FA Cup Second Round, Part 1 - The Madness of Crowds

Bath City lost to Forest Green Rovers 2-1 yesterday in the Second Round of the FA Cup. I should be too depressed to type right now. I should be too upset to do anything but watch repeats of Top Gear on 'Dave.' I should be too miserable to do anything but sit on the sofa listening to all seven Radio Head albums on repeat and shuffle. I am, however, resolutely not depressed. I feel proud. Proud of the team I support and proud of how well they were supported. In many years time when I am too old to do anything but sit in a rocking chair and bore people with stories about Bath City matches I have attended, it will be one of the few losses I will recount with enthusiasm.

The key facts are thus: City lost but they played well. I am biased, but I am fairly confident a neutral would have easily judged City the best team on the pitch. They played with flair, confidence, and passion. They dominated play for most of the match. They only lacked better finishes for the many excellent crosses they put in front of the FGR goal. City lost, but they did it in front of one of their biggest crowds of the decade. It was the first time I had seen Twerton Park truly crowded. It made the old ground feel really and truly alive in a way I had not seen before. Of the 3,325 supporters less than 700 were away fans. The City faithful sang from the warm-up to the end of the match, even as the hope for a victory ebbed away. It was a defeat, but City fans could be proud of their team and proud of themselves.

I arrived at Twerton Park with my friend Mark and my son, Big Nedved Junior, a few minutes after 2pm. This was a lot earlier than we normally arrived, but I was hoping that the crowd would begin singing during the warm-up and I wanted to take part. We were astonished to see how busy the parking lot was, though. There were several more coaches than usual and there were people in black and white scarves everywhere. After a few moments I realised that these were supporters of Forest Green, who also wear black and white stripes at home, queueing for the away entrance. Seeing so many FGR fans, I had a brief worry that they would outnumber us like the AFC Wimbledon supporters did last year. This worry turned out to be spectacularly misplaced.

Outside of Charlie's I managed to locate my friend Dave. We had been work colleagues for many years but I had not seen him since late 2006. After my repeated plugging of City on Facebook, and after finding out that one of his heroes, Ken Loach, is a supporter, he decided it was time for him to come to a match in person. The FA Cup Second Round seemed like a good match to start with.

Within a few minutes of entering the ground we had gotten our normal pre-match cups of tea and settled in on the terraces. Something was definitely different, though. There were already many more people inside the ground than attend a normal City match, and there was still a half hour to go before kickoff. The normal trickle of people walking across the Bath End to the Popular Side slowly turned into a torrent. I learned later that huge queues formed outside the turnstiles, filling the parking lot. My normal pre-match habit of meandering around the terraces, talking to friends and trading gossip was not going to happen. A few minutes before the match started we were almost hemmed in by fellow supporters. Big Nedved Junior, age eight, could no longer see any of the pitch except for a narrow strip to his left. It had not occurred to me that we would need to position ourselves in the front in order to give him a view.

After the coin toss the City players remained on the Bath End of the pitch. This meant they would be attacking the Bristol End goal. Normally this is a moment when almost everyone on the terrace moves to the Bristol End, but I wondered if it would be possible. I should have wondered if it would be possible to stop everyone from trying to move. Mark, Dave, Big Nedved Junior and I soon found ourselves carried along by the shifting crowd like logs on a river. I took Big Nedved Junior's hand so that I would not lose him in the mass of people. Because the area of the terrace we were moving into was still relatively full, it was a messy process. Moving meant weaving and pushing past the other spectators, but knowing that there were a hundred people behind you made it hard to stop. Once the pressure to continue lifted Dave and I decided to settle where we were. We had made just over the halfway line and no more. I still had Big Nedved Junior by the hand, but we had lost Mark. I looked around but could not see him. It was perhaps the first Bath City match in five years where two separated people could not find each other by just craning their necks for a few seconds.

FA Cup Second Round, Part 2 - The Rub of the Forest Green can be read here.

The Second Most Important Match of the Season - Win or Lose!

It is almost 2:30 am. I am unable to sleep. Tomorrow (or today, rather) is the 2nd Round of the FA Cup. Bath City are facing fellow non-league side Forest Green Rovers.

Let's be honest: it's not a clash of the titans. It is a match that will at best be a footnote in the history of either club. If City win the match will be seen as a staging post on a route to 3rd Round glory. The 3rd round is when the Premiership clubs enter the fray. Any fixture with a Premiership club would be the most important (and lucrative) in City history. An away match with one of the bigger clubs, like Arsenal or Manchester United, would make Bath City a household name for a few days. It would also give the club enough revenue to wipe out its debt and be one of the most well financed in the league. It would be like winning the lottery.

A loss for City, though, will still be a footnote, however. The victory over Grimsby Town was three weeks ago, but I still think of it constantly. A disappointing performance will just mean that the Grimsby Town match is the high water mark of the season. It was a moment so packed with joy we are already quickly turning it into folklore. We will sing of our victory at Grimsby for as long as our memories hold, but details of a loss tomorrow will grow fuzzy quickly.

To some extent Forest Green Rovers fans are in the same position (although they have not taken a league scalp in their run so far). So, while this is without doubt the most anticipated match in my nearly two years of following Bath City, it is not one I will dwell on for long. Neutrals will not likely dwell on it at all. The national media will not be bothered which of two non-league clubs is victorious. They will only take interest in either club if they draw a big name in the third round. Tomorrow's game will be out of the spotlight, tucked into the fine print of the Sunday sports pages.

Right now, at 2:30 am, it is a desperately important match. Come tomorrow afternoon roughly two thousand fans will, for two hours, cheer themselves hoarse, bite their nails, jump up and down, be totally and utterly alive. And then, whatever the result, we will move on.

The Shiny Happy People from Gloucestershire

Bath City have drawn Forest Green Rovers for a home match next week in the Second Round of the FA Cup. The selection was actually almost two weeks ago, but because Forest Green and Mansfield Town failed to produce a result in their Frist Round match, City could not be sure who their opponents would be until the replay two days ago. The FA Cup draw itself, on the day after the Grimsby Town match, found me and the Nedved Juniors gathered around the telly again after Sunday lunch. This time instead of City being drawn in the first few minutes we had to wait until nearly the end. It was not until the teams were selected for match number eighteen (of twenty) that Bath City's ball was drawn. My first reaction, after I stopped shaking from anticipation, was to purse my lips and say, 'hmmmmmm.' The draw meant that the next round would be Bath City vs Mansfield Town or Bath City vs FGR. Which is better? I couldn't decide. Fortunately it was not up to me. Thanks to a stoppage time goal Tuesday night, we will now will play our Gloucestershire neighbours.

Forest Green Rovers play one league above Bath City in what is known as the Conference National. That is still 'non-league' football, so it is not the glamour fixture City fans had been hoping for. Still, if City could beat the 23rd placed team in League 2 in the first round, then they should be able square up against the 21st placed team from a league lower down. A win would see City through to the Third Round, which is when the Premiership teams enter the competition. Might City be playing at Old Trafford in the new year? Before that dream can even be contemplated, though, there is the matter of City's second round opponents. And who are these guys, anyway? Ten years ago I would have probably assumed 'Forest Green Rovers' was some sort of Canadian law-enforcement unit. After a decade after living within thirty miles of their ground, and I'm not sure I know much more than that.

