Bristol City 1894

The kids wanted to go to Swansea away. I advised against it, strongly. Welsh away games are a particular kind of experience, usually involving being walked from the train station to the ground by the Heddlu in a slightly awkward kettle. The train is an experience in itself, a throwback to the football specials, packed to the gills with City fans, flags and Thatchers. The one to Cardiff last year was hectic; the carriage shaking whilst sat in the station, the songs rippling outwards. There are no seat reservations that matter on these trains, and the BTP are in the vestibules. It’s quite a journey.

For this reason, and because we’re still a bit traumatised by the West Ham train 3 years ago, I chose to drive. Away days are where we live, the expectation and hope that we will win. This is the dream. I’ve been going to away days for a few years now; I’ve also seen Exeter City away at a number of different grounds, and been in the away end at Newport County. But I’ve never seen Bristol City win away. I feel like I’m a curse on their fortunes. When I don’t go, they win. Last year we went to West Brom away and it was freezing cold and horrible and we lost – a sallow, shitty loss featuring nothing of merit. This year I opted out, for this reason, and we won. So it goes.

Back to Swansea, probably my least favourite team. Maybe apart from Wrexham and Birmingham and Man City. It’s not that I don’t like them, more I just don’t like their vibe; their proper chippy angry fans who constantly look like they’re on the verge of punching someone, anyone, or bursting into tears. This is both home and away. There is also Severn-side history between City and the Swans; minor, slightly handbaggy eruptions of violence between small groups “with the intention of drinking to excess and seeking confrontation“. Hence my vague reticence. But it’s a ground to be ticked off, one we hadn’t visited, and I added the hefty caveat “You’ll want to go Swansea right up until the point where you’re stood in the away end, hearing a chant of “Fatty, Fatty, Show us your tits” to a proudly corpulent swans fan, at which point we might all question our life choices.

We parked somewhere in Manselton, 20 minutes walk from the ground. The kids insisted on wearing their scarves, caps and shirts, so they “could represent”, and would take no advice from me on keeping a low profile, so we went with it. Our route was scenic. It took in an archetypal Welsh Baptist Church; square, sturdy, impressive, built to last. The car parking set up was elaborate.

Everything was fine. It got a bit spicy when walking past the Railway Arms, so we crossed over. Grown men were looking at us in a way that said ‘quizzical with an underlying sniff of violence’. We came across some other City fans who were relatively taciturn. P does a great Welsh accent – she can do pretty much any accent. I counselled her against doing it here.

The stadium isn’t too bad, as far as identikit new-build stadiums go. It sits in the valley, surrounded by trees and overlooked by hills. Some of this pastoral beauty disappears when you get close; it has the usual features of a retail park and a ring road that all new stadiums have.

We were early, which suits me. It means you can get to your designated seat. People get really worked up at away games, but as long as you remember a couple of key principles, it’s ok:

1. If you want to sit in your designated seat, get there early. (You don’t choose the seat, it’s allocated for you) Otherwise, sit where you can.
2. If you want to sit down, you can, but you’ll be the only person in that section sitting down.

The Swansea mascot is a swan. It’s a slightly shonky looking swan, to be fair, and the curved neck – although anatomically correct – gives an impression of sadness. In the pantheon of mascots I would say it’s one of the sadder ones. I feel like they’ve gone for zoological accuracy over vibes, and the result is a genetically modified cross, a man with a transplanted swan’s neck and skull, and two tiny wings which look like hands, if those hands had been crushed by a lorry. The feet were a let down; Rocky and Robin have decent feet. Cyril has human trainers.

We were right down the front, row 4. This meant we had a very flat view of the pitch and we were going to get damp. Neither of these things improved the experience. We were also near the home fans singing section. Swansea fans sing loud. They definitely outsung the away fans, and were more coordinated. The classics were wheeled out early, and sung throughout: tractors and sheep love the two topics, sung by both sets of fans.

From a football perspective, City seemed lively enough. We were unlucky not to score via Sinclair Armstrong, early on. Noah Eile looked great in defence. Swansea scored through Vipotnik, a messy goal, given away by Borges after a string of positional errors. Once that happened, we never really looked like scoring. The kids were increasingly frustrated, as was I, and feeling more like the agent of away match death with each passing minute. Riis hit the bar, Twine fell over/was pushed, corners came and went, we lost, all to the tune of low-rent anti-Welsh sentiment. Max Bird came on but didn’t manage to repeat last week’s goal of the season, sadly.

It was wet and slippery and by the end we were cold and pretty miserable. The Swansea fans were elated. They ‘sung’ one chant which was just noise for around 20 minutes. I can’t remember what it was, maybe a bit of the muppets theme tune, something like that. It went round and round and they were having a great time.

Perhaps it’s this bit I don’t like: the lazy Nationalist sentiment. Maybe some see it as classic bantz. I tend to see it as myopic racism, especially when the people behind are repeatedly shouting “get stuck into the Welsh c**t”, at full volume, and without any self-awareness. The c-bomb was dropped about 30 times. It was tiring. Even the ref was castigated for being Welsh. He was born in Luton. Surely I’m not the only one the crowd with a Welsh background, Bristol by way of Mamhilad. Ah well, stupidity is always the enemy.

We can’t go to Port Vale away, after it got moved. This is disappointing. But maybe that’s good for the club that I’m not going. Blackburn away is a school night, with the next match being Watford on Friday, then some possible jiggery pokery with the Coventry fixture because of the FA Cup, and I might go up to Middlesbrough for a bit of a far far away day. These tend to be fairly spartan. I went to Hull a few years ago and there weren’t really that many of us. You feel slightly outnumbered but also pretty hardcore.