*Link1*

*BS*Day 3
If our final day was a disappointment on a couple of levels, this was probably our fault. Looking back, we’d gone off in search of a golden era that, if it had existed in the first place, wasn’t coming back.*BF*

Back in the days when I was young and impressionable and all good football teams from behind the Iron Curtain were described as ‘crack,’ Gornik Zabrze weren’t far away from being a top European club.

In 1968, they’d given eventual winners Manchester United an almighty scare in the quarter-finals of the European Cup prior to going out 2-1 on aggregate after winning the first leg in Poland. Two years later, they lost in the final of the Cup Winners’ Cup, going down 2-1 to Manchester City in Vienna. Gornik is Polish for miner, I’m told, and most of the side from that era came from the Silesian pits.

I don’t know quite what we expected to find at the end of our two hour train ride to Zabrze. Maybe we’d expected to stroll into a real life LS Lowry painting and eat warm gravel at the local welfare club? Perhaps we’d recognise the players as they’d be the ones with boots hanging round their necks as they travelled, on’t charabanc, t’match. Reality was much more grim.

Although the vast tourist information board at the station suggested Zabrze was an aesthetically pleasing enough place if you had time enough to explore, it didn’t seem likely that we’d make it to the ground via the scenic route of the botanical gardens. We’d seemingly walked onto a location set for 28 Days Later in which the windows were shuttered and no sod was about at midday on a bleak, grey Sunday. Back at the station, maybe 15 taxis queued optimistically, probably in the hope that the trains would stop running. We looked for a restaurant, but found only a single-toothed crone dispensing what were surely the world’s largest, cheapest and most disgusting cheeseburgers.

As the next train into town reunited us with our new-found friends from Austria, we dodged a tumble weed or two as we half-heartedly perused the main drag. Then we chanced upon a sports bar that was practically giving away pints of Tyskie and sunshine by the jugful instantly entered our world and our souls.

If the beer hadn’t been quite so inexpensive, I suspect we wouldn’t have had quite so much of it. Yet whilst under-indulgence would have seemed rude in the circumstances, we were mindful of the fact that all four of us still needed tickets to the game . Accordingly, we stayed sensible enough to place ourselves in the ticket queue maybe an hour before kick off; and it’s from here that matters rapidly went the shape of the pear.

At the outset, I should stress that I fully understand why, in some countries, it is necessary for a fan to produce an ID card or passport if he wants a ticket to a game. I’ve done so a few times and appreciate why it’s a good idea. Elsewhere, clubs cater for the ticket demands of casual fans efficiently and successfully. Accordingly, I can’t think that the practice of placing two mental defectives in a plastic hut and expecting them to cope with more than a handful of customers – a practice Gornik deemed sufficient – is likely to catch on around Europe.

*Lpic1*If the ticketing had been overseen by two civil servants on the day of their retirement, we might have got in for kick off. But as the ladies behind the counter operated their keyboards with two fingers and in a manner that suggested they’d been asked to service a hovercraft, hopes of seeing more than half a game slowly evaporated. Acting with true English grit and stoicism, the Clown Prince and I tutted quite audibly.

By way of apology, a Katowice fan who’d joined us in the queue said: “This is really embarrassing! Sometimes it’s as though the Russians never went home.”

Just before half-time, after strolling past 400 riot police and stewards with absolutely nothing to do, we got into Gornik’s ramshackle, God-awful athletics stadium with a football pitch in the middle, in time to see them go 1-0 up.

Three days earlier, Gornik’s opponents, Lech Poznan, had lost 3-1 to the aforementioned Manchester City in a Europa League group stage game. Ten days later, I saw them from the comfort of my armchair when they played superbly to beat City by the same score. Today, in the manner of so many clubs who have just played away in Europe in midweek, they just looked knackered and disinterested. After their goalkeeper had a classic Robert Green moment – which I heartily recommend you find on Youtube if you fancy a chuckle – to concede a second goal, Gornik never needed to get out of second gear to win with ludicrous comfort.

Truly miffed and as disinterested as Poznan, I wandered off in search of the solace that a Polish sausage the size of small submarine can readily provide.

Some hours later back in Krakow, there was time for one last meal before getting ourselves sorted for the early plane back to Stansted the following morning. Feeling only slightly peckish, I opted for a light snack. In other words, about 14 deliciously honey-roasted chickens that came with roast potatoes, an assortment of dips and a couple beers.

