Do you remember the first time? I can't remember a worse time.

Keynsham Town v Tavistock

Saturday 14 August 2010
FA Cup Extra Preliminary Round
The Crown Fields, Keynsham
Attendance: 85(ish)

Everyone remembers their first football match. The throng of an expectant and vociferous crowd, your nostrils filled with the previously unknown smells of deep heat and Bovril and a whole heap of swear words that you'd never heard uttered before but were going to unleash on the playground masses on Monday. My first game? Boxing day 1987 -Weymouth v Barnet - match postponed. Although sadly we didn't know this until we read a hastily scribbled note on the the locked gates of the Wessex Stadium. Remember, this was a world before twitter, before the interwebs so there was no way of finding out, well maybe the telephone but meh.

Saturday represented the first match in the life of young Florence Gardner, daughter of AiTinpot friend Duncan. In contradiction of my first sentence I'm pretty sure she won't remember this match, what with her being a mere 9 months old and all. Sadly for everyone else who was at the match we all possess the mental capacity to remember it.

We tried our best to make the day special for Florence and what better way to do that than an FA Cup match, the self styled greatest cup competition in the world, and an extra special tinpot FA Cup match at that. No less than the Extra Preliminary round clash between Keynsham Town and Tavistock. No, really.

The proud Father. The bemused child.

To give the day even more of a chance of stimulating the neurons in Florence's burgeoning hippocoptus and allow the memories of the day to make their way into her temporal cortex her Father, a grown adult capable of bredding let us not forget, saw fit to bring along a shoddily made replica of the FA Cup fashioned using only the means of cardboard, tape and tinfoil. A doth of the cap in your direction Duncan sir. If this day isn't ingrained firmly in Florences memory banks as her fondest childhood memory then there's really nothing more you could have done.

Sadly due to the shitness of the match she is more likely to spend time re counting this experience to a psychiatrist looking to uncover reasons for her irrational fears of knock out football, groundhoppers and Bovril.

We probably couldn't have looked more out of place as we took our place in the clubhouse, with us being three men and a baby. It was vaguely reminiscent of a scene from that film from the 80's staring Ted Danson, Tom Selleck and Steve Guttenberg about three men and a baby, whose name I don't recall at present.

The undoubted highlight of the day for me was finding the Keynsham Town trophy cabinet, as shown below.

The Keynsham Town (non) trophy cabinet.

As you can see, through the gift of sight, the cabinet is empty. Quite why you would build a cabinet for trophies you haven't won is beyond me. I do not possess a cabinet to hold the bronze medal for the time I didn't come third the womens javelin at the 1978 Commonwealth Games in Edmonton, Canada. An event where I briefly didn't set a new world and commonwealth record by the way. I'm sure there is a reason for an empty trophy cabinet, just in case anyone from Keynsham is reading this, I am fully aware that you won the prestigious Somerset Senior Cup in 1952 and again in 1958.

The magic of the FA Cup.

The match? Oh yeah, Tavistock won 2 - 0. Keynsham were bobbins. If you want to know more about it ask Florence, she can remember more about it than I care to recall.

Token match shot.

Bristol Manor Farm - A World Exclusive.

Bristol Manor Farm v Shrivenham Town
Tuesday 3 August 2010
Pre Season Friendly
The Creek, Sea Mills, Bristol
Attendance: 15(ish)

Ah, the smell of tinpot football on the summer air, delightful. My first game back after the summer break and not a moment too soon, especially after the shitfest that was the World Cup. Come on, we all know it was boring, I took a week off work to watch some of that - that's 5 days annual leave I'll never get back!

The first pre-season game was always an exciting game when I was younger and Weymouth were good (well not as dire as we are now), the chance to spot what had changed in the ground over the summer months, the chance to get re-aquanted with the familiar long suffering faces of the terraces and the chance to check that the old moaners had made it through the hot summer alive and were stood in their places on the terraces. This summer for the first time ever I was in Weymouth while a match was on and didn't go. I couldn't face it. So Bristol Manor Farm v Shrivenham was to be my first pre-season outing and sadly enough I approached the meaningless game with more than a modicum of excitement.

Tickets are going fast, get yours now.

