Sometimes Football Doesn't Hurt

Yesterday was my first day back to work after the Christmas holidays. As I was parking I noticed one of my colleagues had arrived at the same time. He is a dedicated Swindon Town fan, so in order to ease the shock of the first day back at work I decided to walk with him to the office and talk football. There was something significant for us to talk about as well - Swindon's 0-1 loss to Fulham in the Third Round of the FA Cup two days previously. I knew he had travelled to Craven Cottage with his dad to see the 'Robins' take on the Premiership side. Time to say something sensitive and caring to a fellow fan, still fresh in his grief.

'Sorry about you getting knocked out of the Cup by one of Bath City's former players,' I said. Bobby Zamora, the lone scorer in the match, played for Bath City for six matches in the early weeks of 2000 (before Bath City, he was nothing, by the way). This is a fact I've mentioned more and more frequently as Zamora's form has improved.

He smiled, and waved it away. 'It's okay. It was an amazing day!'

The match reports I had read had made it sound like Fulham were very lucky to come away from the match with a victory. Although Zamora had scored fifteen minutes in, the match report I read in the Daily Telegraph was full of phrases like, 'Swindon’s physical presence up front was causing problems for Fulham’s defence,' and 'Swindon looked to catch the home side off guard early in the second half.' Was my friend bitter that his team's cup run had come to an end?

Not a bit. 'There were six-and-a-half thousand of us there, and we never stopped singing. Not once. And when we stopped the penalty right before halftime, it was like we had scored a goal.'

Football is a curious spectator sport. It routinely heaps huge amounts of misery on its most ardent supporters. Anyone who's interest in a team stretches beyond the bounds of 'casual fan' feels real pain any time his team loses. Even some draws are excruciating. There are rare moments, though, when it doesn't really matter if your team wins or loses. Moments when a mere blocked penalty will send you into a frenzy. Moments when being together with your fellow fans and celebrating is enough.

Don't get me wrong - I'm sure there were many Swindon supporters present in Craven Cottage who would have traded their first born for a victory. You always want a victory.

This was an occasion when even without a victory, the Swindon fans were happy with their day. And what is the magic recipe for such moments? I think I have the answer:

Play an away match in the FA Cup against a club at least two divisions higher than you. There is not pressure to win, and you get to savour the moment with the sort of fans dedicated enough to go to away matches. I had such a moment in the First Round of the FA Cup in November when Bath City travelled north to Grimsby Town. It is hard to remember it now, but a half hour before the match, as I stood with the two hundred other Bath City fans who had travelled five long hours on a coach, singing until we were hoarse while the bemused looking City players warmed up, I wasn't really worried about winning. I wanted City to play well. I wanted them to earn the respect of the League 2 club's supporters. Win or lose I was going to enjoy myself and celebrate supporting such a brilliant non-league club. I know exactly what my friend meant.

Of course, Bath City shocked everyone by defeating Grimsby Town 2-0. It was like being at the best party you've been to in years and winning the lottery about half an hour after you've arrived.

But I still knew exactly what he meant. I could understand why he was still smiling two days later.

Multumesc şi Noroc, Florin!

A little less than forty-eight hours ago Florin Pelecaci, Bath City's popular Romanian midfielder, entered the following status on his Facebook account:

I'm thinking to my future.....I've seen my flag in my wall and I'm moved. What can I say... I had nice moments with Bath City thanks to my collegues and the fans for support, but unfortunatelly for me, I think is imposible to play anymore for Bath.

Although it is not entirely clear from what he wrote why he felt he had to leave Bath City, it was still pretty clear he would be leaving.

Pretty clear, but not definate enough for many fans, including myself. Within hours of the discovery of this statement a 'Campaign to Keep Florin at City' Facebook Group had been started. As of this writing there are forty-eight members. One ambitious Florin fan has even printed flyers to distribute at the Woking match to try and persuade Florin to stay.