Truly embarrassed by the size of our bill – about £5 per head – we left a decent tip.

*BS*Flights*BF*

If Ryanair have been the subject of a few stand-up comedy routines, I can only speak as I find and state that I’ve only ever been impressed with the service they offer. Having been to Sweden, Hungary and Poland with them, each flight has left on time, arrived on time and been perfectly comfortable. If you follow the simple instructions set out on their website, get to the airport on time, don’t take the mickey with your baggage allowance and check-in online before you travel, I’d wager you’ll be just impressed.

On this occasion, a return flight from Stansted to Krakow cost me just under £60 – and that included my travel insurance. A train service runs to and from Krakow city centre to the airport and takes maybe half an hour. A single ticket will cost you in the region of 80p.

*BS*Hotels*BF*

You’re really spoilt for choice for hotels in Krakow and none of them are particularly expensive. Once again, I visited www.Venere.com and booked online to stay at a comfortable little family run place called the Globtrotter. (Yes, I have spelt that correctly!) Within a couple of minutes walk from the main square, the Globtrotter was a warm and comfortable billet in which the staff could not have been more friendly or helpful. A 4-night stay in a single room with en suite facilities cost 620 Polish Zloty; excellent value at around £33 per night.

*Lpic2**BS*Handy tips*BF*

When you set off, just take a few Zloty with you to cover incidental expenses. You will get a far better rate of exchange if you change up your money in Krakow. Krakow is an easy place to walk round, but if you should need a taxi at any point, don’t be alarmed. All forms of transport are ludicrously cheap and taxi drivers should always agree a price with you before you get into a cab.

If you decide to visit Auschwitz, remember that this is the name that the Nazis gave to the town. The locals call it Oswiecim (Oz-vee-chim) and appreciate it enormously if visitors do as well.

*Link2*

NULL

Limited Edition shirts that have been pre-ordered were delivered to the club on Saturday. Unfortunately, due to the weather, we were unable to open the shop.

Shop Manager, Joe Lowney Said “The approaches to the shop were too unsafe for to open the shop. We have to consider customer safety.”

All being well, the shop will be open on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday from 10.00 a.m. to 4.00 p.m.

If you are unable to collect during these time, please contact the club shop by e-mail – shop@doverathletic.com and we’ll do our very best to assist you.

*Link1*

*BS*Day 3
If our final day was a disappointment on a couple of levels, this was probably our fault. Looking back, we’d gone off in search of a golden era that, if it had existed in the first place, wasn’t coming back.*BF*

Back in the days when I was young and impressionable and all good football teams from behind the Iron Curtain were described as ‘crack,’ Gornik Zabrze weren’t far away from being a top European club.

In 1968, they’d given eventual winners Manchester United an almighty scare in the quarter-finals of the European Cup prior to going out 2-1 on aggregate after winning the first leg in Poland. Two years later, they lost in the final of the Cup Winners’ Cup, going down 2-1 to Manchester City in Vienna. Gornik is Polish for miner, I’m told, and most of the side from that era came from the Silesian pits.

I don’t know quite what we expected to find at the end of our two hour train ride to Zabrze. Maybe we’d expected to stroll into a real life LS Lowry painting and eat warm gravel at the local welfare club? Perhaps we’d recognise the players as they’d be the ones with boots hanging round their necks as they travelled, on’t charabanc, t’match. Reality was much more grim.

Although the vast tourist information board at the station suggested Zabrze was an aesthetically pleasing enough place if you had time enough to explore, it didn’t seem likely that we’d make it to the ground via the scenic route of the botanical gardens. We’d seemingly walked onto a location set for 28 Days Later in which the windows were shuttered and no sod was about at midday on a bleak, grey Sunday. Back at the station, maybe 15 taxis queued optimistically, probably in the hope that the trains would stop running. We looked for a restaurant, but found only a single-toothed crone dispensing what were surely the world’s largest, cheapest and most disgusting cheeseburgers.

As the next train into town reunited us with our new-found friends from Austria, we dodged a tumble weed or two as we half-heartedly perused the main drag. Then we chanced upon a sports bar that was practically giving away pints of Tyskie and sunshine by the jugful instantly entered our world and our souls.

