The Most Perfect of Perfect Days!

If you are a Bath City fan then yesterday's meeting with Bishop's Cleeve was the most important match of the season. It was not actually the glory of a FA Cup Third Qualifying Round that made it so important, though. What really made it a must win was the prize money: £7,500 was up for grabs for the winner. Adie Britton made in clear in this week's Bath Chronicle that without this extra money players were going to be cut. After seeing the upheaval the club went through last year after an exit in the same round to Aylesbury United, the idea of a loss to Bishop's Cleeve was unthinkable.

It could have been a long, quiet hour-and-a-half drive north into Gloucestershire for my friend Mark and me as we contemplated just how devastating a loss could be. It could have been, but wasn't, thanks to the presence of both Nedved juniors in the back seat of the Nedvedmobile. Little Nedved Junior kept up a steady chorus of, 'are we nearly there yet?' and Big Nedved Junior gave Mark a detailed account of Four Four Two's top 100 football players of the year (which he had practically memorised the day before). It was distracting enough that we made a wrong turn in Cheltenham and got stuck in some seriously bad traffic. By the time we had gotten through it we were seriously worried we were going to miss the kick-off.

We had reason to worry as well because finding non-league grounds at the lower end of the pyramid is not something you can take for granted. Once clear of Cheltenham our directions took us to a suspiciously rural area at the foot of Cleeve Hill. There were no signs to indicate that you were approaching a football ground and I began to think we had made another wrong turn. Fortunately my doubts were misplaced. It turns out that instead of signs, Bishop's Cleeve employ a woman in a pink top to stand by the road and point to the match-day parking through a gap in the hedge. How she is able to tell who is coming for the match and who is just a random person driving down Kayte Lane I don't know, but she got it right with us. She peered intently at me though the windscreen, sized me up, and pointed with a determined thrust of her arm.

After paying our entrance fee (£7 adults, kids under 12 free!) and snagging a program (£1) the four of us entered the ground where Bath City's season would either continue in hope or crash in ignominy. The sun was shining disconcertingly brightly for a match of such sombre importance. The ground itself consisted of a clubhouse and snack bar fronted by an expansive patio. This led on to a well-maintained but uneven pitch which was surrounded by a stout brick wall. For the most part spectators perched against this to view the match. Little Nedved Junior had to perch on top of it , actually, as he was too small to see over it on his own. There were two small covered stands for those who wanted a bit more comfort.

As the two teams entered the pitch through an accordion style tunnel my stomach began to tie itself in knots. What if we lost? How would City supporters deal with a defeat? Could we not all gather together, hold hands and say a quick prayer before kick-off? Mercifully the match kicked off before I could think of any more questions.

Because both children were having trouble seeing the match the four of us spent the first ten minutes wandering the perimeter looking for a spare bit of wall that was not quite so high. This distraction was a good thing for my nerves because, as it turned out, Bishop's Cleeve began the game with a determined style and good organisation. Even better for my nerves was a header from Marcus Browning that ricocheted off the Bishop's Cleeve post. The Villagers were not phased by this, though, and immediately took the ball down the other end for a decent shot on goal. Arrrhhhhh!!!! Didn't these clubs in the lower Southern League know they were supposed to be pushovers!

As we skirted past one of the miniature stands we passed by City defender Chris 'Dutch' Holland. Dutch is one of the more imposing players you will ever come across in non-league - not just because of his size or his penchant for wearing black leather gloves like a Bond villain. No, he has that intangible sense of authority that you associate with policemen and the scarier sort of high-school principles. You don't mess with him, basically. He has missed the last few matches due to injury but I was pleased to notice that underneath his Bath City polo shirt he was wearing the high-performance long underwear he is fond of. Perhaps this indicated that he might have been prepared to sit on the bench if needed.

Our journey round the pitch was unsuccessful, so we ended up right back where we had started at the corner flag opposite the goal City were defending. Some ladies came round with a basket asking if I wanted to buy a ticket for the half-time draw. A supporter at Tuesday night's match against Bridgwater had told me to make sure I entered this draw. The Bishop's Cleeve manager is a butcher and supplies the prizes (first prize beef, second prize pork, and third prize chicken). After some reassurances about how big the portions were I gladly bought a £1 ticket.

