In the Belly of the Beastleigh - Part 2

In the Belly of the Beastleigh - Part 1 can be read here.

One of the nice things that has happened wtih the emergence of the new, extremely vocal Bath City supporters group ('the Legion') is that I don't get nearly as worked up as I used to in the minutes before the match begins. Instead of brooding about what a loss or draw would do to City's promotions prospects I'm usually distracted by how the flags are going up, or what new song we are going to try today. Before I know it the match has usually kicked off and I've joined in an off-key rendition of We Love Jim Rollo. I'm struggling to decide if this means I have matured as a football supporter, or suddenly become more juvenile. Perhaps both.

The match did in fact kick off before I knew it, and in fact the Legion did sing a decidedly off-tune rendition of We Love Jim Rollo. And we kept singing after that and did not stop for a good twenty minutes or so. Despite being at home, the Eastleigh fans were entirely quiet during this period. The bucolic setting of Eastleigh's ground (the surrounding motorways are not visible), and the genteel deportment of the Eastleigh fans made the tuneless shouting we were doing seem really out of place. It felt like we a band of drunken louts who had crashed someone's suburban garden party. Six months previously we might have felt too embarrassed to continue. As we have grown larger, though, the Legion has found it easier to do as we please when we are visiting teams with quiet fans. Basically, get enough of your mates together and it is possible to summon the nerve to crash any suburban garden party.

For the first ten minutes of the match the Legion's singing was just about the only notable thing on view. As they had against Thurrock and Welling previously, however, City followed a period of relative stalemate with thirty-five minutes of sustained pressure. This was fantastic to watch. Last year on my first visit to Silverlake Stadium I had watched City get out-muscled by an Eastleigh team that relied on height and....okay, mostly just height. City had battled bravely, but were never really in the game. Watching City stretch Eastleigh's defence with a passing game that made good use of width was just what I had hoped for.

To be honest, though, I couldn't see it terribly well. As an experiment the Legion had decided to chose a single place on the ground and stay there for the entirety of the match. This was the M27 side. In the first half this turned out to be the goal that City was defending. This gave us a chance to cheer on the ever-improving City keeper, Ryan Robinson, but it meant we were a long way from the goalmouth action at the other end. It also meant that we were eventually joined, after fifteen minutes or so, by a small band of Eastleigh fans who had come to stand behind the goal their team was attacking. They didn't make much noise (although, to give credit where it is due, they made more than the rest of the Eastleigh supporters combined), but they did engage in a bit of banter with us. When we sang of Silverlake Stadium the old classic My Garden Shed is Bigger Than This, a man stood next to me shouted, 'Yeah, yeah, we hear that every week!' From whom, I wondered. And if you do get it every week, surely you've come up with some sort of witty response? Something like, 'Your garden shed is way too big! Your garden shed is way too big! Save your money for a decent striker! Your garden shed is way too big!' There, that took five minutes, and can be sang to the same tune. Oh, but then you'd have to sing. Oh well.

City took the lead at the half hour mark with a penalty. Adam Connolly launched a corner kick into the penalty area, and Darren Edwards had his shirt pulled by an Eastleigh player as he went for the ball. This brought howls of protests from the Eastleigh players and management. So much so that the offender, Luke Wilkinson, was given an additional yellow card. To be fair to Eastleigh, you don't see penalties given for shirt-pulling much. Technically it is grounds for a foul, though, and referees are supposed to award penalties for fouls in the box. So, unsure of whether this was luck or a rare instance of justice, we watched from the opposite end as Kaid Mohamed lined up the kick. He struck the ball hard into the bottom right corner and City had a one goal lead.

This goal gave me the warm sensation that everything was going to plan. This was the thrid match in a row that after an indifferent start City had rallied and exerted increasing pressure, resulting in a first half goal. Second place in the standings appeared to be on offer.

Ten minutes later things began to deviate from the script slightly. A scuffle broke out on the pitch after an incident involving Sido Jombati and Eastleigh's Shaun McAuley. These incidents do not happen spontaneously - someone has to make the first move. Unfazed by this logic, however, the referee (Alex Neil) took the failsafe option and booked both players. These events are not uncommon in football, but the body posture of the players indicated that this fracas was more acrimonious than most. Word got round the ground (via the Eastleigh supporters) that Sido had spat on someone. Having met Sido and spoken to him several times, that seemed highly unlikely. He is perhaps the gentlest, most unassuming footballer I've ever encountered. Whatever the truth of the matter, things were still heated as the players entered the tunnel at half time.

The break was observed in total silence by the Eastleigh faithful. Like Welling, there was no music, or anything else to disturb the rural calm. I decided to pass a few minutes reading through the matchday program. It was when I happened upon the 'honours list' page that I began to understand Eastleigh FC finally. Nestled in at the bottom of the first team honours was listed, 'Wessex League Champions 2003.' Wessex League? I didn't even know what that was. I've since looked it up, and this is step five of the non-league pyramid. That's three divisions below Easleigh's current position. This means that as little as five years ago Eastleigh were at the same level as Willand Rovers, City's Western League opposition from the second qualifying round of the FA Cup. I had been thinking of Eastleigh as a club with few supporters, a funny location, and an out-of-proportion grandstand. They are in fact a small club that has done extremely well to get where they are (especially when you consider how close they were to promotion last season). Compared to most step five grounds, Silverlake Stadium is a palace. I began to feel somewhat curlish, especially considering how Bath City are a club that has probably underacheived for the last two decades.

