Redditch United v Weymouth.

Another One Goes By.

Redditch United 2-0 Weymouth
Saturday 28th April
Evo-Stik League Southern Premier Division

The Valley Stadium, Redditch
Attendance: 371

That's that then. Goodbye 2011/12 season. We won't miss you, you were rubbish! Shit off!

Maybe I'm being a little hasty there.

On the pitch progress has been made. Last season we stayed up on the last day, this season it was secured in the penultimate game. Last season we finished one above the relegation zone, this year it was two. If we continue to improve at this rate then we are gonna piss the league in the 2027/28.

Nice mural you've got their Redditch, but something doesn't look right. Have you....

Off the pitch evil wazzuck George Rolls has left (*does dance like Carlton Banks*) to have a play around with Kettering and we're now in the hands of a community trust. Sadly Rolls left the place in a bit of a mess, leaving behind £40,000 worth of debt, 47 tubs of extra greasy hair gel and 12 rotten quiches, but things are looking better than they have done for a long time.

....you have, you've taken someone else's mural and tippexed RUFC on to it. I'm on to you Redditch!

We've got similarities with Redditch. They too have suffered a financial crisis and crushing relegations and look to be coming out the other side. But they've got one thing we haven't got, a star player. They've only bloody got ex England and Aston Villa star (and victim of a burglary by Trevor Francis's son, Lee Hendrie. Their manager also has none of the glamour of Premier League. Why it's only ex Sheffield Wednesday midfielder scrapper Graham Hyde. WOW! 

 OK Redditch, I'm going to do your health and safety assessment today. What's that? Smoking area? Gas canisters? GET OUTTA HERE!!! THIS WHOLE FRICKIN PLACE IS GONNA BE BLOW SKY HIGH!!

It's fair to say Hyde's a little excited about having Hendrie in his squad, so much so he included this gushing waffle on him in his programme notes " the signing of Lee just gave us that extra quality we lacked at certain times...as the saying goes 'it takes 10 players to carry the piano, but only needs 1 to play it”

Hang on a minute there Graham. There is no saying like that. It makes no sense. All kinds of question arise here Graham.

Surely 10 trained pianists shouldn't be forced to carry a piano, they're not cut out for such work. They have dainty, dexterous fingers, not the fingers of a brute use to the mammoth task of shifting a piano.

Ten people to move a piano seems a little excessive? What are your overheads?

Why not hire experienced trained piano movers.Using an unqualified person could result in damage to the piano's case and its mechanics and then where will you be Graham? Think on.

Will being required to move the piano themselves invalidate the terms and conditions of the musicians expensive insurance?

Two people can play the same piano at the same time Graham. Are you not familiar with the Marx brothers superb piano dueting skills?

Now Graham, you did a lot of good work in helping to raise awareness of the centre parting long after it went out of fashion but your analogies are, frankly, misguided.

 mmm weedy

 

mmm slanty

I like the ground. Old terraces with weeds poking through, weird shaped stand. Marvellous. The floor of the bar has tremendous carpet. I bloody love non league carpet. There's two eye strain inducing budget Alba TV's stuck high up on a wall. They're tiny. Minuscule. They could probably be covered up with two piano keys and the shattered wrist bone of a classically trained pianist forced to hastily remove a detuned grand piano from the third floor of, now bankrupt, Lee Hendrie's opulent £1.7m mansion. 

 Probably still on hire purchase from Rumbelows. Possibly not 3D compatible.

mmmm carpety

On every wall drawing pins hold up laserjet printed signs "no boots in the clubhouse", "Please queue here for the bar", "CCTV operates in here 24 hours" (probably a lie) and "please come to our end of season party cos you know it'd be really cool and I'd like to buy you a spritzer. Your hair looks pretty" (embellished that one slightly). The only one I can't see is the one that the locals were all strictly adhering to which says "Please do remember to elongate your vowels and talk like you're trying to clear cotton wall, soaked in a crème Egg McFlurry, from your nasal passages."

