Friday April 30th 2004

I awoke at 5:15am and immediately rang Buzz.
“Are you up Buzz? We are due to leave in 45 minutes!”
“Hello.”
“Buzz, it’s Martin. Are you up yet?”
“I’m in Wales!”
“Buzz you moron, we go on tour today!”
“Hello.”
“Have you been drinking Buzz?”
“That’s very kind, I’ll have a scotch.”
“Buzz, there are 2 of us waiting for you to pick us up.”
“Am I in a club?”
“Depends on how you see Zeus!”
“Hello?”

I hung up!

5:30
Ring ring!
“Hello Buzz.”
“You were supposed to be ringing me to get me up!”
“I did but you…how long will you be Buzz?”
“A f*** sight longer than I would have been if you had rung me as planned!”
“I…see you when you get here.”

5:32
Buzz arrived and we left to pick up Adrian. Sadly Adrian was ill and although he made a valiant attempt to join the trip, we only got as far as Rayleigh when he realised that 5 hours with Buzz wasn’t going to help.

And so our tour began in earnest and we began our trip to the North East.

Buzz talked of ages gone by and cup finals at Roots Hall, of his brothers assets, of the satellite engineers close community, of Wales and Basildon Irish. Eventually we reached the M25.

The journey was mostly uneventful and only a phone call from Woody disturbed the silence. Eventually, plans were made to meet in Grantham for breakfast with Ingram, Docherty, Wood and Wood.
“Isn’t that Thatcher’s constituency?” asked Buzz.
“Well it was.” I replied.
What followed was a tirade of expletives from my near coronary companion that are best left unmentioned!
“F****** speed cameras!”
“Sorry?”
“Speed cameras! Bloody Thatcher’s idea.”
“Oh I see.”
“Did you know that there are 24,500 of the buggers on the A1 according to my mate.”
“I’ve seen 7 so far.”
“Taylor ought to play sweeper.”
“What?!!!”
“He ought to be sweeper!”
The transition from speed camera to Taylor was not really surprising other than ‘speed’ and ‘Taylor’ being mentioned in the same sentence. If Buzz could switch play as quick as topic he’d be managing Real Madrid whom I only just discovered he beat in the Len Forge trophy as manager of York Road Casuals!

Eventually we arrived at the appointed golf club in Yarm.  Buzz was tired from the drive but I was immensely pleased with my FA coaching award I had received during the last 4 hours.

The club looked welcoming and inside the hardy tourists supped and awaited our arrival. Buzz, clad in denim, intimidated the club pro who reluctantly announced the club dress code. Another 40 minutes and one search party later, Buzz arrived in the clubhouse to rapturous applause. We sat and chatted as if it were some great reunion of friends who had been reunited after some years.

Taylor announced the handicaps and groupings for the contest over 18 holes. Ingram was visibly distressed at being cut to 21 and immediately began work on his excuses.

And so to the tee.

Jacobs stood with his camera, ready to photograph each players opening shot. I couldn’t help but notice his tired, withered expression and momentarily I was concerned. But then I remembered he had spent two days with no company other than an octogenarian headcase, a fluorescent ten-pin bowling ball and Neil!
“Serves the bastard right!” I thought, remembering my mistake two years hence.

What seemed an age later, and in reality it was, we arrived at the end of the round. The unfortunate grouping of Wood (senior), Ingram and Docherty had held up the course unnecessarily. It was obviously an etiquette unfamiliar to the trio that a chat on the green after completing the hole and the fact that marking of your card can be done after the ensuing tee shot is just not cricket. We prepared for the enraged members in the clubhouse!

“Where’s Buzz?” asked Wood (junior)
“In the pro shop getting shafted.” replied Docherty.
“Oh!…bought more tees then!”

At 8 o’clock we left for our accommodation. Taylor and crew were appointed in the town centre fortunately and the remainder about a mile outside.

