Away The Lads

With Ashton Gate being an all-seater stadium, it is an undeniable fact that the atmosphere within the ground has become somewhat diluted. There are many plusses to having seating in all areas. The improved safety of all supporters (which must be a priority) and the good view of the pitch which ordered seating provides being the main two. However, in terms of the general feel within the stadium, the affect has been to cause a quieter, more orderly atmosphere and the amount of singing and chanting has decreased markedly from a few years ago.

With this in mind, it was with some excitement and anticipation that I travelled to Peterborough last Saturday for our league game against the ironically nicknamed 'Posh'. At my previous away game excursion to Brentford earlier in the season, the difference in the noise created by our supporters was notable. However, the away terracing at Griffin Park was uncovered and as a result the sound was lost to the wind, and while it was enjoyable (apart from the result) it still didn't quite give me that tingle that I had associated with my first visits to Ashton Gate, when I would stand on the covered terraces of the East End and look on in awe at the East End boys giving it their all.

Peterborough was, however, everything I remembered and enjoyed about those long-gone days when we would stand together and cheer the boys on. The terracing at London Road was very reminiscent of the old East End. A long terrace stretching the width of the pitch behind the goal, with a roof that reverberated with noise every time we broke into song.

Don't get me wrong, I love Ashton Gate. It is after all our home, and the quickening of my step as I walk from The Robins pub to the ground after a pre-match drink will, I hope, never leave me. But the game at Peterborough brought so many memories flooding back that I couldn't help but be reminded of what got me hooked on football and City in the first place.

We by no means filled the terracing at London Road, but around 1,000 City supporters made the trip, and as the game approached and the singing got into full flow the hairs on the back of my neck once again stood up, and it felt like everything that going to football should be. The singing, the banter, the joy of scoring on another team's patch, the news quickly spreading that Wigan were losing, and the feeling that for 90 minutes at least, we were all friends together sharing in a common love of Bristol City.

The very epitome of everything I am trying to convey was encapsulated when Murray scored our third goal and sealed victory. For 45 minutes we had lived on our nerves (only a football supporter would spend a week looking forward to a game, to then spend half of the match wishing the time away). The songs kept coming, the hope of victory was still strong, but with the game at 2-1, the feeling that everything could be pulled away from us in a moment was always there and gave the second-half a nervous edge. But how gloriously this anxiety was shattered as Scott bundled the ball over the line.

The joy and shared celebration of scoring to confirm victory was wonderful (other than the thuggish behaviour of a few jumped up men in fluorescent coats) and will live with me like so many past memories. It is moments such as those, where strangers hug and stand face-to-face shouting with delight, that make football the game and occasion that it is. The fact that the goal came so near to the end of the game ensured that the singing and celebrating carried on up to, and beyond, the final whistle and when the players came over and joined us at the end it was nothing short of truly emotional.

As I walked back to my car trying (though not very hard) to contain a smirk and with a bounce in my step, I couldn't help but think back to the 'old days' when games were so often full of moments like that, and compare it with today's sanitized version of football, which while safer, will never bring memories like those I have of a cold Saturday in Peterborough.

Don't get me wrong. All-seater stadia were an inevitable and correct consequence of Hillsborough and the Taylor Report. But an afternoon spent on Peterborough's covered terracing couldn't help but lead me to one overriding thought about the old East End...Damn, I miss it.

edson