If the beer hadn’t been quite so inexpensive, I suspect we wouldn’t have had quite so much of it. Yet whilst under-indulgence would have seemed rude in the circumstances, we were mindful of the fact that all four of us still needed tickets to the game . Accordingly, we stayed sensible enough to place ourselves in the ticket queue maybe an hour before kick off; and it’s from here that matters rapidly went the shape of the pear.

At the outset, I should stress that I fully understand why, in some countries, it is necessary for a fan to produce an ID card or passport if he wants a ticket to a game. I’ve done so a few times and appreciate why it’s a good idea. Elsewhere, clubs cater for the ticket demands of casual fans efficiently and successfully. Accordingly, I can’t think that the practice of placing two mental defectives in a plastic hut and expecting them to cope with more than a handful of customers – a practice Gornik deemed sufficient – is likely to catch on around Europe.

*Lpic1*If the ticketing had been overseen by two civil servants on the day of their retirement, we might have got in for kick off. But as the ladies behind the counter operated their keyboards with two fingers and in a manner that suggested they’d been asked to service a hovercraft, hopes of seeing more than half a game slowly evaporated. Acting with true English grit and stoicism, the Clown Prince and I tutted quite audibly.

By way of apology, a Katowice fan who’d joined us in the queue said: “This is really embarrassing! Sometimes it’s as though the Russians never went home.”

Just before half-time, after strolling past 400 riot police and stewards with absolutely nothing to do, we got into Gornik’s ramshackle, God-awful athletics stadium with a football pitch in the middle, in time to see them go 1-0 up.

Three days earlier, Gornik’s opponents, Lech Poznan, had lost 3-1 to the aforementioned Manchester City in a Europa League group stage game. Ten days later, I saw them from the comfort of my armchair when they played superbly to beat City by the same score. Today, in the manner of so many clubs who have just played away in Europe in midweek, they just looked knackered and disinterested. After their goalkeeper had a classic Robert Green moment – which I heartily recommend you find on Youtube if you fancy a chuckle – to concede a second goal, Gornik never needed to get out of second gear to win with ludicrous comfort.

Truly miffed and as disinterested as Poznan, I wandered off in search of the solace that a Polish sausage the size of small submarine can readily provide.

Some hours later back in Krakow, there was time for one last meal before getting ourselves sorted for the early plane back to Stansted the following morning. Feeling only slightly peckish, I opted for a light snack. In other words, about 14 deliciously honey-roasted chickens that came with roast potatoes, an assortment of dips and a couple beers.

Truly embarrassed by the size of our bill – about £5 per head – we left a decent tip.

*BS*Flights*BF*

If Ryanair have been the subject of a few stand-up comedy routines, I can only speak as I find and state that I’ve only ever been impressed with the service they offer. Having been to Sweden, Hungary and Poland with them, each flight has left on time, arrived on time and been perfectly comfortable. If you follow the simple instructions set out on their website, get to the airport on time, don’t take the mickey with your baggage allowance and check-in online before you travel, I’d wager you’ll be just impressed.

On this occasion, a return flight from Stansted to Krakow cost me just under £60 – and that included my travel insurance. A train service runs to and from Krakow city centre to the airport and takes maybe half an hour. A single ticket will cost you in the region of 80p.

*BS*Hotels*BF*

You’re really spoilt for choice for hotels in Krakow and none of them are particularly expensive. Once again, I visited www.Venere.com and booked online to stay at a comfortable little family run place called the Globtrotter. (Yes, I have spelt that correctly!) Within a couple of minutes walk from the main square, the Globtrotter was a warm and comfortable billet in which the staff could not have been more friendly or helpful. A 4-night stay in a single room with en suite facilities cost 620 Polish Zloty; excellent value at around £33 per night.

*Lpic2**BS*Handy tips*BF*

When you set off, just take a few Zloty with you to cover incidental expenses. You will get a far better rate of exchange if you change up your money in Krakow. Krakow is an easy place to walk round, but if you should need a taxi at any point, don’t be alarmed. All forms of transport are ludicrously cheap and taxi drivers should always agree a price with you before you get into a cab.

If you decide to visit Auschwitz, remember that this is the name that the Nazis gave to the town. The locals call it Oswiecim (Oz-vee-chim) and appreciate it enormously if visitors do as well.

*Link2*

NULL

Limited Edition shirts that have been pre-ordered were delivered to the club on Saturday. Unfortunately, due to the weather, we were unable to open the shop.