On arriving at the guest house, rooms were allocated and no one wanted to share with Belford! Buzz was with Ian, the Woods shared and others were single. It was agreed with our hostess that she would await the late arrival of Belford and Ian and we left for the town pubs. We arrived at our destination and formed a huddle. Never had we seen such cramped pubs but it was a relief that we had Taylor with us and he had formed a chalked, circular area that only familiar faces were allowed to enter.

Many of our troupe, tired from the long journey decided that an earlier than expected night was in order and just a ‘few swift ones’ was the order of the day. As we stood in the queue for the nightclub at midnight, Charlie, looking more like Don Estelle by the minute began singing ‘Whispering Grass’. This of course caught the imagination of the locals who became eager to see more and consequently a record taking was recorded by the club. 5000 clubbers squeezed into the room to marvel at the athleticism of the team.

At 2 o’clock we left for home, prepared for the morning contest.

Saturday 1st May 2004.

The Field View guesthouse visitors arrived at 8 o’clock for a hearty breakfast to discuss the age of the previous nights clubbers. It was generally agreed that blonde and 32 meant grey and 54. It was unanimous! Our genial host, Martin Maggiore arrived and we followed him on the way to Chester-Le-Street, birthplace of the footballing Charltons.

Durham County Cricket Club was the venue for our first game and the pitch was an ideal surface for quality football. However, a lack of quality footballers soon put paid to this.

“F****** hell Woody I feel like shit!”
“Sorry Buzz but you have to play, we only have Knocker as sub.”
“There was something wrong with that beer last night.”
“We all feel ok Buzz.”
“For f**** sake. It reminds me when I was manager of…..”
“Ref! Sub please.”

The game got off to a brisk start and the early exchanges were even. Taylor was dominant in his circle of fear, I was industrious, Jacobs pedestrian, Smith rotund. The side was up for a battle and you could sense an air of expectancy that Simon was going to be lobbed. Simon was lobbed for 1-0 and almost immediately, lobbed for 2-0!  Zeus dug deep and came up with a plan. If we could avoid touching the ball, then maybe they would f*** up and we would be back in it. Ian duly obliged. Rising like an adder, he calmly headed onto his own shin and the deficit was reduced. A toe poke home from me and parity was restored. All square. The Durham City Strollers kicked off and immediately ran on goal. Simon, now wise to the lob prepared himself and waited on pointed toes for the shot. As he flew gracefully into the air, the forward calmly rolled the ball beneath him into the net!
“For f***s sake referee, can’t you tell us when we are going to start?”
“I thought the whistle was a clue.”
“Leave the referee alone Buzz.”
“You bastard! When Ian and I played for the Southend Regional Knob Cheeses, we were always told when we were starting.”
“Lager?”
“Thank you very much. Where did you buy those watches?”

A disappointing 5-4 defeat that was only memorable for a half way finish from the kick off when the opposition keeper misjudged a pacy swirling shot from myself.

The pub after was quiet whilst the boys reflected on what might have been. If Chas had pace, if Ingram had been fit, if Goodge and Riley had been there and had Mason been arrested yet? Subdued, the boys ate heartily of Northern sausage and chips before leaving for the Stadium of Light in sunny Sunderland.

“That’s impressive,” said Buzz.
“Big and round.” Mellor replied.
“What do you want?” said Steve.
“Lager.” Said everyone!

The game was a game of two halves as is often the case in football. Sunderland attacked imaginatavely and Crewe defended inspirationally. The second half was oh so different. In a separate enclosure to the rest of Zeus, (which upon investigation was circular), Taylor quipped…
“For f***s sake! I am better than that!”
“Sub.” shouted McCarthy.
“I want you to dominate the central zone.”
“Easy! Can I take my lager?”
“If you must.”
“What about Neil?”
“Sorry, the bogs have flooded and he is helping out as a sandbag at the moment.”

