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.

An Encounter at Clacket Lane

Saturday's coach journey to Welling included a fifteen minute stop at Clacket Lane services on the M25. As the coach pulled into the car park I noticed that we were pulling in alongside another coach with the exact same livery. It took a moment for the penny to drop, but eventually it did. My deduction was confirmed by the exclamation of a fellow passenger: 'It's the players' coach!'

And so it was. I tried to peer through the windows to see if I recognized anyone, but I could see only shadows through the two sets of tinted glass. Although my immediate reaction to this chance encounter was a mixture of delight and excitement, by the time I was alighting from the coach and preparing to share roadside facilities with my sporting heroes, I was feeling acutely awkward.

The reason for this is not easy to explain. It goes to the heart of the relationship between fans and players - a relationship that everyone is aware of but no one talks about much. Back in the days before I developed a passion for non-league football I thought I understood it. I was wrong.

As a kid growing up in Atlanta in the 80s, my heroes were the players of the Atlanta Braves baseball team. In the hundreds of games I attended over the years I never had a conversation with any of them. The idea that this would even be possible would have sounds absurd to me. The closest I ever came was on the rare occasion when I managed to elbow past other fans, and with outstretched arms, clutching a pen and something they could write on I would say, 'Will you sign this please?' I still have ever hat, baseball and scrap of paper those players graced with their signatures. They are like holy relics.

Twenty years later I find myself in a equally passionate relationship with Bath City Football Club, but with a level of intimacy I am constantly surprised by. I first became aware that things were different a bit over a year ago at an evening match at Eastleigh. At the conclusion of the pre-match warm-up Matt Coupe walked over to where I was standing and began to lean against the fence to stretch his legs. He then began engaging in the entirely normal activity of chatting to the person nearby him. Or he tried, rather. I was too tongue-tied to say anything remotely intelligent. At one point he stretched out his hand and said, 'Hi, I'm Matt.' I wanted to simultaneously laugh and pinch myself. 'Yes, yes, I know!' I said.

I've had several conversations with the players since then. I'm always nervous to the point of making an idiot of myself, of course. I am, however, always struck by how normal the players seem. I should not really be surprised. They all have careers outside football and lead otherwise normal lives with mortgages and crowded commuter trains like the rest of us.

In fact, the City players seem so normal when I talk to them I always become conscious of how abnormal I am. Non-league football fans are part of a fairly small subculture. The more dedicated ones of us are viewed by society at large as only a few grades up from Trekkies and plane spotters. We do, after all, spend our Saturdays on coaches making 300 mile round trips to stand in the cold with a few hundred fellow-abnormals and cheer on teams most people are unaware even exist. If you are lucky then your loved-ones will laugh it off as an amusing eccentricity.

I can't help but wonder, though, if they were not non-league footballers, would City's players be giving up their Saturdays to travel to places like Bishop's Stortford or Thurrock? Would they be travelling, like, me in a replica kit, clutching banners and a packed lunch? I don't mean to question their loyalty. I just get the feeling that they are a lot cooler than the die hard element of their support. It is the sort of thing you become aware of when you see a player in the bar after a match wearing a smart shirt and tie, or a dapper earth tone ensemble, and you are wearing a garish black and white striped shirt with matching hat and scarf.

And so I entered Clackett Lane services with some trepidation. The first thing I saw was City's manager Adie Britton reclining on a coin operated massaging chair, smiling and laughing with a couple players. I kind of wanted to walk up and share in the joke, but I couldn't for the life of me think of what to say to a football manager while he received a mechanical massage. 'Great for getting rid of those pre-match nerves, huh Adie?' or, 'Bet you'd love to have one of these chairs back at Twerton Park?' Adie is a nice man and I didn't think he deserved to be bored to death before leading the team into an important contest.

Further on, the rest of the players stood in a circle outside of WH Smith's. I felt like the awkward girl at the school dance as I headed in their direction: simultaneously hoping to be recognized and to pass by unnoticed. I skirted round them cautiously, self-consciously clad head to toe in Bath City merchandise, and headed for the crisps rack. I employed a forced nod and half-smile when I made eye-contact.

As I stood queueing for the checkout I realised there was another layer of awkwardness I hadn't given much though to before. A couple places ahead of me in the queue stood Marcus Browning. The veteran City midfielder has been the subject of a considerable amount of criticism from supporters this season. I consider myself lucky that this season I haven't had many occasions to write anything critical about City players, but Browning is an exception. I didn't hold back when I described his theatrics that led to a straight red card against Hampton back in September. Would he have read it? Would he know who I am? It seemed highly unlikely, but I couldn't help but feel a little bit guilty as he stood only a few feet away. He is not some sort of unapproachable Premiership star. He is a normal guy like me in the queue at Smith's. Who am I to take him to task on a public website that could be ready by anyone? What if his mother read it?