At 2 o'clock this afternoon the Bath Chronicle published an article on its website confirming that Florin had indeed left Bath City. Or, it sort of confirmed it. Actually, it only confirmed that he probably would be leaving. City manager Adie Britton was quoted saying:

Florin's left. He's living in London with relatives having moved his family over here and is uncertain as to whether he is going to play football here or seek education. He's going to have a think about it over Christmas but it looks unlikely he'll play for us – if he does play it is likely to be in the London area.

So if Florin still wants to play football (which would appear likely) and is unable to find a London club to take him on (which would appear to be very unlikely) he might come back to Bath City. Realistically, though, it appears that we have seen the last of a player who has brought a huge amount of excitement to the Bath City season so far.

But why can it be said that Florin Pelecaci has brought a lot of excitement to the Bath City season? And why has the news of his departure caused such an emotional reaction from so many supporters? This is, after all, a player who has made a mere five starting appearances and scored just a single goal. Considering that two of the appearances (and the goal) were against lower-league opposition in cup matches, it would be easy to see this as just the predictable departure of a fringe player.

It would be easy, yes , but wrong. Florin did something special, something that every football supporter wants to happen: he captured our imagination. His arrival was sudden and unexpected. He had never played in England before, and there was precious little information to be had about his career in Hungary and Romania. A Youtube clip (now removed) was published on this blog showing him scoring a wondergoal from the halfway line, and his friend and team mate, Sido Jombati, vouched for his abilities. That was pretty much it. He was a man of mystery!

He joined Bath City as it was struggling through a serious injury crisis. If he had not turned out for the match against Dover Athletic then it was not clear how Adie Britton would have fielded a full squad. I did not see him at this match, but I did see him the following week in the FA Cup match at Willand Rovers.

He was obviously different. He warmed up differently. He ran differently. His touches were different. His first meaningful pass was a beauty: a pinpoint diagonal cross onto the forehead of Darren Edwards, who needed only to gently nudge the ball to beat the opposition keeper. A few minutes later Florin scored his own goal. It was a Premiership-worthy shot from twenty-five yards out into the left corner of the Willand net. I was so stunned I almost missed the series of somersaults he performed on the pitch immediately afterwards.

Everyone who saw that match was convinced Florin was a player of quality. He was nominated for the FA Cup Player of the Round award. The Bath City online forum was awash with excitement. The fact that City went over a month without a home match only served to heighten expectations.

Part of Florin's appeal, however, must have been the somewhat tragic figure that he cut. Bath City is a great non-league club, but Florin had played at the top level in two other European countries (Hungary and Romania). He had been managed by Chelsea great Dan Petrescu at Unirea Urziceni. What was he doing in the Conference South?

As he explained in an interview for this blog, Florin had been the victim of bad luck, a bad run of injuries, and some misleading promises by a football agent. He wanted to bring his family to the UK and break into a League 1 club. To the fans this seemed likely - Bath City would just be a stepping stone into a big club and a new career. Sadly, and in line with his luck over the last few years, it didn't work out.

After being dropped for another FA Cup match for a more physical mid-fielder, Florin never recovered his place in the starting lineup. Reduced to a substitute, his most notable further appearance was again in the FA Cup against Forest Green Rovers. After some impressive work with the ball he received a pass on the right of the goal, with only the FGR keeper between him and an equalising goal. Perhaps he rushed the shot, although it was not clear he had time to take an extra touch. For whatever reason his shot went into the side netting, and City was eliminated. If he had scored, surely he would have earned back his starting place? Surely he would have played in the Third Round of the FA Cup, perhaps against Notts County? Would he have been noticed by a league side in such a high profile match and offered a contract ? Sadly, we will never know.

Although I did interview him, I cannot say that I really knew Florin. I did have a twenty minute conversation with him, of which the sole purpose was to get to know him as much as I could. I was impressed by his earnestness and his dedication. I was impressed by his gratitude to the supporters, and by his willingness to be frank and forthcoming with one posing as a journalist (me). Most impressive, though, was his determination to play better for Bath City. Everyone was singing his praises, but Florin was annoyed with himself that he was not playing better.

