City Jump for Joy!

There are times when being a football supporter is a thoroughly dreadful experience. There are times when it feels like fate has ripped your heart out of your chest, stomped on it, and then done a little dance on it. These times are called losing. If you are lucky these times only occur a bit less than half of the time.

This was how I felt on Saturday afternoon at about half past three. Basingstoke Town's Jahson Downes had just scored his second goal of the day against City. It was a wonderful goal: a powerful shot into the top right corner of the net. It would make any club's season highlight reel. It was so good it got more than a smattering of applause from the City fans. It was heartbreaking.

Saturday's game was City's first home match in five weeks. Although the intervening matches had included two away league defeats, these had been close run things against the two teams at the top of the table. There had also been two convincing FA Cup victories, and with them the sense that City's season was gaining a bit of momentum. A win at Twerton Park, which so far this season has been the scene of several mediocre performances, would be a huge boost for the players and the fans. After just one win in their last five matches, Basingstoke should have been vulnerable. Someone forgot to tell Baskingstoke this, though. They played the first half like seasoned champions.

As I contemplated another league loss and a further slip down the table Little Nedved Junior told me he was hungry. Little Nedved Junior spends most matches telling me he is hungry, even when he isn't. At five years old, he still sees football matches as an opportunity to hit me up for as much sweets and crisps as he can. I think he believes I will buy him just about anything to keep him from pestering me during a match. He is, of course, totally correct. Sometimes though, when I'm feeling particularly glum, his demands are a welcome distraction. As there were only a few minutes left until half time I offered to take him and his brother over to the snack bar to buy him chips before the queue got long.

As luck would have it, City's play began to improve once we began our journey. As I awkwardly tried to watch the match, avoid tripping on the Bath end terraces, and not lose either child, Gethin Jones missed a pomising looking header. Basingstoke were unable to clear the ball, though, and moments later Richard Evans served the ball up to Gethin again. This time he made it count. City had gotten a goal back!

I have a feeling that that goal may be the turning point of Bath City's season. It has been a season of brilliant performances that often fall just short, or are undermined by defensive errors. It has also been a season, however, of determined effort in adverse situations. I had seen City fight back in matches this campaign they would have crumpled in last year. All the despair and upset I had been feeling in the first half hour lifted the moment Gethin's goal went in. I had a feeling City could win this. And what's more, I knew if they could win against Basingstoke from two nil down they could beat anyone. As the halftime whistle blew I was as elated as I had been depressed only minutes before. I didn't even mind the grumpy snackbar service (I swear if they ever smile at me I will fall over from shock)!

My elation was evidently not shared by Bath City manager Adie Britton, however. He is quoted in the Bath Chronicle as going 'ballistic with the players.' It is hard to imagine someone as affable seeming as Adie Britton going ballistic. It must be like getting a dressing down from Rolf Harris. Whatever he said, though, worked a treat. City began the second half as they had finished the first. Basingstoke may not have realised it yet, but they were in trouble.

After getting our chips the kids and I had moved to the 'family stand.' We did this partly because we usually rest there for some part of the second half, and parlty because it was, for once, actually full of families. About a hundred school children and parents had shown up on the back of some excellent organising by the City marketing team. It was not just wonderful for boosting the attendance figures (685). The children had spent much of the first half cheering on their newly adopted club. Being down two goals had not phased them. I hope they keep coming.

Sitting among the children was not quite as pleasing experience as listening to them earlier had been. A gang of children frolicking in an Autumnal afternoon is pleasant from a distance, but not the best environment for watching a football match from. It felt a bit like we were sitting in the middle of a school playground.

I was not so distracted, however, so as to miss City's equaliser. Not only was this City's first home match in five weeks, but it was also Florin Pelecaci's first match in front of the home crowd. After the almost constant hype that has surrounded him (of which this blog has contributed) the Twerton faithful would be expecting a world-class performance. He had so far produced some good crosses in the first half, but nothing with the sort of wow-factor everone was hoping for. Within minutes of play resuming this changed. Aftere receiving a well-placed pass from the ever present Richard Evans, Pelecaci penetrated the Basingstoke defense like a hot knife in butter. The only problem was he failed to find another City player to help him out. Just when it looked like his run was going to fizzle out the ball rolled into the net off of Basingstoke's Sean Hankin. Technically it was an own goal, but anyone to anyone watching it was clearly a goal that Pelecaci had created. He certainly did not hold back with his goal celebrations as he treated the Popular Side terrace with a tripple summersault!

After the kiddies had finished their chips (and after I had removed copious amounts of ketchup from Big Nedved Junior's replica kit) we moved over to the Bristol End terrace. City were dominating play now and I wanted a clear view.

As we all know, the diet of the typical football supporter is largely comprised of hope. This is especially true for those of us who are blessed with the chance to follow a non-league side. Hope will keep you going in adversity, but has the unfortunate side-effect of needing a lot of adversity to flourish in. Hope is great when it is fulfilled, but, although we hate to admit it, hope will as often as not let you down. Hope is sometimes a burden.

As I stood there on the terrace watching City take apart the Basingstoke defence I began to feel something different from hope. I felt belief. When Chris Holland had a third goal disallowed by a dubious linesman's call I was not phased. I knew City could win anyway. I believed they would. When Basingstoke captain Sean Hankin was sent off for his second questionable yellow card, I was pleased, but not ecstatic. City would win whether or not their opponents were a man down. When Gethin Jones did score the go-ahead goal it just seemed like the inevitable had occurred.

I don't think I was blessed with any superior intuition. By any rational standard I was just being delusional. I think I was picking up a sense of belief from the players, however. City were playing like a team that knew it could win, and their belief was strong enough that it could be felt in the terraces. Basingstoke didn't have a chance.

At this point both Nedved Juniors needed to go to the loo. I don't like leaving a match for even a few moments because I am convinced something momentous will happen while I'm gone. Sure enough, upon my return, I find out that Basingstoke had scored an equaliser from yet another defensive lapse. Strangely, I didn't feel worried. It was slightly annoying that City were going to have to score another goal now, but they clearly would be able to do so. Perhap's I was just deluding myself, but it felt like it was just going to happen. It's a good thing I don't gamble.

Two mintues into injury time, Basingstoke midfielder Tom Williamson handled the ball outside his own penalty box. This was the moment that was meant to happen. The free kick was taken by Adam Connolly, flicked by Chris Holland, and slotted into the net by substitute Mike Perrott. Everyone in the stands (except the dozen or so visiting fans) went nuts. I think it was at this point that I lost my voice.

As we filed out of the terrace I felt happy but spent. I counted the children several times to make sure I had not lost one. I was thinking that when I got home it would be nice to lie in a dark room with a damp flannell on my forehead. Belief is exhausting!