My only encounter with anything FGR since moving to England was on a Sunday morning six years ago. I was trying to take the train to work, but due to some engineering works the train between Bath Spa and Bristol Temple Meads was replaced by a coach service. I don't' know why or how, but the coach I boarded that morning for my commute was the Forest Green Rovers players coach. The rail company must have hired the coach company that provided FGR's away travel. The seats were not in a standard coach formation - they were in groups of four facing each other around tables. My overriding memory of that coach, though, was how tatty it was. The seats were covered in '70s style brown velure that looked like it had actually been in place since the '70s. The tables the players must have played cards on during their travels had artificial wood laminate on top that had been worn until a series of lurid orange streaks ran across them. There was a nice, shiny FGR badge on the outside, but the inside of the coach was repulsive.

This was years before I became a non-league fan. Looking back on it I have two questions: (1) How in the world does a non-league club like Forest Green Rovers have its own coach with its own team badge on the side? (2) How could FGR go to the expense of having a designated team coach and not stump up a few hundred quid to recover the seats? It seemed a very odd thing for a football club to splurge on such an extravagant mode of transport and then use it to move their team around in squalor.

My re-acquaintance with Forest Green Rovers continues to turn up strange contradictions. FGR are an archetypal village club come good. They are located on the edge of the Gloucestershire village of Nailsworth (population 6,600). This means that FGR should have roughly the same economic clout as Willand Rovers, the club City met in the Second Qualifying Round (who play three leagues below City). For a club from such a small community to have broken into a the Conference National is nothing short of incredible. It's an accomplishment that the people of Goucestershire can point to with pride.

It is, however, an accomplishment with an explanation. For nearly twenty years Rovers have benefited from an ambitious and well funded chairman, Trevor Horsley. After joining the club in 1992, when it was facing closure from financial difficulties, he has almost single-handedly brought the club the success it enjoys today. As Forest Green's website unashamedly says:

The future looks bright and it is all down to the driving ambition and vision of one man, Trevor Horsley.

You can't blame FGR for benefiting from a successful and generous chairman. It would also be wrong to assume that the club's success is just a matter of money. An awful lot of hard work has gone into back-to-back promotions in the late nineties and a new stadium this decade. Just throwing money at a club won't achieve that. Still....

I can't help but find the club Trevor Horsley has built with his driving ambition and vision slightly unnerving. Everything seems too nice and too clean. For a 'villiage club,' everything is very corporate. The website is very slick and very 'official.' Pictures of the ground, 'the New Lawn,' show squeaky-clean, state-of-the-art stands that look like they just came out of the packing crate (and if I was a betting man I'd bet the coach has been refurbished, too). The online fan forum is very polite, but very quiet. Combine all of this with the personality-cult language about the chairman, and the club sounds more like it should be named the 'Hermit Kingdom Rovers.'

In order to find out just what FGR are all about, and why I find them so strange, I decided to do what passes for investigative journalism on this blog. I registered for their forum myself (which creepily requires you to tell them your real name, address and contact telephone number!) and ask them, 'What are you all like?'

So far the most revealing answer is from a fan who calls himself 'tomb.' When explaining what FGR fans are like he said:

One of the benefits of being a village side (albeit with a new stadium) is that we are incredibly civilised. That's partly because the average age of our supporters is about 70. If we cause any trouble, you don't need to worry as we soon fall off our zimmer frames. Seriously, we are so nice, we are famous for it. Usually, after half time at home games, we announce how many away supporters are in the ground. We then CLAP them. Its surreal. I've never seen it anywhere else.

After reading this I can't help but imagine that the New Lawn feels like an annex to a retirement home. A retirement home with driving ambition, of course.

Retirement homes are nice enough places to pass the day, I suppose, although it is not my favourite sort of place. Still, it sounds like the Forrest Green fans are nice and respectable people. I'm sure we'll all have a good day out on 28 November. And, let's be honest, FGR aren't going to be any more excited by the fixture than we are. The thing that makes the fixture exciting is not the game itself, but the chance to be in the hat for the next round.

Come on City!

The Agony, the Rain, the Worry, and a little bit of Ecstasy

There are times in the life of the average non-league fan when he wonders if he is really and truly sane. I had such a moment Saturday as I watched Bath City defeat Chelmsford City 1-0. I was standing on the Bristol End terrace at Twerton Park in pelting rain and howling wind. I was cold and wet and tired. Next to me was my seven-year-old son (known for purposes of this blog as Big Nedved Junior) who must have also been cold and wet and tired. We were watching Bath City frantically try to keep Chelmsford at bay for half an hour with only ten men. Bath City defender Matt Coupe had been given a straight red at the hour mark for a studs-up tackle. With the man advantage, the stiff wind at their backs, and a Bath City team sitting back to defend their slender one goal advantage, Chelmsford kept up near-relentless pressure on the Bath End goal. Big Nedved Junior and I stood at the Bristol End, watching our heroes struggle in the distance, desperately hoping they would break free to score in front of us. It was not possible to really follow what was happening from that far away. It was only later that I learned that a shot from Chelmsford's Danny Hockton had struck one goal post, only for the rebound to be struck against the other post by Hockton's teammate Anthony Cook. From our distance we could only see a mass of bodies throwing themselves at the ball. We stood in the rain and waited for the inevitable-seeming bad news, and counted the minutes (literally) until we could stop worrying. After half and hour we were allowed to stop worrying and go somewhere dry and warm. Basically, I had paid £10 to stand in the rain with my son and chew my nails for half an hour. I had done this because this is what I consider 'fun.'

The entire afternoon had not been taken up with rain-soaked stress, however. Big Nedved Junior and I had arrived early at the ground to take in a meal at the club bar, 'Charlie's.' After pies, sausages and chips in front of a football match on a big-screen telly, we walked down the Twerton High street. We were looking for some 'Match Attax' cards to enhance Big Nedved Junior's playground cred. We failed to find any, but we did end up in the Co-op at the same time as my son's favourite player, Gethin Jones. We both felt too shy to talk to him so we loitered around the dairy products until he had left. Although we returned to Twerton Park empty handed, we soon had something even better...

Bath City Players Cards!! Thanks to a fantastic initiative by the Supporters Club, Big Nedved Junior could now collect cards of his non-league heroes alongside the Premiership primadonnas he is increasingly besotted with. We bought two packs, each containing three cards, for 50p each. I had worried our first packs would give us doubles of Marcus Browning, but it turned out we only got one of him (in away kit). In addition to Browning we got cards for Matt Coupe, Sido Jombati, Mark Badman, Richard Evans, and Kaid Mohamed. It was a good haul, we thought. To keep them dry Big Nedved Junior stored them in a special plastic pouch he had brought expressly for this purpose.

