My first away game was Walsall in January 2004.
I don't recall how, exactly, but somehow my Dad had got executive tickets. Something to do with someone he knew through his work, I think.
It seemed like a good idea at first, six of us, smartly dressed, sitting in the executive area of the Bescot. Bit of a contradiction in terms, but there you go.
On our way in we were greeted by Pete Waterman, and proceeded to the bar. I think it was here the reality of what we were doing hit me. We were sitting with the Walsall Fans. Knowing how much crap it would be likely to cause if we celebrated a City goal, I decided that I'd keep it to a polite handclap. Unfortunately, that wasn't the concensus of the rest of our party.
Of course, City decided to go on a scoring rampage. Me, quietly clapping each goal, the rest of our party celebrating as if it was a home game at Highfield Road. Naturally, the locals took offence to this. Even more so when they got one back, and one of our lot stood up, applauded and said "good goal."
He meant well, but this was perceived as sarcasm from the locals, and only served to enflame the situation further. Finally, realising there was a strong possibility of a small scale riot breaking out (probably not the first one in the history of Walsall), the Stewards decided to remove the worst of our offenders to the actual away end with the rest of the city fans.
It didn't end there, of course. We went on to score six goals, a rare experience for any football fan, but almost unfathomable for a City fan. By the end, most of the Walsall fans had given up the ghost. Not only had they lost interest in the game, but also us. Well, except for a nice old lady, in a wheelchair, who, as we were leaving, very clearly flicked my dad the v's from behind the safety of her glass fronted executive box. As we left for the safety of the bar, quite euphoric after such a big win, we began to to contemplate the short trip home, and if we'd make it out of Walsall in one piece. Still, at least we couldn't rub any more salt into the wounded Walsall pride.
Except we could. When one of our lads won the guess the crowd competition, and the bottle of booze that came with it. Luckily, by this point, the Walsall fans were so beaten into submission, that instead of offering fists, they offered congratulations, "well done cov fans."
And after that, we made our exit. I made a personal decision not to go back to Walsall anytime soon, assuming that we'd have old Western style wanted dead or alive posters pinned up on lampposts around the town.
And I've never been back since.
