Wales 1 Slovakia 5
Euro 2008 Qualifier
So we were off to Cardiff to watch the boys in red perform heroics again. Like 2002 there was quite a lot of hope about, this being Wales the hope was probably only a smooth vaneer over reality. You have to retain some optimism though.
The day started early, earlier than we had intended as our original plans had fallen through. Two places for Gaz and I were booked on a coach run by Llandudno Junction Football Club yet when I went to pay on Wednesday I was informed that I was too late as the coach had already been paid for. The organiser had neglected to tell me that he needed the money a week earlier. On the bright side there would be less scallies per square foot on a train and therefore no-one would sing songs about English teams.
Chris was going to Cardiff too with his workmates from Arriva trains. He appeared out of the office while we were waiting for the train to turn up. Despite the fact he's English he was wearing a red shirt so in my book that meant he was supporting Wales.
As we waited we chatted about today's prospects. My doubts started to appear as I remembered the last qualifying matches. While I was recalling crushed dreams the train arrived and it looked a bit familar, it was the train from last night. This was not bad in itself but it only had 2 carriages and as this was only the second stop it was a little discouraging to find the train this full. The next time your train is either late or too small don't moan at the conductor or driver as they didn't choose which one to use, Chris and his workmates were also moaning about the standard of train.
On the train I saw my first Bangor fan of the day, a regular who wasn't at Flint for some reason. It's rather rude of me but I can't recall his name. He was extremely surprised that we had lost, as we all were last night. The train filled as it sped along the North Wales coast, so much so in fact that by the time we got to Chester it was packed. At Prestatyn one of the pupils that I had taught a few weeks ago got on, what a joy as he was extremely cocksure. It's always a dodgy situation seeing pupils in social situations; you can't do anything as your life can be hell in school if an embarrassing situation is witnessed.
While we were in Chester station some bright spark had requested that more carriages be added, it was lucky that Arriva employees were travelling with us today. It was a good job that this carriages were added; at Wrexham the train filled again and this time rather rapidly. At least we had a table though. By the time we got to Abergavenny I felt that we'd been travelling for about 8 hours and not 3 due to my lack of sleep. Bloody home games, it's not like we're exiled Welsh fans, we only live here.
We got into Cardiff on time but we were stuck fast, we couldn't move on the platform or get past the ticket barrier very quickly. The sunlight carressed our faces as we enjoyed the space to breathe and finally stretch. After visiting a camera shop we settled upon the Owain Glyndwr, a pub to get us in the mood. The only mood in there seemed to be one of rudeness and extracting as much money as possible however. Whilst we were in there I saw my second Bangor fan, this time aristocracy, the vice-chairman of the Supporter's association. He too was shocked at the result as he'd travelled down last night and missed the game. We now had to meet Chris in a bar called the Yard.
We rushed to get to the Yard as there was a degree of urgency in Chris' tone. Unfortunately after we'd been served Chris informed that they were off to another pub but assurred us that they would wait for us there. While in the Yard we saw our first Slovakians, football + beer = the international language. After another rushed drink we were off for our second rendezvous. 
The cottage was an extremely nice pub; nice staff, no queuing and (even better) non- smoking. After Dublin I knew that this is a particular boon if you are looking to save money on washing powder. A few drinks were quaffed. As well as helping the time to pass in a jovial fashion with my new friends it also helped to create a feeling of heady anticipation. As kick off approached the group separated. Because I started to fret about finding the ideal position for the flag we hurried into the ground. I asked a steward how many would be attending, about 21,000 was the answer. Great!!!! Another home game in front of a less than half-full ground. What brilliant planning. 
On the up side that meant plenty of room for the flag. The first position I chose may have inhibited the view of the prawn-munchers so it had to be moved. After careful consideration I saw another perfect place with possible TV coverage, however an updraft would have restricted the view of ordinary fans.
I finally settled on a position at the opposite end of the ground. Having to move there meant that I missed the anthems. I also thought a better stay close to the flag to ensure it would remain in position and not be recycled into dusters. Next time you see a load of flags festooned around a ground you need to appreciate the effort that is made to ensure prominence and hence future conversations with people. It's not as easy as it looks you know.
