I took a trip to London in May… a sentence I hope I’ll be saying again in a fortnight

31 photos from Saturday’s trip to Leyton Orient for the first leg of the play-offs

May 11, 2025

Sunday 11 May 2025

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NEXT HOME GAME: Leyton Orient – Wednesday 14 May, 8pm

NEXT AWAY GAME: TBC

Dear County fans, Stopfordians, Leyton Orient supporters, and anyone else from The Football Family joining us today, a very warm welcome to your Sunday edition of The Scarf My Father Wore.

Loads of non-County fans read The Scarf My Father Wore on a daily basis. Even though we’re currently enjoying one of the most successful periods in the club’s history, you may have noticed a touch of gallows humour in our articles from time to time. That’s because following Stockport County is a rather unique experience, and over the years we’ve had more than our fair share of being shat on from a great height. Here’s the latest travesty, from East London yesterday afternoon:

I know you shouldn’t really swear on a Sunday, but WHAT THE FUCK! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK! WHAT THE FUCKING FUCKETY FUCK IS THAT!

For any of our readers not well-versed in the rules of association football, an attacking player is in an offside position if they are ahead of the defence. Which means the bloke wearing the number 23 shirt in the photo above – yes, the one who’s seven miles in front of County’s defenders - is quite clearly offside. At Brisbane Road yesterday, that was quite clear to the Leyton Orient supporters, quite clear to the Stockport County supporters, and I’m sure even Stevie Wonder would have stuck his flag up had he been running the line. The officials inexplicably missed it, however, and Charlie Kelman’s opening goal was allowed to stand.

I actually had a thoroughly enjoyable trip to the capital yesterday, along with lots of other smiley County fans enjoying the sunshine as you can see from the photos below, but I desperately hope that shocking decision doesn’t stop us from reaching Wembley. The score’s 2-2 at the halfway point in the tie, with everything to play for in Stockport on Wednesday night.

Today’s edition is sponsored by Colourtone. A big thank you to Paul.

Finally, I’m currently walking every street in Stockport to raise money for mental health charity Mentell. If you’d like to make a donation to help me reach my target, please click here.

Total distance so far: 253.75 miles

Total steps so far: 418,084

Total raised so far: £2,302

Total completed streets so far: 474 (Click here for the full list, which includes reports and photos from every day of the walk.)

Further information on the walk can be found by clicking here.

Des Junior

Give your car a lick of paint

Granted, Stockport used to be a little rough around the edges. But the town’s getting a good old lick of paint these days, with fancy new offices, apartments, bars and restaurants springing up. You can’t be driving up and down the A6 in a tatty car with chipped paintwork, so give your car a nice lick of paint too. Colourtone is your go-to company for that. They’ve been servicing the automotive and industrial markets in Cheshire and Greater Manchester for decades, and carry an extensive range of car paint and industrial paints.

➡️ Visit colourtone.com for further details.

5 questions with Mike from The Cross Keys

What was the best moment with your business in April?

Loading the kids up on sugar and sending them home after our Easter disco!

What’s your plans for the business in May?

Planning our summer garden party.

What would you like to promote The Scarf My Father Wore readers this month?

Could I promote the lads who have taken our kitchen over. They’re Proper Scran Inc, who used to be at AMP on the market. The food is amazing. Check out their Facebook page!

County are aiming to reach Wembley for the seventh time this month. How many times have you been, either for sport or music or anything else?

Never.

I’ve got Eddie Fortune headlining my next Desmond’s Comedy Club at the end of this month. If you won a fortune on the lottery, what would you spent it on?

I'd buy the pub instead of being a manager, and let someone else run it day to day so I could spend my time travelling with my best mate. Oh, and look after those closest to me obviously!

➡️ The Cross Keys (10 Adswood Road, Cheadle Hulme, SK8 5QA) have some great offers during the week. A pint of bitter is just £2.30 all day Monday to Friday, with discounts on certain lagers between 12pm and 6pm. Pop in for a pint over the summer, and treat yourself to a Proper Scran fry-up while you’re there!

Photo of the day

One of our paid subscribers, David Shasha, sent in this photo the other day. David’s dug out his Wembley shirt from 1992 for the play-offs.

“Tempting fate?” he said. Not at all, in my opinion. County were the better team for the vast majority of yesterday’s first leg at Brisbane Road. Can we beat the O’s at Edgeley Park on Wednesday night? Absolutely. Let’s keep the faith, and get EP rocking this week.

