Shirt Numbering 101

When I first started following Bath City I really struggled to figure out which player was which. This was not because I have some sort of problem recognising faces, but because I was confused by the numbering system on the players' shirts. To me there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to it. One player would wear number 10 in one match and be in a 11 the next. Also, the numbers players were listed under in the match program was wrong as often as it was right. In my first few matches watching City I could tell from listening to other supporters there was a really good player named 'Dutch,' but for the life of me I couldn't figure out who he was.

Eventually I figured it out. Bath City use the traditional squad numbering system that all English football clubs used up until the early 90s. All starting players are given a number from 1-11, and players on the bench go from 12 upwards. The numbering starts with 1 for the keeper (no matter which keeper is playing) and increases as you move up the pitch. Defenders tend to be numbered 2-5, midfielders 6-8, and forwards 9-11. Modern playing systems mean that the numbers don't always work out exactly, and 11 is often worn by a midfielder who plays a specialised role called a 'winger.' Richard Evans, the only true winger in the Bath City squad, always wears 11 when he plays. Recently he has not been making the starting lineup, so the number 11 has been moving around (and because no one can be sure who Adie Britton will choose to start in which position, the poor program editors can only take an educated guess who will be wearing what shirt when the game begins).

Now that I know who the players are I find this very useful. When Lewis Hogg comes out in a number 7 I know Adie Britton has decided he will play in mid-field. Against Totten, when he was acted as a striker, he wore 10. When Forest Green Rovers played City in the FA Cup I found their use of numbers in the 20s and 30s really annoying. How I am supposed to know what that player is meant to be doing?

Rovers' use of higher numbers appeared pretentious to me. That is something 'league' football clubs do. In 1993 the Football League moved to a system where each player has his own personal number that he wears in every match. The trend has become for players to have higher and higher numbers. It is has now even become routine to see Premiership players wearing numbers higher the number of high-performance sportscars they own.

While the change may have made it easier for the casual fan to know who's who, any change, regardless of how sensible, will be lamented in sports by nostalgics after a few years. I frequently read articles by journalists extolling the football of a simpler age, when no one got a yellow card unless he drew blood, and shirt numbers never went above 18. 'WHAT ABOUT NON-LEAGUE FOOTBALL!' I want to shout. Well, at least as far as the numbers go.

Football traditionalists may have a tough road ahead if a trend started by Football Federation Australia takes root. They recently experimented with each of their players, across all the various national teams, having a single registered number. This has caused the sort of inflation levels that would sink a small nation-state. Predictably, socceroo Dario Vidosic recently wore a shirt number '101' in an Asia Cup qualifying match. I don't really consider myself a traditionalist, but if I ever turned up at Twerton Park and saw Lewis Hogg in a 101 shirt I might turn around and go home.

American sports have their own traditions when it comes to numbers. In the 1920s the New YorkYankees began wearing shirt numbers to show their order in the batting lineup (and since then Babe Ruth's number 3 has been synonymous with homerun hitting). Because of this baseball uniforms traditionally have fairly low numbers. Boston Braves pitcher Bill Voiselle needed official permission from the National League to wear the number 96. It was granted, though, because the name of his home town was actually Ninety-Six, South Carolina. American Football numbers show the position of the player (roughly) in the same way Bath City shirts do: kickers and quarterbacks wear 1-19, backs wear 20-49, etc. Basketball players can have any number they like as long as each digit is 0-5. This is because when a referee signals who committed a foul he holds up his two hands to show the shirt number (a closed fist represents zero). Whenever Boston Celtics legend Robert Parish fouled the ref would hold up two fists.

Although the numbering tradition in the higher leagues in England has largely disappeared, it is not gone altogether. Liverpool's Steven Gerrard had to wear number 17 originally because his favourite number (8 - an appropriate number for an attacking midfielder) was then worn by Emile Hesky. When Hesky left in 2004, 8 became free. Gerrard has worn nothing else since.

Editor's Note so British People understand the title to this article: The number '101' is the traditional course number for an entry level course at American universities. 'English 101' would be a course for a first year English student. 'Philosophy 101' would be for a first year Philosophy student before he got so confused he had trouble functioning and switched to being an English student.

The FA Cup Second Round, Part 2 - The Rub of the Forest Green

For The FA Cup Second Round, Part 1 - The Madness of Crowds click here.

Changing our position on the terrace took longer than I had realised. By the time we were settled again the match had been underway for several minutes. Luckily, the first few minutes were uneventful. I considered this good news - anytime City square up against full-time opposition from a higher league it is easy to imagine them getting hit hard from the opening whistle. If anything, though, Forest Green Rovers seemed rather ordinary. After ten minutes Adam Connolly used some fancy footwork to position himself for an encouraging shot from twenty yards out. It went wide, but it signalled a shift in the balance of play. City began to push FGR hard.

