What was football like during Covid?
The temperature gun was pointed at my forehead. “35.8,” proclaimed the friendly Lancastrian stood in a makeshift tarpaulin shelter, set up in a small car park. He smiled and nodded. Entry to the stadium was permitted. With the pang of anxiousness which briefly washed over me vanquished, I picked up my commentary equipment and shuffled on. Instructions were read out by the person who handed me my media accreditation, not that I paid attention too intently. Though each stadium was laid out slightly differently – turn right for the toilets, left for the coffee and so on – it was never that hard to tailgate, within reason, someone who had listened. Truth be told, for the 39 th game of a truly bizarre season, I'd heard it all before. And yet, I could not have wished to be anywhere else but here. The Crown Ground, home of Accrington Stanley, the club that wouldn’t die. The homely, reassuring Crown Ground They are the very antithesis to every column inch and every second of sports...