Paul Hodgson has given us permission to reproduce his book "When Push comes to Shove" -- here's the latest chapter.

Our first match of February was at home to Mansfield Town.  As usual, I met Ian, Mike and Steve Keeney in the Dalesman. 

    Most of the talk in the pub was of the article by chairman Mike Peden in the matchday programme. Ian read out the two-page spread about the accusations of financial irregularity made by Chris Hardy, the editor of the fanzine Darlo It’s Just Like Watching Brazil. Obviously, in his article Mr Peden vigorously denied any wrongdoing. 

Anyway, the four of us headed for the ground at half past one and went straight to the Centre Spot. There were rumours circulating that Ricardo Costa, a trialist from Portugal, was making his debut that day.

Ian went with me to the pitch-side disabled area, with Mike heading up to his seat in the East Stand. We were amazed to see that the pitch was a mosaic of re-laid turf. The perimeter was all sand. It still looked an absolute disgrace.

As a matter of fact, Costa did play and when he scored, his goal celebration was like that of the Brazilian Bebeto when he pretended to be rocking a baby. I noticed that he was wearing black woollen gloves because of the cold weather.

 Marco Gabbiadini’s second goal was pure class. A cross by Brian Atkinson, headed down to Marco followed by a spin and shot. Darlo won 5-1 with the other goals coming from Peter Duffield, Craig Liddle and yet another from Gabbiadini. It was by far our best performance of the season.

After the match, I went back to the Centre Spot with Mike. We sat with the usual crew: Richard Jones, Roger Martin and John Gray. We were joined by Chris Hardy, who stood by his accusations of financial irregularity within the football club. Only time would tell I thought to myself.

Mike and I stayed there until around half past seven. We then headed to McDonalds for tea. It seemed to take ages to get served and the coffee was stewed and far too strong. 

After we left there, we went to the Nags Head where there was a disco in progress. We kept on getting pestered by a drunken bloke with foul-smelling trousers, who was trying to scrounge a pint from us. We quickly managed to get rid of him by giving him a pound, whereupon he almost sprouted wings to get to the bar to buy himself a drink. 

By eleven o’clock I’d had enough alcohol and went home in a taxi. It had been a great day, especially after winning 5-1.  However, despite the victory, the financial aspects of the club were still preying on my mind as I drifted off to sleep.            

Darlo’s next match was the eagerly awaited local derby against our bitter rivals Hartlepool United.

    I went with Ian in his car. We didn’t leave my house until two o’clock, as Ian was delayed. After a fairly uneventful journey, we arrived in Hartlepool in plenty of time for the kick-off. To err on the side of caution, we left the car quite some distance from Victoria Park.

    On arrival at the ground, we had a few problems gaining admittance. I had been told on the phone the previous day by a club official that a disabled person plus a carer got in free of charge. This seemed almost to be a case of Manchester City revisited.     

    Anyway, we were asked by a steward for £16. Now, I don’t mind paying to gain entry into matches, but what I don’t agree with is handing cash over to stewards, especially when they don’t have a book of tickets. To me it’s too much of a temptation for some dishonest football club employees to pocket the cash. I’m certainly not saying that this is a regular occurrence, but human nature tells me that it does happen.

    Reluctantly Ian handed over a £20 note to the steward and asked for a receipt. He came back with the £4 change and promised to bring the receipt later. He never returned. How-ever we did see him changing a £20 note at the tea bar later. To compound this chain of events, I also met a Newcastle fan in the disabled enclosure who happened to be a wheelchair user like me. From what this man told us, the very same steward that had dealt with Ian and me had pocketed his money as well. At least we got our change!

   On hearing of these events, Mike Peden refused to pay Darlo’s share of the ticket money to Hartlepool. This story actually made the pages of The Northern Echo.

During the game, another steward thought Ian was actually a Poolie fan and said to him, “Wouldn’t it have been great if we’d signed Gary Bennett!” When he heard this comment Ian just sniggered to himself.

Darlo won an enthralling encounter against the old enemy 3-2 with goals from Gary Bennett, Peter Duffield and Marco Gabbiadini. Gabbiadini was outstanding as was Bennett. 

After the game, the Hartlepool fans started throwing coins at us and Ian picked up over two pounds. He said that the Poolie fans had very kindly bought him a pint, which I thought was an excellent point to make!

    On the way back to the car, we witnessed scenes similar to those seen on TV in the Middle East. There was fighting all the way from the ground right to the train station,  as a result of which several arrests were made. Ian and I just ignored these skirmishes and left Hartlepool straight away, happy in the knowledge that we had put one over on our bitterest rivals. A very sweet feeling indeed!

    Our next fixture was the following Tuesday when our opponents were Hull City in the re-arranged game.

    I Met Mike in the Dalesman. He was stuffing his face with a chicken curry when I arrived. He asked me if I wanted some, knowing that I detest the stuff. I told him that I’d end up smelling like him if I ate that crap! As usual Ian was late so on his arrival we went straight to the ground.

                I went in the East Stand pitch-side disabled area with Ian while  Mike went in the seats.

