Notts County 1 - 2 Peterborough United

A double bill of reports. This report also has penis references

Notts County 1 – Posh 2 Attendance: 6012 (somewhere in the region of 2000 posh) What a day! It was always going to be though in all fairness, mainly because the weather was glorious and Trev had discovered that he will actually be in Leeds to see the Champion Scratchmaster in early March. A more sensible meeting time for those Leeds based PLC-ers (Ken, Dave, Guiseley and Trev) saw departure at just gone 10am, by which time PLC-ers from elsewhere had either already arrived in Notts or were on their way. Unfortunately Branson was too busy wasting money on balloons to lay on an extra carriage, so we spent the entire journey to Derby standing up in a vestibule and subjected a guy and a gal to various bizarre yet riveting conversations, including: ‘Can you lead a cat downstairs?’ And ‘Can horses actually lie down?’ On arrival at Derby Dave bumped into a mate who was forced to listen to us rabbiting on from there to Notts, with the conversations rarely entering the realms of normalcy. A quick wander through Notts station, and we were out into the air and across the road to the Vat and Fiddle. Full of Poshies, and decent beer, Belly Dancer being a particular favourite, hallos were forthcoming. All the PISA lot were in attendance, as well as Nicki Sposh, Shop Tim, Squires, Posh in Kent, Jonah, Panda, Liam and Anderson, already touting Blue Moons as if his life depended on it. It was at this point, that Andy whipped out his pink hats (not a euphemism), for all to see, and they began to circulate, Dave even had extra special Pink visors that went down a treat also. Much merriment ensued, the PISA lot had pootled off to the next venue, Casa, I believe, but the PLC, in the main, stayed to sup. We even managed to flog a few Blue Moons, which was nice. Nearing 2pm we decided it best to venture nearer to the ground, and went on our way, accosting people with pink hats and fanzines, before being turned away from Casa as twas full and ending up in the Trent Navigation, which was a bit of a hole, but we flogged many a fanzine, supped many a pint, distributed many a pink hat, and had somehow acquired Waggon along the way! Anderson went to hang the banners and the rest, belatedly, got inside the ground, some as stoooooooooodents, which was nice. And what a sight it was, 3 half empty County stands and a Posh stand packed with Blue n Whites, making a whole lot of noise, estimates vary from 1700-3000 Poshies, somewhere in the middle seems most realistic, either way its superb! Inside we found other PLC-ers, Outlaw was aboot, Poshbird and Polly, Nipper, the Boozy’s and the rest of the gang. The first half was generally poor, the pies were alright though so that was alright. 5 minutes before the break Boney M’s inspiration hit a rasper from the edge of the box, and a delighted Posh crowd went barmy. Under the weight of a Panda Dave even broke a seat! The second half Posh were up for it and attacked almost incessantly, Notts County were poor and offered little in terms of attacking threat, Posh made it 2 just before the hour with Quinn knocking home a rebound, and we never really looked threatened, Sledge’s aberration of a handball with a quarter of an hour remaining meant the County pulled one back from the spot, but in all fairness they never truly threatened again. Throughout the entire game the Poshies sang their hearts out, and buoyed the lads onto victory. The end of the game, the players and Bleo applauded as we did back, and a thoroughly satisfying afternoons football was had by all connected with the club. And on a personal note, to look around the stand and see various groups of people in pink hats was truly a delight, I’m sure I speak for Andy and his garage when I say thanks to all who undertook to wear one! After the game and the banner collections, many a PLC-er headed for the first train back from whence they came, us Leeds lads went back to the Vat and Fiddle for a pint, and saw a few more faces for a chat, managing to flog the rest of the Blue Moons in the process. However, this extra beverage meant we were forced to take the 6pm train, which was late, and in a Squires-esque fashion we missed our connection in Derby by a minute. This forced us to take a 45 minute layover in Derby, and a trip to the Merry Widows pub across the station was undertaken. Not only was this pub the ugliest place ever, in appearance and in clientele (obviously before we arrived), it was also very bizarre. The music went from a rather extreme ska collection into the grease megamix and abba, made even more bizarre by the visible absence of any music making equipment. Anyway, we caught the next train, which took forever, and were forced to stand so as not to be in a carriage full of rowdy Leeds fans, so the buffet car took the brunt of our chit-chat, about this and that, Trev helping himself to a rather strange yet oddly satisfying cup of UHT milk. We arrived back in Leeds at 9.15, a full hour and ten minutes after we should have. Personally I blame Squires. In conclusion, a marvellous days entertainment, as per usual, slightly bizarre, and made even more enjoyable by the fact Posh got a cracking win. Lets see where it takes us. Up the Posh!

Tony H's take on events

You know what? I was enjoying my day out so much, especially the performance and result, that I didn't make mental notes about what was going on, so this report might be a little more ad lib than usual, please forgive me for any inaccuracies.

Was this a good performance? Yes it was.
Did Posh deserve to win? They most certainly did.
Do Posh play a long ball game and are they unable to compete on a decent surface? I dont fucking think so.

Peterborough Uniteds fans were treated to a polished and at time exciting performance from their team, although the final scoreline does not do justice to the dominance of the boys in yellow. And the players were treated to absolutely first class from a huge army of travelling fans, who roared them on to victory.

Posh lined up in a more conventional 442 formation, with Day and Newton invited to take up the wide positions, Quinn partnering Crow in attack. Things seemed to be going reasonably comfirtably in an eve first half which was forgettable for a lack of clear cut chances. County failed to create a single chance on the Posh goal that the mean defence wasn't able to deal with. SSL and Bolland were steady and competant, while Holden and Arber were again enjoying strong games in the full back positions. Gain and Carden struggled to get to grips with the midfield for half an hour, but gradually started to impost themselves, with Gain in particular shoing flashes of his skills and talent.

County had a share of possession but didn't seem capable of breaking Posh down, and the only real threat seemed to come from set pieces with the black Peter Crouch at 8 foot 20 and Baudet at at least 18 stone being their main threats. But to no avail for the distinctly average home side, who were struggling to come to terms with the class and touch of Quinn, the pace and running of Crow, and silkiness of Gain and the nibbling of Carden. Day and Newton were quiet, but played thier part in threatening counter attack moves, when the ball was sensibly used well in wide positions.

Crow saw a cross cum shot flash across Pilkingtons goal as Posh began to assume control on preceedings, and the visiting fans smelt blood. The volume went up from the away end. Crow dropped deep, picked up a loose ball and fired in an unstoppable shot from the edge of the box for the opening goal. County had little in response, lots of central possession but nothing good enough to break the Posh rearguard. Harrison still managed to flap at a couple of crosses, which he would be well advised to leave alone.

Half time meant the opportunity to sample the local meat and potato pies, 9 out of 10, and a bonus point for cold bottles of beer which were quickly distributed to what appeared to be a very thirsty group of gentlemen.

No changes for the second half, and Posh stepped up 2 gears, and assumed total control. County could not handle the speed of football, the skill levels and the passion on and off the field from the visitors. It was building up to a crescendo, and with half an hour to go, the overdue second goal arrived. It was a great move, neat passing and support play, and ended with Gain forcing a fine save from Pilkington, but the veteran Ulsterman Quinn was on hand to apply the finish as defenders closed in. Cue delirious scence in the away end, and some extra dramatic goal celebrations. Christ, the boys actually seem to be enjoying themselves and playing with some pride and passion these days. Well done Bleo.

County gambled, and threw on the subs. Posh countered, and Farrell came on for Quinn, to add more pace to the attacks, but Posh were starting to get pinned back. Lots of long balls from County, and a fair amount of harmless possession ensued, but Posh were resiliant. Counter attack football at its best, with Newton and Farrell raiding from wide, but the deserved third goal did not arrive sadly.

County were thrown a lifeline when SSL thrust out his arms and the ball unkindly was drilled in his direction, it had to be a penalty. Harrison went the wrong way as Dadi rolled the ball into the opposite corner, and for a few minutes you had to ask yourself if we were good enough to hang on. And indeed we were. County huffed and puffed, but had not got any idea about how to break Posh down in open play.

