Would You Mind Awfully If We Played You on a Weekly Basis?

The village of Willand, home of Bath City's FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round opponent Willand Rovers, is exactly two hours south-west of my home. This was deemed too long a journey for Little Nedved Junior to go on, but Big Nedved Junior, age 7, was allowed to claim his seat in the Nedvedmobile. Things started off well. I opened the sunroof to enjoy the Indian summer, and my travelling companion was in good form (partly brought on by the promise of an ice-lolly en route if he behaved well). The only blight on the otherwise perfect afternoon was that I had left without studying my road atlas properly. In other words, I wasn't really sure where I was going. I tried, and failed, to find Willand on the map during stops in traffic. Because I wasn't sure where I was going I was worried I hadn't left enough time. Because I was worried I hadn't left enough time I did not want to stop to look at the map. I followed signs for Taunton and hoped for the best.

By the time we reached Taunton Services for the promised ice-lolly I had finally found Willand tucked neatly into a slight bend on the fat blue line representing the M5. Despite my worries we found the ground with just under an hour to spare. After parking in an absurdly tidy looking side street we found ourselves queueing with a group of fellow Bath City fans who had just disembarked from the supporters' coach. I was charged £6 for admission and £1 for a program. When I asked if I should not be charged £3 for Big Nedved Junior, as the tariff indicated, the attendant took a look at him and waved me away. Westcountry hospitality at its best!

The 'Stan Robinson Stadium,' as it grandly styled itself, was like Willand itself: small, clean, and inviting. There was a small covered seating area that could hold about fifty, but the only accommodation for spectators around most of the ground was a whitewashed metal rail to lean against. The Bath City players were playing 'keep away' on the far side of the pitch, and we made our way to the other side of the ground to have a closer look.

Non-league football is intimate, but the Rovers' ground was even more intimate than I was used to. The railing we settled against was only about two feet from the touch line, which meant many of the players were no more than three feet away. After a few minutes I began to worry it was a bit too intimate, especially when I was asked, 'Daddy, why did Matt Coupe use the F word?'

This was a delicate situation. It is important to me that Big Nedved Junior believe that City players can do no wrong, and especially that City hero Matt Coupe can do no wrong. At the same time I could foresee how this could go really, really wrong if he gave too detailed an account of the day to his mother. After failing to come up with a anything better, I explained that he was just really excited and trying to get his teammates to play better. This I hoped, being essentially a true statement, would put the matter to rest.

'Is he going to get in trouble?'

'Ummm....'

Luckily before I had to answer this we were joined by Bath City manager Adie Britton. He patted Big Nedved Junior on the head (specifically on his Bath City cap) and asked if he was looking forward to the game. As is usual around any grownup he is unfamiliar with, Big Nedved Junior immediately clammed up. I tried to make up for my son's verbal reticence, but unfortunately I did not do much better. As someone relatively new to non-league football I am still unsure how to behave around people I read about in the sports pages (okay, its the Bath Chronicle, but it is still weird for me). This was my big chance to ask a probing, insightful question that I could share with you, my readers, but instead I just came out with the very bland, 'How do you think we'll do today?'

Faced with such an ordinary question I am happy to report that Adie gave a better than average answer. He confirmed how important a win would be for the club financially and how at lower league grounds the pitches made results unpredictable. Nothing earth shattering, but a real answer. Not just a 'we'll see, we'll see.' He wandered off after our brief exchange (perhaps to find some supporters with a bit more personality). A few minutes later a ball from the practicing Bath City players nearly hit Big Nedved Junior, so we wandered off too. Out of earshot, anyway.

The match began in a quiet, low-key fashion. This was good because, like most City fans, I was secretly nervous. I had seen City play a team at this level before and they had struggled to a 3-2 victory thanks to an own-goal by their opponents. A loss to Willand would be a financial disaster for the club. Seeds of doubt began to germinate in my mind when in the first five minutes the Willand Rovers players failed to immediately capitulate.

After the first five minutes, though, they did begin to capitulate. City made its first advance into Willand territory and began to dominate the procedings. Whereas City have recently struggled against physical sides that try to shut down their passing game, the Willand players allowed them the space they craved and City took full advantage. As the pressure increased Willand's ability to clear the ball deserted them and it became obvious to everyone in the ground that a goal for City was just a matter of time.

In these early stages there were two players who stood out. One was City's new Romanian signing, Florin Pelecaci, who was playing as an attacking midfielder on the right. It was my first time to watch him in action, and I was delighted to see him move the ball around the Willand defenders with such ease. The other prominent player was the Willand keeper, Brian Cann. He wore a lemon-yellow shirt with 'CANNY' written on the back, and, in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable, spent most of the first half shouting orders at his team like an angry drill sergeant.