When the second half resumed the Legion were already in place behind City's attacking goal. This gave us the chance to get acquainted with Eastleigh's new keeper, Billy Lumley. As soon as he took his position in front of the net it was obvious why he had been signed. Considering how highly the Eastleigh coaching staff appear to value height, Lumley's 6 foot 5 inch stature probably got him a job before they even watched him play. Unfortunately, as we were to learn, he was also reasonably good at goalkeeping.

On the hour mark City appeared certain to take the lead. Adam Connolly's free kick was headed goalwards by City defender Chris Holland. Usually contact with 'Dutch's' forehead is enough to secure a goal, but it was struck with too much downward force to go in. Instead the ball fell to Darren Edwards who struck the ball sharply from short range. Lumley blocked it, but the ball went back towards Edwards. You'd think that letting the ball rebound to a striker in position would mean allowing a goal, but Lumley somehow recovered and blocked Edwards a second time.

Shortly after this, the City defence allowed its first goal in over 330 minutes of play. It came as a bit of a shock, to be honest. Clean sheets had begun to seem pretty routine. It resulted from a pass travelling the length of the goal before being struck by Eastleigh's Ross Bottomley. Ryan Robinson had to allow a goal at some point, I suppose. It didn't feel too depressing, though, because City clearly had the ability to fight back.

Things change quickly in football, though. Before that goal the City supporters had been hoping for another 'routine' victory. Fifteen minutes later and we were desperate for City just to hang onto the point. Jombati, already on a yellow, got booked again after a strong challenge outside the penalty box. It didn't look like a particularly vicious tackle to me - Sido tends to wrap his long legs around his opponents rather than come in full force. The Eastleigh supporters were roused enough by this second booking, and the subsequent sending off, to actually make a bit of noise. They were that angry!

Despite City being a man down, Eastleigh never looked like they were going to score again. Unfortunately, City didn't much either (although substitute Dave Gilroy managed a decent shot towards the end). When the final whistle blew I wasn't sure whether to be pleased that a draw had been salvaged, or disappointed that a dominant position in the first half had been squandered. The City players wandered in our direction and clapped us for our singing. After packing up our flags, it was time to head homewards.

Like several other City supporters, the prospect of finding my way back to Southampton Airport Parkway station was daunting. I found another fellow train traveller and asked him if he knew the way. 'No, I took a taxi,' he said. I confessed I did the same. The warren of roundabouts and dual-carriageways was too tricky to try anything but the same on the way back, but finding a taxi was going to be much harder in this direction. Facing the inevitable, we asked a safety-yellow clad steward for directions.

'I'll drive you,' he said. 'I'm headed that way. It's no bother.'

We didn't know what to say. Dressed in black and white stripes, we were obviously supporters of the opposition.

'We're all football supporters, aren't we?' he explained. He was so nice, and so matter-of-fact about it, we accepted his offer.

Mr. Sheridan, I learned, had become a club steward and all-around volunteer after he retired. He tuned in a local radio station that reported non-league football scores, and chatted away about how Eastleigh had nearly won promotion the previous season, their terrible run of injuries, and about the problems they had with the pitch's drainage system. After the necessarily circuitous journey he dropped us off in front of the station and wished us well for the rest of the season. 'Maybe we'll meet up again in the playoffs,' he said.

Non-league football is supposed to be full of heart-warming moments like this, but we couldn't help but be surprised by Mr. Sheridan's generosity. I can't remember the last time I asked a complete stranger for directions and ended up getting into their car. It is a testimony to the non-league game, though, that he felt comfortable enough to offer to drive us, and we felt comfortable enough to take up his offer.

As we waved Mr. Sheridan goodbye, I couldn't help but think that his kindness was going to ruin my blog post. Eastleigh are a club that I've always disliked. How can you dislike a club where this sort of thing happens? Where's a pantomime villain when you need one? Oh, okay Eastleigh! As long as you are not playing City, I hope the rest of the season goes well for you. And if we do meet in the playoffs, well, that wouldn't be so bad. Just don't win them.

The Thugs with Laundry Issues Go Down

Bath City defeated Thurrock 1-0 at Twerton Park Saturday. Despite the rather tame sounding scoreline, it was a momentous victory for City. I will get to why it was so important in a moment. Before then I will pause to take a few digs at Thurrock. It is too tempting to resist.

Thurrock are a relatively recently formed football club, having entered the already crowded London-area football scene in 1985. Here are some other things that happened in 1985: Ian Wright made his League debut with Crystal Palace. Ryan Giggs singed for the Manchester United youth program. Jim Rollo (Bath City's captain) celebrated his ninth birthday. Considering that most of City's opponents were founded in the obscurity of the 19th century, Thurrock is a relative tot in comparison. There is nothing wrong with this, of course. Two very prominent non-league clubs have recent foundings: AFC Wimbledon and FC United. These clubs were formed in response to a groundswell of local support, though. Were any local fans annimated at the prospect of Thurrock's appearance in 1985? Was there an army of potential non-league fans left unsatisfied by local clubs Grays Athletic, Hornchurch or Eton Manor? Oh wait, there was also
View Larger Map Dartford and Gravesend & Northfleet just across the Thames. Oh, and of course East Thurrock United! How could I forget East Thurrock United? So, upon its forming Thurrock FC was able to draw upon the vast army of non-league football fans from the eastern London suburbs not already loyal to Grays Athletic, Hornchurch, Eton Manor, Dartford, Gravesend & Northfleet OR East Thurrock United. How many supporters was that?