As we passed each other at the exit Browning gave me the same awkward nod-and-smile combo I had given the other players a few minutes earlier. I felt a small wave of guilt and carried on. I walked past that same group of players and tried to pretend we were all just fellow travellers stopping at a motorway services (admittedly, though I blew it when I stopped to take their picture).

Back in the safety of the supporters coach I began to relax again. For the rest of the day there would be reassuring boundaries between me and my heroes. There might be an embrace after a goal celebration, but even then there would be a wall separating us. I shuddered, though, when I though about what it would be like to come across the players like that on the return drive after a dispiriting defeat. Or what if I had gone into the men's room and found myself standing at a urinal next to Chris Holland? Would it be possible to wee while standing next to Chris Holland? It made what I had just gone through seem tame in comparison.

The surprising thing I've had to face since becoming a Bath City supporter is that I want a bit of distance between me and the players I adore. It is surprising to me because during an entire childhood of worshiping athletes from afar, I always assumed that it would be much better to worship them from short range. The reality, though, is that it can be a bit embarrassing (and maybe a bit creepy for the players). The obvious solution is not to diefy the players, but just to treat them like the normal people that they are. I can't help but wonder, though, if that wouldn't take all the fun out of it.

As I write this I wonder if this awkwardness I feel is maybe just unique to me. Perhaps I have just brought hang-ups with me from following large American sports teams. If I had grown up being much closer to the people I pay to watch would this whole non-league experience seem normal now? Maybe. There is in fact one player I have had contact with who has been so relaxed, and so unassuming, I can't help but wonder if the awkwardness I sense is just something I've made up.

I am speaking of the Bath City captain, Jim Rollo. I contacted him on Facebook once (as I do with players from time to time to clarify points for this blog, and always with great caution). He sent me a very helpful reply. He then, much to my surprise, requested to be my 'friend'. Also, perhaps uniquely in the history of sports, he has signed up as a member of the Bath City supporters group known as 'the Legion.' He sends us encouraging messages when he thinks we've done a good job cheering the team on. When we send out group invitations on Facebook to find out which of us is going to which match, we always find that Jim Rollo has confirmed that he will be attending (and to be fair, he does attend every match). It is really an incident that happened offline, though, that I think is most telling. It is perhaps my favourite ever Bath City moment, even though I wasn't even present to witness it.

City were drawn against League Two club Grimsby Town in the first round proper of the FA Cup this season. As this was a visit by a non-league club to a league ground, it was possibly the most important match many of City's players will play in their entire careers. City's program editor, Mark Stillman, also acts as one of the club's photographers, and he managed to secure a media pass to patrol the sidelines during the match. It was an especially big day for Mark, because besides watching his beloved Bath City try to force an upset against league opposition, it was also his birthday.

A few minutes after City took the lead in the first half off of a Chris Holland header, the ball was struck into the crowd by a Grimsby player. Mark got ahold of the ball, and Rollo came towards him gesturing that he wanted it to take the throw. As he did this he said, 'yes Mark, Happy Birthday.' Rollo threw the ball in, and then resumed playing the match of his life.

This is the type of story that makes non-league football so appealing. Of course, this appeal relies on exactly the sort of encounter between fans and player that is potentially so uncomfortable. Personally, I've decided I'm going to have to get used to it. I want to spend my Saturdays cheering normal, genuine people instead of Premiership prima donnas. If that means that occasionally I end up feeling like a dork when I speak to some of them, so be it. I will, however, draw the line at taking a wee while standing next to Chris Holland. That would just be taking things too far.

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!

A 2-0 Victory, Reborn Playoff Hopes, and a Circus Tent

Bath City defeated St Albans City 2-0 yesterday in a decisive victory. This should not be a huge surprise to anyone: City are a better side than their record would indicate, and St Albans' have now lost four games on the trot. Perhaps it wasn't a surprise, but it sure was a relief to City supporters everywhere. Last Saturday's squandering of a two goal lead to Bishop's Stortford had been discouraging to say the least. A quick glance a City's fixture list will reveal several winnable matches coming up. After today's victory there is a real sense that City's playoff aspirations are back on track.