Posh tried to wind the clock down, with Gain and Crow in particular enjoying several moments of skill and showboating, and the referee finally gave in to the chorus of whistles from the away end, and blew for full time. A great result in front of some great support. A chant of "The posh are going up" broke out, and the players stayed out for a good few minutes to milk the deserved applause.

This on its own was a good performance and 3 hugely valuable points. However, something good is happening here. Posh's current form is the form of champions, and if it can be maintained, forget the play offs, this team will be going straight up. But lets not get carried away, there are some big games coming up.

Steve Bleasdales animated and passionate celebrations at the end suggest just what this means to him. He has been thrown in at the deep end, and is making a fine fist of it all. His passion and commitment is rubbing off on his players, and there is now a real belief amongst the team and the fans that this team is on the verge of a promotion campaign. But say it quietly to yourself, we dont want the rest of League 2 to know about it just yet.

Hang on to your hats. The next couple of months are going to get quite exciting.

TONYS MARKS
Harrison 6 - still likes to flap at crosses he really should leave well alone, but swept up well and was rarely tested.

Holden 8 - competitive and strong, and is now looking like the player he has promised to be. Loves to get forward, but loves a tackle even more.

SSL 8 - repelled everything in the air and on the ground, relishing a battle and looking stronger each week.

Bolland 7 - played the part of the support centre half well enough, but does get turned a little easily sometimes.

Arber 8 - a revelation at left back and playing some of the best football of his life, apparantly.

Newton 7 - improving his form since Bleasdale took over, and showing more of the form we know he is capable of too.

Carden 7 - always works hard and installs the same attributes as his manager. Bits and pieces player, and damned good at it too.

Gain 8 - took a while to warm up, but showed again one or two moments of genius. We are such a better side with him in the team.

Day 7 - enjoyed a few runs at his defenders, and looking like he is enjoying his football at present.

Quinn 7 - lovely touch and good vision, although some people still think he is lazy! The perfect foil for the lively Danny Crow.

Crow 9 - outstanding workrate, tireless running, a superbly struck goal and a constant thorn in the County side. Brilliant performance.

SUBS:
Farrell (for Quinn) 6 - didn't make too much of an impact as County put us under some pressure, but showed a willingness to work for the team and run at defenders.

Bleasdale - 10 out of 10. Tactically, he has got it right. His players are playing for him, and the passion he shows on the touchline is rubbing off around the club. Keep it up, Steve.

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Peterborough United 2 - 1 Darlington Saturday 28th January

A special treat Tony H getting lyrical on yo ass biyatch

Posh lined up with 3 strikers, in what looked like an attempt to have a go at Darlo "early doors", and it most certainly worked, as the home side piled on the pressure. Darlo couldnt get out of their half for 15 minutes, in which time Quinn, playing on the right of 3 strikers and easily outstripping the left back for pace, saw a couple of long range efforts whistle narrowly past the post.
Crow was next to come close, with some beautiful build up play involving Quinn and Holden on the right, Crow was released into the right side of the area, drew the keeper but his angled shot bobbled inches past the far post.

With not quite half the half gone, Darlo punted an aimless long ball into the Posh area, which Harrison came to collect. However, he seemed to be in no rush and turned what would have been an easy collect into a 50-50 as their striker went in to challenge, and made a total mess of it, flapping at the ball which fell invitingly at the strikers feet, and he had the simplest of tasks to guide it into the empty net, with only St Ledger making an effort to get back.

Totally undeserved, but hey - football is like that. Harrison, unfortunately, is also like that, and there is no doubt that until Tyler returns, this guy is going to cost us goals with his basic handling and catching problems.

Posh continued to press, but Logan had to be withdrawn soon after with a slight knock. This meant a reshuffle from the 433, with Faz coming on down the left and Quinn moving up front to partner Crow in a more complicated 4312 system. Faz was soon into action, flying down the left in traditional style, and causing mayhem amongst the Darlo defence. Quinn and Crow were linking up nicely, and Gain was starting to dominate from midfield with some prompting passes. Holden was having a much better game than of late, and pushed forward to good effect down the right, while Arber was doing the same on the opposite flank, revelling in his new found freedom as a full back.

Quinn saw a header fly well over the bar from a corner, of which Posh must have had a dozen, all taken well by Day, who was involved in much of Poshs attacking play.

Finally the breakthrough they deserved, with a minute left before half time, Holden picked up the ball in midfield and linked up with Crow who found Arber rushing in from the left, and the left back hammered a vicious 25 yard strike into the back of the net that nearly took the keepers head off.

Posh went on to play the opening 25 minutes of the second half in much the same manner, taking the game to Darlo and causing all sorts of problems. Darlo did not look anything like a play off hopeful side, but I put that down to Posh playing at a high tempo and with passion. Sometimes passion turned into aggression and there were several fall outs with opposition players, a couple of scurmishes and some nasty late challenges on both sides, but Posh were certainly in the ascendency.

Darlo were limited to counter attacks, but in the main, the Posh back 4 was dealing superbly well with it. Crow lead the line superbly, and showed a high work rate and some moments of true quality on the ball.

Quinn, as expected, didnt last past 3/4 of the game, and on came Newton. This gave Posh more edge and pace to their attacking play, and it was only a couple of minutes before Newton set up the winner. Crow set him away down the right, his fantastic cross was met at the far post by Farrell and the ball ended up at Arbers feet, in the centre forwards position, and his left foot shot swept the ball home from close range for 2-1.

Posh looked like they would score 4 or 5 at this rate, but Darlo made several changes and threw caution to the wind and piled bodies forward in an aerial assault. Someone was obviously watching the Shrewsbury. Of course, they managed to create a couple of chances, but Harrison made up for his earlier blunder with 2 great blocks, one with his chest under a pile of boots and another with his trailing arm as the ball seemed destined for the net. Posh backed off and went deeper and deeper, and in the end were hanging on for the last 10 minutes, but the previous 75 has seen some passionate attacking football, and this stands us in good stead for the next 2 big games against play off hopefulls.

And dont believe the hype - the pitch is indeed crap, but posh played some nice short passing football on it last night. Someone told me Darlo were the best passing side in the division, before last nights game. Well, they were certainly out played last night, and it was a travesty that this score wasnt 4-1.

TONYS MARKS:

Harrison 6 - dreadful error for their goal and several dodgy dashes off his line for crosses, but 2 important saves late on to balance it out.

Holden 8 - strong and attacking from right back, got stuck in and put in some good runs and crosses.

Bolland 7 - repelled most attacks with strong tackles and headers.

SSL 7 - ditto.

Arber 9 - faultless defensively and 2 great goals to win the game.

Carden 6 - buzzed about in typical style, but failed to influence the game enough. His fare share of the donkey work.

Gain 7 - played the simple ball and passed superbly, but not on the ball enough for my liking. A class act when he wants to be.

Day 6 - in and out of the game, decent corners, and got involved in patches.

Quinn 7 - held the ball up well, some delightful touches, but lacking the scoring touch.

Crow 8 - outstanding work rate, does it for the team, and some nice showboating late on.

Logan 7 - was winning every header until injury forced him off.

SUBS:
Farrell 8 - changed the dimension of the game and caused panic with his pace.
Newton 7 - superb cross for the winning goal good enough for a higher mark.

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Shrewbury Town 2 - 1 Peterborough United - Saturday 28th January

My dad's harder than your dad

Shrewsbury 2 – Posh 1
Attendance: 3295

Well, wasn’t this a fun weekend! Friday saw myself and John ‘Incognito’ Coluna head down to the welsh borders to convene with Poshbird and Pompey. A decent trip down was soon greeted by high-pitched screams of ‘I can see you boooy’ from the Crazy Frog lookalike woman next door, much to our amusement! A short excursion to a couple of the local establishments followed, where much fun was had making puns on Posh names. James Quim anyone? We then decided to be responsible, as we were up representing .net in the morning. A trip to the greatest chippy in the world, and the compulsory failure to eat the mountain of chips meant bedtime! The night was notable for two things, one: Incognito’s snoring, two: Trev managing to deflate the lilo he was sleeping on at some godforsaken hour and waking everyone up! A decent start to the weekend.

