GROUNDHOP DAY

Accrington Stanley 0-0 Bradford City. League Two. 29/03/2025.

‘ One of them had tucked into an alleyway to relieve his bladder, only for an Accrington fan to spot him and shout for the attention of one of the million police officers about. He was instantly abused by the mates of the Phantom Pisser, with shouts of ‘Oh, you’re hard’ and ‘Grow up’. I felt like I was in the scene from The Inbetweeners Movie 2 where Simon and Will argued over women and canoes.’

Accrington Stanley, who are they? On Saturday, March 29th, I took a trip to Lancashire to find out. Yes, that was over two weeks ago. Unfortunately, life has got in the way since; that and the fact I’ve had a total mental block every time I’ve attempted to rustle up some words for this particular blog. However, just like paying your TV licence or getting an MOT, does it really matter if you’re a few weeks late? *T&Cs apply. GHD is not responsible for any fines received for late payments off the back of reading this article; this is not financial or life advice.

With a 5,450 capacity, the Wham Stadium is one of the smallest in the English football pyramid. It’s a stadium I had bookmarked as a must-go-to as soon as I had decided to start GHD. With all the health and safety regulations that come with the luxury of being in the higher leagues, these types of ‘lower league’ stadiums are a dying breed. Take Luton, for example; the price they paid for being promoted to the top flight for the first time in thirty-one years was to be ordered to invest twelve million pounds into their ‘Bobbers Stand’ to bring it up to Premier League broadcasting and facility standards. Whilst Kenilworth Rd still holds plenty of charm, you often find the purest football stadiums the further down the football pyramid you go. Anyway, this isn’t about Luton, nor is it about Kenilworth Rd. It’s about Accrington, ‘the football club that wouldn’t die’.

After just about recovering from my Wembley heartache, I was looking forward to more live football whilst my beloved Liverpool was out of action for another weekend. I had looked around the fixtures list and highlighted a few potential games to go to, but this one stood out the most. A 12:30 kick-off against high-flying Bradford City seemed the ‘tastiest’ of the League One and Two fixtures available that day. I asked my friend Ben (from the previous blog) if he wanted to come, as he is a Bradford fan. However, he didn’t fancy being in the Accrington end, so instead, he promised me a trip to a Bradford home game for the ‘full experience’ before the season’s up.

When I set off on the one hour and forty minute, ninety-mile trip, it was a blusterous morning; not the ideal weather for travelling over the Pennines. As my car took a battering from the gusts of wind, I passed the famous ‘M62 house’ with their washing out. A lovely day for it, the perfect combination of breeze and fuel particles. Although in their defence, they’ve got to dry it somehow. The story behind that house always fascinated me. The real reason that house is there is to do with a geological fault and unstable land beneath, meaning it was safer and more cost-effective to build around it. However, I much prefer the urban legend that as a stubborn Yorkshireman, the owner just refused to move once the construction workers came knocking.

As I made my way into Accrington, I thought it looked like a nice enough town. It was pretty scenic, due to it being located in and around an abundance of hills. The carpark I had chosen was roughly a twenty-minute walk from the stadium, which I always think is a perfect amount of time to soak up the surroundings and the atmosphere building up to the game. I soon realised I’d parked alongside the majority of Bradford fans, which wasn’t a problem with me being a Yorkshireman; I blended in perfectly. The remainder of their fans were pretty much all crammed into a pub I passed about halfway to the ground. The group of fans that drew my attention the most, however, were a bunch of lads I ended up following from the carpark to said halfway house pub. There was nothing particularly unusual about them; they were just a set of eighteen or so year old lads on their way to the football. A bit rowdy, and of course dressed in Stone Island jackets, but nothing you wouldn’t expect to see at any other football match. That is, until one of them decided to – out of absolutely nowhere – play knock-a-door-run at an unfortunate and randomly selected house on the way. There was a bizarre spontaneity to it, as well. It was almost as if a demon inside him just snapped, forcing him to turn around and run to the nearest door. Don’t get me wrong, I used to love playing knock-a-door-run when I was younger… but when I was about ten, not eighteen. Anyway, no one did come to the door, but I did pass the same house later, and the family were outside in the front garden looking happy enough; they’d obviously recovered from the traumatic experience. The possessed Stone Island youth then had the cheek to head into the pub just minutes later. Had I entered some parallel universe where people play children’s games and then go and get served a pint of Carling directly after? Weird.

Five minutes later, I walked past another group of Bradford fans. One of them had tucked into an alleyway to relieve his bladder, only for an Accrington fan to spot him and shout for the attention of one of the million police officers about. He was instantly abused by the mates of the Phantom Pisser, with shouts of ‘Oh, you’re hard’ and ‘Grow up’. I felt like I was in the scene from The Inbetweeners Movie 2 where Simon and Will argued over women and canoes. I left them to it and continued to the stadium.

