Hereford away, is a fixture which in the last few years has not exactly held fond memories for Pools fans: Rain, rain, more rain, blazing sunshine (but still a waterlogged pitch), an uncharacteristic cock-up by (Sir) Flyin’ Brian, and then last season we were, eventually (at least I only had to come from Birmingham for the first attempt. Not only that but the ref allowed me more ‘quality time’ with my hangover), treated to ‘Dire Away Performance Of Our Time No. 467’, complete with a 4-1 drubbing. So when this game followed on from the mauling at Orient and the Coca-Cola Cup exit at Lincoln, it was understandable that the away end tin shack only held about 100 mad souls.
For anyone who has never ventured into Wales, let me set the scene. Now this place is rural, and when I say rural I mean rural. Each stand is basically a great big rusting tin shack. Furthermore, whilst many of the bigger (I refuse to say the ‘P’ word) clubs are holding gigs at their grounds during the summer, Hereford appear to have been holding ploughing contests. The pitch, even this early in the season, was dodgy. Playing on it last season with all that rain last season (Wasn’t it chucking it down the first time we attempted to play!) must have knackered it. Hmmm......
Out ran Pools to a ripple of applause and a shaking of pom-poms from the local kids and I stood there wondering if my lucky tuppence was the potential difference between last week’s dire last hour and a majestic three point performance.
As they say on hospital dramas "How are they doctor?" "Well.... I’m afraid it doesn’t look good." and Pools certainly didn’t in the opening exchanges. Or should I say exchange. I can’t remember us having the ball in the opening five minutes. Fortunately, Pools got into the game by asserting themselves in midfield, with Cooper and Beech getting stuck in to provide the ball for Cleggy to distribute. It was Clegg who came closest for Pools in the first half when he beat a couple of Bulls and hit a left foot shot from 20 yards which De Lump (who must double as the bovine mascot they occasionally trot around the pitch) tipped over the bar.
Soon after Clegg sent Halliday clean through, only for a Hereford defender to come over all amorous, and attempt to get his kit off there and then. Penalty! The ref ran over to consult with his linesman:
"Uriah. You can’t give a penalty."
"Why not?"
"It’s Hartlepool. Remember? You know the team who have only had one penalty in 60-odd games. You don’t want them to start thinking we’re impartial do you?"
"Mmmmm. Good point." Peep! "Goal Kick."
The game then settled down into a fairly even battle with Pools, and especially Michael Barron who was very impressive, containing the few ideas Hereford could muster.
Then, surprise surprise, we got all jittery. At exactly the same time we fell behind at Orient, Hereford won a corner which they duly rattled against the bar, and returned, seemingly with interest, before Glen Davies intervened to crash the ball off the line. Having successfully negotiated the ‘35th Minute Zone’ the game fizzled out to half time.
The second half continued in much the same pattern as the first: Hereford had plenty of possession but didn’t do much with it, whilst Pools seemed content to sit back and try to catch Hereford on the break. The standard substitutions followed which saw Hereford bring on Mr Twinkletoes in his lovely white boots. Unfortunately the increasingly niggly midfield encounters became a bit much for the aforementioned Mr T.Toes. But more of that later.
Ten minutes to go and not much sign of a goal. Glen Davies had to be subbed after a foul by Mr T. Toes and was replaced by a rather large looking Psycho McGuckin. No need to look down the back of the sofa for Joe’s (or Steve Howard’s!!) lost weight, I think Psycho’s found it. Anyway, Hereford were turning up the pressure. A few corners followed.....
I’m not sure how, but I just knew that they were going to score. Murray Fishface swung a corner over, which Pears punched clear, only for the ball to be headed back to Fishface. He swung it back over, McDonald and Barron missed it before it was hooked in by a Hereford striker. Arse! Enter the Linesman (look he only ‘assists’ the referee when it comes to giving crap decisions against us!). The Hereford striker was offside. Yippee!
Thirty seconds later McAuley cleared the ball to the halfway line where Cleggy just beat a lunging midfielder to it, before turning and racing to the corner of the box before slipping it (the ball!!) between two defenders to Buddy who steady himself and calmly lashed it into the top corner.
Cue mad bloke on the terraces (i.e. me!) for his appearance on the next Danny Baker video: “Now just keep your eyes on the bloke in the cap. Wait for it...He’s off! Now, where is he going? What’s he going to do when he gets there? Yup. He’s going to jump and dance around like a prat in the middle of nowhere! Nice one mad bloke!”.
The final twist was when Mr T. Toes snapped after getting plenty of verbal and physical reminders of his tackle on Glen and the fact that wearing those boots did make his sexuality questionable. One handbag swing later, Cooper was on the floor and Mr T. Toes was on his way. One last booking for a crass tackle on Buddy and Uriah blew his whistle.
Yes! We went home happy - only Houch was left to curse his luck. If only he’d held on to Peter Billing a bit longer he might have got a few quid for him at the cattle market after the game.
The Flying Pig