Saturday meant getting up in -5C, getting a cab in the snow and departing for Wales, sort of, at 8.20am, going through a Gobowen, Wrexham, Ruabon and Chirk (which was notable for a wood-chip factory). Surely these places are made up! Breakfast was taken in the lovely quaint centre of Shrewsbury, in the remarkably overpriced Marks & Spencer’s café, where Trev taught all how to peel an orange so as to produce an elephant mask! A cab from the station, near a newsagents full of porn saw our arrival and then befuddlement in trying to find the .net crowd! The game was calamitous, so we shall leave that to one side. Suitably scrubbed up, we reconvened at the Crown pub, not the Crown Inn, which was where Zaius, Panda, Zaius’s German mate Dan, Nick, Trapped-in-whales, and probably Squires and co were. Anyway, a few brews later, off to the Panda Meadow, which I must say, was a cracking ground! Once inside, and bladders emptied, banners were upped. Anderson and Newton were already doing a sterling job, Anderson’s appropriated ‘Kick Racism Out’ banner was particularly quality, and we selected a nice corner of the stand as base for the afternoon. Other PLC members in attendance were notably, Nipper, Pointy, Boozy younger and senior and probably others that I can’t remember.

Now the game was atrocious. End of. Posh were poor. They were poor, but in the second half slightly less poor. As a result they won 2-1, Bananaman’s buddy’s penalty for us in the first half not being enough to see us through. So much for the game, the real highlights revolved around their fans. Towards the end of the first half a rather rotund gentleman and his progeny began to gesticulate towards the Posh fans, this got more and more aggressive and arguably offensive, at which point we began to exacerbate the situation through some rather amusing ditties. ‘Just because you’re losing’, ‘If you’ve never got an asbo, clap your hands’, ‘Your sons going to jail’, and my personal favourite, ‘My dad’s bigger than your dad’ were sung heartily, and didn’t go down too well with the wannabe sheep rustlers. At this point a couple of Posh’s very own high brow individuals began to gesture towards the fella over the way, one, so desperate to make his point, he climbed the fence, matey tried to climb over his wall and entered a restricted area, before the stewards stepped in and it quietened off somewhat. At this point it was half-time, the pies were decent, Balti Pies really are a work of Dennis Pearce.

The second half saw a reworked version of Electric 6’s ‘Gay Bar’, and many a rendition of:
’Sagi the animal packed his trunk and sadi goodbye to the boro,
Off he went with a trumpety trump
Trump trump trump’

Rustler and son had found some friends who came over to gesticulate widely, resembling maternally outraged gorillas on numerous occasions. The only real amusement to be garnered from this was the fact they left early and missed Shrewsbury’s winning goal, probably as 5, yes that’s 5, of them were surrounded by the old bill outside our end of the ground at the end of the game. Anyway, at full time, we were all suitably aggrieved and headed off by the river in the fading light of day fro the station, which we found in good time, and everyone went their separate ways. Some back to boro, some to the new town, some elsewhere, and others back to Chester. I will here point out that ensuing from this was one of the highlights of the evening (for us anyway): Squires’ continual updates of his miserable attempt to get home, involving missed trains, dark car parks, full buses and a mentalist cabbie.

Back in Chester, we popped into the Town Crier, a regular haunt of the PLC when over that way, and proceeded to sup to our hearts content. Zaius and Dan stayed for the craic, and as the hours and pints slipped by and down respectively, the Town Crier was greeted to numerous accounts of old skool rave music, growing up in the Ortons, Eddie Murphy’s finest hours, the League of Gentlemen, and a particularly amusing conversation with some Stockport fans who proceeded to call us cockneys and chant Southampton at us. And they say northerners are monkeys? The end to the evenings entertainment saw another failed attempt to finish the chips from the chippy, kicking Incognito into the laundry room, and having to break down the bathroom door to check on our hostess. All in all a rather memorable, and highly amusing weekend, (topped off for me for seeing one of my office colleagues producing a Technicolour yawn on the M62 at lunchtime on Sunday).

Notts County here we come!

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Grimsby Town 1 - 2 Peterborough United - Saturday 28th January

Grimsby 1 – Posh 2
Attendance 4462, 396 Poshies

PLC-ers came from across this glorious country of ours for this one. A questionably aged Posh_in_Kent from somewhere down south, I forget where. Squires and buds from Boro, Anderson and Newts from the midlands, the Grebo from a Stoooooodent dump near you, with Trev and the Groomer from Leeds. For those of you that don’t know, Cleethorpes is at the end of the line, in railway terms. That just about says it all. Their idea of a pleasure beach seems to be Chavs, gravel, a somewhat derelict helter-skelter and a pitiful excuse for a ferris wheel. Anyway, Trev was by the sea early to represent the PLC in the posh.net match, where the Boro-boys unfortunately slipped to a 4-1 defeat, but the scoreline belied the flow of the match. The fellow Yorkshire-men drove down mid morning and convened in The Leaking Boot, a rather shabby, small barred excuse for a public house. It had the appearance of a pub, but the bar size of a crunchie. The other PLC-ers eventually found their way there to, via the odd amusement arcade. After his free chip butty Trev also convened. Beer was had, introductions were made, Trev’s dad, the fabled Mr K (sorry, got to mention it, I’m on commission) and cohorts arrived and from there we pootled up to the ground, past many an interesting shop, ‘Revenda’s Designer Club Wear’ probably being the most memorable, when one considers its location.

On arrival at Blundell Park the oldies wandered through, the young-uns attempted to get in as stoooooodents, we all managed it, primarily because the quizzical nature of the cashier people was not up to scratch. They had the appearance of cashiers but the investigative skills of a Daily Sport Journo. Point proven by the following discussion: Posh_in_Kent who had earlier claimed to be 20 (bollocks) tried to get in as a stoooooodent:
Andy- Stooooodent please
Cashier – Do you have your card?
Andy – No
Cashier – How old are you?
Andy – Errrrrrr, 17.
Cashier – Are you sure?
Andy – Errrrrr, yeah.
Cashier – Really? I can see stubble.
Andy – Oh.
Cashier – There you go.
Grimsby’s very own Sherlock Holmes, mind you, she could have been mistaken for the Hound of the Baskervilles somewhat, so there’s a link there somewhere. Anyway, suitably all in, Anderson and Newts had got the banners up, and we took our seats among the travelling hordes of Posh fans. Game on.

Overall it was a cracking game of football, end to end stuff, and it started as it meant to go on. The two sides traded shots for the first quarter of the match, before on 29 minutes the Mermen’s resident Peg-seller snuck in the box and his weak shot deflected off Carden to pass a wrong footed Tyler. The Merman seemed remarkably happy at this considering he probably knew it would happen cos he had his fortune told earlier over a piece of roast hedgehog, but whatever. However, Posh justifiably got back into the game almost immediately with Peter Gain’s run and then low shot across the keeper inside the far post only a minute after going behind. Cue delight from the previously aggrieved Posh fans. Right at the end of the first half their beanpole of a keeper made a hash clearance on a run out and Gain curled it high and over the top of him from 30 yards towards the open net, it caught the post and flashed across the goal before the ref whistled for h/t. Not a bad first half, we were unlucky not to be leading, but we could take heart from what we had seen. To top it off, the pies were only a quid fifty, and they were giving them away for free at the end due to over-estimating their requirements, excellent!