Shop Manager, Joe Lowney Said “The approaches to the shop were too unsafe for to open the shop. We have to consider customer safety.”

All being well, the shop will be open on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday from 10.00 a.m. to 4.00 p.m.

If you are unable to collect during these time, please contact the club shop by e-mail – shop@doverathletic.com and we’ll do our very best to assist you.

*BS*On the day I turned 50, I vowed I would never lose the ability to surprise myself. Five years on, it’s my belief that I’ve been pretty successful in this respect, but not in the way I’d planned.*BF*

Loosely speaking, I had half-formed plans to learn a language or two, master the alto saxophone and suddenly become irresistible to attractive ladies half my age. At no time do I recall making drunken or tentative plans to wander around the coalfields of Upper Silesia with a giggling, gurning Geordie in search of a Polish football team who weren’t half bad circa 1970.

But having made a “three new countries a year before I pop my clogs” pledge to myself, that’s essentially what came to pass a month or so ago.

Though domestically a fan of the non-league game, I’ve belatedly discovered the inestimable joys of spending some time in Europe and watching a little top flight football from a neutral perspective. Having returned from a long weekend in Krakow – where your Zlotys just seem to stay in your wallet no matter how much you try and fling them about – I guess I’m better placed than most to advise that the curate’s egg that is Polish football is something that should be experienced by any fan with a little adventure in his soul.

Looking back, a trip to take in Polonia Bytom v Slask Wroclaw wasn’t ideal on a bitterly cold Friday night. Earlier, a trip to Auschwitz-Birkenau had proved as sombre and unforgettable as it was obligatory. If you ever need reminding of just how lucky you’ve been throughout your life, you should visit. If you don’t, visit anyway.

Accordingly, The Clown Prince of Prudhoe and I were a little short of light-hearted banter as we passed through Silesia’s vast industrial wasteland around Katowice en route to Bytom. Arriving at the Edwardia Szymhowiaka stadium – a two-sided 6,000 capacity affair that would need the builders in to earn a Conference A-Grade – we came to the conclusion that only a Papal visit could justify the amount of security employed for the evening. Even speaking from a position of ignorance as to what may or may not have occurred at this fixture in the past, we estimated that three coach loads of Wroclaw fans were outnumbered by scary baton-wielders of assorted persuasions by about 3 to 1.

Despite the attacks of both sides being more of a mild reproach, a 0-0 draw proved a decent enough game. And we soon found out why the coach was the preferred mode of transport for the travelling supporter.
*Lpic1*
Despite being a bit antiquated, the Polish rail network is ridiculously cheap. Hence you make allowance if timetables are a bit hit-and-miss, but become rather less tolerant when nothing at all turns up. Such was the situation we found ourselves in at 8.30 on a Friday evening, when the station of a city that is home to 180,000 citizens closed down for the night, duly writing off our train back to Krakow. Standing on a darkened platform with two Krakow-bound student fans of AS Linz, all that was lacking from a classic Tarantino location set was a nutter with a big drill in his holdall, offering us a bed for the night.

However, perhaps the beauty of Poland is that whenever it disappoints it doesn’t take long to redeem itself. Hence our delight at finding a cab driver who was happy to take the four of us back to Krakow – around 60 miles away – for 75 (about £16) Zloty a head.

*BS*Day 2*BF*

Having travelled pretty extensively around the continent over the last 3-4 years, I’d suggest there’s nowhere better than Krakow in which to spend a day; eat, drink and watch the world go by. In this wonderfully ornate city that’s rich in history, a stroll around the Jewish quarter and a hike to overlook the Vistula River from the Wavel castle is a must. If nothing else, it’s a tidy trek that will make you feel you’ve earned the right to stuff your face with ale and tuck for the remainder of the day.

In a bar off the city’s palatial main square is where you’ll pay top dollar for a pint of Tyskie; a potent and mellowing Polish lager I hadn’t come across before. Top dollar in this instance meant about £1.75 (we’d paid over EIGHT QUID in similar circumstances in Milan) and if you’re drinking away from the city centre, you may reasonably halve that price. Given that Krakow is something a carnivore’s delight, I’d heartily recommend what’s called a Polish plate. Though just a mixed grill, your waiter-waitress will bring it to you staggering under the weight of what’s essentially a wooden manhole cover laden with enough meat to choke a Bengal Tiger. It cost about £7 and we chewed ruminatively as we watched Krakow’s implausibly beautiful female population pass us by; literally and without so much as a sideways glance. Still, the football wasn’t half bad either!

