A highly enjoyable tinpot experience
Even the train journey was tinpot, as all the places around there have tinpot names. Passing through a place named Haddiscoe, my cryptic crossword-obsessed brain insisted on reading it as "Had disco E," which I presume is far more exciting than anything that actually happens there (Lowestoft itself comes out in cryptic crossword world as "Soft towel arranged in seaside resort").
The ground was a brisk half-hour walk from my hotel, so I headed off pretty much as soon as I'd arrived and got changed. There is a bus that would have taken me straight there, but tinpotically the buses stop running just after 5pm. On the way, I pondered which side to support, given that I'm not very good at being a neutral. I came up with:
Tenuous reasons to support Lowestoft Town- I was spending the next day there, so ought to be nice to them
- They are more tinpot than Gloucester and were the Plucky Underdogs who'd Bravely Earned a Replay
- They're a Ryman team
- To get to the ground, I had to walk down Minden Road, and Minden is one of Sutton's twin towns (how it manages to have more than one twin I don't know)
Tenuous reasons to support Gloucester City- I felt sorry for them having to make that absolutely horrendous journey midweek
- My uncle was born in Gloucestershire
- They wear yellow, and I was in my Sutton shirt
- We probably won't have to play them next season
Lowestoft Town is possibly the most geographically unfortunate club in the Ryman League, given that most clubs are London/Essex/Herts and they're stuck out on the east coast of Suffolk. I was reliably informed that they regularly get crowds of just 70-90. So you can imagine my amazement when I turned into Love Road at about 6:45pm and found myself at the end of a queue that disappeared into the distance with the ground nowhere in sight. There were hundreds and hundreds of people just patiently waiting. The queue moved slowly; I got talking to some Lowestoft fans and they told me that when they'd been in the FA Vase final, the local police issued burglary warnings because almost the entire town had turned out to watch (TINPOT!). I wish they'd do that more often, because it doesn't sound as if they normally bother.
Eventually, I found myself outside the clubhouse, which is outside the entrance to the ground. As there were still about 45 minutes to kick off, I thought I'd go and see if there were any Real Ales on, stupidly assuming that if I waited half an hour or so the queue might go down. To my delight, they had Green Jack's orange wheat beer, which was lovely. I stood out a bit in my Sutton shirt, but the home fans were somewhat reticent when I tried to engage them in conversation - I got the odd glance and overheard a few completely baffled-sounding mutters of "Sutton United?! What the ruddy hell..." - and the away fans were not in evidence. The female fans were all quite scary looking with '80s hairdos. Eventually, one Lowestoft fan came up and said "Ah, you must be Sutton Sal." I wasn't surprised: that always happens sooner or later.
After attempting to get served a second pint and failing spectacularly as service was not forthcoming, I went back outside with 15 minutes to kick-off, only to discover that I had a five minute walk into the next street just to get to the end of the queue. So I stood there for half an hour or so, occasionally shuffling forward, and listening to the exciting conversation between the two elderly gentlemen in front of me: "Oi 'ave nevar seen Naarwich win on TV. Nope, nevar. Laast toime Oi wen inta town an' they scarred. Oi used to sit outdars, watch the TV through the winder." I briefly wondered whether the whole town used to turn out for that, too. Then there were a few shouts from the home fans inside the ground, followed by a cheer, then 15 seconds of silence and then a louder cheer. The queue perked up: the home side had obviously been awarded and scored from a penalty. Five or so minutes later, there was another loud cheer. Lowestoft were 2-0 up!
Eventually, I got to the gate, where I found the turnstile operator in one hell of a mood. I gave her £10 for the £8 entrance fee, and she snapped, "Well, I don't have any change left. That's it. I can't let anyone else in." I calmly suggested that if she had a £5 note, I could give her another £3 in exchange for it and she shut up and let me in. I'd asked in the bar if there was any chance that I might not get in because of the size of the crowd, but was assured that there was no danger of that. I later found out that the attendance was 2247, which is three less than the ground's official capacity
I once stayed at a guest house pretty much next door to Cambridge United's house, and couldn't help noticing that the ground smelled very strongly of coconut. Lowestoft Town's ground, I noticed now, smelled rather fetchingly of pineapple. I hope they play each other some day so we can all have a pina colada.