The second half was not dissimilar to the first, end to end stuff, neither team creating too much. Wolverine was unlucky not to get something better on a near post ball from Crow, before in the 70th minute a superb long pass up the left from South Africa’s number 6 was lofted back across the goal by Wolverine for the incoming Crow to nod across the keeper into the bottom corner and the Posh fans understandably went mental! 2-1 Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeellows. I will at this stage point out the fact that the ref was crap, and had given the majority of decisions to the Mermen, and continued to do so. A couple of minutes after the goal, another one of their Lucky Heather-sellers (he had the body of white man but the hair of white woman) cleaned Tyler out on a fifty-fifty on the edge of the Posh area. Both players stayed down and looked in serious pain. The ref failed to blow up, and the Mermen continued to play, unsportsmanlike bastards. Posh got it clear and a long delay ensued before Tyler was stretchered off and their forward was free to start selling lace again. Wolverine ended up in goal for the Posh, Plummer was sent on to fill the gaps and the game continued.

Our makeshift keeper made a bit of a hash of his first cross but from then on had little to do other than some decent claims. However, the home-whistler of a ref ordered his minion on the sidelines to give 8, yes that’s 8, minutes of stoppage time much to the derision of the away fans. It didn’t help the Mermen much as they spent much of that trying to get the ball off Gain near their corner flag, who was time-wasting a la The Machine at Wobblers. Little Jamie Day was taken out right near the end by a shocking tackle that was only punished by a yellow. His mum won’t be happy, he only ever gets hurt when he goes and plays with the bigger boys, and his kit got dirty to. The ref finally saw fit to blow up at 5 past five. An absolute joke, but the Posh fans didn’t care. We had survived and the joyous celebrations were greeted by the obviously well chuffed players, who had the kits of yellow men, but the hearts of blue and white men.

Performance wise, Posh were excellent(ish) down to a man. Tyler did well before he got crocked, Sledge, South Africa’s number 6, Phil and Super Chris all defended like heroes. Deano ran his socks off. Did you know his brothers got the appearance of a white man but the cock of a black man (Apparently he’s known as the weapon)? Carden was the usual committed grafter, Gain is truly majestic when on the ball and made the Mermen look very silly on many an occasion, even Newts had a decent game, in the main. Wolverine, who personally I can’t stand, was very good and kudos for the cameo at the end, Jamie Day worked very hard and looked at home with the bigger boys, and Boney M’s Inspiration took his goal well, worked hard for the team, and I don’t think he ever stopped running.

With that we buoyantly left the ground, and wandered back to the cars, said our goodbyes and headed off either on the roads or towards the station. A truly memorable day out: for the quality of the win and the shenanigans that accompanied it. A cracking win for the Posh, lets just hope we can build on it. Stevie Bleasdale’s Blue and White Army anyone?

(Please note: there are some comments made in jest, resembling Mr Wright’s alleged faux pas, they are merely for jest. Thanks.)

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Darlington 2 - 1 Peterborough United - Saturday 14th January

Pies pies and more pies for Ken

Attendance: 3822 (Probably a couple of hundred Posh) A new year, and a new stadium for the PLC. An interesting day this, not least because PLC-ers were arriving from all over the place. Nick from Sheffield, Sami from Chester, Liam, Squires and co from Boro, Canonmiller from Edinburgh, Outlaw and Anderson from somewhere in the midlands, Ed from a bamboo grove somewhere in Szechuan province via fashion capital of Europe, Sladey from ‘uddersfield and of course the Leeds boys. As a result meeting times had gone to pot, and it was very much winged. Its my understanding that tothers went to Darlo and generally badgered around until we met them at the ground. We convened in Wetherspoons as usual. Nick and Sladey sat waiting like the lazy ho’s they are, while Guiseley, Kenneth and Trev arrived at intervals. A few pints, a bit of grub, many a call to Dave later we were on the train upt north. The PLCaedophile had failed to join us. He claims to have had work to do, but we all know what that means now don’t we children? Anyways, the journey passed by without much incident, and we arrived in Darlo sometime around 2. Via a cab we arrived at the Copper Beech, greeted some other Poshies already there, forced several Darlo fans to leave because they objected to the sudden influx of ‘cockernies’. Anyways, we then proceeded to mooch up to the ground, which was alright as those sort of things go. I think all managed to blag entrance as stoooooodents, which was a fair effort. On entry we were greeted by Liam giggling uncontrollably at the ‘Be-gloved One’ having something of a tiff with another Poshie. Mr Therm-a-wear’s vehement support of Mr Fry not going down too well with the other Poshie. Chuckles over, the banners were unfurled, and seats near the back claimed for the beginnings of a vocal barrage. I will at this stage point out that a 25,000ish capacity stadium with 3822 people in it is bloody daft. And not one of their lot could spell. According to the screen it was Darlington vs P’Borogh. Streuth! The first half was somewhat mediocre, they were gash, Posh were better, but not by much, although we did score a cracking goal on the break, tucked away nicely by Mr Hair Product. Events of note were sparse, Holden (his brother’s nicknamed ‘The Weapon’ you know, because he’s got a big cock), went through and put it over, some claimed penalty, I would have given it. Right at the death The Truth got cleaned out like a Roary the Lion’s dirty litter tray inside their box, and got nowt, a travesty, but 1-0 at the half. Half time provided the perfect opportunity to sample the £1 pies and £2 pints, few complaints were hard from the Posh fans, although the choice could have been more varied. So to half 2. Posh should have scored at least 2 early on, but didn’t, and we were left to regret it. Fifteen minutes to go Tyler made a Boo-boo, and their fella tucked it home, git. At some point around this time The Machine and Wolverine were brought on, but lacked steel and bite. And with a couple of minutes to go their fella handled the ball through the melee and slid it under the onrushing Tyler, game over. It was a game Posh should have never lost, but if you don’t take your chances you get punished like a sadistic gimp. It goes without saying that throughout the match songs were song and obscenities were hurled, but then Ed was wearing pink again. I will at this juncture point out that many PLC-ers seemed to be confused as to their true identity during the match, with many standing and claiming to be someone called ‘Spartacus’. Bemusing. We trundled out the ground, disconsolate, and headed back towards the station. The Old Bill had 4 vans escorting some of the, ahem, rowdy sections of the Peterborough fans back to the station. The PLC, the majority of whom were wearing plastic Badger masks, pootled on behind. For some reason a split occurred, apparently some of the younger members don’t understand the universal signal for ‘cross the road we’re having a pint’. It was back to the Copper Beech for some of us, the family function room being a suitable place to sit and sup. Whilst at the bar a couple of kids half inched some badger masks, and began to terrorise the punters, crawling, running and climbing over and under the furniture all the time growling. I think badgers are a bit meaner up there you see. One of them even had the nerve to take the Panda mask, and a sort of enchanted woodland scene unfolded, with a somewhat haunting balletic quality. Having corrupted some kids, we headed back to the station, engaged in some chav baiting with some passing bus passengers, and arrived at the station to be greeted by the coppers. Having escorted the majority of posh fans back to the station, they were on their way out when several grown men wearing badger heads entered the scene. Once we had been cleared as posing little threat (Panto seasons nearly over), we were left to do our thing and get our trains. We had missed the drama of which you are all no doubt aware, but were content all the same. And we drifted off into the night, station by station, much as we did on the journey up. An entertaining PLC day out, but a somewhat galling result, but you can’t have everything. Roll on Grimsby!

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Chavs and fit ladies from hollyoaks

Chester 3 – Posh 1
Attendance: 2700ish, 300ish poshies.

When attempting to guess the location of his stalker’s brother, Alan Partridge once remarked: ‘Ches ? Chester. Near north Wales off the M56’. That was the PLC’s destination yesterday. Except we went by train. And hadn’t just eaten a scotch egg. Trev, Dave and Ken met at Leeds station, Ken was rushed, Dave was tired, and Trev had just performed his best impersonation of a high-brow tramp. The crazee jive-turkeys hit the rather busy train for Manchester, beer at the ready, Ken supping the rather rude sounding Oranjeboom. An attempted meet up with our very own grebo failed miserably, as due to lack of washing he missed his bus and therefore enquired as to what time we would arrive at Huddersfield as we left Huddersfield. So to Manchester we went, with the majority of the journey being spent talking street. Fool.