Today in SK

🍴 Food and drink

Enjoy a delicious Sunday roast at The Crown (SK2) or The Three Tunnes (SK7) with homemade Yorkshire puddings and all the trimmings. 12pm - 6pm.

A number of venues are featured on The Scarf My Father Wore such as The Dog & Partridge (SK2), The Alexandra (SK3), The Crown Inn (SK6), The Cross Keys (SK8), Flute & Firkin (SK12) and The Ram’s Head (SK12). Support them this month by popping in for a few drinks and a bite to eat.

🎱 Free pool

The Nelson Tavern (SK1). 8pm - 11pm.

🎷 Live music

Saxophonist Bret Barnes at The Steelworks (SK6). 4pm.

Chapter 11: 45 Minutes From Glory

At the end of yesterday’s latest Chat GPT chapter, County were 1-0 up against MK Dons at half-time in the play-off final. Today, we’re in the dressing room at the break with Dave Challinor and the lads. I’ve no idea why County fan Danny Hartley is stood at the door earwigging. I guess artificial intelligence has a long way to go yet!

The dressing room buzzed — not loud, not shouting, but charged. Like static in the air before a storm. Boots scraped on tiles. Bottles hissed open. Breathing — heavy, ragged — filled the spaces between clatters and coughs. Shirts clung to backs like damp bandages. Faces were flushed, eyes bright. One-nil up, but no one looked comfortable. Not yet.

Gaffer stood in the middle, arms folded, gaze sweeping the room. He didn’t speak straight away. He let the moment breathe. Let the players feel it — the lead, the pressure, the promise.

Danny stood at the edge of the inner circle, arms crossed like the manager, mirroring without meaning to. Lucy was in the concourse, grabbing chips with a grin on her face, but Danny stayed rooted near the open door, just close enough to hear. He didn’t want to miss this part — the heart of it.

Tanto Olaofe sat forward, chest heaving, towel around his neck. Collar stood, pacing slowly, muttering to himself. Croasdale leaned on his knees, already mentally back on the pitch. Sarcevic chucked back an energy gel, grimaced, then shook it off.

Finally, the gaffer spoke.

“One-nil,” he said, slowly, clearly. “One-nil, and we’ve got forty-five minutes to finish what we started.”

No one moved. He looked at each man, one by one.

“They’re gonna come at us now. You know that. MK Dons don’t go away. They’ve got the football, the fancy shape, the little passes. But they don’t want it like you do. They don’t want it like we do.”

A few heads nodded. Sarcevic clapped once. Loud.

“We’ve got the lead. We’ve got the belief. But don’t lose your heads. Keep doing what got us here. Press when it’s on, sit when we have to. Keep the shape. Keep your discipline.”

He pointed to Collar. “You’re leading the line of that press. First sign they’re turning, you pull ‘em back.”

“Got it.”

“Toes,” — he looked at Tanto — “keep buzzing. You’re giving them nightmares, lad.”

Tanto smiled, exhausted but proud.

Then the gaffer’s voice softened. “You’re not just playing for a win today. You’re playing for history. For this badge. For the fans who were queuing outside Edgeley Park in the rain for tickets. For every little kid in blue who thinks this is the biggest day of their life.”

Danny felt that line thud in his chest. It was the biggest day in his daughter’s life. And, if he was honest, in his too.

“Keep your heads. Keep your hearts. And give me everything.”

Applause, short and sharp. Boots thumped the floor. Energy lifted.

The assistant coach stepped in now, practical and clipped.

“Pye — watch the overlap, their ten’s pulling you wide. Don’t get sucked out.”

“Hinchy — big second half, mate. Wind’s picked up, that ball’s gonna float.”

“Witts — they’re doubling up on you when you cross. Drop it short, mix it up.”

It was a machine, now. Oil and sparks. Each piece reminded of its role, its importance.

Then a whistle from the hallway. Five minutes.

Shirts were tugged back down. Straps re-tightened. Boots re-laced. Final drinks passed round. The gaffer gave one last look.

“This is yours,” he said. “Go take it.”

The team clattered out, one by one, into the tunnel, where light and sound poured in like floodwater. Danny lingered just a second longer, taking in the empty room behind them, the smell of deep heat and hope.

He turned to go.

Wembley was waiting.