About this time, though, I began to have a very bad premonition. It began to seem blatantly obvious to me that City were going to lose and that the whole season was going to unravel on the pitch before my eyes. I was sure of it. I decided not to tell Mark. There was no need to upset him before it was necessary.

It was a good thing I kept my mouth shut because my premonition, fortunately, turned out to be completely bogus. Former Bath City defender, Steve Jones, tripped Kaid Mohamed from behind and the referee pointed to the penalty spot. Because the Bath City crowd was spread out, and perhaps because we were all so tense, there was only a muffled cheer. Was this really happening? As I was trying to decide whether to pinch myself or not Darren Edwards lined up and took the shot. Despite making poor contact he somehow managed to get the ball in. City had the lead! City might win after all! The season might not be lost! The tension began to ease out of me like a balloon with a slow leak.

Little Nedved Junior tapped me on the leg. 'Daddy, I'm hungry. Can I have a hotdog.' Normally I hate queueing for anything during a match, but I was feeling giddy. 'Absolutely!' I said.

By the time we had circumvented the pitch again and navigated the excessively slow queue at the snack bar the first half was nearly over. We found a bit of unoccupied wall on the end City were attacking just in time to see the next goal. Jim Rollo launched a free kick into the left corner to reach Gethin Jones. He took the ball into the danger zone, and after a moment it landed for Mark Badman to slot it home. It was an excellent bit of play, and, I'm proud to say, not untypical for Bath City this campaign.

A third goal in injury time would have made it a perfect half. Like a genie granting three wishes, the City players complied! Florin Pelecaci, who had spent the half being quietly excellent in midfield, reached Badman with an excellent cross. After some hesitant defending from Bishop's Cleeve he was able to plant it into the net for his second goal of the match. The match was on the verge of turning into a romp. My premonition was turning out to be really wrong. I've decided not to listen to premonitions any more. Not until next Saturday, anyway.

The halftime break was notable for two things. Little Nedved Junior told me he was cold and took up my offer to put on my sweatshirt. It turned out that he was not cold at all but liked the idea of wearing something ten sizes too big for him. He bobbed and twirled as we moved around the ground which made him look like a giant grey jellyfish. Secondly, we found a section of the ground with a shorter wooden fence that meant both boys could have a clear view of the pitch. I mistakenly thought this would cause them to watch the second half quietly.

It didn't matter if the boys were a bit rowdy, though, because the rest of the match went by in a bit of a blur for me. I was so relieved that City appeared to be on their way to victory that I had trouble concentrating on the progress of the game. I do not think I was alone in this as most of the City fans around me chatted to one another amiably as if we were all just enjoying a jolly day out and not watching a season-defining match unfold before us. The tone got even more jovial when word was passed around that Newport County were losing to our friends Paulton Rovers 1-0. This was shaping up to be a perfect afternoon.

A touch of concern returned to our voices briefly, however, when Kevin Slack beat the City defenders to a long goal kick and easily beat City keeper Steve Perrin. Despite this goal, though, Bishop's Cleeve never again ruffled City's otherwise excellent defence. I knew I should have started worrying about the match after they scored but City were just too dominant. With seemingly inevitability, Edwards restored the three goal lead with a looping header off a Jombati cross with fifteen minutes left.

A few minutes from time a huge cheer rose from the City fans gathered around the Bishop's Cleeve goal. The person next to me said, 'That would be the Newport result. They must have lost.' A moment later he was able to confirm this on his mobile.

Full time was blown to a rousing cheer from the travelling City faithful. We were in the hat for Monday's draw. We had defeated a team that had beaten fellow Blue Square South side Weymouth. We had played with determination, passion, and flair. Most of all, though, we had secured £7,500 and would not have to release any players.

The drive home was peaceful and uneventful. Between the need to distract the children and the England commentary on the radio Mark and I did not have much opportunity for conversation. It did not matter, though, because it turned out we only had two things to say, which we said over and over again whenever there was a moment of quiet.

'We won 4-1!' one of us would start. The other one would immediately say, 'Yeah, and Newport lost!'

I was so wrapped up in these two facts that it was not until we reached the M4 that I realised I had not found out what the winning numbers were for the halftime draw. I had been hoping to bring home a half side of beef for Mrs Nedved!

Darn! It was still a perfect afternoon (but if anyone from Bishop's Cleeve reads this my ticket number was 111!).