It's a good job you put the NO in red capitals, otherwise I might have strolled right on in with my Puma King's on.

Will there be quiche?

 Jeepers! It's only the box that holds that alarm master controls!

It's last day of the season, a day to bask in the spring sunshine. Wrong! It's penis shrinkingly cold. It's the last day of the season and there's nothing to play for. That means an exhibition of football. Wrong! Weymouth could have been six down at half time, nine by the end and we didn't even have a shot. We were woeful. If you'll allow me I'd like to comment on this performance by using an overblown indulgent metaphor that I'm sure Graham Hyde will understand.

What? Eh? I just don't understand....eh?

The players, well Graham, I'm not sure I'd trust some of them to remove a child's plastic xylophone from a branch of the Early Learning Centre, let alone be trusted with a concert grand piano.

The manager, well he might be looking for a new job in the summer. His attempts to introduce new songs consisted of my pianist doing little more than mashing the keys like a child high on energy drinks throwing a violent tantrum. His previous experience was directing the shipment of a Casio VL-1 keyboard to a draughty venue where a rabbit fearing mute would entertain crowds by pressing the "demo" button and mime the hits of B'Witched.

Token match shot.

Our attempts to move the piano today were embarrassing. There's no formation, no skill and we made little attempt to get the piano near the stage so the pianist could perform. I fear, that sometime soon, my precious piano is going to tip over backwards and explode into a tuneless mushroom cloud Graham I really do.

Quite honestly Graham if things remain the same were gonna struggle next concert season. My biggest concern being that support for my piano orchestra dwindles after a series of poor performances which culminates in a disastrous concert. A concert in which my inept piano movers fail to place the piano centre stage on time and my classically lead pianist is booed off stage after trying to entertain a packed opera house with a series of squelchy armpit farts.

Up the Terras!

Tytherington Rocks v New College Academy

Turn On The Bright Lights

Tytherington Rocks v New College Academy
Saturday 7th April
Uhlsport Hellenic League Division One West
Hardwicke Playing Fields
Attendance: 45 (ish)

Swifts. Casuals. Angels. Supermarine. All good team suffixes. But Rocks is a winner. A clear winner. Tytherington Rocks sounds more like a "Battle of the Bands" competition, attended by various, pre-pubescent, Green Day tribute acts staged in a dank village hall, rather than a football team on the way up. I like it.

Part four of the AiT titled "Road Signs in Grounds"

The Rocks history contains a couple of comedy nuggets. Formed in 1896 the club originally travelled to away matches by Waggonette, a type of four wheeled horse draw cart. It gets better. The club disbanded in the 1920's after being suspended for failure to pay a fine imposed after a some dodgy decisions saw a referee jostled into an adjoining brook! When I rule football all teams will be forced to arrive for FA Cup finals by waggonette and managers who moan about referee's will be dunked into a pond.

Don't go in there! It's a trap!! There's crocodiles behind there.

Anyway, enough of the past. The future is bright for Tytherington Rocks, but not quite bright enough. They're playing at the highest level in their history and, last weekend, secured the Hellenic League Division One West title. Sadly it looks like they won't be allowed promotion as they don't have floodlights (I'm starting a whip round to buy them these). They do have swings and a tiny stand that's wedged in a luscious hedge though. Surely that's enough?

First time I've seen dugouts bigger than a stand. Small. Far away.

The clubhouse celebrates the past and the plots the future of the club. The walls are covered with photos of previous teams (each one seemingly including someone mugging to the camera), old kits, photos of men carrying trays of tea, a letter from “Darren and the Tauntonhoppers”, a huge sign commemorating this seasons title win (including the club badge, which appears to be two iced gems tumbling rapidly down a disappointingly performing line graph, all being watched over by a hovering hubcap). Amongst all this are posters for meetings to discuss ways to raise the funds needed for them pesky light bulbs.