On arrival there, we were greeted by a rather large panda, who joined us in greeting some rather lovely girls raising money for charity while sporting some rather kinky boots. Being as others were still due to arrive, we decided to loiter with intent in the Yates at the station. The beer began to flow, as did the banter, and it was rather obvious that we wouldn’t be moving on. Nick and Squires arrived, flags ‘n’ all, and then Sladey the grebo. Not Grebe you understand, as that is a type of bird, with a rather nice plumage, unlike our stooodent friend. Although it would be quite cool if he did have nice plumage or was actually a bird. Perhaps Big Bird. Anyway, the hours slid by as beer was consumed, comments were made about Dave’s reputed pederastic tendencies, some awful excuses for pub food was ‘eaten’, and Les Battersby from Coronation Street was mobbed by simple northerners. And Ed, and Squires. The train left for Chester at 13.15, we had to ensure we got this so we didn’t have to experience last weeks debacle of a train with request stops, so to the platform we went. Panda informed us of an embarrassing situation midweek when he had exclaimed to his boss ‘Racist’ just as, and I quote, ‘One of them was next to us’. As he relayed this story, ‘One of them’ was actually next to us. Cue hilarity. Then some chap with a broad cockney accent enquired as to how to get to Wigan. ‘Why? Is that where you’re going?’ responded Trev. ‘Yeah mate’ responds said fella. ‘Not a clue mate. Wigan have got Spurs today yeah?’ ‘Yeah that’s why we’re going!’ said the cockney. ‘Oh right’, said Trev, ‘Are you from Wigan then?’ To which a baffled Londoner walked away. Reco’nize.

Our train arrived and the ensuing hour was generally spent attempting not to be too rowdy, and consuming the remaining beer in our possession. Squires introduced us to the wonders of popping balloons full of paper footballs, and the mess consequently created. And Dave handed out stick on transfers of the Posh crest, for us all to wear. Which we did, in numerous places, from guts, to arms to foreheads. On arrival in Chester we popped across the road to rendezvous with Anderson and Pompey, and some bint associated with Nick, before sinking a quick pint and making the mad dash to the ground via taxi, through some rather heavy traffic. We got there about 2 minutes before kick off, exchanged suitable pleasantries with the Welsh ground staff, and headed up to the stand. Samuel Newton was there, as per usual, flags already up, and thus the game began. I will at this juncture just point out that the ground was shite. Tidy and dinky little stands, capacity of 6000, soulless and devoid of any character. Mind you football isn’t the priority entertainment in that part of the world, that would be the bimonthly ritualistic sheep fiddling and midget tossing. Although this itself has recently been hit by scandal, as someone ‘accidentally’ fiddled with a midget and tossed a sheep. Oh the shame.

The game was poor. A first half of little excitement, Benji should have buried it from 4 yards out twice, their keeper made a cracking save, Tyler gave away a penalty, they scored. And it was half time. The only true event of the half was our chat with a steward. In response to the Welsh taunting after they scored their goal, we responded with some somewhat crass but rather intelligent retorts, which their ground staff weren’t too appreciative of. He asked us to stop, as they had supposedly just asked the Chester fans to do so to. After some grumbling it was agreed that we would stop if they would stop. The matter wasn’t helped by Ken asking the steward whether ‘it was a bit petty for a non-league ground’. The pies weren’t half bad, a comfortable 8/10. Gobber actually chatted to one PLCer in a civil tone, even telling them when the Swansea game was. Before realising who he was talking to and attempting to backtrack on that date. Presumably so that we wouldn’t go and drown out the sound of muffled clapping from his friends. Word.

The second half was rubbish. They scored a tap in rather early, Wrighty made some panic substitutions that didn’t really work, they scored a cracking third, and Semple scored a decent breakaway goal. But it was too little too late, and 3-1 it finished. However, the real drama of the second half revolved around Squires. Sometime into the half we realised we had no idea where he was, a quick recon op and he was discovered in the toilet, the doctor and stewards all ran down the tunnel, and he was finally hauled off to the seating area, with Nick and acquaintance in tow. It wasn’t until then that we found the numpty had been asleep in the loo. The beer he had consumed surprisingly not agreeing with his medication! Anyway, he was ok. The end of the game saw a bit of a dash to Aldi’s to greet our cabs, two arrived promptly, the other one took forever. Sladey and Trev hung around on the corner like two rather odd looking ladies of the night. One a grebo, the other baffling local reprobates by the strange markings on his forehead. Anyway it arrived and got them to the station in time for food to be purchased, Trev to slip over in a desperate dash across the platform, thereby ripping up his knee. Dis woz propa street, n da bredrin mixed it up n on da train dey got y’all.

Anderson and Chris were left to travel to wherever it was they came from, the others intrepidly set off for Manchester, encountering a fella called Liam, a posh fan who had also been there, and for some reason chose to sit, tolerate and humour a bunch of pissed up fellas he had never met. Panda caused a mess, Ken looked for a holiday, Trev moaned about his knee, the grebo didn’t wash, Squires managed to stay coherent, Dave looked on longingly, and Nick passed round pictures of nightshirts. At Manchester we split once more, Nick went back to Sheffield, Liam went his own way, Panda went to see Kaiser Wilhelm or some other shite, and the rest went back to the capital of the north, maintaining their ‘chupa chups: street cred’. Sladey departed at Huddersfield, the rest continued to Leeds. Squires, now somehow sidled with the Pisa Flag, set off for the boro. The other three jive-turkeys, saw the PLC stalker from Hull and Barnsley, and went their own way. And with no more crazee talk, another PLC outing ended. Yeyah bwoy!

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Wrexham 1 - 1 Peterborough United - Saturday 1th November

Welsh

Wrexham 1 – Posh 1
Attendance: 4000 something, 152 poshies.

Wrexham then. Fuck a duck, what a schlep that place is. Following the cataclysmic fall out of Wednesday’s excursions, Trev was left as the only Leeds PLCer making the journey. Marks tuxedo vomiting incident, plus the fact his car had dropped its exhaust was enough to deter him. Training it out of Leeds at some godforsaken time of the morning (after seeing St Ledger or a doppelganger in the station), Sladey joined up at ‘uddersfield, and to Manchester Piccadilly they went. Now those familiar with the PLC haunt of the JD Wetherspoons in Leeds station knows that it serves beer for fun, at ungodly hours. Manc has none of this, in fact its shite. We were forced to play pool to while away the time, before several cans of filthy beer were purchased for the impending trip to Chester. To platform 13 we went, to grace the train with our presence and convene with Nick and Mckenzie. They say 13 is unlikely for some, and crikey reverend, they say it right. Due to some bungled ticket situation, we missed the easy the train to Chester, and were forced to take one of the daftest methods of transport ever thought up.

Now for those not in the know, on the shite side of the Pennines, there exists an demonic creation known as trains with request stops. The essence of which means that you can ask the driver to stop at random nowhere made up places to let you disembark. Disembowel would be more fun I grant you, but then its not truly practicable with any aplomb on a local train platform, but who knows perhaps with government money the potential facilities could be much improved. Therefore, your journey takes fecking ages. Luckily there was banter and beer to keep us company. However, the journey seemed to resemble an old Scooby Doo storyboard. The educated amongst you will remember the episodic chase scenes in Scooby Doo involving the same background used over and over and over and over again. This was much the same, except instead of ‘castle interior/suit of armour/table/castle interior/suit of armour/table’ it was ‘fog/tree/fog/sheep/fog/made up place/fog’ and so on and so forth. Thank Dennis Pearce Scrappy Doo wasn’t there, cos that would have really ruined things, fecking yippity piece of crap.

