Adventures in Tinpot

No Money Mo Problems.

2012-01-30T18:39:00.012Z

Oxford City 2-0 Weymouth
Saturday 28th January 2012
Evostik Southern League
Court Place Farm Stadium, Oxford
Attendance: 260

Saturday peaked way too soon. About 2:42pm to be precise.

Oxford City played an absolute 100% belter of a song. A song from a golden era of music (the 90's) a song that stands alone in it's genius; a song that revolutionised music, a song from one of the greatest stars to rap on stage at Top of the Pops. Got it? What if I say he had the initials MJ? Yep, obvious isn't. Montell Jordan and his 1995 Number 11 work of genius "This Is How We Do It". I loved that song. I still do. It's like Montell was rapping about my life as a 14 year battling to survive on the mean streets of west Weymouth:

This is how we do it, all hands are in the air
And wave them from here to there
If you're an O.G. mack or a wanna-be player
You see the hood's been good to me
Ever since I was a lower-case G
But now I'm a big G. The girls see I got the money
A hundred-dollar bills y'all

I had a pretty lucrative paper round yo.

Shame. I was hoping to use this sweet jump to get like three feet of air. Gosh!

Sadly they only played half the song. A crime. Mark Morrison's 'Return of the Mac' was also brutally handcuffed and taken off to the playlist cells before Mark could let us know that he's back to to run the show as City sought to play snippets of their entire tape collection before kick off.

She's got that vibe.

When Montell was urging us all to tip our cups and throw our hands up Weymouth were busy bumbling around the Beazer Home Southern League, while our pesky cousin marrying, Fudd drinking neighbours from ~~Shelbyville~~ Dorchester were lording it in the league above. Once again they above us in the tinpot pyramid and our squad for this match was missing one of our better players, Sam Malsom, who, along with Stephen Reed, looks likely to head over the hill. They may have spent the week trying to harm our football team but we had the last laugh after a daring raid on Friday, by a bunch of civic pride emboldened Weymouth fans, recaptured our towns precious lemon tree from a car impound in down town Dorchester.

Oxford City are doing their bit to reduce the unemployment numbers in the local community. The programme lists a total of 60 jobs at the club, which works out at 1 job for every 3 songs partly played before kick off. For those wondering the Rev. Hedley Feast is the superbly named current Club Chaplain.

Weymouth FC linked with Kettering Town, Cambridge United, Rushden & Diamonds, Kidderminster Harriers, Grays, Hornchurch.......

No space on the club house walls are left uncovered. All of the above jobs have their own collage. There's about 8 posters for the 'Welfare Officer', a huge mirror, an Oxford City darts board (presumably managed by the Chief Pub Sports Liaison Officer), details of the next fixture of the Veterans team, a table football ehh...table and a poster showing the British Sign Language alphabet.

Token match shot.

It's alright, I get it. The club have a hige number of volunteers and are playing a role in the community and, yes, once again I am more than a little bit jealous of this. *doffs 'I heart punting' baseball hat* In fact I'm so impressed I'm tempted for a trip to their upcoming 80's/90's music night. Obviously I'll don ear plugs for the 80's guff but I have to admit I'm looking forward to bogling to Aswad.

Have you got anything by Apache Indian? China Black then? Ini Kamoze surely?

In the first half a helicopter landed on a building nearby.

Half time my homies from the hood decided to be good, community supporting, patrons and trying the local ale. Don't. Don't be community spirited. It tasted like stale Sarsons vinegar. ("this is how we brew it" anyone?)

Classic stud markage.

Amongst us a home fan, with the apparent job title of "Official Oxford City branded Jimmy Saville impersonator", wandered in between the covered walls. The old boy looked resplendent in a monogrammed Oxford City tracksuit, Oxford City baseball cap - complete with long hair creeping out from underneath -, blue sunglasses, ear rings, white headphones and some extravagant bling. Now then, now then if Weymouth are ever EVER going to have some positive recognition in the town I propose that a weeping, apologetic George RoLoLs is paraded along the Esplanade, sat in a rusty wheelbarrow, dressed as a destitute Jimmy Saville while fans pelt him with lukewarm Bovril and sharpened lemons.

The next stop is the east side motel.

A powerful look sir, I salute you.

As the ref blows his whistle for the second half the ladies of Oxford City retake their seats beneath the dirty bar window to warmly watch proceedings. Meanwhile I staggered round in the cold looking for an alkaline based drink to combat increasingly loud tummy shames.

The only numbers that ever matter in football are those in the final scoreline (#profound) and this one resulted in a 2-0 defeat, although after a 6-0 and a 4-0 defeat this has to be considered progress. Through the use of this concave graph I am delighted to show that mathematical science shows we will secure a 0-0 inflection (away) point against Stourbridge before going on a fantastic winning run and I very much look forward to our 8-0 win over Banbury next month.

The number that is generating the most interest in Weymouth at the moment is rumoured to be the £40,000 that George RoLoLs is rumoured to be asking for all but 9% ownership of the club. Fans of Kettering Town be afraid, he's heading your way, but hopefully we'll see the RoLoLs family heading over the hill to Shelbyville and onwards towards North Haverbrook shortly.

Up the Terras!

Eveshambles

2012-01-27T12:27:00.036Z

Evesham United 4-0 Weymouth

Sunday 22nd January 2012
Evostik Southern League
St. George's Lane, Worcester
Attendance: 187

Sunday morning at AiT Towers is all about the two and a half hour Hollyoaks omnibus pervathon bonanza. Once that's finished it's time to retune the black and white goggle box to catch a peak at Louise Nurding on 'Something For The Weekend'. (I dream of the day Eternal reform) Once that's finished then, and only then, it's time to read the 'Said & Done' column in the Observer. A column that continually highlights the ludicrous utterings and acts of football folk; think Chairmen praising their managers as tactical Einsteins before, a day later, sacking them while flicking them the V's as they accelerate out the training ground car park.

Darn.....if only I could explain it better. If only could provide you with an example of a chairman prone to ridiculous outbursts. Hmm.....now, where could I find one?

_______________________________________________________
Said & Done
A George Rolls motivational masterclass.
_______________________________________________________
Kenny Legg
adventuresintinpot.co.uk, Sunday 22nd January 2012
............................................................................................................................
Owner of the week
............................................................................................................................

Weymouth chairman, George RoLoLs on his players: 7th January: “Not only are they winning matches but they are providing great entertainment.” 9th January: “I am confident it will not be long before Brendon gets the team back playing at Conference South level again.” 22nd January: “They are letting themselves down and the club down, and it appears some of them are just turning up to collect their wages each week. They are embarrassing the club at this moment in time.” RoLoLs also blabbered "look at the dross we have served up recently, something has to change and quick.”

............................................................................................................................

Sadly not true. The match was scheduled for the afternoon and unfortunately took place.

Any reason for this violent mood swing? Previously to this we've lost in the FA Trophy to tinpot fashionistas Alfreton Town and our last league game, but in a season where avoiding relegation should have been the main priority things aren't that bad.

However a complete tupping from Evesham, due to a second half performance focused around defensive howlers and a lack of leadership, means that RoLoLs has every right to be angry, well he would if he was there and wasn't part of the problem.

While you ate your scrumptious sunday lunch I ate this.

On the 9th January, just before this little bad run George unveiled his latest hairbrain scheme. That being that our, CVA strained, finances were in such good shape that we plan to go full time next season because "if anything this is going to allow our wage bill to come down. He also mentioned that current players may be released in order to save money, if we are perceived to be safe from relegation. A situation that's confusing to the fans but must also have affected the players and, I'm no brainiac psychiatrist ( you may have detected), but this may have had an effect on recent performances. But, it's ok George reassures us he know how to run a football club. If he knows how to run a football club, for the best interests of the club, then I'm suffering from post natal depression.

Classic.

About a hundred Weymouth fans made the trip, about 60 Evesham and about 27 groundhoppers. That's not to knock Evesham, they've been groundsharing since 2006 and are soon to move back home. Not to any old ramshackle ground either, just the nine full size pitches, training area, six changing rooms and a function room. Oh how I dream of a ground like this.

Token match shot.

Since 2006 Evesham have played at Worcester's St. George's Lane, home of the inaugural, some say debut, AiT whitterings fact fans. The ground is superb, it's old, it's ramshackle and has the look of that council house just down the road from you that has the car engine, massive trampoline and broken satellite dish in the garden yet somehow garishly exhibits a retina blistering amount of fairy lights every Christmas. Dotted around the corrugated iron fenced ground are empty flower pots, scraps of wood, piles of sand, traffic cones, broken bits of guttering, clumps of crepe paper, memories of glorious games gone buy and the magical appearance of the well loved football ground. Oh, how I dream of a ground like this. I have a lot of conflicting dreams ok.

Sky Sports new pundit and Gary Neville on a TV screen.

Inside the bar the Evesham club house has set its table out early and there's some great stuff for sale, including some Evesham knitted player dolls. These are made by Gladys Hawkins who will run the club shop at the new ground, along with her husband, while her son runs the programme shop. The club seem to be progressing off the pitch, with a great new stadium, with a place for a family with the best interests of the club at heart in club affairs and, most importantly, they won their last match quite easily. Yep. Oh how I dream of a club like this.

Admit it, if your club did these you'd want one.

Yes, I realise I didn't mention the game. If you were a Weymouth fan there you'd be maintaining the same silence.

Some sand.

Now leave me in peace with my dreams of the girls from Hollyoaks, Louise Nurding and me frolicking in the sand at St. George's Lane.

Up the Terras!

Six and the ground.

2012-01-15T21:00:00.007Z

Weymouth 0-6 Alfreton Town

Saturday 14th January 2012
FA Trophy 2nd Round
Bob Lucas Stadium, Weymouth
Attendance: 739

Good news everyone! George RoLoLs is back as Chairman. Fetch the bunting from the loft, serve up the jelly and ice cream (don't set off a Chinese lantern for the Dorset Echo's sake) and let the good times rolls.

Bad news though. George's wife Amanda has stepped down, if she ever stepped up, as Chairman to spend more time with her quiche recipes. Sad face. I'm sure we all thank her for her contribution to the club and wish her all the best.

A nice touch.

George is back and he's come armed with more plans than a Land Registry.

1. Wiping out £75,000 worth of loans he put in. Thanks George, that's very generous. Is this a good time to discuss those Make It So Ltd shares you transferred to yourself? No? Ok..sorry.

2. Making season tickets available for £99 if 1000 are sold.. Good idea, can't see 1000 people going for it but I really hope I'm wrong.

3. Taking legal action against ex-chairman Malcolm Curtis regarding the sale of the land surrounding the stadium. Good luck with that.

4. Selling shares in the club, although only in batches of 2000 at £1,000 each. Apparently due to the paperwork involved. Must have been a nightmare when transferring all those Make It So Ltd shares then.

5. The masterplan. The squad to go full time next season. Yep, that's a Southern League team going full time because “if anything this is going to allow our wage bill to come down.” Presumably RoLoLs has worked this out on a banjaxed abacus and an upside down calculator that's stuck on the BOOBIES function. Or, maybe. Either way, it's nuts.

Put your thumb up if you'd like a bigger box for the pie.

With George's masterplan; the team playing well and with a FA Trophy game against a team with squad numbers, Conference strugglers Alfreton, I was delighted to part with my £11 entrance fee. Obviously I paid £20 as, if anything it allows my entrance fee to come down. .

Inside the busy bar are Weymouth fans who've not been scene for a while and a decent turn out of Alfreton fans. In between them a man in an Alfreton club tie, combined with a terrifically bushy tache and slicked back hair hair combo hurries around looking like an under employed northern working mens club compère who once glimpsed fame playing the role of 'Shopkeeper' in the second series of Johnny Briggs.

Balls.

It's been a while since Weymouth played a Conference side and this match saw us rolling back the seasons. Sadly, we rolled it back to spring 2009, a season where we were regularly dicked by chortling Conference sides. Today horrific defending means we're five down by half time.

Goal number two: HE'S JUGGLING THE BALL. COME ON, HE'S JUGGLING THE BALL IN OUR PENALTY AREA! SOMEONE HOOF IT! HOOF HIM. DO SOMETHING! Buger.

Goal three: TACKLE HIM, TACKLE HIM, DONT BACK OFF, BEFORE HE GETS IN THE AREA, TACKLE HIM NOW, DONT BACK OFF, TAC....oh for fucks sake.

Goal four: Meh.

Goal five: Anyone fancy a pint?

Sod it. That's that then. Time to put away that tinfoil FA Trophy I'd spent the week making. I say tinfoil, I mean hand crafted silver encrusted with diamonds because, if anything, it worked out cheaper that way.

Token match shot.

The Alfreton fans are having a great time, they've even brought some flags. AiT approves of a bit of flag waveage. If there's one thing I can never never approve of though it's the attire of four blokes who should know better. Getting four T-Shirts printed so you can stand in a line and spell out the initials of your club is a massive 'Christ no'. Maybe you were doing it for a bet eh lads? Please say it's so.

But it's not all bad. These fans are now waaaay out ahead in the running for the 'Most Tinpot moment of the season' award at the (entirely fictional) Tinpotties, the ~~glitzy~~ drab award ceremony that ~~celebrates~~ lovingly mocks lower league football.

Second half, meh. It's great if your an Alfreton fan. Defenders are waltzing the ball out of defence, there's backheels galore, the team make it to brackets (six), the fans successfully solicit waves from their manager and get to sing a full range of songs, thankfully none of them mocking us. A highlight being "By the rivers of Alfreton" I like that. *doffs well worn northern flat cap*

Thanks for not scoring any more goals Alfreton because, if anything, that made you win by more.

Up the Terras!

Want to see how rubbish our defending was? Clicky.

God! Show me the magic (of the FA Cup)

2012-01-09T20:01:00.002Z

Brighton & Hove Albion v Wrexham
Saturday 7th January 2012
FA Cup Third Round
American Express Community Stadium, Brighton
Attendance 18,573

Here at AiT we' would like to welcome our S4C viewing welsh language viewers and therefore this blog nonsense is available in (google translate) Welsh by pressing the red button.

The tragic of the FA Cup.

As if you didn't know in 1991 Mickey Thomas conjured up the magic of the FA Cup when he scored a superb goal as little Wrexham beat big old Arsenal. This is the magic of the FA Cup, it's special. Gus Poyet wrote about it in his programme notes and every Wrexham fans turning up at Brighton dreamt of it the night before. In reality summoning up the magic of the FA Cup is about as likely as seeing Jimmy Krankie knock out Paul Daniels. What? Oh.

**dream sequence**

Horrific vision of Graham Kelly dressed as a Wizard but still maintaining that pained gaze of an septuagenarian straining to hold in a fart.*

"and Bert Millichip, please could you pull out the last home team from the Magic of the FA Cup top hat

Bert has pulled out a large rabbit carrying the Jack of Spades, who represent 'Hackney Marshes FC'. The Great Soprendo if you could be so kind to pull the last team from the hat.

*a flustered Great Soprendo removes a never ending string of coloured hankies tied together*

The plucky minnows of Hackney Marshes FC, who defeated Northwich Victoria to reach this stage, will play a home tie against Kenny Dalglish's Liverpool, containing new signing Jimmy Carter. That concludes the draw for the 3rd round of the FA Cup. It's back to Bob Wilson (anchorman) in the studio where Grotbags will make Sutton United hero Matt Hanlan disappear and Ronnie Radford will be sawn in half by Sooty in this extra special edition of 'The Magic of the FA Cup'"

***dream sequence ends***

When ze big man walks past ze seagulls, it is because he thinks there will be beer and pies.

"La, La, La, La, La, La La, La, La, La.....Brighton". *shakes head*

"Put your hands up, Put your hands up, Put your hands up for Brighton" *holds head in hands*

Oh dear. What's wrong with a bit of 'Ready To Go' by Republic pre kick off. Mmm, Saffron. One Brighton fan waves his tinfoil FA Cup and becomes an instant hero for me, the rest of the Brighton fans sit down quietly in the padded seats as the Wrexham fans stand up and bellow out "We love you Wrexham" at kick off.

We dream the same thing
We want the same thing ...ooh...
And all that we need is to
See it together

At the AmEx Stadium you are never more than 4.2metres from somewhere selling pies and pints. This isn't true but it is scientific fact. If you can't get to the refreshment stand a beer pump on wheels or an attractive women selling pies from a magical bag will come to you. It's genius. This means the every thirsty punter gets his to down his '15 minute challenge' pint of Harveys well in time to follow Gus Poyet's the order on the TV screens to get back to our seats. Which is exactly what we didn't do. If anyone wants to describe Jack Forster Caskey's opening goal to me don't bother, I've got Youtube, I've seen it now. Thanks anyway though, I'll obey Gus next time. mmmm pie.

"Yeah, alright Gus. We'll be there in a minute. We're just finishing our beers alrig......what? 1-0? Who scored?

mmmm seagull pie.

14 minutes later Adrian Cieslewisz uses the magic words "long jinking run culminating in a shot slammed into the net" to send the Wrexham fans bonkers barmy. Now, if I was to invoke an AiT version of the magic of the FA Cup I would say it contained a ramshackle pitch invasion. The Wrexham fans duly obliged. *doff's comedy red wig* The scene gets better as a, suddenly startled, Wrexham fan realises he is shambling round the penalty area on his own and he's now got to outwit the illuminous hulk of a steward bearing down on him. A shimmy here, a drunken stagger, a crazed charge. A textbook headlock and grapple to the floor. A victory for the steward that means this lad doesn't see any more of the game, but he did give over 18,000 people a jolly good actual LOL and that's what's important in this story.

Token match shot.

An inflatable sheep bounces around the Wrexham fans their team look more likely to get the goal needed to fully unleash the super powers of the magic of the FA Cup. No matter how many "izzy wizzy lets gets busy" or "piff paff poofs" the full magic of the FA Cup isn't quite forthcoming today. A one all away draw to a team over 50 places above you in the league isn't bad though and Brighton fans acknowledge this by sportingly clapping the Wrexham players off.

Your actual Modern Toss there.

Local beers for local people.

The great relationship between the fans continues after the game as both sets of fans gather in the West Stand concourse to talk about the game, guzzle more pints and scoff more pies. mmmm pies. The scene continues in Dick's Bar, a superb bar selling both Salt & Shake and beef Monster Munch potato and/or maize based snack fans. Wrexham fans sup celebratory pints of their local Brains ale and mix with Brighton fans quaffing congratulatory Harveys well into the evening and this, happy ending fans (not that sort), is a scene that shows the magic of being a football fan. *wipes tear from eye*

Please note inclusion of full moon for perceived artistic shot.

Now - if you actually want to read about the match don't read The Ball Is Round or The Real FA Cup events, head straight to the Two Hundred Percent account of the day. He wasn't (quite) as roaring drunk as us lot.

Duw! Dangoswch i mi y hud (y Cwpan yr FA)

2012-01-08T20:00:00.000Z

Brighton & Hove Albion v Wrecsam
Dydd Sadwrn 7 Ionawr, 2012
Cwpan yr FA Rownd Trydydd
American Express Stadiwm Cymunedol, Brighton
Presenoldeb 18,573

Yma yn AIT byddem 'tebyg i groesawu ein gwylwyr gwylio S4C iaith Gymraeg ac felly mae hyn lol blog ar gael yn Saesneg trwy wasgu'r botwm coch.

Mae trasig Cwpan yr FA.

