oracle - ask Geoff. On second thoughts ask Geoff's dad!

At this time of year the F.A. computer was supposed to produce local derbies. Try telling that to the intrepid Posh supporters who were travelling to Wrexham tomorrow morning! Sooner them than me.

Our next home game was to be a repeat of the cup game of a few weeks ago. We were against Cambridge on New Year's Eve, the day before Daniel's sixteenth birthday. We'd better beat them this time. To be beaten once at home by Scumbridge may be regarded as a misfortune; to lose twice would look like carelessness.

Saturday 31st December 1994 Posh 2 Cambridge United 2

Since Christmas Eve I had been listening to the start of the morning sessions from the second Test Match from Australia. England had been dire, capitulating all too easily to an Aussie side that, apart from Shane Warne, was nothing to write home about. It was Warne himself who drove the last three nails into England's coffin earlier in the week by taking a hat- trick - the last three English wickets in a dismal second innings score of 92. These late night/early morning sessions had started on Radio 5 at midnight. Our match against Cambridge today was to start at an equally peculiar time - noon.

At the end of a year I tend to look back at the year and conduct a mental review. A headteacher friend of mine once described this process as 'holding an Annual General Meeting with myself'. This process is aided by the fact that I keep a daily diary - nothing too grand and usually a catalogue of what sort of a day I had at school, any problems or difficulties, who I had met and what pub I ended up at late in the evening! One of the more morbid aspects of this review is reminding myself who has died during the year. There had been a flurry of deaths right at the last knockings of 1994, in particular Peter May and Fanny Craddock. There had been a lovely appreciation of Fanny on Radio 4 a few days ago during which Keith Floyd, another famous cookperson, told of one of the best known double entendres of all time, 'I hope all your doughnuts are like Fanny's'. Wonderful. My obituary XI for 1994 now read: Brian Johnston, , Brian Redhead, Derek Jarman, Jackie Onassis, John Smith, Richard Nixon, Fanny Craddock, Billy Wright, Roy Castle and Kurt Cobain, subs: Peter Cushing and Buster Edwards. Quite a formidable line-up I'm sure you agree.

A new year beckoned and yet another old one rolled away. Another year gone and I still hadn't slept with Twiggy, Jenny Agutter or Julia Roberts and none of them had slept with me. These adolescent fantasies seemed to be hanging around for rather a long time - just as long as dreams of a Posh home league win. The last one occurred on November 5th. That seemed an age ago.

During 1994 a great deal happened. Torvill and Dean became amateur again and won the British Ice Dancing Championships. They went on to gain Bronze medals at the Winter Olympics so they turned professional yet again: John Major had spent a large amount of time trying to tell us that everything was O.K. despite sleaze being all around him:

Lisa Marie Presley had married Michael Jackson and split up from him all within six months; the IRA had declared a cease- fire and we heard that Gerry Adams really had a voice like Kenneth Williams; Brazil had won an excellent World Cup but the final itself had been an almighty yawn; Brian Lara had scored 501 runs, a new world record for first class cricket; Charles and Diana's marriage seemed irreparable and Camilla Stanley Bowles had something to do with it; democratic elections in South Africa had resulted in Nelson Mandela becoming the country's first black President and Four Weddings and a Funeral was the biggest British cinematic success of all time. I could have gone on for ages and I wondered how many people, in five years time, would still remember Colin Stagg, Andres Escobar, Elizabeth Hurley, Anita Thorn, Ffyona Campbell, Illich Ramirez Sanchez or Tony Lormor?

But the crowning glory of the whole year was that the Prime Minister, John Major, chose to spend the last day of the 1994 watching Posh play Scumbridge. He could have been at an Earth Summit deciding on the future of the planet. He could have been sorting out Bosnia or telling Boris Yeltsin a thing or two about the dangers of invading tiny insignificant little neighbours. Or he could have been at home sorting out the economy. But, oh no. Our great leader chose to spend a significant chunk of December 31st 1994 watching two desperately mediocre football teams trundle around the pitch under an increasingly threatening and snow laden sky. He sat next to our own Member of Parliament, Dr Brian Mawhinney, the Minister for Transport. (I hope that the aforementioned Transport Minister got held up like we did on the way out of the match by the well-meaning but usually totally irrational specials who direct the traffic). They did not witness a classic match.

The Cup match of a few weeks ago had been so dire from an Peterborough point of view so none of us were expecting a decent performance. All the regulars were there to help usher 1994 out of the door: Les, Trevor, Geoff, Daniel, Jack, Stewart and Steve and even David Barley. No attendance mark for Colin, Derek, Angus or Wal. Indeed the attendance for this game was pretty ordinary for a local derby that ought to have produced the proverbial passion and 'blood coming out of their boots' syndrome. 9,576 fans had seen the 2-0 defeat in the second round of the F.A. Cup just a few weeks ago - today's attendance of 7,412 was disappointing.

The early exchanges were much more positive and thrusting than the cup encounter. At the start of the game we looked as though we actually meant business. Andy Furnell was in the side, having apparently signed full time professional forms the days before. We were all desperately hoping that he would do well but frankly he looked lightweight at the moment. He hardly figured in the game at all apart from a super run right near the end of the game. He shows promise and I think that we ought to persist with him.

We went ahead after a quarter of an hour when Ken Charlery managed to get his leg to the ball which he looped over the 'keeper and into the net. The ball seemed to stay in the air for an eternity before dropping just inside the post. It was just as well we scored since we had done our old trick of equalising first. Cambridge scored through Jason Lillis just three minutes later and the rest of the first half was scrappy and lifeless. Tony Kelly looked overweight, knackered and disinterested and Liburd Henry also looked unfit and out of it.

We had to listen carefully to the P.A. system at half time. Daniel's sixteenth birthday was on January 1st and I had asked for a message to be read out. Apparently it was - Daniel heard it but I didn't. Had I known that John Major was to be at the game I would have rung in with some pithy and veiled greeting. Les is the king at that sort of thing. A few years ago, when Thatch was still in charge, he had a message read out over the tannoy saying something like, 'Welcome to Margaret from all her friends on the Glebe Road side who would all like to wish her a very happy retirement'. The message was put out just before a general election!

The second half was all midfield huff and puff without any real skill or pattern. Cambridge weren't as incisive as they had been in the cup game and we, well I've gone on about it enough. There was a feeling that the next goal, should it come, would be decisive. That man Lillis popped up again, ten minutes from time, to poke the ball into the net following an almighty scramble. The television reporter later in the day would refer to the goal as ' a typical lower division goal'. I knew what he meant. That was it, or so we thought. We were all deciding what our 'Still Out' banners would be made of and we joked that we were all going to give him a vote of confidence. That usually does the trick! Then, five minutes from time, Ken Charlery bravely headed the ball into the net from a teasing Tony Kelly cross. 2-2 and neither set of supporters satisfied. We couldn't continue like this. Something had to be done. We were now lower mid table and the threat of relegation was not an impossibility.

On Monday we would travel to for the first match of 1995. Darren Bradshaw, in my opinion one of those players we got rid of too easily, plays for them and today was part of the team that lost to Birmingham City 7-1. Bradshaw opened the scoring for Blackpool in the 8th minute and then equalised by scoring an own goal just four minutes later. Then the deluge.

There's a delightful phrase that I heard recently, one that is attributed to Jasper Carrot who was talking about his beloved Birmingham City; 'You lose some - you draw some'. At the moment that's more appropriate to us not Birmingham who currently looked at good bet for the championship let alone straightforward promotion. When your team includes the likes of Steve Claridge, Ricky Otto, Louis Donowa and our own you're bound to do well. Even Gary Cooper was now regularly getting a game.

Question: What have the following teams in common? West Brom, Middlesbrough, Southend, Hull City and Chester City

Answer: They were the only teams Peterborough United beat in the league at home during 1994.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Saturday 14th January 1995 Posh 0 Bradford 0

Monday 2nd January 1995: the first match of 1995: Blackpool's previous game had been a 7-1 defeat: today's score - Blackpool 4 Posh 0; Posh now 15th in the league: after the game John Still said 'to be fair' a lot on the radio: he also referred to 'shocking defence'. 'Nuff said!

Last Saturday I had an experience that reminded me of just how wide the gulf is between teams like Posh and those in the Premier League. We didn't have a game since we were not in the 3rd round of the F.A. Cup and Wycombe, our scheduled opponents, were. Trevor had persuaded Leas and myself to go to Nottingham to see Forest play Plymouth Argyle. This we did, with Trevor's sister, Daphne, also coming along as number one Argyle fan, navigator and car park space finder. The facilities at the City round were superb - a modern all-seater stadium with plenty of space, good views, loads of decent toilets and beefburgers that looked like beefburgers. The 19,000 fans who were there were well stewarded and sensibly looked after and the whole place had an air of calm, modern and efficient management.

The main difference was what we saw on the pitch. Nottingham Forest (virtually the same team that we had played on 30th April last year) were doing so well in the Premier League and there were 56 places between themselves and Posh. And to think that, just a few months ago, we had nearly held our own against them AND in the same division! Plymouth, for the purposes of this game representing the Second Division, were dead and buried after a quarter of an hour. had done one of his party pieces - controlling a ball thirty yards out, shrugging off a defender, walking round the goalkeeper and calmly planting the ball into the net and, just a few minutes later, Scott Gemmill had bent the ball round the 'keeper to give Forest an impregnable yet unexciting 2-0 lead. Plymouth were never to recover and, I'm sad to say, looked about as effective as a man trying to break toffee with an inflatable hammer. The whole experience as enjoyable yet seemed to belong to a different game and way of life altogether.

Yet more prisoners have escaped, some from Parkhurst on the Isle of Wight and some from Littlehay quite near to Peterborough. The prison system seemed to be in a right mess, what with the IRA breakout referred to earlier, a worryingly large number of suicides of prisoners including the notorious (but as yet innocent!) Frederick West who was awaiting trial accused of the murder of god knows how many young women. 25 Cromwell Street in Gloucester will go down in macabre folklore and there's bound to be a lurid film in the future after his deceptively pleasantly named wife Rosemary has been tried for her nine or ten alleged murders. There have been inquests and recriminations about the prison service and its effectiveness but one person who had remained smarmily adamant that it's not his fault was the Home Secretary, Michael Howard.

