Grimsby Town away Feb 2002:
Our van skidded on ice and hit a roundabout, knackering the front end.
We eventually got to Cleethorpes and decided to have a kickabout on the beach. Then a patient at a nearby residential home came and joined us, he was mad as a box of frogs and shouted racist jokes at the top of his voice whilst we tried to make it look like he wasn't with us. He then fell over and had an asthma attack so we had to call an ambulance.
Got inside the ground, which was fucking freezing so I got a Bovril to warm up.I was sat supping my drink and reading the programme just before kick off when Paul Peschisolido's stray practice shot whacked my hand, which dislocated my middle finger and also caused me to spill red hot Bovril on my bollocks.
I had to snap my finger back into place, in the freezing cold, whilst already in agony from the scalded scrotum situation.
We dominated the game but ended up losing 1-0, and at the end of the match there were scuffles in the away end between pro and anti Warnock fans.
Hung around in Cleethorpes for a bit, bought some chips, dropped them two minutes later when I slipped and fell on my arse.
Then three lads in our group started scrapping outside the arcade with some locals and the coppers told us to fuck off home. Which I thought was an excellent idea.
I'm never going back.[/QUOTE
That was the strange thing about Grimsby. You had to go to Cleethorpes to find some fish and chips. Something I have never forgotten nor understood.