Into the relegation zone we drop. Scunthorpe were probably the best team I have seen in this division this season, but we were woeful. When we arrived we were ushered onto buses by a surprisingly over anxious police force. Any one would have thought we were Millwall or Leeds fans. The ground is in the middle of nowhere, and only had one pub open anywhere near. This was compounded by the lack of beer anywhere in the ground for sale as well. Bumped into Captain Kilner and Steve "Rambo" Wilkinson at the game, and at one point we seemed to have equalised, but Wheters header was ruled out for no apparent reason. When we left after the second Scunny goal went in, some jumped up prick of a copper tried to force us on a bus we didn't want to catch. Much barging ensued, till Crespo told the little jobs worth we were in a car, at which point he let us leave. A slow pub crawl back into town was thus undertaken, The Boy moaned like a bitch, and we acquired a new buddy, who Shouty christened Meatball. From here on in it was downhill all the way. A little five fingered discount was pulled off, shooters were supped, and even more remarkably we didn't miss the train. Our next stop was Doncaster. With an hour to kill we manged to drop a couple of pints and jumped on a train back to Bradford. The Shoutmeisters turbo was know operating at full decibel level, and trouble reared its ugly head briefly, some snot rag nearly got his ticket punched, but sanity prevailed. It was about this time myself and The Boy decided to leave the younger Crespo, Meatball and Shouty to it, so the rest of the evenings shenanigans will be reported later in the week.
Shoutster and The Boy revive a flagging Euro, under Meatballs supervision. More photos available at www.bendersquad.smugmug.com
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