We’d known for some time that Wisla Krakow’s Henryka Reymana Stadion was being rebuilt ahead of the Euro 2012 championships for which it will be a reserve venue. So knowing that half the stadium would still be under construction for the visit of Lechia Gdansk, we’d opted to buy our tickets at the ground within a couple of hours of stepping off the plane. It proved a wise move, as there didn’t seem too many spare seats, if any, in a stadium that temporarily held just over 16,000.

In Poland, though I couldn’t begin to tell you why, some clubs enjoy special relationships with others, as they pool their collective invective and hurl it at the likes of Legia Warsaw. So whereas the previous night’s occasion had all been about big sticks and slavering Alsations, this was all about bonhomie and back slapping as the fans mixed happily both inside and outside the ground. Though I expect they were around somewhere, Plod sensed they weren’t needed and kept a very low profile indeed.
*Lpic2*
Quite what happened over the course of the 90 minutes is something I find difficult to describe. From Margate to Milan and Bath City to Benfica, I have truly never experienced an atmosphere as natural, happy and spontaneous as that created by the Wisla regulars and their friends from the Baltic coast. You’d have thought the locals didn’t have too much to get excited about. They hadn’t won in five games and had recently been knocked out of Europe by a team from Azerbaijan; losing both legs.

Even in mid-October, this fixture had the look of an engagement between mid-table also-rans. But nobody saw an evening at the match as anything other than all-singing, scarf waving celebration of the fact that when football is good, its fans are the luckiest people alive. We lapped up every minute and felt truly privileged to be there.

Playing in front of a crowd like this must have felt like a privilege too, as Wisla and Lechia were clearly keen to enjoy and express themselves from the first whistle. If I have seen a more open, attacking game I really can’t remember when that was, as both sides went at it like seven-year-olds given the freedom of a sweet shop. It might reasonably have ended up as a 10-10 draw (really!) but eventually Wisla ended their poor run by winning 5-2.

As a little treat to ourselves, we’d shelled out for top price tickets; about £11 a pop. If someone had asked us to pay again on the way out, I really don’t think we’d have turned them down.

*Link1*

*Link2*

*BS*On the day I turned 50, I vowed I would never lose the ability to surprise myself. Five years on, it’s my belief that I’ve been pretty successful in this respect, but not in the way I’d planned.*BF*

Loosely speaking, I had half-formed plans to learn a language or two, master the alto saxophone and suddenly become irresistible to attractive ladies half my age. At no time do I recall making drunken or tentative plans to wander around the coalfields of Upper Silesia with a giggling, gurning Geordie in search of a Polish football team who weren’t half bad circa 1970.

But having made a “three new countries a year before I pop my clogs” pledge to myself, that’s essentially what came to pass a month or so ago.

Though domestically a fan of the non-league game, I’ve belatedly discovered the inestimable joys of spending some time in Europe and watching a little top flight football from a neutral perspective. Having returned from a long weekend in Krakow – where your Zlotys just seem to stay in your wallet no matter how much you try and fling them about – I guess I’m better placed than most to advise that the curate’s egg that is Polish football is something that should be experienced by any fan with a little adventure in his soul.

Looking back, a trip to take in Polonia Bytom v Slask Wroclaw wasn’t ideal on a bitterly cold Friday night. Earlier, a trip to Auschwitz-Birkenau had proved as sombre and unforgettable as it was obligatory. If you ever need reminding of just how lucky you’ve been throughout your life, you should visit. If you don’t, visit anyway.

Accordingly, The Clown Prince of Prudhoe and I were a little short of light-hearted banter as we passed through Silesia’s vast industrial wasteland around Katowice en route to Bytom. Arriving at the Edwardia Szymhowiaka stadium – a two-sided 6,000 capacity affair that would need the builders in to earn a Conference A-Grade – we came to the conclusion that only a Papal visit could justify the amount of security employed for the evening. Even speaking from a position of ignorance as to what may or may not have occurred at this fixture in the past, we estimated that three coach loads of Wroclaw fans were outnumbered by scary baton-wielders of assorted persuasions by about 3 to 1.