It turns out to be not many. But don't worry, the fans that Thurrock has attracted since the year Angie and Dirty Den opened the Queen Vic (1985!) are a plucky bunch. Let's have a look at a rare thread from the Official Thurrock Football Club Forum about the upcoming match against Bath City:

Tony Flood, the Thurrock FC press officer wrote:

'Who else is making the journey to the wonderful city of Bath this weekend?! Hopefully as many of you as possible will be there to sing your lungs out!!'

A respondent known as 'BUM' replied:

'Should be a decent turnout by the sounds of it, there are 11 people going that I know of so far. They'll probably have segregation at this rate.'

That just about sums up Thurrock. In the end there were in fact twelve of them. Not counting club officials. And they did sing their lungs out. Kind of made you think that if all of the non-league fans from that part of the Thames estuary weren't split among a dozen rivals, they could make up a pretty amazing club together. Oh well.

Okay, I'll admit there is something childish about making fun of Thurrock. It is mean-spirited, I suppose, to taunt such an open target. Kind of like making fun of the fat kid, or Weston-super-Mare. I'd better talk about the match.

There is a chap named Jeremy I gossip with before most home matches. He is a level-headed sort of fellow who is able to say something full of football wisdom in almost any situation. As I chatted to him on Saturday Jeremy was of the opinion that a draw against Thurrock would be a very good result for City. As usual, it was hard to fault his logic.

Despite Thurrock only being spared relegation last season because of the financial collapse of Team Bath, they have been near the top of the table for most of this campaign. They were coming to Twerton Park having been defeated only once in their last eight matches. The previous match had been an 8-2 shellacking of fellow playoff hopefuls, Eastleigh. Of course, City were entering the match with an eight game unbeaten streak themselves. This seemed reassuring, until you remembered that City's last defeat was nine matches ago when they lost 3-1 to.....Thurrock.

So, it was with a healthy dose of trepidation that I watched the teams emerge from the tunnel and engage in the pre-game formalities. The City players we had cheered at the end of the Welling match seven days previously had seemed invincible. Now, as I watched them line up against another club, I couldn't help but fret about how fragile their playoff hopes were. This inability to think rationally during matches is why I've never been tempted to pursue a career in football management (that, and the fact that I really don't know much about football compared to the average English twelve-year-old).

Perhaps because of my relative ignorance of the intricacies of football strategy, I often focus on the trivialities that surround the game. As the match kicked off I was intrigued by Thurrock's uniforms. Rather than wearing the club's traditional colours of green and gold (which would have provided ample contrast with City's black and white stripes) they were sporting their away kit of claret and blue. I couldn't remember seeing a club using claret and blue for a 'change kit' before. Perhaps they were hoping to draw a few errant supporters from their Premiership neighbours West Ham? Then I noticed that the Blue Square South league patches on their shirts were in fact white squares (the square patches should have been, fairly obviously, blue). This is a club that should switch to non-biological washing powder, I thought. Or maybe these uniforms were actually knock-off West Ham kits bought from an East End market trader that the club had then altered? But that doesn't explain the faded Blue Square South patch, I realised. West Ham shirts, even counterfeit ones, wouldn't have had those. No, it must be the washing powder...

I was woken from my contemplation by a powerful shot by City striker Kaid Mohamed. I had been paying attention, actually. My mind, or one section of it, had only been allowed to wander a bit because the muscular City midfield once again appeared perfectly capable of cutting off any opposition attack. I stayed pretty focused after Mohamed's shot, though. City were playing like they might score any minute.

Three minutes later, in fact, Lewis Hogg had an almost unmissable shot in front of an open goal. Mark Badman made a fantastic pass to the unmarked Hogg as he rushed into the six yard box. Unfortunately, I had to call the shot 'almost unmissable' for a reason. Hogg missed. It was his first match back after a suspension, though. And he is normally a totally reliable player. Along with the rest of the crowd, I quickly forgave him.

More action was to follow, although this time it was nothing to do with goals. Not content with a desperate lack of supporters, a lack of footballing history, and a regretful choice of washing powder, the Thurrock players decided to give the City supporters some additional reasons to despise them. With spikes showing, Thurrock's Rob Swaine launched a vicious tackle on City's Adam Connolly near the Thurrock bench. Both benches emptied and several scuffles nearly started as Connolly received medical treatment. We all held our breath. Eventually Connolly was able to get up, and he rejoined the match moments later. Match referee Lee Collins decided the fairest outcome would be to give a yellow card to players on both teams. That'll show 'em!

Except it didn't. Thurrock continued to behave like thugs throughout the match. With time, they also managed some spectacular diving screams as well. Yellow cards continued to be handed out by Collins throughout the match, although he was meticulous in making sure no Thurrock player go more than one.

The fates soon made up for the justice Mr. Collins was unwilling to disperse, however, when Rob Swaine helped to gift City the goal that won the match. A long, looping clearance from Chris Holland landed with a high bounce between Swaine and City striker Darren Edwards. City's other striker, Kaid Mohamed, was on the wrong side of the Thurrock defensive line when the ball was struck, so he ran non-chalantly away from the goal to avoid an offside call. Swaine, misinterpreting Mohamed's position as offside, stopped his run and raised his arm, indicating that he was expecting the referee to blow his whistle. All this did, though, was allow Edwards a free run at the goal. The two remaining defenders, who had not been influenced by Swaine's gaffe, were too far away to bring any meaningful pressure on the City striker. Edwards scored, the crowd went wild, and the gods of football were appeased. Thurrock manager, Hakan Hayrettin, moaned a lot after the match about how Mohamed had actually been offside. If I follow his logic correctly, he seemed to think that when Mohamed had been running away from the ball he had actually been making an attempt to get to the ball, just very, very badly.