Bristolian tinpot honours don't get much bigger than this. To see one this recent is a great honour. *wipes tear*

Who can forget that magical day when Chris Waddle just happened to be passing in his full Sheffield Wednesday kit? Eh....

Idea for improvement: Referee torture chamber.

The Rocks pen pics show that the squad consists of a bunch of weather beaten tinpot warriors and a diminutive striker who looks identical to M People's bongo player Shovel. The New College pen pics introduce a squad who are all under 20, have ridiculous quiffs and are introduced by top banter (*shudder*) laden comments like “loves cling film”, “loves bling” and “loves his little sister”.

There goes the ref! Get him! To the river boys!!!

Who can forget the magical day when a terrible performance led to one referee being buried alive under the clubhouse. Some people say whenever a linesman makes a bad offside call you can still hear the screams from this referee. Others say it's just the pea stuck in the ref's whistle.

Ten minutes before kick off a fully kitted out linesman strolls in the clubhouse, enquires about the early Premier League result, has a friendly chat with everyone and wanders out again. I misread the mood and getting him in a headlock and trying to dunk him in a bucket of cold water was an act of misguided folly.

Um....games the other way chaps.

Rocks dominate and produce passing moves slicker than a polished granite worktop. Shovel swipes the legs of a walking Topman mannequin, the defensive outcrop captain barks orders continually, the left back greets defensive headers with an almighty "fuuuuck", one of the subs carefully fetches a tray of teas and walking stick shaking pensioners offer their own bizarre encouragement, "get into his head, he'll be a winner if you get into his head". It's pretty easy to see why they've been so successful this season; tea and walking sticks. That and scoring five more goals than the opposition always helps.

So, let me get this straight. That's a sign saying the "league now operates Zero Tolerance towards the use of 'Inappropriate Language'" with a mega swear word? Good work!

Goal one comes just before half time, from defender Tony Perry, and then it's all back to the clubhouse, where there's uproar from one OAP at the content of the pasties, "do you have to pay extra for meat?"

The home subs go through a rigorous warm up routine of booting the ball at each others nutsacks. Those on the pitch adhere to the tactics, which consist of the non league staple, "squeeeeeeeezzzze" with additional "put our stamp on it" and the innovative "get on your tippies" formation for combating set pieces.

NUTS!

Jack Smyth goes on a jinking run and smashes the ball in, shortly afterwards captain Andy Criddle scores a header which brings a forward roll celebration. A few minutes later Criddle then queries a throw in call by the inquisitive linesman with a jocular shout of "controversial linesman". The referee fails to see the humour and issues a ticking off, which brings the flirty retort of "I'm having a bit of fun....he knows I love him". Attitudes towards officials clearly have changed substantially in the last 90 years. From drowning to unrequited love.

There's two more goals for Rocks before the end, as the Swindon defence crumbles like a permeable sandstone, taking their tally to 101 for the season.

Token match shot.

Rocks have asked the FA for special dispensation to install floodlights over the summer but they're not hopeful. As I hate to see tinpot injustice I'm willing to lead the march on FA Headquarters and force those no goodniks into a rapid river. Who's with me? Gentlemen, to bed! For the wagonnete leaves AiT Towers at 8:30, for 9.

For more on Tytherington Rocks, their history and their battle for floodlights have a look here.

Cheltenham Saracens v Abingdon Town.

We Are Saracens.

Cheltenham Saracens v Abingdon Town
Saturday 24th March
Unisport Hellenic League
Petersfield Park, Cheltenham
Attendance: 35

There was one criteria for Saturday's activities - a clubhouse selling cold beer to enjoy whilst topping up my tan in tinpot surroundings.

Cheltenham Saracens clubhouse looked to do the job nicely. Skittles alley, darts board, big screen TV and no doubt a wealth of tinpottery waiting to discovered. Well, I'm sure it was but it was sadly situated the wrong side of a massive chain and padlock...a mile and a half from the ground! #fail #facepalm #epicfail #epicfacepalm #epicnosebleed

Bucket chairs in ground - tick. What does that sign say?

