In a mad world, only the mad are sane
Che goes to Hartlepool

Having been woken up at 6am, I would be lying if I said I hadn't questioned my sanity, even though the impending visit to Hartlepool was "just" a de-tour on my way home. An hour later as I climbed aboard the OWWSA "fun-bus" a fellow "nutter" suggested that we were all mad. He must have foreseen the forthcoming "performance" the team were to put in at Victoria Park. Wycombe Wanderers do seem to attract rather unique individuals as supporters and they really do encompass the full gamut of mankind. I met a rather unique fellow who failed to conform to the esrtwhile "drone" stereotype. It wouldn't be too unkind to suggest that he wasn't overloaded with brain cells but he was talkative and friendly. I wasn't paying particularly close attention but I think I (over)heard that he was a "tree-hugger" and he spent the last hour or so of the journey reading a copy of gay times.

I may accuse OWWSA of being a "glorified travel club" but they are a very good travel club and we arrived in Hartlepool in plenty of time and soon the surreal factor of the day was pushed up several notches. A somewhat bizarrely dressed woman in a Wycombe shirt walked towards the away end. As "she" got closer it become apparent that "she" was in fact a "he." The number of bemused looks, second, third and fourth takes rose considerably as more people arrived at the ground. I had never seen him before at a Wycombe game, and frankly, once you have seen him, you're unlikely to ever forget him.

A quick trawl through google provides some enlightenment, as a couple of Brentford fans explain...

"Expect to see a middle-aged man called Lawrence prancing up and down the away end in womans clothes."

"The locals are normally very friendly, and are capped by Lawrence, Hartlepool's very own transvestite. Apparently he has made himself a figure of ridicule in the town, he is banned from most of the shops and has vowed revenge by supporting whoever Hartlepool are playing on the day."

I know that those of you who weren't there or who didn't see / hear him will still somewhat sceptical, so he is a picture of him:

hartpool08.jpg

The Wycombe Wanderers team coach arrived and Lawrence headed straight for the door and proceeded to offer to shake the hands of everyone who came off. Paul Lambert, clearly bemused, refused but to the credit of the rest of the players, they all shook his hand, with subsequent facial expressions ranging from incredulity to amusement. They probably thought they'd seen it all where Wycombe fans were concerned. Kevin Betsy may have had prior knowledge of our "special" fan for the day as his face wore a knowing smile. Lawrence had even gone to the trouble of embelishing his Wycombe shirt with Betsy's name and number (even the insane can see that Kevin Betsy is a fúcking genius.)

The turnstiles were finally opened at 2pm and I headed for some sustenance and ordered a hot dog. I was handed something that looked suspiciously like a horses willy. It seemed inconceivable that they manunfactured sausages this long. I sunk my teeth into it with trepidation, but it tasted rather splendid and proceeded to munch the rest down without any further concern.

I ventured into the away end and chose my seat which happened to be in fairly close proximity to Lawrence, who spent much of his time singing and dancing. As well as shouting "Come on you Swans" he also indulged in a rather unique repetoire of ditties which started with "The Beer Barrel Polka" by Brown-Tim-Vejvoda ("Roll out the barrel, We'll have a barrel of fun. Roll out the barrel, we've got the blues on the run.") - Oh the irony of that last line. This was followed by Doris Day's Que Sera Sera sang right from the beginning ("When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, what will I be, will I be pretty, will I be rich, here's what she said to me...") Next came "Crazy" by Willie Nelson ("I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so lonely I'm crazy, crazy for feeling so blue.") - another frighteningly accurate assessment for the afternoon / whole day. Lastly he regaled us with "Swanee" by Al Jolson ("Swan-ee, how I love ya, how I love ya, My dear old Swanee. I'd give the world...to...be...")

Speaking to a few Hartlepool fans / stewards resulted in conflicting stories / urban myths about Lawrence but one suggested that Lawrence's current mental state was a result of the loss of his mother. If true the lyrics of the last song (above) are more than a little ironic, incredibly sad and not a little tragic.

Nevertheless I have never sat through a more bizarre afternoon's football in my life. And we were rather grateful for the entertainment provided by Lawrence because the performance from Wycombe Wanderers was lamentable. Not one player even managed to scale the heights of "average." Given the performances of this season to date, the disappointment factor was quite significant, especially when taking the commitments taken just to be there. The summation from this opposing supporter is rather accurate. "Well that was outsanding. We never gave them a second of space and the players busted their guts today. Nice to see some crunching tackles going in too. For once we didn't look like 'nice' Hartlepool." Sadly we were very much the polar opposite. Yes, there was a rather unpleasant swirling wind but t'was the same for both sides. Further comments from other Hartlepool supporters have varying degrees of accuracy (from my viewpoint of course) which goes to show that it's all about opinions... "Wycombe were another 2nd division side trying to kick their way out this league - aided and abetted by the poor standard of referring we're having to put up with. Their no. 5 didn't win one ball fairly but got away with it all match - Easter pushed his way onto a ball."

"wycombe 5/10 : horrible cycnical damned bounders. Their dead balls were examplary, but other than that a bunch of whining prima donnas who were well beaten by the end."

"I thought wycombe passed the ball about better than we did."

I left with about five minutes remaining to catch the first of my three trains home, where upon I bumped into a Wycombe supporter and his son who had also got up at 6am in the morning to fly up to Newcastle and was making his way back. Perhaps Lawrence is the sane one and we're all bonkers?

Upon arriving at Hartlepool we were informed that there had been a fatality on the line and that we wouldn't be going anywhere fast. I pondered that perhaps it was a Wycombe fan who had found our performance too much to bear (who says I take football too seriously?). After being squashed onto a coach, which I perservered with for all of five minutes, I ventured back into the station and onto the stationery train, which was to travel in the opposite direction (South). Extraordinarily the inspector (who if he hadn't been so tall would have been a dead ringer for Celtic's Thomas Gravesen) was extremely helpful and arranged for a personal journey on what became a private train back to Newcastle and a taxi at my connecting station which then dropped me off on my doorstep. During the four hour plus journey no-one asked me for my ticket, which was rather fortunate as in all kerfuffle I had forgotten to purchase one. My taxi driver was a Newcastle fan and during the journey we discussed football. He suggested that perhaps our players are pre-occupied with the League Cup Quarter-Final. If so, Paul Lambert wants to much sure he nips such an attitude in the bud now before automatic promotion becomes unlikely. When I arrived home I unlocked my front door to discover that I had run out of credit on my electricity meter and my home was in darkness.

I'm off to buy a dress.