Really? If ever there was a need for evidence that football supporters aren't operating with all pistons firing, this is it. Just seven days ago the the talk on the Bath City forum was all about how the playoff chase was over and it was time to concentrate on next year. This was despite the fact that there were eighteen games left in the season and City were only eight points off the pace. The second half of the Bishop's Stortford game was so depressing the idea that City were playoff contenders seemed impossible, even though it should have been obvious to anyone with a little bit of perspective and a copy of the fixture list that it wasn't. Well, obvious to anyone except me or anyone I knew. I was feeling pretty down. Now after a win, even one I didn't see, I am looking forward to the beginning of a run of victories. Experiencing the entire gamut of human emotion over a week's time due to irrational mood-swings is one of the many benefits of being a football supporter.

So, how did our newly-rechristened, world-beating Bath City boys fare against their inevitably doomed opponents? Very well as a matter of fact. Initial reports began filtering through on the internet soon after kick-off. I was replacing the safety net on the family trampoline in the garden at the time, but I was able to think up a long list of excuses of why I needed to go into the house every few minutes. Mrs Nedved wasn't fooled, but since some of the excuses began with, 'would you like a cup of tea dear?' she turned a blind eye. If you've not replaced a trampoline safety net before, you'll just have to trust me that it is thirsty work.

On only my second visit inside I learned that City had taken a 1-0 lead. Lewis Hogg's corner was knocked away by St Alban's keeper Paul Bastock. Unfortunately for Bastock he knocked it near enough to Chris Holland that 'Dutch' was able to drive the ball home. I learned later that this had been the second Hogg corner followed by a shot from Holland. The first one was deflected over the crossbar by the veteran keeper.

I remember Bastock from St Albans' visit to Twerton Park last January. Even though he was playing for the opposition, he was a player I couldn't help but like. Not because he is a former Bath City player (playing in a single game on loan from Cambridge United in 1988 - 1988!). Not because at thirty-nine years of age he is the same age as me and still managing to play semi-pro football. No, I found him to be likable because he is one of those keepers who single-handedly keeps his side in a match even when the outfield players are going to sleep. He made a half-dozen quality saves in that match last year, keeping what should have been a runaway victory a nervy 1-0 affair for City. Every match report I've read for this Saturday's match cites Bastock as being the main reason Bath City did not win five or six. Let's hear it for thirty-nine year olds!

Things out in the garden were making me feel my thirty-nine years. Did you know that trampolines not only have safety nets now, but it is also possible to buy circus tents to go over them? Why? I don't know. One of the disadvantages to being thirty-nine is that many of the things that appeal to my children I now find baffling. Like Richard Hammond's Blast Lab, for instance. Is that really meant to be entertaining? Is it really so engrossing that when it comes on telly you need to stop whatever you are doing, slump into a nearby chair, drool and dilate your pupils until it is over? I digress. Mrs Nedved, who has a sixth sense for what is on-trend for the under-tens, purchased a circus tent that is designed to slip over our trampoline. She informed me, just as I was getting the new safety net in place and getting ready to settle down in front of the computer for some more Bath City updates, that it would be really nice for the Nedved Juniors if I put it up right away. 'The instructions say it only takes ten minutes,' she explained.

Maybe the people who designed the darned thing, with a few weeks practice, might eventually manage to errect it in ten minutes. Considering that it is supposed to be a two-man job and I was doing it by myself, that said instructions had been misplaced and/or blown away by the time I got all of the poles assembled, and that by the time the second half kicked off twilight was fast approaching, there was no way I was going to get back to the computer in ten minutes. I rushed out the door into the garden dragging a long trail of multicoloured nylon behind me. I was so intent on getting the thing assembled that I never stopped to question why exactly my children would want to jump on a trampoline inside a tent. Am I alone in thinking that this is contrary to the free-spirited nature of the act of trampolining? Is the fact that I have asked a question beginning, 'Am I alone in thinking...' a sign that I'm getting really old? Does Paul Bostock ask this sort of question?

After a rushed job that would pass for complete in the approaching darkness, I ran back inside and refreshed my computer screen to find...nothing. Sean, our intrepid online match reporter, later confessed his hands were so cold he was strugling to send out texts about what was happening. There had been a light dusting of snow and ice the night before in the Bath area the night before, but St Albans had been hit harder. The match had only gone ahead due to the hard work of the St Albans' supporters. Even then one of the terraces had to be closed for health and safety issues. Considering how much bad luck Bath City has had with cancelled matches, we all owe the St Albans' volunteers a big thank you.

I later learned that City's dominence lasted through the second half. St Albans did manage the occasional raid on City's goal, especially a blistering shot at fifty-six mintues from Chris Sullivan. For the most part, though, City kept up an intense pressure, and Bastock managed just enough to keep out a second goal. It was not until there were only ten minutes left in the match that he finally relented and City put the game away.

