Havant & Whotheheckareyou?-ville, Part 2

Part 1 of Havant & Whotheheckareyou?-ville can be read here.

We last left this story with Bath City's defence bravely trying to fend off a relentless Havant & Waterlooville attack. City had taken a 1-0 lead moments before, but up in the terraces there was a feeling that something was definitely wrong. No one had expected Havant to be a walkover, but being five points and five places below City, most City supporters expected them to be a average, fairly beatable team. There was nothing average about the Havant & Waterlooville team that had shown up, however. They attacked relentlessly. They shut down almost every foray City made into their territory. How City had managed to be the team first on the scoreboard was a total mystery. How Havant, who seemed to be able to alternate slick midfield passing with well-placed long balls, had managed to fall as low as thirteenth in the league table was equally mysterious.

As City were (in theory) attacking the Bath end goal on the other side of the pitch, the full-strength Ultras were in excellent position to see the full fury of the Havant attack. We were not in a very good position to see City almost double the lead at twenty-three minutes, again totally against the run of play. Gethin Jones managed to shake loose of the Havant midfield and head down the right of the pitch. His cross was headed by Darren Edwards, and we all screamed and shouted when we thought we saw the ball go into the net. The Havant keeper, Aaron Howe, had actually made a brilliant diving save that we could not see. This was disappointing, because rather than being a harbinger for a period of Bath City dominance, Havant returned to laying siege to the City goal within a few seconds. Although normally an optimist by nature, I couldn't see City maintaining the lead for much longer.

Oh, did I mention that Havant have a player named Joe McDonald who does a fairly good impression of Rory Delap from the sideline? Well they do. There were so many other facet's to Havant's attack that I did not notice how dangerous his throws were at first. I figured it out quickly, though, when he launched one into City's six yard box at the half hour mark. Unfortunately, it was not cleared properly. A mistimed header sent it looping up into the air . Annoyingly, the ball fell to earth in the vicinity of the fearsome Manny Williams. I should say 'fell towards earth,' actually, because Williams was able to strike the ball into the City net with a quick, compact bicycle kick before it got anywhere near the ground. At this point I was pretty sure there were going to be three to four more goals scored before the match ended. I wasn't feeling very confident that City would be scoring any of them.

Thankfully, halftime did come without any more goals conceded. I took a walk with my friend Mark round to the Snack Bar so he could get some chips. Unlike the cheerful, supporter run Tea Bar, the Snack Bar is run by an outside company. The food is passable, although expensive, but the customer service is of a vintage Soviet style. All that would really be necessary to complete the experience is someone standing alongside the queue with a truncheon. As we made our escape I almost bumped into a fellow customer, only to see that it was Lewis Hogg! LEWIS HOGG!!! In the queue for chips! Simultaneously suffering from an injury and serving a suspension had not robbed him of the desire to support his team mates. It was a heartening thing to see, although I feared that if he hung around the Snack Bar long he might be robbed of his desire to live.

Passing through the Bath End on our way back to the Popular Side, we passed by the lively gaggle of Havant supporters setting up shop for the second half. I stopped to chat with one who appeared to be a leader of some sort, and asked if I could take a picture of them for my blog (which they posed for very graciously). 'Are you Nedved?' he asked. I admitted I was, and we engaged in a discussion of the Dover supporters and their infamous drums. Although he had a better appreciation of their supporters' musical abilities than I did, he was generally about as keen on drumming at non-league football matches as I am. The Dover supporter's tactic of walking right up to you and drumming in your face doesn't make them many friends I suppose.

The second half began before long, and Havant immediately began to scare the living daylights out of me again. Twice in the first twenty minutes Robinson had to make spectacular saves to keep Manny Williams from scoring again. Things were not helped by the tendency of the City defenders, which grew as the game went on, to boot the ball forward to no one in particular. This was annoying for us fans to watch whenever a Havant attack was broken up. It may have been the most rational thing to do, though, considering how fruitless the City passing game had been for most of the match. I was sure that Williams had scored when he got a free header after Chris Holland failed to clear a corner kick. It looked like a sitter from where I was standing, but he somehow managed to head the ball wide to the left. Whew!