Florin will leave behind a sizable fan club who will follow his progress with whatever club he plays for next. I was told by a supporter of Diósgyőri VTK, Florin's former Hungarian club, that no one was much bothered when Florin left that club after a long run of injuries. 'On the whole, we don't cry after him,' he said. Well, at Bath City, we may not cry after him, but we will miss him very much.

As the title of this post says, thank you and good luck, Florin!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Let me see it,' I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FA Cup Second Round, Part 1 - The Madness of Crowds

Bath City lost to Forest Green Rovers 2-1 yesterday in the Second Round of the FA Cup. I should be too depressed to type right now. I should be too upset to do anything but watch repeats of Top Gear on 'Dave.' I should be too miserable to do anything but sit on the sofa listening to all seven Radio Head albums on repeat and shuffle. I am, however, resolutely not depressed. I feel proud. Proud of the team I support and proud of how well they were supported. In many years time when I am too old to do anything but sit in a rocking chair and bore people with stories about Bath City matches I have attended, it will be one of the few losses I will recount with enthusiasm.

The key facts are thus: City lost but they played well. I am biased, but I am fairly confident a neutral would have easily judged City the best team on the pitch. They played with flair, confidence, and passion. They dominated play for most of the match. They only lacked better finishes for the many excellent crosses they put in front of the FGR goal. City lost, but they did it in front of one of their biggest crowds of the decade. It was the first time I had seen Twerton Park truly crowded. It made the old ground feel really and truly alive in a way I had not seen before. Of the 3,325 supporters less than 700 were away fans. The City faithful sang from the warm-up to the end of the match, even as the hope for a victory ebbed away. It was a defeat, but City fans could be proud of their team and proud of themselves.

I arrived at Twerton Park with my friend Mark and my son, Big Nedved Junior, a few minutes after 2pm. This was a lot earlier than we normally arrived, but I was hoping that the crowd would begin singing during the warm-up and I wanted to take part. We were astonished to see how busy the parking lot was, though. There were several more coaches than usual and there were people in black and white scarves everywhere. After a few moments I realised that these were supporters of Forest Green, who also wear black and white stripes at home, queueing for the away entrance. Seeing so many FGR fans, I had a brief worry that they would outnumber us like the AFC Wimbledon supporters did last year. This worry turned out to be spectacularly misplaced.

Outside of Charlie's I managed to locate my friend Dave. We had been work colleagues for many years but I had not seen him since late 2006. After my repeated plugging of City on Facebook, and after finding out that one of his heroes, Ken Loach, is a supporter, he decided it was time for him to come to a match in person. The FA Cup Second Round seemed like a good match to start with.

Within a few minutes of entering the ground we had gotten our normal pre-match cups of tea and settled in on the terraces. Something was definitely different, though. There were already many more people inside the ground than attend a normal City match, and there was still a half hour to go before kickoff. The normal trickle of people walking across the Bath End to the Popular Side slowly turned into a torrent. I learned later that huge queues formed outside the turnstiles, filling the parking lot. My normal pre-match habit of meandering around the terraces, talking to friends and trading gossip was not going to happen. A few minutes before the match started we were almost hemmed in by fellow supporters. Big Nedved Junior, age eight, could no longer see any of the pitch except for a narrow strip to his left. It had not occurred to me that we would need to position ourselves in the front in order to give him a view.

After the coin toss the City players remained on the Bath End of the pitch. This meant they would be attacking the Bristol End goal. Normally this is a moment when almost everyone on the terrace moves to the Bristol End, but I wondered if it would be possible. I should have wondered if it would be possible to stop everyone from trying to move. Mark, Dave, Big Nedved Junior and I soon found ourselves carried along by the shifting crowd like logs on a river. I took Big Nedved Junior's hand so that I would not lose him in the mass of people. Because the area of the terrace we were moving into was still relatively full, it was a messy process. Moving meant weaving and pushing past the other spectators, but knowing that there were a hundred people behind you made it hard to stop. Once the pressure to continue lifted Dave and I decided to settle where we were. We had made just over the halfway line and no more. I still had Big Nedved Junior by the hand, but we had lost Mark. I looked around but could not see him. It was perhaps the first Bath City match in five years where two separated people could not find each other by just craning their necks for a few seconds.