Not long after we were settled in the Popular Side terrace I was wishing he had brought a plastic pouch big enough for us to put ourselves in. The wind was whipping around enough that it was hard to find anywhere under cover that was truly dry. Once the match kicked off that wind began to play a pretty prominent role in the play on the pitch as well.

Bath City had been fortunate to win the toss and attack the Bath End of the ground. The wind blew fiercely but erratically. Anytime the ball cleared ten feet or so off the ground it was impossible to know which direction it would take. You almost had to pity Chelmsford keeper Craig Holloway, who is not the best of kickers in good conditions, as goal kick after goal kick failed to clear the halfway line. Neither team was able to do much more than hang around and hope for a lucky break from the wind. Thankfully the strength of the wind meant that Bath City got to do most of their hanging around in the Chelmsford half.

Chelmsford did manage some frightening runs at the Bath City goal on the occasional break. It was actually a Bath City counterattack, though, that brought the goal we had all been waiting for. Stuart Douglas received a neat pass from Sido Jombati close enough to onside to keep the linesman's flag down. With two Chelmsford players at his side and Holloway charging from the goal line, I thought Douglas had left it too late. He began to fall from what looked like a side tackle. It was a mistake I had seen Douglas commit before - taking one too many touches before trying to shoot. Somehow, though, while appearing to be totally off balance, Douglas managed to chip the ball over the Chelmsford keeper. It rolled gently into the corner of the net. I screamed and jumped up and down and silently promised never to doubt Stuart Douglas again!

This all happened with fifteen minutes to go before the half. Considering how poor the conditions were, and how Bath City would be playing against the wind in the next period, it seemed likely to me that a 1-0 victory was the only likely scoreline that would be good news. Kaid Mohamed almost proved me wrong a few minutes later with an excellent, on-target strike from outside the box. Despite this, and a couple close calls in the second half, most of the rest of the match was made up of midfield tackles and pressure on the Bath City goal.

And so my son and I stood on the exposed steps of the Bristol end terrace, forlornly hoping our heroes would score a second goal and deliver us from the worry. After Matt Coupe's sending off I called out the remaining minutes as they passed. I think this only made them pass more slowly. From our far-away vantage, every Chelmsford pass appeared to cross the mouth of the goal or need clearing off the line by a Bath City defender. It was a race between the clock and bad news. Which one would come first? Eventually the referee blew his whistle. I let out a cheer that was as much a sigh of relief as a cry of victory. As we scuttled back to the warmth of the car I wondered how many new grey hairs I had gained.

By any rational viewpoint, it was a miserable day. People only endure such discomfort for love from insanity. For football fans, especially for non-league football fans, I think it is a mixture of both. Despite the cold, the rain, the tension and the broken play, it was all worth it for the joy of seeing Douglas' goal and the relief I felt upon hearing the final whistle.

Now, time to plan our next match!

Staines Massive Impassive

Bath City drew 1-1 with Staines Town Tuesday night. Pretty much everyone says it was a forgettable match. This is hardly surprising given that both clubs had just defeated League 2 opposition three days previously in hard-fought FA Cup matches. Staines had been victorious 1-0 over Shrewsbury Town. Likewise, Bath City had come out on top 2-0 over Grimsby Town in THE GREATEST FOOTBALL GAME EVER PLAYED ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD!

Well, I thought so, anyway.

I was pretty shattered after the Grimsby match. I was so excited the night before I hardly slept. Match day itself consisted of a five-hour coach trip in the morning, three hours of constant singing, shouting and clapping in the afternoon, and another five-hour coach trip home in the evening. I got home too wired on adrenaline and disbelief to sleep properly for two days. A league match against Staines? I had trouble remembering it was happening, let alone get excited about it. I can only imagine how the players were feeling!

Actually, I don't have to imagine. The first half of the Staines match was a good indication. Manager Adie Britton chose to keep the same lineup that had been victorious in Grimsby (excepting the addition of Stuart Douglas to replace the injured Darren Edwards). A team of heroes, no doubt, but they must have been a team of tired heroes. Staines, sporting five new faces from their weekend, managed to keep City pinned back for most of the half. Apart from a near miss from a little bit of Chris-Holland-set-piece-header magic, City's only accomplishment in the first forty-five minutes was not conceding a goal.

Maybe Adie gave them a good talk at half-time. City returned to the pitch with more determination and more possession. This was rewarded at sixty-five minutes by a goal from Kaid Mohamed. Not much of a goal, mind you. It resulted from a scramble in front of the goal instead of a connected series of passes. Still, it was a goal and City had a lead that would have seemed improbable in the first half. I read about it in front of the computer, half wishing I was there and half wishing the game had been postponed until later in the season. I still wanted to savour the victory in Grimsby.

Eleven minutes later Staines equalised. Sido Jombati gave away a free kick in a prime spot. Andre Scarlett took the kick for Staines and managed to thread it through the City wall. I felt annoyed when I got the news through on the computer. Annoyed? Since when do I merely feel annoyed when City concede a goal? A goal that could have secured league three points?!

There is an argument that cup runs are dangerous. Players will be so distracted by their cup success that they will stop focusing on their league performance. I've never given this idea much credence, but I will admit that at least I have been distracted by the cup run. I have no business being annoyed! It's time for some more mental preparation because I am determined to at least be disgusted or gutted the next time City concede. Honestly!

Mike Perrott and Florin Pelecaci were brought on in the closing minutes but failed to find the goal to put City ahead. If anyone doubted the cup run was responsible for the tepid performance, Britton put them straight in a recent interview with the Bath Chronicle:

We did not get the response we were looking for at Staines and that is unusual with this group of players. To be fair, to have a 600-mile round trip at the weekend, then go into work on Monday before travelling to London and back on Tuesday is very demanding on part-time players. I have never been in this situation before and neither have a few of the players. Whether we can keep them focused or not I am not sure, but I know I will be totally focused.

It's hard to feel too disappointed with the result, however. I'm sure going into the match both teams would have been happy with a draw. City preserved their unbeaten run, and despite a sub-par performance, preserved that rare and indefinable thing known as momentum as well.

About the time the real hard-core fans were arriving back in Bath on the supporters coach I was tucked up in bed waiting for sleep. I had already forgotten about the Staines match. I was fondly recalling Chris Holland's header against Grimsby. Give me a few more days.

In Praise of Fish and Cleethorpes

Saturday's FA Cup First Round Proper match against Grimsby Town was my first ever visit to Lincolnshire. I'm ashamed to say, it was only my third foray north of Birmingham. On that count alone, I looked forward to the journey.

Of course, most everyone else I know thought the idea of going to Grimsby and back in a day was crazy. The conversation where I broached the idea with Mrs Nedved began with her saying, 'You're not actually going to go, are you?' It was not just the distance people were shocked by. When I said I was going to Grimsby several people acted with the sort of disbelief you might get from someone if you said you were off to Bagdhad for a weekend getaway (they were, of course, all soft Southerners). This sort of reaction only made me more interested, especially as none of the people I spoke to had actually been to Grimsby. Two days before the match I did run into a friend on the train who knew a bit about the area. He had lived in Hull for six months. I asked him what Hull was like.