Fel pe nad oeddech yn gwybod yn 1991 conjured Mickey Thomas, hyd y hud Cwpan yr FA pan sgoriodd gôl ardderchog gan guro Arsenal Wrecsam ychydig o hen mawr. Mae hyn yn hud Cwpan yr FA, mae'n arbennig. Ysgrifennodd Gus Poyet am y peth yn ei nodiadau rhaglen a phob gefnogwyr Wrecsam yn troi i fyny ar Brighton breuddwydio am fod y noson gynt. Mewn gwirionedd, galw i fyny y hud Cwpan yr FA yn ymwneud yn fwy tebygol na gweld Jimmy Krankie guro allan Paul Daniels. Beth? Oh.

**Dilyniant breuddwyd **

Gweledigaeth erchyll o Graham Kelly wedi gwisgo fel Dewin ond mae'n dal i gynnal y gaze pained o septuagenarian straenio i gynnal mewn fart .*

"A Bert Millichip, gallai os gwelwch yn dda i chi dynnu allan i'r tîm cartref olaf o'r Magic of ben Cwpan FA het

Bert wedi tynnu allan cwningen mawr yn cario'r Jack of Spades, sy'n cynrychioli 'Hacni Corsydd CC'. Mae'r Soprendo Fawr pe gallech fod mor garedig i dynnu y tîm diwethaf o'r het.

*Y Soprendo ddryslyd Fawr yn tynnu llinyn byth yn dod i ben o hancesi lliw clymu at ei gilydd*

Bydd y sildod plucky Hackney Corsydd Comisiwn Coedwigaeth, sydd drechu Northwich Victoria i gyrraedd y cam hwn, yn chwarae gêm gartref yn erbyn Kenny Dalglish yn Lerpwl, yn cynnwys arwyddion newydd Jimmy Carter. Dyna ddiwedd y raffl ar gyfer rownd 3ydd Cwpan yr FA. Mae'n ôl i Bob Wilson (anchorman) yn y stiwdio lle bydd Grotbags gwneud Sutton Unedig arwr Matt Hanlan yn diflannu a bydd yn cael ei Ronnie Radford wedi'i lifio yn ei hanner gan Sooty yn y rhifyn hwn arbennig ychwanegol o 'The Magic of Cwpan yr FA' "

***Dilyniant freuddwyd yn dod i ben *** ***

Pan fydd dyn yn Ze mawr gwylanod Ze teithiau cerdded yn y gorffennol, mae'n oherwydd ei fod yn credu y bydd cwrw a phasteiod.

"La, La, La, La, La, La La, La, La, La. .... Brighton". *Ysgwyd pen*

"Rhowch eich dwylo i fyny, Rhowch eich dwylo i fyny, Rhowch eich dwylo ar gyfer Brighton" * dal pen mewn dwylo *

O diar. Beth sydd o'i le gydag ychydig o 'Barod i Fynd' gan Weriniaeth cyn cychwyn. Mmm, Saffron. Un tonnau gefnogwr Brighton ei tinfoil Cwpan FA Lloegr a dod yn arwr i mi ar unwaith, weddill y cefnogwyr Brighton eistedd yn dawel yn y seddi padio wrth i'r cefnogwyr Wrecsam sefyll i fyny ac bellow allan "Rydym yn dy garu di Wrecsam" yn cychwyn.

Rydym yn freuddwyd yr un peth

Rydym am yr un peth ... www ...
Ac popeth yr ydym ei angen yw i
Gweler ei gilydd

Yn y Stadiwm Amex nad ydych yn fwy na 4.2metres o rywle werthu pasteiod a peint. Nid yw hyn yn wir, ond mae'n ffaith gwyddonol. Os nad ydych yn gallu cyrraedd y lluniaeth sefyll pwmp cwrw ar olwynion neu fenywod deniadol werthu pasteiod o fag hudol ddod atoch chi. Mae'n athrylith. Mae hyn yn golygu y Punter bob sychedig yn cipio ei i'w lawr peint ei '15 her munud 'o Harveys yn dda mewn pryd i ddilyn Gus Poyet yn y gorchymyn ar y sgriniau teledu i fynd yn ôl at ein seddi. Pa un yw union beth nad oeddem yn ei wneud. Os oes unrhyw un eisiau i ddisgrifio gôl agoriadol Jack Forster Caskey i mi peidiwch â thrafferthu, mae gen i Youtube, rwyf wedi ei weld yn awr. Diolch beth bynnag fodd bynnag, byddaf yn ufuddhau Gus y tro nesaf. MMMM pastai.

"Ie, Gus iawn. Byddwn ni yno mewn munud. Rydym yn unig gorffen ein cwrw alrig ...... beth? 1-0? Pwy sgoriodd?

MMMM wylan pastai.

14 munud yn ddiweddarach Adrian Cieslewisz yn defnyddio'r geiriau hud "hir yn rhedeg jinking gorffen gyda ergyd Condemniwyd i'r rhwyd" i anfon y cefnogwyr Wrecsam barmy boncyrs. Yn awr, os oeddwn i alw fersiwn AIT o hud y Cwpan yr FA byddwn yn dweud ei fod yn cynnwys cae ramshackle ymosodiad. Mae cefnogwyr Wrecsam yn ofynnol yn briodol. * Wig comedi doff yn goch * Mae'r olygfa yn gwella fel, dychryn yn sydyn, Wrecsam fan yn sylweddoli ei fod yn shambling amgylch y cwrt cosbi ar ei ben ei hun ac erbyn hyn mae'n rhaid i trechu'r Hulk illuminous o stiward yn dwyn i lawr arno. Mae shimmy yma, yn feddw igam-ogamu, codi tâl gwallgof. Mae headlock gwerslyfr a ymgodymu i'r llawr. Nid yw buddugoliaeth ar gyfer y stiward mae hynny'n golygu y bachgen yn gweld mwy o'r gêm, ond oedd yn rhoi mwy na 18,000 o bobl y LOL gwirioneddol hwyliog da a dyna beth sy'n bwysig yn y stori.

Tocyn cyfateb saethu.

Mae defaid chwyddadwy adlamu o amgylch y cefnogwyr Wrecsam eu tîm yn edrych yn fwy tebygol o gael y nod sydd ei angen i ryddhau yn llawn y pwerau super o hud y Cwpan yr FA. Dim ots faint o "Izzy wizzy gadael yn cael brysur" neu "piff paff poofs" nid yw hud llawn y Cwpan yr FA yn eithaf sydd i ddod heddiw. Nid yw un-i gyd i ffwrdd yn tynnu at dîm dros 50 o leoedd yn uwch i chi yn y gynghrair yn wael er bod a chefnogwyr Brighton yn cydnabod hyn drwy glapio sportingly y chwaraewyr Wrecsam i ffwrdd.

Eich Modern gwirioneddol Toss yno.

Cwrw lleol ar gyfer pobl leol.

Mae'r berthynas mawr rhwng y cefnogwyr yn parhau ar ôl y gêm gan fod y ddau set o gefnogwyr ymgasglu yng nghyntedd Stondin Gorllewin i siarad am y gêm, guzzle peint mwy a mwy o scoff peis. pasteiod MMMM. Mae'r olygfa yn parhau yn Dick y Bar, bar gwych sy'n gwerthu ddau Halen a Ysgwydwch a Monster Munch eidion tatws a / neu gefnogwyr byrbryd yn seiliedig ar indrawn. Ddilynwyr Wrecsam yn dathlu cefnogaeth peint o gwrw eu Brains lleol a chymysgu gyda chefnogwyr Brighton quaffing Harveys longyfarch ymhell i'r nos, ac mae hyn, cefnogwyr diweddglo hapus (nid y math), yn olygfa sy'n dangos y hud o fod yn gefnogwr pêl-droed. * Cadachau dagrau o lygaid *

Nodwch cynnwys lleuad llawn ar gyfer saethu canfyddedig artistig.

Nawr - os ydych yn awyddus i ddarllen am y gêm yn darllen Y Ddawns A Rownd neu y digwyddiadau Cwpan yr FA Go Iawn, ewch yn syth i'r cyfrif Two Hundred Canran y dydd. Nid oedd ef (eithaf) yn rhuo meddw â ni lawer.

On the first day of christmas my tinpot sent to me Moneyfields versus Horndean FC.

2011-12-27T20:15:00.017Z

Moneyfields v Horndean
Monday 26th December 2011
Sydenhams Football League (Wessex)
Moneyfields Sports Ground, Portsmouth
Attendance 111

On the walls of the Moneyfields Social club hung one solitary team scarf, no sign of teams of times gone by, no pennants from other clubs; nothing. Hanging in the clubhouse air was Poundland tinsel and the stale fog of a hundred Brussels sprout scented farts. I soon made it 102 and a half.

New iPad's were charged, kids on new scooters wizzed around, a players Mum showed of her new Cath Kidston bag while a ground hopper filed a couple of programmes in a freshly pressed bag.

Signs made of number plate letters is now possibly my favourite tinpot thing ever. EVER.

The early kick off had seemingly caught Moneyfields unprepared, goal nets are fixed to the ground just before kick off and corner flags are put in place as Horndean kick off, almost immediately misplacing a pass straight into touch.

More thrilling photography brought to you from Adventures in Tinpot.

Two minutes later Ho Ho Horndean get into the Christmas spirit and gift Moneyfields a goal, the Horndean manager responds with a "fucks sake". From here seemingly every act by a Horndean player is followed by an angry sweary swear, as every touch is mis-controlled, every pass mis-hit and every shot off target.

Token match shot.

Like receiving socks for Christmas for the 24th year in succession Horndean conceding a second is no surprise. Steve Hutchings scores a penalty it front of the massed rank of two fans, one furiously producing thick clouds of smoke from a pipe (a pipe – Yes! *punches air* When I'm older I'm going to smoke a pipe) and another old boy watching from a chair wedged in the clubhouse doorway. A clear fire hazard. Never block an escape route. Basic fire safety that.

What's wrong with 'Keep off the Grass'?

Dear Santa,

I've been a really good boy this year and I wondered if you and Rudolf the Red Nosed Groundhopper could bring me a special gift this year. Please could you bring me something really funny at Moneyfields FC, I don't know what but if you could leave a surprise there for me there I'd really appreciate it. I'd also really like some Bristol City roller blinds.

Kenny

P.S - I've left a match programme and a Bovril for you.

Oh, Santa thank you!! It's better than I could have ever imagined, I love it so much! Some seats from a bus stop in the Moneyfields dugout, I would never have even thought of it. I love it! Thanks Santa!! You're the best.

Somewhere in north Portsmouth confused commuters stand waiting for a bus.

Somewhere in north Portsmouth confused commuters stand in the rain waiting for a bus.

It's not the only thing that has mysteriously made it's way into the ground, a Pukka Pies sign advertises their non available wares, a newsagents sign promotes the next couple of games and dotted around the ground are 3 gold coloured bins advertising 'Coors' - not your new modern fangled fancy 'Coors Light', not even your Irish tin whistle toting pop combo The Coors, nope this is the Coors that sponsored Erland Johnsen era Chelsea.

Corrs blimey Guvnor.

The unprepared nature continues. Shortly after the refreshment hut runs out of, well everything it seems. Hot dog? No. Cup a soup? All gone I'm afraid. Chocolate bar? You should have brought your selection box. A kid is dispatched and his scooter to the Co-op to get some milk in an attempt to keep tea sales ticking over. Always have enough milk for teas. Basic catering skills that.

Empty boxes.

Easy on the milk there, that's got to last. Everyone, please welcome the left hand of Old Father Tinpot making it's AiT debut. A big hand for the hand please.

Not everyone at Moneyfields is a little disorganised. One woman walks along the terrace attempting to make people part with that manky £10 note Nan gave them in a Christmas card in exchange for one of her home made scarves in the yellow and blue of Moneyfields. Amazing stuff! A big doff on the home knitted slightly ill fitting AiT bobble hat to you. Identify a gap in the market and fill that gap. Basic business skills that.

Sod the Dukla Prague away kit, all I want for Christmas is a home made Moneyfields FC scarf.

Before half time it's three nil and, like a butterball Turkey on Christmas morning, Horndean are ~~having Paxo firmly rammed up their anus~~ being well and truly stuffed. Horndean go with the triple substitution which sees a kid come on with a hair cut that suggests he plays bass guitar in a locally popular but, nonetheless, hugely derivative indie band. He's not much good at football.

Pompey, rolling slightly irregularly and pulling slightly to the left.

The game drifts to a conclusion, the home support urging the ref to conclude the game “hurry up ref, the Eastenders omnibus starts at 2:45”, a subbed Horndean player leaves ten minutes before the end, presumably to go shopping with Darren Bent, and the game finishes with the ball being booted firmly into the trees surrounding the pitch.

Now...hold hands with the person to your right, and sing along with me!

On the first day of Christmas my tinpot sent to me
Twelve farters farting,
Eleven useless players,
Ten groundhoppers a hopping,
Nine ladies present,
Eight teas with no milk in,
Seven kids a scooting,
Six seats a stolen,
Five home made scarves,
Four part worn tyres,
Three Coors bins,
Two tinpot teams,
and a football lodged in a pine tree.

Stories from the City.

2011-12-05T17:14:00.008Z

Bristol City v Middlesbrough
Saturday 3rd December 2011
The Championship
Ashton Gate, Bristol.
Attendance 14,467

Last Tuesday Bristol City announced losses of a mere £11,454,525 (eleven mill...a lot), taking total losses over 3 years to over £30m (thirty million). *

The loss was announced on the Tuesday and on Friday the club announced two vacancies; one for a Group Financial Controller and the other for a Financial Assistant. That afternoon half of the entire City staff endeavoured, unsuccessfully, to shut a barn door that had mysteriously opened, while the other half tried to locate a stallion that had been seen fleeing the scene in an agitated state.

***Warning – attempt to crowbar in fact coming up.***

The flats surrounding Ashton Gate were actually the ones used in Only Fools and Horses. In an attempt to get some money in quick City offered a reduction Del Boy would have been proud of. They're not asking the usual £30 for tickets, they're not asking for a score, who said £15 – put your money away love, it's only a tenner a ticket and now, because of their generosity, little Jon Stead is going hungry this Christmas.

How much for two tickets?

If that little money raising plan doesn't work City have a winner of an idea. Guinness copyright infringing T-Shirts celebrating new manager Derek McInnes' four wins in his first seven games. Win this game and there's every chance McInnes' face will be photoshopped into his own range of lawsuit inducing tracksuits, produced from a mush in Shepherds Bush.

This years fashion must have in BS3.

If short term novelty T-shirts haven't got you hastily re-writing your Christmas list then City have got just the item for you. Bristol City Roller Blinds. Amazing. Now, I know you've all got one burning questions here, can these roller blinds be fitted within the recess to work with my existing curtains? Good news, these Bristol City Roller Blinds can be “fitted within the recess to work with or without existing curtains”. What a Christmas this is going to be for the “dedicated Bristol City fan”.

This time next year we'll be millionaires, which is a shame because we are currently carrying total financial liabilities of some £30+ million, therefore £1m is only around 3% of our total current debt Rodney.

City aren't going to turn down the sponsorship shilling and there are a few signs signs for local businesses. The 'Boro fans (poor bastards) are situated behind a sign for The Three Lions pub, south Bristol's most unwelcoming pub for away fans, which was once frequented by Danny Dyer and also by a police horse which, undoubtedly, had more of an acting range.

Denzel brought in this shipment of Spartak Moscow gnomes this morning, stick a Bristol City logo on the shorts and go and flog em.

They are separated from the home fans by a bunch of City flags, from groups like Forza Eastend. At the other end of the terrace is an impressive mural including 'Ernie the Robin' and the words “when the moon shines”. Why “Ernie” and why “when the moon shines”? Wurzels lyrics of course.

Forza Eastend are admirably trying to create a decent atmosphere at the games. There's some decent photos here, some decent flags, some flares and Ernie graffited into a duck pond. “Try anything you aquatic mug and I'll get some proper nawty hoisin out, right?”. (Just joking eh lads, eh). They've also got some sort of manifesto, which includes “issuing advice for the correct purchase and consumption of our local apple based beverage.” *doffs commerative 30 years of The Wurzels hat*

Behind door 24 it's a set of Bristol City Roller blinds beautifully fitted within the recess to work with the existing curtains.

Shortly after kick off the only audible sounds of two old boy regulars behind me grumbling at those struggling to find their £10 seats. Middlesbrough keep possession, knock it round nicely and I'm sure it's all very pleasing on the eye, and how football should be played, but it's bloody boring. City get the ball occasionally and look for Albert “Alby” Adomah, a tricky winger who has been linked to West Brom, Fulham, Tytherington Rocks and Jossy's Giants. For Middlesbrough Nicky Bailey looked good, so good that even I noticed and hey, hands up I'll admit it, I'm no Zonal Marking.

Matching Santa hats. *shakes head*

Half time brings “the charge of the light brigade”, according to the old boys, as everyone piles out for Bovril. If I'd have known City we're going to play 'Dancing in the Moonlight' by pissing Toploader I'd have puffed out my chest, mounted my stead and led everyone ala Lord Cardigan in a recklessly brave attempt to storm the PA box and save us all from these offensive Jamie Oliver endorsed sack of taste the difference fuzzy haired shitbags.

There were also cheerleaders. They were called Vivacity.

Vivacity (noun) - characterized by high spirits and animation.

Also Viva City. Clever. Very clever.

The second half sees the locals get more animated as a perceived number of decisions go against them. It remains pretty dull. You know it's a bad game if even the local paper refers to the game as a “forgettable encounter” and the old boys behind me greet another mishit pass with “this ain't amateur football”. Oh sir, how I wish it was. I really do. £30 for this. No thanks.

Token match shot.

There was one bit of quality. An absolute belter of a free kick from ~~Ravanelli~~, ~~Juninho~~, ~~Mido~~, ~~Phil Stamp~~, someone called Malaury Martin. I've never heard of him. He's never heard of me. We get on fine. It's all here, the goal, the celebrations.

All my other photos were blurred, this is about the only one that wasn't and yes, I realise, it is very dull.

With that a pair of Middlesbrough fans dressed as Santa mock City's Eastenders, the home crowd chant “1-0 to the referee” and the City accountant worries what effect this defeat will have on the sales of those ill conceived Derek McInnes blow up dolls and pelmets the marketing department insisted upon.

*If you did want to read more about City's financial state have a look over Swiss Ramble's excellent account of City's eh accounts.

Korea Opportunities.

2011-11-27T20:31:00.018Z

Bath City v Dagenham and Redbridge.

Wednesday 23rd November 2011
FA Cup 1st Round Replay
Twerton Park, Bath.
Attendance 1,704

In the run up to this FA Cup tie Bath City started to receive unwanted tactical advice from a 17 year old in South Korea called Won Jae Yang. Won wants to be the Bath City manager and has clearly been considerable time furiously blurring the lines between Football Manager and reality.

Bath City - sponsored by News International.

Over 100 (one hundred) emails later, each one containing some fresh madness and it's clear Won is as crazy as an intoxicated squirrel in a wind tunnel. Observe. “the loach Bath City column teams becoming the river team will hang City teams with 4-2-3-1 tactics and to seem, wants and when frankly says and I leave a labyrinth roentgen per hour at one meter in the British soccer world.”

Told you.

Club shop in shipping container. 5 tinpot points.

But, maybe he's on to something. Maybe Bath's disappointing season has suffered a lack of “labyrinth roentgen”. Here at AiT we're not going to write him off and that's why we hope to win Won over with this report:

Dear Won,

What time is there?

Do you get Hollyoaks in South Korea?

I see you are a big Bath City fan and can’t believe they’ve dismissed your “labyrinth roentgen” idea. Anyway, here’s a report on the Dagenham & Redbridge match for you. I hope it helps you achieve your ambition to become Bath City manager.

The magic of the FA Carpet.

