She took his hand and she led him along that golden beach…

Notts County Away by Kenny Masters

It has been said many times, though let it be said again: Wycombe Wanderers are England’s glamour football club. The sheer inveiglement of the current Wycombe side seeps over every blade of grass of every ground they unselfishly agree to play on. For fans, the dour and tawdry world of PLC football is usurped time and again, by them sweet sounds, of that crazy, crazy town: High Wycombe.

Travelling to Nottingham nags at the back of the mind, “Will I be shot?” Probably. But crime is down 12% says councilor John Collins, and that’s enough for me to continue. A pre-match soiree with Nottingham’s finest - Paul Smith, Su Pollard and Robert Harris - should be bullet free, as long as Pollard knows her place.

The allure of Hooters, the only such venue in the United Kingdom, and the presumably five star hotels next to the train station, means that members of the Wycombe Wanderers Yacht Club are sprinkled liberally across the city like Robin Hood’s Merry Men – giving from the rich to the poor, in return for their finest champagne, and Parma ham rolls.



Difficult though it is to believe, not everyone at WWFC has a yacht. In these mortgage obsessed, penny pinching days, it can be the £4.50 car park fee that pushes you into the red and sees a visit the next morning from Jason Cousins’ ex-colleagues, banging on your door demanding your much loved DAB radio. Baring that in mind, Wycombe fans head for the city’s crack dens, where the free parking and ego boosting offers of cheap hand jobs send spirits rising. “Yes, we can do it” they mumble into their Milletts coats.

And of course, they did. Since Chairboys On The Net found better things to do, the detailed independent match report has become a distant memory, and seems unlikely to be resurrected. The Wycombe following, whilst not quite the cream of humanity that created the cocktail party atmosphere of Fulham away, basked in it’s charismatic idiosyncrasies. Fagin’s Mob – aged 11 to 15 – recorded their finest result yet when they forced 4 policeman to stand up and walk towards them with patronising expressions on their faces. Wycombe’s true firm, however, appeared in the second half to right of the goal. They shun hooligan casual clothes, opting for the ultra-smart dress of suits and enormous overcoats. 4 or 5 strong, the mob known as “The Directors” are each over 6ft and 16st. The waft of cigar smoke and surnames such as Bompansero give an aura of invisibility. County’s top boys shift easily in their seats. “Bugger that” they think, in mildly Northern accents.

The full time whistle brings yet another glorious scene for Wycombe Wanderers supporters, and not even the ultra-aggressive smack-heads offering out Bucks’ finest for a 3-on-1 showdown in the streets outside can put a dampening on another of those great football nights. “Come on then, I’ll do you all” he growls, and for a moment, jabbing his pock marked face with a golf-umbrella seems like a fine end to the evening. But he’s gone, disappeared into the night. It’s absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious. And he was charming bloke all right.

Cup Football, Mickey Mouse or otherwise, has always been a cage... a cage to catch our dreams. And as Oxford United will no doubt discover on Saturday, nothing happens unless first we dream. She took his hand and she led him along that golden beach…

01.01.2007. 10:07

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