AB Tårnby – Bronshoj 26 September
Tradition dictates that fans kiss the sign.
The sun is shining, which means Gy can be persuaded to do anything. This anything in this case means a bike ride to a football stadium near the airport to venture into the Danish League 2 Group 3: a place where we have never been before.
Bronshoj (as you avid readers may recall) were one of the teams that had initially be on my ‘possible’ list way back when when I was making plans to find a new team. Then I was attracted to their yellow and black stripes which reminded me of the all-conquering 89/90 Bracknell Bees of the English Premier Ice Hockey League. Seeing a fat man draped in a Bronshoj flag filled me with an sense of joy that overcame the relief of surviving the 10km bike ride into a head wind without a single complaint from Gy. There was subsequently lots of complaining as she tried to reunderstand the offside rule (the prefix re- is generous).
Never has one programme brought so much fear and confusion
The originally named Tårnby Stadion had many of the features of a Soviet concrete ball stadium (small) in the fact that it was a concrete bowl. Some ten concrete steps circling the pitch (replete with athletics track) save for a small grandstand and a carefully considered gap at one end to enable the bar staff to follow the action. Danes even do concrete bowl stadiums better.
Those clouds are so pluppy
The game was a stonker and the first time I have seen seven goals since (I think) my first ever Spurs match some 20 years ago. Bronshoj took a two goal lead at half-time before adding a third shortly thereafter. Tårnby could have felt hard done by, but had noone to blame but themselves and mainly their incompetent centre forward who combined being sh’’’r and uglier that Niklas Bendtner – a fine art. Ironically, it was the same chap who then cooly slotted away a penalty to make it 3-1. Bronshoj then added a fourth before a late rally from the home team who were cruelly denied an equaliser by ball striking corner of bar and post in the closing seconds.
Bronshoj’s fifty or so vocal fans rejoiced at the final whistle (out of a total 372). I thoroughly enjoyed myself under the late summer sun in a quaint football stadium. The smell of a man smoking pipe added to the occasion. For some reason. There was even a tombola (I just wanted to write that word and say it out loud for the nostalgia it brings)
How many goals?
3 – 4