Walsall blog: Disabled view

Since I started writing these blogs I’ve been surprised at the number of people who actually know me, writes Walsall blogger Mark Jones.

Often, usually at away matches, people will come and have a Saddler-related chat.

Whether it’s through my involvement in various fanzines (18 years next month since the first edition of Saddlesore … 18 years!) or otherwise, it’s always a pleasure.

So those of you that know me will know that I’m able-bodied. (Those of you that play football with me on a Wednesday night may suggest otherwise.)

You might also have seen my mate Alan. Alan is disabled.

He has Cerebral Palsy and has waged a fine battle against it all his life.

Al now walks with a stick and it’s fair to say he’s not too steady on his feet.

It’s also fair to say he’s ugly, older than me and has a turn of phrase that would make a Tourette’s sufferer blush too, but there you go.

Travelling to games with a disabled supporter over the past 15 years or so has been a real eye opener for me though.

To see at first hand the ignorance, prejudice and narrow thinking can be quite depressing. 

At Burnley one time I actually heard a steward say ‘well you haven’t got a wheelchair so you’re not disabled enough.’ Work that one out.

At Peterborough, Alan was asked by the octogenarian cones attendant if he was an ‘invalid’.

‘Are you an old git?’ was the quickfire reply.

Some grounds have a magic bubble around them where the Disability Discrimination Act clearly doesn’t apply.

At any one of a number of places you can’t be disabled unless you’re a home fan or you’ve booked in advance.

At Norwich the once I almost thought I was going to have to forcibly remove Al’s hands from one steward’s neck for the patronising comments he made.

At Bristol a few weeks back after braving the first half monsoon it took the intervention of a senior steward to get Mr J Obsworth to let Alan give his legs a well deserved second half rest.

This was after the bloke on the gate had told us there was no parking left.

Years of experience have told us not to take too much of the brown stuff, so we just drove past him and found there was plenty (telling the next steward that the first bloke had said it was ok - naturally).

Sadly our own club doesn’t get away scott free (or Scott undisclosed) despite many good intentions.

There are good facilities at pitch level, plenty of parking spaces, helpful stewards and the pricing structure for disabled and carer is very reasonable.

However if you’re disabled and want to sit in the top tier you’re in a bit of bother.

When the Gilbert was expanded in 2002, Roy Whalley himself took Alan on a tour of the new facilities, which include a lift to take you up to the concourse where the Stadium Suite now is.

All well and good … except there’s the small matter of 70 odd steps to negotiate to get you to the seats, always an advantage if you want to actually see the game (although perhaps not when certain managers were in charge, ho ho!)

Fortunately there is a plus side too, many clubs and individuals are extremely helpful and friendly.

Fair play to Rothrum, Notts County and Swindon, all clubs who always go the extra mile for disabled fans.

There has also been the odd occasion when the blue badge has enabled us to get a prime parking location close to the away end with access for a quick getaway, only for us to walk off in the other direction in pursuit of a local hostelry in which we could find fermented vegetable juice.

Other times we’ve nipped off for a swift beer or two.

Sometimes you can try too hard though, at Wycombe the once a female steward was really apologetic and genuinely trying to do her best.

‘All the disabled parking places are full, but if you want you can drive up to the away end, drop your passengers off and then park up.’

That was great, the only problem being it was Alan that was driving … and he made us all walk.

The finest moment has to be Blackpool though.

As is customary we arrived at ten o’clock (to miss the traffic naturally) and split our time evenly between the Pleasure Beach and the Dutton Arms. (Half an hour on the Pleasure Beach).

As me and Al walked to the ground, it would have been difficult to tell which one of us had the dodgy legs.

The stewards, flanked by officers of the local constabulary, were clearly under instruction to refuse entrance to anyone who they deemed ‘worse for wear’.

As one orangecoat approached us, Al uttered the immortal line ‘I’m not pissed I walk like this all the time’.

The copper in toe was so doubled up he let us straight through the gate.

Cheers to you mate.

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