The crowd were pleased to see the robust central figure on the pitch and relaxed in the knowledge that while he rotated on a big sixpence the pies were safe. However, a lapse in concentration and Crewe eluded our hero to equalise. Then followed scenes of mayhem. The referee approached the assistant referee to query a possible offside…
“Was he in a position that wasn’t interfering with play when the pass was made?”
“For f***s sake! You Northern bastards question everything!”
“You weren’t in my changing room earlier! Where’s the lino?”
“First aid!”
“Why?”
”I chinned the twat!”“I’m sorry?”
“I have been running the line for years now and that prick was clueless.  Now f*** off while I get to the launderette.”

And so Buzz became a legend.

Arriving back in Yarm, the boys stopped off for a drink in a quaint pub. There was a query over the quality of the food so it was agreed that we would return to our villa for a shower and then decisions would be made as to our evening eatery.  Buzz, Ian, Belford and myself returned as planned and waited.

3 hours later, and no sign of the boys.

“For f***s sake I’m starving.” whispered a Saunders
“Lets just go.” replied another Saunders.

Upon close inspection, the boys were found enjoying an evening meal. Bastards! What happened to ‘stick together’? Once again we ended up in a pub. The turncoat team arrived and informed us that they had negotiated with the management of the resaurant for a late drink but we were not invited as we were not their friends anymore. But the faithful are rewarded and Jacobs, Taylor, Smith, Mellor, Butler and Belford had a much better evening than the rest.

Wood (senior) quipped in the morning…“When we got home we had toast!”

Whoopee! I have kept it secret until now but when I got to the club, I bought a bag of nuts!! Take that Woody! It was of course a traditional Zeus evening and as I can’t remember it, Saturday ends here!

Sunday 2nd May 2004.

Various accounts of the night before were regailed over breakfast. Those in the toast party were technically guilty of theft having taken without consent. Fortunately our genial host was beaten into submission by the silver tongue and haired Wood brothers. The remainder graced the Keys nightclub until the early hours and tales of what might have been were given to any who would listen or were accosted by Smith.

The journey to the game was short and the lads prepared by insulting each other. The sexuality of some was questioned, the ability of others to play football and how did Taylor survive such massively high blood pressure?

The synthetic pitch looked and was glorious until we arrived on it.

Taylor had been sold to the opposition on a free and looked fetching in blue. Zeus, as thoughtful as ever, considered very carefully our location in a Middlesborough stronghold and opted for black and white stripes!
“For f***s sake! Nobody is moving.”
“That’s because we’re pissed Buzz.”
“We’ve got to pass the ball on the ground.”
“Buzz, I can’t see the ball.”
“For f***s sake!”
“5-4-3-2-1 coming ready or not!”

A much younger opposition (excepting Taylor) ripped the defence apart and soon took a 13 goal lead.

“For f***s sake ref, he was offside again!”
“I thought he was on.”

At times the banter was merciless and I was derided by a group of young football fanatics who had gathered by the pitch side.

“Oi! Toon twat. Yowar f***in' rubbish!”
“Actually we’re not Newcastle fans and we don’t even like the kit!”
“Your still f***ing rubbish.”
The youngster had me.
“Buzz. Can you have a word with this kid? He says your rubbish.”
“He’s having a lie down Butts.”
“Why?”
“His legs have stopped working.”
“I knew you would notice at some point during the season!”

And so the game finished in a satisfying defeat at the hands of a young team. Jacobs, struggling with his hip and 4 days with Taylor only lasted 5 minutes. This was agreed as the reason for our loss.

And so to our farewells at the pub.

Our host and tour guide Martin who has my vote for player of the season thanked us for our efforts and we returned his kind words.

So what were the tour highlights? Well perhaps the fact that Taylor really did manage to organise a successful tour, Mellor proving that the drugs do work but only Ibuprofen in 12000mg doses. Ian’s sense of humour? And Zeus on the map in Yarm!

“For f***s sake Ian! Why didn’t you hit anyone?”
“That’s what Wednesday nights are for Buzz!”

Goodnight...........................................oh yes, nearly forgot...........................Jacobs scored.