A man on a porcupine fence

Ron Waller goes to Peterborough for a nose around



And so it begins. Wycombe Wanderers Football Club descends into madness. They say that the insane, on occasion, are not without their charms, but on a sunny day in Peterborough, it’s hard to see what they are. The gap between the supporters and the players was opened wide again by Tom Mooney’s BFP back page splash – and the Drone Army reacted as only they can: woefully.

A trip to London Road would usually mean a healthy thousand or meaty eight hundred Blues fans in attendance, but back to back cack in the last two home games meant many turned their backs on the town of the second biggest Tesco in Europe. Those that were there could sense the air of lunacy in their actions. Fueled by a lethal pre-match concoction of real ale and Thai food, and buoyed by some decent results in the local Top Trumps Semi-Pro League, Wycombe fans scampered to the away end anxious to secure a good spot in the terrace, i.e. as far away from each other as possible. But on their pumped up journey over the bridge, two Wycombe fans were shot at by a local Armed Police Unit for swigging cans of non-alcoholic lager. The shooting was to be chilling prophecy for the draconian law enforcement that filled the day ahead.



As Wycombe went 1-0 down after drowsily reacting to a quickly taken free kick, the Wanderers hardcore vocal support reacted appropriately: by blaming the lack of a second centre forward. Surely if Scott McGleish were on the park he would have swept round the back? One up front, you’re having a laugh chorused the Blue Army, but with the apostrophe in the wrong place. 4-4-2, 4-4-2 they cry. That’ll always be the dream.

Bang on the money as ever, as Wycombe go in at half time 2-1 up, but the jubilant celebrations in the away end stir the Eden Rejects in yellow, patrolling the terrace with beady eyes and Popeye arms. Their leader, basing his persona on Sexy Beast’s Don Logan, bursts into life, spotting a pitch invader and dragging him off. As Peterborough tear into Wycombe to reverse the scoreline once more, their Stewards haul more and more Wycombe fans out of the ground. A middle aged man coffee beans the stand to his left – OUT. An acne ridden kid with an expensive looking haircut and a Burton’s jumper and scarf combo struts around like a young Brian Ferry – OUT. Two women stub cigarettes out on the floor and squash them with their high-heeled shoes like Olivia Newton John in the penultimate scene of Grease. Tell Me About It, Stud they plead to the stewards. OUT – is the reply. An old man soils his pants – OUT. A middle aged woman noisily zips up her brown leather coat – OUT. By the time Tom Mooney sneaks in a well deserved penalty, Wycombe fans have started offering themselves up for eviction rather than suffer in the sort of conditions not witnessed since the days of the Speenhamland System. “Leave by the Rear Exit” asked the sign on the away end wall. Only 53% of Wycombe fans that day can say they did.

Yet even as the brilliance of Tom Doherty secured that penalty for Wycombe, and the dazzling skills of Lionel Ainsworth glistened in the spring sunshine, undeterred by Peterborough’s pitch featuring an exact replica of the St Andrews’ Road Bunker, the Drone Army aren’t happy. After Mooney’s penalty sneaks in, some Wycombe fans are seen rolling their eyes, shrugging their shoulders. “He slagged us off” their expressions say.

One final low for the men in yellow ends the game, as a Wycombe fan faints at the bottom of the terrace. Get the St Johns’ plead the surrounding Chairboys. Bollocks, the Stewards reply, he’s had 2 pints of Oblivion before the game before pulling down the fan’s trousers and branding CATEGORY C on his bare arse.

This is what it has come to. The desperation for the Land of League One where everything is glorious and the books become immediately balanced, has become so great, that lunacy saturates every nook and cranny of the club. The debts are huge. The directors are on edge. The players hate the fans. The fans hate the players. The fans hate each other. The Peterborough stewards hate everyone.

This is Wycombe Wanderers, April 2007, but this was a cracking point and a cracking performance. When the world falls apart, some things stay in place.

03.01.2007. 10:32

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