The one bright spot to the second half was the appearance with twenty minutes left of Bath City prodigal son, Dave Gilroy. He trotted out to replace Darren Edwards wearing his familiar black turtleneck. In a strange way it seemed a bit like he had never left. I am sure in his mind he was desperate to score a goal and snatch an undeserved victory for City. He did not do this, but he sure came close.

A Havant player passed the ball back to Aaron Howe on the far right of his goal. Gilroy was in the area, and his speed (always surprising for someone who could pass for a banker) caught Howe napping. With a twist and a jump, Gilroy blocked Howe's clearance with his backside, a la Andrejs Stolcers, and the ball looped tantalisingly towards the goal. Unlike Stolcers' wondergoal against Woking, though, the ball travelled slightly off target. Gilroy was after it like a flash, but even with his speed he was not able to get his foot around the ball.

This somewhat freaky chance at a goal was part of a more even final ten minutes of the match. Perhaps if football was played over two hours instead of ninety minutes City might have worn Havant down. When the final whistle blew I know I was not alone in feeling relieved that a point had been won (and no one could have seen this as two points dropped). Many questions filled my head. Is this a normal Havant & Waterlooville performance? If so, how the heck did they manage to lose so much ground in the standings during the middle of the season? After the match, several City supporters wrote on the forum that Havant had been the best team to play at Twerton Park all season. Were there enough games left for them to enter the already crowded play-off-chasing pack? At this point, it appears so. The good news is that, barring an appearance in the playoffs, City will not need to face them again. If there is a meeting in the playoffs, maybe this particular version of Havant & Waterlooville won't be the one to show up. One can only hope. Although City battled enough to keep from losing, they definitely left my nerves feeling ragged. Watching a match like that in the playoffs might kill me.

Havant & Whotheheckareyou?-ville, Part 1

Bath City and Havant & Waterlooville battled out a tough 1-1 draw last night at Twerton Park. I suppose that I should feel disappointed about this -- a victory would have finally pushed City up into the playoff spots. And a victory didn't seem too much to ask. After an strong start to the season, Havant had slid down to the nether regions of the Conference South table. Actually, once the match got underway, it became clear to everyone in the ground that even managing a single point was going to be tough.

I left work full of excitement. I had just read that all other Conference South matches had been postponed due to waterlogged pitches. This meant that a victory would guarantee City fourth place in the league standings. The teams in second through fifth play a two-round playoffs to see who gets the second promotion spot to the Conference National, and Adie Britton set a playoff appearance as the goal for this season. There are a lot of games left to play, but just finally getting into the right end of the table, however temporarily, would be a huge moral boost for players and fans alike. An outsider might have viewed the match as a rescheduled, mid-week fixture on a cold Tuesday night. I saw a chance for glory.

Dreaming about a 'chance for glory' is a lot of fun in the days leading up to a match. I also find the anticipation of an upcoming important fixture is extremely useful. I can sit through excruciatingly boring conference calls, argue patiently with suppliers who don't understand their own products, and smile beatifically in response to petty customer complaints when a big match is upcoming. It is like a shield that protects me from the drearier aspects of modern life. But then, in the minutes before the match kicks off - this match that I have been anticipating so keenly for days, any sense of pleasure from the experience deserts me and I begin to worry. I try not to let on to the people standing either side of me, but I usually find myself calculating just how awful I will feel if City lose. Yes, that's right. I pay £10 to stand in the cold of an evening and worry. I call this fun.

Last night I endured this transition from amiable pleasure to mild terror standing with about fifteen other 'Ultras' on the Bristol End side of the Popular Side, next to our enormous white ensign. Our ranks were somewhat depleted because of another match that was being shown on Sky (some former LA Galaxy player named David-something was doing some work experience to try and earn a spot on the England squad or something). The details of the televised match escape me, but it was enough of a media spectacle to reduce our numbers slightly, and reduce the overall match attendance to under 500. Things got worse for the Ultras when the coin-toss resulted in City attacking the Bath End. More than half of our number walked off to go stand behind the Bath End goal. This left a small rump of Ultras, no more than five in number. Despite some desperate shouts of, 'Hey, where do you think you're going!' they trotted off, oblivious to our desperate attempts to shame them into staying. Once they had left, the few of us remaining shifted awkwardly among our flags, unsure of what to do.