It started with Darren Edwards. After being removed from the Bishop's Stortford match complaining of blurred vision, Edwards had suffered an excruciating headache which got so bad he ended up in Frenchay Hospital for two nights. He was cleared for release after a brain scan. He wasn't expected to travel Saturday, but he came along anyway. It was only fitting he be involved in the best play of the match. Edwards passed the ball to Kaid Mohamed on the right. Mohamed could have taken a shot on goal. Instead he crossed the ball to Lewis Hogg. For the second consecutive match Hogg scored City's second goal with a header. Hopefully it is a run he will extend for several more games.

I sat at the computer and waited for full time. A quick glance at the league table revealed that the three points had not lifted City above tenth place, but it had put them only only five points away from the playoffs. A win against free-falling Weston-super-Mare on Tuesday night could lift them as high as seventh. In fact, if you assume that City were to win its two games in hand (come on, we don't admit it but we do always count games in hand as three points when we look at the standings, don't we?), then City would be in an exilerating fourth! There is still a long way to go, but things are looking positive enough I wonder how anyone could have been discouraged by the draw against Bishop's Stortford. Right?

Little Nedved Junior loves his new circus tent. He thinks its the coolest thing ever. I took all the credit.

City Till I Die (Possibly From Exposure)!

Bath City defeated Woking 3-1 at Woking's Kingfield Stadium yesterday. It was one of the best 'away days' I've had yet as a City supporter, although not for the usual reasons. Many people, on and off the pitch, went beyond the call of duty to make it a great day. Most importantly, however, the Bath City players put on an amazing display of skill and determination in very testing conditions to win a vital three points. It was such a good day it was easy to forget how cold it was. Well, almost.

After City's 5-0 hammering of Woking just three weeks ago, nothing was going to keep me away from this return fixture. Actually, something could have kept me away from this fixture, but after agreeing to take along my five-year-old son, she decided to let me go. This would leave her with only one child to look after (and as anyone with two children or more will tell you, only having one seems holiday). Getting "Little Nedved Junior" to want to come along was easy enough. I just told him we were going on a train ride. And would have lunch at McDonald's. Job done.

Despite snow and cold temperatures rendering much of Britain's transit useless yesterday, we had an incident free journey to Woking. The only worry on the way had been whether the match would be called off. Up until the previous afternoon I had assumed it would not go ahead. Most of the south-east was covered with snow and the temperature the previous night had been minus four degrees Celsius. The brave folks at Woking FC, however, must have worked their socks off to keep their pitch playable. It passed an inspection on Friday afternoon and, while as we were pulling out of Basingstoke station, I received a call from a fellow supporter to confirm the match was definitely on. It turned out that seven of yesterday's ten league matches would be postponed because of poor conditions. A huge amont of credit should go to the ground crew at Woking FC for making it possible for the match to go ahead.

After the unavoidable visit to McDonald's we set off for Kingfield Stadium. I had only a badly printed set of instructions I'd found on the Internet. Like most English cities, Woking has dispensed with all street signs, which made the instructions worthless. Luckily the city fathers of Woking had decided to set up some signs pointing the way to 'Woking FC,' so instead of having to swallow my male pride and ask for directions, I instead guided Little Nedved Junior along a pleasant walk through the back streets of Woking. He enjoyed it because we passed a post office and he found a lot of elastic bands. All was going well until we made a sharp turn at one of the signposts. For a moment I thought something had gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Unbeknownst to me, the Woking Borough Council logo is pretty much the same as the Woking FC badge. I assuemed the turning led into Woking FC's Kingfield Stadium. In fact we were actually walking into council-administered Woking Park. The stadium was on the other side of the park. Expecting to see a bustle of pre-match activity we instead saw a frozen, snow-covered football pitch with what appeared to be a Woking FC sign in front of it.

'There's nobody here,' Little Nedved Junior said, with his typical deadpan delivery. Mistaking the logo on the sign for the Woking FC badge, I really did think someone had made a terrible mistake for about two seconds. After a moment, though, I read the sign properly and figured it out. In my best grownup voice I said, 'Oh, no, this isn't the football ground. It must be farther along.'

Walking through a snow-covered park is a very pleasant way to reach a football ground. Certainly, for Little Nedved Junior it was a highpoint for his day that rivaled the train ride. It only took a few minutes before he started throwing snowballs at the back of my head.

Relaxed and happy, we arrived at Kingfield Stadium. After paying our admission (£12 for me, but as is often the case, Little Nedved Junior was waved through for no charge) and getting a program (£2.50), I decided to go for a wander and get my barrings.

