Fickle

Nineteen eighty four begins well on the football field at least. I saw Athletic notch up another victory, against Astlow Town, a win they hardly deserved. There was a large crowd at Cardigan Park, and quite a few had made the trip from Astlow and packed the Three Locks Road stand.

Conditions were foul, with continuous rain a strong wind blowing towards the Easterby end of the ground. Athletic played with their faces to this wind in the first half and almost went a goal down early on. Nussey was playing very badly and the swirling high balls had him beat every time.

Robert and I stood next to two Astlow supporters throughout the game, bespectacled, in their forties, quiet blokes. As the second-half continued Robert kept up a constant conversation with them. Astlow looked the better side and adapted to the mud and wind quicker than Athletic. They’d always looked dangerous and it seemed almost inevitable that they should go ahead, which they did in the 61st minute, but a minute later, Highmore lunged at a corner and the ball sailed over the heads of the Astlow defenders and into the net.

Two minutes after that Rippey scored direct from a corner and the ground exploded into cheers and shouts of joy. The same people who’d hurled seat cushions onto the pitch after Astlow had gone one up now threw the same seat cushions into the air in delight. They sang “We’re Proud of You” with hypocritical fervour. Easterby fans are more fickle than most.

The atmosphere was tremendous in the last few minutes and I felt for the hunched defeated figures across the pitch as they shambled towards the exit and the looks of black resignation on the faces of our two friends tempered our jubilation at the victory somewhat.

Robert and Carol drove back to Dearnelow in the evening. Dad is back at work today (2 p.m. to 10 p.m.) and Andrew returned South this morning too. . . .