A long trip well made with Wolves

Wolves blogger Tim Spiers prepares for the long trip to Newcastle in the memory of how the long away-days can all be worth it with a win.

It's often said that the mark of a true supporter is how many away games you go to.

Another school of thought is that it's an accurate barometer of how clinically insane you are.

The more away games you go to, the closer you are to the men in white coats dragging you to the funny farm while you kick and scream and yell that Tomasz Frankowski really was the missing piece in the jigsaw.

For Wolves fans, surely the latter is more appropriate, but unfathomably extortionate ticket prices have moved the goalposts on these theories a touch, particularly in the past 10 years.

The majority of working class supporters, traditionally the lifeblood of a football club's hardcore fan base, simply aren't able to attend every game their team play.

That's a desperately sad indictment on the game that Rupert Murdoch, David Dein, David Richards and others changed forever in 1992.

To say that our trip to Newcastle this weekend, at £25 a ticket plus £20 for official travel, is actually pretty good value in today's climate says it all.

It's not just the Premier League where prices are so inflated – Ipswich fans can fork out £64 - £26 ticket, £38 coach - if they want to make the delightful trip west to Burnley tomorrow.

Anyway, the issue of football finances is for another blog or three.

The point is that away games have become a luxury for many, which is tragic as for me there's nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon. Or a Sunday morning. Or a Monday night.

I can still distinctly remember my first ever away game, 29 January 1994, apologies for making any mature readers feel a little elderly. The opposition, Port Vale. The occasion, FA Cup fourth round day.

It was the first and last time I have ever stood on terracing for a Wolves match, although the accommodating stewards let me and a few other kids sit just in front of the bottom of the stand for the second-half, right near the touchline.

As I recall we took many thousands of fans to Vale Park that day, filling out the end behind the goal, with me and my dad on the terracing in the stand.

We won the game 2-0, with Kevin Keen and Paul Blades on the scoresheet. In fact, Blades netted again on my second away day, a 1-1 draw at Stoke's Victoria Ground a week later. I must have thought he was the natural heir to Steve Bull!

Two more trips - and victories - followed that season, to the old supermarket stadium of Burnden Park and Bolton for Graham Taylor's first game in charge, before a game at Notts County when, as at Bolton. 'Super' Guy Whittingham scored.

By then, I was hooked on away days, although typically with Wolves they were setting me up for a fall, making me believe they were invincible on the road by winning three and drawing one of those first four matches.

There's just something about being in the minority at a football ground, out of your comfort zone and feeling like the world's against you, which gets the blood pumping and makes a victory that much sweeter. In fact, there are so many things to love at away games.

Like seeing a ground for the first time, when you walk through the concourse and up the steps, before the stadium opens up before your eyes.

Often this can lead to instant comparisons to said ground with a garden shed, like Walsall, but occasionally it yields a moment of jaw-dropping wonderment, like Old Trafford.

Or venturing to a local pub for a chat with the locals, or a quiet drink in the corner with your colours covered, depending on the occasion.

Then there's simply watching the Wolves players warm up, interspersed with ripples of applause when they jog over to the away end.

Cheering and clapping as furiously as you can when they leave the tunnel just before kick-off as if you're letting them know that, even though we are the away team, we will be shouting louder than the home fans, even if you're outnumbered by five to one.

Singing rare chants reserved for more unsung heroes, like Karl Henry and Kevin Foley, as if it's a secret song that you know won't be heard at Molineux.

Banter with the home fans, be it fierce, like every match at the Hawthorns, or friendly, like at Sunderland in 2007 when there was a Mick McCarthy love-in, is always enjoyable.

But, after all, this it's usually only the result that matters and there's little worse than a crushing defeat and a long journey home.

On the other hand, a last-minute winner and a gleeful - sometimes daunting - exit through the home fans is as good as it gets.

I'm a stickler for lists and have experienced a few great away days over the years, so here's my personal top five.

Number one is 20 March 1999 at Barnsley. Two-nil down after half an hour or so, Colin Lee's band of inconsistent journeymen launch an unforgettable comeback. Neil Emblen and David Connolly chip in with rare goals, before Dean Richards grabs a last-minute winner with a belter into the bottom corner.

Number two is 13 October 2001 at Bradford. I had been to Bramall Lane twice, and seen us lose twice, so a 3-0 win was very sweet indeed. An Adam Proudlock hat-trick put us five points clear in the season we looked destined for the Premier League. Can't remember what happened next as it's been surgically removed from my brain.

Number three is 14 May 2003 at Reading. Nerves, nail-biting tension, drama, doubt, narrow escapes, doubt, disbelief and then - Alex Rae scores, does a silly jig and sends 5,000 fans absolutely potty.

Number four is 13 April 2009 at Derby. Probably the best of the lot. Andy Keogh, one of my favourite players but so derided by many, opens the scoring and closes it, completing a late comeback from 2-1 down. When other results came in at full time we knew we would be promoted. An amazing feeling.

And number five is 29 December 2010 at Liverpool. Magnificent ground, full of history, tradition, success - and then Stephen Ward pops up to all-but sack Roy Hodgson in the pouring Anfield rain. I still couldn't speak the next day.

Since that first away day in 1994, we have only visited St James' Park once, in 2004 when university commitments - and the bar - got in the way.

So I'm well overdue a trip to the land of bare-chested skinheads with a penchant for dodgy ale and lofty expectations.

It's an awfully long trip north but, hopefully, it will all be worth it by 5pm and still worth it at midnight after six hours sitting on a coach. Nurse!