In the pre match build up Kes Director Ken Loach takes his usual place on the terraces, maybe he could do a film of you, make you look all majestic, like this snappily titled one on Kim Jong-Il. Bath’s mascot, Bladud the Pig, keeps no one entertained by doing press ups. That porcine berk has got to go. Finally the teams line up to the appropriately titled sounds of ‘Ready to Go’ by Republica. Did you have pictures of Saffron from Republica on your bedroom walls and in a locket around your neck like I did Won? God, she was fit wasn’t she?

DOG IN SCARF!! (Must avoid obvious canine related Korean gags)

I must shamefully confess I am not sure how your “labyrinth roentgen” formation lines up, but I’m pretty sure Bath didn’t utilise it. It looked more a 4-4-2 to me to be honest. As you rightly identified Lewis Hogg is “a very talented player, an ace for this team” due to his “wide field of view” and he confirmed this as Bath were the better side initially. However, I am sorry to inform you that defensive frailties were again apparent when Dagenham took the lead through Brian Woodall after only 20 minutes.

Oh joy. An orchestra.

After half time the main bulk of the vociferous Bath fans don’t change ends, they merely shuffle along to the other end of the terrace, to stand to the side of the goal Bath are now attacking. The middle of the terrace being, like the 38 ^th Parallel North, a no go zone. These are the fans you will need to win over if you are to get the fans to accept your revolutionary tactical approach.

"Help me, get this pig away from me. STOP FILMING ME!"

"Oh christ. Get your trotters off me."

Thankfully, there is good news. Specifically that Bath equalised through a strike from 30 yards from Adam Connolly. The goal was of such supreme quality I doffed my traditional Korean gat in Connolly's direction. You didn't mention Connolly in your tactical advice for the game. Have you downloaded the latest Football Manager update Won?

"Please, someone make this nightmare end"

You were right when you, like a confused Yoda, said “finally, a striker Lee Phillips’ll need to use”. Spot on sir. When he came on he really caused that Dagenham defence problems and again you were right when you said “Scott Murray is recommended that you ought to use the player”. Almost won the game for Bath came with minutes few remaining he almost did, sadly he hit the post.

"I'm RADA trained me. Look at me now, out there, in front of all these people, dressed like a tinfoil twat and doing the waltz with an amourous pig. They told me I'd be going to Bath and performing in front of Ken Loach, I didn't know this is what the chuffing well meant. I'm firing my agent. It's alright for you, you've got a cup of tea. I can barely even sodding breath in this thing."

The match went to a period of extra time. The appropriately titled sounds of 'It's Not Over Yet' by Grace was played over the tannoy. They love their 90's pop here Won. Make a note of this: “How to win over fans if not going well: Get Chaka Demus & Pliers to do a personal appearance”. Those Bath City philistines are probably not aware of the early 90's Korean Pop sounds of Seo Taiji and the Boys though. I laugh at them.

Token match shot.

A man called Tom, dressed as the FA Cup, skipped his female chaperone and served to create a fervour amongst the excited home crowd. Sadly the players were not able to summon up such levels of athletic zeal; I feel this is probably due to the presence of a large bottle of Budweiser being played pitch side for the unfortunate recipient of 'Man of the Match'. Quite frankly, and I don't know if you've drunk Budweiser, but it takes of putrid skunk piss (no offence if this is a delicacy in South Korea, I've never been) and I strongly believe the real threat of being awarded this distasteful beverage meant that the Bath players performance levels declined accordingly. Quite rightly in my opinion Won. Quite fucking rightly.

Things get tense as Bladdud spots a Danepak van in the vicinity.

Sadly Won, you will not be leading the team out at Wembley this year. A terrible decision by the (possibly North Korean) buffoon of a linesman meant that Bath conceded a goal that was ridiculously offside. The conceding of a third goal was, like the seizure of power by General Chun Doo-hwan in 1979, a terrible injustice.

Keep sending the emails Won, one day they'll realise they need you. However, if Bath City don’t take up your generous offer then can I suggest you contact Mr George Rolls at Weymouth FC he’d be delighted to receive your emails.

Yours sincerely,

A I Tinpot

Previously on AiT:

Bath City v Weymouth - Feb 10.
Bath City v Chelmsford - April 10
Bath City v Woking - May 10.

Streets Spirit (Ashton & Backwell United Fade Out)

2011-11-22T12:56:00.012Z

Ashton & Backwell United v Street Reserves.
Saturday 19th November 2011
Errea Somerset County League – Premier & Division 1 Cup – 2nd Round.
The Recreation Ground, Backwell
Attendance 30 (ish)

You’re 18 years old and it’s the revelation every kid dreads. Mum’s pregnant again. You're parents are turning your 15 year old annoying brother’s room into a nursery and he’s moving in with you. You’re getting bunk beds. It’s all so unfair. Take down those posters of Michaela Strachan, make some space in the wardrobe, clear some space for his Warhammer and shift your colour TV and your CD collection of Bob Marley. Hide your sensi.

That, for the purpose of this paragraph and maybe others to follow and in no way based on any actual facts, is what happened to Backwell United FC when they merged with the pesky kids from Ashton Boys FC in 2010 to form Ashton & Backwell United (from now on, as I cant be arsed to type it out - ABU) and had to incorporate all Ashton’s stuff in their Recreation Ground home.

This Thursday: Lesson 2. How to fix a bracket.

The clubhouse walls have been stripped bare. No trophies. No old pennants. No posters of Michaela Strachan. Every single table looks the same, each one surrounded by the same style four chairs. Except two at the end of the room. I’m presuming Ashton brought them. One is about 30 cm off the ground, rendering it utterly useless, and the other is a fully extended dining room table (yes, it’s an extender!) Cheers Ashton!

What a carpet. WHAT a carpet.

A dozen seagulls look for worms in the lengthy leaf and firework covered grass as the teams line up. The ref, a man looking like the lead singer from Keane pre port addiction, gives his final advice to his two linesmen, both representatives from their clubs. The ABU linesman doesn’t seek to hide his allegiances and remains dressed in full club gear and it’s clear from kick off that play isn’t something he’ll be keeping up with , it’ s something he’ll be influencing with bellowed nuggets of tactical advice and by barracking the ref.

Keep the ball down there and out of my half for flips sake.

ABU’s opener after ten minutes brings him reason to applaud. Shortly after though he’s forced to frantically lumber after a long ball over his defence, which results in a beautifully lofted finish from the Street striker that draws eloquent praise from his team mates; “ beautiful finish you c*nt”. Lovely.

Token match shot.

Like any good underage kid brother Ashton turned up with a load of alcohol. Beer (probably cider actually )barrels are dotted all around the ground, for no obvious reason, they’re lined up outside the club house, stacked behind one of the goals, balanced on wood next to the 30 mud splattered seats of the ‘Bill Coggins Stand’ and two more serve to balance a ladder in front of a rusty pitch side tractor.

Low budget see-saw.

Welcome to Somerset. Where everyone drives a tractor.

A rusty tractor? Yeah, thanks Ashton. It’s rustier than TV-AM’s (and UKIP’s) Rustie Lee. When will we ever need that? Why have you got all these empty beer barrels anyway? What else have you bought us? Sorry, chairs? You thought they’d look nice scattered around the place?

Chair - Plastic, school assembly.

Old school style bucket chairs are piled high, plastic garden chairs line up at the back of the two step terrace and all around the ground Ashton’s chairs are scattered, most of them facing away from the pitch in shame at their unwanted weather beaten presence. Thanks again Ashton. These chairs will come in really useful.

Chair - Plastic, patio.

The chairs are shunned and most of the small crowd stand. One erect (behave yourselves) punter informs his mates that today is the last day that Tim Gudgin will be reading out the scores on Final Score, after 16 years. by using the inadequate clichéd analogy of “he’s hanging up his boots today”. His fellow fans don’t recall Gudgin or his unique undulating intonation, so examples are provided and seem to provide some feint recollection which encourages our story teller to offer, “yeah, he’s hanging up his mic today” to explain his retirement. In his mind this analogy still doesn’t provide the result (home win) required, that Gudgin’s verbal stylings will be a big loss to Saturday afternoons. Another, this time successful, demonstration of the full classified results sparks instant warm impressions by all and allows him to finally provide the analogy he was desperately seeking for to indicate the loss of Gudgin’s renowned verbal skills by concluding “yeah, he’s hanging up his mouth today”.

Clarification 0 - Bemusement 1 R

Go to the naughty terrace and stand there and think about what you've done.

Budget Jenga.

The seagulls swoop on the pitch again at half time, pints of brain addling dirty cider (one of 5 on tap – welcome to Somerset) are supped and the second half starts with another ABU official ambling the line…whilst supping a brew. His tactical advice differs from his colleague and is based around altering the dimensions of their pitch, “lift it”, “raise it”, “get width” and “dig in” all being offered. Someone fire up Rustie Lee.

Can't sit there mate.

The second half is entertaining, with great goals for each side, and is fairly fought; with physio’s called on to spray water on injuries and provide a helping hand to return players to their weary legs.

Ashton & Backwell United 2-2 Street Town Reserves L
Extra time currently being played.

Token match shot II

Both teams strikers continue to press for a winner, while both teams defence’s are happy to whack it clear. Midfielders are now irrelevant. Balls are hacked clear, bouncing off rusty tractors (thanks Ashton) and get stuck in the high branches of the trees. As extra time draws to a close the Backwell manager risks dislocating a shoulder by futilely throwing a branch into the lower branches of the tree; back up is called for. As the final whistle blows another bloke jabs a rusty rake at the lower part of the tree, not a branch moves.

Is there not enough chairs out here! Why do you have to drag one out of the bar?!

Penalty shoot out.

Ashton & Backwell United: Missed

Street Res: Scored

Ashton & Backwell United: Hit bar

Street Res: Scored

Ashton & Backwell United: Keeper saved

Street Res: Scored

Late Result

Ashton & Backwell United 2 (AET) 2 Street Town Reserves R
Street Town Reserves win 0-3 on penalties.

There will be dancing on the streets of Street tonight.

So that was the first big FA Cup weekend of the winter.

2011-11-14T21:14:00.011Z

Bristol Rovers 3-1 Corby Town
Saturday 12th November 2011
FA Cup 1st Round
Memorial Stadium, Bristol
Attendance: 3,787

It's been a big week for Corby Town FC. On Wednesday they officially opened their new Steel Park stadium with a friendly against Glasgow Rangers, partly due to the town's strong Scottish links, and today the Steelman take on the Gasheads of Bristol Rovers in the 1^st round of the FA Cup.

My non match day club shop is a megastore.

The Corby fans were initially quieter than an Arab Strap B Side. A solitary black and white flag is waved, while a sheet with the Jaegermeister logo emblazoned on it (eh?!) falls embarrassingly between fans not aware with the flag carrying protocol being attempted here. These are non league fans, this sort of exuberant behaviour doesn't come naturally.

Hands up, put your hands up. Too late.
Where do you even get something like this?

However, I was delighted to spot three black and white Corby Town FA Cup rosette's**, numerous scarves half in the black and white of Corby and half in the Glasgow Rangers blue (I heart these scarves) and an old boy proudly sporting the black and white stripes of.....a 1996/7 season Juventus shirt.

"Pauline!.....Pauline!!......Pauline!!!! Where's my Corby shirt? It's the big FA Cup game against Bristol Rovers today. Everyone's wearing their shirts, it's the biggest day in our recent history, it's going to be a sea of black and white and I want to show my proud support for the team"

"Oh, sorry Dave. It's in the washing machine and I've just put a rinse on. Why don't you just wear that Alan Boksic shirt I got you? They're the same colours aren't they? Why does it matter anyway?

"....*slaps forehead* (forlornly) Oh for fucks sake"

Illuminous jacket, woolly hat and prescription sunglasses. A powerful look.

With kick off approaching the obligatory 'FA Cup away day out at a bigger club Glory Hunter Express' arrives and dumps a load of chumps into the ground, swelling the number of Corby fans to around 400. For the dedicated fans you can see the excitement that a match against higher league opposition brings; as the teams enter the pitch a drum is pounded, numerous black and white flags are frantically waved whilst one latecomer throws uninflated black and white balloons into the crowd. Either he's a very tardy man, has severe respiratory problems or has massively misunderstood the basic air filled concept of a balloon.

mmmm flags.

With only a few balloons bobbing around pitch side Rovers almost take the lead after thirty seconds, however Zebroski's shot is horribly mishit. This sets the tone for the first half with Rovers dominating and the game being a bit rubbish really. The glory hunters continue to attempt to start chants that invariably trail off into a confused mumble, or highlight a complete lack of knowledge of even the most basic Corby Town facts, or both; "Hello, hello we are the Corby boys and if you are a... ehhh....."

You can't fault the majority of the Corby fans though, their teenage fan club create a decent atmosphere, not always easy in the open away end, as their team toils away. Throughout the first half they continue to sing, wave their flags and even go for the, rarely seen, chant and prolonged scarf twirling combo. Even going a goal down from a Scott McGleish penalty in 26 minutes can't shut them up for long.

mmm big flag

In the second half they get louder and louder as Corby begin to pen Rovers in their own half. When they equalise, after the ball bobbles in off Callum Reynolds, the non existent roof metaphorically comes off. Players rush from the dugouts and a good old bundle ensues, the euphoric fans launch themselves down the terraces towards the players, elated players pump their clenched fists towards the fans and fans ecstatically punch the air and share gleeful embraces.

The Twilight Happy.

Batshit crazy scenes Geoff.

One guy takes it upon himself to become a Capo and gets his shirt off, grabs what appears to be a toy megaphone, possibly purchased from an Early Learning Centre en route. He then leads some more scarf waving and then impressively orders “shoes off if you love Corby”, an order instantly followed by about a hundred trainer wearing Midlanders. *doffs AiT commerative FA Cup cap, drops shoe, puts shoe on, drop hat, picks up hat* These are the scenes resulting from the jubilation of believing an FA cup upset can happen, the belief that your club will achieve a moments recognition in the nation's consciousness and the expectation of further upsets in subsequent rounds.

There look, on the left, the guy with his toy megaphone. Yeah, I'll buy a decent camera one day.

God I wish Weymouth were in the First Round of the FA Cup again. We played Nottingham Forest once you know.

Sadly Corby's parity is shorter than Wee Jimmy Krankie and 12 minutes later Mustapha Carayol spanks a great shot in. Corby struggle to get back into the game, the shouting subsides slightly and is replaced with classic non league shouts like “you officious little tit ref.” Sadly, on ninety minutes, Chris Zebroski adds a third and the dream is over.

Token match shot.

For every cup upset there's 20 more performances like this. Corby's fans and players can be rightfully proud of their today their endeavours today. A day on which the team's battling performance comes up just short; where long term fans have re-affirmed their love for the club and new fans feel the passion that comes from supporting your home town club on big FA Cup day's like this.

To see the goals click here.

Previously on AiT: Bristol Rovers v Exeter City.

**Note to self - investigate options for AiT Rosettes.

I say that’s entertainment, that’s entertainment

2011-11-06T14:37:00.013Z

Longwell Green 2-1 Merthyr Town
Saturday 5th November 2011
Toolstation League Premier Division
Longwell Green Community Centre, Longwell Green, Bristol
Attendance: 263

....and the 2011 AiT Poll Winners Party award for 'Least Imaginative Club Nickname' goes to......Longwell Green Sports for their nicknames of; 'The Green' or 'The Sports'. Jeez.

So that's Longwell Green Sports, who play at the Longwell Green Community Centre and are nicknamed 'The Green'; anyone want to take a guess at their club colours?

WRONG

It's blue and white stripes. Obviously.

The nominations for the 'Least Imaginative Club Badge' are in and I can reveal the winner of the award are......with their second award today.....Longwell Green Sports.

They may be unimaginative but they're a friendly and welcoming club. We're warmly greeted at the gate by the Chairman, who takes great delight in seeing two new faces and provides some exclusive team news. The Green have three players out as they are on a stag do in Las Vegas (flip me! Las Vegas. What's wrong with a night out in Bristol and a kebab on the way home these days?? Las Vegas eh? *shakes head*) and one of the midfielders had phoned in at midday with a mysterious, possible beverage related, ailment that left him marooned on the sofa.

If you tolerate this then your children will be next.

Although not everything at Longwell Green Sports is squeaky clean, there's a recent scandal which has engulfed a member of team and is detailed at length in the Chairman's programme notes. "We have had a letter of complaint in this week....with a £50.00 bill for clearing up a port a loo that some how fell over with some one still in side, a club investigation is on going into a matter that is going to kick a bit of a stink in local footballing circles." Arf!

Hermann loves Pauline.

The small community centre, which has recently hosted such events as Claire and Paul's wedding (a doff of the extravagant wedding hat from all here at AiT) and a visit from Paul Weller, is packed, with the only seat available the one underneath the piano in the corner of the room. The trestle table creaks under the weight of the extra, AiT favourite, of chairman's wife made filled bread rolls, the pie oven is full to bursting and the bar tills ringing constantly thanks to a bumper trade of lager and blue WKD (uggh!) being sold to the large crowd of thirsty Welshmen.

That's your actual Paul Weller there.

The Merthyr fans make up about 75% of the crowd and set up a couple of flags on the fence behind the goal, obscuring the views of those too tight to pay the £6 to come in and the team immediately take control while the fans make themselves known to the officials. The linesman gets some friendly advice of when to put his offside flag up and the referee is given some moral support through encouraging shouts like "rubbish referee".

Just before half time, and with mothers in the houses surrounding the pitch frantically seeking to protect their kids from being caught in the cross fire of the barrage of shouts being launched from welsh mouths, the hosts take an unexpected lead thanks to a textbook execution of the 'cross cum shot' from Joe Stearing that loops over the head of the keeper.

Just Enough Education to Perform

The first half ends with the Merthyr fans explaining the foul throw rules to one linesman, who helpfully takes the time to correct them and provide a full demonstration of Law 15 of Fifa's Laws of the Game 2011/12 and demonstrate exactly what constitutes a foul throw. After a period of time that doesn't exceed fifteen minutes, as specified in Law 7b, the second half commences with Merthyr kicking towards their massed ranks of flag bearing vociferous fans and Longwell Green attacking an end where a spaniel chases a tennis ball.

Local boy in the photograph.

The Merthyr fans continue to deploy the international language of screaming to register their disapproval with the referee's performance. There's a shout of "you're killing the game ref" shortly followed by possibly my favourite ever shout of "the game's too big for you." Tremendous. That's a game in the 9th level of football that's been judged as being too big for the ref. If he was to go much lower he'd be sat at home weeping while struggling to maintain order in an unruly game of Super Cup football.

The barracking seems to work. The referee crumbles and gives a soft penalty when a Longwell Green player jumps vaguely near a Merthyr player, making this the most shocking decision involving the Welsh since the NME said that Terris were "the best new band in the UK."

Shortly afterwards the ref falls flat on his face. We all laugh.

Token match shot.

After that the ref seems keen to even things up and one linesmen decides he's not taking anymore nonsense. He responds to accusations that he lives nearby by providing a detailed family history, centring around his great Uncle Cyril Morris, and then barracks a Longwell Green defender for delaying a throw in. The defenders protestations that he's "knackered" are met with a retort of "play at the next level down if you're tired" I guffawed a LOL.

The ref succeeds in evening things up with five minutes left leaving Merthyr equally cursed and blessed. Their captain, Steve Williams, is sent off for a bad challenge and then Longwell Green's defender, Dan Bryant, is sent off after the ensuing handbags and the gladrags. From the resulting free kick Norris side foots The Sports' first shot of the half into the net to give them an unlikely lead.

Generation Terrorists.

From then on Longwell are put under sustained pressure, the keeper comes up for corners and the cross bar is thumped, leaving it shaking like a portaloo in the middle of a roisterous night out with the Green boys. But it's too no avail.