    Ian and I witnessed an absolute shambles of a match. We hardly had a shot on target. What a come down after our excellent win over Hartlepool. We ended up losing 1-0 but really it could have been a lot worse.

    After the match I met Mike and the usual gang in the Centre Spot. Everyone was downhearted so Mike and I left the doom and gloom behind and after a quick half headed for the Dalesman. 

It was pub quiz night, and we decided to take part. The reason for this was that it was presided over by a rather tasty blonde.

    Despite this obvious distraction, we managed to keep focus-ed on the quiz, eventually winning by a point. If only Darlo had won that night we’d have completed a unique double. 

We were at home again the following Saturday, this time against Plymouth Argyle.

I met Mike this time in the Nags Head for a change. Much to my amusement he told me that had had his bike stolen. He’d gone down town from work to buy a sandwich, leaving his bike tethered for only fifteen minutes. When he returned, he found that both wheels had been stolen together with the seat. “Well, I said, that was certainly a very expensive sandwich!” Not surprisingly, he didn’t find this very amusing at all. Furthermore, unable to ride the bike back to work he left it there. However, on his return even more items had been cannibalised!

After a few pints, we headed to the Centre Spot where we met Ian. It goes without saying that I recounted the theft of the bike. He found the whole episode highly amusing and even offered to replace one of the stolen items – namely the water bottle! Mike by this time wasn’t overly happy and declined the offer. However, I decided to let the matter rest as he was getting quite peeved – I must have been feeling generous that day.

On this occasion Mike went with me in the disabled area with Ian heading for the seats in the East Stand.

Darlo were terrible again, so much so that Mike Peden didn’t even resume his seat in the directors box after half time. Eventually we were beaten 2-1 with Mario Dörner scoring our goal.

 All in all it was a totally uninspiring performance. By now, we had slipped to fourteenth place in the league, seven points adrift of the play-offs.

After the match, Mike and I went back to the Centre Spot where we sat with Roger Martin and Andy. During our conversation it became pretty clear that they thought David Hodgson would resign, but I wasn’t so sure.

Mike and I were hungry so we decided to move on to Burger King in the town centre. I needed to use the toilet, but to my amazement there wasn’t a chain, nor was there toilet paper and the taps didn’t work! I complained to the manager, whose response was less than helpful. Later I wrote to Burger King’s head office and they promised to rectify matters. However, things were just as bad the next time I visited the place. At least the food was ok, though.

 Rather than going to our usual haunts, on leaving Burger King we decided to spread our net wider. We therefore went to Tanner’s Hall and then to the Green Dragon.

 In the latter, I decided to play a practical joke on Mike. I gave him a pound coin and asked him to put me some music on the jukebox. When he asked me if I had any particular favourites in mind I responded, “Yes, Bicycle Race by Queen!” Mike petulantly threw the coin back at me. I don’t know, some people can’t take a joke!

Our last match in February was away at Shrewsbury Town. I went there with John Gray on the train, leaving Darlington at a quarter to eight. The disabled place was already taken even though I had booked it in advance. John though decided not to bother asking the other occupant to move and lifted me into a seat. It appeared that Virgin had double-booked the place.

The carriages were very old rolling stock and once again there was no disabled toilet. It therefore came as no surprise to learn that Virgin were later condemned by the regulators as the most unreliable train operator in the country.

We changed trains at Manchester. However, John missed the ramp to the next platform and ended up lugging the wheelchair up and down some very steep steps even though I had told him where the ramp was. He was therefore annoyed when he saw it partially hidden by some boarding.

I stayed in my wheelchair on the next leg of the journey and arrived in Shrewsbury at midday. We met Brian from Sheffield at the station and went to the Nags Head pub in Wyle Cop. From there we moved on to the Crown in Abbey Foregate, which had a beer garden at the rear.

We arrived at Gay Meadow at a quarter past three. Since I was with John we were delayed in the pub by virtue of him ordering a last minute pint and therefore missed the kick-off.

We managed to get a programme from a steward and were able to get into the away end from where there was a good view.

Darlo put in yet another pitiful performance and lost 3-0. Afterwards I had words with David Hodgson and as at Barnet all he could do was apologise for a “shambolic” display.

After the game, we headed for the station, stopping at the Crown and the Nags Head en route. Once we arrived at Manchester Piccadilly we also had a few pints in a pub called the Star and Garter near the station.

We caught the train from Manchester and this time John remembered the ramp! On the journey home, I gave up my pre-booked place on the train to a man who couldn’t get out of his wheelchair but who hadn’t reserved a seat. His wife was very grateful for this gesture and she bought me and John a can of lager each.

  John lifted me into a seat next to the man in the wheelchair and we both got chatting. He and his wife had been to Manchester to see a show, but I found it hard to understand him because he had a very bad speech impediment. Also, the fact that I was pretty drunk at the time didn’t help matters. From his point of view I must have sounded pretty incoherent myself.

We arrived in Darlington at half past ten and headed straight to the Dalesman. We stayed there until one in the morning until we got a taxi back home. I was so drunk that John had to practically put me to bed, thus ending a quite enjoyable day, apart from the result, that is.