Planet Jupitus: Cowdenbeath more than just a passing fancy

Yesterday I was pulled up by a burly Scot over the comments I made about Cowdenbeath last week. Apparently using them as grist for my mill of whimsy was “nae funny”. I don’t want any of you thinking that I meant any disrespect to the Blue Brazil. They are my Scottish team. For goodness sake, I bought a scarf! Why? In 1990 I was making my debut appearance at the Edinburgh Fringe. One Saturday I craved the distraction of football. Hibs and Hearts being elsewhere, me and my mate Mike discovered Cowdenbeath were at home to Stenhousemuir and it was only a 45-minute drive.

The ground had all the beloved icons of the lower reaches of football: corrugated iron, hand-written signage, tiny plastic cups of volcanic tea melting your fingerprints off and a sparse but loyal attendance. We bought two terrace tickets for a fiver and wandered in. A bloke standing at the gate with a Tupperware box for the tickets and change saw us approaching in our rock star-esque bohemian finery. We showed him our tickets but he ushered us towards the stands with a wink. “Yer all right, lads, nae bother.”

He didn’t charge us the 50p supplement either. We climbed the stairs to pick ourselves a couple of seats from the 4,000-odd empty ones. Behind us we heard the bloke loudly whisper to the tea lady: “Ah thenk they’re scouts!”

The game was a long-ball fiesta of fun. It looked like net-free volleyball. At one point, a beautiful cross bounced perfectly for Cowdenbeath’s striker to take on the half-volley about 20 yards out with an open goal. His leg scythed wildly through the air and he punted the ball completely out of the stadium.

Mike and I expected the hapless bloke to get a barrage of abuse but there was silence. After a pause we heard a cough behind us, a frail-looking man in his sixties slowly stood up, took the pipe out of his mouth and shouted: “Can ye no keep the ball in the ground, Willie?” They won 3-2 and it turned out to be the funniest thing I saw at the festival. That’s why I own a Cowdenbeath scarf ...

PHILL JUPITUS