Anyway, I digress. On arrival in Chester we nipped across the road to ‘The Town Cryer’, where we met Poshbird and the PLC’s very own Ailuropoda melanoleuca. There was long enough to relieve oneself before we once again graced British Rail with our presence for the short trip to Cymru. Past many a sign warning Goll Henebrion Fod Yn Bereglus we made our way to the ground. Luckily the ground was next to the station, and luckier still, a pub was next to the ground. Inside we bumped into Plosh, Samuel Newton, Nipper and numerous others. After a few sips, we pootled round the corner to the away stand, and began the banner unfurling procedure. There was more than enough room, and it worked a treat. However, returning from hoisting the Jolly Roger Trev was greeted by Bev (of ‘gluvvie’ fame). Within earshot of a steward, the conversation went something like this….
Bev: Whats that got to do with Peterborough United?
Trev: What? The Jolly Roger?
Bev: No, the skull and bones.
Trev: Nothing. It’s got to do with us, The PLC.
Steward: Yeah, what has it got to do with you, it’s a bit violent ain’t it?
Trev: (too both men) Nah mate. It’s a silly thing. Ok, we are all posh fans born ‘n’ bred, living in the north of England, we started a supporters club for ourselves so that we could go watching the games with a bit of company. Our old away shirt was black so we started eulogising about the black hordes sweeping the division, which sort of lead onto a pirate fascination, and thus we just sorta joke around with it.
Steward: So its just a bit of a joke then, a bit of fun?
Trev: Exactly mate.
Steward: Ah, good stuff then.
Unfortunately Bev’s reaction to this was not witnessed as a pissed up Ailuropoda melanoleuca barrelled up with an ‘Everything alright here?’ If he was listening, then maybe he has begun to understand we are not the antichrist, and that there are bigger evils in this world than The PLC, namely the fact that the new pope is actually the Emperor from Star Wars. Following this drama, a pie or two was needed, the chicken balti and steak and kiddly were both top notch. Zaius would have creamed himself, 9/10. A good week for pies.

Anyway to the match. Posh were a world apart from Burton. They defended excellently, in a first half when Wrexham pressed a damn sight more than we did, Tyler made some cracking saves when needed and Arber and Plummer (MOM without a doubt) got in the way of everything. Carden was everywhere, and Thorpe and Crow looked lively. Second half was much of the same in terms of our best players, except we started to attack and play decent football, a decent poachers goal from Crow and we continued to press. We had the pressure to maybe sneak another, but alas Wrexham got the equaliser. It seemed a tad fortunate, but a draw was a fair result, and it was a decent away point on a tricky away trip and a pretty darn good performance, which was needed. However, the match was memorable for other reasons. Numerous chants of varying comic effect regarding sheep, dominion and nationality were promulgated on our erstwhile colonial subjects in the other stands. Wrexham’s mascot, a big crap dragon (Oh, how original) antagonised the posh fans something manic when they scored so much so that the fat controller had to usher him out of the ground. Not before he had managed to groom a couple of the most annoying kids in the world from the Wrexham Orchestra (just a small aside here, are Mascots subject to police and criminal record checks before being given the job, like teachers, cos if not they should be, the opportunities there. Believe me). Anyway, Wrexham had this fecking family section full of fecking kids with fecking horns and my god did they use them. They did not shut up all game, it was fecking awful. Sometimes late at night, I can still hear the horns, they’re there, just there. Mind you at least they drown out the voices, they were getting a bit old, especially the one that kept telling me to be evil.

Anyway, a quick dash to the station, and back to Chester we went. Poshbird went home for a kip, the rest of us moved north. A lethargic PLC contingent gradually dwindled on the way back up, Ailuropoda melanoleuca departing at Warrington, the rest of us splitting off at Manc, Nick and Mckenzie to Sheffield, Sladey and Trev across the Pennines. And that was the end of another PLC day out. A decent result, with some shits ‘n’ giggles, nay bad. Mind you we have gotta do it all over again next Saturday.

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Burton Albion 1 - 0 Peterborough United - Wednesday 16th November

Pigs tits

Burton Albion 1 – Posh 0
Attendance: 2000 and something, a few hundred from the boro.

As usual, the haphazard approach to trip planning, now PLC tradition, was put into full effect. After umming and aaahing our way to a schedule, the panda was left to cry tears of despair into his new town bamboo pillow. The rest met on Wednesday evening. Pompey and Coluna managed to ignore each other for an hour in the same pub, then Mark and Zaius intervened, Trev sprinted from the onion to the station dodging many a ve-hic-le on the way. The station was witness to a joyous convening of the fellas, Pompey’s mate was ripped off to shit in the car park, and the rest of us made our way to the arches. Marks car was located down some dark and lonely tunnel, surrounded by many a dead rat, jonny, and needle, or a combination of the three. The mission was begun.

Amongst the rush hour traffic the wanderers were found, Coluna produced a tape, our curiousity ignited, the honours were done. His ‘Bring Back the Roar’ interview with Vibe FMs very own numpty was played for all to hear. Amongst much hilarity at hearing the beginning of our beloved chairman’s quest to pimp himself out to every media organisation there were moments of hilarity. Notably, the comments bandied around by DJ Numpty. That task done, we progressed to the radio to accompany us on our venture. The journey was notable for two incidents. One the comedy value of Coluna crying in pain at his desperation to relieve himself, which he duly did with the Guiness Book of Records certified ‘Longest piss in history’ in some random layby near Rotherham, which forced a fellow layby user to depart somewhat promptly. The second incident was our chairman’s rendition of Outkast’s classic ‘Hey Ya’, complete with harmonious interlude by our very own wannabe scouse ape.

Burton was reached without too much difficulty, and to the Great Northern Pub we went. Heckled by Tony H outside, we made it to the pub, met the Pretender and Nick (minus that hair he stole from his friendly local rasta) and innumerable others. Including our best friends off the coaches. The joyous reception of Nick’s tin foil FA Cup, was put down as ‘Bloody PLC, it keeps ‘em happy don’t it, mind you we pay their taxes’. Pat on the back for that man, he’s spot on again. To the ground we went, and Outlaw we met. Chav kids behind the turnstiles and the longest pie queue in history were the real reasons for the kick offs delay. Crowd congestion my arse. The pies, ignored by Zaius (shock horror), were mighty fine, and served piping hot. Compliments to the chef.

The game. Half 1: they parked the bus in front of the goal, hoofed it a lot. We couldn’t pass, should’ve scored, and that was that. The banners were up, the posh fans were relatively numerous, and at this point it wasn’t too bad. Plus Squires had actually just got to the game! Half 2: they parked the bus in front of the goal, hoofed it a lot. We couldn’t pass and didn’t look like scoring. They hit us on the break and scored a decent enough goal. We hoofed it a lot, didn’t get anywhere, a puzzling substitution and a distinct lack of football later, the game was over. Burton took the win. Fair play to them, they wanted it, they had a plan and it worked. We were shite. And in amongst many a boo, several of the posh players got some personal abuse. Some reacted, which wasn’t appreciated too much by the travelling hordes from the banks of the River Nene. We pootled out of the ground and back to the car, disconsolate, aggrieved. We were homeward bound (literally, not like that shit family film with the two dogs and the cat – what the feck is that all about?)
The journey home was memorable for two reasons. Firstly we averaged about 105 mph on the way back, resulting in the exhaust falling off the car the next day. Secondly, our very own media whore sold his wares once more, this time on national radio. Accompanied by many a chuckle at his attempted PLC plugs, he told the nation of the debacle on display that evening. Other poshies treated DJ Spoony to the horrors of being a Posh fan, and hopefully the nation awoke to the turmoil at BFPUFC. On arrival back in Leeds Coluna was left at Mike’s Famous Carpets, a still irate Zaius and Pompey were left at Trev’s house, Mark went home to wank the dog. Warmth crept back to the extremities, Rajput’s delighted all, Dennis Pearce was praised and seen, and the night ended in an in-depth discussion of the merits of the Governator and the Muscles from Brussels respectively. A fitting end to the evening’s absurdities. Roll on Wrexham.

