Easily Brigton at their old Withdean Stadium. Absolutely pissed it down the entire time and was absolutely freezing, just miserable. I'd taken my dad along for the game and he became seriously ill and I ended up having to take him to hospital at half time, missing our second half equaliser.
It's still the only game I have left before the final whistle.
Oh and Dad was fine!
Not that game, still brings shudders down my spine to think about it now. I was a bit younger than you at the time and I'd broke my wrist walking home from school in the ice so had a sling on freezing my bollocks off, watching us get demolished. Did get a chippy after about the sixth goal though, walked in with my dad and Hymas et al were in there too and you could have heard a pin drop.My earliest memory of a really shit away day was Grimsby away on NYD was a pretty bad one. No buses running and at the time I was only 16 and thought about being a lad for the day so we walked from my house to Field Mill in the freezing cold to catch the bus and have a few bottles of Budweisers on route. It's about 6.5miles to the ground I think. Losing 2-1 at half time, Ended up losing 7-2 and Peter fucking Bore scored 3 from right back.
I left early to get on the coach, Ended up walking all the way to my seat at the back without realising this bus had tables on it only to get chucked off the bus by our assistant for being sat on the players bus! Wankers.
Some dreadful trips when I used to travel away with my brother in the 90s.
1. Scarborough 96/97 season I think. Got to the ground around 1pm and decided to drive into town for some food. Promptly broke down and my brother had to join the AA at their shop before we could get the car fixed. Ended up getting in at half time and the game ended 0-0.
2. Lincoln the same season iirc. Got to within 20 miles of Lincoln and the car in front braked sharply causing my Bro to rear end him, writing the car off so we got towed home by the AA without seeing the game. This was extra annoying as would won 1-0 and away wins back then were rare.
3. Darlington possibly the same season again (but before Lincoln as it's the same car!). My brother's boot broke just outside Taunton so we had to travel all the way to Darlington (in February) with the boot flapping open as it was only being secured by a shoe lace from his cricket boots.
4. Cambridge 97/98. This was a friday night and not the car's fault. We set off in good time only to hit horrendous traffic and missed 75 mins of the game. We got in for the last bit at 1-1 just in time to see us concede and lose 2-1.
I don't go away as much these days for some reason
A couple years back was the first time I went by train to Bristol Rovers. Me and a group of 3 others had consumed a fair bit of alcohol and without knowing how to get to the ground we jumped in one of the taxis outside the train station and told him to take us to Bristol Rovers' ground. The journey seemed to take ages and I saw sign posts for the Memorial Ground pointing in the opposite direction to where we were being driven so I asked the taxi driver if he was certain he was taking us to Rovers' ground to which he replied that he knew what he was doing. He was Indian and didn't speak very good English but we just let it be. 10 minutes later and still no sign of the ground or any football supporters we asked again and he assured it was just over the mountains ahead of us (yes, mountains). Another few minutes later and still no evidence of football around us, one of the others in the taxi asked if he was taking us to the the right ground in Bristol, the one which is/was shared with the Rugby ground. The taxi driver then halted the car, put his head in his hands and muttered "oh no oh no oh no". So yeah, he had taken us towards the wrong pissing ground. We made it to the game just as it was about to kick off and the fucker charged us full fare for taking us on a tour around Bristol. About £20 more than it should have been but as we didn't want to miss the game, we had no time to argue about it.
After going 1-0 up, we threw it away and lost it in the final minute with John-Joe O'Toole scoring with the last kick of the game.
We decided after the game we would get the bus back to the train station.
be me, late twenties caucasian male, long thick blonde haired hippy with penchant for drugs and socialist politics. quiet night out in bristol on the friday results in me getting rekt and hitting the sack about 1am only to wake up again 3 hours later in order to catch the train. uneventful train journey. saw off a 24 pack of lager. arrive at the game at 3pm on the nose. tip-facking-top. won the game. don't remember much.
leaving the game i get accosted by the now deceased transvestite loon "lawrence" outside the ground. despite me trying to agree with his synopsis of the game he gets very angry and starts giving me some verbals. I'm stone cold chilling, finding the entire thing mildly amusing. along come the BNP. nice tats m8. the fatty BNP hoolies start giving Lawro some grief and invite me to the pub with them.
the BNP proceed to buy me as many white wine spritzers as i can drink. win?? not sure.
i finally escape and go to meet friend in newcastle. end up fondling a girls boobs and sleeping outside on the streets somewhere in newcastle before my friends came to rescue me.
several years later i randomly met aformentioned girl at a house party and got laid. lasting memories.