Monkey Business: Behind Enemy Lines

Issue 86 dealt with our surprising success in League One, and came off the back of a 4-2 away win at table-toppers Leyton Orient. As I write this, Hartlepool were shambolic against bottom of the table Walsall at home, losing 1-0. Can't make that up, can you? Anyway, below is my article about the trip to Elland Road - having to sit, of course, in the home end. With thousands of Leeds fans. And we got beat. Bah.


The Ginger Poolie had trouble getting a ticket for the Pools game at Elland Road, so was forced to sit in the Leeds end...

It’s the biggest league game of my Pools-supporting life, and most likely hundreds more. The battlements had been prepared since the long drive home from Rochdale.

I like to think of my experience of Elland Road as entirely different to all other Pools fans. It’s for pretty obvious reasons, to be honest. I was sat in the East Stand, on the halfway line, half of the way up. I was, for want of the complete opposite, a Leeds fan that day. Clowns to the left of me, jokers to the right, stuck in the middle of a fury of Leodensians with my brothers.

It really wasn’t out of choice, might I stress. Upon hearing of the one-per-fan principle at the ticket office, financial constraints (category A?!) and the fact I couldn’t get down to the ground as I was starting out at college, my brother was kind enough to do the honours from his workplace in Leeds. So, there we were at 12pm on Saturday coming out of Leeds station with the perfect seat - we just had to tone down the accents (something I find unbelievably impossible to do) and sit on our hands should we score.

The Leeds fan experience is a weird one. Underneath the railway bridge was a line of buses - two double-deckers and a regular coach, swarming inside and out with the enemy. Walking towards it, it transpired that the back bus was selling bus tickets from adapted side windows.

So there we are, three North-Easterners hiding our faces (don’t really know why, it’s not as if Hartlepudlians look any different) while 60 fans - most with LUFC tattoos, even the women and kids - chanted songs all the way to the outskirts. We must’ve looked pretty shifty on account of our hand-over-mouth whispering. Still, we survived, making it off the bus to the electronic ticket gates (whose idea was that?). The distance between the ground and buses, even though we were with another 100 or so Leeds fans, seemed completely devoid of human interaction. Fans were quiet, none were near the gates, and the steps up to the stand were silent.

Getting into the concourses, everything picked up. The hundreds of fans made the cavernous indoors seem actually suitable, unlike those of Rochdale, Darlo and Hull. After sinking a few pints - for match day nerves, I’m sure you’ll understand - we made our way to our seats.

Cracking they were, too. Perfect view of the action, but being a Town Ender, sitting disgusts me. Like Hillsborough, there was no leg room if you’re over 6’0”. I was already angry at the surroundings, until I started hearing the singing.

Oh, the singing.

My first reaction was to join in. Standing up and breathing in deeply, I forgot where I was and feigned a crap impression of a cough before turning left. 2,000 Poolies - still taking their seats - were making their presence known in something that genuinely made me feel proud. The flags of The Yakker Branch and Escape Goat tied up in full view, the AC Milan-style away kit was dominant, and the singing carried fantastically. It would for the rest of the game.

Click the picture to read the published article!

Sadly I had the feeling from the off that we wouldn’t be able to win it. The crowd was immense and, full respect to Leeds, their fans have stayed; the Revie Stand was absolutely rammed. It must’ve been one hell of a pressure on Pools players; even the East Stand were singing. It didn’t stop a two-way sing song, seeing “You’re not famous anymore” go up against “2-0 in your Cup Final”. The latter song was pretty funny though; I guess you need to make a joke out of the fact that it’s your own fault that you’re so low in the Football League.

Obviously we all know about the game - the most one-sided defeat I’ve seen. We absolutely ripped them apart. It made for some funny quotes from several people, but one really vocal bloke changed his mind more than Rafa changes the Lesser Pool’s starting 11. What follows is an accurate transcript of his yelling in order:

“Come on lads, this lot are s***!”

“Why are we defending, COME ON MAN, PUSH UP!”

“That lad in the red boots ain’t bad.” (tell me about it)

“Lucky that we scored off our first push of the game.”

“This lot aren’t half bad, actually.”

“We should be dancing round this lot.”

“How are we winning 2-0?”

“FOUR MINUTES OF ADDED TIME?! Jesus Christ… they could score 3!”

“Great win.”

“How did we not get beaten there though?”

“It’ll be a long way back to Hartlepool tonight.”

Cheers mate! The Leeds fans were certainly worried for that last 30 minutes though. They even had time to praise our fans, who they thought kept the team going.

I didn’t feel bad after the game. My brothers and I figured it was due to where we sat. Although we didn’t have our Poolie brethren alongside us and we couldn’t sing, or cheer beyond the polite anti-detection clapping for their goals, the Leeds fans were scared. Some went as far as to say that we were the best team they’d played (which includes Southend, Forest, Tranmere and Luton). We took solace in the fact we’d genuinely played well, and didn’t have time to feel sad given our surroundings.

For such a big game, and to quote a much-overused phrase, the better team lost, but for guts and tenacity, we were the real winners. Third in the table after 5 games suits me fine.