Andy Cole had been transferred from Newcastle to Manchester United in exchange for six million ponds and Keith Gillespie, a young player of whom we shall hear more in the future. Newcastle's could have made a shrewd killing. Gillespie was worth a million and the fee for Cole seemed, on the surface, to be colossal.

Manchester United were desperate to acquire English players so that they would have more of a chance in European competition next year. They might yet go for Stan Collymore as well! Time would tell if it was or Kevin Keegan who had done the best deal - we probably wouldn't know for a year.

There is a saying that you can get exciting 0-0 draws. Today's match against Bradford wasn't one of them. It should have been a better game. Bradford City's team boasted some pretty reasonable players including Carl Shutt, John Taylor and Gary Robson (brother of Bryan). They also have an inspired youth policy. The programme informed us that Bradford were playing a young lad who was only three months old. Neil Tolson's date of birth was given as 25/10/94. It would be interesting to see how well he got one - playing football before you can walk is, I am told, quite difficult although not impossible. The programme went on to tell me that he had 'struggled to find the net'. Perhaps he needs his mum there to help him. In addition we were told that 'sheer determination made him an awkward opponent'. Presumably this means that opposition players kept falling over him or tripping over the wheels of the pushchair. As it was I didn't notice him on the pitch.

The crowd of 4,400, our second lowest attendance of the season so far, had very little to cheer them. Thank God quite of a few of my friends and fellow sufferers turned up to help to swell the numbers. Les, Geoff, Stewart and Steve were there. Trevor had come with Derek and Colin wandered in a few minutes after kick-off. Les, Colin and Derek were the happy beneficiaries of cheap tickets costing only £5. The club had written to all season ticket holders just before Christmas saying that they could buy a ticket before the game for a friend for £5 and that this offer would last for January and February. This was, of course, a tempting offer for non-season ticket holders but was a right pain for season ticket holders like myself who had to traipse down to the ground before the game to purchase these tickets. What's more we didn't get any benefit at all unless we sold our tickets to our mates at a higher price than the purchase price and that's not only unfriendly but also illegal isn't it?

Perhaps the most significant moment in the whole encounter came very early in the game when Fred Barber collided with a Bradford forward and had to be replaced by Mark Tyler who looked perfectly competent and sound. The way that Fred stayed down for so long clutching his arm or shoulder and then slowly walked off round the edge of the pitch didn't look good. I'm no expert but it looked like a broken collarbone or shoulder dislocation to me. I would no doubt find out during the week.

A bloke called Jason Solomon played his first game for us. He was a loanee from Watford, had a moderate game but gave me no reason to think that he was going to help the cause particularly. He did hit the bar with one shot but that was about all. It was one of those games when the ball spent a great deal of time being kicked up into the air. Les and Trevor spent most of the match counting the number of Posh passes and rarely getting beyond the number two before the whole thing broke down.

It was one of those games that is soon forgotten or perhaps never remembered in the first place! One of those games when terrace banter is the highlight of a dull, seemingly meaningless January day. The problem is that I have always felt that seasons are won and lost in these dark wintry days - it's no good making so sort of spirited race for the line in April and May. That's a bit like the player who rushes to get the ball out of the net having just scored a goal to put his team back into contention with only two minutes to go. It's all too late by then.

The terrace on-liners came thick and fast today, a sure sign that what was happening on the pitch was substandard. My contribution towards the end of the game got a bit of a titter. Sean Farrell, our well-meaning but largely ineffectual striker, was lying injured on his side with only five minutes to go. We wondered what the injury was. 'He's fallen on his car keys', I said. It was that sort of game.

We still hadn't scored in 1995.

Saturday 11th February 1994 Posh 1 Plymouth 2

'Should I hang up or will you tell him He'll have to go?' Jim Reeves

It's absolutely ages since we had a home game. We had been supposed to play Swansea at home a fortnight ago but the Welsh spoilsports had managed to get to the 4th Round of the FA Cup (remember that?) and had played, and lost to, Newcastle United.

In the past fortnight we've had a 1-1 draw away at Chester City, the bottom club and an 4-1 away drubbing away to Leyton Orient last Saturday. Leyton Orient were the next to bottom club and we went and lost to them 4-1. What made such a result even worse for me was looking at the sports pages in the paper the following day and scanning goalscorers for other clubs; Gary Hackett for Chester (again), John McGlashan two for Rotherham, Worrell Sterling for Bristol Rovers and even Ian McInerney for Raunds in the FA Vase fifth round. Things didn't look good and John Still's position was, what's the word - tenuous? Every Radio Cambridgeshire football phone-in of the past few days had been packed with Posh fans calling for Still to go. John Still himself was on the radio last night asking for the fans to be tolerant and also pointing out that he was only prepared to listen to people whom he respected, people like Barry Fry. Sounded like a severe case of the London boys all sticking together to me! The main football news of January had been the extraordinary hoohah around Eric Cantona and the incident at Crystal Palace on Wednesday 25th. The Premier League game had been fairly undistinguished and neither team had as yet scored. Early in the second half Eric kicked Shaw, the Palace number three, who had been sticking to him as tightly as he could.

The referee was miles away up the field but the linesman waved his flag instantly. The referee went up to Cantona and showed him the red card. Eric the Red was walking back towards the dressing rooms along the touchline when he suddenly became enraged and athletically vaulted the advertising hoarding and gave a supporter a two footed reminder of who he was. Well that was it! The game was forgotten and the whole incident now entered the realms of media stupidity. Suddenly everyone became experts and we had the downright obscenity of the incident making the headline story on both the Six and Nine O'clock News. The remembrance of the fiftieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz would have to wait. This was MUCH MORE IMPORTANT. The controversy was the lead question on 'Question Time' and the panellists had to be reminded that a football was round. ''s' front page two days later was sombre, 'The shame of Cantona'. The whole question was treated with the same seriousness as if the Anglo-Irish agreement had collapsed or the Middle East difficulties had re-erupted. Substitute 'The shame of Cantona' for 'the shame of Bosnia/Palestine/Tory tax bribes/homelessness' etc. I love my football but let's get real. The worthy and the just were asked to comment and even 96 year old Lord Denning, the former Master of the Rolls, was asked to remark. He was quoted as saying, 'What I don't understand is how a Frenchman is playing for Manchester United. They employ him to play football, not to hit people.' The newspapers continued in their franglais rhyming wurble - 'Au revoir, Cantona' and so on. I'll let your imagination run - it won't have to toddle far. My own imagination ran a little way and this is what I came up with. It was about time that Manchester United themselves came in for a bit a flak!

Manchester United 1 The great kit fiasco red and black and yellow and green stripes of white and blue we will sting a rainbow sting a rainbow sting a rainbow too

Manchester United 2 Ooh Aah Cantona Ouch!

Wednesday 25th January 1995 Crystal Palace 1 Manchester United 1

Eric's laconic Eric's in trouble Eric is terse blows make me wince Eric paints pictures other join in Eric writes verse including

Eric's mercurial Should Eric be deported? Eric's a lad Should Eric be banned, Eric's unusual sent back to France Eric is bad his native land?

Eric is angry No, Eric needs punsihing Eric is sad without a fuss Eric is violent he ought to be made Eric is mad to play for us

Eric's annoyed punishment fitting Eric is marked supporetes deligheted defender falls over send Cantona Eric Eric is narked to Peterborough United

Eric is furious Eric is hard linesman's waving his flag ref waves his red card

Eric walks off Eric's abused Eric's hackles arise Eric's not amused

Eric's over the barrier in a mood toute suite kicks a supporter with both feet

'The Guardian' carried on this pseudo worship in the following Friday's paper, 'from Rimbaud to Rambo'. Don't they just love it? They had a double page spread in their tabloid section all about a new tome that is just to be published called 'La Philosphie de Cantona'. That piece of free publicity has guaranteed that a probably ordinary book will now shoot into the best sellers. Better get the presses geared up, lads. You'll need a reprint by Thursday. The book was published by Ringpull Press. Need I say more? The papers didn't make such a fuss when Noel Luke was unceremoniously dumped by Peterborough United, did they? Ooh Aah Doris!

On a far more serious level I still remember the news item on the same day as the Cantona debacle concerning the fiftieth anniversary of the liberation of Auschwitz. There were many poignant reminders. I can still see the small and distantly pretty old lady standing at Auschwitz looking out over the ruins of the ovens at the wasted landscape of despair and decay. She spoke movingly about the fact that the sights and sounds had stayed with her for fifty years. 'I have never left here,' she said. Football hardly matters at all.

It certainly didn't seem to matter a great deal to the majority of the Posh players today. We were subjected to a game that, under normal circumstances, would have been forgotten within hours. The fact that it was to stay in my memory was due to two factors; first I was pretty sure that this would be the home game that would hasten John Still's departure and, second, we played good old Trev's team, the Argyle. Trevor couldn't lose today. If Posh won then it would break our 12 match run of games without a win and, if Plymouth won, he could sneak off home content in the knowledge that Plymouth had recorded not only their first win and London Road but also their first points. In the event the latter was the case.

God the terraces looked empty. I'm sure there weren't 4,318 fans at the match even though the tannoy told us late in the game that this was the attendance. The Glebe Road side had huge spaces and you could have chosen virtually any crash barrier to lean on you wanted. Les had cried off sick with 'flu and a bad back and there was absolutely no sign of Stewart and Steve. The numbers were swelled by Angus and Phil Walden who brought their children. How cruel parents can be! Fancy forcing your children to travel from Birmingham and Bury St. Edmunds respectively to watch what we had to endure. The punishment rivals being sent to bed early without any tea or not being allowed to go out to play with your mates. Appalling! Geoff was there announcing that it was a 'two pie game'. Before the game he stood balancing these succulent terrace delights in soggy paper napkins made damp either by excessive grease or the persistent drizzle.

Bob Burrows, the pre-match announcer, seemed subdued today. Usually he is able to entertain and amuse with his catchphrase, 'You're very welcome to London Road.' and 'Safe journey home, lads', both of which are said before the game. Normally when reads out the team sheets the Posh team is invariably greeted with cheers and whoops of delight. Not today it wasn't. As he read out the names: 1 John Keeley, 2 Kevin Ashley, 3 Tony Spearing, 4 Marcus Ebdon, 5 Gary Breen, 6 Glen Thomas, 7 Lee Williams, 8 Jason Soloman, 9 Sean Farrell, 10 Ken Charlery and 11 Paul Moran, there was barely more than a murmur of approval except possibly for Tony Spearing and Ken Charlery, distant reminders of better times.