Except I couldn't. Kingfield Stadium was very nice, but I soon leaned it is a very quirky football ground. Instead of having the run of all the terraces as is normal in non-league football, we were restricted to one end of the ground. One side of the ground has a series of small, seat-only areas (including the delightfully named 'Moaners' Corner'), but access to these is restricted by a series of gates. The other side of the pitch is a very narrow terrace, which for this match, was blocked off entirely. This meant the standing fans, both home and away, had access only to a medium-sized terrace behind the goal. All of this was overshadowed, though, by an enormous, Premiership-quality stand on the opposite end of the pitch. It is, without doubt, the most impressive seating structure I've seen in non-league football. The fact that it so easily outclassed the rest of the facilities, and that it had been placed at a vantage point spectators normally try to avoid, gave the whole ground a surreal quality. It was kind of like happening upon a garage full of Morris Marinas and discovering a Ferrari hidden on the back row.

The corner of the ground we were allowed to access was very jolly, though, and surprisingly full of Bath City supporters. Little Nedved Junior and I found a bit of terrace in the front where he could see just in time for kickoff. Up and to our right were two flags that the City fans had signed and covered with messages of thanks and good luck. These were for recently-departed City player Florin Pelecaci (see here). He had said he would come to the match and stand with the City fans to show his thanks for their recent support. I wondered if he would actually come. Perhaps hoping to conjure his appearance the fans sang, 'Doo, doo, doo, Florin Pelecaci!.' I strained my neck in all directions to see him whenever the ball went out of play.

To my surprise, City had come out of the dressing room in last year's away kit. These sport a very unfortunate shade of blue, sort of like you might see on one of those Morris Marinas mentioned previously. Unlike our current home and away kits, it had the advantage of being nothing like the Woking home kit. To the credit of non-league football generally, it is nothing like anyone's kit. Still, it would do in a pinch. 'Blue' also made an appearance as the colour of the line markings on the pitch. Despite the best efforts of the ground crew there was still a fair amount of snow on the pitch.

Woking began the match like they were out for revenge. You could hardly blame them - they are a decent team and they had been humiliated by City three weeks previously. Woking's Guiseppe Sole put a header over the bar within a couple minutes. City keeper Ryan Robinson was required to make a save just afterwards. With City's defence simultaneously struggling to keep their footing and keep Woking at bay, it seemed like just a matter of time before a goal was conceded.

While this was happening, much to my surprise, Florin Pelecaci did appear on the terrace standing amongst the Bath City fans. When Florin had announced his departure a few days previously it had provoked a huge, somewhat emotional, response from the City supporters. A Facebook campaign had sprung up and fliers had been printed to try and convince him to stay. Florin had been gratified by this show of support he had decided to come and make his goodbyes in person. His appearance led to several verses of 'Doo, doo, doo, Florin Pelecaci.' Florin smiled, but looked embarrassed. After spotting me snap a picture of him he quickly made his way over and shook my hand. 'Hello, Ned,' he said.

I started writing this bog on a whim one evening, and the fact that some people bother to read it has been a pleasant surprise. The idea that it would lead to a player I greatly admire approaching me and greeting me by name is still a bit of a shock. Florin knew my name because he had very kindly allowed me to interview him in October (see here), and it occurred to me that because his stay had been so brief he probably knew very few supporters by name. I am a completely amateur journalist, but I had enough composure to grasp the opportunity to talk to Florin more about his decision to leave Bath City. I switched on my Dictaphone and started chatting away.

Because it is was a very important, and fairly lengthy conversation, I am going to write about my talk with Florin in another post. I will describe just how odd the rest of the first half was. Florin was interrupted regularly by supporters asking him to autograph copies of their program (including me, of course) and other well-wishers who wanted to shake his hand. I was really keen to speak with him as much as possible, but I had Little Nedved Junior on my other side needing my attention from time to time, and a really important match was being played a few feet away. There was also a rather large post between me and the pitch. With leaning to my right to speak to Florin, stooping down to my left to tend to my son, and constant moving back and forth to see past the pillar, I spent most of the first half swaying to and fro like a drunken camel. Fortunately City somehow managed to keep Woking at bay during their initial onslaught. As the half progressed the balance of play began to even out.

Twenty minutes into the half Lewis Hogg slotted the ball to Darren Edwards on the left. He clattered into Woking's Mark Ricketts and the ball rolled out of bounds. The ref blew his whistle and pointed in the direction of the goal, but from that distance it was impossible to see what he meant. 'Is it a penalty?' I asked Florin. 'No, it was out.' he said. He appeared to be correct, because there was next to no reaction from any of the players. To our surprise, though, Kaid Mohamed, sporting a off center mohican that resembled a small planetary ring, lined up to take the kick. He executed it perfectly to the top right corner. The Woking keeper, Ross Worner, did not have a chance.