Merthyr fans line the route to the changing rooms and the ref no doubt expects some abuse. He's met with handshakes from The Green manager and chairman and the Merthyr fans are respectful in defeat, acknowledging not every game can be won. With a noisy fan base of this size it won't be long before they shouting about their promotion back up the leagues. Meanwhile The Green have bigger things to focus on, like just what did happen to that portaloo.

Previously on AiT - Hengrove Athletic 0-3 Merthyr Town

Our Love To Admira.

2011-11-01T20:40:00.022Z

FC Admira Prague 4-3 FK Pencin Turnov
Sunday 23rd October 2011
Divize C
Stadion v Kobylisích, Prague
Attendance: 125

There's much to admire about Admira. I basis this hyperbole on a number of factors.

1. A club badge consisting of a pair of suspicious inter-racial siamese twin horses.

2. The photos adorning the walls of the bar show a recent complete disregard for the bog standrard team photo. Thanks to the gift of Photoshop the clubhouse walls no longer have to show shots like the famous 1965 man boob eleven.

The famous 1965 man boob eleven. Click to enlarge man boobs - there's not yours tubby.

Now Admira can stand proud their team photo in front of a fervent crowd or in front of their new stadium, which looks more than suspiciously like Stamford Bridge with the letters in the stand seats altered to spell Admira!

Good old Photoshop hey!

Is this a little bit weird, or is it just me?

3. The ground is a superb mix of different areas. It's more of a suburban park than a football ground.

a) THERE IS A KIDS PLAY AREA IN THE GROUND.

In years to come people will stop me and ask me about my presence at the Stadion v Kobylisích , home of Admira Prague for the 10-15 kick off against FK Pencin Turnov and say, “Kenny, did the presence of a kids playground in the ground influence your decision to attend? I will answer truthfully and say that “in a roundabout way it did swing it for me, yes.” *groans*

Needs more wood chippings.

Anyone over the age of six is barred from the kids play area. However here at AiT we giggle childishly in the face of authority and stick our tongues out at the muž and his rules; of course I went on the slide and of course I had a go on the springy wobbly Zebedde thing. I'd be letting myself, and more importantly you, down if I didn't.

Mental age, 6.

b) There are three (three) places to buy beer. Yes, it is 10:15 in the morning, but I'm on holiday so it's alright and it's good to have options.

c) There's a bit of decking in one corner, (who doesn't like decking), with a few tables under Budvar (who doesn't like Budvar), parasols (who doesn't like parasols), for your an al fresco early morning livener.

d) Weeds line the the steep, and staggeringly narrow, grassy terraces that mean anyone with a shoe size bigger than a 10 (Eur 44(forty four) should exercise extreme caution when spectating here. Clowns with large shoes on should seek an alternative viewing spot.

e) At Admira you can sit/stand wherever you like. One lone fan seeks an alternative, flat, viewpoint and sits on his chair, dragged from the decking, and sits down in the ideal place; right on the half way line....and right in front of a blue fence post.

f) Admira offer a retirement home for unlove goal posts. You can sponsor any of the goals in this gallery. When you sponsor a goal your donations are used to help all the goals in our care. With your help Admira can re-pitch all these goals.

g ) The asthetic appeal of even the most ugly aspects of a football ground are considered. A skip is beautifully showcased with it's own fence and seven mini trees landscaping it to create a beautiful scene that no football ground should be without.

4. Their fans, including the obligatory one in huge amounts of khaki and shorts despite the freezing weather, are to be admired for being up and on the sauce this early. Further praise is due for their use of the very self aware “Old Boyz” banner and the use of a drum and old school rattle to kick up a bit of a racket; probably not enough to rouse the sleepy residents of the three fog enveloped tower blocks looming over the stand opposite but impressive at this time of the morning.

They are joined on the steep terraces by the ultras from Turnov, who have arrived complete with their two banners – one quite clearly a blue sheet and a white sheet stitched together and the word 'Fans' felt tipped across the middle. The Admira fans were welcoming to their guests and the club website reports that “both groups showed how to cheer for - well, no insults and provocations. And after the game to fans of both clubs unison promised - in the spring and again in Turnov!” You get the idea, the Admira fans were welcoming.

Token match shot.

The game swings back and forth, like a swing and both sides have their ups and downs, like a see-saw. After 16 minutes Turnov take the lead, only for Admira to equalise straight away. However by 41 minutes, and with the fog relenting to reveal three more tower blocks (10 Eastern European Football i-SPY points) peering over the main stand Admira had just conceded a third, which left three of their defenders slumped and defeated in their six yard box. Again though Admira came back immediately and had reduced the deficit again before half time, thanks for a goal that looped in directly from a corner.

Half time sees time for some more fawning over the club.

5. You've got to love a club that's got it's own club crest on sugar sachets. Well, they're probably out of sachets by the team the EFW lot had purlioned a load as souvenirs.

6. They serve food that isn't sausage! Imagine that. After 4 days surviving on bread, sausage and mustard I was delighted to eat this. Whatever it is, there were unconfirmed reports that it contained potato, it was greasier than the sausage that caused a greasy bail out at Polonia Warsaw.

7. Great choice of music. Admira's equaliser, in the forty sixth minute, resulted in The Outhere Brothers – Don't Stop (Wiggle Wiggle) to be played on the PA.

h) A VIP section that consisted of a wooden bench on some fake grass stuff atop a small concrete building. All with a cracking view of the match, but sadly lacking a roof and prawn sandiwches; at Admira even the VIP's aren't that important.

"Hey Petra! Petra!! Look at me, I'm making a substitution!"

"Give me that Ivan you buffoon, I've told you before not to touch the substitute board. Stop showing off to Petra. Why are you on the touchline anyway? Be gone!"

(mumbles) Stupid lousy Ivan. "Hey Petra! Look, over here. Flat 17...yeah 17...come round anytime."

Oh, I didn't realise they'd kicked off.

After 74 minutes Admira put together a slick move that ends with striker Mičko nodding it in off the cross bar. It caused such excitement even the old boy left his fence post and stood up. Admira admirably held out, despite Turnov being reduced to ten men – it's a well known football fact it's harder to play against ten men - and at the the team swapped high five's with the Admira 'Old Boyz' and about 10 EFWers, including me, desperate to slap the hands of our new Czech 4^th division football heroes.

All Fired Up

2011-10-30T20:00:00.025Z

Slovan Bratislava 0-0 Paris Saint Germain
Thursday 20th October 2011
Europa League
Stadion Pasienky, Bratislava.
Attendance: 7242

Christmas, my birthday, International Speak Like a Pirate Day. All of these momentous occasions pale into insignificance when compared with the elation that greets the start of the European Football Weekends Oktoberfest; an annual big boys beano like The Inbetweeners Movie but with less girls and more floodlights.

I'll admit to being more than a wee bit excited about the chance to see Slovan Bratislava's former home, the now overgrown Tehelné pole. While circling the ground I'd made some new football friends (they're not my friends alright!!), including a legendary Norwegian who had quit his job and binned his filly to travel round watching European football (*doffs AiT cap*) and a couple of PSG fans.

Misery guts.

Sadly locating the magic door proved problematic, as did the presence of an angry security guard with a hefty baton and the dead eyed stare of a killer. With a group of fellow EFWers in sight in side I was so angry I could have sworn. For some decent pictures have a look here.

A few hours later my new my French friends (they're not my friends alright!!) and around 200 hundred of their onion necklace wearing pals were surrounded by about two hundred of Bratislava's constabulary and refused entry into the ground, despite having arranged their tickets through the club. It seems the police were a bit spooked about the presence of some of 'proper nawty' Boulogne Boys and the PSG fans were frogmarched (weak pun completely intended) to a pub in town. Subsequently some PSG fans have met with club officials to try and get full refunds. Poor form from Slovan there.

Look at them shine. Look at them shine.

The Slovan fans were treated slightly better and given a free t-shirt and a shiny flag to wave as they entered the ground. With the excitement of a magpie in a milk bottle top factory, I snaffled a flag and and shook it like a Polaroid picture as the teams came out; as did all those Slovan fans who weren't stuffing themselves on huge bowls of popcorn and the Zbrojovka Brno Ultras to our right (more of Brno and their fans here) and this served to create an impressive display.

See caption above.

Sadly the match couldn't match up to the impressive initial atmosphere, well – that's what I gained from my occasional glance at the match. My legs were shaking, my eyes bulging and my hands sweaty (yes, I had had a beer) at the sight of a beautiful fire engine in the ground. Yes, a fire engine can be beautiful, especially when it's ramshackle, features wooden ladders on it's roof and is parked up in an Eastern European ground. Don't believe me, just ask Danny Last, he knows, and he's won awards. When I was a young tinpot adventurer eastern European football could only be seen on Des Lynam presented Grandstand and seemed to be played in another far flung grainy world, on pitches surrounded by humongous stands illuminated by hulking great floodlights with numerous pitchside emergency services vehicles. To live this in real life was exciting for me and shows that I mentally still live in the early 80's Grandstand studio.

I can honestly say this was the second happiest I'd been in my life, the first being when I shook Welephant's paw at Weymouth carnival in 1986.

If that wasn't enough, and in fairness it probably more than enough, then my eyes were delighted when they clocked the monstrous scoreboard. The match was still 0-0, I knew this from regular checks of two giant zeros, made of smaller zero's which confirmed the score was, as I suspected, still 0-0. PSG, who according to the UEFA report of the game “arrived in chilly Bratislava looking for the gratifying warmth of victory”, were the better side but nothing much happened. So I used the forty five minute lull in proceedings to work out that this scoreboard contained a total of 12,500 bulbs. My workings are:

Each small square of bulbs measures 5 bulbs x 5 bulbs

Each row of small squares contains 50 small squares

There are ten rows of squares.

Therefore the scoreboard equation, where x = floodlight bulbs, can be explained thus:

x = (5x5) x 50 x 10 = 12,500

Half time sees the fireman head back into the vehicle, open a thermos, pull out some sandwiches and have a little pitchside picnic. I didn't know being a fireman could be this glamorous, it certainly wasn't all football and picnics for Assistant Divisional Officer (ADO) Nick 'Zorba' Georgiadis and Sub Officer John Hallam on London's Burning.

Pass the scotch eggs Ivan.

Fire engine + bizarre mascot = too much for me to take.

After 64 minutes English referee Lee Probert sent off PSG midfielder Clement Chantome for a second booking, despite this PSG looked more likely to score in front of the empty away section. Like Blackwall Fire Station's Blue Watch after Sub Officer John Hallam tragically died in a warehouse fire in 1996 PSG were reduced to nine men unexpectedly when Chico Tiene was sent off 80 minutes.

One final look.

In a sensible moment here on AiT what followed after was a disgrace. Tiene's long walk off was accompanied by monkey chants from large number of the Slovan fans. It was disgusting, idiotic and made even more ridiculous by the fact Slovan had two black players, Bagayoko Mamadou and nationalised Slovakian international Karim Guede and in their own line up. This article on the excellent Britski Belasi website gives more information, including the complete lack of acknowledgement of the chants from UEFA or Slovan so far.

Token match shot.

Slovan put some pressure on PSG but seem content with the point, the final whistle sounding shortly after a free kick pings off the aerial of an ambulance next to the fire engine and around 400 of the bulbs on the scoreboard report the final score as 0-0, which it was.

For a more comprehensive review of proceedings have a read of Stuart Fuller's report over on European Football Weekends.

GAK To The Future

2011-10-18T17:24:00.001+01:00

Grazer AK 0-0 SV Tondach Gleinstaetten
Friday 14th October 2011

Regionalliga Mitte
UPC Arena, Graz, Austria.
Attendance: 360

Yesterday's walk to the Donawitz Stadium in Loeben was soundtracked by church bells and took me along beautiful rivers rippling between picturesque hillsides. Today's route to the UPC Arena in Graz took me past the Hip Hop World Championships (It's a little known fact that Public Enemy are actually from Salzburg and that 2 Pac was originally called Zwei Pac), an Aldi and a Hooters.

The sausage with cheese in it I was a big fan of, the student sick sauce not so.

The UPC Arena is home to Grazer AK and their big city rivals Sturm Graz. The stadium was formerly known as the Arnold Schwarzenegge stadium and was changed in 2005 as Arnie revoked the city's right to use the name.Sturm are the current Bundesliga champions while GAK, who were League Champions in 2004, are now in the semi professional Third Division as a result of being docked 28 points in 06/07 and not being allowed to compete in the professional leagues in 07/08.

Self explanatory this one. Doesn't need a caption.

It's clear to see who are the bigger team, Sturm adorned bars and a fan shop line the area around the bland stadium. While Graz's fan shop is a couple of tables inside the ground. The atmosphere builds up nicely; men are despatched amongst the crowd with beers and carrier bags full of pretzels for the sun drenched crowd, fans take their places on piles inducing seats, a battered drum is set up, the 'Red Firm' and 'Graz Society' Ultras banners are taped precariously above the moat that surrounds the pitch and then the most ripped off song in the history of tune is played over the PA, "Football's Coming Home" - GAK style. Lyrics are dicked about with to create "Tears for heroes dressed in red" and the frankly nonsensical refrain of "Heroes in the shirt, everybody's gleaming."

Grazer AK Ultras

Everyone in the ground is (not gleaming) situated in one side of the ground and this creates a decent atmosphere, despite the 15,400 all seater stadium being largely empty. Two Kapo's work to get the Graz fans going and songs are sung about the clubs formation in 1902, about their enduring support; "Dritte Liga ist OK schiess egal" ("3rd division is ok, it doesn't matter"), the obligatory German language "schiess ein Tor fuer uns" (score a goal for us) and, naturally, songs against the opponents, and Sturm, "Ihr seid schiesse wie der SV Sturm." (you are shit, like SV Sturm)

Token match shot.

Gleinstaetten defend resouletly for the first half and Graz fail to break down the defence. The Graz, Red Devil, mascot prowls pitchside and is probably the shittest mascot I've ever seen.....and I've seen Weymouth's 'Terry the Terra-dactyl' mascot - a man wrapped in a purple curtain. The Red Devil is a man dressed in full kit and with an ill fitting cheap beelezebub mask. Must try harder.

WORST.MASCOT.EVER

Half time sees a pack of kids appear and they work tirelessly to clean the stands of empty beer cups. They work as a team, those pitch side directing troops in the stand to ensure no freshly drained glass remains uncollected. Their spirit to cleanliness is noble but then the cent drops, they're after the Euro deposit for the glasses. Good for the environment and entrepreneurial spirit.

The 'Red Firm' and 'Graz Society' are given little to shout for in the second half, so the focus falls on the ref who appears to be in cahoots with the cup collecting kids as each increasingly controversial decision is greeted with a light showering of cups pitch side, which are then instantly fought over like pigeons chasing stale breadcrumbs in Trafalgar Square.

Insane scenes Geoff. *doffs AiT cap to kid vaulting into moat*

Gleinstaetten defend deep and break up play with numerous fouls and deny GAK chances, the first clear chance is hit just over on sixty five minutes. Despite the lack of action the Ultras continue their support and hope a couple of English chants may help things along. Sadly"Come On You Reds" (Come On You Reds) and "Ohhh GAK We Love You" ("Ohhh GAK We Love You") don't help and offering the ref a yeasty incentive by lobbing large amounts of beer in his direction doesn't persuade him to give a penalty shortly before the end.

When the Gleinstaetten keeper dives to get a GAK striker booked with the last foul of the game the fans are rightly outraged. The Red Devil runs behind the goal, rips off his mask, shakes his trident at the keeper and gives him barrels of abuse. The kids are ecstatic with the decision though, it's gonna be a night of endless ice cream and fizzy pop for them as untold riches rein down from the stands.

Token match shot II. Judgement Day.

The final whistle blows and the mascot storms onto the pitch and gets right in the face of the keeper, hundreds of plastic glasses thud down pitch side (a fair few after richocheting off young skulls first), a photographer steps into separate the devil from the keeper and the kids go into a frenzy to build their towers of glasses which, in some instances, are now as tall as them.

BEST.MASCOT.EVER. When Mascot's attack.

Banners are taken down, flags folded away ready and kids stagger under the weight of their new found wealth. Despite the draw GAK remain seven points clear at the top and look well placed to return to professional football. Maybe if they get into financial trouble again, perhaps in Ian Broudie sues for copyright infringement perhaps, they can be safe in the knowledge they can seek financial support from their generation of entrepreneurial fans.

For match highlights click here, although I wouldn't waste your bandwidth to be honest.

I'm Loeben it, Loeben it, Loeben it, Loeben it like this.

2011-10-17T16:15:00.012+01:00

DSV Loeben 1-0 SK Sturm Graz II

Friday 14th October 2011
Regionalliga Mitte
Donawitz Stadion, Leoben, Austria
Attendance: 360

When the opportunity arose to go and watch a Austrian 3rd division match I was fairly interested. When I found out DVS Loeben have their own rap song I was keener than R Kelly at a School Disco. The hills are alive with the sound of music and that music is Austrian rap! Oh yes.

I am not a groundhopper.

It was a trip well worth making. The 6000 capacity Donawitz Stadium is superb, with two long stands on either touchline directing the focus to the stunning views of tree lined hills set against bright blue skies behind each goal. Around three sides of the ground are small steps and behind one goal stand five small sheds which suggested a premature Christmas market could break out at any time.

This is not a groundhopping blog.

They are a bit behind the times in Austria. It's still legal to smoke in bars, sadly, so when the third Cumulo nimbus cloud formed in my face it was time to depart The Volley Bar', which really was more of a half volley as it was full to capacity with 12 people in it. It's also still legal to have a mullet haircut, thankfully, and men are sat in barbers in Vienna and beyond clutching and pointing at pictures of their style icon, Toni Polster circa Italia 1990. I counted 5 (funf) mullets and was ecstatic to see a man coiffured like Terry Nutkins.

Textbook mullet. *stands and applauds*

The rap song, some say track, is given a spin, some say rotation shortly before kick off and is predictably woeful. The rap is from MC Shabusta, who is also the stadium announcer (real name: Gernot Tändler) and is titled 'Der geilste Klub der Welt' (The greatest club in the world) which is clearly a lie. A massive lie. Why not have a listen here.

I am not a groundhopper.

According to the club website “The rap will appeal to younger visitors at the stadium and will not be seen as competing with the DSV song by "Johnny & Mary", which is soon available for sale.” Someone phone iTunes, this is going to break the internet. I'm lucky I get to hear both. The second club song has the chorus "Wir sind dabei bei DSV" (we are there with the DSV) and is sung Mary, who I imagine is probably in her mid 40's and works long days as a glamorous shift supervisor in a frozen food warehouse. A banner with the words 'Green Elite' is hauled from one of the garden sheds and stuck to a railing and we're ready to spiel fussball ja!

The DSV Loeben team from 1980. Click and enlarge to have a look at that womens suit jacket. Please wear protective glasses.

Loeben line up with a Vier-Vier-Zwei formation and the Sturm kids go with Funf-Drei-Zwei. Loeben's tactics focus around their left (links) back. He receives the ball from every goal kick to instigate attacks and when he hasn't got the ball he focuses on booting the opposition.

Token non shot of hills.

As the match continues Austrian radio booms from the one garden shed selling beers to their solitary customer; one hammered non mullet sporting bloke. He chants " hier regiert der SV Sturm" (SV Sturm rein here) to no one and breaks out some ironic dance moves, while everyone else moves only to shiver. Cold beers are offered to cold fans by a couple of cold small kids walking around the terraces with what looks like an adapted joiner's toolbox full of pints and a basket full of pretzels just before half time. No one buys anything and I'm shaking like a shitting dog by now.

