I’m not a big one for recording my dreams, but I woke up sharply after this one – missed the end of it, which gave a nice circuituity to the tale. I explained it to my WhatsApp group of friends in the bold text, but that was at 3:40am or so, so I can add a little flesh to the bones I offered then.
I had a dream about going to a Town game.
I did indeed. I might not have recognised it at first, because I was sat in an unfamiliar seat, left of the centre of the Kilner Bank. I was too far forward, too, maybe Row B, when I prefer to be Row D or E. It made a difference; my perspective was askew and I was too close to the pitch, which is my usual away game position.
They beat Cardiff 1-0, but I missed the goal because I got there late.
I think the last Town home game I saw was against Cardiff, and it was a fairly drab affair. Ishmael Miller scored in this one, I remember being told he’d prodded in a loose ball from a corner and equally remember resolving not to wait out the highlights on the strength of it. I don’t know why I was late, but having arrived from the South Stand end, I might well have caught a train that was too tight timewise. I arrived at 3:06.
Not a lot happened during the game, but Sean Scannell went off injured, limping after getting caught in a muddy pitch.
This happened right in front of me. He didn’t go over, just pulled up gradually and eventually made his way gingerly to the side of the field for treatment, which was administered after he’d been substituted. The pitch was muddy in a way I’ve seldom seen it, as it tends to go to a more sandy look than thick mud.
Cardiff had a goal disallowed second half, a flicked header from a free kick just in front of me
It was a Peter Whittingham free kick, floated to the back post, from where a defender plundered it home, but was pulled back for climbing on Mark Hudson.
The half time entertainment was a five a side walking football game
This, I can understand, was because I’ve been reading and hearing a lot about walking football, so a ten minute knockabout would fit well into that slot.
Someone from the NSL was taking part on behalf of their work. “Who’s the fat bastard from JLA Taylor?” they kept shouting.
I don’t know if there is a JLA Taylor in the West Yorkshire area, or if there is, what they do, but it was obviously famous enough in my somnolence to warrant featuring in a chant from the home fans.
And then my mum had a new way of walking up Kilner Bank. Fence on the left, high wall on the right.
I’ve rarely (very rarely, perhaps thrice since 1997, out of hundreds) watched a home game with my mum, but we always walk up Kilner Bank together after. The route has changed countless times over the years, and to my mind, this took us up further towards Moldgreen, than would be expected, but it meant a flatter less circuitous route to the car.