Suddenly, very much against the run of play, City were in the lead. The City supporters went crazy. For the first time we sang what would end up being the refrain of the afternoon: 'Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, oh what fun it is to watch City win away, hey!'

The singing was loud and constant throughout the match. It was the best performance by City supporters since the Grimsby FA Cup match. Loud vocal demonstrations are becomming increasingly common at City matches, home and away, and a semi-organised hard core of 'ultras' is forming among the supporters. Hopefully this is a trend that will grow and grow. All the standards were sung, including 'We Love Jim Rollo,' and 'I wish I was a Pornstar like Matt Coupe.' A new addition for the match was 'Dodgy Haircut' to the tune of 'Dodgy Keeper.' This was sung whenever Kaid Mohamed ran past our terrace, much to his amusement.

Woking returned to the ascendancy following the goal, but only for a few minutes. The City players began to play more and more confidently. To my great shock, City stopped playing like a team trying to battle against an icy pitch. Instead they began to revert to their normal style of midfield dominance and neat passing. It was hard with the conditions, and mistakes were made, but they began to create real chances.

Just before the half, one chance came good. Sekani Simpson launched a long cross from the far side of Moaners' Corner. Darren Edwards was able to leap high enough to direct the ball towards the goal, but it clipped the bottom of the bar instead of going in. Woking's keeper fell to the ground after mistiming his jump and the ball bounced up onto Edward's middle. Reflexively, Edwards nudged the ball over the prone keeper and into the goal with a pelvic thrust. He then took a tumble himself. From the other side of the ground it was impossible to see what had happened. The jubilation of the City players and the defeated body posture of the Woking players made it clear enough, though. City went into the intermission with a two goal lead.

After purchasing a cup of tea for myself and a Mars bar for Little Nedved Junior I returned to the terrace to chat with my fellow City fans. We all agreed that the Woking fans must feel very hard done by. Both teams had played well at times, and perhaps Woking's dominance had been longer. A two goal lead for City was indeed lucky. Woking also seemed to be suffering a rash of freak goal concessions. In the previous encounter City debutant Adrejs Stocers had scored with his backside after blocking a kick from the keeper. In this match Darren Edwards had scored with his crotch.

I had half expected Florin Pelecaci to slip out quietly at half time. He had made his appearance, and I wondered how comfortable he actually was signing autographs and posing for pictures with so many people. The second half kicked off with him still among us, though. He stayed for the entire match.

The first twenty minutes of the second half were pretty even. They were not a boring sort of even, though. Despite the patches of snow and the dropping temperature both teams played the sort of exciting end-to-end football you hope for on a sunny April afternoon. There were dramatic saves on both sides. Jim Rollo timed a tackle perfectly to stop Nathaniel Pinney from what I had thought was a definite goal. After conceding seven straight goals to City, Woking finally got some luck that wasn't bad luck. Ricketts took a long free kick from just outside the centre circle. Robinson lept and got his fingers on the ball, but his feet shot out from underneath him. Chris Holland got to the ball before it trickled into the net, but he approached at an odd angle and ended up kicking the ball into the net himself. It was an own goal, but Woking now had a chance again with over twenty minutes left to play.

Perhaps anticipating a verse of 'You're Not Singing Anymore' from the Woking fans, the City supporters began singing again straight away. Likewise, the City players appeared to shrug off the setback. They resumed pressing Woking like nothing had happened.

This payed off a few minutes later. Kaid Mohamed broke free and appeared to have a good chance of scoring. Perhaps unintentionally, Woking's Aswad Thomas pulled him to ground by his shirt sleeve. This set up a City free kick from the edge of the box. Mohamed lined up to take the kick but ran over the ball instead. Lewis Hogg ran forward to take the strike. Woking's wall had started to break up as soon as Mohamed had run past. Hogg found a hole and the ball went into the right side of the net chest high. Worner probably never saw the ball. I grabbed Little Nedved Junior and jumped up and down with him in my arms to celebrate. As he had been concentrating on a packet of fruit pastels, he was very non-plussed by this.

The third goal effectively killed the game off. Woking managed a few more attacks, but their energy faded with every passing minute. City came close to scoring towards the end during another cameo substitution by Andrejs Stolcers. A sharply hit shot was easily caught by Worner. Perhaps he should have tried his backside again.