"Shite," he said. "The only good thing about it is it isn't Grimsby." (I should point out that this friend in particular hails from Yorkshire).

Thankfully, none of this put me off.

The coaches hired to take Bath City supporters on the long journey north arrived at Twerton Park at 7am. There were already over a hundred of us there at this point, rubbing sleep from our eyes and stamping our feet about to kick-start our circulation. I settled into a window seat in Coach 2, pulled out my copy of Four Four Two, and prepared for the five hour journey.

After our rest break, we were treated to a viewing of Ken Loach's Looking for Eric on the coach's video monitor. This was an especially appropriate film to watch - and not just because it is an excellent film about football. Ken Loach is an avid Bath City supporter. He can always be spotted on the terraces at Twerton Park when he is not on location filming. Over the summer he invited one of the film's stars, Eric Cantona (yes, that Eric Cantona) to come to Twerton Park for the day for a fundraiser and press event. I found out later that while we were on the coach watching his film, Ken was in a car driving east from a shoot in Liverpool to attend the match as well. Eric Cantona sent him a text wishing Bath City good luck (yes, that Eric Cantona).

The film finished towards the end of our journey, and as I looked up I realised we were in Lincolnshire. It was much flatter than the Somerset and Wiltshire hills I am used to, but otherwise still recognisable as England. We entered Grimsby at about noon (and straight away saw four signs promoting Young's frozen fish), but we did not stop there because Grimsby Town actually play in the adjoining town of Cleethorpes. The coaches pulled up on a side street behind Blundell Park and I stepped out into Northeastern England for the first time...

...and almost immediately into a big pile of dog poo. I almost stepped in dog poo several times in the first minute, actually. It seemed to be everywhere. I began to wonder if I should have heeded the warnings I had received after all. Thankfully the dog poo did not continue for long and I did not see any more for the rest of the day. I figure we were just unlucky. The area had simply been visited by a pooch on a high fibre diet, and nothing more.

Once we had successfully run that gauntlet I joined a small party on the search for fish and chips. Grimsby Town fans had been extolling the virtues of their fish and chips on the Bath City forum almost from the moment the draw was announced. We had been advised strongly to avoid cod and plump for haddock. 'Cod here is only fit for pet food and Yorkies,' one supporter warned.

No one could remember which shops had been recommended so we all piled into the first one we saw - the 'Mariners Fish Bar.' Once we arrived more Bath City fans followed, and before long a big queue formed. The Turkish proprietors dealt with the situation readily, but they set their own rules for us to follow. The two City supporters in front of me in the queue asked for two 'small haddock and chips.' The man behind the till looked taken aback and began to wag his finger at them. 'No small! Match day is only large day!'

Large haddock and chips all around, then. As I waited my turn to collect my food the queue snaked past the doorway to the kitchen. I saw a man setting out a dozen portions of haddock that looked like they had just come out of the ocean that morning. They were not even battered yet. We took our steaming hot portions out onto the pavement to eat them in the watery sunshine.

It was amazing. It was not only the best fish and chips I've ever had, hands down, but it was one of the most delicious things I've ever eaten. The fish was incredibly fresh, but it was more than that. My brain couldn't figure out what the reason was exactly, but it made all the fish and chips I had had previously seem bland and greasy by comparison. Mrs Nedved, who is an accomplished food writer, says the unaccustomed taste must have resulted from the fish being fried in lard (you can read her own blog about food here - and yes we do sit around on evenings comparing blogs). Another City fan, known as the A18, was standing next to me as we rhapsodised about our meal. 'Will this get mentioned in the blog?' he asked. 'Absolutely,' I said.

After fueling up I went for a wander. A Grimsby fan on the City forum had hoped that we would enjoy Cleethorpes' 'dilapidated scruffiness' on our visit. After a few minutes exploring I began to wonder if the people of Lincolnshire have some sort of inferiority complex. Cleethorpes did not look dilapidated or scruffy to me. It certainly has nothing on the dilapidated scruffiness of Westbury or Trowbridge. Everything was reasonably clean and most of the shops appeared to be occupied. I wonder what the Grimsby fans would make of Twerton?

There were only two things I could see in Cleethorpes that a right minded individual might object to. One was a McDonald's, but if you write a town off for having one of those you are setting yourself up for a lot of disappointment in life. The only other thing was that there were signs of industry in the far distance: ports, power stations, etc. It was all clean and tidy, though. It was not covered in broken glass and rusting razor-wire. Is heavy industry an eyesore? It keeps us in employment and warm at night, so I can't see what the problem is. Perhaps I'm just being American.

Blundell Park was not hard to find because, like Twerton Park, the designers have chosen to hide its charms behind the facade of a giant warehouse. I walked into the club shop to buy my ticket. As a non-league fan I found the idea of buying a ticket a bit strange. The idea that I might actually sit in my allocated seat was even stranger. Heck, I wasn't planning to sit down at all. Admission plus a program came to an even £20.

And what an odd program! I was impressed that they had managed to keep the cover price down to £2, but less than impressed by the cover. This was a keepsake I was planning to keep for the rest of my life. It would automatically take pride of place in my program collection. And what is on the cover? A Grimsby Town player who looks like he has just smelled something really unpleasant to his left. The player in question is one Nathan Jarman, and I find it hard to believe that there isn't a stock picture of him somewhere that doesn't make him look like he is trying to pass a watermelon. The reason he is on the cover is that inside the program there is an article about his 'injury woe.'

Grimsby Town are going through a tough time. They have only won one match at home this year. The manager has been sacked without a replacement. The fans are suffering. Let's cheer them up with a feature about a striker with a pre-season metatarsal injury! Way to go!

Inside things are even less cheery. The first two articles begin with a short, perfunctory welcome for Bath City, but mostly consist of reasons to be depressed if you are a Grimsby fan. The chairman explains that the four previous managerial appointments have not worked out, but sheds no light on why they didn't work out. He then basically admits that there isn't a replacement in sight. 'The prime candidate may not have applied for the vacancy. The Board also has in mind one of two targets that have not applied so far.'

The interim manager talks up the match with, 'We are in a no win situation,' and 'I expect Bath will come here today fancying their chances.' I bet he gave a great pre-match talk to the players.

I spent the last hour before the match hanging around the Blundell Park Hotel on Grimsby Road. It was a pub we had been encouraged to visit because it is happy to have visiting supporters. It must have been really happy, though, because there were so many visiting supporters inside I couldn't get near the bar. Across the street was the largely empty Imperial, but we had been warned off going there before we arrived. Although there was a sign above the door promising a 'warm welcome,' there was also a sign saying 'Home Supporters Only.' I found out later that several City supporters had been invited in by the landlord. I guess the 'warm welcome' sign won out.

