By Poolie Kev
December 6 2005

Poolie Kev, in common with pretty much every Poolie, didn't enjoy his Saturday Afternoon much. One big difference though is at least most Poolies didn't have 100 miles or more to get home afterwards.... Now disappointment manifests itself in many different ways. Fury, shock, grief, disbelief and tears but to name a few. To suffer all of these over a period of hours is also not uncommon.

For we exiles who travel a couple of hundred miles a match, possibly incurring a hotel bill as well, we can add the feeling of being robbed. However we set ourselves up for the fall and should not be surprised when it comes. We are creatures of choice after all and the choice is made on an individual basis. No one is twisting our arms.

So when the first of three home games came around after an EXCELLENT performance against Bradford City glee was duly rubbed into my hands as I and a press-ganged Blade (on derby day as well, I could sell sand to Arabs, me!!) embarked for an early arrival in the Pool, duly ordering first pints at 12.30pm in a largely deserted Millhouse.

Whilst watching Liverpool v Wigan on the dodgy satellite set-up and Peter Crouch scoring (?) his first for the Reds via a defenders foot, the goalkeepers fingertips and the bar, the place gradually began to fill up with Tamworth supporters who were, as is usual in these instances, firstly hoping to avoid humiliation, secondly hoping to ‘get us back to their place,’ and lastly daring to speculate that lightening CAN strike twice.

Oh how it struck. With the virulence of Hiroshima and Nagasaki it struck. As the rain beat down, the pitch turned to soap and the mistakes piled up, how it struck. And how I envied their jubilation at the final whistle. Hartlepool United certainly know how to turn a hundred and fourteen mile journey into a thousand mile crawl over broken glass.

Because when I get home and I face my family, friends and acquaintances I have to re-live it all. From the local landlords query of ‘WHAT HAPPENED??’ before I could order my first consolation pint (and believe me I was drinking to forget…..) to the ritual humiliation inflicted by varying Blades, Owls, Stags, Imps and Doncastrians (have they got a nickname apart from The Lucky Bleeders??) who inhabit these parts. (I give no credence to the ubiquitous Manchester United tarts who wouldn’t know a football ground unless it was seen on a square screen.) It’s OK for those in the ‘Pool because a problem shared is a problem halved. I even took a witness to my own shame this time.

But as the dietician says, s*** happens and now we have to turn our backs on it and look forward. I deliberately don’t mix with the press in any way, shape or form after a reverse, until I can do so without misting up and we have the opportunity (he said with tongue firmly in his cheek) to right the wrong tonight against Colchester United tonight. My friend and colleague Albatross has predicted a 1-1 which I think might be slightly optimistic given that the Vicky Park faithful are going to hand it out in spades tonight. It doesn’t help and it’s not constructive but I’ll give you diamonds it’s going to happen which will be the first disappointment of the evening. Let’s hope there’ll only be one.

In the meantime I offer up a fervent prayer that the lads come out of the blocks like a snarling grizzly and savage the opposition with an emphatic and masterful display of composed, fast, skilful, self assured, dizzyingly direct football.

And whatever happens, I’ll be there for more on Saturday because I need something to shout about.