The stadium itself is a mixture of weird-looking and beautiful, depending on which part you’re looking at. The ‘Jack Barrett Main Stand’ looks like the outside of a storage container, with its colourful, stripy style. The ‘Farley’s Solicitor Stand’, which I would be standing in, had an open and exposed concourse area directly through the turnstiles. This particular section had a feel of an NFL pre-game tailgate gathering – which I say as a compliment – due to it being situated at the back of a large carpark. The ground was nestled in the middle of a terraced area, but with park fields to the rear (behind the away end) and stunning views in the background. The whole stadium was supported by rusty red frames and a multitude of random sponsors, both of which weirdly added life to it. It’s a small stadium, inside and out, but it just had the feel of a real old-school and ‘proper’ stadium.

It’s also a stadium I very nearly didn’t get in to. As I asked about trying to locate the ticket collection office, I was greeted by a member of Accrington staff who instantly clocked for my Yorkshire accent. ‘You probably won’t get in; they’ll want to see ID to see where you’re from.’ I appreciated he was only doing his job, but I did have a slightly smug look on my face when I told him I’d already had the background checks done prior to ordering my ticket over the phone; essentially, they needed to know I wasn’t a Bradford fan who had previously attended Bradford games. Lucky I didn’t bring Ben, after all.

Once I had collected my tickets, I headed in through the bustling carpark concourse and into the stands. I had initially positioned myself to the left of the goal, behind some massive pre-match flags the fans had raised. However, I realised quickly that the ‘ultras’ were in the middle, directly behind the goal. With twenty or so minutes until kick-off, they were already banging the drums and waving their flags. Therefore, I gravitated towards them. I’m glad I did, too, as once the players started walking out, carnage unfolded. Flares were lit all around me, creating a mist of red. Confetti was flying everywhere, getting stuck all over the nets. Flags were everywhere you looked. It was genuinely a sight to behold; it was a sight that caught me completely off guard. No disrespect to Accrington, but I had heard about their low attendances. I knew this was a big game, so I did expect a better turnout and a better atmosphere. Nonetheless, I didn’t expect it to be like it was. It was loud, it was colourful, and it was bloody brilliant, to be fair. The real hardcore fans didn’t stop singing until about fifteen minutes in, and even that was only momentary; ‘Red army’ on repeat. There were a few impulsive chants in there, too. ‘Shove your famous Yorkshire puddings up your arse’ was a personal favourite, even though it did feel quite personal. I love a Yorkshire pudding.

The most notable element of the stadium was the away end, which was completely open and exposed. With no roof, the fans who stood within it were at the mercy of the weather gods. There were a lot of fans, too. I’ve praised Accrington fans, but I have to praise Bradford as well; their turnout – although only fifty miles up the M62 – was impressive for a League Two game. Holding no more than probably fifteen rows, it was a tiny stand, but a stand that looked as brilliant as it did small. Directly behind it was a beautiful countryside scene, perfect for daydreaming during a game as dull as this; boy was it dull. I’m not even going to try and sugarcoat it; the football on offer was diabolical. You sometimes get a good 0-0, ones where you leave scratching your head as to how neither team scored. This wasn’t one of those games. I genuinely think I could have gone for a local tour around both Blackburn and Burnley, and it would have still been 0-0 when I got back. I had to pay to watch it, too. Part of me thinks they should have paid me £22 to drive up and watch it (only kidding; it’s all part of the fun). Frustratingly, the two home games that have proceeded – before me writing this blog – have had five and six goals in them, respectively. The first of the two was a 1-4 defeat and the second a 3-3 thriller… I definitely chose the wrong game to go to. That being said, the atmosphere and the chants that were being sung in my game made it bearable and pretty enjoyable. ‘You’re fucking shit’ echoed around our stand as one of the Bradford players took the long way around to the subs bench an hour in. Ironically, I felt like singing that to every single player on the pitch.

As I made my way out of the stadium, the heavens opened; poor Bradford fans. Goals may not have flowed, but the rain certainly did. For the third consecutive game – Wembley not included – I had failed to see a home goal. I walked back to the car thinking I was either cursed or the curse of any team I visit. I would have loved for there to be a home goal in this game; it probably would have created wild scenes. Not to be, though. The quest goes on.

As for Accrington Stanley, I now know ‘exactly’ who they are now. They’re a proper football club, with a proper stadium and proper fans. It’s just a shame for them that their team is a bit shit.

Stadium: It’s a really nice stadium, definitely up my street. However, there’s something weird about the outside that put me off giving it a four. The inside is brilliant, though, and the exposed away end is stunning with the backdrop behind it.

Location: The location is decent enough, with a fair few pubs, shops and takeaways on the way. Nothing out of this world, but no complaints.

Atmosphere: If I’m keeping this relative to the number of fans inside the stadium and the amount of noise they made in the area I was stood, it has to be a four; their fans were class. That being said, judging by the ‘Where were you when we were shit’ chants after the tannoy announced the attendance, I highly doubt it’s like that every game. The other stands seemed pretty quiet, too. 

Mascot: There seems to be two mascots when I look online, ‘Fraser the Eagle’ and ‘Winstanley the Dog’. I was tempted to disqualify them from the category due to multiple entries, but I’ll give them a point each as they both look nice enough.