I stood outside the Blundell Park Hotel for most of an hour. There were lots of City fans coming and going, and as time progressed more and more Grimsby fans. Because both clubs have black and white striped home shirts it was hard to tell who was who until they got close. Despite the reputation of League clubs, we never felt threatened or heard any crude remarks. By half past two, everyone began to drink up. Banners were unfurled. Flags were waived. A group of fans gathered to cross the street and broke into, 'We are the Bath, we are the Bath, we are, we are, we are the Bath!' It was time to go.

Other than the dog poo, I honestly couldn't find anything to complain about in my time at Cleethorps. I know it isn't on the tourist trail, but if this is a typical league ground experience then I think the Bath City fans will enjoy it once we get promoted (some day!).

I would not be surprised if it was not typical, though. I would not be surprised if Grimsby is one of the better places in the league to visit as an away fan (it certainly will be tough to top for fish and chips!). I say this because everyone inside and outside the ground was very helpful and very friendly. If I'm honest, there are a lot of non-league grounds that could learn a few lessons from a visit to Cleethorpes.

I took away two thoughts from my visit. Somehow the people of Northeast Lincolnshire have gotten a reputation they do not deserve. It is a nice place and I would gladly go back. Secondly, somehow the people of Northeast Lincolnshire have gotten a football club they do not deserve, either. Hopefully the mysterious quality a Grimsby manager needs to succeed will be discovered by the board soon. It is the least that such a nice place deserves.

Bath City - Giantkillers!

Bath City beat Grimsby Town 2-0 yesterday in the First Round Proper of the FA Cup. I still feel giddy typing that. Not a 1-0 victory thanks to a fluke goal against the run of play. Oh no! Bath City defeated Grimsby Town with a decisive goal in each half. It is one of those results you need to say out loud over and over again, just so that you can reassure yourself that it really happened. This is, in fact, what I did all the way home from Grimsby (and I would like to thank the long-suffering City supporter sat next to me during the five-and-a-half hour journey for his forbearance).

I entered the visiting supporters gate at Blundell Park at about 2:30. Most of the 216 City supporters had already arrived by this point, and were busy setting out the various banners they had brought with them. The largest banner was a white bed sheet with a large, black '12' on it, indicating the City supporter's claim to be the team's 'twelfth man.' It was a claim, I am proud to say, we came good on.

City has a good record of away support for a club of our size, but we have not always been as noisy as we would like to be. When we do make noise it tends to be just general cheering rather than anything more organised. Part of the problem is that very few non-league grounds require us to sit all together in one place. With everyone spread out around the stands however we like, it is tough to do much as a group. Spreading out was not an option at Grimsby, however. In common with most league clubs, all visiting supporters are corralled into a single stand (and likewise, all home supporters are kept out). Seizing upon the opportunity, several of the more determined City fans took the time to organise themselves. One, known to everyone as 'Parky,' even went so far as to print a song sheet which he gave out on the coach ride up. Much to my surprise, everyone started singing from these sheets almost from the moment they arrived.

It also appeared to be much to the surprise of the City players and coaches. Being serenaded by their supporters as they warmed up was not something they were used to. Jim Rollo looked around sheepishly as he heard, for the first of many times, his own special ditty:

We love Jim Rollo,
Because he's losing his hair,
We love Jim Rollo,
He can play anywhere,
We love Jim Rollo,
Now go and get us a goal!

He waved good-naturedly. We were all convinced that he was loving it.

We also sang 'Come on Adie, Give us a wave, Give us a wave!' to City manager Adie Britton (who dutifully did give us a waive and got a rousing cheer), and managed to make Matt Coupe blush with 'I wish I was a pornstar like Matt Coupe!'

This was not normal behaviour for City fans at all. I cannot help but think that it helped set the tone for the afternoon, however. City fans were determined that the day was going to be different. We were going to give our all for the entire ninety minutes (plus the thirty minutes before the match even started!). The City players were going to do the same on the pitch. It was not a formal bargain, of course, but anyone who had watched City play in this season knew they would be giving it their all. We wanted to uphold our end of the deal.

There was another advantage to all being sat together in the Osmond Stand. The sloping metal roof above us made our chants reverberate loudly. A hundred singers in full cry sounded like a thousand (at least to those of us in the stand). The fact that our cheers was met by an eerie silence coming from the rest of the ground was even more encouraging. Several verses of 'You're supposed to be at home!' followed. By the time the players came out onto the pitch I was already beginning to feel hoarse. I could hear that I was not the only one.

As the match kicked off I was pleased to realise that the overbearing nervousness I had felt in earlier cup rounds was not there. I was very excited, of course, and keen for City to play well and even win, if possible. Losing, though, would have been a mere disappointment, not a disaster. I was having too much fun to worry about a mere disappointment. I was part of a band of 200 fans outsinging 2,000 league fans. Win or lose this was going to be the highlight of my time as a City supporter thus far.

The early stages of the match are like a blur in my memory. This is as much due to the style of play as to the dozen renditions of 'Drink Up Thy Zider' we sang. Both teams were playing with a lot of spirit, but neither team was able to impose any structure on their play. City's midfield was being prevented from taking control as they have done in recent matches, but Grimsby were unable to do more than get the occasional long ball to one of their imposing strikers. Most of the time Chris Holland and the other City defenders were able to deal with this. At eight minutes, though, a cross reached an unmarked Barry Conlon in front of the goal. This was the goal we were standing just in front of. I could see Conlon bearing down on us like a freight train. My heart lept into my throat as I prepared for the inevitable. Somehow he managed to head the ball over the crossbar. Without missing a beat the City fans sang out, 'Who are ya? Who are ya?' A frustrated Conlon looked at us with his best pokerface. Despite the fright he gave us, I managed to find this episode encouraging.

For the next twenty minutes the game drifted into a mid-field stalemate. City did sometimes penetrate into the Grimsby half, but were not able to bring mount any real threat to the home team's goal. As I continued to clap and sing 'Adie Britton's Barmy Army' I toyed with the idea of a 0-0 draw, and a replay at Twerton Park.

Then occurred one of those rare moments in a sports fan's life. One of those moments where time itself slows down, and life is viewed as a series of still images rather than a fluid whole. Lewis Hogg took a free kick on the right hand side about twenty yards from goal. It was a perfect height, and sent to the perfect spot - Chirs Holland's forehead. As we were watching this from the far end of the pitch, I could not tell you if 'Dutch' was unmarked or not. I could not tell you if anyone was offside or not. Because of the angle from where I was standing, though, I could see clearly that the ball was going to go into the net. I can see it now in my mind like a photograph: about six feet up and a foot inside the left post. I could see that the outstretched hand of Nick Coglan was not going to reach it. I could see all of this, but yet my mind rejected it as it happened. This could not really be happening, could it? Could it be that City were about to take the lead? I mean, really take the lead?

Yes. 1-0 to City. 1-0 to the visitors. 1-0 to the non-league team. I went berserk. Everyone around me went berserk. The City players went berserk. City had the lead, which meant that City could win the game. Really win it. It was almost frightening to comprehend. Suddenly the false bravado of our singing was not false anymore.