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Maccesfield Town 0 - 4 Peterborough United - Saturday 15th October

Four? Eat shit and die

Macclesfield Town 0 – Posh 4 (yes, that’s 4!)
Attendance: 1810 (233 from the Posh)

After two weeks of ‘planning’, nobody knew what they were doing, and it showed. The PLC strike again. With members setting out from Chester, Milton Keynes, Lancaster, Leeds, and wherever Anderson, Squires and Poshimus come from, The PLC were on the move early. Being Super League Grand Final day Leeds was rammed with Leeds people, so several threatening glares at our black shirts later Coluna, Ken, Dave and myself were rammed onto the train surrounded by some Leeds simpletons with the Daily Sport. Sladey the stoooooooodent jumped on at Huddersfield and we to Manchester Victoria, Piccadilly being closed, so travel-agent fun being lost for the day. We then re-found what has become known in PLC folklore as the ‘Weed Pub’ to meet Dave’s older sister. Several pints, one awful joke from Coluna and one ludicrous comment about a Jane Austen novel later, we finally decided we had better get to Piccadilly for our bus to Stockport. In this time Sam and the Panda had convened in Macclesfield, Nick and the Lancastrians had turned up in Stockport, so we were all there or thereabouts.

A crap bus journey later we hit Stockport, met up with the Stockport lot, and hopped aboard a ‘big fat Virgin’ for Macclesfield. 30 minutes later we had bagged ourselves a row of cabs, snuck a sneaky pint and met tothers in Macclesfield. Through major traffic on what seemed to be the longest road in the world ever volume 5, we hit the quaint non-league Moss Rose ground. There was a good number of Poshies, Newton and the crew had already bannered up the terraces, we added the rest and away we went.

The first half. Tyler made an absolutely wonderful save. Macclesfield fell over a lot. The referee was rubbish. So were we. The real highlight however was the emergence of what can only be known as ‘chav-bashing’. We could see not only a chavvy street but some chavvy garages with chavs climbing on and breaking into. Token chants of ‘Chav! Chav!’ were supplemented by the Panda’s new edition of ‘ASBO! ASBO!’ Most amusing. Half time was spent pie-munching a la Mark Viduka, spotting Bev and his ‘gluvvies’ wandering around, and generally badgering about..

The Second Half, our Lord Dennis Pearce was looking favourably on us this day. Within a couple of minutes of the restart (I was still on my second pie, so that tells you everything), the ball got looped over the top and lil’ Danny Crow (But, Mum?!?! I wanna play with the bigger boys!) got a looksie and fired a lovely half volley into the bottom corner, cue black shirts off, yellow shirts showing, and some ‘YEEELLLOWWWSS!!’ Macclesfield continued to fall over a lot, and we continued to play some decent stuff, Faz got into the game much more, Gain and Carden bossing it as usual. 67th minute, ball broke to Faz middle of their half, he took it past one and fired a belter at their keeper who seemed to fluff it (I blame Dave) but we’ll give Fazza benefit of the doubt. 3 minutes later, a cross from the right, Thorpe nods it across the goal scoring area, Faz like a Salmon horizontaled it off the cranium and the onion bag bulged. Posh were 3 and oh, this was ‘getting silly’ remarked some. Indeed it was. Lil’ Danny Crow had got a bit of cramp, (his mum hadn’t let him warm up properly cos he hadn’t finished his homework, I blame Dave) so The Truth returned and was looking lively. A minute or so after the third, Thorpe with some sterling work on the right, fired one across and Super Cal knocked it home, 4-0, the Poshies were loving it like a cheap whore, the homers started to depart, and Posh were romping home. Seemingly content with 4, Posh quietened down a bit after that, although Quinny (Hasn’t he got lovely hair?) should have made it five. So 4-0 it finished, the Poshies delirious, the players chuffed, and Macclesfield remain a bunch of random hicks. The Second Half also saw several vocal milestones crossed by the PLC. The taunting of the Chavs on the roof continued, a teenage mum was left explaining to her offspring that the man she knew as her dad was her actual dad, and another female was accused of ‘being on the game’. The Scatman made an appearance, a rape alarm offered a bit of extra noise, and the PLC’s attempted reworking of Kriss Cross’s hip hop milestone ‘Jump, Jump’ seemed to work but for the failure to be able to remember who was playing for Posh.

The usual banner wind down was begun, those Posh players that returned for the warm down were greeted uproariously, Carden agreed with our assertion that he should have scored (I don’t remember him ever shooting but that’s no excuse) and Adam Newton was mistaken with Super Cal but did enjoy a rendition of ‘St Kitt’s and Nevis!’ SSL didn’t return cos he had heard Sam was still out there.

The wander back down the ‘Long Road’ as it became known, was begun, we passed ‘London Road Terrace’. Coluna who for some reason had become cockney, suggested we ‘half-inch’ it, but to no avail. We stopped for a sup at ‘The Travellers’ Rest on Coronation Street, which had some curious but friendly locals. All seemed old, all smoked, and all were obsessed with the X-factor for some unknown and worrying reason. Maybe they appreciate the banter of the judges, maybe it’s the talent on show, or maybe they like to crack one off to the young-uns on display. You guess is as good as mine. We arrived back at the station, met up with Mckenzie 17, dosey-doed Nipper and her gang off to Stoke, got very confused with the trains and ended up going on some train through the middle of absolute plotsville to Stockport. However, as we left Macclesfield it was said you could hear, over the wind, the following words:
‘Chavs on the roof! Woman on the game! Daughter with questionable parentage! Maggie Thatcher – can you hear me, Maggie Thatcher! Your boys took one hell of a beating! Your boys took one hell of a beating!’
Make of that what you will.

Once in Stockport we parted with Sam, Nick, Mckenzie and the Panda, some had already gone, like Madonna’s credibility before ‘Body of Evidence’, and the rest headed off to Manchester by bus. Back at Piccadilly we parted with the Lancastrians, and the rest of us schlepped back to Victoria. Chaos with the trains ensued, which was all Dave’s fault, we eventually got to Huddersfield, Sladey left us to go and dodge tax or whatever it is stooooodents do these days, and the rest of us were accosted by some drunks from Dewsbury and a rather strange Wolves fan, who thankfully left. The next ten minutes were spent in the first class section of the train being treated to numerous renditions of Huddersfield songs, the token racist comments you expect from small minded, inbred northern numpties, and one gentleman’s concerns that ‘we had had a good day though yeah?’. Luckily ‘we were good people, good people’. So that was a relief. Even after 10 minutes, we were still good people, and he was still surprised to hear we had had a good day though yeah, bless him.

And to Leeds we returned, and home we went. British Rail is still bobbins, which is all Dave’s fault, but Posh hit 4, away from home. It doesn’t get much better than that. Altogether now:
We’re swinging along with a feeling…

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Carlisle United 1 - 0 Peterborough United - Tuesday August 9th

by Dave Nicholson

Leaving Leeds at 4 o'clock, we proceeded north towards Carlisle on the single-lane A65. Unfortunately, every farmer decided to do exactly the same thing, so we plodded along behind a series of tractors and land rovers, and yet still managed to get to the Warwick Brothers stadium with an hour to spare. We chose to spend that hour in the Beehive, a lovely small pub just round the corner from the ground. Unfortunately, all 6000 other fans attending the game seemed to have the same idea, so getting to the bar was much like the start of the London Marathon (not that I'd know).

The ground itself was very nice, though the stewards were perhaps a little over-zealous with regards to the banners. Every other one seemed desperate to search bags and call the safety officer. As the teams came out, there was a surge of excitement from the Posh fans as we realised that not only were we playing 4-4-2, but that Faz and Semple were in the team. And from kick-off, it was Posh doing the attacking, and there were a couple of good moves, which sadly petered out into nothing. Carlisle eased their way back into the game, and it became apparent that their centre-forward was quick and would give us trouble. However, our defenders coped with him throughout the match, even if we resorted to a few last minute tackles to do so.

The goal came from a freekick outside the box, floated a la Beckham towards the goal and into a crowd of players, where a flick on saw it head into the top corner, leaving Tyler with no chance. A good goal from their point of view, but really our defence should have coped better. Soon after (or perhaps before, not sure), the other Carlisle forward was substituted because of a Posh inflicted injury and his replacement looked much better, which was worrying. Then Kennedy got sent off for using his elbow to gently massage the back of a Carlisle players head. With this, we moved to a 3-4-2 formation, with Semple being sacrificed for Plummer and Holden moving up to the right-midfield berth. The rest of the half was lacklustre, with perhaps one more real chance from Carlisle which resulted in a chip over Tyler's head and on to the roof of the net.