The third goal also kicked off a party scene among the Bath City supporters. 'Six Points, Eight Goals' was taken up to the tune of the Pompey chimes. There were also many more renditions of our version of 'Jingle Bells.'

As the whistle sounded I felt a real sense of joy. There was not a City supporter who would not have taken a point gladly going into the match. At best, we had hoped somehow City would eek out a narrow win. To win 3-1 was extrordinary, even if luck had played a significant part. The City players and supporters both applauded each other. City manager Adie Britton, with a huge grin on his face, ran towards our terrace and threw his cap into the cheering supporters. It went straight towards Florin at first, but curved at the last moment to the feet of Little Nedved Junior. I picked it up and handed it back to Florin. For a reason I could not articulate, this seemed like the right thing to do. We were all so appreciative he had come.

Florin accepted at first, but a few seconds later handed it back. He insisted I take it. 'Adie meant it for the fans,' he said. It was an action, I have learned, is typical of Florin.

Still singing, still cheering, the City fans streamed out of Kingfield back into Woking Park. Little Nedved Junior and I parted with the main group at the turning for the rail station. It was really, really cold by this point, but it didn't seem to matter to us that much. I was elated by the victory; he frolikced in the snow. I plopped Adie Britton's cap on his head. It was a perfect day.

Bath City vs Newport County Part 2 - Draw of the Titans

Big Nedved Junior and I filed into Twerton Park and made our way to a fairly crowded Popular Side terrace. After tea and doughnuts had been purchased we made our way back to the area the singers were congregating. There was no chance of the crowd reaching the size of the previous week's match against Forest Green Rovers, but it was still obviously going to be well above average. Like the FGR match, the Bristol End would be filled with (segregated) away supporters, but unlike the FGR match there was a fair amount of rain coming down on them. Considering that we had all just been mixing in a crowded bar a few minutes earlier, herding the Newport supporters into what is effectively a large, crowded, unsheltered cage seemed very unsporting.

City elected to attack the Bristol End in the first half, which meant the singing contingent moved in that direction. This brought us fairly close to the Newport supporters, or at least as close as possible with the barriers up. The match kicked off and the singing began with the traditional, 'We are the Bath, we are the Bath, we are, we are, we are the Bath.' I've been living in England long enough that this no longer seems a totally inappropriate use of the definite article any more. The 'choir' was not as large as it had been for the FGR match, or as vocal as it had been at Grimsby Town. It was still substantial considering our normal efforts, especially for a league game. This was encouraging, but there was a new element to the singing that, if I am honest, made me feel a bit uncomfortable.

One of the first songs sung was 'God Save the Queen.' I had never heard this sung at a City match before. I did not know what to make of it at first, but after a moment I realised it was meant to taunt the Newport fans. Although God Save the Queen is the royal anthem, it serves as the national anthem of England at sporting events. Since Newport is in Wales, I suppose the Newport fans were supposed to feel slighted by it.

I decided not to join in. Not being one of her subjects, I don't tend to sing God Save the Queen anyway, but I also didn't think the rivalry between Bath City and Newport County should be viewed in an English/Welsh context. Three of the players named in the City squad that day were Welsh (Gethin Jones, Richard Evans, and Kaid Mohamed), and City boasts three non-British players as well. No doubt, Newport's squad is equally unrepresentative of their host country. Surely the Newport fans would not fall into this trap as well?

Even at that distance it was not possible to hear what the Newport supporters were singing. The acoustics at Twerton Park are not great. They may have sung Hen Wlad Fy Nhadau all day as far as I know. There was one thing I could hear, though, that really shocked me.

As the City supporters sang God Save the Queen a overweight, ginger-haired fellow standing among us began to boo. He booed loudly and continuously. After a moment I realised he was not booing something on the pitch. He was booking God Save the Queen! Although he was standing with the City fans I did not recognise him. The reason why became obvious very quickly. He was a Newport County fan who had snuck in the City supporter side. Burly stewards arrived on the scene quickly and bundled him out and through the barriers to the Newport supporters area.

I know 'God Save the Queen' was meant as a taunt, but it is still the closest thing the UK has to a national anthem. I was pretty shocked to hear a British person boo it no matter what the context. Would this bozo boo the Union Flag as well? Blow raspberries at the British Olympic team? Despite the lack of crowd violence in American sports, if you chose to boo the Star Spangled Banner at an American sporting event, no matter what your motivation, you would be lucky to get out alive. You'd be lucky to get the second boo out of your mouth. The Newport fan only received bewildered looks from the onlooking City fans.