Now denuded of its noisiest element, the match kicked off in front of a relatively quiet crowd. To make things worse, Havant & Waterlooville unexpectedly put City on the defensive almost from the first kick. They had started the match in thirteenth place, but there was nothing about them that brought to mind the term 'mid-table.' The term that came into my mind, actually, was 'downright scary.' Most scary was their star striker, Manny Williams. He is reportedly one of the highest paid players in non-league football. His hairstyle, a dapper 'cornrows-style' braid, is certainly at least League-1 quality.

Back up in the terraces, I was struggling. Not only was I having to drastically readjust my expectations for the evening, but I was feeling embarrassed about our lack of singing as well. After all, I am supposed to be an 'Ultra.' It's supposed to be 'today, tomorrow, always,' not 'if enough of my mates are around so that I don't feel shy.' But shy I did feel. Several attempts to start up 'We are the Bath!' got inexplicably stuck in my throat. If I ever needed more proof that when it comes to terrace singing I am a follower and not a leader, this was it.

The leader we needed, taking a long drag on a fag as he rounded the Bristol End, appeared a few minutes later. Our unofficial chieftain, Paul, had gotten delayed and missed the beginning of the match. Suddenly, with his bolstering presence, the six of us turned into the hardy band of supporters we were meant to be. A typically expert save from City keeper Ryan Robinson gave us the inspiration for the first song of the night: 'Ryan Robinson, Ryan Robinson (which is sung very slowly and loudly to the tune of Daddy Cool)!'

This was just in the nick of time. Spurred on by the aggressive start by their team, the small band of travelling away Havant supporters began to put on a pretty decent performance to support their team. 'Come on Havant (which is just like Come on City, but with City instead of Havant)!' they chanted.

We retorted with, 'Come in a taxi, You must have come in a taxi!' This was fair enough, I think, because there really weren't that many Havant fans present. Certainly not as many as City usually take mid-week this side of London. Their response, though, was slightly better: 'Come on a skateboard, you must have come on a skateboard!' Considering that there were only six of us, huddled together, away from the main body of City supporters, this was fair enough. Where had the rest of our hearty band flitted off to?

Undeterred, we took up our first chorus of 'Oh When the Stripes Go Marching In,' and just as we got started, something amazing happened. Despite the hammering the City defence had been taking from Mr Williams and friends, Kaid Mohamed managed to break free and move the ball forward quickly. He got the ball to new signing Scott Bartlett, who crossed from the byline to reach the head of Darren Edwards in, what looked like to me, a very unpromising position. With the sort of wrenching movement that gives Chiropractors nightmares, and is as much down to sheer determination as skill, Edwards managed to force the ball into the net. It was so unexpected that at first I thought I had misunderstood what had happened. It was only when the players began to celebrate, and the ref pointed to the centre circle, that it sunk in. Despite being pinned back by one of the most aggressive openings I've seen from an opposition at Twerton Park, City had managed to take the lead at nine minutes. I was overjoyed.

But I was still worried. When play resumed, Havant's relentless attack resumed as well. Usually after an early goal I start feeling confident about a City victory, but this time my initial thoughts were much more conservative. I was thinking an early goal might help keep City from losing. So much for playing the thirteenth placed team!

And, in this instance, an early goal heralded the return of our errant Ultras. Perhaps it was our defiant singing, or maybe they felt they had seen the goalmouth action they had been hoping for. I didn't stop to ask any of them. I was just glad they were back. Encouraged by the one-goal lead, and now more or less at full strength, we sang for the first time 'Drink Up Thy Cider!'

It wasn't ideal, but given the circumstances I was happy to settle for 'Today, Tomorrow, and Once We Take an Unexpected Early Lead!'

Part 2 of Havant & Whotheheckareyou?-ville can be read here.