During half time, I was approached by two regular posters, Andy90210 and Poshnipper, who both requested PLC membership. Neither bought me a beer - though both have promised to do so - so they're not in yet, but I confidently predict they will be fully fledged members come Stockport. Indeed, so desperate was Poshnipper to join that she agreed to have "PLC" inked on to her notorious rattle. What a trooper.

The second half started a bit brighter (bar the weather) and we looked to get stuck in a bit more. Gain in particular likes to get stuck in, but most of the players still seem reluctant to get the ball wide. No, they'd much rather kick it long to Benjamin, who jumps really well... underneath the ball, or Crow, who does at least manage to get the ball, but hasn't the strength or support to keep hold of it. Again, there weren't many chances for Posh, with Arber heading wide from a corner when he should have done better, while Tyler made a couple of good stops, and came off his line quickly on a couple of occasions.

By this time, the Posh crowd was growing somewhat tired, so we started making our own entertainment. We began phoning up the window factory curiously situated next to the ground (who thought that was a good idea?), and watched as the owners ran back inside only for us to hang up the phone on them. Well, it worked once before they switched their phone off anyway. Plus there were a few chants of "yeeeelllooooows" and "posh have gone bananas" to greet our new away strip. And a rather inevitable "you're just a small town in Scotland", which no doubt endeared us to the fans no end.

Crow finally made way for Logan, who looked hungry when he came on. Which is more than can be said for big Trev. Perhaps big Trev is just too big, and finds moving his cumbersome body at anything more than walking pace just a little too energetic. Or maybe it was just that Logan made it look that way. Whatever, we still didn't look like scoring, but at least we were putting their defence under pressure. And then, in a final bit of what can only be described as Fryitis, Wright brought Jamie Day on... and put him up front. Amazingly, this stroke of tactical genius didn't quite change the game, and Carlisle finished the game victorious.

The walk back to the car was horrendous, as the rain came down in sheets and the Chavs came out in baseball caps. They told us in no uncertain terms that our team was rubbish (I'm paraphrasing, of course), like we didn't already know that. Then they asked what Polly C was, like they'd never seen an inflatable parrot before. Finally, they told me that my Mum had clap. Well, this was just the final straw. She didn't tell me I was adopted, and now she's gone and got an STD and told the youth of Carlisle before me. I'll be having words with her, when I next get visitation rights.

Honourable mention must also go to Fred Drift and Cannonmiller (or Kev, as he pretended his name was) who stood with us and who were both thoroughly pleasant people. Neither asked for membership, but then perhaps that’s because they're not as stupid as the existing 25 members of the PLC

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Doncaster Rovers 1 - 2 Peterborough United - Saturday July 16th

by Dave Nicholson

I can't recall for definite the last time I went to a pre-season friendly. I suspect it was at home against Arsenal back in something like 93. I don't recall much of that match. Not because I was drunk, but because it was a long time ago. Anyhoo, I may as well be telling you about that game, because I remember just as little about the Doncaster game. This time, thank god, it's because I was drunk.

The day started with a swift jog to the Leeds Station Wetherspoons - the traditional meeting place for the original PLC members. Mark was unable to make it, as he was still wearing a tuxedo from the night before. Honestly, that sounded to me like the perfect atire for a day out with the PLC, but each to their own.

The short journey on the train to Doncaster was complimented by a couple of beers, and an Elton John lookalike. Actually, he looked about as much like Elton John as Trev does Tom Cruise, but we don't tend to let things like that get in the way of a good joke. Speaking of which, Trev had seemingly been waiting for about 6 months to play a particular trick on poor Ed. Trev told him he wanted a picture of him when we met him at the station. Ed - the vainest man in Jamaica - duly obliged with a lovely pose, only to be shown a photo of a Panda on Trev's phone.

At the station we bumped into Anderson, who clung to us for the rest of the day. We were only too happy to have him cling to us, I should point out, as he's a thoroughly nice chap. Unusually, for someone willing to spend time with us, he doesn't drink. I pity him for this. I wouldn't have wanted to spend an hour with the PLC if I was sober, let alone 6. So well done that man.

A short walk into the town of Doncaster led us to a momentous decision. We were to go for a drink. In the first pub we found. Soon after we started ordering we were joined by the rest of the PLC bunch: Liam, Nick, Sam, Ali, Lee, Rhianna and Zaius. They were accompanied by Mark W (the father of the errant Warrick boys), Smoggie and his lady friend Vikki and A.N.Other person, whose name, sadly, I do not know. A fleet of taxis then took us to the Viking Bar (now sadly christened the Rovers Return) where, would you believe it, we drank even more beer. Other than drink, we also whipped round for the "92 in 92" collection, even roping in many of the Donny fans to contribute. Also, it was decided that I was to become the new PLC Recruitment Officer. Of course, this was quickly perverted by my so-called friends, and soon I became either the PLC Groomer (ask Ali) or the "PLCaedohile", if you will. Mum would be so proud.

At the match, I'm reliably informed that we met Sladey and sang odes about Lasagne for his pleasure. Richio was also there with his wife-to-be, but I'm buggered if I remember seeing a man in a pink suit prancing around the terrace with us. Perhaps that's because he was always behind us. Who knows?

During the game, the ball was passed several times, occasionally reaching its intended target. Tackles were made, some shouting ensued, the ball often went out of play and even some free-kicks were rewarded. Largely, it was less than exciting. At one point, however, Doncaster Rovers had the temerity to score a goal. Did they not know this was the start of a new era? Had they not seen the sign proclaiming that it was Peterborough United who were the Pride of Yorkshire? We in the PLC did not condone this behaviour, and neither did the Posh players. They dug in and brought the game back to 1-1, thanks to a fine finish by Danny Crow, which brought an impromptu, not to mention shite, conga from the PLC.

"That'll do us", we thought. A nice draw would pretty much reflect the dullness of the game, but would at least give us something to natter about in the pub afterwards. But oh no. Posh had other ideas. In particular that little upstart, Sean St Ledger decided that he'd quite like to ping a goal in from the edge of the area (I think) in the dying seconds, leading to the second shittest conga of the day and that unusual feeling of victory that none of us are particularly used to. Long may it last.

After the game, many of the PLC waited outside of the ground for a glimpse of their heros. These boys deserved it. They'd travelled from miles to play on a baking hot afternoon in a ropey northern town in front of 150 of their followers, many of whom shouldn't be allowed to consume alcohol for various reasons, but had done so nevertheless. We were proud of them, and we wanted to show them our gratitude. So we gave them baseball caps and demanded that they wore them at the next game or their families would be in grave danger. We asked them to pose with an inflatable parrot called Polly C "for fun", and one of our members followed poor Sean St Ledger to and from the bar, never straying more than a foot from his side. I think Sean was particularly pleased when we all sang his new theme song (All - "He's going to be our... StLedge-Hammer!", Trev - "Wit Woo!") in the middle of the supporter's bar. I think he may just remember us next time. And keep his distance.

But for once, we were well and truly outdone. A deranged (no offence) Leeds fan managed to get many of the Posh squad to pose with an effigy of Faustino Asprilla. Now this is the kind of chap we like. If only he were a proper Posh supporter, we'd certainly find space for the likes of him in the PLC. As it is, the recruitment drive from that day yielded a vicar, a tee-totaller, and a pair of identical teenagers, one of whom may or may not support Middlesbrough. But fuck it. I like them all, and some of them probably bought me beer, which pretty much makes them my best friend. I'm looking forward to seeing them all again, no doubt decked up in pirate gear and shouting "argh" a lot. It happens to all of us eventually.

And so the day ended with most of us sporting sunburn on the left-hand side of our faces, an understanding of the concept of "winning", several new friends and PLC members, and of course, a hangover.

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