A dream team at Craven Cottage

Wolves' Sporting Star columnist John Lalley had a day to remember as the shadow to our man Tim Nash in the press gaggle that headed to Fulham.

In all the years that I've been watching Wolves, only once have I viewed a game from the press box.

That was for the FA Youth Cup semi-final a few years back against Southampton complete with Theo Walcott in their ranks. It was a fantastic match with the Wolves kids losing only after a protracted penalty shoot out.

So I was intrigued to accompany Express & Star reporter Tim Nash as he drove the pair of us to Fulham and join the media in their inner sanctum at Craven Cottage.

I had bored Tim to death all the way to London by giving him chapter and verse about my first trip to this venue 43 years ago, heaven help me!

It was our first match of the season after our promotion from the old Second Division the previous year. Derek Dougan and Mike Bailey scored the goals in a 2-1 win and I was delighted to see a cracking photograph in the match-day programme of the Doog's headed goal from all those years ago.

Amazing how events stick in your brain box as you get older. Apart from the two great goals we scored which I can still vividly picture most of the day in my mind's eye.

I will never forget Johnny Haynes, the Fulham legend who played that day, driving his small saloon car up close to the main entrance after the game had finished.

Haynes opened the door of his motor and sat in the driver's seat signing autographs for an orderly queue of people, myself included, which increased in number by the minute. He was there for ages, almost on the exact spot which is now adorned by a statue in his homage.

He was dignified, patient and modest and diligently signed every book presented to him. Craven Cottage now is virtually a shrine to him, a great player and a gentleman.

On Saturday, as at every other ground in the country, stewards erected barriers to prevent any access to the players. Still, who was Johnny Haynes anyway? He was just a brilliant footballer who captained England on 22 occasions, that's all.

But more than anything, I have never forgotten that 19 August 1967 afternoon because back then the gruesome Cannock Chase or A34 murders were at their grotesque height.

At exactly the same time as I stood on the terraces in the pleasant London sunshine, the killer Raymond Morris abducted one of his victims on the streets of Walsall and left the poor child dead on the Chase. Ever since, any mention of Fulham and this awful event comes to my mind.

Anyway, forced to wear a tie at a game for the first time ever and feeling self-consciously conspicuous with a media accreditation card flapping around my neck, I hastily followed Tim to the dining area and demolished a large chunk of the famous Fulham cottage pie, and delicious it was too.

I was tempted to go back for seconds, but my nerve failed me as I hadn't yet acquired enough brass neck to take complete advantage of my new surroundings. Other more seasoned campaigners of press rooms I noticed did not harbour such inhibitions as a rookie like me. They happily made pigs of themselves.

The press room at Fulham really is a small area and it was difficult to find a chair to sit on. Quite how they cope when Chelsea or Manchester United visit I don't know.

I got a withering glance from one journo who looked vaguely familiar, no doubt because I had sat in his chosen area, but he perked up when SKY TV's Chris Kamara breezed in and started a conversation with the bloke I had just irritated.

Tim, kind and solicitous as always, departed to get us some tea and I glanced around the room and to my surprise spotted Brian Glanville, the doyen of The Sunday Times for so many years.

My mind flashed back to a fight he once picked with Don Revie, the former Leeds and England manager, regarding the ruthless nature of his teams.

Revie took the defensive line that all pros do when challenged and asked Glanville during a television exchange what gave him the right to be critical - the old 'show us your medals' line.

Glanville was most put out, I don't think he could come to terms with anybody even hinting that there was a single thing about football where his views were anything other than sacrosanct.

But funniest of all, when Sir Trevor McDonald interviewing Glanville on News at Ten, kept calling him 'Glenville' instead of Glanville.

The furious hack continually corrected his interviewer with naughty disdain, but Sir Trevor never batted an eyelid, he had dealt with kings, presidents and prime ministers and a bolshy football writer sure wasn't going to faze him!

There were some familiar faces - Daz Hale of Radio WM was as affable and friendly as ever and the unflappable Wolves press officer Paul Berry, a guy I have known for a few years, chatted away with characteristic good humour.

Fulham obviously knew that I was arriving. When we entered the press box, a programme and a team sheet from their last home game against Wigan was still on my seat! The cleaners had sure not gone to much trouble on my account!

The main stand at the Cottage is old, decrepit and in need of a facelift. Amazingly, there are more vintage wooden seats than in the old Waterloo Road stand at Molineux which was deemed unsafe back in the 1980's.

But the ground retains a charm and a character that so many of the modern stadiums singularly lack. By each press seat there was a small TV screen which immediately replayed action, so that player identification was made easy. Tim regularly checked this facility as he typed furiously into his keyboard.

Directly behind us was another blast from the past, the resident wag. Not the wives and girlfriend's variety but the loud, extrovert supporter giving his own running commentary on the game, a feature of almost every ground in the country years ago.

This bloke was terrific - funny, witty and never remotely offensive, with not a single word of profanity all match. He lampooned everything Wolves attempted but without the slightest malice and he was hilarious. Absolutely great!

Half-time with yet more tea and food and another first for me as I exited the ground to take a look at the Johnny Haynes statue, before returning in good time for the second-half.

A deserved point and then a wait before managers and players emerge for what for them must be an interminable round of interviews separately having to satisfy TV, radio, Sunday papers, Monday dailies and local reporters.

Paul Berry directed Jody Craddock towards Tim, who taped the interview for useful quotations.

Craddock really did come across superbly well, courteous and unfailingly helpful, with the gouge in his forehead still visible from the cut he sustained against Stoke. He spoke intelligently and fluently and summed it all up when he said "I just love playing." It shows too, it really does.

Then we were ushered inside and Wolves boss Mick McCarthy emerged freshly showered and smartly attired while, clearly to the relief of all, in a benevolent and expansive mood.

'Right then, come through,' he said and beckoned us towards the dressing room area. A steward immediately turned to Tim and myself and said "Sorry, you two cannot go in there. It's the rules.'"

Exasperated, Mick immediately snapped 'Well I'll come out here then,' before telling the jobsworth, 'and it's a silly rule!' I was dying to laugh, but I managed to stifle it.

Mick was fascinating to listen to, trying not very successfully to keep events low key, but clearly he was brimming with pride and satisfaction. Our manager is not really one to stifle his emotions.

Clearly, he is not a man to mess with either especially if he is feeling peevish, which this time he wasn't.

Tim must have had the best part of 20 minutes with Mick before a whole pack of other journalists descended on our manager and the whole process started once again.

I had watched the same group interviewing the Fulham boss Roy Hodgson and I was struck that at these post-match interviews, the press appear extremely deferential and guarded.

The managers are conducting these interviews very much on their own terms and I got the distinct impression that any question that in any way challenged their professional judgement would get short shrift.

By this time I was getting too big for my boots and when Tim and I re-entered the press room it was deserted apart from the lady overseeing the hospitality.

Cheekily, I ordered tea which she kindly served before wishing us a safe journey. I hope that I expressed my gratitude properly.