For the second match in a row City entered the interval with a 1-0 lead over an in-form team. There were a lot of parallels with the Welling match, in fact, by the end of the day. In both matches City made good teams look completely ordinary. In both matches City controlled the game so effectively they really should have scored more goals. In both matches City keeper Ryan Robinson kept a clean sheet (and this time thanks to an excellent reflex save at sixty-eight minutes). In both matches Hector Mackie and David Gilroy made cameo appearances in the closing minutes that made you wonder how such gifted players weren't making the starting lineup. The only real difference was that against Welling the combo of Mackie and Gilroy got a goal. Against Thurrock they came desperately close.

And there was one more similarity. When the final whistle blew both the City players and supporters celebrated with pure joy. Although the victory had in the end seemed a bit routine, we all knew it was a real accomplishment. City's appearance towards the top of the table was not a flash in the pan. They had seen off yet another fellow-contender. The run for a playoff spot was for real. City is a team with no one to fear, everything to play for, and nice crisp colours on their uniforms. Bring on Eastleigh!

Ee-ai-ee-ai-ee-ai-oh, Up the Conference South We Go! Part 2

You can read Part 1 of this article here.

By the time all of the Bath City fans had resettled themselves behind the High Street Goal the match had already been underway for a couple minutes. There wasn't room for our gigantic white ensign, but the rest of the flags were hung as visibly as possible and we got down to the serious business of cheering the team on. We began with 'We are the Bath,' and 'We Love You City.' There was no response from the Welling supporters. It looked like we had the ground to ourselves, at least as far as noisemaking goes.

Things were not so one-sided on the pitch. Neither team looked very dangerous in the first twenty minutes. As it often the case, City's strong midfield was able to hold the oppostion at bay, but this was not resulting in many goal-scoring opportunities. I find in these sorts of matches I get kind of comfortable, but it is the sort of comfortable that makes me very uneasy when I realise I'm getting comfortable (I suspect if you are a football fan that makes sense. If you are not a football fan you probably think I need therapy. And you are probably right).

There was one worrying thing for City fans in the opening stages, though, and that was Mark Badman. It took several of us, including me, several minutes to realise the player getting onto the ref's naughty list was Mark Badman. His newly-shaven head made him very hard to recognize. I heard more than one supporter say, 'Who's the new guy?' But it wasn't a questionable choice in grooming that concerned me (I am no one to cast stones), but rather the attention he was getting from the official. He got an early yellow, and a few minutes later, in the presence of captain Jim Rollo, he appeared to get a 'final warning.' It would have been a disaster if he got sent off, so he was going to have to play cautiously for as long as he remained on the pitch. The concerning thing, and one of the reasons he is so popular with the fans, is that it is almost impossible to imagine Badman playing cautiously. Fortunately he did managed to go the rest of the match without another card (much to the frustration of the handful of vocal Welling supporters).

Despite our worries about Badman, City's attack became more and more threatening as the half progressed. Welling keeper Charlie Mitten was given several opportunities to show his skills. He was forced to block shots from both Darren Edwards and Kaid Mohamed. An objective observer would have probably surmised that City was on the verge of taking the lead, but I am no objective observer. I found Mitten's stops extremely frustrating. I could only see squandered chances and half chances, which City might not get again. I suppose it is hard to see the full picture when you are cheering yourself hoarse on the goal line.

As it turns out, cheering myself hoarse on the goal line made it hard to even see the picture right in front of me. Adie Harris found Mohamed wide on the right. I was standing on the fence between Mohamed and the net. Seeing that his angle was too tight to take a shot, I turned away from Mohamed to my right towards the goal, expecting to see a cross come into the six-yard box. Then, in my peripheral vision, I saw the ball come from my left, skirt along the ground, and go just far enough to the left to avoid Mitten's outstretched hands (but not so far left as to go wide of the post). I didn't understand what had happened at first, but eventually I realised that the angle was not too tight for Kaid Mohamed. It was a superb goal, and once I finished scratching my head I joined in the riotous goal celebration that was happening along the fence.

Halftime arrived and found the hundred or so Bath City supporters in fine mood. No one thought a single goal lead was sufficient, but it had been encouraging to see how well Welling United's attack had been contained. Needing to prepare for the second half, the Legion packed up and headed back to the 'far goal' side.

Halfway around the pitch, as we walked in front of the Erith stand, I was struck by a very strange sensation. The oddness of Park View Road felt even odder, but I was struggling to identify it. Then I realised what the problem was: total silence. There was no music coming of the sound system, no hustle-and-bustle-of crowds, no banter among groups of supporters. The smattering of Welling supporters seated in the Erith stand were sat quietly with their hands folded in their laps. Any noise the City supporters made was met with total silence. I would not have been totally surprised if a librarian had marched up to us, put a finger on her lips, and said, 'Shhhhhh!'