The ground itself is found by walking over a railway bridge, past the block of council flats, turn left at the burnt out armchair, straight on at the discarded flan (really!), down the muddy path and pay your money to the man, with the carrier bag, perched on the wall. Toilets are on your left should you wish mop your sweaty brow. Mind the pair of welly boots in the middle of the floor as you go in.

Saracens were full of optimism for the match after making it through to the quarter finals of the, superbly craply named, Supplementary Cup in midweek. Manager Gerry Oldham stating that, "we've got a youthful bunch and we have legs in our side". A side with 22 legs always seems to work quite well for most sides I find Gerry.

Ah! There's nothing more welcoming than a hastily scribbled on luminous piece of paper.

A club tie wearing official sits proudly on a bench outside the storage/toilet building thing. Whatever it is, it's not a clubhouse selling an extensive range of alcoholic beverages. Thankfully though, my God thankfully, the door marked "Storage" hosts a fridge containing a range of magical frosty beverages at a bargain £1.50 a can. That range being Fosters and Carling. Beggars. Choosers.

Great posture. Arms straight, hands on hips, head back, feet out in front of you.

The match um....takes time to settle down. The pitch is bobblier than a frosty Nobbly Bobbly eaten by this man. Saracens have made an effort to keep the goalmouth flat, eschewing usual protocol that sees team photos taken in the centre of the goal, favouring the lesser seen approach of cramming everyone over to the left side.

The new stand. From right to left; human, human, human, human, bum sniffer.

The ground consists of two, pretty identical, stands which even have a similarly small number of punters sat in them. There's a terrace area, which is a superb mix of scaffolding and rusty corrugated iron and is practically impossible to reach, unless you cut across the pitch and sneak behind the dugouts - where a sub is probably having a sneaky piss anyway.

Token match shot.

Bladders empty the home subs take to the sidelines to warm up, re-interpreting "warm up" to mean 'stand in the sun with your shirt off and chat to your mates'. Home fans purchase tea in mugs, away officials locate the beer stash and a couple of dogs take it in turn to sniff each other's anus'. Good old non league football hey. On the pitch there's a fair bit of metaphorical arse sniffing going on as both teams get to know each other without making a decisive move.

Outfield player taking goal kicks - yes! *punches air*

After a 5 minute period where both teams punt it to each other the home keeper is left to bemoan the, "fucking long ball again" as Abingdon's Piers McGlynn’s gets on the end of a long hoof, catches the ball full on the bobble and shins it in. Shortly after Saracens equalise. I didn't see the goal. I was trying to sneak a photo of a dog drinking some water from a bowl.

Half time equals more refreshments. More water for the dog, Fosters for me. Different drinks for different needs. One person not getting refreshed is a kid, aged about seven, who cycled into the match just before half time. His protestations for a cold beverage to be procured for him by his equally young, scooter riding, female companion met with a fierce retort of, "I'm not getting you a drink you bastard". Cripes!

This type of photo, with a beer in the foreground and the action in the background, is known in the trade as the 'Stuart Fuller'.

The Abingdon keeper begs their fans for a frosty Fosters, the home team captain wheezes back on the pitch stating he's, "too old for this" and a dogs nose is separated from another dogs bunghole. Play improves in the second half, but there's still the sad demise of two balls which are booted onto the railway line adjacent to the pitch. As there's about 35 people in this ground, and those balls are expensive, whoever booted it over should be made to bloody well go and fetch it while the match continues without them.

The Abingdon keeper offers polite encouragement to his team mates, "can we pick up?", "can we squeeze?" It works, Adam Lovegrove scores a spiffing goal midway through the half. Abingdon stubbornly protect the lead, the mild mannered keeper politely influences the ref, "can we start seeing these handball's?" How very Oxfordshire of him. What'o!

