Reason to hate Redditch - No. 246

Redditch, Redditch, Redditch.  Like stubborn dog sh*t on our shoe we can never quite shake them off.

Anytime we get relegated or promoted, BANG! There they are.  As welcome as thrush and just as difficult to be rid of.  We have to drag ourselves once again to their eternally miserable wreck of a stadium and put up with their angry, grizzling supporters.

Why?  Why us?

This season, just to add a further unwelcome twist of crapulence, the game is to be segregated, meaning we will be denied access to their warm club house - by far the best part of the stadium.  Why segregation?  Is the thought of a successful Poppies bringing a few hundred fans across to their blighted, urban, spunk-bubble of a town so scary?  It's not as if there is a problem with the two sets of supporters.  They are all mouth and accent.  We're all too old and gnarled.

The closest I've ever seen to a dust-up at Redditch was last season when the two Managers faced off against each other.  Given that their manager looked like a steroid-ravaged, cage-fighting, angry bouncer from a Scouse drinking pit and our manager was cuddly Andy Leese, I wouldn't have given our boy much of a chance.....about the same his team had.

On one memorable trip to their charming town we pretty much had to step over a couple junkies enjoying the fruit of their labours in a multi-storey carpark stairwell.  After spending another dreary afternoon at the Valley I gave serious consideration to reaching for the needle myself and tucking into some blessed chemical-based relief.

Why God, WHY?