FA Cup Second Round, Part 2 - The Rub of the Forest Green can be read here.

The Second Most Important Match of the Season - Win or Lose!

It is almost 2:30 am. I am unable to sleep. Tomorrow (or today, rather) is the 2nd Round of the FA Cup. Bath City are facing fellow non-league side Forest Green Rovers.

Let's be honest: it's not a clash of the titans. It is a match that will at best be a footnote in the history of either club. If City win the match will be seen as a staging post on a route to 3rd Round glory. The 3rd round is when the Premiership clubs enter the fray. Any fixture with a Premiership club would be the most important (and lucrative) in City history. An away match with one of the bigger clubs, like Arsenal or Manchester United, would make Bath City a household name for a few days. It would also give the club enough revenue to wipe out its debt and be one of the most well financed in the league. It would be like winning the lottery.

A loss for City, though, will still be a footnote, however. The victory over Grimsby Town was three weeks ago, but I still think of it constantly. A disappointing performance will just mean that the Grimsby Town match is the high water mark of the season. It was a moment so packed with joy we are already quickly turning it into folklore. We will sing of our victory at Grimsby for as long as our memories hold, but details of a loss tomorrow will grow fuzzy quickly.

To some extent Forest Green Rovers fans are in the same position (although they have not taken a league scalp in their run so far). So, while this is without doubt the most anticipated match in my nearly two years of following Bath City, it is not one I will dwell on for long. Neutrals will not likely dwell on it at all. The national media will not be bothered which of two non-league clubs is victorious. They will only take interest in either club if they draw a big name in the third round. Tomorrow's game will be out of the spotlight, tucked into the fine print of the Sunday sports pages.

Right now, at 2:30 am, it is a desperately important match. Come tomorrow afternoon roughly two thousand fans will, for two hours, cheer themselves hoarse, bite their nails, jump up and down, be totally and utterly alive. And then, whatever the result, we will move on.

The Shiny Happy People from Gloucestershire

Bath City have drawn Forest Green Rovers for a home match next week in the Second Round of the FA Cup. The selection was actually almost two weeks ago, but because Forest Green and Mansfield Town failed to produce a result in their Frist Round match, City could not be sure who their opponents would be until the replay two days ago. The FA Cup draw itself, on the day after the Grimsby Town match, found me and the Nedved Juniors gathered around the telly again after Sunday lunch. This time instead of City being drawn in the first few minutes we had to wait until nearly the end. It was not until the teams were selected for match number eighteen (of twenty) that Bath City's ball was drawn. My first reaction, after I stopped shaking from anticipation, was to purse my lips and say, 'hmmmmmm.' The draw meant that the next round would be Bath City vs Mansfield Town or Bath City vs FGR. Which is better? I couldn't decide. Fortunately it was not up to me. Thanks to a stoppage time goal Tuesday night, we will now will play our Gloucestershire neighbours.

Forest Green Rovers play one league above Bath City in what is known as the Conference National. That is still 'non-league' football, so it is not the glamour fixture City fans had been hoping for. Still, if City could beat the 23rd placed team in League 2 in the first round, then they should be able square up against the 21st placed team from a league lower down. A win would see City through to the Third Round, which is when the Premiership teams enter the competition. Might City be playing at Old Trafford in the new year? Before that dream can even be contemplated, though, there is the matter of City's second round opponents. And who are these guys, anyway? Ten years ago I would have probably assumed 'Forest Green Rovers' was some sort of Canadian law-enforcement unit. After a decade after living within thirty miles of their ground, and I'm not sure I know much more than that.