A bit of Lady Gaga on the shed jukebox signals the start of the second half and Loeben push forward, sadly their corners are shocking, three in quick succession slapping the forehead of the first Graz defender. Graz should have taken the lead after an hour but over indulge themselves by trying to walk the ball in and after that the play is all Loeben.

Token match shot.

They bring on Marco Pigneter, a tricky winger, and his dribbling and crossing ability causes all number of problems for Sturm and I'm willing them to score. Chances hit the post and shots are desperatwly hacked off the line then, on 89 minutes, the Sturm keeper fails to hold the ball and Norbert Kerek taps in the rebound before sprinting away leading wild celebrations from the team and their mulleted fans.

Der Tricky winger or, as the German say, der Tricky vinger.

Sadly, once again the sound of music rings out across the Donawitz Stadium and that sounds is the pissing Fratellis, this time even those permed scottish berks can't spoil what's been a great evening's entertainment in superb surroundings. I mean the mullets, not the hills - just to clarify. I've not gone soft and neither am I a groundhopper!

For a proper match report and pictures clicky here.

Nuthin' but a 'Tinpot' Thang

2011-10-09T13:53:00.011+01:00

Larkhall Athletic 0-2 Bishop Sutton

Sunday 8th October 2011
Toolstation Premier League
Plain Ham, Larkhall, Bath
Attendance: 80 (ish)

It would be lazy and a cliché to type a blog on a Bath based team based on how posh the city is.

Well, at AiT we love laziness and clichés more than we love parrots being sick over the moon Geoff.

Obligatory shot of regulation Toolstation League blackboard.

Larkhall is a suburb of Bath with a small square housing it's own theatre (of course it's own theatre - welcome to Bath) and a Cafe where the jacket potato of the day is Hummus and Carrot (*shakes head*) and the Sport section of The Guardian remains untouched while possession of the Review section is keenly contested.

The square also has a notice board dedicated to current Western League Champions, Larkhall Athletic that signifies the start of the hike to Plain Ham ground (I've no idea, sorry). The trek takes me past numerous extravagant houses hosting violin practice, the 'Headquarters and Training Ground of the Second Victoria Scouts' (what kind of scout troupe has a training ground - someone needs to keep an eye on these woggle twirling jihadi's) and sprawling mansions with names like 'The Grange' and ehh...'Ian'.

A mansion called Ian.

The clubhouse is quaint, of course it is. A sign on the bar highlights the slow pace of life here “all our bar staff are volunteers please be patient”, an ornate certificate commemorating a bell ringing session in honour of Larkhall winning the Western League Division One in 2009 is displayed proudly and the tinpot classic of the ham bread rolls behind the bar are not only a step above those of most tinpot grounds but whole flight of stairs ahead. The clubhouse is populated by the usual small bunch of dishevelled OAP's, slowly supping real ale and thinking lustful thoughts as Sue Baker appears on the TV in the corner of this idyllic bar room scene, a scene that is sound tracked by the music misogynistic marijuana-addled Gangster rap of Dr. Dre.

The tinpot lunch of Kings.

Yep, you read that right. Dr. Dre. First up 'Forget About Dre', and then 'Still D.R.E' boom out of the tiny speakers. Sometimes, even I think I make this shit up, but this shizzle's real mothafuckers. Don't believe me? You dissing me? I'll pop a cap in yo' arse. Or something like that. I dunno, I'm from Dorset.

Representing for the gangsters all across the world. Still got love for the streets. Still not loving police.

A few more old boys turn up, no doubt hoping to hear some N.W.A. They offer the staggering combo of being as deaf as a deaf post and fair pissed and struggle to communicate their order consisting of whiskies (“with 2 lumps”) and pasties. A glimpse into their staggeringly hedonistic lifestyle is offered; “what was that we were drinking last night....I'm anybody's after that” whille one octogenarian slurs “I can't drink any more beer today.” It's like looking at my future and I think I like it. *doffs AiT flat cap to sozzled old men*.

Nowadays everybody wanna talk like they got somethin to say but nothin' comes out when they move their lips just a bunch of gibberish.

Get Rich or Die Tryin'

The ground offers picture postcard views of the Somerset countryside; a sloping stand, a tiny roofless wooden shed doubling up as a gents that can only be accessed by walking sideways and a steep grass bank around one corner of the pitch. It's from here that the old boys cling tightly to the railing, with one muttering the optimistic "right let's see some football” followed by the much more accurate “they seem to have a lot of yellow outs there.” It's called double vision sir. You're bladdered.

Pay at the what now?

Oh right. Pay box.

Both sides play some really nice football and Bishop Sutton take the lead after seventeen minutes. Opposite me one man breaks tinpot protocol by actually shouting, “Come on You Larks”. No need for that sir, this is Bath, pipe down. While behind one goal little Tarquin and Isabella (names changed to protect the absurdly posh – they were equally as preposterous though) continually roll care free down the slope and nearly on to the field of play.

YOU ARE THE REF not by Keith Hackett and Paul Trevillion.

1. In a tinpot game a striker runs onto a through ball, goes around the goalkeeper and is about to knock the ball into the empty net when he is taken out by a posh kid called Tarquin, who has just rolled down the grass bank behind the goal. What do you do?

Not Keith Hackett's answer.

The rules on this are quite clear. Re-start the game with a drop ball. Boot Tarquin in the stomach. Thanks to Kenny Legg for the question.

The old boys aren't impressed with what they think they're seeing. Throw in's are greeted with shouts of “rubbish pass”, a nice 1:2 awarded a “noooooooo”” and a goalmouth fight is too far away for them to see “ something's going on there.” Ten minutes before half time one of the old boys imagines he's seen enough, “I'm going in for a cup of tea.” If they drunk tea then my name is Andre Romelle Young.

Token match shot.

The second half starts with me fuming after being 1 (one) number out on the raffle and 4 (four) Bishop Sutton subs sent to warm up, with 1(one) immediately sent back as the lino only lets 3 (three) warm up at 1 (one) time. Quite why he was concerned I don't know as the warm up routine consisted solely of leaning on the barrier and chatting to the crowd above. Larkhall switch to three at the back with twenty minutes left, not that I realised – I don't do tactical analysis, I heard the manager shout it. It doesn't work though. Sutton score an amazing second shortly before the end, the nine dances round three players before setting up a team mate to chip it over the keeper. I applaud. This doesn't happen often.

Notorious T.I.N.P.O.T

The old boys know the game is up, “ aint gonna happen”, and stagger off to the clubhouse where they probably remain discussing the impact of Death Row Records, the solo careers of N.W. A and just what would have happened if Skee-Lo was a little bit taller, a baller and with a girl who looked good, all the while being Still D.R.U.N.K

Groover's In The Heart

2011-10-06T08:30:00.005+01:00

Hungerford Town 1-3 Weymouth
Monday 4th October 2011
FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round Replay
Bulpit Lane, Hungerford
Attendance: 214

Previously on AiT - Weymouth v Hungerford Town.

Warning: This report does contain some flash photography.

We absolutely massively love a mega superlative in Weymouth. Prior to Saturday's FA Cup game the local newspaper had predicted that “FA Cup fever will engulf the area” when Weymouth “go to war” with Hungerford and apparently the “stakes could not be higher.” Hmm.

So when the players entered the field of play to the sound of four people clapping ,amongst a sparse crowd in a stadium made of corrugated iron and breeze blocks it was fair to say the the outbreak of FA Cup fever had been quarantined long before it reached Hungerford.

Thrilling photo this one. Really makes you want to read the rest of the blog doesn't it.

Almost seven years ago a Weymouth side, which was by far the greatest team the world has ever seen, as it featured such football gods as the mercurial Bernardo Cariata, midfield genius Danny Byrne and the ehh....Kieran Keen were beaten 4-1 by Dorchester, a result that shook the football world to it's grassy foundations. Dorchester striker Matt Groves scored a hat trick that day and in between time found time to cynically foul, aggressively elbow, confrontationally back in to defenders, make keeper Francisco Ramos look like a mug (fairly easy that one) and cup his ears to Weymouth fans as he ran off to celebrate his hat trick. The big humongous stinky turd.

Now, I didn't expect this to happen. It wasn't suppose to. Groves is a maggot. He's been tainted by the black and white stripes. But, 2474 days after Boxing Day 2004, I'm going to have to change my mind and concur with the chant that “he use to be scum but he's alright now.”

Every football stadium should have a speed limit. Hey, groundhopper you're walking too fast! Slow down! You'll drop those three programmes you maniac!

For every single reason I disliked the guy I know like him after his performance at Hungerford. Our first goal came from him harassing a defender into a mistake, winning the ball and then scuffing a shot that Byerley converted from the keepers save. He's also assistant manager so that gains him an additional AiT thumbs up, any one that takes on a role of responsibility at Weymouth deserves respect, especially as it means they have to deal with Mr. Rolls.

Hungerford equalise as we defend badly, Groves shouts encouragement and urges us to maintain our composure, which we hadn't managed to do on Saturday. He manages better than this and is able to give us the lead, some shoving of a defender goes unnoticed and he manages to knock the ball in. It's definitely the greatest goal that has ever been scored in the universe of football ever, sadly the Hungerford defender – at this point receiving treatment for the pain caused by being crushed by the footballing talent of Groves – shouts “shit goal...fucks sake.” Not very sporting that. Unnecessary.

Token match shot.

Groves runs around non stop, expertly holds up play, uses all his experience to draw fouls by backing into a Hungerford defender, which results in him struck with tourettes and unable to mutter anything but sweary words for about thirty seconds. Good work Matthew. This wasn't the last time the Weymouth striker backed into him, so much so that the Hungerford defender must have feared Groves would reverse his car into his later.

The second half continues in much the same way. Groves backs in, holds up the ball, indulges in banter with the crowd, chases lost causes, annoys defenders, causes the keeper to miscue clearances and we look fairly comfortable. The Hungerford keeper, Stuart Moore, keeps them in the game, with one save drawing a pat on the back and a “how d'ya save that” from Groves.

AiT is sponsored by 'The Gentlemen's Shop' of Hungerford. For all your shaving brush and leather goods needs.

But even Moore can not defeat the worlds greatest footballer, Matt 'Groover' Groves, for long. The ball is crossed into the area, Groves backs into his man, the ball bounces off his expanding gut, loops up in the air and with the grace of a rhino falling over backwards Groover leans backwards, punts the ball in the air and somehow the ball loops into the net to give us a 3-1 win! flicks the ball up with unbelievable precision and unleashes a textbook unstoppable overhead kick that Mark Hughes would be so proud of he'd keep it on his mantelpiece and it thunders into the net to give us a 3-1 win!

You don't get top quality photos like this anywhere else. Groves (left), King (right).

Some more superlatives? Not a problem. According to the Dorset Echo, (the journalistic heavyweight bringing you all the breaking news from Affpuddle to Winterborne Whitchurch (including Tincleton and Minterne Manga)) their keeper pulled off some It was pretty impressive but not as impressive as our 8-0 magnificent mauling of the miserable Maggots on Boxing Day 2003. For the record, Groover was an unused sub for Dorchester that day. If he'd played I'm sure the scoreline would have been very different.

Do I balls! 8-0!!!

Up the Terras! Ohhhhh Groover, Groover.....

Oh - a match report through the gift of poetry anyone?
For some great pictures of the match have a look see here.

Oh no Korona and Polonia!

2011-10-03T12:13:00.000+01:00

Polonia Warsaw 0-0 Korona Kielce
Monday 26 September 2011
T-Mobile Ekstraklasa
Stadion Polonii, Warsaw
Attendance: 3500

Previously on AiT does Poland - Widzew Lodz v Jagiellonia Bialystok.

Monday night at 6:30 means one thing at AiT HQ; it's time to stick the tele on, devour a Fray Bentos pie and ogle the girls of Hollyoaks. This Monday though things are different, I'm in Warsaw, they don't have Hollyoaks and 6:30 means its time for a football match to kick off. 6:30...on a Monday? *shakes head*

GO!

5:45: leg it out of the meeting room, throw some different clothes on, grab some photo ID, bound into the lobby, shoulder charge a small child out the way, hurdle piles of luggage, meet Kaspar the Friendly Dane, pile into a taxi, point at the stadium on a map, screech out of the car park at a frightening speed and STOP! 5:53 - Welcome to the back of Warsaw's slowest moving rush hour traffic. Arsecakes.

Who doesn't like football grafitti.

There are brief periods of insane acceleration, frantic weaving in between lanes, but mostly it's long immobile periods of realisation that making kick off is as unlikely as the Polish dumpling being the dish of choice of this years Masterchef winner.

With ten minutes to kick off the driver senses our frustration, almost as much as we sense his staggering body odour, and decides to ignore the inconveniences of red lights and junctions as he mounts his ramshackle automobile on the pavement and causes pedestrians to scatter as he stamps on the accelerator! Good man!! To give you some indication of how slow we were previously moving it’s pretty safe to say communism declined quicker than this. Meanwhile, back at the hotel, our colleague Richard gives up trying to re-tune the TV to find Hollyoaks and sets off to do battle with the traffic. **

No balaclava's, no guns, no chiwawa's.

With ten minutes of the match gone, the driver attempts to induce another multi car pile up so, with nerves shot and floodlights in sight we decide to ~~sprint~~, ~~jog~~, walk quite quickly straight into another queue! A torturous process ensues of showing photo ID, getting our named tickets printed and oh just hurry up Poland!!! There's football going on!

Those red lines mean I can't see that Legia Warsaw grafitti now.

Twenty minutes late and were in and, thankfully, it's 0-0. The small group of Polonia ultras in the pitch side spanning stand opposite are chanting away, the fans in our identical stand are stuck on mute and the ten away fans, an athletics tracks width behind one of the goals away, are strangely silent.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes pass and nothing notable happens on the pitch. The ultras "do a Poznan" in a noble attempt to shun the match, our stand of mutes silently fills up with travel weary Warsovians, there's now twenty away fans and it's debatable whether it's worth the hassle.

There's one thing to tackle the boredom, food and beer. Sadly alcohol is allowed in the ground. If ever I needed a beer it was now. So tonight’s Fray Bentos substitute is one sausage, one impenetrable bread roll, two (2) gherkins (more gherkins in football please!) and numerous molten jets of grease that have left a scorched wasteland where the roof of my mouth use to be. Every bite firing a new trajectory of grease, my hands are covered, my face an inferno and my seat so swamped I had to perform a one man bail out of grease (Bail out of Grease!! Come on ladies and gentlemen!)

Token match shot.

Like the speedometer on our taxi while navigating inner city pavements the Kielce fans are up to about 80. The banners have arrived and an ear splitting bellow means the Kapo has defeated the traffic and the chants can commence. Half time also signals the arrival of Richard and his travel tales. His taxi driver, controversially, stuck to the roads but did decide to trade punches with an irate cyclist from the window of his cab! Superb stuff! A failure to bring photo ID meant his evening could be stuck in reverse before it had started but he beat the strict ID requirements by showing a credit card and a mobile phone picture of him and his wife on holiday!! What this proves I have no idea!

This photo will secure your access to any Polish football ground.

Kaspar and Richard are introduced and all those around us the crowd suffer unspeakable boredom as the match continues in a similar vein, the TV public no doubt now all watching the end of The One Show. Both Ultras occasionally try to spark an atmosphere and the miseries in our stand only liven up once; when there's a strong shoulder barge in front of them. That's right, the highlight of the second half was a shoulder charge.

Not that any of that matters, the three of us swap stories of football matches past and tales of bizarre grounds in far flung foreign outposts as numerous over hit free kicks float out of play and shots fly laughably wide.

Friends! Football friends!

Unfortunately there isn't a Dignitas clinic equipped to put football matches out of their misery and we suffer on. Kielce are awarded a dubious free kick in the last minute and one home fan overestimates the ability of the player to deliver the decent free kick needed to create a winner and lambasts the Kielce bench. He needn't have got upset, the free kick is lobbed out of play and even the volley of abuse the Kielce subs respond with is mishit. Shortly after there's the magical final whistle and the sprinklers are immediately turned on to try and rinse away the foul stench of the match.

We played very well, it was important to get a result, we're not getting carried away with our league position, we take each game as it comes bla bla bla.

We sneak into the stadium bar, swap more stories over frosty beers, creep into the background of post match interviews, pose for our own photos pitch side and reminisce on this great evening’s entertainment in spite of the match. It's experiences like these that being a football fan is about; making an effort to get to the match, having a laugh with friends over a beer and not sitting at home with your dinner on your lap and watching it on your telebox.

Now, buger off. I've got 3 days of perving at Nancy from Hollyoaks to catch up on. See yourself out.

** I'm sure Richard has never watched Hollyoaks in his life. I apologise for any embarrassment and distress this sentence has caused to Richard and his family. He should watch it though, the birds are well fit! Phwooar!

For some proper reading on Polonia Warsaw have a read of Ryan Hubbard's article over on Twisted Blood.

I Don't Care If There's Cursing.

2011-10-02T10:23:00.008+01:00

Weymouth 3-3 Hungerford Town
Saturday 1st October 2011
FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round
Bob Lucas Stadium, Weymouth
Attendance: 404

The sun is shining on the Bob Lucas Stadium; the rust amongst the Barbara Windsor Stand roof gleams, the spiders webs woven on every barrier sparkle and the reflection caused by inexplicable amount of grease slicked in George Rolls' hair dazzles those in a three mile radius and causes problems for aeroplanes passing overhead.

Get your tickets now.

There's a couple of new features in the match programme that make it worth the £2.50 alone. First up George Rolls' dream team! George picks the best eleven players he has (imagined he has) played with. In goal of the George Rolls Dream Team....George Rolls! Such modesty. George sums himself up by saying "great handling (hmm) just poor attitude." Yep. Your words George, not mine. George has apparently lined up with Robbie Fowler, Nicky Butt, Julian Joachim and ehh Ricky Otto. Chinny reckon.

The second new feature provides insightful answers to questions no one wanted to know the answers to. If stranded on a desert island Midfielder Richard Marshallsay would take "football, porn and Baby Wipes" and seemingly try to escape the island by sailing a raft made of his used crusty baby wipes. PA Box legend Pete Pavey goes for the slightly less mucky "mobile phone, laptop and a box of Kit Kats. A BOX OF KIT KATS!! A doff of the AiT cap to Pete.

Don't say I never send you flowers. I care about you.

Weymouth start brightly on a pitch that is drier than a silica gel factory in the desert and dustier than those 47 unopened boxes of autographed George Rolls photos that remain untouched in the back of the Rolls garage. George is in town for tonight's Fans Forum, although he's nothing to do with the club apparently. Fans are angry and want answers and this evening could be tastier than an Amanda Rolls quiche

Sam Malsom jinks inside a couple of Hungerford defenders and smacks it in to give us the lead on 11 minutes. Hungerford respond and we get nervous. From a corner Byerley shouts "get switched on, nothing stupid", which gives you a massive clue as to our problems have been this season. Around me some regulars indulge in some playful one sided banter with the linesman; "He's a mile off you blind dick", followed by the slightly inconvenient "if you can't keep up (with play) you might as well fuck off" and the highly unlikely "we get every shit ref in the country down here." This ladies and gentleman isn't any non league terrace, this is the Barbara Windsor stand.

A picture of a stand that's not the Barbara Windsor stand. Helpful.

Things take a turn for the worst, Hungerford score and some more shocking defending sees Hungerford take the lead. This then leads captain Ben Geering to barge into the culprit, Scott Dixon, and he has to be dragged away. This is always massively embarrassing and he's lucky not to be sent off. Poor old Scott, it's not the first time he's been on the wrong end of some unnecessarily aggressive behaviour this season. (allegedly, apparently, according to local rumour, so my Gran told me)

Ah Duff man. Can't get enough of that wonderful Duff. Oh yeah! Craig Duff scores just after half time to let me reprise my staunch belief that were going to win the FA Cup this year.