The major challenge that the Legion faced during the interval was how to hang our white ensign. It was too large to drape from the fence that skirted the pitch. The corrugated fence behind us did not offer anything to loop the ties through. Or so we thought, until one ingenious legionairre climbed up on top of it and somehow managed to fasten the flag in place. This took several minutes, and I wondered if any Welling club officials would come and try and stop us. To their credit they left us alone, although it may have just been due to a reluctance to disrupt the dreamy silence of the halftime interval.

The second half began, and much to our delight, City began where they had left off: threatening the Welling goal. Much more apparent to me this half was how valuable Adam Connolly was to City's efforts. He has a blistering shot from twenty yards or so (as Weymouth had learned the previous week), but he must be a very frustrating player to defend against even when he isn't shooting. He manages to completely control the top of the penalty box by, as far as I can tell, being everywhere at once. Or so it seems to me, anyway. He nearly had more dead-ball success as well, when two of his kicks reached the normally-lethal forehead of Chris Holland.

At about an hour into the match Welling finally began to rouse themselves back into a half-decent attack. They did in fact manage to hit the crossbar on a couple of occasions. I began to get worried because City appeared to be sitting very deep. Although before the match every City fan I spoke to said they would be happy with a draw, after an hour of watching City run Welling ragged we all felt differently. We would now all be crushed if City came away with less than three points. Crushed, I say, but not surprised. Football is notoriously unpredictable. The only predicable thing is that you will regularly get your heart broken.

Except not this time! Rather than just sit back and try to soak up the pressure for the last half hour, City still kept attacking when given the opportunity. For a split second it looked like City had succeeded with an attack: Adam Connolly's free kick bounced around for a bit before landing right in front of Darren Edwards a yard from the goal line. Under pressure, Edwards headed it forcefully, but it struck the post. This was only feet away from where we stood behind the goal. I don't think any of the City fans felt the disappointment any less than Edwards did.

Speaking of the City fans, the second half of the match was an important performance for us as well. Although we had been vocal throughout the first half, we sang almost without a pausing after the interval. Unlike most behind-the-goal terraces, the 'far end' goal at Park View Road is raised above the pitch. Standing all together in a group, shouting almost from on top of the Welling keeper, it felt like we were calling the City players forward into the goal. And I am sure with our flags waving and our non-stop chanting we probably annoyed the heck out of the somulent Welling supporters. Oh well.

In the closing minutes of the match Adie Britton made two substitutions. On came the newly signed Hector 'Yellow Shoes' Mackie, and the new loanee Dave Gilroy. Last season when Gilroy was a signed City player he was sometimes accused of complacency. Whether that was fair or not, you could not say that about him now. He strides around the pitch now like he is going to pop if he doesn't score a goal. In the closing moments of the match he earned a good reason not to pop for a while.

Welling won a corner and keeper Charlie Mitten decided to give up defending for a moment and have a go at scoring. Thankfully it came to nothing, but gave him a lot of acreage to cover when City cleared the ball. The ball was collected by a Welling defender, but Gilroy managed to pry it loose and pass the ball forward to Mackie.

Mackie now had the ball just over the halfway line, with only a quickly retreating keeper between him and the goal. It is one of those moments when you know your team should score, but as this is non-league football, you know it is far from guaranteed. Besides, Mitten had shown throughout the match that he is a cool-headed keeper who would not panic. And as Mackie was a new signing, no one really knew if he was a quality finisher or not. He wasn't billed as a striker, so it didn't seem like a sure thing. I thought to myself, as Mackie advance towards us, that at least this would take some time off the clock.

From just inside the penalty box Mackie executed a superb, unselfish cross past the flailing Mitten to Gilroy. Where had Gilroy come from? I had been too intent watching Mackie to notice him. He slotted the ball into the goal and made the whole thing look easy.

Forty-five minutes of cheering in hope consumated into thirty seconds of wild screaming in celebration. For the first time we broke into our new song:

Ee-ai-ee-ai-ee-ai-oh,
Up the Conference South we go!
When we get promoted,
This is what we'll sing,
We are City! We are City!
Britton is our king!

Sure, it's a variation of a song league supporters sing all the time, but for us, working out the lyrics of a song in advance and then singing it all together at the right time was a real accomplishment. The Legion are getting more and more organised.

The match ended moments later. We stayed in place until we had sung our new song several more times, and until we had had a chance to show our appreciation to the team. As it turned out, they came out onto the field to show their appreciation to us. Led by Adie Britton they all came out onto the pitch and clapped us until they reached the edge of the penalty box (and then they wisely stopped - we were all in a bit of a frenzy!).

Welling, who had been on an eight match unbeaten run beforehand, had been made to look ordinary. City's victory would surely, for the first time, lift the team into the playoff spots (third place as it turned out). It was also City's first victory at Park View Road since promotion to the Blue Square South two seasons previously. There were so many things to be excited about, it was hard to realise that we had to go home now.

Another Drum, Lava, and Three Precious Points

Bath City defeated lowly Weymouth 2-0 on Saturday. It was not the one-sided goalfest City supporters had been hoping for. In fact, for a while it looked like there would be no goals scored at all by either team. Weymouth gambled on a 0-0 draw, hoping to take at least a single point home with them. They played a scrappy game, mostly with all eleven players behind the ball. I suppose City should take this as a sort of compliment, but it was a compliment that failed to make the match any more pleasant to watch.

