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“Early on a Saturday morning sometime after eight o’clock”. I Scrubbed The Crabs That Killed Sheffield, Unreleased.

Back in the late 90s, when I went to most games (I was young, there’s got to be some goofy pictures of me in my Pulse jumper somewhere) I don’t remember masses about the journeys, except the service stations, but I do remember gathering for the long distance away games with the travel club.

It was a ritual, we’d always be there far too early, and I’d always have something with me I didn’t need – spare sandwich, book, whatever – and I never talked to anyone either, except my friend who came with us.

It was the only time I ever used the Gasworks end of the ground, and even now walking into the ground that way I want to speed up a little excited to see how many busses there are, and whether there was any extra minibuses meeting.

Its a strange thing being a regular away supporter. You put in so much time and effort for so little reward. Maybe this is my reward, being able to look back on Saturday mornings with a twinge of nostalgia but a bigger twinge of relief.

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