Ice cubes?! It's no time for a cocktai.....oh yeah, you went off injured. Probably for that then.

The entertaining game concludes, shortly after Lovegrove gets his second, and players, officials and fans later gather in the clubhou....oh. Still, the Saracens town centre clubhouse must be doing something right if they can run 16 football teams, a cricket team, a rugby team, a darts team and a skittles team (of course a skittles team). I'll raise a Fosters towards them and doff of the AiT bobble hat in their direction.

Slask Wroclaw v KS Cracovia

Wroc On!

Slask Wroclaw 3-0 KS Cracovia
Sunday 18 March 2012
T-Mobile Ekstraklasa
Stadion Miejski, Wroclaw.
Attendance: 14,758

Slask Wroclaw and me didn't get off to the best of starts. Why? They play in green. Yeovil play in green. I'm a Weymouth fan. We hate Yeovil.

I'm not saying I can't stand all things green but I fiercely boycott lettuce, detest the Incredible Hulk, campaign extensively for Amazon deforestation and will take a felt tip pen to my first born child's eyes if they're dare to be gr**n.

Small. Far away.

Thankfully not every Slask fan is dressed in gr**n. Quite a few are adorned with the red of Wisla Krakow, due to a fan friendship, something which seems utterly bizarre to your average English football fan, but is actually quite common in Europe.

We get Piast and go to football. Tra la la la la la la la la.

Today's opponents are Cracovia, Wisla's hated city rivals, and because of this there's no away fans. There's a fair bit of previous involving the two groups of fans, as shown in this almighty ruck in which all the hooligan numpties followed John Sitton's advice and paired up, brought someone else to help them and brought their fucking dinner.

*holds head in hands*

The ground is a "state-of-the-art, multifunctional sports and live entertainment complex with a capacity of over 42 000 seats", which will be used to host three games in Euro 2012. What this actually means is it's all nicely UEFA compliant and is an empty, soulless beast miles from anywhere. On the inside it's all concrete and breeze blocks, Coca Cola and buckets of popcorn and, worst of all, the PA plays family friendly chart pop, like that sodding 'Move Like Jagger' song, an omnipresent aural atrocity that's as welcome in my ears as a Slask Wroclaw fan in Dundee.

and every bit as tasty as it looks.

The seats are gr**n, every fan is wearing gr**n and it's only the pitch, a scorched yellow, that isn't gr**n. There's one flag behind the goal with no gr**. A large Wisla Krakow flag is draped across the Capo's scaffold stage, from where drums are walloped, choreography dictated and chants led via a radio mic and four massive speakers cranked up to eleven.

The teams come out to a quite muted response, what sounds like a hushed hymn is sung. As the last cadence fades flags are passed backwards, the Capo gives his troops a pre match pep talk and the match kicks off with a passionate chant for....eh, for Wisla Krakow. Odd. Followed by one for Motor Lubin, who have a group of fans here and also share a friendship with Slask. Odder still.

and wave 'em around like you just don't care.

By the time the home fans start chanting for their own team Slask are ahead. A superb move sees Argentinean striker Cristian Diaz fouled by the LKS keeper and score the resulting penalty. After a poor start to this round of fixtures, including a 4-0 loss to fellow title challengers Legia Warsaw, Slask relax and play some superb, quick tempo, football. Cracovia meanwhile are slower than an arthritic slug, as short of ideas as Maroon 5 and could easily have tagged into yesterdays horror show without being in any danger of improving the quality.

As expected the home fans are great, the singing relentless. Some chants have their own rhythmic hand movements, which are enthusiastically followed by everyone behind the goal. As a man who's is delighted to have finally mastered the hand movements to Whigfield's 'Saturday Night' after 17 years spent wrapped in a towel, dancing in front of my bedroom mirror, I was mightily impressed by this.

We're all waving scarves now, waving scarves.

