ARCHIVE: Wandering Afar
Exiled Wanderers fan PETER R. SMITH tells of the strain, pain and gain it takes for him to find out how the White Shirted Heroes are performing in blighty – all from his digs in downtown Nizhny Novgorad, Russia.
Following the fortunes of the Wanderers from the far eastern edge of Europe can be both frustrating and fantastical. Having been condemned to a spend a large chunk of my adult life away from the cauldron of Burnden Park, I have become accustomed to grinning and bearing a depravation that I would’ve thought intolerable during my teenage years. However, let me tell you all that distance has done nothing to dull the pleasure of a 4-1 win at Middlesbrough and sod all to lessen the pain of a 0-6 reverse against United. In fact, come 6pm Moscow time (3pm GMT) on a Saturday, my heart and mind belong to the Wanderers and I’m unable to retrieve them until the result comes through.
I’ve lived in other parts of Europe, but the sense of isolation was never as acute as it can be living in Russia. I only have the basic source of information from home – the good ol’ BBC World Service Radio. This invaluable station (currently subject to a wide-ranging cost-cutting review) affords me only the barest minimum of English footy news, but without the daily dose of ‘Sports Round-Up’ and especially ‘Saturday Sportsworld’ each week, I’d be sunk. During last season’s Premier League farce, it could be relied upon for regular goal reports (the vast majority of which, I admittedly don’t wish to hear) and even, on one wonderful Saturday afternoon, “full second half commentary” from the 2-2 draw at Spurs. Ok, we were usually seventh or eighth in the pecking order of matches, and usually had to be content with the rookie reporter stumbling over his notes, but at least it gave me a semblance of what it felt like to be in the “big time”. However, now that we’re back in the “small time” of Nationwide Division One, normal service has been resumed – I’m presently having to sustain myself on a meagre diet of latest half time and full time scores (by the way... 6-1? Fuck!).
Nizhny Novgorad
Anybody that’s ever had the dubious pleasure of listening to the Beeb on ‘SW’ will realise that it can be enough to test a Lineker’s patience. It’s prone to frustrating bouts of whistling and silence, and the distance between London and “Voice of India” (or wherever that occasional wailing emanates from) on the dial is around 0.3 of a nano-micrometre! I went a full calendar month safe in the knowledge that we’d scored twice against Blackburn – when the missing statistic of “Blackburn...1” finally filtered through, I was at last able to banish the demons that had already convinced me that Alan Shearer had bagged a hat-trick. In fact, it’s uncanny how reception begins to foul-up during the classifieds; generally, I only manage to catch six or seven of any division’s results. A typical example would be: “Arsenal...0, Leeds United...0; Bolton Wand... (fuzz... sitar music... wailing woman)...1; Coventry City...” Ah, bollocks!!!
Apart from the BBC, however, I’m very much reliant upon relatives and friends posting out newspaper articles, BEN’s, fanzines, etc. Since the Russian postal service would give big Mixu a strong challenge in “The Snail of the Year Awards”, this usually means that my “Burnden Park awareness” lags around one month behind the remainder of the civilised world. Prime example from 1995-96: BBC commentary from Anfield (John Green) – “and McManaman picks up the ball just inside the Blackburn half, evades a tackle from Sherwood beautifully... and plays it out to McAteer on the right...” (stunned silence... “Aww sh*t!!”). Another, more pleasant example: “Colin Todd’s decided to make a substitution... Bolton’s only manager now, of course, following the sacking of Roy McFarland last month” (leap around room, crack open the vodka, get pissed!).
“I went a full calendar month safe in the knowledge that we’d scored twice against Blackburn – when the missing statistic of “Blackburn...1” finally filtered through, I was at last able to banish the demons that had already convinced me that Alan Shearer had bagged a hat-trick.”
On a number of occasions last year, I was left with no other hard information of a match than simply the final score. When this is the case, I retreat into a fantasy world and dream up my own personal version of events on the field. Middlesbrough away is the perfect example from last season. This was how I imagined events at the Riverside Stadium: ’Boro scored first through Juninho, only for five of the home team to fall foul of the stadium canteen’s dodgy hygiene standards and drop dead of food poisoning in the 23rd minute. Five minutes later, and with all their subs on, a further five ’Boro players tumbled to the floor with rather acute cases of foot and mouth. Only the four that hadn’t opted for the prawn salad remained, and although the ref was quite within his rights to abandon the game, he thought it ‘a bit of a laugh’ to continue. The Wanderers were still being pinned back in their own half, although spirits were lifted in the 56th minute when Juninho retired to the dressing room for his siesta. This proved to be the turning point of the game, allowing the Wanderers to rally – an incisive counter attack ending with ‘Big Fab’ forcing an equaliser under the despairing dive of ‘flying goalie’, Craig Hignett in the 81st minute. The Wanderers fans had their hearts in their mouths a minute later as young Jamie Pollock’s mazy run into the area was abruptly curtailed by a sharp Jimmy Phillips punch to the groin. The ref was fortunately a biased bastard, and even laughed. Such directness proved to be ’Boro’s downfall, however, as Keith Branagan completed the first hat-trick of his professional career with a series of astute lobs in the final five minutes. The ’Boro fans were in mourning for their dead and injured, but the Wanderers’ party went on into the night. Unfortunately, the referee later fell victim to a kamikaze moped rider strapped with explosives, as he waited at traffic lights on the outskirts of town. Was I close?
Ok... but I did envisage some things correctly. Eg. “I bet we blew it at the death against Everton/Forest/Arsenal/anyone” was generally a safe thing to say. I was beginning to suspect that as a reward for promotion, the Bolton players had all been placed on extraordinary 75-minute match contracts – obviously signed with the same chap that hired Roy McFarland.
High point of last season for me: 1-0 at home to Arsenal. I actually got the game recorded and sent out; not only was I able to prove to those sceptical Ruskies that Bolton could, in fact, win matches, but also that Super-John could score goals. Honest! I’ve got it on the tape if you don’t believe me! Ok, so Wright and Bergkamp were suffering from 90-minute blindness disease, but they all count.
Low point: Not Southampton 0-1 (H) – I’d accepted our ultimate demise back in November. It had to be 0-6 (yeah... 0 fuckin’ 6!), or ‘6 (six)’ as the teleprinter would smugly spit out. To make the debacle worse (it that were possible), I was told of the result by an English colleague – you guessed it... a Red fan! Frightening, eh? I come all the way to Russia and still can’t escape from the saddos. I’ll give him some credit for not rubbing it in and (amazingly) actually being from Manchester, but apart from that he was still a tosser!
Oh... to be a Wanderer abroad. If the trials and tribulations of attending games are too much for you, then living in another country only makes matters worse. Mind you, I enjoyed Mixu’s 40-yard, last minute scissor-kick into the top corner at Elland Road. That’s right isn’t it?
First appeared in White Love Issue 11, Autumn 1996.