Ok, so the end result wasn't what we all really wanted (Well done Slough....there, I said it), but god-damn, that was a fucking awesome weekend of hockey, booze, and acting like an idiot (one of my specialities).
So, lets have a vaguely chronological rundown of what the hell happened:
Friday:
So, Friday began when I met some of my fellow reprobates (Caz, Ang, Russ, and Nathan) in the Wetherspoons on Piccadilly gardens. I was the last to arrive at 11.45, and with our train leaving at 12.27, there was just time to squeeze in a swift pint before headin on up to the train station (via Sainsburys for some 'road beers').
The trip down was eventful. We drank beer, played cards, and his our valuables when the travellers got on the train. Hell, Nathan even almost got into a fight when one of them called him 'four eyes'..which was actually damned near hilarious, given that the traveller in question was wearing a pair of glasses himself. Thankfully, before the carrige could errupt into violence (or guffaws) we had to disembark at sunny Coventry.
We then separated for a while as we went to our differing hotels. The Ramada was the hostelry of choice for myself and Russ. And what a damn fine location. A 'Scream' student pub next door, and 5 takeways opposite the hotle doors. Result. Dropped the bags off in the room, then it was swiftly on to the pub next door (the Aardvark) for a burger and beer combo. Which was damned nice for £3.75.
After that it was into Coventry itself for a bit of an explore, before settlling into 'Crosbys' for a few more beers (spotting a pattern yet, folks?).
The evening was spent exploring the bars of Coventry, including a rather interesting place inside an old church. Which was nice, if damned expensive...and beer with an ABV of 8%? YES PLEASE! After a detour to The Glasshouse (and a few apperances by the crazy move known only as 'The Fish') for a single beer split 8-ways after Brendas whipround (yes, we found even more reprobates, including Brenda, Linzie and Paul), it was on to Spon Street.
We eventually settled on the wonderful pub known as The Old Windmill. Where I headbutted a low hanging light fitting (an occupational hazard when you are over 6 and a half feet tall).
And I don't want to scare anyone, but we were all back in our hotels for about 11! I know, it's scarcely believable, but its fucking true. Pizza from over the road, then bed time for Robb and Russ (Damn, that sounds wrong).
Saturday:
So, after rising at the ungodly hour of 8am, Russ and I took a stroll around Coventry centre properly, locating the Wetherspoons pub we craved for a swift breakfast and coffee fix. Caz, Ang, and Nathan joined us at this point, and the drinking began. after we were all fed (and a bizarre incident involving a random old geezer just sitting next to me and Russ whilst we were eating), it was off to Crosbys (again), for an afternoon of beer and hockey (in that damn order).
Upon arriving at Crosbys, we set about drinking and enjoying ourselves. We were joined during the build up to the game by Ashley and his missus (whose name escapes me for the moment). For those who don't know, Ashley is 'Bud The Bison', the Basingstoke mascot, and was effectively 'on loan' tou us for the weekend, whether he wanted to be or not!
Pretty soon, people such as Tambo, Richard Allan, Brenda, et al began appearing, and for a while it was all bout the Phoenix and Bison as we pretty much took over Crosbys for an hour or two.
Comedy highlight of the build up to the first game was Tony Jones and Mikey turning up in Ed Courtenay jerseys and long, flowing blonde wigs. Naturally, much alcohol was consumed.
as for the first semi...well, it was a tepid affair if I'm honest, which I really didn't expect at all.
Then we began the final countdown towards our date with destiny. A rather fun and humerous bit of back and forth banter and chanting began in Crosbys during the wait between our very own Choir Boys, and some of the Bracknell contingent. This certainly helped relax some of the Phoenix Fans who were pretty much full of nerves at this point (and beer). Then it was time...
And we came so fucking close. Slough performed an act of robbery more audacious than even Ronnie Biggs could concieve of, managing a 2-1 win, despite being convincingy outshot. And this game was played like a paly off semi. Full of hard hits, played at a frankly stunning pace, and backed up with at time some of the loudest crowd noise I have ever heard at a hockey match. Sure, we went a quiet in the 2nd period, as nerves took hold, but the volume we generated in the 1st period, and towards the end of the 3rd was truly fucking epic. We screamed, we shouted, we sang our hearts out... but it wasn't enough.
The end of the game was a touch fractious, as when the hooter went, Andre Payette tried to get hold of one, or both of the Greener Brothers (or the little shits as I prefer to call them). Then in a move of true 'class' the Slough coach ran across the ice to his fans like he had won the fucking Stanley Cup.
Credit to the boys though, despite the fact that they were clearly all upset, Payette lined them all up for one last 'wave' before leaving the ice. And I swear he was crying (or at least damned close to doing so).
And for everyones edification, I shall now repeat what i said in the bar after the game:
FUCK. FUUUUUCK. FUUUUUUUUUCK! fuck.
AFter that there was only one course of action available... drink like there was no tomorrow (which, in a way there wasn't). o we had a beer in Crosbys, but when the door staff started letting the Chavs in, we buggered off to the Windmill, accompanied for the evening by Five Minute Majors Matt and Becky (aka Mattski93 and ladyhathaway), plus on loan Blaze fan, and writer of the Breakaway Blog, Paul Wheeler. Once firmly ensconced within the pub, we were swiftly joined by Ashley and his lovely missus (whose name I still can not fucking remember..aaarrrgh!)once more, and we set about having some fun.
And we did. There was beer, a glowing purple furry wand (which was used to dreate some truly filthy photos...they are on facebook for people to find), some glowsticks, a telling off from some Scimitars fans (they didn't like the general swearyness going on... well, tough shit, peeps), and some very nice bikers from the Coffin Scratchers Motorcycle Club). This was a truly epic night. I saw some new sights (such as a drunken Becky...now that was funny), some disturbing ones (if that truly is Pauls wanking face....ewww!), and drank a metric fuckload of beer (yes, its a real measurement).
And I think I'll detail Sundays goings on next time.
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