We were a goal down after three minutes when Steve McCall drilled a ball through a crowd of players when it rebounded to him at the edge of the penalty area. When I see players who are experienced and who have played at the top level the difference between them and the bog standard is so noticeable. McCall knew how to pace himself, was economical with his efforts and could spot opportunities. Indeed his early goal was a classic case of 'right place, right time'. I was later to find out that the goal was the quickest in the country today.

Posh plugged away during the dingy first half without any real passion, guile or skill. I know I sound desperately negative but that's the way it felt. The headline on the page in the programme devoted to items in the Club shop cried out 'Sale Madness' and told me that I could now buy a Wembley tee-shirt for £3.50, reduced from £7.95. The whole team and the style of play seems to have been reduced from £7.95 to £3.50. Incidentally the programme continued to amuse referring to 'Brighton and Hove Ablion', 'exceptable' and 'credable'. I'm sorry - I can't help it.

The crowd was very subdued for the whole of the first half. The crowd seemed to have fallen midway between the 'get behind the team' persuasion and the 'Still Out' contingent, leaving a rather quiet, embarrassed, nonplussed nothingness. True we did equalise after 54 minutes when Sean Farrell stuck in a fine lob to the far post from K.C. (Ken Charlery) but the possible draw was snatched away from us with five minutes to go when Kevin Nugent headed an accomplished goal with our defence nowhere. There it was, a 2-1 defeat.

We stayed for a few minutes after the game ended. There was a small group of about fifty supporters gathered behind the goal at the London Road end protesting about our fortunes. They hardly constituted a demonstration. In fact they appeared rather Dickensian huddled together in the damp and failing light. They reminded me of Victorian urchins holding out begging bowls and asking for more. No-one was listening.

Things don't look good. It was hard to tell where the goals were going to come from. The spine of the team, goalkeeper, central defenders, midfield creator and goal scorer just wasn't right. Watching Posh at the moment was about as frustrating as trying to make a piece of jigsaw fit into a space that you know it shouldn't. You've started the picture and you want to finish it but you're beginning to get frustrated so trying to fit bits anywhere will do. It was getting a bit like that.

Earlier this week the 'P.M.' news programme on Radio 4 had a feature on the dwindling membership of the Young Conservatives. The reporter did his bit against the background of turnstiles and announced that the membership of the YCs had dropped to five and a half thousand, approximately the same number as the average Peterborough United home match. Being compared to the Young Conservatives. That's all we needed!

Tuesday 21st February 1995 Posh 2 Brighton and Hove Albion 1

A mere six days ago something happened to bring into question the whole credibility and dignity of English football and those who follow it. With the Grobbelaar, George Graham and Cantona episodes still fresh in our minds and unresolved the ogre of violence at football matches reawakened. Perhaps we had thought that disturbances on the terraces had diminished to such a degree that it was merely the province of a tiny mentally unstable minority. But no. Last Wednesday evening all the memories of bad times were brought back when the Ireland versus England friendly international was abandoned due to crowd trouble after 27 minutes .

I had been so hopeful that all this aggressive nonsense had been banished for good. My theory that it was no longer fashionable to behave like a moron was well and truly shot down in flames (or at least fire damaged) that night. I thought that 'intellectualisation' of the game promoted by fanzines and the more positive 'fun' attitudes as demonstrated in television programmes like 'Fantasy Football League' had meant that football was now regarded by people as rather cool and slightly alternative comedy-like albeit a bit 'blokeish'. The small group of right wing brawlers and agitators at Lansdowne Road certainly succeeded in what they had set out to do - ruin the match and stir up trouble and doubts in these sensitive Anglo- Irish times. Fascist salutes during the national anthems were the precursor to the violence that was to follow an Irish opening goal. Seats were ripped out and hurled onto supporters seated in the tier below. The aggro escalated and the Irish Gardee initially seemed to stand and watch in a slightly bemused way. The whole thing intensified and the players were taken off by the Dutch referee. Supporters spilled out on to the pitch and the game was abandoned. It took a good few hours for the whole thing to die down with thugs still fighting and the Gardee and the recently summoned riot police wading in with batons.

Afterwards there were the usual recriminations and inquests into the state of football, politics and the rest. The future of the European Championships which are due to be held in England in 1996 were discussed at length although, thankfully, there should be no long lasting repercussions. Perhaps we should have expected problems. It was seventeen months since England's last away game in Europe and there was trouble at that game at Rotterdam in Holland. I think that we were lulled into a false sense of security not only because of the length of time since the last debacle but also because we all somehow assumed that Ireland, being English speaking and not really 'foreign', would be the venue for a trouble-free, well-organised international match. How wrong can you be!

In the wider world of football it was announced at lunchtime today that George Graham's contract as the Arsenal manager had been terminated. This was due to alleged financial irregularities regarding the transfer of players. We will have to wait until Thursday when the FA inquiry reports to the general public to find out more precise details. However it looked as though the Arsenal board have preempted damning news. Graham had done well at Arsenal over the past few years without setting the world alight. He is clearly a strong determined man who would be difficult to replace. The current favourite was John Still.

But, more important and certainly relevant to today's contest, we had yet another new goalkeeper. Apparently, according to the 'Peterborough Evening Telegraph' the last model, John Keeley, had walked out of the club following the 4-2 away defeat at Bradford City last Saturday. Apparently he had been pelted by meat pies by disgruntled Posh travelling supporters. I don't know, what is the world coming to? Seats being ripped up and thrown on to people one week and meat pies being flung at goalkeepers the next! What is the world coming to? So now we have got a chap called Tony Feuer, a 24 year old 6 foot 7 inch American reserve 'keeper from West Ham. He would be the sixth owner of the coveted number one shirt this season. Already there's been Scott Cooksey (12) league appearances), Mark Tyler (3), Fred Barber (5), Mark Prudhoe (6) and John Keeley (3). Would this one be any different? Thankfully the answer turned out be 'yes'. Feuer, although tall and possibly a little ungainly, looked in command and appeared unflappable, particularly bearing in mind this was his first game for us at very short notice. He wouldn't know our back four, their strengths, weaknesses and foibles but, to be fair, he looked as if he'd been in the side for quite a few weeks. In fact he received the 'man of the match' award at the end of the game and few would have seriously argued with that.

There was a poor turn-out for the game and the Glebe Road terrace looked sparsely populated. the only regulars were Stewart, Trevor, Woody and myself. Colin came along later with Joe Dillon, a mutual friend and acquaintance and occasional supporter, and Les turned up at half time having not returned by rail to Peterborough in time for the kick-off. No Geoff, no Steve and precious few others. Success leads to increased numbers at matches and mediocrity or downright failure leads to the reverse. The attendance of 3,870 was the lowest of the season, a shame because the game that we saw was the best for a long time. True, the game was as important as any we had played recently. Brighton were just a few points above us and, if we won, we would overhaul them and make our league position a little more respectable.

Brighton hadn't done particularly well this season which could have been bad news for , their popular manager and one of the best players ever to don an Arsenal shirt. Arsenal! Of course! Aren't they looking for a new manager? Could it be little Liam? No surely not! His mediocre record at Brighton might well go against him. I looked down the visitors' team sheet in the programme. There were names I recognised (although not all of them was playing): George Parris, the ex- West Ham midfielder, Mark Chamberlain, the 33 year old ex-Stoke, Portsmouth, Port Vale, Sheffield Wednesday and England (8 caps) player and, of course, Steve Foster who seems to have played for Brighton for at least 45 years. In fact I had forgotten that he had also played for Luton, Aston Villa and Oxford. Indeed these days there aren't that many players who can boast an F.A. Cup appearance - he was the 'Seagulls' side who lost 4-1 to Spurs in the replay of the 1984 final.

Good old Foster for it was he who, in the 25th minute of the first half attempted to swivel on a ball just at the edge of his own penalty area. He missed and Ken Charlery stole the ball and thumped the ball into the net. 1-0 to Posh. The commitment thus far had been much better than in previous games and we deserved our lead.

In the euphoria of the moment of ecstasy at seeing a home goal I heard the chink of money and looked upwards. Was it raining pennies from heaven? No. The young lad that Colin and Joe had brought with them had, in his excitement, dropped his money. I helped him to pick it up.

Half time. Still in the lead if you pardon the expression! Felt much better about life. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was half term.

The second half continued in much the same vein as the first. We seemed to be winning more possession in midfield and we weren't letting Brighton settle into any sort of rhythm. In truth Brighton didn't look as if they ever had particular rhythm and their defence spent long periods of the game looking static. However they did get an equaliser in the 70th minute when Junior McDougald ended a prolonged goalmouth scramble by scoring. I must confess that I had the feeling that that could well be it. 1-1 on a cold February night seemed just about right for the way we had played over the past umpteen games. I didn't think that luck would be with us. I was wrong. However it wasn't luck that won us the game but a dazzlingly skilful interchange between K.C. and Sean Farrell, the £100,000 close signing from Fulham, who, up to now, had not given us any reason to change the view that we had been sold a 'pig in a poke'. With just over five minutes to go Charlery and Farrell contrived to pass he ball brilliantly and almost telepathically between each other at the edge of the penalty area. They did this for what seemed like several seconds until Farrell took the final responsibility and thumped the ball across the goalkeeper and into the far corner of the net. It was one of the best goals seen at London Road for many months and proved to be our winner, yes WINNER! At 9.38 p.m. the referee blew his whistle for the final time that evening and we wandered out of the ground, the whole ground bubbling with a satisfied murmur. It had been a long time coming. We had not won in the league since November 19th and, who had we beaten then? Brighton 2-1 at the Goldstone. We had achieved our first 'double' of the season. K.C. and the Sunshine Band had finally done it and, in the words of one of their 70s hits, 'That's the way I like it'.

Next Saturday we were to play Cardiff City at home. They're one of the teams we had beaten away, 2-1 as well. Could this be the long-awaited start to the revival?

Trevor, Les, John Hirst and I ended up at the 'Hand and Heart' drinking pints of 'Speckled Hen' and some guest beer with coriander in it. It could have had nettles in it for all I cared. At last we had won a football match. It was a four pint night.

