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Ipswich Barmy Bus

by Mike Dean

It goes without saying that Ipswich away is not the first trip that we look for when the eagerly awaited fixtures are printed off in the summer, however with the prospect of a trip to Germany only a couple of days away and the revised kick off time of 5.30 it was a high spirited journey from Cheadle.

With the bus being secured at a resonable 25 quid per person, the only flaw being the 'unable to board without a crate law' enforced by the Wall brothers to which half of mine had been polished of the previous night. Anyway as we headed into farmers territory, never in our wildest imagination could we have envisaged what was in store for the day.

The driver was your shy reserved type so there was no problems in stopping on the hard shoulder to 'let some out' although he did mumble something on the 4th time!.

And so, Ipswich was reached in good time. 1pm to be precise, nearly 5 hours before kick off, perhaps things were always going to get messy.

Big Grahams suggestion that we should take up 'base' in the Rileys snooker hall next to were our driver dropped us off were immaterial as the Australian guy refused to believe we were not football fans,- (think the 2 giant flags were a giveaway) and so we decended on the pub opposite, a stones through from the ground.

The next few hours were spent singing all the old dittys, including a fantastic 20 minute rendition of "Hello Hello we are the Busby boys etc...", and as both flags went up in the pub it looked like 99 percent of reds in (what was know a heaving pub) were that intoxicated they almost seemed dumbstruck that there was a game to go to. There something very eighties about the walls of a pub being adourned with giant flags, and as they came down we stumbled the short distance to Portman Road to what seemed like the most drunken away end of the season,-(perhaps Villa in the cup excluded!).

The game itself was a bit of none entity,(i think) with the most noteworthy aspect surely being Ipswich Roads toilets,- surlely a contender for cleanest football bogs of all time, which a certain member of our party can verify after the curry the night before almost got the better of him. Oh and the media outcry to Ruuds penalty- laughable.

And so the game finished and we walked out of the ground singing ,-(as you do) when some Ipswich shirt wearer took it upon himself to dish out a bit of abuse, before proceeding to lamp a right hander on 'the organiser' of our trip.

Now this was done directly in fron of the police and the poor fellow got carted of with plenty of verbal from us, before we suddenly realised that we had no idea were our bus as parked. After wandering around and declining certain members ideas of a 'quick pint while we sort our heads out' we saw the bus ,- parked right in the middle of the main Ipswich car park, right next to were the lad who got nicked had done his bravado.

We didnt realise his mates were still there, clocking our every move,- well you dont at Ipswich do you,- hardly Stanley Park. As we boarded the bus , a roar went up and 4 of our lot were exchanging blows with these 7 or 8 Ipswich lads, not a copper in sight!. The rest of our bus piled off and for a couple of minutes (along time in any 'off' as anyone 'involved' will verify) the Ipswich "lads" (?!) (who had started this melee) got a hiding, with only Big Gra, coming out of it with a ripped shirt and a bloody eye from our newly christened "battle bus".

As a helicopter circled above and what seemed like an army of police decended on our bus we were told to wait outside the bus while it got searched. It was lucky only the cans got confiscated, as the carribean fags were well and truly needed for the way home, and as we boaded the bus 'again' laughing at the ridicuolous Ipswich fans hurling abuse at us from the safety of behind the coppers we instructed the driver to 'stop at the nearest pub out of Ipswich' (as you do). Now the driver, not taking up our offer of a beer with the lads pre match, had watched a film on the mini bus and drained the battery.

We all then clambered out and with the Ipswich fans still hurling insults (still behind a police barrier) we push started the bus, to the amusement of myself who had stayed on board at this stage due to a bad shoulder,-(well,...i didnt want to pull a muscle!). And so we were on our way........again!. Certain things sober you up and as we drove off laughing uncontrollably at what had just gone on , we suddenly realised we had no beer, and one casualty. Gra had a cut under his eye that was seeping in blood, all down his pristine newly purchased Lacoste shirt, "driver, driver, yuv gota stop at Cambridge so we can clean up gra, he cant go home to his missus like that". The driver agreed for the princley sum of 2 quid extra per head,- which looking back he really should have asked for up front.

As we arrived in Cambridge on Saturday night, we decended first on grocery shop for food, and fags, the beer was thrown in for free. The best special offer ive ever known, 'buy 10 Bensons and get 6 Stella free' and after plonking these on the bus 'for later' it was a short walk to the nearest pub, upon which we entered to a startled barman and locals. The landlord looked as though he was either about to cry or he was extreamly happy, a sort of "please just drink lots and dont sing and cause trouble look".

Graham assured him that hed had an accident in the nearby shop and we settled down for a few pints. I looked round and realised the state of us all, and had a wry smile to myself,- Ipswich away, and here we are in Cambridge battered bruised and torn!, ridiculous really, i mean you expect it at Bellend Road or at the Boleyn!.

We thanked the landlord for his hospitality and stumbled again back onto the bus, for what seemed like that 200th time that day, luckily the bus started and we headed back for Manchester, discussing the events of the day and the forthcoming Cologne invasion. No one bothered to check if the driver had gone the right way, and when he was questioned he seemed a little vague. Sign post after sign post and not one, person recognised ANY of the places on them, until we saw a sign for Sheffield meaning that at 2am we were still probably an hour away. It was at this point i think every one made a subconscious decision to not pay there extra 2 quid. (The previous 25 had been paid in the morning). After all, the driver had parked in the wrong car park, drained the battery and got us lost.

Still we reckoned there was at least 8 or 9 cans on the bus left so Wally, decided he could make do with these, even if he didnt drink. Although some how i just couldnt see him taking up one persons idea of selling them in his local. Beer and good ideas just do not mix!.

And so we clambered off, at 3am in the morning, exactly 24 hours before i was supposed to be picked up for our dash to Stansted for an early flight to Frankfurt, i looked back on what was one of the strangest , most enjoyable and certainly most eventful away trips of a season packed full of them.

As we met up in Cologne, talk was still off what a strange day was had at Ipswich..........ahh the joys of following United!.

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