The TV in the club house was showing some lucrative Spurs friendly in some exotic foreign lands, things couldn't have been more different to the surroundings here. The ad break began with an advert involving indie knuckleheads Kasabian jibbering on about what it's like to be a real fan for something called 'Talk of the Terraces' on ESPN. While 'real' football fans like Kasabian apparently talk like a walking version of Nuts magazine the talk in the BMF clubhouse covered such topics as the big upcoming race night, the quality of the music in the clubhouse "ain't you got any Coldplay", to the benefits of midweek football matches "i like Tuesday night matches, I can leave the wife at home watching Holby City" and the upcoming meat raffle being a rollover. Quite was this entailed and whether health and safety were aware of the potential hazardous of meat being rolled over I'm not certain.

Tickets are going fast, get yours now.

The match itself was great. I bloody love tinpot football. Shrivenham raced into a 3 goal lead in the first half, playing some quality football in the process. Manor Farm looked clueless. The second half saw Manor Farm get a couple of goals back, presumably after a half time rollocking from the Manor Farm manager, John Black. John, (we're on first name terms now) is fast becoming an idol of mine, due to his no nonsense, sweary (When making a sub - "you can't do any worse than the cunts already out there") and sometimes bizarre approach to management. I managed to conduct a pitch side interview with the man himself, well less an interview more of a brief chat between two grown men who we're a little confused as to why they here on an early August evening. In an AiT World Exclusive I am able to review that the goalkeeper for BMF from last season, who's name I don't remember and google can't help with, has joined Clevedon Town and is "a lunatic". There, exclusive news, a groundbreaking AiT first, expect this level of journalistic quality to continue throughout the season.


Or not.

Why I'm still sick of the World Cup.

There really is no end to 'the man' trying to sell us stuff by making some sort of football reference to their product. I'm slowly starting to think that I could life my life for the duration of the tournament eating only Peter Crouch branded snacks, using only Peter Crouch endorsed products in the bathroom and Peter Crouch endorsed tat for every other function of my life.

Still, it looks more and more certain that there will be an end to this nightmare soon when the inevitable dismal exit from the tournament arrives.

For more quality merchandise clicky here.

Man, I'd love to punch that smug kid right in the gurning facepainted chops.

I think this advert has enraged me more than any of the other crap I've seen so far. It's for cat food. CAT FOOD. Honestly. 8 out of ten cats thought their owner was a fucking moron if they bought Felix because it ripped off the 3 Lions logo.

"Peperami. It's a bit of an animal". Yep, a pig's dick.

What better way to get rid of the god awful taste of a Peperami than by chugging down some limited edition red and white 'Tic Tacs'.

And now it's time to look at your submissions, in the gallery.

Duncan Gardner, age 32 from Stapleton, Bristol sent in this piece of FA branded nonsense.

Duncan Gardner, age 32.

And finally.....

Look, I could lie and say this relates to Danny Shittu and try and crowbar in some World Cup link but that would just be insulting your intelligence. It is what it is. It is the word 'shit'. Swear words are funny.

Belgian Press - "All Africans believe Blatter is a massive ballsack"

Whilst in Brussels last week I had time to kill and flicked through the Sport section of a Dutch language newspaper and drifted off into a beautiful dream.

In this dream I was a Belgian version of Football Italia era James Richardson and sat outside one of the many cafes in the magnificent Grand Place in Brussels. In front of me a decadently topped Belgian waffle, some of the freshest Moules Frites known to Poirot, a large frosty Kwak and a stack of Belgian newspapers. I flick masterfully between Dutch and French and translate numerous headlines about the transfer rumours surrounding around Michel Preud'Homme, the fitness battles of Enzo Scifo and a bizarre incident involving Jan Ceulemans, a toboggan and a mule for the enthralled audience watching at home, before hilariously introducing a feature on Philippe Albert's passion for thimbles. Sadly, like the list of famous Belgians, the dream ended suddenly.

But no, maybe not, the dream isn't over and I can read Dutch and that's why I can confidently translate this article as 'All Africans believe Blatter is a massive ballsack'.

Why I'm sick of the World Cup already.

The World Cup, great, yeah footie, ING-ER-LAND. Isn't Heskey shit? Can Lampard and Gerrard really play together? Wasn't Theo unlucky? Suddenly everyone is a football fan, everyones got an opinion and advertisers have decided the way to get us brain washed football zombies to part with our cash is by sticking a St Georges cross on their product. We're all that stupid we'll buy it, no matter what it is.