My only encounter with anything FGR since moving to England was on a Sunday morning six years ago. I was trying to take the train to work, but due to some engineering works the train between Bath Spa and Bristol Temple Meads was replaced by a coach service. I don't' know why or how, but the coach I boarded that morning for my commute was the Forest Green Rovers players coach. The rail company must have hired the coach company that provided FGR's away travel. The seats were not in a standard coach formation - they were in groups of four facing each other around tables. My overriding memory of that coach, though, was how tatty it was. The seats were covered in '70s style brown velure that looked like it had actually been in place since the '70s. The tables the players must have played cards on during their travels had artificial wood laminate on top that had been worn until a series of lurid orange streaks ran across them. There was a nice, shiny FGR badge on the outside, but the inside of the coach was repulsive.

This was years before I became a non-league fan. Looking back on it I have two questions: (1) How in the world does a non-league club like Forest Green Rovers have its own coach with its own team badge on the side? (2) How could FGR go to the expense of having a designated team coach and not stump up a few hundred quid to recover the seats? It seemed a very odd thing for a football club to splurge on such an extravagant mode of transport and then use it to move their team around in squalor.

My re-acquaintance with Forest Green Rovers continues to turn up strange contradictions. FGR are an archetypal village club come good. They are located on the edge of the Gloucestershire village of Nailsworth (population 6,600). This means that FGR should have roughly the same economic clout as Willand Rovers, the club City met in the Second Qualifying Round (who play three leagues below City). For a club from such a small community to have broken into a the Conference National is nothing short of incredible. It's an accomplishment that the people of Goucestershire can point to with pride.

It is, however, an accomplishment with an explanation. For nearly twenty years Rovers have benefited from an ambitious and well funded chairman, Trevor Horsley. After joining the club in 1992, when it was facing closure from financial difficulties, he has almost single-handedly brought the club the success it enjoys today. As Forest Green's website unashamedly says:

The future looks bright and it is all down to the driving ambition and vision of one man, Trevor Horsley.

You can't blame FGR for benefiting from a successful and generous chairman. It would also be wrong to assume that the club's success is just a matter of money. An awful lot of hard work has gone into back-to-back promotions in the late nineties and a new stadium this decade. Just throwing money at a club won't achieve that. Still....

I can't help but find the club Trevor Horsley has built with his driving ambition and vision slightly unnerving. Everything seems too nice and too clean. For a 'villiage club,' everything is very corporate. The website is very slick and very 'official.' Pictures of the ground, 'the New Lawn,' show squeaky-clean, state-of-the-art stands that look like they just came out of the packing crate (and if I was a betting man I'd bet the coach has been refurbished, too). The online fan forum is very polite, but very quiet. Combine all of this with the personality-cult language about the chairman, and the club sounds more like it should be named the 'Hermit Kingdom Rovers.'

In order to find out just what FGR are all about, and why I find them so strange, I decided to do what passes for investigative journalism on this blog. I registered for their forum myself (which creepily requires you to tell them your real name, address and contact telephone number!) and ask them, 'What are you all like?'

So far the most revealing answer is from a fan who calls himself 'tomb.' When explaining what FGR fans are like he said:

One of the benefits of being a village side (albeit with a new stadium) is that we are incredibly civilised. That's partly because the average age of our supporters is about 70. If we cause any trouble, you don't need to worry as we soon fall off our zimmer frames. Seriously, we are so nice, we are famous for it. Usually, after half time at home games, we announce how many away supporters are in the ground. We then CLAP them. Its surreal. I've never seen it anywhere else.

After reading this I can't help but imagine that the New Lawn feels like an annex to a retirement home. A retirement home with driving ambition, of course.

Retirement homes are nice enough places to pass the day, I suppose, although it is not my favourite sort of place. Still, it sounds like the Forrest Green fans are nice and respectable people. I'm sure we'll all have a good day out on 28 November. And, let's be honest, FGR aren't going to be any more excited by the fixture than we are. The thing that makes the fixture exciting is not the game itself, but the chance to be in the hat for the next round.

Come on City!

Bath City - Giantkillers!

