Nedved's Notes: FA Cup Second Round, Part 1

Bath City lost to Forest Green Rovers 2-1 yesterday in the Second Round of th

e 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 wi

th 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.