Saturday 25th February 1995 Posh 2 Cardiff City 1

Yesterday the Football League had announced its punishment for Monsieur Cantona. He was fined £10,000 (half as much as his club had fined him) and banned from playing until September 30th. Manchester United had already banned him until the end of the season. So now he's been banned from playing for his summer holiday and a it extra. I wish someone would ban me from working during my holiday!

In the programme for last Tuesday's game Ginge (Marc Tracy) wrote his 'YT Report' and signed off with the immortal phrase, 'Thank you for listening.' However this was nothing compared to today's effort, in particular the 'Head to Head' column in which we are treated to the views of Alf Hand, the chairman and Chris Turner, Chief Executive. Alf's bit was such a prime example of football gobbledygook that I have to reproduce it below. Nothing has been altered. Perhaps the proof reader was on holiday!

Liburd Henry was the player 'In The Spotlight' and wrote about been given a 'Quartozone injection'. The beginning of the article stated, 'Liburd Henry, the player renowned for his fast goals, only minutes after the whistle, is back. Hopefully with more of those early winners.' It ended with 'Liburd will be available for selection in today's match against Cardiff. Don't miss the first ten minutes.' This proved to be sound advice. After two minutes Tony Spearing passed the ball lazily back towards Tony Feuer who remained rooted to the spot in disbelief. He was obviously not used to this sort of thing at West Ham. A Cardiff forward pounced and scored. The next half hour was deja vu. There seemed to be infinitesimal motivation, precious little skill and barely any shape to the performance. Cardiff were little better. They did not manage a shot on goal until well after the half hour mark and didn't look at all threatening.

I hadn't realised that Terry Yorath was their manager and, having found this out from the Radio Cambridgeshire match preview, I was ready to give the Welsh side a great deal more credibility than they in fact deserved. In the event they were toothless and pedestrian.

Just as with the last game there were brief flashes of understanding between Ken Charlery and Sean Farrell. Interchange between the two resulted in our opening goal when Farrell took the ball on the right wing and put over an inviting cross for our Ken to volley past the Cardiff 'keeper. From then until half time we looked comparatively better.

At half time we all had a good natter. Geoff, Steve, Stewart, Trevor, Woody and I discussed the future, particularly in relation to the fact that five teams are relegated this year. Steve confided that his workmates thought that he had a passing resemblance to Tony 'Sumo' Kelly. I agreed about the similarity with the proviso that Steve is marginally slimmer! The 'tea tent' had run out of tea. I ask you!

In the second half things looked destined to stay a 1-1 draw. John Still's double substitution of David Morrison and Tony Kelly for the ineffectual Henry and Lee Williams didn't alter the fact that again we had few ideas. The final whistle approached and we had become resigned to the fact that a draw was going to be the outcome when a touch of skill and a slice of good fortune occurred below the swirling threatening skies. The Cardiff defence dallied on the edge of their own penalty area; Wayne Fereday, their number 5 slipped and K.C., who had just been named 'man of the match', pounced on the sloppy defence and fired the ball passed the luckless 'keeper. It wasn't until the following day, when I saw the goals on Anglia TV, that I realised that it was Sean Farrell who again had been the provider. He had headed the ball on to Ken.

There just remained a couple of minutes when we, dare I say it, looked like we could even grab another. The whistle went. That was it. 2-1. As we filed out I remembered that I had predicted this result in a pre-match with Geoff. Brighton and Cardiff had become our first 'doubles' of the season. In the autumn we had beaten both of them 2-1 away with Ken scoring in both matches. Now the same player had scored in both matches at home and both results had been 2-1! Spooky eh?

We got back into Trevor's car just in time to beat the sleet. We had to wait ten minutes outside the ground in a queue of traffic whilst the Specials on traffic duty faffed around in their usual ineffective and inexplicable way. They are so annoying but the second home win in a week enabled my patience to stretch a little further than normal.

Later, on Radio 5's Mellorthon '6.06', there was an interesting debate as to whether it was Eric Cantona's misdemeanours or George Graham's transgressions that were the more serious. It was a good example of those discussions about what's worse - crime against the person or financial infringement.

Tuesday 7th March 1995 Posh 1 Shrewsbury 1

Lent had started. Some people give up chocolate and sweets. Some try to give up smoking and indeed tomorrow would be National No Smoking Day. Last Saturday Posh celebrated this Christian festival by giving up conceding goals or was it scoring goals? The 0-0 draw away at Rotherham, the home side complete with John McGlashan, did not offer any real pointers to the future but at least we gained another point, thus keeping us ten points above the relegation zone.

Manchester United haven't heard of the concept of giving anything up. On Saturday they had their best result in their history by crushing the hapless Ipswich by nine goals to nil. scored four or possibly five goals. The newspapers and the media seemed unsure as to exactly how many goals he actually scored but the fact of the matter was that he had finally arrived at . He had spent a nervy few weeks being in the right place at the right time but missing the target. On Saturday he couldn't miss anything.

I spent part of Sunday afternoon doing the ironing and watching Wolves play Portsmouth. The highlight of the whole thing was hearing Alan Brazil, Anglia TV's summariser inadvertently referring to Peter Shirtliff as 'Shirtlift'

Treats two nights running! Last night I went with Trevor and Derek to see the raucous Irish band 'Four Men and a Dog' at the 'Boat Race' pub in Cambridge. Tonight was the turn of 'Eleven Men and a Ball' at London Road and I was looking forward to jigging around and being as entertained as I had been last night. As it turned out the entertainment value was not particularly high and the main reason for me to remember this game was the terrace banter.

Tonight was one of those occasions when I was pleased that Les' son, Jack, had come to the game. His attendance meant that Woody and Jack stood on their own a good few yards behind us, casually propped up against one of the blue crush barriers. (When was the last time we had a crush on the Glebe Road side?) This respectful distance gave Les, Trevor, Steve, Stewart and myself enough space to reflect in a lewd and raucous way on the burning news item of the day - the caper involving Freddie Starr and his so-called 'gardener', a certain Mr Coxhead.

This little escapade, for obvious reasons, was a story that was more attractive to the tabloid newspapers than the broadsheets. Nevertheless all the papers displayed a passing interest.

Apparently Freddie Starr of 'Freddie Starr Ate My Hamster' fame had a gardener who claimed that the entertainer rewarded him with expensive jewellery in return for sexual favours. 'Robin Coxhead, aged 44, told police that £41,000 worth of jewellery, which he is accused of stealing, was given to him by Mr. Starr for performing oral sex over a five year period.' Well what could we do? A tedious midweek match gave us the perfect excuse to come up with a plethora of innuendo and slurs, the majority of which will have to remain unwritten. Let's just say that the Glebe Road terrace that night rang with the sound of hearty guffaws, mostly extremely politically incorrect. I can honestly say that this was the nearest I had ever got to thinking seriously about gardening and allied pastimes. Green houses, hoes, rakes, cold frames, potting sheds, seedlings, and 'being planted out' were just some of the words and concepts mentioned. The whole thing was a mental compost heap - fertile but not a little unpleasant. The case continues.

Oh, by the way, Posh drew 1-1. After a goalless first half Shrewsbury took the lead early in the second half through a Dean Spink header. Only then did the game come anything like alive. There were quite a few flurries and fumbles as we gradually got back into the game. Ten minutes from the end Ken Charlery got the ball on the left hand edge of the penalty area and went across the pitch looking for an opening. The chance seemed to have gone as the ball bobbled and bounced and the defenders dallied and dithered. Having dribbled the ball passed three divots Ken unleashed a shot that flew into the top of the net. The last few minutes were frenetic and we could possibly have won. Still it was a home point and, as long as we can keep on picking up points we should be safe at least.

Billy Manuel, making his home debut, had a steady game but I was amazed when he was nominated as the 'man of the match'. Perhaps it's the policy of the sponsors to always give this award to the new boy. He hardly deserved it but, then again, no-one else did either. On this showing I don't think that (E)Manuel is going to be our saviour.

Saturday 18th March 1995 Posh 0 AFC Bournemouth 0

Last Saturday we had an exceptionally pleasing away win against Crewe, the same team that had humiliated us 5-1 earlier in the season. Watching the goals on Central TV on that Saturday afternoon was a real treat. Marcus Ebdon got the first with a good long range header, David Morrison the second with a 25 yard drive and even Gary Breen got into the act in the second half scoring with a cross-goal shot that made the full time score 3-1.

That win certainly helped John Still when he attended one of the occasional 'Fans Forum' events at London Road last Tuesday evening. Had this been held three weeks ago the 'heat in the kitchen' would have been quite something but, since things now look a little more hopeful and a little less hopeless, he apparently survived the experience. I didn't go but over three hundred people saw and heard Messrs. Still, Turner and Hand talk, explain, deny and confirm. I will leave it those who went to tell you all about it.

It was yet another eventful week for football inasmuch as there were more incidents that were bound to bring the game under the watchful eyes of its critics. On Monday was found guilty of assault and criminal damage and was sentenced to three months in prison. He was released on bail pending appeal. On Tuesday Bruce Grobbelaar, John Fashanu and were arrested for something to do with alleged match rigging. On Wednesday... This is beginning to sound like 'The Twelve Days of Christmas'!

Yesterday Ronnie Kray, one half of the notorious East End brothers, died in Broadmoor Hospital where he had served nearly thirty years of a life sentence for the murder of rival gangster George Cornell at the Blind Beggar public house in 1966. His older brother, Charlie, was reported to be 'in bits' and 'gutted' at the news. It struck me that quite a few of these cockney thugs and villains had also ended up in bits and were possibly literally gutted as a result of the criminal sixties escapades. The fact that he smoked over a hundred roll-ups a day won't have helped his health and I bet he even got someone to roll them for him or else.

I objected to the way that certain sections of the press almost seemed to glorify Ronnie and gangsters like him. He was portrayed as a 'good bloke' who never hurt women and children. Oh, well, that's all right then! He was portrayed as someone no more harmful than like Phil Collins or Tommy Steele. I suppose he was just a loveable cuddly cockney who helped old ladies and loved his mum and sang 'Roll out the Barrel' on a Saturday night down the Queen Vic. Let's not glorify playground bullies particularly when they are certified insane. It's been promised that the funeral will 'be as big as the Kennedy's'. Which Kennedy would this be then? John, Bobby, Rose or 'Slasher' Kevin Kennedy, the Whitechapel Extortioner? Will there be wreaths of 'flars' in the shape of axes and shooters adorning the coffin?