Slask score again on 22 minutes, Lukasz Madej weaves through the defence and Sebastian Mila scores with a shot crisper than a multipack of McCoys. Slask really are very good. Damn it you gr**n wearing shitbags. The fans split into two groups and entertain themselves by taking it in turns to intensely chant at each other as their team cruises to victory. Drums rolls build, getting faster and faster before being abruptly silenced and then followed by a huge roar of support.

Token match shot.

A team of ultras hustle the crowd for Zloty's to fund their tifo displays; this one from last week being particularly impressive. I emptied my wallet into a tin can in return for a measly sticker, but will soon be entering negotiations for a terrace covering display of Gary Johnson's gargoyle like face, wearing an anguished expression, being viciously bummed by a terra cotta mask wearing sex starved mule.

The superb Mila scores again on 45 minutes, in the second half Cracovia improve and Slask continue to impress, but without adding to their tally. The chants continue long after the final whistle, with Milla leading one between the players and fans. One's not enough for the Capo, via his booming sound system he demands the players sit down and start another celebratory chant. Like the football they played it's great to watch and the stadium (almost) lived up to it's billing as, "Wrocław's hallmark and warranty for good entertainment and high level sports emotions" It's just a shame that stadium was only a third full, I guess that's the trade off for a shiny new Euro 2012 approved stadium.

Slack Wroclaw. Get back on your feet.

I liked the fans, the team were superb but gahhh.....can we have a chat about the colour scheme? I really think terra cotta and blue could really work for you. Anyway, call me and let's discuss that Gary Johnson artwork I desperately want to commission.

Previously, on AiT does Poland:
Polonia Warsaw v Korona Kielce
Widzew Lodz v Jagiellonia Bialystok
Gornik Zabrze v LKS Lodz

Zabrze, Zabrze give me so action do.

Gornik Zabrze 0-0 LKS Lodz
Saturday 17 March 2012
T-Mobile Ekstraklasa
Ernest Pohl Stadium, Zabrze.
Attendance: 3000

I like Gornik Zabrze. Why? Because their club crest is an upside down triangle, with a half and half colour scheme thing going on. Yes it's confusing on the eye but if anyone can pull it off it's the 14 times Polish League champions. Also, more impressively, fans reacted to news of a potential ground share with rivals Piast Gliwice by turning up to protest armed with custard pies.

The Piast Gilwice Ultras are up early to give AiT a send off. Really chaps, there was no need. The firecrackers were a nice touch though.

Kenny, where did the team get their name from? Well, I'm glad you asked as it sets up this weak gag quite nicely. Gornik is Polish for "miner" and Zabrze was historically at the heart of the coal mining industry.

"And here are the full time results:
Boffin Oxford 1 Call Centre Newcastle United 2

Unemployed Liverpool 2 iPad toting, thick rimmed glasses wearing, tortured creative type Brighton and Hove Albion 4"

Their Ernest Pohl stadium is being redeveloped into a 32,000 capacity stadium, which means one solitary 3,000 capacity stand, so space is at a premium. Thankfully I've got a space in the press box. Yep, I've gone big time. About bloody time too!

On a serious note, I can do serious. Many thanks, and a doff of my new reporters fedora, to Ryan Hubbard of Ekstraklasareview.co.uk for sorting me out with a pass and for writing this article on Zabrze, where most of the facts in this article come from.

Token building site shot.

I'll admit the life of a hack wasn't as decadent as I'd hoped. The press room had all the glamour of an assembly hall at an inner city Infant's school that consistently fails it's Ofsted inspection. Just with a couple of plastic cups of Twiglets rather than knife wielding yoofs.

This picture contains 6 different shades of brown and 1 shade of white. Glamourous.

