Devante Cole
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Port Vale 0-1 Plymouth Argyle: Life Extinct
After weeks of hard work and endeavour we have finally achieved our goal of reaching the bottom of League 1, taking over that mantle from yesterday’s visitors, Plymouth. Our quest for 4th division football seemingly impossible to stop. Darren Moore… Continue reading
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Port Vale 0-0 Wycombe Wanderers: The Long Road To League 2
Our relentless march toward the Fourth Division continues, despite scraping a point from Saturday’s clash with Wycombe. The adventurous play to win, cautious play not to lose. We chose caution. Fortunately for us, so did Wycombe —a surprise, really, because… Continue reading
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Port Vale 5-1 Maldon & Tiptree: Without Mercy. Without Remorse.
It was all over in twenty-four minutes of glorious chaos, four goals in a nine minute spell from Vale enough to deprive the nation of a Sunday afternoon giant-killing. It began with a dream and a stumble. Five minutes in… Continue reading
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The Soul of the North: Wigan in Motion
Come Saturday we’ll be back on the road, northbound. M6, A49. 50 straight miles into Wigan. Wigan Athletic vs Port Vale. It’s more than just a game of football — it’s a cosmic pause, a roadside prayer whispered through transistor… Continue reading
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Port Vale vs Arsenal: Breakfast And A Morning Stroll
Wednesday 24 September 2025, 08:30. The morning began, as mornings ought, with a ceremony of nourishment both modest and magnificent. An omelette, golden and obedient, enfolded within its curving embrace a portion of smoked haddock – firm, fragrant ,and faintly… Continue reading
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Port Vale 2-1 Mansfield Town: The Reprieve
Saturday 20 September 2025, 3pm. Vale Park, Burslem, Stoke-on-Trent. Ninety-five minutes gone and the world hangs on a whistle, the ref a god with a plastic trinket, Ronan Curtis standing there like a man on the edge of a dream… Continue reading
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Port Vale and The Vertu Trophy: Is This All There Is?
The evening will arrive not with fanfare, but with a kind of soft indifference. A Tuesday, perhaps. Or a Wednesday. The days blur. The floodlights blink themselves awake, casting long shadows across the emptying car parks and the slow shuffle… Continue reading
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Port Vale: Here Comes Our Man
The transfer window’s shut. Slammed like a cell door. Locked, bolted, and forgotten. Not that it matters. We were crying out for a striker, one with experience, who knows what’s going on and what needs doing. One who knows those… Continue reading
tales from the paddock 