Having said all this the whole thing did provide me with some wry amusement. The television news interviewed a couple of old lags who possessed such names as 'Mad Frankie Fraser', Jack 'The Hat' McVitie and Freddie 'The Mean Machine' Foreman. As this afternoon's game approached I thought of the Posh London connection. Would 'Barmy' John Still and his henchman 'Mental' Micky Halsall succeed in motivating 'the lads' and provide the fans with a game to remember?

The answer was an emphatic 'no' and if I had collected the protection money for the Krays with the same lack of commitment as the players on view offered this afternoon I would certainly have had my head nailed to a coffee table as a punishment. It's a cliché that a goalless draw can be as exciting as a match with loads of goals. This game was not one of those. It was a dour and dire encounter played in swirling but bright conditions.

Steve wasn't in attendance and Trevor had decided that it was better to stay at home with one of his mates to watch Rugby Union's Gram Slam decider between England and Scotland at Twickenham. As it happened England won the match 24- 12 and therefore won not only the Calcutta Cup but also the Triple Crown and Grand Slam. He was in the best place. We kept turning round to look at the postage stamp sized television sets in the executive boxes behind us in an attempt to see the score. No, Trevor was right to have stayed at home. Come to think of it had there been racing from Chepstow or Eastern Region Darts from Great Yarmouth or even Ice Dancing from Croydon then, in hindsight, I would have been tempted to stay in with my carpet slippers myself.

I suppose credit must go to the goalkeepers from both teams. Ian Feuer looked safe and quietly commanding. Being so tall he was particularly good on crosses - he seemed to pluck the ball from the heads of advancing forwards a bit like picking a piece of fluff from the back of someone's collar. By contrast his opposite number Ian Andrews, an ex-Southampton 'keeper, appeared to be an excellent shot stopper. He could dive with apparently consummate ease both to his left and his right. As the game carried on it was plain that the game was going to remain without a goal and neither goalkeeper was going to be beaten. Jason Brissett played for the visitors. He wasn't a lot of good when he was here and hasn't changed much. He made a few jinking runs on the wing and got a couple of likely crosses over but nothing to rave over.

The only real sour moment in the whole afternoon was the awarding of the 'man of the match' accolade to Billy Manuel. Sure he had run around fairly keenly but one trait was worrying. When there was any hassle between players Manuel would come scuttling across with the same speed and determination as his Fawlty Towers namesake delivering a glass of water and paracetomol to his master Basil. Billy just had to get involved and was constantly spoiling for a fight like some bouncer in a cheap night-club inhabited by under age drinkers and peroxide blondes. He received a yellow cards for his trouble. I supposed that John Still would describe his actions as being 'enthusiastic', or 'passionate'. I hoped he wouldn't turn into a liability or Hankin-like tough guy. There were enough negative role models around at the moment without Posh appearing to value one. Oh well, Eric 'The Artist' Cantona, Dennis 'Mad Ernie' Wise and Ronnie 'Deceased' Kray would have been proud of him.

Neil Young played at full back for Bournemouth. The game was not so much 'unplugged', more like 'undistinguished'. Everyone knows this is nowhere.

Japanese Gas Attack

In late March 1995 there was a terrorist attack in Japan. No bullets, guns or explosives were used, just a highly toxic cocktail, nerve gas.

Many people were killed and the news bulletins announced that two thousands people were left comatose.

That's nothing.

Two days beforehand Peterborough United had played Bournemouth in a dreadful 0-0 draw at London Road.

Four and a half thousand unsuspecting people had gone to see an exciting game of football.

Instead they suffered and had to undergo an hour and a half of such dire torture that they also became comatose.

Not even half time Bovrils could revive the ailing supporters and by the time a quarter to five came thousands were found lying distraught on the terraces or just staring inanely into space.

It was horrible.

And those that survived are scarred for life with the terror and horror of having spent £7.50 on such downright crap.

That didn't make the headlines, did it?

Saturday 25th March 1995 Posh 1 Birmingham City 1

Eric Cantona was given a two week prison sentence earlier in the week for his assault upon the Crystal Palace fan. He was going to appeal and I hoped that he would win. The tabloid press had a field week and the comments had been dreadful. References to the fact that he's French and therefore most definitely foreign had been all too plentiful. These rags wouldn't have got away with it had he been black. The fact that it was his first offence seemed to be completely overlooked and the severity of the punishment appeared to rest almost completely on the fact that he's famous and in the public eye. I trusted that justice would be done and some form of suspended or conditional sentence would eventually be given. We would have to see how the appeal would go.

On Tuesday evening we drew 1-1 away at Hull City, both goals being scored by Posh players! Gary Breen had scored a sliced own goal and, five minutes later, Brian McGorry had scored with a stooping header to brings things back to square one. It was seven matches unbeaten now and, although it had been a dour and unremarkable season so far, that was not a bad achievement.

Thursday was transfer deadline day and we signed Dale Gordon from West Ham on loan, initially for a month. He had played for Norwich and Rangers before. I hoped he would do well. It's always nice to sign someone who's vaguely been heard of. The question remained - if he was any good why wasn't he not in the West Ham side? They needed all the help that they could get to stave off possible relegation from the Premiership. Would he turn out to be Flash Gordon or Noel Gordon?

The answer was fairly Flash. There were a few signs that he was quite skilful, hard-working and wily. Geoff has always said that we need to have someone in the side who is experienced and has played at a higher level. He was dead right (but then again he usually is). Gordon looked as if he knew what he was doing and there was some intelligent passing and running. The match fitness clearly wasn't there but perhaps that will come with time, just in time for his return at the end of the loan spell!

I was looking forward to this afternoon's match. The clocks were to go back tonight and the evenings were gradually becoming lighter. It's about this time of year that I realise how miserable and depressing East Anglian winters are. They're just cold, damp, bleak and dismal. We rarely get any decent snow in Peterborough so don't even have the benefit of having those picture postcard days.

As Les, Daniel and I walked towards the ground at 2.30 we remarked that there didn't seem to be that many people about. We had anticipated loads of away support and fully expected that we would be overwhelmed by Birmingham's supporters. Birmingham were tucked in just behind Brentford, Huddersfield and Oxford with games in hand. When we lost at St Andrews 4-0 earlier in the season the attendance had been 10,600. Surely this figure would be beaten, given Birmingham's race for the title. The fact that the attendance was recorded at 8,796 was therefore disappointing despite being the highest in the division today.

This match was bound to be better than last week's effort. It just had to be and, thankfully, it was. On paper Birmingham looked a strong side. Barry Fry has had a huge 45 man squad to choose from so ought to have been about 20 points clear with resources like that. Ironically four of the players on view were ex-Posh or Cambridge: Liam Daish, Steve Claridge, Ian Bennett and Gary Cooper. Steve Claridge still looked like a close relative of as he rushed round with his socks round his ankles. As I remarked late in the game, just before he was substituted, Claridge doesn't look like a 'champagne socialist'. The phrase 'wouldn't like to bump into him on a dark night' came to mind. Ian Bennett got a warm reception from the crowd unlike Gary Cooper who was booed every time he touched the ball. His departure from Peterborough had appeared to be somewhat acrimonious and we weren't about to let him forget it.

Bob Burrows, the pre-match announcer, seemed to chirrup more than usual and managed to make the reading of the team changes take an age. He gave Ian Bennett quite a build-up, almost seeming to forget that he was now playing for them! I quite like old Bob - his phrases and style are comfortably Peterborian, friendly and predictable but, on this occasion, he seemed to treat the team changes a bit like calling the numbers out at a raffle.

The first half was tight and fairly skilful. The ball seemed to spend a great deal of the time high in the air which was unhelpful since there was a pretty strong wind. Ricky Otto, the ex-Southend player, was the best player on the field and always looked dangerous. In the first half our defence backed off him once too often and he waltzed through and shot. It looked odds on a goal but Ian Feuer tipped over the bar. There were interesting confrontations between Feuer and Kevin Francis (remember him playing for Stockport against us at Wembley in 1992?). Both are so tall that they virtually need oxygen when they jump up for the ball. Feuer won most of the contests and, on one occasion, left Francis sprawled out on the floor.

The game was goalless at half time. Both sides had had chances and Birmingham, despite their bigger name players than ours, didn't really play as well as a team as their individual potential suggested.

In the 64th minute Birmingham scored much to the delight of their fans, some of whom spilled momentarily on to the pitch. Feuer was chipped, the ball hit the bar and bounced down invitingly in front of the open goal. An almighty scramble ensued culminating in Peter Shearer banging the ball into the net. We seemed to have plenty of opportunities to clear the loose ball but failed. This seemed to spur our players into action and Ken Charlery headed over the bar from a glorious Gordon cross when scoring appeared to be the easier option. Six minutes later Charlery atoned for this gaff when he latched onto a brilliant long ball from Greg Heald, a pass that was almost as good as Marcus Ebdon's ball to Charlery in May 1992 at Wembley. Charlery beat the last defender, steadied himself and bashed the ball past Ian Bennett with great aplomb. He seemed so determined to make sure that it was spectacular and it was. The tannoy joyfully announced, 'The scorer of the Peterborough United goal - KENNETH LEROY CHARLERY!'

John Still suddenly became a great deal more animated and stood up in the dugout either out of enthusiasm and excitement or perhaps to show off his manager's coat. I wish that Still had shown the same commitment and fanaticism when we had played Cambridge. I cynically wondered if this was because the opposition manager, Barry Fry, is a friend of Still's and a Londoner to boot. A case of trying to get one over on another member of the Cockneyafia? Whereas playing Cambridge is our 'Wembley', perhaps playing Fry's team was his 'Cambridge'.

We finished the game the stronger and could even have won but it was not to be. 1-1 was the final score and the match we had witnessed was a damn sight better than the previous home game. At last - a game that will stay in the memory for longer than a week!

On the way home we listened to 'Sports Report' as normal. With no Premier League games because of European international matches later in the week, the talk was all about the impending Grand Prix season starting tomorrow and the fact that Nigel Mansell is too fat to fit into his car. The football fixtures took a very distant second place. It just goes to show that the media take very little interest in what happens outside the top division. It's a shame. Tuesday 4th April 1995 Posh 1 Swansea City 0

'When the seagulls follow over the trawler, it is because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.'

