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Exeter Chiefs vs Sale Sharks 16/05/15


By snaderson
May 20 2015

It was a more subdued crowd who boarded the Fun-Bus for the return journey on Sunday morning. Most people, nursing hangovers and trying to keep a full English down while surrounded by others in the new away shirts, were lost in thoughts of the night before. Each one had their own story, and this is mine.

We had an early start from Edgeley but the comfy leather seats meant I could catch up on some sleep for a while, the time to wake up being when the Bucks Fizz and snacks came round the far side of Sandbach. Everyone was in a jolly end-of-term mood with the sun shining outside. A number of cowboys strutted along the aisle, hunting for Dee’s Mexican moustache, which had somehow gone walkabout, or possibly gone up in flames from one of her cigs. There wasn’t much in the way of traffic on the roads to hold us up and we arrived at Sandy Park just as the team were disembarking from their coach. Brian, our driver, gave them a friendly toot of his horn.

I had resisted the temptation of motorway food earlier, in the anticipation of some decent tucker at the ground. The curry from the wigwam worked a treat, washed down nicely with a pint of Hiawotter (from the Otter brewery – see what they did there?). Behind the beer tents there was a large grassy field, perfect for kids to run around on and the rest of us to lounge in the sun. Angela had a table of food spread out and I enjoyed a piece of Anthony’s square Scotch egg. Someone had brought Cueto masks for the occasion so, before we took our seats, we had a quick photo of 20 of us as ‘Team Cueto’. For some reason, behind the masks we all felt compelled to smile.

The seats weren’t great and the stand was a rickety, noisy affair. Hordes of children from junior rugby clubs thundered up and down the echoing steps throughout the match, while not cheering on their team with squeaks of ‘Chiefs, Chiefs, Chiefs!’ I felt slightly queasy so popped out for a beer before half time (glad to have done so, the queues at the break were huge). On my return there were some fan-based activities taking place on the pitch and I kind of tuned out, only to pick it up again when I heard the unlikely phrase, ‘Then you chase the giant otter up the field in order to win the cheese.’ We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

The second half action was all at the far end of the field again but this time it was Exeter doing all the business and succeeding where we had failed to score a bucket load of points. The game tumbled away from us and it was all topped off by Cuets ending his career in the sin bin. Cheers, Barnsey. At least it meant he could leave the field to a standing ovation, led very generously and admirably by the nice and friendly Exeter fans.

At full time the team came over to thank us for the support and a few came to shake hands, including Sammy, Johnny, Vadim and Jonesy, who gave Jill a kiss on the cheek. Back in the tents, Danny’s Disco was playing the Wurzels, so we grabbed drinks and returned to the still sunny field at the back until it was time to get the bus.

After checking into our hotel, we took the train to town and had an excellent meal at Harry’s restaurant. The head waitress knew her rugby and stopped to chat for a while, telling us Rob Baxter had been in the previous night, along with some of our lot who had travelled down early. Next on the agenda was the nearby Old Firehouse pub. It was a busy student pub, charging a pound on the door to get in. This turned out to be because there was a band on. A bunch of white guys with dreadlocks, Lion Star, took the stage to mellow us out with some party-time reggae. Everyone danced on the sticky flagstone floor, kicking occasional lumps of broken glass out of the way (on leaving the pub we had to clear the shards off our shoes before walking up the pavement). At the station a hen party kept us amused before a taxi turned up and finally, after a long, long day, we could collapse into sleep.

All that remained was the quiet journey home and a fantastically enormous carvery lunch – no plateful larger than ace organiser Roger’s – and another small doze to sleep the food off, happy in the knowledge of another brilliant away trip. Roll on next season.

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