I was starving, so I headed for the tea bar. Miraculously, there was no queue. My general rule of football food is that the more tinpot the team, the better the food. Lowestoft's burger was outstanding. I normally decorate everything I eat with copious amounts of black pepper, but the burger was full of the stuff so I didn't have to ;D
There is very little in the way of raised terracing at Love Road, and so the crowd was mostly standing five to six deep around the perimeter of the pitch. In fact, some of Lowestoft's smaller fans, some of them perhaps there as a half-term treat, were actually sitting on the grass
inside the perimeter fence, which isn't really a fence at all, just a bar suspended on concrete posts (you know the sort I mean). They were extremely well-behaved, however, and nobody seemed to mind. Unfortunately, I was too large to get away with this but too small to see what was going on: the crowd was such that I was unable to secure a spot where I could actually see the pitch. The sliver of it that I could see, however, contained Lowestoft's goal, where all the action seemed to be taking place. Gloucester were awarded a penalty pretty much as soon as I'd made myself comfortable, which the player whose number I couldn't quite see coolly converted to make it 2-1. The next thing I witnessed after the restart was a highly amusing nutmeg. A Lowestoft fan, noticing that I was struggling to see, kindly offered me a place at the front. I thanked him but said I was a neutral and wouldn't dream of pinching a prime spot from a Lowestoft fan, to which he replied, "Frankly, love, any one of us could see over your head." ;D
At half time, I should have stayed where I was to guarantee being able to see the second half, but I wanted to boost my mug collection, so I visited the club shop where I was served by a man with one of the most spectacular beards I have ever seen. The mug was rather nice too. When I got out, the ground started ringing and I wondered why nobody was answering it. I think there must have been a phone next to the mic, which someone had left switched on. It was quite strange. And tinpot.
The second half was exciting and pacy - the first had been too, but I hadn't seen much of it. Although Glouester were dominant to begin with, Lowestoft suddenly broke through and took a shot that well wide, prompting a "how wide do you want the goal?" session from the Gloucester fans. Happily, Lowestoft scored on the second effort, prompting their fans to go absolutely bananas and then to sing in reply, "How wide do you want the goalie?" ;D The atmosphere was immense, and the tension was unbelievable.
Notwithstanding the obvious advantage Lowestoft was enjoying due to its bumper crowd of noisy fans, it seemed that some were unhappy with this. "WHERE WERE YOU WHEN WE WERE SH*T?" they sang, very badly. They seem to like singing but aren't very good at it, which is tinpot. Unfortunately for them, Lowestoft is about the hardest football team name to fit coherently into a chant. Try and find one that works. I bet you can't. They are the anti-Weston-super-Mare.
Every club has its moaners, and Lowestoft Town, sadly, appears to have more than its fair share, although of course this could be due to the frequent attacks of nerves and tension that were rife in the ground that evening. There were a couple of blokes right near me who persisted in saying things like, "We are shocking. I know we're winning, but...I can't see us finishing this game like this. Call me a pessimist, but I think we're going to run out of steam. This lead won't last. I reckon...FOR F***S SAKE, MITCHELL, DON'T JUST ****ING LUMP IT! See, he's lost his bottle, I knew it, we won't be ahead for long." Amusingly, they were standing right next to a massive hoarding with the club's sweet little tinpot motto, "BELIEVE," emblazoned across it. I can see why they put those all around the ground, now: it appears that they need reminding at regular intervals. I felt like turning round and pointing out that they were playing a side two divisions higher than them, but I decided not to spoil their party. Anyway, I was just happy that my new mug says "BELIEVE" on it, so I too can have faith in my morning cup of tea.
Sadly, they were able to exchange "told you so" nods when Lee Smith, easily Gloucester's most dangerous player of the night, took a ridiculously long-range shot that the Lowestoft keeper was completely unprepared for. At 3-2, Gloucester perked up, and the tension was cranked up a few notches. 90 minutes had been and gone, but the ref was refusing to call time. The home fans began to wring their hands and pull at their hair. One cracked suddenly: "TIME, REF! TIIIIME!!!!!" to which someone behind me replied,
very quietly, "Half nine, mate." Suddenly, one of Lowestoft's subs (Godbold) scored out of absolutely nowhere to make it 4-2. Gloucester were not happy bunnies.
Finally, it was over. Lowestoft's fans went completely mental. With the warm glow that comes from seeing a tinpot side pull off a shock win, I left them to standing around speculating over their forthcoming trip to Wrexham in the First Round Proper, and happily slagging off King's Lynn. Bless them.
There was a massive queue to get in, and she missed the first 30 minutes. 
Even the train journey was tinpot, as all the places around there have tinpot names. Passing through a place named Haddiscoe, my cryptic crossword-obsessed brain insisted on reading it as "Had disco E," which I presume is far more exciting than anything that actually happens there (Lowestoft itself comes out in cryptic crossword world as "Soft towel arranged in seaside resort").
