Walsall beat Wolves in their own backyard

By Alan Stokes
June 7 2003

It was the match every Saddlers fan wanted. Recall the emotions as newly promoted Saddlers defeated the Wolves in their own back yard.

Newly promoted to the first division the match that all Saddlers fans looked for when the fixture list was printed soon came around. Saturday 28th Aug 1999 at the Molineux.

After having had a steady start in Division One with two draws against Swindon and the Blades we were well and truly hammered 4-1 at home against Crewe. On the back of this hammering we were heading to the home of our nearest and dearest. Is it any wonder that I felt sick to the stomach? The nervous tension had built up all week with any thoughts of defeat simply impossible to comprehend. The thought of joyous victory against our neighbours coupled with the feeling of absolute devastation should we lose was, quite truthfully, too much. I felt ill. Desperately ill. I simply wanted to go to bed, wake up the next morning and read about a Saddlers victory. I did not want the experience (just in case it all went tits up).

In order to steady my nerves and bouts of nausea I headed for the local and quaffed 4 or 5 pints of brew alone (this has become the norm with my Saddlers nickname now Alan No Mates – thanks Gothic). As 2 o’clock approached so did the 529, my chosen transport to the end of the A454 and ultimately the Golden Graveyard.

Sitting on the bus, again feelings of worry, sickness, and excitement were all merged into one. How I wanted to let myself go and join in with the young lads at the back chanting Saddlers songs and banging on the windows. Somehow I contained myself. Focus, I must focus and remember today.

I trooped around the Civic centre and onto the subway where I met up with some mates (I do have some) from a bygone era. Then, up went the chant under the subway “RAY GRAYDON’S BARMY ARMY”. It’s party time.

And so to the match. A Wolverhampton Wanderers team minus the recently sold Robbie Keane but still containing squad players such as Darren Bazeley, Carl Robinson, Neil Emblen, Paul Simpson, Steve Corica and managed by Colin Lee didn’t really pose too much of a threat in my eyes. Without Keane they would surely struggle and so there was every possibility that all my dreams would come true.

As the match got underway so did the taunting from the North Bank. “What’s it like to see a crowd” they all sang whilst tittering amongst themselves on how funny they were. Whilst in full taunt, Wracky floated in a delightful corner and Tony Barras flew like an angel through the air and nodded the ball firmly into the back of the Dingles net. For a few seconds just stunned silence and then, out of nowhere, an almighty roar as the Saddlers fans exploded in sheer delight. “What’s it like to see a goal” we all responded laughing at our own wit.
Absolutely unbelievable. We were in the lead. Can we hold on? Please hold on. Blow the final whistle. COME ON. The match was three minutes old.

Walsall fought for every ball. This match really did mean something. Ray Graydon knew how much it meant and the players knew how much it meant to the fans. For the majority we controlled the first half containing Wolves and attacking them on the counter. Then, out of nowhere they equalised. Robinson kicked home from close range. Hell. Reality check. A point would still do though wouldn’t it? It was all over, my nerves were in shreds, we were going to lose my logic kept telling me.
However, this Saddlers team were much stronger than my beliefs. They really did care and desperately wanted to win for the Saddlers army and God himself decided to put me out of my anguished misery. On the stroke of half time Bukran crossed from the right wing, Stowell fumbled Robins’ effort into the path of Rambo and the Lord walked the ball into the back of the net. Cue bedlam. Absolute bedlam. The travelling fans rose as one to acclaim King Rammell. This was going to be our day.

During half time the scenes of total jubilation under the John Ireland Stand were a sight to behold. A sea of red and white was jumping, singing, chanting as we just knew we were about to give the Wolves a good poke in the eye. The half time celebration was the most emphatic high I have ever experienced.

The second half kicked off, it was only a matter of time before they equalised I thought. I will settle for a point, at least we haven’t disgraced ourselves was the continuing mantra going through my mind. A glance at the watch, 42 minutes to go. Blow your bloody whistle ref, 39 minutes to go, come on we can do it. Of the second half I cannot recall much as the excitement built up inside me with every passing minute. Fortunately, Colin Lee’s boys had neither the belief, fight nor determination to beat Ray Graydon’s battlers.

At the final whistle there were tears, tears of disbelief, tears of pure joy and the tears of someone who was totally emotionally drained. We had done it. We had beaten our nearest and dearest in their own back yard. As the saying goes “Believe and you will Succeed”. The squad believed and they succeeded in giving many fans one of the best memories that will remain with them for the rest of their lives.

Arise Sir Ray, King Rammell, Tony Barras, Chris Marsh, Ada Viveash, Pointon, Wrack, Bukran, Keatesy, Brissett, Daley and Roper. You have earned your place in the history of happy memories.

As for the long walk of shame. A collective of bowed heads goes to Colin Lee, Darren Bazeley, Neil Emblen, Carl Robinson and Steve Corica. You should all be ashamed.