Amongst the 3,000 in the ground are the Torcida, the Zabrze Ultras group, who are big fans of 'The Simpsons'. There's T Shirts and flags with Bart on and even the club trophy cabinet displays a picture of Bart made from crepe paper, all of which suggests a club with an obsession and one that really hasn't won much recently. Even the bearded, axe wielding mascot has a yellow, bulging eye quality that Matt Groening's lawyers might recognise.

Ultras graffitti. Woof!

To my right unshaven, weary hacks plug dongles into their laptops and set out complex grids to record accurate stats of the game.

Pensive, dedicated, technology savvy modern journalist.

Shambling into the seat to my left a greasy haired old boy plonks down just before kick off. This guy is a pro. He doesn't need a laptop, he laughs at those requiring a notepad. A pen? Pah! This man's come armed only with his glasses case, which host the specs he uses to hold in front of his face to magnify the line up's.

"Holy smoke, these are filthy"

He needn't have bothered with his glasses. The game is absolutely horrendous. The Gornik manager spends most of his time in lane eight of the obligatory eastern European ground running track, urging his team to be a bit less shit. They don't listen. LKS Lodz are just as bad. Shots go out for throw in's, passes consistently hit touch, Gornik's Prejuce Nakoulma forgets to cross the ball and dribbles it straight out for a goal kick. Woeful. The hack to my right is doing minute by minute coverage and his having the easiest afternoon of his career AS NOTHING HAPPENS!!!

I decide to do my own minute by minute report. It'll be a good exercise for me in accurately recording the match if I want to be a proper journalist, or at least get a semi regular column in the Dorset Echo.

45. Buger, its started again.

49. Spot the only LKS fan in the stadium.

Long hair, glasses on a string, Kutte jacket. Good effort. 6/10.

52. Can hear the individual shouts from the players, this is depressing.

54. Appallingly bad mishit shot sees an exasperated air of resignation gust through crowd. This is clearly going to finish 0-0 or I'm not a trained journalist.

56. A man with a mullet has just appeared in the crowd. Just when I thought I wouldn't see a mullet. BOOM! There it is. Highlight of the game so far. Award the guy nine in my player rating.

59. I estimate four hundred little light bulbs in that pathetic scoreboard.

64. The people watching from outside start a chant. These people are watching this dross, through a fence, across a 50 metre building site and can only see about half the game. Who's the mug here?

Token match shot.

65. Lodz keeper decides to alleviate the boredom with a photo save for the latest pitiful shot and almost misjudges it. Hope my cameraman colleague got a shot of that, will look good with my rep...Oh yeah.

71. Building site inventory:

Six diggers (various sizes)
Three cranes (note to self: Find out how are massive cranes built?)
One cement mixer.
Eight piles of unspecified rubble and/or mud.
No builder on site putting in "overtime". Feel slightly cheated by this.
Two portaloos.

75. Everyone in the ground laughs after a shot is pummelled out for a throw.

77. Hack ex Gornik start Robert Warzycha's voicemail for shits and giggles. Uncover some salacious gossip on Barry Horne and John Ebbrell.

79. Start to worry a late goal might mean I have to radically alter my article to meet my deadline for the paper.

80. A goal. Offside. Phew....that could have played havoc with my arti......Oh yeah. There is no deadline. Or paper. Or article. Not sure how I got Robert Warzycha's mobile number either.

Token crane shot.

85. Proper journalist colleague packs up. So, if you were watching on live update nothing happened in the last 8 minutes. If you watched it in the ground nothing happened in the last 8 minutes.

So that was that. Maybe on another day, in a four sided ground, with more fans and a few beers I could learn to like Zabrze again but right now I'm going to focus my energy on my impending appearance before the Leveson enquiry. Although, maybe, there is a reason for the home side performing so badly, after all who wants to be "Man of the match" and get a live chicken?

Previously, on AiT does Poland:

Polonia Warsaw v Korona Kielce
Widzew Lodz v Jagiellonia Bialystok

Yes, I know my title doesn't work if you use the correct pronounciation of Zabrze but hey, not many people do.