THERE’S something very, very special about at away win – something so exhilarating that it it sends a tingle down your spine.
It’s good – very good – but feels wrong at the same time. And when it’s a derby match to boot, it’s like sneaking into your next door neghbour’s house, drinking his beer, scoffing the half-eaten parmo in his fridge and then putting an arm round his wife.
At Newcastle on Sunday night I kept thinking of that Monty Python sketch where a loud, obnoxious couple turn up at the home of some people they met on holiday. They in turn have invited a whole gang of their friends and, before you know it, it’s complete anarchy.
And wasn’t it just like that at Newcastle on Sunday? A massive throng of visiting fans from Teesside, wigs, fancy dress, streamers, songs (I liked the one about how many Geordies it takes to fix a fence), the lot.
I expected John Cleese to pop up at any minute proclaiming he’d “taken the liberty of inviting a few friends”.
As terrace atmospheres in speedway go – you won’t find it any better than that (although, to be fair, the joyful nature of it may have been lost on the Newcastle fans).
There won’t be as many of us at Somerset on Friday night, but you can bet your life the Rebels fans will know the Bears are in town!