Bradford City finally give me happy memories at Hartlepool

All in all, I had an excellent afternoon as Simon Parker's deputy last Saturday at Hartlepool.

I was able to stay with my parents for the weekend with Hartlepool being around half-an-hour from my family home, my dad came along to watch the match in the stands, and it was a conveniently early kick-off as I had a friend's birthday meal to attend later that day.

As Saturday afternoons go covering the football, it was somewhere close to perfection.

And certainly better than my only previous visit to Victoria Park, an experience I've never quite forgotten, even all these years later.

Treating myself to a meal deal at Hartlepool on Saturday, 15 years after a rather more traumatic experience at Victoria Park.

It was the 2006/07 season, and Hartlepool were riding high in League Two, bouncing back impressively after relegation from the third tier the year before.

After a slow start to the campaign, they launched themselves up the table with a sensational nine wins in a row from mid-November and, incredibly, had gone 22 games unbeaten by the time I rocked up to Victoria Park to watch them take on Chester City on March 30.

I'd only been to a handful of live games by that stage, all at Middlesbrough's Riverside Stadium, about 15 minutes drive from my hometown of Guisborough.

As a massive Newcastle fan, those games were invariably Tyne-Tees derbies in the Premier League, but this was the chance to try something a bit different.

A Friday night kick-off under the floodlights, a team actually going for the title, something I never had to worry about as a Newcastle fan, and the chance to get a taste for some lower-league football.

My dad and his best friend came along, as well as the latter's two sons, the perfect quintet, four people I was comfortable around and who I'd known for years.

But my best friend's son Dan, who is a couple of years older than me, wanted us to be in the standing section of the ground, something I wasn't overly thrilled about.

I was still only a young lad after all, so was wary of being jostled about, and was not in love with the idea of my legs getting tired as the game wore on (yes, I know I sound like an old man).

Dan was, and still is, a persuasive sort of fellow, so I relented and he got his wish.

The five of us gathered behind one of the goals in the standing terrace, and we were confident about the chances of our adopted team for the night.

Hartlepool were fighting for the title with Walsall, and given they were on that incredible 22-match unbeaten run, their lowly opponents that night, Chester, were not expected to cause them too much trouble.

That proved to be the case almost straightaway, as the joint-top scorer in the league that season, Richie Barker, put Pools in front just three minutes into the game.

And that was when my problems began.

The crowd unsurprisingly went wild around me when that goal went in, with a group of four or five excitable lads behind me, I'd say in their early twenties, who looked as if they might have had a few drinks.

I'm not blaming them, I don't for a second think they were deliberately trying to hurt me, but by jumping around, they pinned me against a barrier on the terracing, and I couldn't escape.

They obviously hadn't realised what they had done, or the distress I was in, as they remained pressed against me, and I quickly found I was losing my breath.

I tried to cry out for help, but I had no air capacity in my lungs to let out a scream.

In the scrum that had followed the goal, I was unable to make eye contact with my dad, his best mate or the latter's two sons, and it looked like I was on my own.

Fortunately, and I'll always be grateful to them, whoever they were, two men, maybe in their forties or fifties, turned around and saw that I was in real trouble.

They grabbed me as quickly as they could by my hands and pulled me under the offending barrier.

The pair of them asked if I was okay but, gasping for air, it took me a while to formulate a response.

Gathering my breath back, but badly shaken up, I stood with them for the rest of the half, trying to process what had just happened, barely registering Andy Monkhouse netting Hartlepool's second goal.

I eventually found my party, and they looked after me when I explained what had happened.

To calm down, I went out of the back of the stand at half-time to buy myself a lemonade, and just my luck that night, it was the flattest c**p pop I've ever had.

Fortunately, the second half passed by without much incident, save for on the pitch, where Ben Clark netted Hartlepool's third goal late on in a 3-0 win.

Pools did go up that year, coming second after being pipped to the title by Walsall, who finished a point ahead of them.

And I'll always remember the small part I had in witnessing that historic season, even if it was a hugely unpleasant one.

I saw that standing terrace when I glanced to my right from the press box last Saturday, as well as the door that led out to the c**p pop stand, making sure I went nowhere near.

But thanks to Bradford City and their fine away display, 15 years on, I can finally embrace some happy Victoria Park memories.