"I don't need a new toaster but this one is the official FIFA toaster of the World Cup and burns a picture of Jamie Carraghers face onto my white Hovis loaf, I'll take two. ING-ER-LAND!!! Rooney, Rooney, Rooney!!"

I hate the World Cup already.

So this blog is going to try and keep track of all the shite on offer and look at just what businesses are trying to flog on the back of the World Cup. If you see anything else, or just want to call me a miserable bastard, let me know by leaving me one of them comments or send me an internet letter at leggkenny [at]googlemail.com.

Need new oil for your car. No? We'll what about if we tempted you with a sweat shop produced, itchy as a virulent STD, shite looking T-Shirt? It's got the number 66 on the back....? You know what happened in '66 don't you football fan? 4 bottles? Good man, you know it makes sense.

This bottle's gold......The World Cup is gold.....stick 3 packs in the trolley! ING-ER-LAND!!

Normally I'd rather drink my own boiled urine through a straw made of barbed wire and stinging nettles than drink Budweiser, but when I saw that this bottle looks (according to the sign anyway) like a trophy I have now decided not to drink anything else for the duration of the World Cup and probably for the rest of my life.

I hate popcorn, it tastes disgusting and reminds me of people who can't afford to buy proper pick and mix, but this has the flags of the nations competing in the World Cup. I bet it tastes mega.

Huh, it says ENG-GER-LAND!! That's like what I sings when I'm watching ENG-GER-LAND on the tele. No way, they've also called it Pringoooals. MegaLOLZ!!

Huh Pringoooals! WOW! It's got Peter Crouch's signature on it. That must have taken the lankyarse ages to sign all these boxes. Stick 'em in the trolley Ma!

The budget Peter Crouch, Pom Bear. POM SODDIN BEAR. Is there no end to this World Cup bandwagon jumping? And "100 places at the Pom-Bear Football Academy to be won". The Pom Bear Football Academy?? Really? Yep, apparently so and Graeme Le Saux has taken the Pom-Bear shilling.

Once I've eaten my Peter Crouch endorsed Pringles there's nothing more I like than to clean my teeth with my Peter Crouch endorsed Oral B Electric Toothbrush. Seems the only thing Peter likes more than a fat signing on fee is the sponsors coin. Still, if he can fire prize giving footballs from his nostrils I guess he's worth it.

England fan, you must drink Frank Lampard endorsed soft drinks. Isn't this the same Frank Lampard who promoted kids living a healthier lifestyle? Must be some mistake.

Almost as rancid as Budweiser but if Fabio drinks it it must be good. Shove 3 crates in the trolley.

You should really be wearing the replica England shirt for the duration of the World Cup, otherwise you're not a real fan. Luckily one of Lord Triesman's final acts in office was to agree with Lord Asda that any England fan will be spared national ridicule if they wear clothes by 'George' at Asda instead. Asda 'Love The Game', you England fan 'Love The Game' - a perfect match. Phew.

When you're an acne ridden 14 there's no better way to tell that girl you sit next to in science lessons that you like her than buying her a mass produced Teddy Bear with some soppy as shit generic message on it. Well, what if it worked, she's round yours and you want to watch the football and she doesn't? Nightmare. The only way to appease her, yep. England football Teddy Bear. Back of the net!

Well, I was thinking of growing a beard in memory of 1994 Bulgarian legend Trifan Ivanov but it's not every day you get to shave with a razor that is 'Limited Edition' and also promises 'Football Fun'. Not one stray hair shall cross my chin for the duration of the tournament.

Can't afford a trip to South Africa and to purchase your own Vuvuzela, why not buy this and get your own 'Free Cheering Horn' instead and re-create the atmosphere of a, soon to be underused, South African stadium at home. So what if you've just bought the limited edition razor this is a Supporters Pack, you are a supporter aren't you? You really should buy it...if you don't your not a real supporter and that's a scientific fact.

England have just squeaked past Algeria on goal difference to qualify in second place in the group, what better way to celebrate. Yep, buy yourself a house. Can't afford a deposit? Just take another look at the window, look at those tiny England flags - go on, saddle yourself to a lifetime of debt - Do it for ING-GER-LAND, Peter Crouch would want you to. .