Phlegm and Bile at Sunny Twerton Park

Today began with a typical Saturday morning schedule: I dropped my younger son off at a birthday party at 11:30 and drove to the local supermarket to do the week's shopping. I am not a fast shopper. Although Mrs Nedved appreciates my efforts, she will only let me do the shopping when there is a sizable window of time. She thinks I am just naturally slow at it, but then she has never wandered through the frozen goods aisle trying to decipher one of her shopping lists (how she managed to make 'margarine' look like 'mayonnaise' today I'll never know). So it was no surprise to anyone when I made it home just in time to pick up my son from his party, bring the groceries into the house, wolf down a sandwich, and gather the kids together for our two o'clock departure time for Twerton Park.

Actually, although being late from the supermarket was not a surprise, the part about going to Twerton was. Not that I had not been planning to go: my friend Mark and I had been discussing this match for weeks. I was going to bring both my kids and he would bring his two as well, and for his kids it would be their first ever match. It was to be a momentous occasion, and anyway I never need an excuse to get excited about going to a Bath City match. For some reason, though, the normal pre-match exhilaration just did not kick in. Rather then having my mind on the upcoming match, I had actually been trying to figure out why Mrs Nedved wanted mayonnaise. The fact that it was match day, that I was going, and that I was running late did not register until about 1:30. As I slipped my replica home kit over my head, still not really thinking much about the upcoming match, I realised I was just going through the motions.

Don't worry - this is not a sign that my love for Bath City is waning. No, I think it is just one of those unfathomable quirks of the mind. If I was examined by a medieval doctor I'm sure they would say it was due to the excess build up of one of the four humours. Perhaps too much phlegm (which depresses emotions) or maybe an excess of black bile (which makes the sufferer despondent, sleepless, and irritable). I really did want to go to the match today, even if I did have to concentrate to remind myself that this was the case.

Trying to concentrate on a match with two small children in tow is not easy. Mark and I had a theory that with four children they would entertain each other once the boredom set it (usually towards the end of the fist half) leaving us free to enjoy the match in peace. Like a lot of theories this one turned out to be total bunk. Having four children means you are trying to watch the match in the middle of a small, impromptu playground. Unlike a real playground, though, this one moves around the ground making you move around with it. There must be only a handful of rows in the Twerton terraces I did not try out the view from this afternoon.

The variety of views did not spice up my enjoyment of the match, however. City played a dire match against and even more dire opposition. It is the sort of game that crushes the soul and squeezes out the remaining drops of hope from your spleen. Well, not really. In order to even be a non-league fan you have to suffer from an excess of delusional hope. Still, it was awful to watch. For once, when the children distracted me it wasn't always unwelcome.

City's opponents today were Lewes. Lewes won the Blue Square South two years ago. Despite the Lewes board claiming that they did not really want to get promoted, and despite their dire, low-budget performance in last year's Blue Square Premier division, the club has somehow managed to nearly bankrupt itself. It is having to pay Inland Revenue huge wodges of cash every few weeks and has had to fill its roster with castoffs from Brighton & Hove Albion's youth program. Of those castoffs, supposedly only nine were fit for today, meaning the balance of the squad would be made of random people chosen out of the Lewes phone book. Okay, it's not that bad for Lewes, but they don't have any business winning any points at all from the likes of City.

Sure, things were not great for City either. Due to the injury crisis City was starting its third match in a row with a threadbare squad. Several starters were carrying pretty serious knocks. An optimist would say that this was a good week for City to play the winless Lewes - gain some confidence from a win before a week's rest and a big away match against Dover Athletic. Hopefully none of these optimists were holding their breaths. Any who did so turned blue and shed their mortal coils this afternoon.

Perhaps the team were suffering from an excess of phlegm and black bile themselves, because City never looked like they were going to win today. Rather than the attacking, intelligent play I had seen every other match, today was a day of misdirected passes and uncoordinated attacks. Lewes' Junior Woodchucks managed to stifle any of City's attempts at goal, despite lacking the size, speed, or skill of previous opponents. I can barely remember the first half, except that each tackle seemed to lead to both players falling down and with their legs wrapped around the ball. There was a fair amount of falling over, in fact, even away from the ball. I think both sides would have preferred to have the day off and agreed to play another day if possible.

As the second half began our children's 'playground' had moved to the Bristol end. City switched to attacking this end, but they appeared to have given up trying to penetrate directly through Lewes' towering five foot eight defensive line. Instead the fleet footed Kaid Mohamed managed to get behind them on the run three times, scoring on the third. It was a good goal, but it was telling that City was unable to score without relying on a defensive lapse by Lewes.

Once this goal went in I began to feel fairly relaxed. Lewes had only scored six goals in previous matches and the reason became painfully obvious as the game progressed. It was not that they were unable to get the ball in good positions: they were. It was not that City's defense shut them down: it did not. It was because when the Lewes forwards took a shot they were more likely to hit a passing bird than to trouble City keeper Steve Perrin. It was the worst display of shooting I have seen in this league in my eighteen months of following City.

It was not so bad, though, as to allow City to keep its first clean sheet since the first home match. A corner led to a goalmouth scuffle which led to a sitter in front of the goalmouth that even a Lewes player could not miss. They got their seventh goal of the year and City were now on course for only two points in their last four home matches.

City made a few attempts to get back to a winning scoreline, and they nearly succeeded. As an observer, though, they did not look like they had their hearts in it. The sense of urgency from previous matches was not there. Way, way too much phlegm in their systems, I believe. There was a sense of mournful relief when the final whistle blew. The crowd mumbled frustrated curses and filed out. Because none of the kids had been paying attention for the last hour they were still their normal happy, go-lucky selves. Mark and I, however, were silent and struggled to look each other in the eye. The uncomfortable mood of this morning was still in place. I will need to snap out of it before the FA cup match. Anyone got any leeches?