Despite the attacks of both sides being more of a mild reproach, a 0-0 draw proved a decent enough game. And we soon found out why the coach was the preferred mode of transport for the travelling supporter.
*Lpic1*
Despite being a bit antiquated, the Polish rail network is ridiculously cheap. Hence you make allowance if timetables are a bit hit-and-miss, but become rather less tolerant when nothing at all turns up. Such was the situation we found ourselves in at 8.30 on a Friday evening, when the station of a city that is home to 180,000 citizens closed down for the night, duly writing off our train back to Krakow. Standing on a darkened platform with two Krakow-bound student fans of AS Linz, all that was lacking from a classic Tarantino location set was a nutter with a big drill in his holdall, offering us a bed for the night.

However, perhaps the beauty of Poland is that whenever it disappoints it doesn’t take long to redeem itself. Hence our delight at finding a cab driver who was happy to take the four of us back to Krakow – around 60 miles away – for 75 (about £16) Zloty a head.

*BS*Day 2*BF*

Having travelled pretty extensively around the continent over the last 3-4 years, I’d suggest there’s nowhere better than Krakow in which to spend a day; eat, drink and watch the world go by. In this wonderfully ornate city that’s rich in history, a stroll around the Jewish quarter and a hike to overlook the Vistula River from the Wavel castle is a must. If nothing else, it’s a tidy trek that will make you feel you’ve earned the right to stuff your face with ale and tuck for the remainder of the day.

In a bar off the city’s palatial main square is where you’ll pay top dollar for a pint of Tyskie; a potent and mellowing Polish lager I hadn’t come across before. Top dollar in this instance meant about £1.75 (we’d paid over EIGHT QUID in similar circumstances in Milan) and if you’re drinking away from the city centre, you may reasonably halve that price. Given that Krakow is something a carnivore’s delight, I’d heartily recommend what’s called a Polish plate. Though just a mixed grill, your waiter-waitress will bring it to you staggering under the weight of what’s essentially a wooden manhole cover laden with enough meat to choke a Bengal Tiger. It cost about £7 and we chewed ruminatively as we watched Krakow’s implausibly beautiful female population pass us by; literally and without so much as a sideways glance. Still, the football wasn’t half bad either!

We’d known for some time that Wisla Krakow’s Henryka Reymana Stadion was being rebuilt ahead of the Euro 2012 championships for which it will be a reserve venue. So knowing that half the stadium would still be under construction for the visit of Lechia Gdansk, we’d opted to buy our tickets at the ground within a couple of hours of stepping off the plane. It proved a wise move, as there didn’t seem too many spare seats, if any, in a stadium that temporarily held just over 16,000.

In Poland, though I couldn’t begin to tell you why, some clubs enjoy special relationships with others, as they pool their collective invective and hurl it at the likes of Legia Warsaw. So whereas the previous night’s occasion had all been about big sticks and slavering Alsations, this was all about bonhomie and back slapping as the fans mixed happily both inside and outside the ground. Though I expect they were around somewhere, Plod sensed they weren’t needed and kept a very low profile indeed.
*Lpic2*
Quite what happened over the course of the 90 minutes is something I find difficult to describe. From Margate to Milan and Bath City to Benfica, I have truly never experienced an atmosphere as natural, happy and spontaneous as that created by the Wisla regulars and their friends from the Baltic coast. You’d have thought the locals didn’t have too much to get excited about. They hadn’t won in five games and had recently been knocked out of Europe by a team from Azerbaijan; losing both legs.

Even in mid-October, this fixture had the look of an engagement between mid-table also-rans. But nobody saw an evening at the match as anything other than all-singing, scarf waving celebration of the fact that when football is good, its fans are the luckiest people alive. We lapped up every minute and felt truly privileged to be there.

Playing in front of a crowd like this must have felt like a privilege too, as Wisla and Lechia were clearly keen to enjoy and express themselves from the first whistle. If I have seen a more open, attacking game I really can’t remember when that was, as both sides went at it like seven-year-olds given the freedom of a sweet shop. It might reasonably have ended up as a 10-10 draw (really!) but eventually Wisla ended their poor run by winning 5-2.

As a little treat to ourselves, we’d shelled out for top price tickets; about £11 a pop. If someone had asked us to pay again on the way out, I really don’t think we’d have turned them down.

*Link1*

*Link2*

NULL

NULL