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The Earl of Chesterfield, on 24 May 2025 - 07:49 AM, said:
Seasons come, seasons go.
Games come, games go.
Results come, results go.
Ups, downs, us above them, them above us and loads in between.
But there're two episodes which can never, ever be erased or replicated.
The first, a mid-week meeting in nineteen ninety five at a stormy Saltergate. A Mansfield managed by the unfailingly flamboyant Andy King hosted by a Chesterfield managed by the invariably phlegmatic John Duncan.
Yin versus Yang on so many levels.
Nothing between the sides following the previous Sunday at Field Mill, it was the blue and yellow be-striped visitors (a design likened to concentration camp garb by the 'Crooked Spireite' fanzine with tongues so obviously thrust into cheeks) who broke the deadlock, the Paul Holland later to become a semi final legend nodding home early on.
Only for the ever likeable Tony Lormer to hammer in an equaliser shortly afterwards.
A Nicky Law stumble allowed Steve Wilkinson a second - another to swap yellow for blue as his career progressed - though again quickly cancelled, this time by Johnny 'Agent Mulder' Howard.
At which point the fun and frolics really began.
The latest of a succession of tackles-cum-assaults saw one Staglet take the walk of shame. Later followed by another as Tairn dominance turned into disintegrating desperation on their part. These absolutely legitimate and unarguable reds were punctuated by Club Captain - and soon to be promotion winning leader - Law atoning for his earlier error by converting a corner then penalty, delivering the super soaraway Spireites an unassailable lead.
Cross Street terraces left deserted by a funereal procession of departing Staglets then witnessed a second for Howard and fifth for us. An exodus of embarrassment as we planned our routes to Wembley.
All of which means each and every Chesterfield supporter now has the inalienable right to approach any Mansfield supporter, performingly point to their watch or nearest clock, before asking 'Excuse me - is it five-two yet....?' in the most mocking manner possible.
The second was even more soul crushingly humiliating for our little neighbours.
Realising he could sell tickets to our ever expanding fanbase whilst locals were far more likely to be Forest loyal, Mansfield owner Keith Haslam decided to cede three of his four stands to us for our early twenty first century visit.
Yeah, okay, it's really three and whatever they dub their Bishop Street ruins, but the point remains. Especially as Staggie season tickets holders, evicted from their bought and paid for positions in favour of their most hated enemies, were reduced to calling trading standards officials to complain, never knowing some on the end of the phone were lifelong Spireites.
Adding to queues at the North Derbyshire Royal Hospital A&D dept complaining of ribs dislocated by laughter.
Queues extended exponentially by the day itself, a day which saw the Field Mill area of Mansfield annexed by Town fans. Turned into an enclave of Chesterfield. Consecrated Spireite soil. Indeed, the chaos even extended when those turning up with seemingly double sold tickets had to be ferried around the pitch to find seats.
Fans soon celebrating when CFC striker Lawrie Duffield grabbed the game's only goal. Spireite songs in surround sound. The sun bursting through white clouds against a blue sky to illuminate a similar vista below.
Of course this simply cannot happen at ours'. We have a proper stadium, designed with proper segregation, to accommodate proper crowds. Crowds which, as we've come to expect, are overwhelmingly 'all Town aren't we'.
So don't be surprised at threads thousands of pages long on their website. Their anguished and hysterical obsession. Make no mistake - these events left long and lingering lesions. Scars which will never heal. Wounds at which they continue to claw regardless of context.
Scabs, in other words...
Games come, games go.
Results come, results go.
Ups, downs, us above them, them above us and loads in between.
But there're two episodes which can never, ever be erased or replicated.
The first, a mid-week meeting in nineteen ninety five at a stormy Saltergate. A Mansfield managed by the unfailingly flamboyant Andy King hosted by a Chesterfield managed by the invariably phlegmatic John Duncan.
Yin versus Yang on so many levels.
Nothing between the sides following the previous Sunday at Field Mill, it was the blue and yellow be-striped visitors (a design likened to concentration camp garb by the 'Crooked Spireite' fanzine with tongues so obviously thrust into cheeks) who broke the deadlock, the Paul Holland later to become a semi final legend nodding home early on.
Only for the ever likeable Tony Lormer to hammer in an equaliser shortly afterwards.
A Nicky Law stumble allowed Steve Wilkinson a second - another to swap yellow for blue as his career progressed - though again quickly cancelled, this time by Johnny 'Agent Mulder' Howard.
At which point the fun and frolics really began.
The latest of a succession of tackles-cum-assaults saw one Staglet take the walk of shame. Later followed by another as Tairn dominance turned into disintegrating desperation on their part. These absolutely legitimate and unarguable reds were punctuated by Club Captain - and soon to be promotion winning leader - Law atoning for his earlier error by converting a corner then penalty, delivering the super soaraway Spireites an unassailable lead.
Cross Street terraces left deserted by a funereal procession of departing Staglets then witnessed a second for Howard and fifth for us. An exodus of embarrassment as we planned our routes to Wembley.
All of which means each and every Chesterfield supporter now has the inalienable right to approach any Mansfield supporter, performingly point to their watch or nearest clock, before asking 'Excuse me - is it five-two yet....?' in the most mocking manner possible.
The second was even more soul crushingly humiliating for our little neighbours.
Realising he could sell tickets to our ever expanding fanbase whilst locals were far more likely to be Forest loyal, Mansfield owner Keith Haslam decided to cede three of his four stands to us for our early twenty first century visit.
Yeah, okay, it's really three and whatever they dub their Bishop Street ruins, but the point remains. Especially as Staggie season tickets holders, evicted from their bought and paid for positions in favour of their most hated enemies, were reduced to calling trading standards officials to complain, never knowing some on the end of the phone were lifelong Spireites.
Adding to queues at the North Derbyshire Royal Hospital A&D dept complaining of ribs dislocated by laughter.
Queues extended exponentially by the day itself, a day which saw the Field Mill area of Mansfield annexed by Town fans. Turned into an enclave of Chesterfield. Consecrated Spireite soil. Indeed, the chaos even extended when those turning up with seemingly double sold tickets had to be ferried around the pitch to find seats.
Fans soon celebrating when CFC striker Lawrie Duffield grabbed the game's only goal. Spireite songs in surround sound. The sun bursting through white clouds against a blue sky to illuminate a similar vista below.
Of course this simply cannot happen at ours'. We have a proper stadium, designed with proper segregation, to accommodate proper crowds. Crowds which, as we've come to expect, are overwhelmingly 'all Town aren't we'.
So don't be surprised at threads thousands of pages long on their website. Their anguished and hysterical obsession. Make no mistake - these events left long and lingering lesions. Scars which will never heal. Wounds at which they continue to claw regardless of context.
Scabs, in other words...
👏👏👏love it. That’ll have em crying over on scabsnet 🤣
Meanwhile it’s good to see my personal profile remains high on there. I feel quite the celebrity. In fact I think I know how Ian McGregor felt round those parts in the 1984 era 😁 https://www.stagsnet...f13&start=12200
This post has been edited by PontePete: 24 May 2025 - 11:13 AM