From my position on the Popular Side terrace I began to relax a bit. I was still singing, shouting and whooping, but the modest sense of terror that had accompanied previous Cup matches was absent. This was not because I was feeling confident City would win. I think it was actually a sort of excitement overload. This was the fifth match in Bath City's cup run this year. All of the matches had been entertaining, but nonetheless stressful. Each round had been preceded by an ulcer-inducing amount of worry about the result, and followed by an equally fraught session of trying to anticipate the draw for the next round. The Grimsby Town match had been so utterly fantastic that for the following week that normal life seemed dull and lifeless in comparison. Now I was watching my heroes take on Forest Green Rovers in a match that would give the winner a chance to play Arsenal or Manchester United in the next round. By all rights I should have been excited enough to lose substantial motor function or cognitive ability. Instead I found myself feeling relatively peaceful as I watched City's impressive midfield shut Forest Green's attack down. The only explanation I can think of for this is the mental tension must have reached a critical point and my brain shut down all unnecessary emotions. Something like that. I'm sure there is some sort of medical expert out there who will back me up on this one.

This turned out to be a fortunate phenomenon. Without it I might not have survived the next few minutes. Just before the half hour, Forest Green scored with a massive dose of luck. Their midfielder, Jonathan Smith, took a hopeful shot from twenty-five yards out. City keeper Ryan Robinson had adequate time to position himself well. He stood with his normal confident pose, waiting to catch the ball to his chest. Instead, the ball glanced ever so slightly off of City defender Chris Holland. The deflection caused the ball to go into the net about four feet to the right of where Robinson was expecting it. He tried to shift at the last moment but he was not balanced properly to shift in that direction. Against the run of play (and I mean really against the run of play) FGR had the lead.

This was a gut-wrenching moment. Not only was City trailing for the first time in their FA Cup run, but it was an undeserved goal. If my synapses had been functioning properly I'm not sure how I would have coped. Instead I decided to wait for what I thought would be City's inevitable equaliser.

My assumption that City would equalise may not have been entirely the result of a faulty thinking process. City have shown a resolve to win from behind this season that has been breathtaking to watch. What's more, they clearly had the measure of their full-time opponents. Chances were being created left, right and centre (literally), and it stood to reason that eventually someone would have the wherewithal to put one in the net. Fifteen minutes later this appeared to happen. Lewis Hogg lobbed a perfect cross to the outstretched foot of Kaid Mohamed. Mohamed was in front of an open goal. Unfortunately, Mohamed's foot was a bit too outstretched because he only managed to flick the ball over the crossbar.

A few minutes before the half my friend Dave turned to me and said, 'City are about to score. You can sense it.' Dave sensed right. Sekani Simpson collected the ball thirty yards out from goal and launched a long diagonal cross. Lewis Hogg stepped forward, unmarked, and headed it neatly into goal. The three thousand City fans crammed into the various pockets of Twerton Park went wild. It was a fantastic goal, - executed with skill and at lightning speed. I picked up Big Nedved Junior and we danced about. Surely City were on their way to victory.

Despite the fact that this goal had been on the verge of happening for most of the match, the FGR players were really shaken when they lost their lead. They had been struggling to clear the ball from their half all evening, but for the last few minutes of the half they struggled to even clear it from their penalty area. The City players passed the ball around like playground bullies, but never found the angle or position they required. This was the moment when Forest Green were vulnerable. They were almost asking to be finished off. City's finishing skills, already suffering, deserted them. The best this run of play produced was a mistimed shot by Sido Jombati right at FGR keeper, Terry Burton.

At the time I was not worried. I remarked to Dave that with all the chances City was getting, and with Forest Green only scoring through blind luck, I was sure City would win the day. Being English, and a more experienced football supporter, Dave counselled caution. You never can tell, he said.

Big Nedved Junior wanted to get some chips at halftime. The snack bar was on the other side of the ground from where we were. Normally this is not a problem, but it was clear that getting there and back in the halftime interval was impossible. The queue was probably outrageously long as well, but the solid mass of humanity around the snack bar made it impossible to tell where the queue began and the other spectators ended. We could have gone to the tea bar (much closer by), but the thousand or so people packed around it made me think we wouldn't have any luck there either. I consoled Big Nedved Junior with a description of the sandwich and crisps that awaited him in the car for the ride home. He was not impressed.

The second half began as the first had finished. City tried to take the lead as energetically as they had equalised. FGR only managed faltering attacks on the break.

One break did lead to a corner kick for Forest Green. It was the first corner City had conceded in the match. The City crowd was silent, briefly, as Conal Platt launched a kick that was too short to reach the main mass of FGR players. It was not too short to reach Mark Preece, though. He reached the ball with his head pointed down. Robinson got a hand to it, but Preece had managed to strike the ball sharply. Forest Green had another goal. Another goal against the run of play.

Big Nedved Junior tugged on my arm. 'I'm hungry,' he said again. Suddenly, the idea of queueing up for the tea bar didn't seem so bad. A welcome distraction, in fact. I agreed to take him to the tea bar. It was only five minutes before we returned with a Mars bar, it turned out. The jam-packed crowd had managed to somehow spontaneously clear the designated walkways. The queue from half-time, much reduced, was allowed enough room to function adequately. How utterly British.