And sing we did. 'Stand up, if you're one nil up!' rang through the Osmond stand. It was almost funny to think about it. How could City actually be up 1-0? I knew how well City are capable of playing, and how much Grimsby are struggling, but surely it wouldn't really happen. Surely a bit of bad luck or a inexplicable call from the referee should have prevented this? It didn't seem real.

When the halftime whistle blew a roar went up from the City fans as if the match was won already. It was really, in my mind at least, a shout of relief. Relief that City had managed the last few nervous minutes of the half without allowing an equaliser, and relief that, if nothing more, City would be able to say with pride that they had won the first half. As I did after the birth of my first child, I pulled out my mobile phone and called everyone I know to tell them the good news.

Eventually I called my friend, and fellow City fan, Mark. He had been sat at home with mobile in hand getting regular text updates from me. 'Will City be able to score again?' he asked. I said I wasn't sure. So far City looked like they were not getting any chances from open play. 'Do you think Grimsby can equalise?' To be honest, I assumed Grimsby would equalise. Despite the booing from their own fans, they were no pushovers. There was one statistic that was very heartening, though. 'So far they haven't had a shot on target,' I replied.

In the moments before the second half kicked off, another City fan pointed out an encouraging fact. Grimsby really needed two goals. A draw, and the home replay that followed, would be good news for City. Non-league clubs aren't even supposed to manage draws against league opposition, so it would still seem like an upset. The extra revenue and possible television coverage would be a boon for City's coffers as well. Grimsby could ill afford to tie up more of its time with opposition from two leagues below. They needed a win.

I'll be honest and say that I can't really remember the first five minutes of the second half. I was drunk on too much adrenaline, hope, and anticipation to manage a coherent set of memories.

I can remember what happened soon after the five minute mark very clearly. City's increasingly assertive midfield put together a string of sharp passes which culminated in an unpromising looking cross into the Grimsby penalty box. Grimsby's Danny Boshell (who I have now learned has long been a hate-figure for much of the Grimsby supporting public) had a chance to clear the ball, but instead deflected it to the feet of City's Darren Edwards. In a moment of pure inspiration, Edwards managed a looping shot that reached the far top corner of the net. Colgan never had a chance to stop it. From where I stood, it was not until the ball shook the netting that I realised it was even on target. This is the moment when everyone (and I mean everyone - players and supporters alike) lost it.

The moment is saved for prosperity thanks to 'Hatton for City,' who just happened to have his mobile's camera on to record a bit of atmosphere. The picture quality is lost in the mele that follows the goal, but it captures perfectly the bedlam that was the Osmond stand for the thirty seconds following the goal.



After that goal, which was as beautiful as it was unexpected, the rest of the match took on a surreal quality. Suddenly the City players were not just edging the match. They dominated. Grimsby could get the ball, but do nothing meaningful with it. City pressed more and more confidently as each minute passed. Sido Jombati made his trademark impossible-looking tackles. Sekani Simpson flicked the ball past opposition players. Adam Connolly and Mark Badman appeared to be everywhere at once. Lewis Hogg's ball control taunted the Grimsby defenders in their own territory.

And still we sang. Louder and louder. I looked at my hands and saw they were bleeding in two places. I didn't care. I had lost the ability to keep a tune long ago, but I still managed to be loud. 'Let's all have a disco, let's all have a disco, dah, dah, dah dah!' It didn't have to make sense, really.

As the match wore on, Grimsby's full time training began to show itself. City's forays into their half became fewer and fewer. It never felt, however, like Grimsby had the means to score. At 74 mintues they did manage their first shot on target, but keeper Ryan Robinson caught it easily. It was not until the closing minutes that City's clean sheet was threatened, but this was only due to a goalmouth scramble that City couldn't clear. In the closing stages of the match the Grimsby supporters began to boo their players more emphatically. I'm not sure I can blame them, really. Yes, they are on a losing streak. You should not lose, though, to a team two leagues below playing at home. 'You're not fit to wear the shirt' was one of the few chants the Grimsby fans managed in the second half.

When the attendance was announced, however, the Grimsby fans did stand and cheer. Not for themselves: 2,100 is a low attendance figure for Blundell Park. They stood and cheered the Bath City fans when our attendance was announced at 216. We clapped our hands above our heads and cheered them back.

In the final minutes the Grimsby stewards took positions all along the fence of the Osmond Stand. Although they had largely left us alone the team of yellow clad stewards had been watching us warily throughout the match. As non-league fans, we are not used to stewards (other than the occasional volunteer in a high-visibility waistcoat). I couldn't help but find it a slightly threatening gesture. When injury time began most of the supporters, including myself, moved to the fence that separated us from the pitch. The stewards looked at us nervously, but after a few moments I could see several of them begin to smile at us. Bath City fans are too gentle to cause any trouble. We just wanted to party!

I did not hear the final whistle blow. All I knew was that the Osmond stand erupted into its biggest roar yet. I couldn't see anything for several seconds because everyone, including myself, did nothing but jump up and down in place. I hugged, and was hugged, by several people I barely know. Then I saw Jim Rollo run over to the fans on the other side of the goal. Everyone rushed to him, and soon a hundred fans and five or six City players were engaged in a massive, rioting group embrace. It was a moment of pure passion and joy.

And the joy did not go away. It is with me now as I type this. We filed out of the Osmond stand, still singing, still clapping. Everyone knew that they had seen, and been part of, something special. Everyone said it was their best moment as a City follower.

I was still in a haze when we finished the short walk to our coaches. There were more Grimsby stewards there to make sure we got on them without any trouble. We shook their hands. They smiled. I said to one steward, 'You've been fantastic!' He looked a bit startled, and I realised how stupid this sounded. 'I mean as hosts, you've been fantastic!' I explained. It still sounded stupid, but it was true. During our short exposure to Grimsby Town I know I am not the only supporter to come away impressed by the club's hospitaltiy and thoughtfullness. They were brilliant, and it is a shame that the supporters had to watch their team lose in order for us to be victorious. I wish them well in their fight to avoid relegation, but if they fail (and I mean this is a complimentary way) they will be a welcome addition to the non-league ranks. Despite the distance, I wouldn't mind a few trips back.

Supporter's coach number two continued to sing as we headed out of Grimsby. It was, without doubt, the happiest five and a half hours I have ever spent on a bus in my life!

Bonfire of the Calamities

It is midnight. My bag for the day is packed. Replica kit and scarf are carefully folded. Mobile is charged. Sandwiches for the twelve hour return coach trip are prepared. I am ready.

In just under seven hours I will be boarding Supporters Coach Number 2 outside a pub on the Radstock roundabout. After two breaks en route the coach will arrive around 1pm at Blundell Park, the home of Grimsby Town FC. Four hours later, hopefully with a victory under our belts, the City supporters and I will pile back into our buses for the seven hour return trip. Ahhh, bliss!