Two minutes later it's gone to shit. Geering has been controversially given a straight red for a professional foul, Hungerford have taken the lead from the resulting penalty, the ref's getting dogs abuse from The Babs Stand and I can barely hear the woman at the limousine hire office as I try to cancel that white stretched limo I'd foolishly just booked to take me to Wembley on 5th May. Down to ten men, a goal down and with the ref against us, we're in trouble....this sounds like a job for The Babs Stand.

Token match shot.

When riled The Babs Stand turns into a seething mass of official abusing rage. The ironic cheer that greets a decision for us is tinnitus inducing; as a throw in decision is reversed the stand shakes with outrage; Byerley is booked for dissent and the Babs is now in danger of collective heart failure. On the pitch Hungerford have chances, but Weymouth are roared forward, powered by the sense of injustice flowing from the Babs terraces. Another decision goes against us and the Babs explodes into a fury of wildly gesticulating arms and bulging blood vessels; red faced men launch themselves at the perimeter wall in the hope their insult is the one that breaks the ref, while behind them others push themselves up on the barriers to add new layers to the voice straining crescendo of fury. It's superbly raucous stuff.

Ah! Duff Man! Oh yeah!

The team seem to be lifted by the noise and are united with the crowd on defeating the common enemy of the officials and with 15 minutes remaining the great big lummox that is Matt Groves bobbles in an equaliser. The Babs doesn't wear happiness well and amongst the cheers of joy are soon drowned out by the yelps of anger as the ref fails to book a Hungerford player who lambasted a lino for a failure to award a free kick in the build up to the goal.

The final whistle brings applause from the Babs for a gutsy performance and the final cheer of the day comes with news that (far inferior) rivals Dorchester have lost 1-0. The Babs slowly empties, it's patrons off home to calm down and to dream of reading that Dorchester lost to a goal from a highly dubious refereeing decision.

Up the Terras!

From Despair To Where? Hungerford at Home.

2011-09-20T12:21:00.026+01:00

Taunton Town 1 -3 Weymouth

Monday 19 September 2011
FA Cup 1st Qualifying Round Replay
Wordsworth Drive, Taunton
Attendance: 270

Saturday's 0-0 draw with Taunton Town in the 1st Qualifying Round of the FA Cup has been described as dismal, diabolical, absolute crap, terrible, awful, depressing and nicely summed up as "Low on excitement, low on inspiration, low on fans. Terrible."

The magic of the FA Cup hey.

Even the most dedicated fans are turning their backs on the club. This quote from 'Rob' on the Terras Talk forum offering a brilliant summation of the way most fans approach matches now " I've currently a lethargy towards the club at the moment. The memories of jitters and nerves when trying to hang on to a lead are long gone, as are the feelings of jubilation and joy when we scored. We've barely a player that we can connect with - especially since they don't seem to last that long - and the management team fills me with no enthusiasm whatsoever. It's all so dull."

Depressing times then, not that it's affected me in the slightest though.

In preparation for the replay I spent the day alone in a disused and dank church basement dressed as Joel Kitamirike and watching a three hour looped VHS recording of Andy Harris' header on a flickering black and white TV. Occasionally I stopped to flagellate myself with one of Stuart Douglas' dreadlocks, adorned with sharpened rusty barbed wire, discuss the early EP's of Interpol with the ghost of Jefferson Louis, carve the word CU*TIS into a starving rat before finally subjecting a rudimentary voodoo doll of an unspecified businessman from the Cambridgeshire area (made from half a rake handle, a fire damaged medicine ball, three quarters of a mouldy quiche, several abandoned spiders webs and the evil imagination of a disturbed mind) to a relentless period of water boarding.

I said young man, there's no need to feel down.

There is.

If I was looking for omens (which I was) that could also double up as some weak thread for this blog (which I was) then AC/DC's ‘Highway to Hell’ booming out on arrival to the ground was one I'd be clinging to. The fact it was played again just before kick off had me rubbing my hands with bloggy glee. Consider the depressing scene darkly set.

Taunton Town HQ (really - there's a sign out front that says so) contains a superb boardroom facility. I say facility, I mean shipping container. The partly open door offering a tantalising glimpse into the prawn sandwich world us mortals can only dream of. Well dream no longer tinpot fans as I am able to reveal it contains a massive lampshade, the size of Jorge Diaz, and a 1970s style tattered armchair which means the 'Boardroom' and looks very much like the Duckworth's living room, if they’d lived in a shipping container in Somerset.

2 doors down from the Duckworth's. Mavis & Derek's maybe?

Both teams walk through the farmyard gate that separates the dressing room complex, I say dressing room complex I mean Portakabin, from the pitch and Weymouth immediately start by knocking it round nicely and we look like a team playing a lower league side. I'm shocked. As the sun descends the fog of depression lifts further when Sam Malsom spins and thumps home the first goal after 12 minutes. Soon after though some more shocking defending sees Taunton equalise and the surely the rest of this miserable drivel will now write itself and lead to a 'Black Swan' style conclusion?

Release the cattle.

Well, no. Thankfully not. The first half is enjoyable, with some decent football, a competitive spirit, crunching tackles, both teams wasting chances and this feels like a proper football match. This feeling is increased by a superbly ramshackle old ground that resonates atmosphere, unlike the muted dull surroundings of last week at Cirencester.

Sadly a fire in the Taunton Town HQ Clubhouse during the summer has meant the toilets are out of bounds and that means one horrific thing – the overused football ground portaloo. After the half time rush...well I’m not saying they stank but the Glastonbury Festival phoned up to complain about the stench.

Token match shot.

The second half is, unlike my earlier water boarding session, keenly fought. Weymouth hit the bar from a free kick and the resulting break away leaves us two on two at the back, thankfully we don’t concede but goalkeeper Tom Manley almost combusts at the lack of defensive cover. Thankfully Malsom manages to slot home a second on 62 minutes and half the team pile on him in celebration. A Taunton full back sees these as the opportune time to pick a fight with one of our players and only a swift “fucking get in there” full in his defeated face from one of our players stops him pursuing his act of folly even further.

Turn on the Bright Lights.

Malsom gets his hat trick before the end and then the last few minutes are almost like old times, the ball is passed around crisply, ole football almost, the opposition is beaten and Weymouth walk back through the farm gate to a hero’s ovation and the evening’s anti-depressant medicine has been successfully administered.

Now, someone fetch me an old cereal box, cardboard, tinfoil, scissors and a picture of the FA Cup. We are going to Wembley!

Nurse!!

The medication is wearing off!! He’s asking when Steve Claridge is coming round to rotate the shin pads and shouting that he is Narada Barnard’s dog. Nurse! NURSE!!

From Floodlit Dreams to 'Who owns the floodlights?'

2011-09-16T18:32:00.006+01:00

When the boys over at Dutch website Doing The 116 ask you to write an article for their website you immediately schtop everything and get writing. The fact they'd requested an article on my specialist subject ~~'The Life and Times of Chaka Demus & Pliers'~~ Weymouth FC meant I was only too pleased to help.

If you can read Dutch, well done, crack open a Grolsch and have a read here. If not, nevermind, it's a frankly weird language anyway, get a brew and a Rich Tea and have a read below.

Whenever I tell people I'm a Weymouth fan they know that Ian Ridley was Chairman and Steve Claridge was manager, but this is normally followed by the question “what happened”. Yeah, good one. This is my take on it, a simple take, an idiot's guide. And I must be an idiot to still be a Weymouth fan!

Ian Ridley’s book ‘Floodlit Dreams’ ends with Weymouth beating Lewes to gain promotion to the Conference National in 2006, an event leading to an almighty celebration followed by a nagging headache about how any of this dream was financially sustainable.

As with any hangover, you hope for a swift end to the discomfort and after 10 seconds of the new season, when Ben Smith scored the opening goal in a 3-1 win at Tamworth, the tonic was administered and everyone was delighted. Three successive victories later, over 5000 in the ground for a game against Oxford United, an FA Cup game live on the BBC, a league game on SKY (check out this goa l from Ben Sm ith) and it was clear to see Weymouth FC were going to piss this tinpot league and destined for the Premiership!

Eh, no.

That changed drastically on the 9th January 2007 when owner Martyn Harrison announced he had “got a bit carried away”; and the money had run out. Most of the squad left, manager Garry Hill went and the dream was over. The nightmare had begun. Someone wake me up when it's over.

Ridley offered to return with Claridge but was turned down, at the time stating “my fear is the land is sold along with the club." Wise words Ian, wise words. Defender Jason Tindall was appointed manager, and immediately became the most fake tanned football manager ever. We finished the season in 11^th place, with a team of heroes, in some instances, and some absolute jokers – some of whom even the most dedicated of Weymouth fans wouldn't recall - and suffered our worst ever defeat in the Conference, 7-0 at Cambridge United. During these dark days there were some bright spots. Stuart Beavon (now at Wycombe Wanderers) was signed from Didcot FC and went on to become one of the greatest players I've seen in the claret and blue and our goalkeeper Super Jason Matthews belted in this goal. I'll admit it, I love Super Jason Matthews more than my own mother.

In June 2007, Harrison sold the club to music promoter Mel Bush, who was also Tindall's Father in Law. Bush came in with the usual stuff about making the club financially stable and “a well-run community club” By October Bush was gone, leaving the club apparently debt free, and uhhh....it hurts me to type this guy's name, Malcolm Curtis took over. Cu*tis, or to give him his full title, property developer Malcolm Cu*tis, took control and stated he was going to put “some stability back in this club” and announcing that "I am not an asset stripper”. By February 2008 Cu*tis had sold the land surrounding the Wessex Stadium to his company Wessex Park Limited for £550,000, a figure seen as spectacularly low at the time and it's legality ques tioned.

In January 2008 Tindall's sun bed bills were crippling the club and poor results were used as an excuse to sack him. He was replaced by ex Chelsea manager John Hollins who somehow managed to keep us in the Conference.

In August 2008 Cu*tis unveiled plans for a new Commun i t y Sports Stadium, to be built by 2012 on the site of the town's Rugby Club. Also in Cu*tis' briefcase that day was a pig which he planned to launch into intergalactic orbit.

Two months later Cu*tis announced he wanted out of the, now apparently debt ridden, club due to “the amount of hand grenades that are being thrown at me.” Sadly he was only speaking metaphorically but the financial concerns led to a number of departures and the fans scrambling round desperately to save the club. Cu*tis was perfectly clear a month later when it was announced the ownership of the land surrounding the Wessex Stadium has been sold again, this time to Wessex Delivery Partnership LLP, a partnership between Cu*tis' Wessex Park Limited and property developers Morgan Sindall Ltd. As part of the deal the club would continue to play at the Wessex Stadium with Cur*is stating “The Wessex Delivery Partnership will only be able to call on the option to build on the site when they have consent on a new stadium for the club."

In December 2008 the well liked Hollins was fired and replaced by assistant Alan Lewer and by now every day seemingly brought a new low. December also saw Cu*tis state “administration or winding up may be my only options.” The following month he left, leaving his shares in a holding company, but not before branding Weymouth “the Afghanistan of non-League football” and with the club still facing the very real threat of liquidation. Great. Cheers Malc! Once again the fans were forced to scramble round for some spare change to keep the club going and this video still makes me a little sniffy.

February 2009 saw us forced to play our youth team in a league match as the majority of the squad issued 14 days notice period due to unpaid wages and, apparently, were not covered with full medical insurance. Unsurprisingly we got hammered by Rushden & Diamonds, losing 0-9. However, the emotions on that day were something else, a stirring sense of pride at the brave players who wore the claret and blue, mixed with the rage of seeing my club on it's knees like this. I'll admit it, I cried on the terraces that day, it seemed like the end. The result also aroused the attention of the FA, due to the amount of betting on the game – I'll leave that one there I think.

Want another low point? Go on then!! Heard the one about the daytime TV addict, who lived in a council house, who had £20,000 worth of debts yet offered to donate £300,000 to a struggling non league team, only to spell the club's name wrong on the cheque and then have a stroke at a press conference to announce his donation. No, really – this happened. Embarrassing.

In March 2009 Ian Ridley returned to the c lub as Chairman, leading a consortium of local businessmen. He immediately looked to reduce the debts, of around £500,000, by launching a share issue and shortly after replaced manager Alan Lewer with ex Wales manager Bobby Gould. Defeat to York City on the penultimate round of fixtures saw the club relegated to the Blue Square South.

Gould left at the end of the season and was replaced by former player Matt Hale, a man whose car I once had a nose bleed in on the way back from a game against Yeovil! With the club under local control and a former player at the helm things looked, well not good, but certainly less crap than for a while.

WRONG AGAIN! The club was still desperately short of money, £5 0,000 was raised by fans in less than two weeks, Steve Claridge played for us in a 5-1 home defeat to Bromley, as we attempted to raise publicity of our financial plight, Hale resigned in October after presiding over a few thumpings (including one against Bishop’s Stortford (6-2), a game in which Teddy Sheringham's son, Charlie scored five), Ridley resigned to battle cancer, and Cur*tis resurfaced with threats to call in a loan of over £200,000, which led to the club giving notice to appoint administrators. This then led to two bids for the club, both as appealing as an epileptic lobster inserted up your anus but certainly more appealing than the end of 119 years of Weymouth FC, and eventually this led to former Cambridge United Chairman George Rolls taking control of the club.

By December 2009 debts had apparently reached over £700,000 and in January 2010 the manager, and club legend, Ian Hutchinson was fired. He was replaced by Jerry Gill, who resigned after 44 days (including one defeat against Basingstoke in which Mitchell Bryant scored all six of Basingstoke's goals). He was replaced by the returning Hutchinson in March with the debt now over apparently at £900,000. By the end of April this figure was reduced dramatically with the club entering into a Company Voluntary Arrangement (CVA), an arrangement that that saw us, (by now relegated from Conference South), start the 2010/11 season in the Zamaretto Premier League on minus ten points.

For some more in depth reading into the controversial CVA, and a bunch of very generous mysterious Lithuanian's putting £290,000 into the club (hmm), then have a read here.

Shortly before the start of the 2010/11 season, the Wessex Stadium was renamed the Bob Lucas Stadium, in recognition of the sterling service given to the club by Lucas, who died in August at the age of 85. He was our goalkeeper for two years and was man of the match in a third round FA Cup tie against Matt Busby’s Manchester United at Old Trafford before going on to be club physio for 32 years and club President. Bob was a man who symbolised all that was good about the club and always represented it with dignity and pride, traits sadly lacking by many others around the club in this period.

The 10/11 season wasn't a great one, the odd 9-0 loss, the close 7-2 defeat but by the end of it we had overturned the ten point deficit and avoided relegation, thanks to the guidance of manager Martyn Rogers, who replaced Hutchinson in January 2011. Off the pitch Rolls transferred the remaining shares in the club's holding company to his name, meaning “Weymouth FC and the ground is now owned by two separate concerns who don’t care about the club”, before resigning from the Board of Directors in February 2011. The transfer of shares importantly means that Rolls gets the right to oversee any negotiations related to the options agreement with Wessex Delivery Partnership LLP for any sale of the stadium, and do as he sees fit with any money. I think. For the average supporter, hello, it makes the brain hurt.

On the pitch the 2011/12 season has started pretty badly with, of course, a new manager. No paragraph is complete without mention of a new manager, another ex-player, Brendan King, and we currently stand 21^st in the 22^nd team division and with an average attendance of around 1/10th of that that turned up for the game against Oxford United only five years ago, with many staying away in protest at Rolls' running of the club. (Oh, hi George – I know you'll be reading this you greasy div) For just a handful of the reasons why Rolls' isn't liked start here and then read any sentence anyone's ever written about the man since, or before actually.

Our Board of Directors is now made up of George's wife, his Mum and his Dad! However it's George that continues to rule over the Bob Lucas Stadium, distrust of him is high, his motives and intentions unclear and the club is left with little to call it's own and any new ground further away than ever (as long as you discount the threat of ground share at Dorchester). The fan base is dispirited after years of defeats and an ongoing battle to keep the club alive; but we're still here, the fans pay the wages of some players and as long as the WFC flag is flying from one of the floodlight's, there's still the dream we can win our club back and have a successful Weymouth FC to shout for!

Up the Terras!

The Green Green Grass Of Away

2011-09-14T16:16:00.018+01:00

Cirencester Town 0-1 Weymouth
Tuesday 13th September 2011
Evostik Southern League
Corinium Stadium, Cirencester
Attendance: 121

Cirencester Town v Weymouth 2010/11

Reports before the big (arf) match showed a Cirencester Town manager angry that his players had lost on Saturday after “rolling over and having our tummy tickled” (aww-bless) and Weymouth's Byron Napper struggling with an infected grass burn (jeez!); which made manager Brendan King's observation that Weymouth weren't getting the "rub of the green" seem a little unfounded.

The green. Ready rubbed.

We arrived just before kick off, not beating the hordes to get in, not just in time to savour the atmosphere and not to take in the roar of the crowd as the teams lined up, as there is none of the above. However there is a man sporting a khaki jacket, whispy beard and a beret though (What a powerfully look that is sir. Rugged yet demonstrating a softer side to your personality. A doff of the new AiT beret to you.)

The first half was dire. Absolute shite from sliced kick off to over hit pass conclusion. No wonder these teams are stuck fast at the bottom of the Evostik Premier. It's going to take more than a tube of Evostik's finest Hard & Fast Metal Epoxy Putty to keep these teams in the league come May. The muted response to the game, from the few people there, is broken by the occasional shouts from the Cirencester manager, "ahhh that fucking fat linesman again", (he was fat - not quite as fat Kev over at Nailsea though), the proverbial howls of derision from the shivering supporters at numerous shocking shots on goal and the loud chime of realisation that another forty five minutes of this dross awaits. When an non playing (obviously) Cirencester player tweets saying “Worst game I've ever watched” you know it's pretty pretty pretty pretty bad.

Foreground, rubbish.
Background, rubbish.

To the bar!! Where everyone agreed that we should probably just lock the doors, move all the furniture in front of the doors, pull down the blind, whack on a box set of Midsomer Murders, open some packets of Cheese Savouries and not bother going out for the second half.

Token match shot.

Dear AiT reader. I'm sure you're familiar with the alcoholic tipple Aftershock. You must have even tried it? Possibly while trying to pull in the early hours of the morning in the dance floor section of a Walkabout pub, situated in a medium sized market town. The red one probably? Maybe even the blue? But did you know there's also an orange and a sliver one? No! Me neither. So, this trip offered an education in brain rotting alcoholic snifters if nothing else. Get yourself to the Corinium stadium in Cirencester, they've succeeded in accessing the secret codes for two previously undiscovered flavours of Aftershock. Ill take one of each and rinse it down with some Blackcurrant Chewits cheers landlord; a slightly odd choice of bar snack there Cirencester but good work on the Aftershock's.

Christmas 2009. Great times, great memories (except for one person, top left)

Second half then.

*sigh*

Well, someone lobbed a couple of traffic cones onto the pitch from outside the ground, narrowly missing some players - that was bizarre and outrageously tinpot. Yoofs probably. Hoodies. Probably off their minds on a violent cocktail of silver Aftershock and Chewits. Bring back the birch I say. *shakes angry fist*

Weymouth started to make half chances, from nowhere some chanting started and as a football fan you start to get that feeling that there might be a winner in this for us. Obviously, as a Weymouth fan that feeling is usually unfounded and easily diagnosed as a gaseous build up in the gastrointestinal tract but NO, not tonight.