Gaz remained in our original seats at the other end and I was surrounded by empty plastic. The stadium has an errie feel when it's about a third full, even though it contained more than the population of Llandudno. The game seemed to be going well; Wales were playing like we had against Brazil and the Czechs, then Slovakia scored, not to worry though, it was only early. They scored again as Jones passed to their attacker, oh dear. (When Dan texted me at half time to say that Jones had a special 50th Cap haircut I knew that it was a pecurser of a shocking performance, as these things tend to be)
A couple of blokes arrived to sit in front of me and we three tried our best to lift the team, we only needed a goal and we'd be back in with a chance of qualifying. Then Wales scored, our singing had paid off. Much slapping of hands with my newest friends took place, followed by more singing. This euphoria lasted about 3 minutes until Slovakia scored again. One of my two new friends encapsulated the feeling of every true Welsh football fan, "It's soul-destroying, isn't it?". Never has a more succinct analysis been made about the Welsh national team.
Every time in my life when Wales have managed to look to be on the verge of something either ineptitude or ill luck has ended any chances. It was only the second game this time, so at least we were out of our misery early for a change. That Slovakia only had three shots on target and scored three goals rubbed salt into a never closed wound.
When I tried to find Gaz at half he'd disappeared like our chances. He texted me to say that he was where I had been sitting in the first half. The disorienting power of a negative football result meant that I didn't mind the hassle of moving too much. At least now I would have some company, company that understands football and communicates, talking to yourself garners funny looks. We settled down to watch the proceedings in a optimistic frame of mind because we knew that an early goal might lead to an amazing comeback. There was an early goal, unfortunately Slovakia scored it. It was becoming worse; the shot looked like a cross.
A look over to the Slovakian fans meant a look at unbridled joy and I hated them but why is it so hard to take? These people only looked like we would if the the situations were reversed. I noticed that they had a banner proclaiming that "Pressburg Rules" (Pressburg is the German for Bratisalva.). Being a student of history I knew that Slovakia was an ally of Germany in WWII, was this a neo-nazi group? Or had these people been cryogenically stored and only thawed out two weeks ago? Pondering this took my mind off the game. Instead of taking an active part it was like watching a 3-D TV picture, something to get in the way of conversation. Slovakia then scored their fifth and it barely registered, we were definitely not going to win now. My thoughts shifted on to wondering what was Wales' biggest defeat. Because there was still half and hour left I started to comtemplate whether they would better it today. I finally started to wonder how the hell Wales were 5-1 down to team that was basically crap, why could Wales never manage do that?
With the match gone Gaz started to amuse himself by singing about Robert Page and John Hartson. His singing then moved on to "Show me the way to go home" as a round. This was funny for about 2 minutes but beacme irritating after 15. The local teenagers egging him on were to blame. To take our minds off the horrors in front of us we decided to take the flag on a tour of the stadium whilst proclaiming about the Jet Set.
On our way around I saw another face from Bangor, Mash. The view was a bit better here but then the final whistle went and we all trooped towards the exit. I saw another Bangor fan in the toilet, this one called Elwyn. Someone told us that this was Wales' biggest defeat for nearly 100 years, since we lost by a similar score to England. My question had been answered.
We met up with Chris and Garth in the Cottage again to find that two of the younger members of the group had purchased Cardiff City Shirts, what's wrong with Bangor?. We all had a few medicinal beers and despite the hammering it's been a good day. A good day until the train ride home that is, even though we were slightly buoyed by the fact that England hadn't won. On the platform I spotted two Welsh Fans that I'd met in Milan, we had a nice chat about life until the train arrived. Again thank god for travelling with Arriva workers, they knew that another carriage was about to be added so told us to wait and we would have more comfort.
The journey home was marked by a booze filled singalong that was extremly good fun until Gaz started to sing anti-South Wales songs, as is his want when alcohol has been consumed. This narked a few of the passengers, understandably you may argue. When one of them could only see Garth and I, Gaz had retreated into his seat and became silent threats were made towards us. Then as he got off he threatened us again with the old slit throat gesture at our window. Ah the magic of football. The mood was subdued by this so the train weaved its way up north quietly. On the way to the toilet I encountered a few Slovakian fans and enquired where they were headed, Llandudno was the answer, what a small world. 
We eventually got off in Llandudno Junction without a lift as Gaz had got off the train rather sheepishly in Colwyn Bay and took our lift with him. We did manage to get into Llandudno in time for last orders in order to relate our story to the other members of the Jet Set. All in all two thirds of a good day (nine tenths without the football)
It's the hope I can't stand