Unaware of what a tense, frustrating spectacle I was in store for later on, I set out for Twerton Park about an hour earlier than necessary. I had the two Nedved Juniors with me, and they enjoy going into the club bar (Charlie's), getting a Coke, and watching the last part of whatever Premiership match is on Sky before City's 3 o'clock kickoff. Actually, Big Nedved Junior enjoys watching the Premiership match. Little Nedved Junior enjoys slurping the Coke to see how big a burp he can manage.

As we stood queueing, and waiting for our carbonated, caramel-coloured joy in bottles, I noticed that at the other end of the bar stood City player Lewis Hogg nursing a pint. Having been injured in a vicious tackle by Weston player Josh Klein-Davies, and suspended for a straight red card for the fracas that followed the tackle, Hogg would only be watching the afternoon's match from the stands. His absence was a blow for the City team, of which he is an integral part, but a boon for us. I had in my pocket Big Nedved Junior's Lewis Hogg trading card, and here was my chance to get it autographed (for Big Nedved Junior, of course). I approached him with a pen in my extended hand, and he duly obliged. We chatted briefly about his injury (prospects look good for him being back on the squad for the Thurrock match), and whether or not he would immediately rejoin the starting lineup (I expressed my absolute conviction that he would). Despite my best efforts, neither Nedved Junior would come into the line of sight of their hero, preferring the safety of standing behind my legs.

After profuse thankyous to Lewis Hogg, we found seats and watched Everton score their second and third goals to defeat Manchester United. And Little Nedved Junior managed some spectacular belches. We drank up and headed for the turnstiles.

The boys and I headed over to what has become our normal spot on the terraces - near the giant white ensign where the burgeoning Bath City 'Ultras' gather. Some of the most vocal singers were already present, and it looked like we would be able to create a good atmosphere in Twerton Park. After the Havant match, where there had not been very many of us, and the Dover match, when the Dover fans stood right next to us and banged drums in our faces, everyone was hoping for a relaxed but spirited afternoon.

And then, much to my astonishment, a rowdy band of Weymouth supporters wandered over and began setting out their flags right next to us. And, they had a drum. I couldn't believe it. The coin-toss had not even taken place yet, so there was no way the Weymouth fans were positioning themselves to watch the Weymouth attack (assuming that there would be one). Being American, and therefore mercifully free of most social inhibitions, I decided to approach one of the Weymouth supporters and ask him, 'Just what the heck do you think you are doing?'

Actually, I said it much less confrontationally. I guess I do have some social inhibitions after all. I asked why they had chosen, of all the places in the ground, to come and stand right next to the noisiest group of City supporters. He said that they had originally gathered at the Bath End goal, and that a steward had told them to move here. This made no sense. Either the steward was totally ignorant of the makeup of the City crowd, or the Weymouth supporter had completely misunderstood what he had been told. The manner of the Weymouth supporter, which appeared to have been augmented by several adult beverages on the train ride north, made me think it was the latter. There was no aggression in his unfocused expression, though. I tried explaining, as he stood tying Weymouth banners in front of City's most hardcore support, why this didn't seem like a good idea to me. He shrugged his shoulders, either in indifference or incomprehension, and continued setting out his blue and terracotta flags.

The Weymouth crowd were unruly, crude, and hostile. Well....sort of. They swore a blue streak throughout the match, and they took long sips from the cans of lager they had brought into the ground. They were, however, in all honesty, pretty good fun. Their club has been the laughing stock of non-league football for over a year, and their team is almost certain to face a second successive relegation. Their prospects for victory against Bath, or against anyone really, were low. And still they came, and still they were determined to be noisy and support 'the lads.' You had to admire them, even if you didn't want to get too close. Their single drum didn't even bother me so much.

And then came a moment, unexpectedly, when both sets of 'ultras' found something in common to support. As I wrote about previously, former Bath City manager Brian Godfrey passed away on 11 February. After leading City to the Southern League Championship in 1977 he left for Exeter City and then spent four years managing Weymouth. A minute's applause was held before kickoff to celebrate his life, and remember his time leading both clubs.Unexpectedly, someone behind me started up 'There's Only One Brian Godfrey!' This was immediately taken up by the Weymouth fans as well. And then it was sung again, and again by all of us until the ref blew the whistle for the game to start. It was remarkable not only for the unified display by rival supporters, but also because very few of the people singing would have been old enough to remember Brian Godfrey as a manager. Hardly any of the Bath City Ultras were even born before 1977. To me it was testimony to the strong sense of community that exists among football supporters - so much so that there appears to be a sort of communal memory. And, I'll admit, it brought a big lump to my throat.

The match kicked off to a terrific roar from the whole ground. A victory, which seemed likely at the outset, could potentially put City among the playoff spots. Weymouth had lost their previous match by six goals. Surely this was the moment with City finally crashed the top places in the table and took their rightful (so we think, anyway) place among the top teams in the league.

Except...the match didn't start like it was going end with a thumping victory for the men in stripes. Oh sure, City had the vast majority of possession. I would describe the Weymouth attach as 'toothless,' except there wasn't really an attack to describe at all. On the rare occasions when Weymouth did move the ball forward they did it as if they were just trying to buy time for their defensive line to have a breather and regroup. And yet, despite all of this, City failed miserably to make any significant attack on goal for the first twenty minutes. The Weymouth players crowded their penalty box like tourists outside the Pump Rooms in the city centre, reducing City to halting and unsuccessful attempts to dribble through to a good position. Crosses were ineffective as well. The City strike pair, Darren Edwards and Dave Gilroy, were constantly outnumbered whenever they tried to reach any incoming ball. A rare, but unsuccessful attack on goal by City captain Jim Rollo was the highlight of the first half for me. The Weymouth supporters, surprised to be approaching the interval without conceding, sang 'You Haven't Scored, You Must Be Sh**!'

