View From The Dolan: The Mini TTE Day Out

10/27/2024 12:26 PM

Ben recounts the Bristol Rovers win, which was also a special occasion for some of the TTE chaps.

If you don't want to read how I turned into a corporate monster, look away now. If you are indifferent to that or even intrigued, carry on reading, by all means.

Listen, since Ross and I took over the pod, it's been a disaster. Off the pitch I mean, not the pod. Some people might be reading this and think "well the pod is a disaster too", but those people would be wrong and stupid because, statistically, it's actually got better. We've picked up more listeners and, while the overall quality might be down, the listenership is up. So there.

What I mean by disaster is that, pound for pound, we've covered the most depressing, debilitating period in the club's history. So we deserved a bloody treat. We got a box, filled with our entourage, and had a bloody good time. Of course, the club helped us with this and we thank them heartily.

It's a different world, I'll give you that. Kingsley roams the corridors, literally ones of people who recognised me, and said: "Ben, when's half-time coming back?". Ex-players are as abundant as continental lager and the staff can't do enough for people.

Ironically (not ironically), we were in Junior Hoilett's ex-box, aka Benjart/The Dreamers Club, so this allowed me get all dewy-eyed about the man and player he was. I loved/love him and I wish he'd come back.

The first morsels of food arrived in a sort of middle-class brunch tapas concoction. And what a concoction! Regular readers will know I've had my ups and downs with the scran at the Whitley Bowl in recent years, but the hot dogs this year are excellent. This platter of goodies was a different level.

Several different bowls of a British breakfast, poached egg, scrambled egg and salmon, spicy rice, chicken and waffles and bagels were all served with a silver fork and a chilled continental lager. I was like a pig in muddy water. I ate the whole lot and I'd do it again.

My mood was spoiled by the team selection, which I heard with my own ears inside the seated bowl. The news that Charlie Savage wasn't starting hit me hard like a small, independent shop owner clattered by crippling business rates.

Ruben Selles chose war against not just me and the other Charlie Savage fans, but clearly the nation of Wales too. I threw a finely folded napkin across the room and then instantly regretted it, so picked it up, folded it again, placed it back on the table but away from the clean ones, told a member of staff, felt sad and said sorry three times.

"These changes better work, Ruben," I whispered to myself as I watched the goalkeepers warm up. By this time, the stadium was filling slowly and the other hangers-on (Sim, Ross, Ross' wife, Ross' mum and dad, my dad and my mate Milan) had all arrived and were pre-ordering half-time snacks like they were going out of fashion.

Because some of the party were slow drinkers, the blinds had been pulled down in the box. It's such an archaic, bonkers rule that you can't enjoy liquor while watching some chaps play the game of life, it really is. However, I didn't challenge the staff because the last thing I want is for the club to receive more fines because some partygoers can't put down their pints for 45 minutes. No, not on my watch.

The box was decent, I won't lie. I could see people around noticing me and Ross, and I guess Sim too, and thinking (not aloud) "wow, there's the backbone of the award-winning website and podcast, good luck to them". A few people even nodded in our direction and I gave one of those waves that royal people give when they feel obliged to acknowledge people.

As for the game, we weren't cool. I was as cross as a turkey at Christmas when Knibbsy failed to find Kelvin. I asked my son what he'd have done if he were Knibbs and he said: "Shoot like you told me, dad." I just tutted, walked back into the box and straight out the door and along the corridor towards the toilets.

I needed a wee and some space. At half-time, we did some recording and Tim K came up to see us. It was lovely to chat to him and, while he politely ignored Ross' request for a discount on match-worn shirts, he did give us some nuggets about the current commercial operations of the club in terms of sponsors.

I drank another pint (when in Rome) and looked across wistfully at B13 and my empty seat. "I'll be back soon, friend," I said.

On the pitch, we needed some more cohesion in midfield and to give Sam Smith anything to cling on to. The half-time snacks arrived and I began tucking into the largest bowl of chips I've seen. I just put them on a plate - I'm not a creature.

This feasting carried over into the second half and, because I'm nice, I put some in a paper cup for Sim who chose to be anti-social and watch the game in the flesh. He didn't thank me, he just snatched them from my hand like a greedy pigeon grabbing mouldy bread with its beak.

The deadlock was smashed not long after with a well-taken goal from Smithy boy. A goal we needed, but didn't deserve.

And then things got tense. Rovers had a chap sent off and started playing ball. We were up against it, big time. Big Joel in goal was a literal monster, defensively we stood up (as did I) and ultimately held on for another precious three points.

Post-match was filled with laughter, banter and friendship. I did the video to a weird song which I later realised was a theme tune from a TV I've never seen, we did some recoding of the pod (which will be out soon for your listening pleasure) and finished our drinks before saying goodbye.

Off the pitch, it was a great day and the first time myself, Ross and Sim were together for a game. It might seem small, but that's something I'll remember for a long time to come and, while there will be more times we can do it, the first will always be special.

On the pitch, we are moving forward. Out of the six halves we've played this week, only one made me think "oh yeah, this is good", but who cares? We've got nine points from nine and, while there isn't a huge amount of cohesion, we are getting results by being resilient. The game management needs improving, but with such a young squad, that will come later on in the season, I've no doubt about that.

For the first time in a long time, I'm feeling optimistic. As Sim said after the game, "Ben, just be f******g optimistic and f*****g enjoy being optimistic for once, you b****y i***t", which was fair, I guess.

So I will. I'll enjoy the feeling of us being sixth with a team that cost zero pounds. I'll enjoy focussing on the pitch rather than panicking about things off it. I'll look up rather than down and I'll look forward to matches instead of worrying.

Onwards and upwards: let's see where we can go.

Until next time.