It's pretty much common knowledge now that The Boutyhunter has been hibernating for so long because of the tragic fall from (Godlike) grace and subsequent departure of Sir Bob Taylor. We're not ashamed to admit this. However, our tearful mourning increased - quadrupled you could say - by the very sad loss of four dear, dear friends this summer just past. We're talking here about the glorious Ashton Gate floodlights (RIP).
We are still enduring considerable torment over this wanton, mindless act of vandalism. Who the hell is responsible? (Presumably, it was Les and his mates, but they're all great blokes now, what with all the big dosh they've been spending. So we won't have a bad word said against them). We just cannot come to terms with the fact that those four mighty, majestic towers of glory, splendour and, um, electricity are simply no longer there. Gone. No more.
Driving over the Cumberland Basin (aka Mark Gavin's Haircut) for the first time since this heinous architectural crime, the feeling of emptiness and loss was overwhelming (like when Andy May signed for Millwall). When those fine upstanding citizens protested over at Golden Hill, we sympathised. When tress were finally butchered, we knew exactly how you felt, comrades.
We are far from alone in our grief. A top member of this publication's old sales team and occasional contributor shares our heart felt sentiments. Manys the time he sang the praises of The Gate's lights, often late at night on the last bus into town. The temple would come into view and he'd be gushing about the ''four spires piercing the Ashton sky line'. And who could argue?
Our two favourite approaches to BS3 are coming on the Portishead road and Bristol bound on the A370 from Flax Bourton. Braking slowly down Rownham Hill for an evening game was a thrill; the thrill being that first glimpse of the Gate, somewhat similar to that first sight of the sea on your summer hols as a kid. The great sheets of light that those four souring towers of steel threw down onto the ground took your breath away. Awesome.
Coming along the Long Ashton by-pass in daylight was also a joy. Those colossal metallic structures marked out the ground for miles around, lending it a regal air. Sadly, this pruning of the palace means that Ashton Gate now melts almost unnoticed into the surroundings. Perhaps this was the idea behind the rather tacky outbreak of red-roofing. You can't fail to see the red from Bedminster Down, or that other truly heavenly Bristol structure, the Clifton Suspension Bridge. We await (with bad and baited breath) the inevitable introduction of red grass….
Some readers may be scornful of this eulogy. Indeed, another great fiend of this mag, and also a contributor, often accused one of us in particular for his trainspotter tendencies; reason being his passion for the lights, and the analysis of, and scorn for, those at other grounds. But they were something to be thoroughly proud of. Never mind ''we've got more fans than you'', what about '' We've got the best floodlights in the football league''.