On the pitch things were more straightforward. City began the game as they had against Woking, attacking positively en masse. The first fifteen minutes mostly belonged to City, except for one dangerous and on target free kick from Newport's Sam Foley. A few minutes later Lewis Hogg earned a corner kick when he forced Glyn Thompson to deflect the ball to the left of the goal. Hogg squared up to take the kick himself. Although the goal mouth was crowded with orange-clad Newport players, Sido Jombati managed to make contact with the kick and strike it sharply down and into the goal.

Some players pump the air when they score. Some taunt the opposition. Some lay down on the ground. Sido just smiled. He was so pleased with himself for scoring his first goal in a City shirt he appeared to just wander around the pitch aimlessly beaming at everyone (after the match Big Nedved Junior told me that after he had scored Sido had smiled at him!). After a few moments he regained his bearings and ran towards the Portuguese flag that the supporters hang in his honour, just as he had said he would when I interviewed him. It was a great moment, and the prospect of defeating Newport County, the runaway league leaders, seemed real.

The prospect lasted seven minutes. It was long enough for us to sing 'Top of the League, You're Having a Laugh,' and 'You're Not Singing Anymore.' At twenty-one minutes it was us who were not singing anymore. Chris Holland made an uncharacteristically bad tackle to the left of the City goal. The ref pointed to the penalty spot without hesitation. Having seen the replay, I have to say it was a good call. Ryan Robinson almost saved the day when he guessed right and got a touch on Craig Reid's kick, but it was not enough.

And, if I'm honest, that was mostly it for the day as far as excitement on the pitch goes. The conditions, which were not great at kickoff, got worse. Newport's defence was predictably strong, but their strike-force had an off day. By the end of the first half City's midfield started booting the ball forward to no one in particular. Neither team came away from the match with much footage for the season highlight film.

Looking back on the match, I suppose it was a draw waiting to happen. For both teams it was the third game within a week and everyone was doubtlessly tired. For City, getting a point off of a club running away with the league title would always be acceptable. Likewise, for whatever reason, Bath City are one of Newport's bogey teams. They have lost to them repeatedly in recent years, and must have been fearing doing so again. In fact, a draw appeared to be Newport's objective in the first few minutes. Keeper Glyn Thompson took his goal kicks excruciatingly slowly from the very start. He was so slow that I'm sure that if he had done this at the end of the match he would have been booked for time wasting. I could not help but suspect that Newport manager Dean Holdsworth had told him to eat as much of the clock as possible from the getgo. Either that, or he needs treatment for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome.

The second half began with both teams hoofing and hoping. The hoping rarely worked out. A few minutes into the second half it was announced that the Newport fans would be held in back for five minutes after the match. This seemed sensible after there were some parking lot confrontations between FGR fans and some local Twerton residents the previous Saturday. A few minutes later, though, it was announced that the Police had intervened and now wanted the home fans to be held back for five minutes. Presumably this was because the Newport fans had some coaches right outside their gate and they could, in theory, depart before the City fans were on the loose. It is not normal for home fans to have to wait, though, and there was some grumbling on the terrace.

Big Nedved Junior, however, had a different interpretation of this announcement. It took me a few minutes to figure out that he was very worried by this. He heard 'police' and 'held back' and came to the conclusion that we were all going to be arrested. I laughed at first, but he was actually worried.

'Why do you think we would all be arrested?' I asked.

'Because of so many people swearing,' he explained.

There had been an uncharacteristic, and uncomfortable amount of swearing on the terrace, for sure. It was not just the words spoken. To my ears there was more bitter tone to the City crowd than normal, giving the 'choice' words a sharper edge. Although we City fans like to complain about the behaviour of the Newport fans, I don't doubt that they bring out the worst in us as well. It was bad enough, at least, to make a seven-year-old worry about getting nicked.

After a much more involved discussion than I was in the mood for, about how yes, swearing was bad but no, the police will not arrest you for it (even though it is wrong and the police are supposed to arrest people who do wrong) I eventually convinced him that we were not going to be rounded up after the match and flung into prison.

Eventually the game petered out and the ref blew his whistle. It was not a boring match, but it wasn't terribly memorable either. I could hear several people mutter that the result was 'about right.' The City fans exchanged applause with the City players, and the Newport fans and players did likewise. We waited dutifully for five minutes, shuffling our feet on the Bath End terrace, before being allowed out. On the way we walked past the club bar, Charlie's, which was full of City and Newport fans mingling and drinking without incident, just as had happened before the match. The Newport fans had eschewed boarding their buses and opted for a five minute head start on ordering drinks. Now that we were no longer segregated the hostile atmosphere had melted away.