A bit of good fortune appeared to have swung City's way in injury time, however. Gethin Jones earned a penalty, and Darren Edwards strode confidently forward, ball in hand, to try and give City the lead they needed so badly. Although Edwards has missed some important penalties this season, he is the fourth highest scorer in the league this season. Unfortunately, he missed this penalty too. Considering how few chances City had produced so far, it appeared to be a disaster. A sinking feeling that another draw was on the cards descended on me as I lined up for a cup of tea during the break.

Although I did not want to abandon my 'Ultras' comrades, the banter between the two sets of supporters had gotten pretty crude by the end of the first half (especially the singing by the Weymouth supporters). I decided it was time for me and the Nedved Juniors to move on, so we moved towards the Bath End as the second half kicked off. Being a bit quieter, this gave Little Nedved Junior the opportunity to ask me some questions. About lava. Little Nedved Junior is fascinated by natural disasters, and volcanos in particular. The post about the Woking match would have been twice as long if I had included all the questions he asked me about lava that day.

'Can lava go uphill?' he asked me in the first few minutes after play had resumed. As the second half began much the same as the first half, I decided talking about lava was as good a way to pass the time as anything else on offer. 'Can lava go through doors? If lava is coming towards you will it come so fast you can't run away? What would win: lava or a hurricane?'

I would have gladly continued our discussion of lava for the rest of the match, doubtlessly covering the respective merits of lightning, tornadoes, and earthquakes as well, if we had not then been joined by my friend Dave and his son. It was their first match (although they had tried unsuccessfully to attend the New Year's Day match against Weston-super-Mare before it was called off). I dreaded to think what Dave thought of the standard of play that Bath City had to offer.

Dave, it turned out, was having a great time. He loved how close you could get to the action (or lack of it) and how he was free to wander around wherever he wanted. This led Little Nedved Junior to start begging to go to the other side of the ground. I said no, I wanted to stay where we were, but that we could move if City scored.

I don't know why I wanted to make that particular bargain, but I might have to start doing it regularly. Up to this point there had been little hope City would score from open play. Within minutes of uttering those words, Adam Connolly finally got City a goal with a fantastic free kick from the edge of the penalty box. I had expected him to cross it to an unmarked Sekani Simpson, but seeing how fruitless crosses had been thus far I should have figured he would just go for it. It was a fantastic strike, and I had no regrets when I kept up my end of the bargain and we began to wander around the Bath end to the Main Stand.

This turned out to be an absolutely brilliant thing to do. Within a minute, City's new signing, Hector Mackie, made a fantastic cross to Darren Edwards. For once, Weymouth's defenders were AWOL, and Edwards was able to tap the ball past the startled keeper with ease. This happened just as we were passing behind the goal, so we stood only feet away as it happened. Now the City fans could celebrate a chance to crack the top five places in the standings, even if it wasn't on the back of the six goal victory we'd hoped for.

After continuing our walk, Dave and I settled against the wall in front of the Family Stand. Our three children played an impromptu version of hide-and-seek behind us. It had not been the best advertisement for non-league football, so Dave surprised me when he said he wanted to come to the Thurrock match in two weeks time. A bit of digging turned up the reason: the game may have lacked the flow and spark of a timeless classic, but it was still a good day out with his son. The atmosphere of historic Twerton Park, with it's old fashioned terraces and lively crowd was a great draw. Would Dave had been impressed in the same way a year ago, when Twerton Park's atmosphere had more in common with the Bath Public Library? It's hard to know for sure, but there is no doubt the flags and the singing encouraging the first-time fans to become second-time fans.

The final whistle sounded and we clapped the City Boys off the pitch. Struggling against weak teams has been an ongoing problem in recent seasons. Last year I had seen City lose when faced by a similar tactic against Aylesbury United. Likewise, City's playoff hopes had suffered a knock-out blow when the hapless Fisher Athletic stole a single goal against the run of play to win 1-0. A season later, struggling but winning 2-0, is a huge improvement. Because of the way the other league matches played out, City only moved up to sixth. A loss could have been another Fisher Athletic moment, though. The tough-fought victory gave City another chance to break into the playoffs against Welling United on Saturday. This time, it has to happen!

Grinding 'Em Out on the Way to Greatness.... (We Hope)!

Bath City defeated Maidenhead United 2-1 Saturday in a scrappy and uninspiring away victory. Who cares if it was scrappy, though? We are now entering the final third of the season and as long as a match results in three points for City I don't ask questions.

Before I get to the match against Maidenhead, though (of which I will not be asking questions), I'd better recount some of the significant events that have happened off the pitch this week. The first to recount is, unfortunately, the sad news that former Bath City manager Brian Godfrey passed away on the morning of Thursday 11 February. Godfrey, a former Wales international and Aston Villa stalwart, was appointed manager of City in April 1977. As this was roughly three decades before my first visit to Twerton Park, I'm not best placed to do justice to the career of the man many consider to be City's finest ever manager. I will try to recount some of the highlights, though.