Bath City beat Grimsby Town 2-0 yesterday in the First Round Proper of the FA Cup. I still feel giddy typing that. Not a 1-0 victory thanks to a fluke goal against the run of play. Oh no! Bath City defeated Grimsby Town with a decisive goal in each half. It is one of those results you need to say out loud over and over again, just so that you can reassure yourself that it really happened. This is, in fact, what I did all the way home from Grimsby (and I would like to thank the long-suffering City supporter sat next to me during the five-and-a-half hour journey for his forbearance).

I entered the visiting supporters gate at Blundell Park at about 2:30. Most of the 216 City supporters had already arrived by this point, and were busy setting out the various banners they had brought with them. The largest banner was a white bed sheet with a large, black '12' on it, indicating the City supporter's claim to be the team's 'twelfth man.' It was a claim, I am proud to say, we came good on.

City has a good record of away support for a club of our size, but we have not always been as noisy as we would like to be. When we do make noise it tends to be just general cheering rather than anything more organised. Part of the problem is that very few non-league grounds require us to sit all together in one place. With everyone spread out around the stands however we like, it is tough to do much as a group. Spreading out was not an option at Grimsby, however. In common with most league clubs, all visiting supporters are corralled into a single stand (and likewise, all home supporters are kept out). Seizing upon the opportunity, several of the more determined City fans took the time to organise themselves. One, known to everyone as 'Parky,' even went so far as to print a song sheet which he gave out on the coach ride up. Much to my surprise, everyone started singing from these sheets almost from the moment they arrived.

It also appeared to be much to the surprise of the City players and coaches. Being serenaded by their supporters as they warmed up was not something they were used to. Jim Rollo looked around sheepishly as he heard, for the first of many times, his own special ditty:

We love Jim Rollo,
Because he's losing his hair,
We love Jim Rollo,
He can play anywhere,
We love Jim Rollo,
Now go and get us a goal!

He waved good-naturedly. We were all convinced that he was loving it.

We also sang 'Come on Adie, Give us a wave, Give us a wave!' to City manager Adie Britton (who dutifully did give us a waive and got a rousing cheer), and managed to make Matt Coupe blush with 'I wish I was a pornstar like Matt Coupe!'

This was not normal behaviour for City fans at all. I cannot help but think that it helped set the tone for the afternoon, however. City fans were determined that the day was going to be different. We were going to give our all for the entire ninety minutes (plus the thirty minutes before the match even started!). The City players were going to do the same on the pitch. It was not a formal bargain, of course, but anyone who had watched City play in this season knew they would be giving it their all. We wanted to uphold our end of the deal.

There was another advantage to all being sat together in the Osmond Stand. The sloping metal roof above us made our chants reverberate loudly. A hundred singers in full cry sounded like a thousand (at least to those of us in the stand). The fact that our cheers was met by an eerie silence coming from the rest of the ground was even more encouraging. Several verses of 'You're supposed to be at home!' followed. By the time the players came out onto the pitch I was already beginning to feel hoarse. I could hear that I was not the only one.

As the match kicked off I was pleased to realise that the overbearing nervousness I had felt in earlier cup rounds was not there. I was very excited, of course, and keen for City to play well and even win, if possible. Losing, though, would have been a mere disappointment, not a disaster. I was having too much fun to worry about a mere disappointment. I was part of a band of 200 fans outsinging 2,000 league fans. Win or lose this was going to be the highlight of my time as a City supporter thus far.

The early stages of the match are like a blur in my memory. This is as much due to the style of play as to the dozen renditions of 'Drink Up Thy Zider' we sang. Both teams were playing with a lot of spirit, but neither team was able to impose any structure on their play. City's midfield was being prevented from taking control as they have done in recent matches, but Grimsby were unable to do more than get the occasional long ball to one of their imposing strikers. Most of the time Chris Holland and the other City defenders were able to deal with this. At eight minutes, though, a cross reached an unmarked Barry Conlon in front of the goal. This was the goal we were standing just in front of. I could see Conlon bearing down on us like a freight train. My heart lept into my throat as I prepared for the inevitable. Somehow he managed to head the ball over the crossbar. Without missing a beat the City fans sang out, 'Who are ya? Who are ya?' A frustrated Conlon looked at us with his best pokerface. Despite the fright he gave us, I managed to find this episode encouraging.