Regular readers will remember the anxiety I have felt before the three previous FA Cup matches Bath City has played this year. City really needed to win the Second and Third Qualifying rounds for financial reasons. A loss in either round would have been a total disaster for the season. Once City had won the Third Qualifying Round, of course, I started thinking about how important a victory in the Fourth Qualifying Round would be. Yes, we definately had to win the Fourth Qualifying round! There were some moments when I got so worried I really didn't enjoy these games. Would I experience the same stomach-churning tension for the First Round Proper?

Unexpectedly, the answer appears to be no. I am really excited about tomorrow, but mostly because I'm looking forward to the experience of going somewhere new (yes, even if it is Grimsby), and going to a League ground for the first time. I have waited for the apprehension to appear, but so far it has been absent. This is unexpected, but not inexplicable. Here are what I think are the reasons why:

1) An appearance in the First Round Proper is a significant achievement in its own right. At least it is if you are a non-league club. Even if Bath City lose tomorrow, just making an appearance in the First Round is something to celebrate and remember. This is the club's thirty-second appearance in the First Round, and the first since 2004. See, we are counting! We wouldn't bother if it wasn't really important.

2) City have drawn a club two leagues higher up the pyramid. The pressure is on Grimsby. Previous to this round City drew one club three leagues lower, and two that were two leagues farther down. These seemed like good draws at the time, but it also made the prospect of losing something to fear. Who wants to be upset by a club two leagues down? Now it is Grimsby's turn to feel that disquiet. This is pure psychological nonsense, of course. Grimsby only survived the drop last season because of Luton's thirty point deduction for financial irregularities. By all rights they should be a Conference club this year (and despite this stay of execution, Grimsby are making a good fist at joining Luton next season). Still, a league club is a league club. It is impossible for a non-league side to beat a league side and it not be considered a significant upset by the media.

3) The Grimsby Town fans seem to be really nice! Since the fateful ping-pong balls were drawn that paired the clubs together, there has been a vibrant cultural exchange between the two sets of supporters. We have been posting on their forums and the Bath City forum now has four or five Grimsby Town regulars. They've quickly become part of the fabric of our online community. We've learned where to go tomorrow to get the best fish & chips (it does depend on who is doing the recommending), what the Osmund Stand (where the visiting fans sit) is like, what Town players are expected to play well, and where to go for a drink before or after the match. I've had several fans email me directly about this blog. It would be a shame for them to all disappear after the match. Maybe they can be encouraged to stick around (or maybe if City get promoted to the Conference this season we will be in the same league as Grimsby next season??)

We aren't sure exactly, but everyone is expecting around 200 City fans to make the journey tomorrow. This is from a club that is averaging less than 600 supporters at home matches. Winning would be so amazing I can hardly bear to think about it. Whatever the outcome, however, tomorrow will at least be a celebration of our players, our club, and its community of fans. I can't really think of a calamity on the pitch that would be so horrendous that it would spoil the day. I'd hate it if City lost 5-0, but, to be honest, it wouldnt' be nearly as bad as going out 1-0 to Aylesbury Town last year. I guess what I am saying is that no matter what happens tomorrow City wins. As we all speed down the M1 tomorrow night we will no doubt be treated to impromtu displays of fireworks as Bonfire night is celebrated throughout the land. Whether we are full of joy, or recovering from dashed hopes, I know that we will be making our own celebration. We support a great club.

Now, time to get some sleep!

The Nedved Interview: Sido Jombati & Florin Pelecaci

Sido Jombati extended his hand, and with a warm smile on his face said, 'My name is Sido.'

I couldn't help but laugh. I had just contacted him a few days ago to tell him what a big fan I was, and to request an interview with him for this blog. I certainly knew who his name. I was to learn, though, that Sido is as unassuming as he is friendly.

He had suggested we speak after the AFC Totton match. 'How will I find you?' I asked. He wrote back, 'Anytime, just call me and I will come to you.' It sounded too easy and I worried it wouldn't' happen. In the end, however, I 'called to him' while he was having his post-match meal in the club bar, Charlie's. After he had finished we stepped out the side door. I turned on my dictaphone and tried my best to pretend like I knew what I was doing.

The reason I wanted to interview Sido was simple. Besides being an exciting player to watch, he is a rare example of an overseas footballer in non-league football. I wanted to know exactly how he had come to play football for Bath City. Sido is also central to the mysterious appearance of Bath City's other foreign player, Florin Pelecaci. Reportedly, Florin had started training with City after being recommended to Adie Britton by Sido. But how did a twenty-two year old from Portugal come to know a twenty-nine year old first-division footballer from Romania? It all seemed a little bizarre, and so far the local football media had failed to discover any sort of explanation.

I contacted Sido without really expecting him to agree to be talk to me. I am, after all, just some strange blogger. I was very pleased when he agreed, and even more pleased when he asked Florin to speak to me as well. Having never interviewed a footballer before I was pretty nervous, and began peppering him with random questions as soon as he introduced himself.

Sido Jombati was born in Lisbon in 1987. He was on the books with Sporting Lisbon as a youth player until he was sixteen. Finding his opportunities in Portuguese football limited, he was encouraged by a family member to try his luck in England. I was surprised to hear that one of the main reasons for the move was money. 'The pay in the Portuguese second division is like the Conference in the UK,' he said. I assumed I had misunderstood him, so I had him say it again. I had not misunderstood. 'The pay I get at Bath City is about the same as the second division in Portugal.'

After a short spell with Exeter at age eighteen, he signed for the then Conference National side Weymouth. He moved to Basingstoke last season, where he was voted 'Player of the Year' by the supporters, and finally to Bath City last summer. One of the reported reasons for his move to Bath was family living in Somerset, but when I asked him if he had any family locally he said he no longer has any family living in the UK.

'Do you miss Portugal?' I asked.

'Yeah, a lot.'

I asked him if he went back regularly. 'I used to but not recently. Now that I live in Bath, though, I hope to start flying from Bristol'

I asked him about the different styles of football played in Portugal and England. 'Playing in Portugal is easier,' he began. 'You have a lot more space. England is harder. I prefer the ball on the floor. Here you don't have any space. You don't have time for two touches. This league is very tough. If you try to take one or two touches you just lose the ball.'

At this point we were joined by Florin Pelecaci. I was more nervous about talking to him because I hadn't spoken to him directly before. I also wasn't really sure how interested he was in being interviewed by a supporter. I was only nervous briefly, however, because despite coming across as a serious and earnest person, he was remarkably friendly and unguarded. I asked him how he liked playing for Bath City.

'I like it. I like Bath, only today I am not happy because I did not play.'

I asked him why he thought he had only been used as a substitute.

'It was something to do with a tactical problem. It was [Adie Britton's] option.'

The big question for all Bath City fans, however, was why Florin had come to City and what his plans were. Not knowing how to build up to this exactly I just dived right in and asked him.

'Firstly, I want to do my job for Bath,' he began. 'To play very well in the [FA] Cup firstly. This is our chance, the Cup.'

After pressing him on how long he expects to stay in Bath and where he would go next he said, 'I will stay here for the next two months for sure, and I don't know in the future what I will do. It depends on my football, on how I will play, and it depends on what the club wants for me. At the moment I hope this level can help me to go where I want.'