After FGR's second goal City did lose their momentum for fifteen minutes or so. Forest Green were not dominant either. Other than a few runs at the City goal the game mostly consisted of intercepted passes in midfield. At the hour mark Sido Jombati was replaced by Florin Pelecaci, another crowd favourite, and the game reverted to its previous pattern: City controlling the game but unable to convert the control into goals.

The last thirty minutes of the match passed in a blur. I was riveted by what I was watching, but I somehow managed to remain hopeful City would win and resigned to a City loss at the same time. The crowd was fantastic. The singing never stopped. If you were judging a match on sound alone you would have figured City were the ones with the 2-1 lead. The FGR fans, segregated on the Bristol end, were watching their team grind out a victory, but they got quieter with each passing minute.

I had a gut feeling, or rather a firm desire, that Pelecaci would score an equaliser. Despite exuding quality with every touch, he had not seen much playing time recently. I figured he was due for a goal. While I waited, he shocked me with one of the best headers I've seen at a live match. Most of the headers in non-league football are opportunistic and uncalculated. Unless they are in front of a goal, they tend to be aimed no more subtlety than 'forward.' Playing on the right, Pelecaci positioned himself to meet a cross coming from the center. He leaped up (and yes, it was like a salmon), flexed his neck with a full 180 degree motion, and manged to play the ball downwards at the feet of a passing City player twenty feet forward and to the left. It was stunning.

Pelecaci did not score an equaliser, but he did have City's best chance. He was unmarked on the right when Hogg found him with a cross. For perhaps the only time in the match, a City player struck too early rather than waited too long. The ball went into the side netting.

Right after this moment Big Nedved Junior tugged at my arm again. 'I've lost a tooth,' he said.

He had. The right mandibular canine, to be exact. He smiled. There was a streak of blood across his cheek and a look of real pride in his eight-year-old face.

'Let me see it,' I said.

'I can't. I've lost it. It fell on the ground here,' he explained.

This was a real dilemma. My beloved Bath City were fighting valiantly to avoid elimination from the FA Cup, but my son's tooth was somewhere on the terrace around us. I knew if we waited for the match to finish we'd never find it. The stampede for the exits would overwhelm us. I'm pleased to say that I did not hesitate. I got down on my knees with Big Nedved Junior and we hunted for his tooth.

You might not know this, but football terraces are covered with all sorts of pointy, white pebbles that can appear like teeth in bad lighting conditions. I found a dozen or more objects that appeared to be the missing mandibular canine at first glance. I'm sure we got some strange looks from our fellow spectators as we ran our hands over every square inch of exposed concrete in a four foot diameter. 'Anyone seen a tooth?' I asked, but I didn't get any answers.

Everyone was, understandably, totally focused on the match. I could have said, 'Anyone seen a gold ingot?' or 'Anyone seen a large, deadly chunk of uranium?' and gotten the same reaction. City were throwing more and more players forward, and FGR made several decent attempts to go two goals ahead on the break. I stole momentary glances at the pitch when I stood up to stretch my back. There was no sign of any tooth. I mentally began to prepare a speech about how the fact that the tooth had come out was much more important than the actual tooth itself.

And then I saw it. It was one step below us in a place I'm sure I had checked half a dozen times previously. I showed it to Big Nedved Junior who scooped it up and tried to see if it would go back into its hole. I got it back off of him as soon as I could. I was convinced he would swallow it or lose it again if he kept that up.

Tucked securely in my pocket, we forgot the tooth and stood up to watch the last few moments of play. I'm sure the ref blew the whistle at the right time, but it sounded unfairly early to my ears. Despite their disappointment and nascent grief, the crowd cheered the City players. Most of them, with frustration and disappointment clearly showing on their faces, raised their hands to clap for the City supporters. It was more than the normal gesture at the end of most matches. I got the feeling that several players wanted to thank each and every person at the ground.

Dave, Big Nedved Junior and I began to walk through the Bath end to exit the ground (amazingly, we found Mark just as we started moving. He had been only a few yards away the whole time). Being knocked out of the FA Cup at any stage is horrible. Knowing that your team really should have won was a bitter pill to swallow. The loss of prize-money and publicity hurts too. As we shuffled past the hoardings, though, I realised what the biggest disappointment was for me. Drawing a Premiership side in the third round would have meant getting to see City square up against one of the best teams in the world. I desperately want to see that. City players are not famous. Once they are a hundred yards from Twerton Park they can walk down the street in total anonymity. To me, and to hundreds of others, however, they are heroes. Not just because of the shirt they wear, but because of the heart they have shown this season while wearing it. I really wanted to see Lewis Hogg tear up Manchester United's back four. I wanted to see Sido Jombati wrap his legs around Cesc Fabregas and come away with the ball. I wanted to see Chris Holland intimidate Jermaine Defoe. I wanted to see Florin Pelecaci land a perfect somersault goal-celebration on the turf at Stamford Bridge. It's not going to happen this year, but I am convinced that with a bit more luck against Forest Green Rovers, it might have.

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!