For the next twenty minutes the game drifted into a mid-field stalemate. City did sometimes penetrate into the Grimsby half, but were not able to bring mount any real threat to the home team's goal. As I continued to clap and sing 'Adie Britton's Barmy Army' I toyed with the idea of a 0-0 draw, and a replay at Twerton Park.

Then occurred one of those rare moments in a sports fan's life. One of those moments where time itself slows down, and life is viewed as a series of still images rather than a fluid whole. Lewis Hogg took a free kick on the right hand side about twenty yards from goal. It was a perfect height, and sent to the perfect spot - Chirs Holland's forehead. As we were watching this from the far end of the pitch, I could not tell you if 'Dutch' was unmarked or not. I could not tell you if anyone was offside or not. Because of the angle from where I was standing, though, I could see clearly that the ball was going to go into the net. I can see it now in my mind like a photograph: about six feet up and a foot inside the left post. I could see that the outstretched hand of Nick Coglan was not going to reach it. I could see all of this, but yet my mind rejected it as it happened. This could not really be happening, could it? Could it be that City were about to take the lead? I mean, really take the lead?

Yes. 1-0 to City. 1-0 to the visitors. 1-0 to the non-league team. I went berserk. Everyone around me went berserk. The City players went berserk. City had the lead, which meant that City could win the game. Really win it. It was almost frightening to comprehend. Suddenly the false bravado of our singing was not false anymore.

And sing we did. 'Stand up, if you're one nil up!' rang through the Osmond stand. It was almost funny to think about it. How could City actually be up 1-0? I knew how well City are capable of playing, and how much Grimsby are struggling, but surely it wouldn't really happen. Surely a bit of bad luck or a inexplicable call from the referee should have prevented this? It didn't seem real.

When the halftime whistle blew a roar went up from the City fans as if the match was won already. It was really, in my mind at least, a shout of relief. Relief that City had managed the last few nervous minutes of the half without allowing an equaliser, and relief that, if nothing more, City would be able to say with pride that they had won the first half. As I did after the birth of my first child, I pulled out my mobile phone and called everyone I know to tell them the good news.

Eventually I called my friend, and fellow City fan, Mark. He had been sat at home with mobile in hand getting regular text updates from me. 'Will City be able to score again?' he asked. I said I wasn't sure. So far City looked like they were not getting any chances from open play. 'Do you think Grimsby can equalise?' To be honest, I assumed Grimsby would equalise. Despite the booing from their own fans, they were no pushovers. There was one statistic that was very heartening, though. 'So far they haven't had a shot on target,' I replied.

In the moments before the second half kicked off, another City fan pointed out an encouraging fact. Grimsby really needed two goals. A draw, and the home replay that followed, would be good news for City. Non-league clubs aren't even supposed to manage draws against league opposition, so it would still seem like an upset. The extra revenue and possible television coverage would be a boon for City's coffers as well. Grimsby could ill afford to tie up more of its time with opposition from two leagues below. They needed a win.

I'll be honest and say that I can't really remember the first five minutes of the second half. I was drunk on too much adrenaline, hope, and anticipation to manage a coherent set of memories.

I can remember what happened soon after the five minute mark very clearly. City's increasingly assertive midfield put together a string of sharp passes which culminated in an unpromising looking cross into the Grimsby penalty box. Grimsby's Danny Boshell (who I have now learned has long been a hate-figure for much of the Grimsby supporting public) had a chance to clear the ball, but instead deflected it to the feet of City's Darren Edwards. In a moment of pure inspiration, Edwards managed a looping shot that reached the far top corner of the net. Colgan never had a chance to stop it. From where I stood, it was not until the ball shook the netting that I realised it was even on target. This is the moment when everyone (and I mean everyone - players and supporters alike) lost it.