Eric Cantona 31st March 1995

Well, as expected, Eric Cantona won his appeal against his two week prison sentence. However his sentence had been altered to 120 hours community service. I wasn't sure what was worse - 14 days in the slammer or having to work with loads of children for what amounted to nearly 5 weeks in the life of a school! Imagine the scene. Eric was desperately trying to escape from the glare of publicity and had now been plunged back into the spotlight as he attempted to turn some little kids into world beaters in front of the world's press complete with flash guns and inane questions. Now that's what I call pressure.

At the press conference after this judgement he uttered the peculiar phrase quoted above and then got up and walked out. The man continued to amaze. I would never have imagined in a million years that he would have talked about seagulls, trawlers and sardines. Perhaps this was a cryptic remark. Maybe he was trying to tell us that he is about to be transferred to Grimsby Town.

On Saturday Posh had what must be considered the best result of the season so far. We had beaten the league leaders, Huddersfield Town, 2-1 away from home. Our goals were scored by Marcus Ebdon and Brian McGorry.

Later I found out that Colin had been to the game on his way back from picking up his son from college in Leeds. He kindly brought me back a programme and reported that we had played well and that Huddersfield were never really in the game. We seemed to have the evil eye on the Yorkshire side. We had beaten them in the semi-final of the play-offs all that time ago. They must have been sick of the sight of us. Tee hee hee!

Tonight I did something that I have never done before. I left a match early. I realise that this is a terrible admission and may indeed result in some supporters never speaking to me again. I will now try to justify myself.

Earlier in the day I had attended an interview for the headship of the new Abbotsmede Primary School. At the time I was the head of the Junior School and the adjoining Nursery/Infant and Junior schools were to amalgamate in September. I got the new job and was given the good news by the chairman if governors at about 4.45 p.m. At about 6.00 p.m. she telephoned me again to ask me to go round to her house at about 9.15 p.m. to talk urgently about the school's budget and various other details. Well, I couldn't refuse, could I? But what a dilemma. Ugly thoughts flashed through my mind. I could ring back and tell her that I had got chronic diarrhoea brought on by the stress of the interview. I could inform her that my granny had died but I've done that so many times now I've run out of grannies. No, there was nothing else for it. I would have to leave the match early.

The game had a lively start. Both Swansea and ourselves passed the ball around neatly and precisely without really threatening each other's goals. The Swansea back four looked mobile and skilful and, for once, our midfield seemed involved and committed. Ebdon, McGorry, Manuel and Kelly worked hard and with a level of determination rarely seen at home so far this season. It was a shame that there weren't more people to see it - only 3,700 folk were there. The Moyes End was nearly deserted except for a rather neat banner which denoted that there was a Cambridge branch of the Swansea supporters. This was hardly surprising. After all the only other option in that city is Cambridge United and they were on the brink of going down anyway (with a bit of luck).

Luck played a slight part in the one and only goal of the night which occurred just before half time. Billy Manuel wasn't lucky to win the penalty in the first place - he was clearly hauled back deep in the penalty area by a panicking defender who had spotted him hurtling in on his blind side all too late. The lucky part came with Tony Kelly's penalty kick. The low shot to the left of the goal was nearly saved by the goalkeeper but the ball rolled away from his dive and into the net.

Posh looked strong in the second half. Dale Gordon was clearly held back just inside the penalty area but this time the referee saw nothing wrong. He was the only man in the ground who didn't. A couple of minutes later Tony Kelly hit the bar with a free kick with the 'keeper well beaten.

Then I had to leave with twenty minutes still to go. I hated it. Running down Glebe Road back to my car was a strange experience and I would have cursed like anything if Posh had scored any more goals. Thankfully (for me) the score at the end was the same as when I had left. We had notched another impressive win and blown a hole in Swansea's ten game unbeaten run. The seagulls had followed the trawler and swallowed a tasty Welsh fish.

Saturday 8th April 1995 Cambridge United 2 Posh 0

Looking through Gary Johnson's Eyes

Earlier in the week Gary Johnson, Cambridge's manager, had got the sack. I suppose his post had been under threat for quite a while but why did they have to get rid of him just before we were due to play them? It's always dangerous to go anywhere near wounded animals and that's what I was afraid of this afternoon. I was right to be anxious.

Gary Johnson had been waiting on Death Row for quite a few games and had finally had his beard shaved off so that the electrodes would make a better contact. No last minute reprieve for Gary. A macabre parallel, but much more serious, drama had been played out in the USA during the past few days. Nicholas Ingram, a Cambridge born convicted murderer had been on Death Row for twelve years in a jail in Georgia, hardly the most liberal and enlightened of the states of America. His lawyers had fought to gain stays of execution but time had eventually run out for the bloke and he was strapped to the electric chair earlier today.

Some of the right wing, reactionary newspapers in this country had faced a real quandary. They had written about clemency and had been touched with outrage about one of our boys who had been imprisoned by these dastardly foreigners. Yet these same rags are the very ones who, on an obscenely regular basis, go on about bringing back the death penalty whenever it's discussed in the House of Commons. I often get the feeling that there are some factions in this country who would be quite happy to see offenders face a firing squad for shoplifting, dropping litter or being offside.

Our recent form had been more than encouraging. The Birmingham, Huddersfield and Swansea results had rejuvenated the fans' interest, despite the fact that we were rapidly approaching the last knockings of a far from satisfactory season. John Still's job looked safe for now and the threat of relegation, which looked a distinct possibility a few weeks ago, had now receded. I was confident. Cambridge had knocked us out of the F.A. Cup earlier in the season and had held us at home in the League in the last game of 1994 (the one attended by John Major). Yet still they were a good few points below us in the league, Surely this would be our day and I had publicly predicted a two goal winning margin. I mean, it just had to be. We were now looking much better than when we had last met and they were looking much worse. John Major was nowhere to be seen which only goes to show that even he is far happier at London Road than at the Shabby Abbey.

Last night I had come back from the 'Hand and Heart' and had watched an edition of 'Fantasy Football League' that I had videoed. Once upon a time this programme had been witty, topical and vibrant. Now it was a pale shadow of its former self and was dull, predictable and self-satisfied. It needed to be either completely re-vamped or humanely put down. Its tedious predictability reminded me of some of the less than memorable Posh games from the middle of the season.

As Les, Woody and me drove down the A1 and A14 towards Cambridge I hoped that I was going to see a game and a performance that would be memorable and impressive. I was wrong. Sure I got the two goal margin right but got the teams the wrong way round. Right from the opening few minutes things weren't right. There was no pattern and the ball spent a great deal of time up in the air. This suited Cambridge far more than us. Our midfield wasn't as sharp and committed as recently and our defenders slid and slipped and were second to the ball more often than not. Lee Williams was responsible for more slices than a Moulinex mixer and 'Symbol: the footballer formerly known as Tony Kelly' was puffing more than a horse that had survived the four and a half miles of the Grand National. (We found out at half time that Royal Athlete had won the National at 40-1, odds that were about the same as Kelly himself making the weight to ride in the race). Cambridge were nothing special but at least were scrapping around in a fairly determined fashion.

There was plenty of away support and I glanced across and saw Bob from the 'Peterborough Effect' standing near to a floodlight pylon at the corner of the ground. He was very noticeable with large yellow sticky tape crosses stuck to his face. Either these crosses were optimistically representing the demise of Cambridge or perhaps he was celebrating tomorrow's Palm Sunday.

We suffered a blow early in the first half when Dale Gordon hobbled off with what looked like a thigh strain and was replaced by David Morrison who never looked dangerous. I was impressed by Cambridge's full backs, Dean Barrick and Matthew Joseph and both of them contributed to the home side's first goal. Barrick played the ball in to the penalty area, there was a Steve Butler lay-off and Joseph blasted the ball past Feuer. 17 minutes and 1-0 down.

At half time there was disappointment but no panic. There was a general feeling that Cambridge had given their best and Posh's best was yet to come. The early part of the second half seemed to prove the point. We pressed forward in a much more determined manner and soon had a succession of corners. Things looked better. After one of these corners a Kelly pass was intercepted, Barrick broke away and, suddenly, Steve Butler had only Tony Spearing to beat - everyone else was still stranded upfield. Butler was always the favourite, passed the ball from one foot to another, and shot the ball confidently past Feuer. 2-0 and still 28 minutes to go. I turned to Les and made yet another prediction. If Posh didn't get a goal back by the 75th minute then we were definitely sunk.

We toiled and strained, strained and toiled but to no effect. Liburd Henry came on to replace Brian McGorry but I'm not sure why. 'Baywatch' had looked reasonably lively and was one of the few players likely to pop something in unexpectedly.

Posh frustration grew and fans got restless. A small boy in front of me was swearing and insulting players with increasing venom and irrational vindictiveness. I felt like giving him a good seeing to but thought better of it. I could just see the front page of Monday's 'Evening Telegraph': 'CITY HEADTEACHER GIVES TEN YEAR OLD BOY A GOOD SLAPPING'. No, that would do me no good at all.

The final whistle went and the tannoy gave us the final surprise of the afternoon. Jon Sheffield, the Cambridge 'keeper, was nominated 'man of the match', presumably for a fine first half save from McGorry, a save that Paul Stainton from Radio Cambridgeshire was to rave about as we drove home.

I was left with a problem. The gut reaction supporter in me wanted Cambridge to go down into the Wilderness of Lost Souls that is the Third Division. The more rational bit of me wanted them to stay up. Then at least we would have another couple of cracks at them next year. Did I want Cambridge to go down or stay up? I couldn't make up my mind.

Saturday 15th April 1995 Posh 1 Wrexham 0

The Japanese religious cult that was allegedly responsible for the Tokyo gas attack last month predicted that there would be another catastrophe today. Perhaps I should have stayed in bed just in case but inquisitiveness got the better of me. Posh were playing Wrexham and how could I possibly ignore the fact that the catastrophe might just occur at London Road. I would never forgive myself if I missed Tony Kelly spontaneously combust or Ian Feuer get his head stuck in the crossbar. Today might be the day that Wrexham scored 53 goals, thus creating a league record.

