Hereford rely on load of bull
The following feature article was written by Tony Francis published in today's Daily Telegraph
Pagan ceremonies can be very moving, I just happen to think syrup of figs does a better job. The Bishop of Hereford obviously agrees otherwise he wouldn't have stayed at home on FA Cup day to take his medicine. He was well advised.
You couldn't move for wassailers blessing the apple trees and men with bells on their feet waving hankies at the sunset as though this revolving planet couldn't take care of things by itself.
Even I got roped in - to a pre-Christian ritual called Worshipping the Swede (not that one). Maybe I was carried away by the occasion. Long before Ronnie Radford scored the most televised goal in history to humiliate Newcastle United, Herefordians had turned cup football into a cross between an agricultural show and charter fair.
Bless 'em, they've only got a one-screen cinema in the city and the video shop lists High Noon among its latest releases.
Admittedly Wigan weren't Newcastle even though they did double the average gate. Then again, Hereford United 2002 are only a watery shadow of the swashbuckling side of 1971 when the only direction seemed to be up. Folklore said the River Wye overflowed with tears the day they sank into the Nationwide Conference.
Graham Turner has done his best to hold them together for six years. He bought 10,000 shares to become chairman as well as coach, chaplain and head of paperclips. "That was foolish," he confessed. Turner would leave tomorrow if the right person came up with the right offer. "It's a living but every day I wonder what the hell I'm doing here."
Ten minutes before kick-off I succumbed to paganism. Along with a dozen supporters I found myself kneeling in the Edgar Street mud to pay homage to a root vegetable with these words: "We pray to you, Oh you noble swede to help us in our hour of need."
Then we hoofed it into the Meadow End goal Radford made famous. "Can you believe they actually missed the target one year?" Though I say it myself, I had a good 45 seconds, more or less controlling midfield. The yellow card was just unfortunate.
By now 4,000 country folk were close to hysteria. They'd already been galvanised by Lower Hope Rembrandt, a pedigree Hereford bull paraded around the pitch in ritualistic fashion. There's nothing like a thousand kilos of prime sirloin to banish the memories of foot and mouth.
My mind went back to the Tottenham Cup tie of 1995 when Alan Sugar refused to allow Hereford to parade their bull at White Hart Lane on the grounds that it might run amok. To prove him wrong, Turner and his fellow directors promptly ushered one of Rembrandt's predecessors into the local china shop.
Although several thousands pounds worth of crockery miraculously escaped damage, the poor bewildered beast caused a major civic incident by evacuating its bowels in the Wedgwood section. Make up your own caption.
Oh yes, the match. United's heathen approach had Wigan running around in crop circles for 90 minutes until the Second Division leaders banged home the winning swede at the Derelict End.
Turner hadn't enjoyed himself so much since the VAT bill arrived. The cheque from Sky Television just about covered it. Sadly the profits made no impression on a £1.3 million debt Hereford must repay by next May or suffer the consequences of having the pitch sown with winter barley.
City councillors continue to enthuse about a £300 million regeneration of the whole area, including the stadium, but don't hold your breath. They're still waiting for a magnificent water feature they were promised when the old Town Hall was demolished. That was in 1864.
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