The moment is saved for prosperity thanks to 'Hatton for City,' who just happened to have his mobile's camera on to record a bit of atmosphere. The picture quality is lost in the mele that follows the goal, but it captures perfectly the bedlam that was the Osmond stand for the thirty seconds following the goal.



After that goal, which was as beautiful as it was unexpected, the rest of the match took on a surreal quality. Suddenly the City players were not just edging the match. They dominated. Grimsby could get the ball, but do nothing meaningful with it. City pressed more and more confidently as each minute passed. Sido Jombati made his trademark impossible-looking tackles. Sekani Simpson flicked the ball past opposition players. Adam Connolly and Mark Badman appeared to be everywhere at once. Lewis Hogg's ball control taunted the Grimsby defenders in their own territory.

And still we sang. Louder and louder. I looked at my hands and saw they were bleeding in two places. I didn't care. I had lost the ability to keep a tune long ago, but I still managed to be loud. 'Let's all have a disco, let's all have a disco, dah, dah, dah dah!' It didn't have to make sense, really.

As the match wore on, Grimsby's full time training began to show itself. City's forays into their half became fewer and fewer. It never felt, however, like Grimsby had the means to score. At 74 mintues they did manage their first shot on target, but keeper Ryan Robinson caught it easily. It was not until the closing minutes that City's clean sheet was threatened, but this was only due to a goalmouth scramble that City couldn't clear. In the closing stages of the match the Grimsby supporters began to boo their players more emphatically. I'm not sure I can blame them, really. Yes, they are on a losing streak. You should not lose, though, to a team two leagues below playing at home. 'You're not fit to wear the shirt' was one of the few chants the Grimsby fans managed in the second half.

When the attendance was announced, however, the Grimsby fans did stand and cheer. Not for themselves: 2,100 is a low attendance figure for Blundell Park. They stood and cheered the Bath City fans when our attendance was announced at 216. We clapped our hands above our heads and cheered them back.

In the final minutes the Grimsby stewards took positions all along the fence of the Osmond Stand. Although they had largely left us alone the team of yellow clad stewards had been watching us warily throughout the match. As non-league fans, we are not used to stewards (other than the occasional volunteer in a high-visibility waistcoat). I couldn't help but find it a slightly threatening gesture. When injury time began most of the supporters, including myself, moved to the fence that separated us from the pitch. The stewards looked at us nervously, but after a few moments I could see several of them begin to smile at us. Bath City fans are too gentle to cause any trouble. We just wanted to party!

I did not hear the final whistle blow. All I knew was that the Osmond stand erupted into its biggest roar yet. I couldn't see anything for several seconds because everyone, including myself, did nothing but jump up and down in place. I hugged, and was hugged, by several people I barely know. Then I saw Jim Rollo run over to the fans on the other side of the goal. Everyone rushed to him, and soon a hundred fans and five or six City players were engaged in a massive, rioting group embrace. It was a moment of pure passion and joy.

And the joy did not go away. It is with me now as I type this. We filed out of the Osmond stand, still singing, still clapping. Everyone knew that they had seen, and been part of, something special. Everyone said it was their best moment as a City follower.

I was still in a haze when we finished the short walk to our coaches. There were more Grimsby stewards there to make sure we got on them without any trouble. We shook their hands. They smiled. I said to one steward, 'You've been fantastic!' He looked a bit startled, and I realised how stupid this sounded. 'I mean as hosts, you've been fantastic!' I explained. It still sounded stupid, but it was true. During our short exposure to Grimsby Town I know I am not the only supporter to come away impressed by the club's hospitaltiy and thoughtfullness. They were brilliant, and it is a shame that the supporters had to watch their team lose in order for us to be victorious. I wish them well in their fight to avoid relegation, but if they fail (and I mean this is a complimentary way) they will be a welcome addition to the non-league ranks. Despite the distance, I wouldn't mind a few trips back.

Supporter's coach number two continued to sing as we headed out of Grimsby. It was, without doubt, the happiest five and a half hours I have ever spent on a bus in my life!