Frost dusted cars are reminders
As iced breath exudes from your face
A tough test for real die hard fans has come round
Ah those winters when away games were ace .
Collecting your mates at street corners
Scarves, flask of soup and some scran
A car, minibus or a coach full of blokes
A borrowed or half-inched firms van.
Layers of clothes to ward off the cold
Sporting Life, Mirror, The Sun
If lucky, a radio would help pass the time,
And let you know if the game was still on.
Last week’s work was of little importance
As miles were piled up on the clock
The motorways rife with supporters
Like us, making pilgramage up.
You bumped into people you never once saw
At home matches back in the smoke
Could it be these fans only turned up at games
On the road. Cos our home game they couldn’t afford?
A stop at the services, driver swops round
Overpriced tea and stale cakes
“I wonder if we”ll get a covered bit of their ground
I hope so, just in case it rains”.
The banter, the rubbish, the dreams that we had
Of promotion or maybe a cup?
Diatribe that was slung like a knife at our side
By them sad hacks who slated our club.
Our plans for escaping the traffic
When proceedings had come to an end
Would there be enough time for a swift bag of chips
Before our journey began once again?
What was the beer like, was a betting shop near?
The favourites nailed on in the first
It had cost us a nice few quid to travel up here
A few winners, we could be re-imbursed.
As motorway signage went fast flashing by
In our minds we had thoughts on who’d play
Would the three points be ours come a twenty to five?
Ah. Those days when we travelled away!