Too much greasy food can cause bloating and excessive gas.

Tonight is all about the last minute winner, that stupendous feeling. Your team have battled for 89 minutes, you've stood watching pish in the cold for 89 minutes and then the ball is cleared, then oddly chipped back up the sloping pitch by Marshallsay, your mate turns to you and says "what the fuck was that" and before you can lazily agree the ball slows in the grass ,gets caught under the defender's feet, Warren Byerley has snuck the ball under the keeper and WE'RE GOING MENTAL AT A LAST MINUTE WINNER, the team have piled on top of each other in celebration, I've done some weird air punchy thing, let out a little gas in excitement (oh, it was gas all along) and tonight we've not only got the rub of the green we've picked up the green and rubbed it in the defeated faces of Cirencester Town and every miserable pissing nano second of the excruciating previous 89 minutes is instantly forgotten!!

Then we went home. The end. Never speak of this match again.

FIN.

Wagon Wheels Fall Off As Cwmbran Flakes.

2011-08-27T22:05:00.008+01:00

Cwmbran Celtic 2-2 Goytre United
Saturday 27th August 2011
Welsh Football League Division One
Celtic Park, Cwmbran
Attendance: 45(ish)

Goytre United are the team everyone aspires to be. They combine skillful players with investment in their facilities. Not my words Carol, the words of the Barry & District News.

It seems odd that everyone would aspire to be a football team from a tiny welsh village, a village so small that if you lay it's minimalistic Wikipedia entry from end to end it would cover the main street of the town. T'internet research reveals the undoubted qualities of the ground, it includes a horse riding school (of course a horse riding school!) and backs onto the River Ffrwdwyllt, a river that floods annually and washes away all the vowels in it's path.

Cwmbran is where Jammy Dodger's and Wagon Wheels are made. Amazing.

Fair point.

The ground, Celtic Park, is tiny and like it's Scottish namesake won't be hosting European football this season. There is one building that houses the changing rooms, pictures of teams gone by posing outside a terraced house (eh?) and a refreshments kiosk, advertised in the programme thusly; "Rosie invites you to sample her wares at the hatch....a visit to Celtic Park would not be complete without tasting one of her famous baps." I had a nibble on one of her baps, bit too soft for my liking. Maytrrrrron.

One famous bap. Ham and tomato. Average.

Team photo outside a terraced house. Obviously. I'm sure there is a perfectly legitimate reason for this.

The Celtic warm up commences with a fantastically innovative keepy-uppy routine, with the person responsible for letting the ball drop being forced to crawl through a huddle of players, whilst doing an impression of an animal. The routine was sadly curtailed by more traditional warm up routines and the team didn't get chance impersonate enough animals to fill Noah's Arc and had to settle for a small dinghy setting sail with a dog, a cat, a cow, a pig and a chicken.

Celtic are managed by ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD, ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD! Ladies and gentlemen please be upstanding for ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD. A round of applause, come on, ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD.

Do you know who I am son?

ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD is a man with an obsession. ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD is a man who knows how he wants his team to play, he likes to keep the animal theme going and is a fan of the hoof, “Don't pick anyone out, clear your lines” being one bit of ungulate advice from ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD. Like a fat man let loose on all you can eat Pizza Hut buffet he is a massive fan of “seconds.” ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD repeats it constantly and occasionally with such force that he releases a torrential downpour of spittle onto the pitch below, which should be honoured to receive ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD's spit to be honest.

I'M ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD ME!!!

I'd pay £4 just to say I'd been in the same football ground as ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD, sadly not everyone has the same thought. About ten people watched the match through a fence behind one of the goals. When it was dry they stood atop a mud bank and when it rained they retreated into their cars and watched the match from there, while performing a ridiculous synchronised windscreen wiper routine. Tight bugers! I hope their windscreen wipers emit a high pitched squeak.

Token crowd shot.

The first half is crap, so two early goals for Celtic early in the second half are as unexpected as Gary Crosby appearing behind you when keeping goal for Man City. They were two really well worked goals, the first coming after some great wing play and a header from Celtic's striker “Ginge”. Both strikes sent ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD into a state of untold delirium and some Celtic players into an half baked 'Inbetweeners' movie dance routine celebration. This is then followed by a nervous few minutes as Goytre pile the pressure on and ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD is forced to chant the phrase “see this spell out”, like an agitated Grotbags trying to reverse a particularly vengeful hex.

ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD'S HQ

As he patrols the right hand side of the dugout, he's clearly a man in a world of turmoil. To the left hand side of the dugout a much more serene story develops as a small girl counts excitedly to ten in a competitive game of hide and seek. One, Two, Three, Four, Five, JEEEESSSSUUS, FUCKING CHRIST HEY....SHIT, coming ready or not!!! Goytre have scored and a five year girl joyfully bounds off, completely unaware of the barrage of obscenities and blasphemy that just drowned out her countdown.

Token match shot.

After a solid display and completely baffling the opposition for long period the inevitable happens, the little boy is captured. Oh and Goytre equalise, much to ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD's disgust. The home crowd are also disappointed, the chance for three points is lost, the time for hide and seek is over and only one guy doesn't let the conclusion of the action phase him as he remains casually picking berries from the bushes surrounding the ground.

ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD fact – his name is Alan. I prefer ANDY DIBBLE'S DAD.

Down is the new up.

2011-08-24T12:31:00.016+01:00

Odd Down 2-2 Brislington
Tuesday 23th August 2011
Toolstation Premier League
Lew Hill Memorial Ground, Odd Down, Bath
Attendance: 45(ish)

They're a competitive bunch at Odd Down.

To my left a lone man repeatedly throws arrows at one of the three darts boards and a kid makes arrangements for someone else to do his match report, so he can participate in tonight's pool tournament. On my right three arcade machines flicker manically, behind me a skittles alley, buzzing all round me a women collecting money for the raffle, (The prizes are: one Quality Street, one Roses, four cans of Becks, four John Smiths - I'm presuming this is a roll over) and on the walls around me posters imploring the locals to part with their cash for a fantasy football competition and an upcoming quiz night.

Arf!

This place is so competitive I was only granted access to the toilet after winning a best of three, which inevitably became a best of five, game of Paper-Scissors-Stone and even in there was a poster for another card game called Click.

*makes note in diary for 11th March*

However it was in front of me that the extremely competitive nature of this part of Bath revealed itself. Slowly, and methodically, a man wearing all black (including braces), sunglasses indoors and a moustache, delivered straight from 1983, sets up a poker table.

The gambler's face cracks into a grin as he lays down the king of spades.

As the darts team wanders in, the card shark is joined by his companions who are all greeted with a steely stare. I think this place is what is referred to as the “hub of the community”, but after noticing the dodgy Italian football** on the big screen (complete with Paula Radcliffe a like) I'm left wondering if there's is some moonshine being brewed out the back along with a lucrative sideline in killer whale smuggling.

The dealer just stares, there's something wrong here he thinks.

They were so into gambling at this club that even the pitch was a lottery. Rubbish gag – it deserves this.

Not every competition goes ahead then. Although, that is a pretty impressive carp that fella is holding. Give him a prize someone!

Tinpot player profiles are always something special. In keeping with the competitive spirit of the place Odd Down's have clearly been written for a bet, on a computer with a bust full stop button. Please observe my personal highlight:

Dan Straffen (Straff) Midfield
Previous clubs Larkhall Straff was the driving force behind the Reserves promotion last season and came into the first team like a whirlwind hitting a skyscraper

Sorry! A whirlwind hitting a skyscraper?? What?

Token match shot.

The first half was tentative, both sets of side seemingly waiting for the inevitable "mysterious" floodlight failure. Brislington manager, Jeff Meacham scribbles tactical notes into a notepad, well I presume he does. He could have been doing a word search, or losing a solo game of noughts and crosses. I'm sticking with tactics though, most of them aimed at, and ignored by, his keeper.

Act One:

Meacham: (To keeper). "Hit the area for Frank! (Points to diminutive winger busy hugging the touchline)

Keeper hoofs the ball straight down the middle of the pitch.

Meacham: (to self, mumbled forlornly) Or kick it straight down the fucking middle then.

Act Two:

Meacham: (To keeper) Try putting it out there. (Points widely to right wing)

Keeper: I'm trying!!

Meacham: Well try fucking harder!

Keeper slices the ball widely into touch

"Keeper.....kick ball....wing"

At half time Ray Winstone appears as a floating hologram in the middle of the pitch and barks something about it being "all about the in play.” Back in the bar a bare knuckle boxing bout is taking place, to my right two blood hungry chickens snarl at each other cheered on by a group of sportswear clad males and I'm even challenged to a game of strip poker before I can order my pie and Bovril.

Or, if you prefer the truth, I got a brew in a mug and watched as an argument broke out over timing of the raffle draw!

A group of tinpot enthusiasts were irate after finding out that the winning ticket would only be revealed after the match. “We've got to get the players and the ref” (to buy tickets) are met with pleas of “we've got to be off straight after.” Tough shit lads. Snooze you lose round here.

The magic of the ~~cup~~ mug.

Odd Down's competitive spirit is shown in the second half as they grant Brislington a 2-0 lead with about 25 minutes left.

How will this match end now? Odd Down? Brislington? Odd Down? Brislington? Place bet now!! BET! BET! BET!

BETTING ENDS *BONG*

After giving the guests a 2-0 goal head start the The Down's competitive spirit appears and they flood into the opposition half, meaning the Brislington half suddenly contains more Down than a luxury pillow stuffing factory. They score two goals, both from looping headers and Meacham is furious, “ We gotta learn to fucking mark” and the game ends 2-2.

If you said no one win, you the winner!

If you bought raffle tickets and left straight after the final whistle, you the loser!

** Today's AiT Italian place name lesson is: Zurigo - Zurich.

Leamington the Merciless II

2011-08-21T09:23:00.013+01:00

Leamington FC 4 -1 Weymouth

Saturday 20 August 2011
Evostik Southern Premier League
New Windmill Ground, Leamington
Attendance: 579

Leamington v Weymouth January 2011

Google maps offers the following directions to Leamington's ground:

Take the road to nowhere,
Turn left at out in the sticks,
Drive past the middle of nowhere,
Take the first left after the back of beyond,
Arrive at your destination

The massed hordes stream into the ground.

Leamington's ground, once located, is straight out of the B&Q football ground show rooms catalogue. You enter through Shed 1 - Turnstiles, make your way along the bulk purchased astroturf, past the hanging baskets, through the maze of picnic tables on the decking and arrive at your destination - the bar!

Look Both Ways. Nothing's coming. The bus is due in three weeks.

This isn't just any bar though, it's a bar offering 1.50 pints and pickled eggs. More importantly than that this is a bar operated by Nigel John Hopkins. What do you mean who? Nigel! Hoppo?! You know, he won the award for "Best Manager 2009/10, an award he mostly displays on his office (stock room) door, just below the one that shows the entry criteria to the hub of the bar activity; "Private property unless you have big boobs" Hmm. Quite what Leamington supporter 'Simesy' would make of such sexual discrimination is unknown.

Shed 1. Nice ornaments.

The bar doubles up as an educational centre for the local community. It eschews the Ray Wilkins led monotony of SKY TV coverage and challenges it's patrons to learn a foreign language by watching the Arsenal-Liverpool match on Italian Sky coverage, and it is by no means because it has a dodgy feed. It certainly does broaden the mind, I learnt the Italian for Stuttgart is Stoccarda, and I also learnt Italian coverage of English football is hosted by a Paula Radcliffe look a like, if Paula had spent the last five years running forlornly into a force seven headwind, whilst being battered by a water cannon of her own piss.

Thought this fella was wearing an all in one steward's jacket. Turns out those are his actual legs and they are actually that orange.

The match programme is also educational. Did you know Jim Bowen was born on the 20th of August 1937? No. Well there you go. That knowledge is safe, you're taking that home with you.

For an added bit of mental stimulation the programme, which is superb (doffs AiT cap), has a Weymouth related word search which is particularly taxing. I found the words; Lodmoor, boats, plague and erosion (genuinely) and even got the bonus backwards diagonal of laeddnuorgygdod.

Plague! Tramway! Erosion! What a magical place Weymouth is.

The B&Q chic aesthetic continues inside, as one terrace reveals itself as a shrine to the flat pack shed. Shed two offers club merchandise, shed three tempts fans with burgers and bacon batches (a type of bread roll only seen up north) shed four appeals to the younger fan and offers a range of kids toys (temporary tattoos, nail decorations, mini torches - the obvious football related stuff) and penny sweets (sherbet lemons, rainbow dust-yes please), Shed five offers a range of programmes. Shed Seven were a ropey Britpop band from York and Hanger 17 was a mid 90's kids TV show hosted by an annoying Geordie.

Shed Two - I have never been less likely to buy a badge in my life. I've also never been so flaccid in my life. And the font, oh the font! All kinds of wrong.

Shed Four - Kids tat.

I opted for a mix of shed's two and four. The burger and chips was superb; although it was a bastard to eat with my new fake nails and I accidentally got tomato sauce on my 'I heart Bieber' tattoo. Shambles.

Shed Five - Programmes. One at a time please.

In addition the 'Theatre of Sheds' also has a 'Wood Chippings Stand', an terrace made entirely out of B&Q's entire stock of wood chippings.

Dear Leamington FC - I mock to hide my jealousy at your ground.

For a proper read as to why Leamington play here and the history of the club click your mouse on this article on In Bed With Maradona.

Dear George Rolls - Maybe Amanda would like to set up a tuck shop at the Bob Lucas Stadium? She doesn't seem that arsed at the moment, this might make it more interesting for her. Think about it. I am willing to act as a consultant should she wish to pursue the idea and by reading this you have just granted me 70% of the shares in any tuck shop.

The Wood Chippings Stand.

The teams come out to Beady Eye's number 31 chart sensation 'The Roller' (I'm not linking to it - it's shit) and in less time than it takes the 7" single to revolve we find ourselves two nil down thanks to a defence with gaps in it bigger than the windows at Liam's 'Pretty Green' shop last Tuesday night.

Gotta get them team line up's down properly.

Leamington's manager, Paul Holleran, a man of tiny proportions and a face redder than an embarrassed tomato celebrates while Brendan King is left with a lot to ponder. Not least why he's got changed from his suit into full training kit, including socks! Stephen 'Condor Ferry' Reed reduces the deficit by slamming a free kick past the keeper's hand. In his defence he appeared un sighted and the shot, like Leamington's ground, seemed to appear out of nowhere.

Token match shot.

For most of the second half we looked fairly competent, but were as threatening as a yoof using wood chippings to smash a window whilst attempting a looting rampage at an out of town JJB sports. There was a Wooleaston corner that went close to going straight in and eh....that's about it and, like Shed Seven and last weeks blog favourites D:Ream, our comeback wasn't really on and Leamington scored two more before the end.

A man too lazy to get out of his car to watch the match. Not quite as impressive as the guy in this blog though.

After some fairly decent performances we have only picked up one point from nine and it remains to be seen quite which direction we head in this season; the leisurely drive along the road marked 'mid table mediocrity' or hitting reverse and slamming into the Evostik Southern.

Flowers and Football Tops

2011-08-17T09:17:00.016+01:00

Nailsea United 5 (five) - 0 Stockwood Green
Tuesday 16th August 2011
Errea Somerset County League Premier Division
Grove Sports Centre, Nailsea
Attendance: 45(ish)

The differences between Nailsea and Stockwood are vast.

Nailsea: a former South West in Bloom Silver Award winner, every house a freshly cut grass semi detached palace, every drive way adorned with two cars, the local pub offering 'Boules Piste' and every voter a Tory

Stockwood: Went through it once, looks bloody rough. Won't be going back. It's Wikipedia page lists it's attractions as three pubs and an "open space", so I'm not in a hurry to pay it a visit. However, one of those pubs is brilliantly called 'The Man In Space'. Pint in Stockwood anyone?

The main stand.

Nailsea's website is a professional affair with plenty of information and a link to the club shop, where you can buy club shirts produced by toffs favourite Canterbury of New Zealand no less. La di da.

Stockwood's however carries a match report from Saturday's match that contains a superb critique of the game including; “without the ball we gave them too much space (although they weren't a good football side)” and “No MOM this week as nobody can count themselves as having the best of games” is a definite winner. Thumbs up.

Nailsea's warm up is well drilled, organised by a coach wearing his club polo shirt; there's bibs, cones and they've got it all. Flip me, they've even got coloured goal nets. COLOURED GOAL NETS.

Number plate dug out signs. A tinpot classic.

Stockwood pre match warm up is a shambles. The players take it in turns to hoof it across the pitch and failing to complete anymore than three keep ups. Some players turn up slightly before kick off and are no doubt dazzled by the surroundings they now find themselves in. This could have been the biggest culture shock since a young Will Smith gave up his life shooting some b-ball outside of a school in west Philadelphia and arrived in Bel Air in a cab with a licence plate that said FRESH and a dice in the mirror.

The officials go through their warm up, which consists of a gentle jog across the pitch a couple of times before they head off with the ref admitting he's “worn out already” and one linesman, Kev, sweating profusely. Kev seems to have that strange gut shape that suggests a BMI reading of not obese, not fat but of "non league official". He's obviously been running the line for years and a doff of the AiT cap to him.

*doffs cap*

Nailsea head off to their changing room for a final tactical analysis of the opposition and come out shortly after raring to go.

Stockwood's team talk consists of a disinterested circle of men getting shouted out by a man who looks like he's come straight from a cramped office in the back of a builders merchants, where he's spent the day unsuccessfully chasing overdue invoices.

Nailsea kick off on a pitch that contains more lumps than the song 'Lump' by President of the United States of America.

Token match shot.

The Nailsea crowd drift slowly in, even their football banter is posh; for example "Oh, they've got a big goalie", in reference to Stockwood's rotund keeper, where a "fuck me, that keeper is a right fat bastard" would have sufficed. Other members of the home support include three people sat out in comfortable camping chairs, an old boy listening to a radio and a three legged dog.

Big boned.

Stockwood have no supporters. They do have a man, dressed in shorts and espadrilles who looks like he'd rather be supping a Staraproman and indulging ladies in "cheeky banter" in the Slug and Lettuce, who has now nudged the builders admin clerk aside and is barking orders from the touchline.

Nailsea knock it round nicely, look solid at the back, a big man with the obligatory surprisingly good touch and a tricky left winger who scores the opener just before half time.

Stockwood have players called Wingnut, Swagger, about 5 players called Jordan and one, I think, called Vag.

Half time sees Nailsea go into the changing room for a pro zone review of the first half and a revised tactical plan.

Stockwood stay out on the pitch and hoof the ball around a bit more.

My half time routine consists of a tea in a mug, (a mug!) and a look round the bar of the busy sports club. Not for them the usual non league bar decoration of pendants and old team photos, they've gone for the lesser seen skittles alley and numerous leaflets saying the bar will" no longer cash cheques" and advertising a helpline for colitis sufferers.

Ooh, fancy.

The second half sees Nailsea score two goals in the first five minutes, one an absolute belter from 40 yards.

Stockwood get a bit ragged and have a couple of players booked. The ref belittles one Stockwood player with the line "I bet your school teacher loves you" and another argument with a Stockwood player leads him to remark "My cows and sheep don't answer back." I just pray he's a farmer or that remark is just a little bit weird. This is Somerset though.

Token match shot II

Before the end Nailsea add a couple more, Stockwood have a couple of chances and Kev looks absolutely busted. The game is played in a great competitive spirit and enjoyed by all; rich, poor, fat, thin, 2 legged and 3 legged and officiated by people doing it for the love of the game - just as football should be.

If you've been affected by colitis and wish to talk to someone then please call 0845 130 2233. Your call will remain confidential.