City's first two competitive matches of the 1977 season were a 0-3 aggregate defeat by Yoevil Town in the Southern League Cup - an inauspicious start for the new manager. After this, however, Godfrey led his team on an incredible twenty game unbeaten run in all competitions, ending finally with a FA Cup 1st Round replay at Plymouth Argyle. This was followed by a quick exit in the FA Trophy (1-7 to Cheltenham Town - ouch!). After this December 3rd defeat, City then went on an even more incredible thirty-five match unbeaten run, finally concluding with a 0-1 loss to Worcester City on 1 May. The only other loss that season was to Udinese in the Anglo-Italian Cup.

Udinese? What? That's right, under Godfrey's tenure Bath City competed in Europe.

Oh, and he also led City to the Southern League championship that 1977-78 season, of course. It is easy to underestimate what an accomplishment that is now. This was in the years before the Conference had been formed. There was no level higher than the Southern League in non-league football. Because of this City were thrown into the mix in the bizarre voting procedure used back then to determine which teams would be promoted, or allowed to remain, in the old Forth Division of the Football League. It was a close vote that year. With twenty-three votes, Bath City set the record for the most votes without being admitted to the league. Who made it? Some club called Wigan Athletic from the Northern League. Just think, with just a few more votes and a sugardaddy with a former sporting goods empire, Bath City could today be the worst-supported club in the Premier League. Gives me tingles just to think about it.

One of the downsides of non-league football is that anyone who sets the place alight when they arrive usually doesn't stick around for long (just ask Bath City's Bobby Zamora). Godfrey's inevitable departure had an ironic twist, though. Tony Book, former Bath City legend and then Manchester City manager, hired Malcolm Allison away from Plymouth Argyle. Someone named Bobby Saxon left Exeter City to take the Plymouth job. Godfrey got the nod for the Exeter post, and understandably took it in December of 1978. So, it's all Tony Book's fault, really. Thirty years later and Godfrey's tenure at City is still the high water mark in the club's history. Everyone, including those of us who were not around to enjoy his success, were sad to hear of his passing.

The other news at Twerton Park this week was more pleasant, although just as unexpected. Former Bath City striker, Dave Gilroy, signed with rivals Newport County at the end of last season. This appeared to be a good move for Gilroy at the time, but as he was just one of nearly two-hundred players signed this season by manager Dean Holdsworth (I exaggerate very slightly), he struggled to get a regular starting place. He has managed a respectable nine goals this campaign, but seven of these were while on loan to Weston-super-Mare. No one quite understands how or why, but Holdsworth and City manager Adie Britton agreed on an unusual six-week swap. Gilroy returns to Bath City, and the struggling, injury-plagued Stuart Douglas (with only only goal this season) will take his place on the Newport bench. City fans can't believe their luck. If ever there was a gift horse that you wanted to take a good, hard look at the mouth of, this would be it. It's too good an offer to question, though. I'll just put Adie Britton down as a genius and move on.

Because of the labyrinthine, and rather boring regulations that surround the various governing bodies of British football, City have to wait until the Havant & Waterlooville match for Gilroy's international clearance to come through (Newport County play in Wales). This meant that the City team that arrived at York Road included Douglas.

One of the first facts you learn about Maidenhead United is that York Road is the oldest continually used football ground in the world. In this modern world of corporate stadiums, this is something worth celebrating. Maidenhead have chosen to celebrate this with a recreation of a nineteenth century pitch - you know, the sort they used to play on back when passing was considered 'ungentlemanly.' Or perhaps it was just impossible. Whatever the reason, Maidenhead's pitch wasn't going to handle the Brazil-like passing game that City have developed over the last few months.

[I should point out that this is a blog written by a Bath City supporter, and if I want to compare City's passing game to Brazil I'm within my rights. Go start your own blog and compare your favourite team to who you like. Besides, City have played some amazing football this year! Really.]

Brian Godfrey's City team of 1977-78 may have only lost twice, but they did grind out a lot of 0-0 draws on the way to their title (seven to be exact). Adie Britton's team of 2010 also have the character to adjust their playing style to conditions. Pushing the ball forward quickly became the order of the day. Despite only managing a handful of half-chances in the first forty-three minutes, they kept Maidenhead to only one attempt in the same period. Did you notice I said forty-three minutes, though? City scored the brace of goals that would see them to victory between minutes forty-three and forty-five: a failed clearance that landed at Kaid Mohamed's feet, and a Darren Edwards header from a Adam Connolly corner kick.

You've probably tumbled to the fact that I didn't make it to the match by this point. This was a bit of a sore point, but I console myself with the fact that the match has been described as 'unremarkable' in more than one account. Rather than fill my blog with attempts to make the unremarkable events I did not witness sound interesting, I'll let you off the hook with a one sentence recap of the second half: City played defensively and allowed a worrying goal at sixty-two minutes, but fortunately not the equaliser. The debacle of the recent home match against Bishop's Stortford was not repeated.

The match may not have been the most exciting of the year, but City's improvement in the league table was enough to get my heart racing. Thanks to Woking's unexpected loss to Worcester City, and Eastleigh's even more unexpected draw to Weston-super-Mare (ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!), Bath City passed both of them, climbing to a dizzying seventh. Now only two points from a playoff spot, City are in prime position to move even farther up the table in Tuesday night's home match against Havant. With the club's strike force now augmented, City fans are imbibing that most dangerous of intoxicants: hope. As long as City win, there will be no hangover come Wednesday morning. And they must win. Brian Godfrey would want it that way.

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.