It’s the economy, stupid

Once a year, usually when season ticket prices are released or just before the season starts the sporting press will devote some creative maths and journalistic licence to an assessment of how much it costs an ‘average family’ to attend a premier league game. So I thought that in the interests of research and balance and with my random sense of timing I should now take a look at the cost of a day out at Clarence Park for the average TLF family of one (Mr TLF remaining unconvinced that a trip to see the mighty Saints is the missing piece of the perfect weekend jigsaw)

Now clearly if I included in the grand total the cost of Stella and bacon snackage such a public exmple of economic profligacy could send the western economy back into recession…or at least make Mr TLF raise an eyebrow and check the joint account. So instead I decided to check out how much I spend on the journey from turnstile to bar. Technically the journey through the turnstile costs nothing as I have a season ticket and any fule knos that money spent last year doesn’t count.

Once past the turnstile the first financial adviser to come across is Duncan, purveyor of raffle tickets (in a hue of delicate salmon or possibly orange. The tickets that is not Duncan). Not only is Duncan a bit of an English language aficionado, having adopted that great word wiseness, but he is also a bit of a goalden (see what I did there?) goal legend. This is a man who at an away game picked out 19 mins for both home and away golden goal competitions. And when was the first goal scored. Indeed. A true golden goal Jedi meister and on that basis how could I begrudge him two quid for my 10 raffle tickets?

After this dalliance with the murky side of football gambling, a little literature is necessary to cleanse the soul and so next stop is Karl, who is today on programme duty. Karl is a little less garrulous than the rest but happily relives me of my hard earned two pounds and poses for a photo with a certain panache.

At this point I think my moolah is safe. Trouble is that Clive, golden goal salesman supreme has an innate ability to not only hear a pound coin at 20 paces, but also spot a sucker with an open wallet and bear down on them with a serious turn of speed and focus. Unlike raffle ticket and programme sellers who tend to be a bit more static pre-match, Clive is on the move, so you can run but you can’t hide. And soon enough. BOSH! The two pound coin and the foolish fox are soon parted.

Once I’m on a roll like this it seems rude not to include Richard who is I/C raffle tickets at the other end of the ground. Resplendent in shades and selling a different coloured raffle ticket, it’s a chance to spread my investments and so I deposit a further two coins of the realm.

The final call on the wallet on this occasion is Ian Rogers, Trust Chairman, general-in-chief-of-loads-of -Saints-stuff, proprietor of the club shop and winner of the ‘Showing extreme and unwarranted patience with TLF when she tries to explain, while under the influence, her precise football club merchandising requests’ Award. He is beaming and that is because on this transaction I am handing over folding stuff…Fifteen of your earth pounds for my brand new SACFC polo shirt (very smart and perfect fit thanks for asking…and yes I probably will get another one in a different colour).

And there we are. Before I have even made it to the bar I have spent £23.
Worth it?
Yep. Every penny.

Match stats:
St Albans City 2 Bedford City 1
Attendance 713
Raffle tickets purchased 20 Prizes won 0. One number off the first prize!!!!
Losing golden goal tickets purchased 2
Bacon fries consumed 1 packet
Additional item to keep body and soul together as big queue for ATB and no cheese cobs: Kit kat
Lager consumed 2 pints Stella (taking Mr TLF out for his birthday meal post-match so had to promise to be good)

This week I learnt
Translating the Lost Fox into Norwegian is not as easy as you would think. There being a lot of Norwegian words for Lost…but here goes: Den Bortkomne Reven
DBR