Where does he want to go? 'League 1, because it is comparable to the top of Romanian football.'

Sido and Florin then explained to me how they knew each other and how Florin had come to wear black and white stripes.

During Sido's time with Sporting Lisbon he became close friends with a Romanian trialist named Bogdan. Bogdan was not signed by Sporting, but he and Sido stayed in touch. Bogdan now lives in London where he plays for step-five non-league club London Tigers. Bogdan, it turns out, had a cousin named Florin Pelecaci.

After an unsatisfying year with top flight Hungarian club Diósgyőri VTK, Florin was looking for a new employer. He was tempted to London by an agent who claimed that he could arrange trials for several League clubs. These failed to materialise. Instead of giving up and going home he got in touch with his cousin Bogdan. Bogdan introduced him to Sido, who arranged for him to start training with Bath City. The training went well, and he was offered non-contract terms in mid-September.

It was good to discover the mystery of Florin's sudden appearance, but I was left with one important question.

'When is Bogdan going to come and play for Bath City?' I asked.

Both Sido and Florin laughed. 'He is a very good player,' Florin explained, 'but for the moment he needs to play more. He has spent a lot of time working and not playing.'

Sido popped back inside Charlie's for a few minutes to talk to some friends and I continued talking with Florin. He was born in Baia Mare in Northwestern Romania, not far from the current Hungarian and Ukrainian borders. His athletic ability was noticed at a very young age. At six years old he began training competitively in gymnastics. Two years later he won first prize for his age group in the individual floor event in the Romanian national championships.

'Is this how you learned to flip?'

It was indeed. Florin had stunned the travelling Bath City fans at in his second match against Willand Rovers. He celebrated his twenty-five yard goal with a series of somersaults and a flip. He had repeated the feat at home in the recent Basingstoke match.

'Against Basingstoke it wasn't my goal. It was an own goal, I think. But I felt I must do this [flip] because it was 2-2 and I knew we could win this.'

It certainly excited the City faithful, and has already become an iconic image (thanks to a well timed snap by City webmaster 'Yuffie').

'The flips are very comfortable for me. When you learn them at a young age you learn them for life,' he explained. 'I competed until I was ten, but all the records were lost when the Communists were overthrown in 1989.'

I was going to ask Florin more about the flip, but he furrowed his brow and began to speak very seriously. He had something he wanted to get off his chest.

'So, I want to say that sometimes in the newspapers I see a lot of nice words about me. I don't know if I deserve it. I like this, but I believe I have to be more modest. I am happy for this, but I know this is how English people like to talk about their players. I'm not as good as they say exactly. Against Basingstoke I did not play very well so I find it embarrassing, this "magic of Pelecaci."'

Having been one of the people who had written about how well Florin had played against Basingstoke, I was surprised. He continued:

'Too many nice words and I played a shit game. I can play better than this.'

Florin was adamant that Bath City fans have not seen him play at his best yet. Considering how impressed City fans have been, they will consider this good news. It was apparent to me that Florin drives himself very hard, and he is not happy unless he performs at his best.

Like Sido, Florin finds the style of play in the lower English leagues frustrating. Speaking of clubs in Romania he said, 'We like to put the ball down every time. It doesn't' matter if you are defending or not, we try to put it down and try to pass. But here it is very difficult for me because the play here is not my style. Every time they try to hit it with their heads and I don't know exactly what to do. You don't have space and you start to get nervous. Sometimes I am not able to concentrate when the ball comes to me because I am not in the game [because of the ball being in the air so much]. But I hope it will get better.

'[Bath City] has such good players, technical players, I do not know why we play this way. Why when it was 3-0 do we not put the ball down? When the game is 1-0 [in Romania] we pass to try and keep the ball away from the other team to disrupt their rhythm. It is not the style in England, although the English style is also good.'

I asked Florin to tell me about his career before Bath City. His first real success was with Gloria Bistriţa, where he played in the Intertoto Cup. In 2006 he signed for Unirea Urziceni, where he played under former Chelsea star Dan Petrescu ('you played for Dan Petrescu?!' I asked). At the end of the season Florin was approached by another club, Progresul Bucureşti. 'Dan said to stay at Unirea,' he explained, 'but I preferred another team for much more money.' Soon after his signing, however, Progresul began to have money problems and he was released. Progresul were soon after ejected from the Romanian league for financial reasons.

He then spent one season with Diósgyőri VTK, where he was plagued with injuries (all of which, he assured me, are well behind him). But he did have one spectacular moment: a goal from the halfway line a la David Beckham. I asked him to tell me how it happened.

'I had been man of the match in the game before, but I started on the bench. At the end of the first half DVTK were losing 3-0. I was put in at forty-six minutes. I saw that the keeper was out of position so I tried to score. Too many times I tried to score like this, but this time it went in. I scored again a few minutes later but I was ruled offside. The final score was 3-2.' (you can see the goal here).

Sido rejoined us, and as the FA Cup draw was to take place the following day, I asked who they would most like to draw in the next round. They were both unanimous: the best team possible.

Sido said, 'Against good teams I always play well. Against bad teams, I don't know. I played well against Newport.'

They both preferred to at least a League 1 side. League 2 clubs, they believed, play the same style as in the Conference South.

I changed the subject and asked them what they thought of the Bath City fans. I was surprised to find out that this is a subject that both Florin and Sido feel strongly about. They were both adamant that their experience with English fans is very different from what they have experienced previously.

'I can feel the fans are so close,' Florin explained. 'I felt I did not play well, but everyone clapped. It's so nice to have fans behind you. It is the most important thing in football. Without fans you play for nothing.'

Florin then explained how he meant this literally. 'Fans give you the reason to fight. In Romania we have teams in the second division with no fans at all. It is so sad to see. They don't come to the game.'

I asked Sido what he thought of the Portuguese flag with his name on it that is hung at every match. He beamed with pride. 'When I score I will go to the flag,' he said.

I asked Florin if he would like a Romanian flag. 'Yes, of course. When I heard he had a Portuguese flag flown for him I was so surprised. So nice, so nice. It means the fans love him and it is important for him.'

At this point I began to run out of questions. I think it was a loss of nerve more than anything. I finished by asking Florin what he prefers being called. I had heard the players refer to him as 'Pele' and 'Dan.' Sido called him 'Florence' in one of his emails to me. He said he answered to all of these, but 'my game is important, not my name.' I thought this summed up Florin very well. He is very nice, very approachable, but very focused.

I thanked them both profusely for talking to me, especially Sido. He graciously offered to arrange interviews with anyone else from the team. He seemed to really mean this.

I walked back to my car feeling slightly giddy. The whole experience had been way out of my comfort zone and very different from what I expected. I had thought I would get a few minutes at best and that I would only get polite, pat answers to my questions. Instead I had spent nearly half an hour with two genuinely friendly and helpful people. Meeting your heroes is supposed to be disappointing. I am pleased to say, though, that if your heroes are either Sido Jombati or Florin Pelecaci this will not be the case.