Bolton Wanderers are moving home. Keith Parkinson is impressed by their new ground
Attention all visiting Premiership fans heading for Planet Reebok via junction 6 of the M61. You have been warned. Engage low gear and keep a tight grip on the wheel – if you can. The first sight of Britain’s most expensive pounds-per-seat purpose built sports stadium will take your breath away.
Something has changed at Millwall and the club no longer has an aura around it. Lance Bellers asks why
This season two unthinkable things happened. One, Millwall did not receive my season ticket application in time for the special discount rate; in fact, they never received an application from me at all. Two, on the morning of the last home fixture, I asked my wife if she fancied going shopping that afternoon. I did need to spend my Next vouchers, after all.
Barnsley were becoming the neutral's favourite team, but Richard Darn explains how this put their fans in an odd position
Spring – according to the Met office – came early this year, and crops and insects are totally confused. They’ve got my sympathy. The other day I queued for my first-ever season ticket (£215) to watch Barnsley play in the Premiership – and it was still only April with one more game to play in the Nationwide League.
John Tandy examines Birmingham City, a club in the hands of the new breed of owner said to be revolutionising football
In many ways, the Karren Brady reign at Birmingham mirrors the changes in the game in general over the last few years. Commercially the figures speak for themselves: the club has run at an operating profit (before transfer fees) for the last two years. Indeed, in 1995 they made a profit even when the transfer fees were added in. This season for the first time we’ve got an attractive, if scantily-stocked, club shop, and there’s even a branch in the city centre where you can buy tickets without having to trek up to the office at the ground (a journey so tortuous not even Ranulph Fiennes has dared attempt it).
More player spots
“I saw Gary Lineker at a whisky promo in the British Embassy in Tokyo. He wasn’t very easy to spot as he was surrounded by a load of middle-class wankers pretending to like football. I was nervous like a kid and it took me ages to work up the balls to speak to him. I shook his hand and asked him what he felt like when he equalized against Germany. He said that he felt the same way that I did. So I told him I was German. Well I didn’t, but I thought of the reply 10 minutes later.”
John Tumilty