Eventually the stalemate was broken by Pelecaci. Being new to England and the non-league scene, he obviously has not realised that perfect diagonal crosses are not normally a prominent feature of the game at this level. Hopefully no one will explain this to him any time soon. At fourteen minutes in he made such a cross, and it was in my opinion the best pass of the City season so far. The ball reached the forehead of Darren Edwards who was able to nudge it past Cann and into the netting. It was a superb goal at any level of competition and it suddenly dawned on the assembled Bath City fans that there was more than one reason the players had nicknamed Mr. Pelecaci 'Pele.'

Although no one saw it, Edwards apparently made some contact with Cann's nose in their brief exchange. After the goal the keeper remained flat on the pitch with his arms extended. I honestly thought he was just laying there in embarrassment. Big Nedved Junior asked me why he was playing dead. Eventually a medic did come out and patted his face with a magic sponge. There was no visible blood, but for some reason Cann required a change of shirt. The new one produced from the dugout, also labelled 'CANNY,' was an especially vivid pink. After he slipped it on he tucked it in by pulling his shorts down (giving half the assembled crowd of 442 a clear view of his blue underpants). It was one of the oddest injury breaks I have ever witnessed. Cann may have looked and sounded like a drill sergeant, but he strutted his stage more like Elton John.

Undaunted by Willand's day-glow keeper, City immediately pressed for another goal. As before, it only seemed a matter of time before the lead was extended. At thirty-five minutes 'Pele' cemented his new favoured status with the City faithful by launching a shot at twenty-five yards that screamed into the corner of the Willand net. It was the sort of attempt at goal you see several times a match in non-league, but always flying ten to fifteen yards over the bar. It appeared to have been as unexpected for Willand as much as it was for me because Cann and the back line stayed rooted to the ground as they watched helplessly. Our new hero capped this off with by doing two somersaults for a goal celebration.

Three minutes later Kaid Mohamed joined the fun with an excellent goal that reminded you that City had made more than one quality signing recently. He slipped the ball past Cann at a narrow angle when it looked to me like he had waited too long. Moments later Mohamed fed a short ball to Edwards who scored his second, and a few minutes before half time Mohamed struck again by earning a penalty and getting Willand defender Ben Mammola sent off. Edwards took the penalty which he scored confidently, giving him a rare first-half hat-trick.

City fans were all smiles at half time. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world, as far as I was concerned. I got a cup of tea for me and a Mars bar for Big Nedved Junior, and as I sipped it I decided I liked Willand a lot. It seemed a nice place full of nice people. How could anyone not like Willand on such a glorious day? The fact that a man drove a green Reliant Robin through the crowd was not a problem. I decided this must be the sort of quaint thing people in Devon do. Big Nedved Junior and I settled in near on a grassy bank on the opposite side of the pitch overlooked by a cottage with a thatched roof. There was a fruit-laden apple tree nearby. I just needed a bluebird to rest on my shoulder and the image would have been complete.

The second half began with Cann having changed into a complete pink ensemble and me entertaining fantasies of a 10-0 victory. After five goals in the first half it seemed logical anyway. City did continue its dominance right up until the closing few minutes, but frustratingly, never got a sixth goal. Willand deserves some credit for this, especially being a man down, but they also received tremendous help from the linesman's offside calls. At least four clear-cut chances were called back. Although I was not in a good position to judge them properly I have nonetheless decided that each of these calls were at best marginal. Since we were already leading by five goals I magnanimously refrained from complaining too much.

I was not the only City fan being magnanimous during the match. Despite making up at least a third of the assembled crowd there was no concerted effort to ridicule the Willand players or fans. No one sang, 'Can We Play You Every Week?' Perhaps we were just relieved to have an easy victory, but I think it was more that the people of Willand seemed like nice friendly people and no one wanted to be churlish. Their club had won three matches before they drew City and it was hardly their fault that we decided to put on our best performance of the season. I would no more have taunted them than I would have tracked mud into one of their lovely thatched cottages. It would have been mean.

The referee blew his whistle just as it appeared that Mike Perrott was about to score goal number six. Cann said goodbye politely to the City fans behind his goal (I noted that no one asked to trade shirts with him). Big Nedved Junior and I filed out and I chatted to a Willand supporter as we made the short walk to the car. He commented on how big the difference in standard was between the two teams. I made a few bland remarks and tried hard not to refer to the complete shellacking his team had just received.

The ride home was the easiest two-hour drive I have ever made in my life. Big Nedved Junior got to have his choice of ice-creams at Taunton services again. I was in the sort of mood that he could have stung me for a lot more. It was the sort of perfect day that reminded you why you are a football fan. Hopefully there are a few other clubs that are as nice, friendly and beatable in the next round. Another pink keeper wouldn't go amiss either.