Nearly a D:ream start to the season

2011-08-14T15:01:00.007+01:00

Weymouth 1-2 Cambridge City
Saturday 13th August 2011
Evostik Southern Premier League
Bob Lucas Stadium, Weymouth
Attendance: 667

It's the long awaited day. The magical day. The one you've been crossing off days in the calendar in anticipation since it was announced, the day you thought may never come but it has. It's here. It's true. D:Ream are finally playing Weymouth.

You are witnessing the pinnacle of a career here.

The D:Ream. The 'Things Can Only Get Better' D;Ream, the D:Ream that invented text speak via there 1994 number 3 chart smash 'U R The Best Thing'. That D:Ream. Playing Weymouth has to be the undoubted pinnacle of any bands career. Let Loose sent the crowd wild here, Mr Blobby's career peaked when he headlined the resort and Toploader, well thankfully they cancelled.

Oh, and the football season starts.

The symmetry between D:Ream and Weymouth FC are startling: both have seen better days, played in front of bigger crowds, have seen players go on to better things, (D:Ream fact – Prof Brian Cox was in the band), both face uncertain futures and both have an entrance price of £11. Bargain. D:ream have never played (twice European Cup winners) Nottingham Forest though and rumours that Rob Wooleaston had a pre season trial for D:Ream have been denied by the player.

Plenty of obvious gags here.

Amanda Rolls has quickly to bring in a couple of kitchen hands to help her be (imaginary) Chairman and signed up Mrs Susan Rolls and Mr Edward Brennan Rolls to join the clubs board and gave them special duties for (imaginary) vol-au-vents and (imaginary) prawn rings respectively. I would like to welcome them both to the club. No, I genuinely would, I doubt they"ll ever see it.

With Amanda busy thawing an (imaginary) Vienetta it's left to George to greet our guests from Cambridge, sadly he chose to represent our club while looking like he's just turned up at the ground straight from a two day Hooch and Fosters Ice fuelled binge with Toni Di Bart.

Pre match atmosphere doesn't get any better than this.

The pre season optimism has got to me. Add in the excitement caused by one of 1994's best Irish bands, with a colon in their name, being in my home town and my brain was in danger of leaking out of my ears. Today's the day, together D:Ream and Weymouth FC can grow again! D:Ream, you will have another number hit, you will win that Best Dance Act award at the MTV Europe music awards that you so cruelly lost to The Prodigy in 1994; Brendan King you will lead us to Dorset Senior Cup victory!

3 seconds into the match and we start the season by thumping the ball straight out for a throw in, which leads to an attach that culminates with a Cambridge shot rattling the bar and I start to realise that my D:Ream induced optimism might, like a mini scotch egg in a jelly, be massively misplaced.

Or not.

23 minutes later Weymouth's goal machine Warren 'Wozza' Byerley heads us into the lead with a great header and we might as well be handed the league trophy now. We are gonna piss this tinpot league!

The crowd in the Sharkey's stand go wild.

Shortly after things get even better as familiar traditional terrace traits are shown to have survived the summer. The Barbara Windsor stand gets it's first opposition player of the season booked. A fairly innocuous shirt pull is met with howls from the Babs which results in the ref dishing out a yellow card and means the Babs stand has now secured more bookings than D:Ream in the past 10 years.

Token match shot.

A doff of the AiT cap to manager Brendan King, who watches the match from the directors box, due to a touchline ban, and chose to do so in full Weymouth FC training gear, including shorts. Shame we couldn't get him a Phil Brown style headset mic though, or even give him a bendy straw, or cotton bud taped to his ear so it looked like, from a distance, that we could afford some high tech gadgetry.

The half time score announcements bring another first of the season, with the inaugural hearty cheer for the fact that Dorchester have made a n:ightmare (see what I've done there!) start to the season and find themselves three down. Pah, losers! The music fades out as substitute Kyle Bassett goes through his half time warm up routine, which consists of queuing up to get some chocolate from a refreshments hut in the ground, while dressed in full kit and boots.

Fans to flag ratio, 5:1

Sadly other traditions have lasted the summer, the tradition of being a bit dodgy in defence and the tradition of losing. Some poor defending cost us two goals that sent the 15 or so Cambridge fans (roughly the same number of people who bought the new D:Ream album, possibly) and despite a late fightback we, like D:Ream, aren't able to launch a successful comeback. There was plenty to be pleased with from this performance, the squad lacks a little bit of quality in depth and defensive errors need to be eradicated but there were plenty of positives to take from this performance against one of the title favourites.

Yes! I didn't make the obvious 'Things Can Only Get Better' analogy!

It's Great When You're Yate ... Yeah

2011-08-07T10:52:00.008+01:00

Yate Town 4-2 Chippenham Town

Saturday 6th August 2011
Pre Season Friendly
Lodge Road, Yate

Attendance: 99 (ish)

"3-2, 3-2 now!! Penalty. Five minutes left" Wherever in Bristol's tinpot lands you are you're never that far from someone shouting out the Rovers score. That's certainly the case here and you get the feeling a large amount of the Yate support are here as 'The Gas' are busy spoiling AFC Wimbledon's party.

A busy week ahead at Yate Town FC

As kick off approaches the Rovers faithful slowly drift in. The soporific sun, the lure of frosty pints and the threat of a dull and pointless friendly means enthusiasm levels are muted. Some of the Chippenham support are more animated however. A nearby chat with with summer signing, Aaron Wilson, reveals he has signed for Chippenham after 2 years away working on cruise ships around the Caribbean! Keep your multi million pound exotic summer signings, shove your extensive South American scouting network because whatever you've got isn't going to trump Chippenham's signing of a man who has been living in a cabin on the high seas for the last two years.

Good work Bethany!

Yate are taking this match seriously. Very seriously indeed. They've blown up the inflatable ice bath! A doff of the AiT cap to them for embracing sport science and having an inflatable ice bath, but I'm struggling to envisage an overweight seasoned non league bruiser defender wanting to jump in an ice bath on a cold Tuesday night after a gruelling match against Stourport Swifts. Also, they tend to work better when filled with ice.

The Yate Town FC birthing pool.

For the first twenty minutes nothing much happens, bar the occasional baahing of sheep in the adjacent field and the Chippenham keeper impersonating a vociferous Supervisor of an orange juice pressing factory with constant shouts of “Squeeze!!” The match, in the summery Bristolian suburb, is enlivened when (**weak orange juice related gags alert**) the keeper is rudely awoken from his tangerine dream, as a complete lack of concentrate on his behalf means he fails to (vitamin) see a long range shot until too late, leaving Chippenham a goal down and Yate in a state of sunny delight.

The Yate Megastore. Closed for a concretey refurbishment.

After forty five minutes, and with the scoreline now 2-1, the half time whistle is greeted in the usual style – the playing of Green Sleeves. An ice cream van has suddenly appeared in the car park, staffed by a man sporting the classic ice cream salesman look of faded vest and straw hat. This man shuns the school fête, a kids playground, the end of a pier, anywhere else that would have provided conditions conducive to people wishing to procure a Calippo. This man sees a gap in the market for selling Mini Milk's to those 99, or so, middle aged men watching crap football. However, the selling of approximately 2 Mr Freeze's suggests he might want to re-think his business plan.

Busy day mate? Nahhh...not really.

Further proof of how serious Yate are taken this is offered by the fact the subs aren't trusted to do their own warms ups. The coach's encouraging shouts of “ nice and sharp aye” and “quick on the turn” are met with a lackadaisical jog from the subs and “give your hammy's a stretch” results in a bit of apathetic leaning.

Token match shot

On the pitch Yate suffer a setback as Chippenham re-equalise, Dave Gilroy scoring a great header. Off the pitch things are starting to get serious for Yate. The half time draw winner still hasn't presented themselves and the winning ticket number tannoy announcements are getting increasingly desperate.

A final, pleading, call for ticket number 2564 results in an young, attractive blonde Chippenham fan being introduced to the draw organiser by a steward with the words “he'll know where to take you” The announcer, with thick northern accent, and dressed in one of those shirts only worn by men in Working Men's Clubs and darts players, can't believe his desperate pleading has presented him with such a fine filly and responds with the slightly disturbing line of “I know where to take you....I know where to take all the pretty girls.” The re-appearance of them both, about thirty seconds, later suggests nothing more extravagant than an exchange of a box of Cadbury's Celebrations took place.

Token match shot II

Chippenhams's big summer signing from Brittany Ferries, Wilson, left his substitutes bench berth at half time. Launching his appearance at right back and continuing his nomadic lifestyle by calling at the ports of right wing, left wing and finally docking just about anywhere he fancied.

The good work of Wilson, and his shipmates, was sunk by the Chippenham keeper whose continued failure to catch a ball, this man would struggle to even grab an Outspan (small ones are more juicy naturally) means that Yate are able to score a couple more without reply before the end. The final whistle sees a sprint for the bar, to see how many Bristol City have lost by, as both the ice bath and the returning ice cream van remain unused.

It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter. It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter.

2011-07-28T20:18:00.010+01:00

Bridgwater Town 5-0 Weymouth

Wednesday 27th July 2011

Pre Season Friendly
Fairfax Road, Bridgwater

Attendance: 250 ish

The three months since the end of last season have been relatively quiet by Weymouth FC standards.

Manager Martyn Rogers has left the club; but a manager leaving is about as regular as Stephen Reed leaving the club. So, no one is shocked.

Stephen Reed's has returned to the club. No one is shocked.

The towns folk have a long tradition of celebrating it's regular short stay visitors. For example, King George III came to Weymouth numerous times and had a chalk carving of him done in the hills on the outskirts of the town and a statue erected in his honour. Plans are now under way for a chalk engraving of Stephen Reed slicing a ball into touch to be carved in the hills behind the Bob Lucas Stadium and a static caravan at Haven Littlesea to be named in his honour. It is expected both the chalk carving and the caravan will be more mobile than Reed.

The inspiring facade of Bridgwater FC

It looks like Amanda Rolls is hanging up her oven gloves, sweeping away the pastry brush and leaving the world of preparing imaginary buffets and becoming the (imaginary) Chairman of the club. Again, no one is shocked.

By far the most exciting news item is the shocking news that the supporters might form a darts team! Stick a picture of George Rolls' greasy mush on the dart board and I’ll be a shoe in for the Bully's Special prize of a speed boat in no time.

The inspiring BTFC Memorabilia Shop, what wonders could await in here...

On the pitch, off the pitch, and, even more shockingly, on the fans forum, spirits are high. A defeat of a West Ham XI, by three goals to nil and suddenly there's talk of the play offs.

A wall of programmes. A WALL OF PROGRAMMES. A WALL OF PROGRAMMES. Wowzers.

There’s no way you’ll see me getting caught up in any of this undue excitement, no sir! I remember the constant proclamations of us being in false league positions, and able reach the play offs, as we slowly shambled out the Conference. Add in the fact that George Rolls is still lurking around and it means I’ll not only be exercising caution but giving it a full work out, rigorous medical and a unsuspecting finger up the bum.

Of course the Kitbag area. Of course.

Things I know about today’s opponents, Bridgwater Town.

1. Mysteriously there is only one e in Bridgwater. By my calculations that's 11 less than Brian Harvey on an average night out in the mid 90's.

2. The town's residents and local paper combined to make complete dicks off themselves recently with a frenzy about an object in a river. It's OK, no one noticed apart from all of the Twitter, the Daily Telegraph, jeez even the Daily Mail got involved with the mocking.

3. Bridgwater Town v Weymouth could have been a league fixture if it wasn't for Martyn Rogers contacts book and a cheque book, of unspecified origin, that combined to keep us in glorious lands of the Zamaretto Premier (RIP)

Walking to the ground the signs were there that this wasn’t going to be a good evening. An old lady, who'd we'd asked for directions, laughed at us balking at the lack of a short cut to the ground and said we could do with the extra walk. “Yeah, sod off love, I’ve enjoyed the close season, I’ve been carrying a knock into pre-season and I could do with losing a few pounds, no need to be so rude as to point it out! How about you go and point at something in a river hmm hmm?!”

Yeah, that's what I should have said, whilst breathing in.

The AiT pre season routine...

It's like the season never finished.

As a fan the first match of the season is always a welcome occasion. You get to see friends, last years heroes and this seasons bright new hopes….unless you’re a Weymouth fan. 2-0 down after twenty minutes, three nil just before half time, the opposition manager urging his team to “score again, get it, get it, score again” and the opposition fans mocking means there is a depressingly familiar feeling about all this. Our new manager, Brendan King, furiously stomped off at half time with shouts of “you won't make it this year Weymouth, you'll be playing us next season” being bellowed at him. “Sod off Bridgwater…..go and point at something in the rive”…..ah, feck it, you’re probably right.

Repeat after me. It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter.

Token match shot.

It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter.

There’s only one thing that’s going to ease my pain in this situation, some classic nineties tunes over the PA, beer and cake. So it was a blessing that The KLF’s ‘3Am Eternal’ was played, a 3rd pint in just over an hour purchased and some free Swiss roll swiped from the bar. More Swiss Roll in football please.

Second half. Meh. They scored two more without reply, one has genius though, a Phillipe Albert style chip over Nick Jordan that I even applauded. Bastard. I mean….It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter. It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter.

It’s only a pre-season friendly, it doesn’t matter.

Sneaking in at the KLFA Stadium, Kuala Lumpur

2011-06-23T10:47:00.000+01:00

Please allow me to present to you the 18,000 capacity Stadium Bolasepak Kuala Lumpur, or the Kuala Lumpur Football Association Stadium if you prefer. The stadium is home to two teams; Kuala Lumpur FA and Felda United and, as I found to my embarrassment, home to school sports days.

Felda United are the team of the Malaysian Federal Land Development Authority, an organisation that oversees the resettlement of rural poor into newly developed areas, hence the slightly naff nickname of 'The Settlers'. The team was formed in 2007 ,with the aim to work with the children of settlers to "transform the youths into towering personalities" (always good to have a grand, slightly nonsensical, aim) and reach the Malaysian top flight, something they achieved in 2010 by winning the Malaysian Premier League and gaining promotion to the Super League.

KLFA were formed in 1974 and joined Malaysian top flight football in 1979, winning the league in 1986 and 1988. After a seven year absence they returned to the Super League for the 2010 season, finishing ninth and with attendances averaging 1,000. They look set to end this season slightly further down the 13 team Super League table.

The club have just announced a link up with Liverpool, this will see Liverpool assist in the development of the KLFA Academy and no doubt see (shell suit) trouser a few Malaysian Ringgits.

Anyway's photos:

Happily my arrival coincided with the arrival of an Ice Cream Motorbike. I say happily, this bastard followed me round Kuala Lumpur for three days and made a fortune.

The magic gate.

The tragic state of deceased footballs. Heart breaking. Please notice the ball on the far right, still showing signs of life and gallantly trying to escape. Godspeed sir! Godspeed!

The crushing realisation I'd (magic) gatecrashed a school sports day.

However, a big AiT 'Congratulations' to Zara Faidz for winning the Year 4 Girls 200m race. *doffs cap*

Token ground shot.

The British relay team carry out another shambolic handover. They shouldn't even be here. Embarassing. It's a school sports day you losers!!

The KLFA Media Centre. Lovely array of plastic chairs. Shit wi-fi.

I'd love to take a dump in a 'VIP Toilet'.

I'd love to take a dump in a VIP Ro....I wouldn't. I would. I so would. I wouldn't.

Women's role in football. Ironic winky face.

The sun loungers weren't the best. They were inside for a start.

Sadly I wasn't able to find the magic gate of the nearby 87,000 capacity National Stadium. Getting past security wasn't a problem though.

Sneaking in at Racing Club Strasbourg

2011-06-15T07:46:00.000+01:00

This was one of the most dangerous AiT 'Sneaking In' missions so far. I probably wouldn't have bothered going at all if I'd realised that the city of Strasbourg also has a team called FC Kronenbourg, I'd have been all over that tinpot/beer cross in a gaelic shrug of the shoulders. Any jokes about them playing a 1-6-6-4 formation will be instantly deleted.

First, some facts which have been copy and pasted from Wikipedia, then altered slightly to give the impression of some element of research.

When permission to build the stadium was given the land was in Germany. The land, like the rest of Strasbourg, is now in Le France.
U2 played here in 1993 supported by The Velvet Underground.
One of the first bicycle kicks was scored in this stadium, by the Brazilian Leonidas, during the 1938 World Cup.
The stadium is fully rectangular
Pope John Paul II played here in 1988 supported by Father Dougal McGuire.

Anyway, here's the latest in the series of boring photos from a ground I've trespassed around.

Dull shot of exterior of uninspiring ground. Check.

A helpful map, sadly not indicating the magic door to get me in.

Fair to say that sneaking in wasn't going to well. Bet Bono didn't have this trouble getting in.

The French resistance.

Aha! The magic gate, but what the chuff is that. It's heading straight for me!

It's on my right as well. Zoinks! I'm surrounded! Decide it's an autopsy on the Marshmallow Man from Ghostbusters and I should be safe.

Decide to take a dull picture of some seats and pretend I've not seen it.

Attempt a half seat/half pitch picture in an attempt to see if "the thing" is still there.

Decide to head for the exit, just to be sure. Left my proton pack at home and this ground isn't really worth the risk.

Sneaking in (well, around actually) at Sporting Lisbon

2011-06-11T21:46:00.000+01:00

Here on AiT we've already given you some handy hints on how to combine a 'cultural trip' to Lisbon with sneaking off to football grounds, without the missus suspecting a thing. Click here for cheeky tips on Almada and here for Belenenses.

Now, Sporting Lisbon's home ground, the Estádio José Alvalade, is going to take some work on your part. However, there is a shop at the ground and in my extensive knowledge I have learnt that the fillies like three things; knitting, Gloria Gaynor's 'I Will Survive' on teary repeat and shopping. So, there you go the perfect excuse. Tell her you're going on a 'shopping trip'. Don't tell her the shop there is a Lidl. Because it is. And you'd get a slap. Good luck.

Now, to the gallery:

When Tetris goes wrong.

Show off's. So what, I've got a cycle proficiency certificate on my wall.

We got the old AiT chinook out and took this aerial shot of the old ground.

Ha! I'm such a crazy joker. It's actually a replica of the old ground made entirely of sugar. No, really it is. Would I lie to you?

Of course a replica of the old ground made entirely of sugar!

Sneaking in at Belenenses

2011-06-06T11:59:00.001+01:00

I've said it once and I'll say it again; Lisbon offers the ultimate 'sneaking in a tinpot football ground while the missus thinks you're doing something cultural' opportunity.

I've given you the heads up for Almada AC and if you're feeling brave read on and have a cheeky go at getting your way into Belenenses' ground, the Estádio do Restelo. For your information Belenenses play in the Liga Orangina, of course the Liga Orangina!!

Belenenses play in the district of Belem, which is home to some of Lisbon's most famous tourist attractions like the Torre de Belém and the Jerónimos Monastery. The Tower and the Monastery are both on the banks of the river Tagus and just up the hill, a mere accidentally on purprose wrong turn away, behind the Monastery, is this cheeky little number.

Sneaking in at the Nou Camp

2011-06-01T14:37:00.007+01:00

Barcelona Champions League Celebrations
Sunday 29 May 2011
Nou Camp, Barcelona
Attendance: 100,000+

To say I was shocked when Josep Guardiola phoned me up, said he was a big fan of AiT and asked if I could take some photos of their Champions League celebrations is a bit of an understatement (and a massive lie). After packing my sombrero and castanets I was able to take up a place in the clouds, unpack my crappy camera and take some trademark AiT ropey pictures. Enjoy!