SUTTON UNITED 2 BARROW 1 GM Vauxhall Conference 19 October 1990 by MC Messenger
On Saturday October 19, 1990 three intrepid Barrow fans left their home in Morecambe to catch a train to Lancaster and then another to London. Why? To watch our game at Sutton of course; what other reason could there be? But after arriving late at Euston and a nightmare tube ride between there and Victoria, we reached West Sutton station quite easily and of course with Sutton's council-owned ground next door to the station that was no problem either. After paying rather a large amount to get into such a crap ground we headed toward the wooded end where we could see the Barrow side warming up. Barry Stimpson proved he could beat the keeper... Kevan Lowe, and had me chasing after balls a few times. We had our programmes signed and also had a chat with Lee Copeland who told us that he hoped to break into the side soon. As the game began, with Barrow's poor start came the awful weather we had feared may happen - it pissed down from 3.05pm and only brightened about fifteen minutes from time. The referee was of the usual crappy Conference standard and Sutton's defence was far too good for the half-knackered Cowps - he had ßµ¿¿*® all chance of scoring all afternoon apart from the one he did manage to score (Uh? Ed.). But the second half was brightened up with a chat to Peter Farrell who seemed resigned to the fact that he would spend the rest of his time at Holker St. coaching the youth side and would make only the odd first team appearance as sub. The game ended in a 2-1 defeat for Barrow and we returned to the station to travel the 300 odd miles back to Morecambe. While we listened to the radio to find out the other results in the Conference, six other Barrow fans joined us and we began to talk about the good old days when the likes of Frank Gamble used to play. After an hour Sid Blain announced that he had to get back to the city sharpish as he was due at a theatre to meet business associates. He left us and found a cab which he later told us cost him fifteen quid for a 25 minute journey (Gosh, a bargain. You're sure it wasn't £25 for a fifteen minute journey? Ed.). Eventually we decided that the only way we would be able to get back to Euston in time for our train home would be to go to another station on a main line and hopefully catch a train to the big city. So we left West Sutton and asked some bloke where the nearest mainline station was. The ß@$*@®¶ sent us the wrong way and so we had to ask a rather dubious woman who eventually sent us on our way after we gave her a tenner. Cheam station and we had to go through a prison wire tunnel similar to the players entrance at Runcorn to get to the right platform. Eventually we managed to get a train to the capital. But with only twelve minutes before our train was due to leave Euston we were still in Victoria - at the other end of the city. Victoria and Euston stations can't have seen such a sight for a long time as we ran screaming through their underground tunnels. But in vain - we reached the barrier on the concourse at Euston only to see our train turn the corner with a screech of its wheels. Our next stop was the Station Manager's office. We entered the stuffy little room and were immediately faced with a long queue consisting of a load of Spanish tourists and two rather large American couples. But luckily the queue soon subsided and this left us facing a rather weedy looking assistant with the name of Norman Johnson. We left our spokesperson to sort out the details with Norman while the rest of us went back outside for a loud rendition of 'Ray Wilkie's Blue and White Army'. Eventually they decided to put us on a Glasgow sleeper along with several Ayr United fans. This left in two minutes. We had to run to the other end of the station and get some grub while we had the chance so there was no chance to phone home to let them know that we wouldn't be back until late. There was just time to buy a couple of apples and the odd can. After we had got ourselves sorted out and had our 8pm feast, I looked out of the window and saw that we were only just pulling into Milton Keynes Central. The Ayr fans were in full voice of Andy Roxburgh's Tartan Army which we countered with yet another round of the song that even Norway could win the Eurovision Song Contest with - 'We Love the Beans!, We Do!' At this they were totally dumbfounded and it took us until Crewe to explain that Beans! was not a comic or any living thing, but this very fanzine. After that we chatted and found out many similarities between our two clubs (there's too many to list here) and were so engrossed by what they were saying that we nearly forgot to get off at Lancaster. The moral of the tale is that no matter how bad things may possibly seem British Rail can always - or nearly always - sort things out. Parts one and two of this away trip originally appeared in issue 009 - December 1991 and issue 010 - February 1992