Most of last week was superbly sunny and warm so it was most disappointing that today was blustery and distinctly chilly. I was damn glad that I hadn't put my shorts on. Woody and I parked with incredible ease at about 2.30. There seemed to be hardly anyone about. Perhaps, on this Easter Saturday, the good folk of Peterborough were queuing up to get to the east coast. No doubt Sunny Hunny (Hunstanton for the uninitiated) was doing a roaring trade. More like a rawing trade on a day like today. Perhaps it was the garden centres that were providing the alternative attraction to today's fixture. The most likely reason for the attendance being so low (only 4,309) was that this game had the feel of one of those meaningless end-of-season kickabouts. Wrexham, in 14th place, were a million miles away from the play-offs but were also safe from relegation. We were just two places below them and five points behind, virtually safe from the threat of the drop.

Consequently the game had an odd empty feel to it. There was no Les or Trevor, both away on Easter family duty, but it was great to welcome Angus from Birmingham and his two kids, both keen Poshies in exile. Thank God they were able to see a win but it was never inspiring or exhilarating.

You could tell the end of season was near. The 'Peterborough Effect' fanzine guys were busy giving out photocopied slips inviting us to vote for the T.P.E. player of the season as well as other accolades e.g. 'worst opposing team', highlight of season' etc. Later, when I got home, I gave these a great deal of thought. It was not an easy thing to decide on the season's highs and lows particularly since mediocrity had been the main thread.

Our early play was scrappy and crappy and there was much ineffectual huffing and puffing. Wrexham provided some neat passing and pretty running without being particularly penetrative. The referee didn't particularly help the game - he gave a number of strange decisions and let definite offences go. The linesman (particularly in the second half) was obsessed by his flag. He put his arm up in the air for an infringement or offside whether there was one or not. Geoff reckoned he had a fetish about this and my mind was filled with images of rubber flags and the F.A. School of Bondage.

I had quite forgotten about the threat of the predicted catastrophe until I went to try to but a cup of tea at half time. No tea, no coffee, no chocolate. Just Bovril and I can't stand the stuff. The Japanese cult had been right all along.

Stewart came up with a nice one midway through the second half. Wrexham were awarded a free kick about ten metres outside the penalty area. 'Kelly, make a wall!' he shouted. We all sniggered. 'That's one for the book,' I leant forward and whispered to him. 'I've been waiting all game to say it,' came the reply.

By the way, we won 1-0, Billy Manuel toe-poking the only goal of the game from two yards out. I can't remember much else.

Saturday 22nd April 1995 Posh 1 Blackpool 0

'Now it goes through St Louis, Jopling, Missouri, Oklahoma City looks oh so pretty...'

'Route 66': Bobby Troup

The line to the famous old road song seemed so hollow and twistedly ironic this week. Oklahoma City was far from 'oh so pretty...' having been rocked to its middle American foundations both literally and metaphorically. A car bomb had exploded in the heart of the city and dozens of people had been killed with scores still missing in the mangled heaps of rubble that once had been the Murrah federal building in the centre of the city.

The United States of America seemed to be staggered that such violence could hit at its very heartland. Instant thoughts of dastardly middle eastern terrorists had sprung into American minds but, after a few days, it became increasingly clear that the outrage had been perpetrated by home-grown right wing nutters. A group called the 'Michigan Militia' featured prominently in the newspapers and a guy named Timothy McVeigh had been arrested. It was alleged that one of the reasons he had planted the bomb was that he was angered by the deaths of the seventy members of the Branch Davidian cult at Waco exactly two years previously. Anyway the whole thing was a mess.

Today's weather was miserable. It had rained all morning and the sky was the same sort of leaden grey that's normally associated with late November. When we arrived the ground Trevor, Woody and I had sheltered under the stand until just before the start of the game and I couldn't remember the last time that had happened. My programme was damp and soggy, the ink started to run and the pages stuck together. Thankfully the conditions gradually improved through the game and we eventually ended up in reasonable hazy sunshine.

There was a fairly large crowd for today's game: 5,716. It would have been great to think that all these people had decided to come to the game because they had heard that the quality of play and excitement value was second to none. No, I think that the second largest Second Division attendance was mainly down the fact that the admission prices were down, just for today's game. The cost of £3 for an adult and £1 for a child must have attracted quite a few folk. The main stand must have benefited more than any other part of the ground. The Glebe Road side was about as well populated as normal. There was no Les or Steve. This is getting most worrying. Geoff was with a young nephew so had disappeared to where he could get a better place for the youngster to see. A landmark had been achieved today since Stewart had brought his son David to his very first match. I wondered how much of this experience he would remember and how badly he would want to return to the temple of total trepidation, the Mecca of mediocrity. Geoff told us about his Easter Monday trip to Oxford to see us lose 1-0 at the Manor Ground. He had thought that we could have won and told us that, for most of the latter part of the game we had 'camped in their half'. My mind had raced at this mental picture. Had Kenneth Williams John Inman and Julian Clary signed for Posh?

It's always great to see a new face in the first team and anyone opening their Sunday paper the following day would have spotted this in the team sheet: Clark (Semple, 65). Since we were now safely ensconced in the lower reaches of the league table, with the threat of relegation having now receded, John Still had made it public that he wanted to allow some of the younger and less experienced members of the squad to 'have a go'. Consequently Neil Le Bihan played at number four and did well: his corners and shooting were most promising and he looked determined and thoughtful. Ryan Semple from the youth team came on with twenty five minutes to play and scurried round keenly and with purpose. He must have been extremely nervous and the crowd sensed this and gave him friendly encouragement.

There are five things that I remembered about the game from an opposition point of view:

1. What the hell was a famous old team like Blackpool doing playing the likes of us. Their fame belonged to a bygone era, when was king and when everyone threw their cloth caps into the air whenever anyone scored.

2. Darren Bradshaw played for them. He had been with us until quite recently and been one of the players that I had wanted to keep. However personal problems and trouble with the courts had precipitated his departure.

3. Blackpool were sponsored by 'Rebecca's Jewellers, Southport'. Not for them the likes of 'JVC', Holsten' or 'Sharp'. I wonder if any teams are sponsored by 'Harry Ramsden's', 'Spud-U-Like' or 'What Everyone Wants'.

4. Blackpool were giving a league debut to Melvin Capleton in goal. Later, at the presentation evening, a group of supporters were to thank him for the entertainment value that he had given on this dank, dismal afternoon. The poor chap had found shots difficult and crosses nigh impossible, this possibly due to the fact that his dreadlocks might have obscured his vision. He couldn't kick a ball for toffee. Perhaps this was caused by his shorts being too tight. This led to:

5. The Blackpool number four was , a tank-like player who had come from Blackburn Rovers for £245,000, having previously been at Plymouth. Trevor had remembered him as a hard but committed player. Indeed he had been today. The poor chap seemed to do everything: take goal kicks, free kicks, throw-ins, tackling, shouting, organising. He hurtled round for the whole game like a man possessed.

I found the first half of the match tedious and predictably mediocre. However, to be fair, there was no lack of commitment and effort and it looked as if a goal would eventually arrive. We had to wait for the second half for this to happen when we scored from a corner no less! The much-heard Glebe Road phrase, 'When was the last time we scored from a corner?' was given a good seeing-to when Le Bihan's corner was volleyed into the net by Sean Farrell. This had followed hard on the heels of a brilliant shot by Brian McGorry which would have been goal of the season had it not been for a defender heading bravely off the line. From then on we had looked reasonably in control but in truth the match meant little to either club.

On page 29 of the programme was a photograph of some of the new building at London Road. The caption read, 'Building a furure at London Road - the developments'. The word 'furure' should have either been 'future' or possibly 'furore'. Perhaps there is indeed a furore about the new building - the Council were soon to consider planning permission for the new Glebe Road stand.

After the game Trevor and I decided to come back to the 'Starlite Suite' to see 'The Peterborough Effect' and Supporters' Club 'Player of the Year' awards. There were no great surprises. Lee Williams won the award for the young player of the year, Gary Breen was runner-up in the player of the year category which was won by Ken Charlery. In a mediocre season such as this I suppose that it was bound to be Ken's award. Not only does he epitomise the loyalty to a club that every fan demands but also he has always tried his best despite lack of form and the failings of those around him.

Before and after the presentations loads of little children, some of them presumably belonging to footballers, had hurtled round the rectangular dance floor. They had thrown themselves around, fallen over, and generally cavorted round with absolutely no sense of purpose or reason. Adults sat round the edge of the area watching their frolics with embarrassed frustration. A football was nowhere to be seen. It was just like watching the real thing.

Saturday 29th April 1995

Today I received a letter through the post from Posh, a letter from Caroline Hands to all Glebe Road season ticket holders. I was annoyed.

The letter informed me that the Glebe Road terrace, my football home for over twenty years, had been closed 'owing to the removal of the Crush Barriers'. I was offered alternative accommodation for next Saturday's last game of the season against York City either in the Main Stand or in the London Road. Now I have not got any great prejudice against either of these vantage points but I was so looking forward to going to the match next week to celebrate the closure of the 'old' Glebe Road. I was going to take my camera, have one last game hopefully complete with banter and camaraderie. I was looking forward to buying the Gasman's informal raffle ticket. I was looking forward to seeing Geoff stroll up the steps, two pies in hand, I was looking forward to wandering round talking to friends and acquaintances just one last time. And now I won't be able to.

I wouldn't have minded had we all known that the Blackpool game was to be the last one standing on the Glebe. Then at least we could have held our wake and done it properly. I could have taken some photographs and bought one last cup of dodgy tea.

This episode has, once again, made me wonder if the 'powers that be' really do understand what the average supporter experiences and feels. Perhaps Hands and Turner were frightened of hordes of unruly fans digging up the terrace and taking lumps of concrete home as keepsakes, like souvenir hunters tearing down the Berlin Wall. And my dandelion was just coming into flower as well.

We drew 1-1 away at Stockport today.

God Save Our Gracious Glebe

Long live our noble Glebe God save our Glebe Send us victorious

Happy and Glorious Long to rain over us

God Save Our Glebe

Saturday 6th May 1995 Posh 1 York City 1

Earlier in the day I had received a letter from the Club informing me of the season ticket prices for next season. There are some pretty good deals for the Glebe Road side next year. The new stand looks as if it will go ahead: planning permission looks very likely and we could all be sitting in the brand new stand in the late autumn. Christ Urner and Al Fands seem determined to make a success of the new stand and the pricing policy looks favourable - £115 for an adult ticket and a mere £30 for children. It's obvious that the future of the club lies with families and I suppose there's nothing wrong with that.

Last Tuesday I had gone down to the ticket office to swap four season tickets for main stand tickets as well as to buy five others so, for the first time for many years I found myself sitting in the main stand in a long row with Woody, Les, Trevor, Stewart, Steve, Colin, Ted and Joe. Poor old Steve had been the last to arrive so had his view of the Moyes End goal blocked by a stanchion. I had forgotten completely about this obstacle to enjoyment and bliss but never mind. We hardly saw a thriller.

Neither team had a great deal to play for in this last game of the season. York were settled in 8th place with 71 points with no chance of making the play-offs and we had 59 points and were safely away from the relegation spots. Bournemouth had beaten Shrewsbury earlier in the week thus consigning Cambridge and Plymouth to life in the Third Division. Poor old Trevor. I haven't talked to him about his beloved Argyle going down - I shall pick the right moment. Nearly everyone is pleased to see Cambridge disappear through the trap door but I'm not so sure. I will miss those local derbies. Perhaps we will encounter each other in one of the cup competitions next year. Hopefully the results against the old enemy will be more favourable.

It was most peculiar sitting in the stand. The game seemed laggard and Sean Farrell seemed even slower than usual. A dapper old chap with a resplendent grey moustache was two rows in front of us and kept turning round to complain bitterly about our number nine. We all recognised him straight away, not just by his looks but by his loud shrill voice urging Farrell to 'get in the game', 'get involved' or just plain 'get off'. Like us he was a Glebe Road regular but from the back of the stand from where we had been able to hear his vociferous venom and vitriol. The stand folk must have wondered what had hit them and must have hoped that the new stand could be built now so that they could be spared the continuous onslaught.

Ryan Semple was given another chance to perform and looked balanced and lively but more than a little lightweight amongst the big boys. The experience of the last couple of games is bound to give him assurance and must surely allow him to approach the summer break with the additional confidence that being a first team player must bring.

Ken Charlery tried hard as usual but has had a season when he has never looked to be at the peak of form. This had not stopped him picking up a stack of awards from the local paper and the fans but the fact that he has been the winner of so many sadly points to the fact that it has been a far from satisfactory and even bland season. Still, at least he had been a damn sight more successful than the Tories who had got a real drubbing in the local elections earlier in the week. I had noticed that Tony Cliss, an ex-Posh winger, had been elected as Labour councillor for March. Perhaps Ken ought to be made mayor. He's already virtually got the freedom of the city thanks to his Wembley exploits in 1992 so, should he decide to also venture into local politics, he should walk it!

Today we could have done with ex-Poshies Tony Lormor who scored two goals for Chesterfield or even Nick Cusack whose three goals for Fulham were a quarter of the total he scored for us during his stay at London Road between 1988 and 1989. Oh, for a proven goal scorer. Ken Charlery's 74th minute equalising penalty brought his season's total to 19 - very respectable but Liburd Henry and David Morrison, the next best with ten apiece are never going to be the perfect foils for our Ken (that's if he stays). John Still has to look around very carefully over the summer. Too much has been expected of Charlery. He's a good player but can't be expected to win the ball in midfield, run to the goal line, cross the ball and then head it in himself. It appears to me that the very diversity of his role has diluted his effectiveness.

We hadn't deserved the penalty. Billy Manuel, who had made a nuisance of himself all afternoon much like an infuriating itch, had chased into the box and thrown himself down in front of the referee. Penalty given. This followed a York City goal that had given them the lead. They had had their number three sent off for a second bookable offence. The first yellow card had been given for a bad tackle, the second for being called Wayne so he just had to go.

The game drifted into the sunny May evening. The ref seemed to play about ten minutes of injury time. He obviously didn't want the season to end but end it eventually did. The players wondered around clapping us and we clapped them. John Still, tyre-levered into one of the three possible new home kits, came onto the pitch and stated the obvious by announcing that he hoped that we would have a good season next year.

Looking Back

The race for the Premiership was tight. In fact it went right up to the last few minutes of the last day of the season, in this case Sunday 14th May. Blackburn Rovers, who had been well in front for much of the latter part of the season, had been gradually been pegged back by Manchester United. This was more due to Blackburn's indifferent last minute form as opposed to United's results. On the last day Blackburn were two points in front with an inferior goal difference. They could still have slipped up. As it was they lost 2-1 at but Ferguson's team could only draw 1-1 at the relatively in-form, and now safe from relegation, West Ham. So Blackburn, the team that Jack Walker had built, had triumphed by just one point. Justice was done and Kenny Dalglish was able to celebrate by being saluted by Liverpool's fans as well as his own. He deserved the acclaim and this was recognised by the supporters of the club who once idolised him. It was good to see.

Even before this particular race was being run the bulldozers had moved into the Glebe Road side and had started digging and scraping the concrete. The picture on the front of the 'Evening Telegraph' was stark and desolate and reminded me of the clearing up of some abandoned bomb site. And it was all being done before the City Council had granted planning permission!

Everton deservedly won the Cup Final 1-0 in a match that wasn't particularly noteworthy. Manchester United looked leg weary and didn't sparkle as we all know they can. Joe Royle's team was determined and hard working. The midfield toiled away and snuffed out the likes of Ince and Keane. I was pleased for Paul Rideout who scored the only goal. I had seen him at Wembley in 1980, scoring a brilliant hat-trick for England Schoolboys against Scotland. His career has not lived up to that fantastic early promise but at least he can now tell his grandchildren that he scored the winner in the F.A. Cup Final. Not many of us can say that.

The following Saturday the was won by Celtic. For me there was an irony in this result since the Celtic captain, Paul McStay, was in the Scottish Schoolboys' side against which Rideout had scored his hat-trick. Now both are described as veterans and both were Cup winners.

The season gradually dribbled to a close the following weekend. Gone are the days when the season climaxes with a Wembley F.A. Cup Final. The play-offs still have to be decided. My views on the play-offs remain constant despite the fact that Posh so superbly benefited from the system three years ago, in 1992. I have always been of the view that promotion should be won and lost on soggy Saturdays in freezing Februarys and I see no good reason why teams should be given a second chance. Supporters pay enough money during the campaign without having to fork out considerable amounts of cash in order to see their team at Wembley. Form should be judged over a full league season and clubs shouldn't deserve a second 'bite of the cherry'. Teams have been promoted having finished many points behind their opponents. When Posh played Huddersfield in the play-off semi-final in 1992, Huddersfield had finished four points clear of us and our famous away victory over them had given us the chance to beat Stockport at Wembley. The rest, they say, is history.

All three of this year's play-off finals had Posh connections. The first saw Tony Lormor score the opening goal in front of 22,000 people as Chesterfield beat Bury 2-0 in the Second Division decider. The following day saw Huddersfield beat Bristol Rovers 2-1. I was pleased to see Huddersfield in the Second Division play-off Final. As I have already mentioned they have been so close before and their side included Ronnie Jepson, a player whom we should have bought a few years ago. Bristol Rovers had Worrell Sterling in their side. He was in that famous winning team of 1992.

The last game of the season was the First Division final, a game that would decide whether either Bolton Wanderers or Reading would gain the second promotion slot to the Premier League. So much depended on this game, particularly in terms of the potential revenue generated from being one of the clubs in the top flight. Bolton had sound pedigree and had been to Wembley once before this year, losing to Liverpool in the Coca Cola Cup Final. Reading had been superb in their first season in the First Division, having been promoted last year as champions of the Second Division and were finishing the season with a flourish. The Posh connection continued, Mick Gooding was their joint manager, along with Jimmy Quinn.

The game was played on Whit Monday and I was on holiday in Cornwall with my family. As I listened on Radio 5 Live as we drove from Polperro to Looe, the game seemed all over in the first few minutes. Reading had set off like a train, scoring two goals in the first eleven minutes. As we travelled along it appeared as if the Bolton defence was all over the place. Just before half time, Reading had a penalty saved. That would have made it 3-0.

Imagine my surprise when, a few of hours later, we turned on the television in our rented cottage and heard that Bolton had won 4-3 after extra time. It sounded like some game. No doubt Les, a native of Reading, would tell me all about the daylight robbery when we got back to Peterborough.

A final note. Earlier in the day we had wondered round the large fishing village of Looe looking at the shops and avoiding the regular heavy showers that had plagued us for the past few days. We had stopped in shop doorways and looked at the trinkets and baubles specifically designed to tempt tourists on days such as these. I could have bought a comb that looked like a flick-knife, a stick of rock in the shape of a huge dummy or a baseball cap that read, ' Preston - Simply the Best'. I had resisted the temptation. We were on our way back to the car park clutching our only slightly warm and definitely damp Cornish pasties when Daniel tapped me on the shoulder and said, 'Look - over there.' Under the awning of a newsagent's window was Brian McGorry, standing with a couple of friends. 'Baywatch', recently released by Posh, had obviously returned to his beloved south coast.

'Go over and get his autograph', said Woody. 'No', I replied, ' don't bother.'

It had been that sort of season.

AUTHOR PROFILE

NAME Toby Wood BIRTHPLACE Glebe Road, Peterborough MARRIED Yes, to Kellie-Tracey-Jane-Sammy-Marie CHILDREN Benetton (6), Charlton (4), Letraset (2) CLUB NICKNAME Who?

WORST INJURY going bald FAVOURITE PLAYER No: 6 FAVOURITE OTHER TEAM the team who loses to us FAVOURITE AWAY GROUND coffee MOST MEMORABLE MATCH Swan Vesta

MISCELLANEOUS LIKES a lie-in MISCELLANEOUS DISLIKES not having a lie-in FAVOURITE SINGER OR MUSICIANS Luther Vandross and Drossy van Luther FAVOURITE FOOD Chinese, Indian and baked beans

PRE-MATCH MEAL see above BEST GOAL SCORED not applicable

PERSONAL AMBITION to buy a cup of tea that tastes like tea ADVICE TO YOUNGSTERS have a lie-in WHO WOULD YOU MOST LIKE Mahatma Gandhi, Ray Hankin TO MEET?