In the Belly of the Beastleigh - Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Thugs with Laundry Issues Go Down

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

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

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

Tony Flood, the Thurrock FC press officer wrote:

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

A respondent known as 'BUM' replied:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can read Part 1 of this article here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Havant & Whotheheckareyou?-ville, Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Little-Minded Drummer Boys

Bath City's match against Dover Athletic yesterday ended in a scoreless draw. It was not the prettiest display of football this year by City by any measure. You couldn't say it was a boring match - there were plenty of heart-in-mouth moments. And, if you were in need of more drama than was on display on the pitch, there was a fair amount in the terraces as well. Before I get into that, though, I'd better tell you a bit about my great-uncle Bill.

Uncle Bill fought in World War Two on the Italian front. Afterwards he settled down to raise a family. He made his living rearing sheep in the hills of South-West Virginia. He was, I'm sure, a fairly normal member of his generation during his prime.

But by the time I was old enough to know Uncle Bill his behaviour had gotten pretty odd. At a family reunion in New Westminster (population 58,000) he had removed the hubcaps from his car and had them laid out on the back seat when he drove up. He said coming to the 'big city' made him worried they'd get stolen. A few months later he showed up at my parents house for Thanksgiving. Much to my mother's shock he wore his clodhopper plowing shoes into her house (you'll have to trust me, this is a big no-no). He never removed them during the entire visit. We could ignore his shoes, but he did one thing we could not ignore, despite our best efforts. Every time there was a pause in the conversation Uncle Bill would break into a hymn. Very loudly. And not in tune. So, we'd be in the living room asking him politely about his sheep, or the price of wool, and as soon as we'd run out of questions he'd belt out, 'Bless Be The Tie That Binds,' or 'Onward Christian Soldiers.' There wasn't much you could do but wait for him to finish (usually just one verse). While he sang we did our best to pretend that this was normal and everthing was fine. It wasn't really fine: it started as awkward and moved onto annoying as the day wore on. Still, he was an old man who meant no harm. He had no idea how bizarre it seemed to everyone.

The supporters of Dover Athletic remind me a lot of my Uncle Bill. They probably mean well. They almost certainly think of themselves as very clever. In reality they were just being boorish and annoying, avoiding conflict only because of the decorum and forebearance of others (they are fellow non-league supporters after all). I suppose like an elderly relative, they deserved to be humoured during their visit. Politeness requires you to wait until they've left to sigh with relief (and have a laugh about them).

As Dover are newly promoted, they have not visited Twerton Park for many years. I missed the away fixture back in September, so I knew very little about the team or its supporters. About the only thing I knew was that their manager, Andy Hessenthaler, appears to revel in pig-ignorance about Dover's opposition. In a interview posted on the Dover site after the match in September he commented that City had obviously come with the intention of shutting up shop and playing a defensive game with eleven men behind the ball. Any casual City fan at the time, however, could have told you that City's injury crisis was so severe that manager Adie Britton could not even field eleven fit players. The starting lineup contained two midfielders playing as defenders (Lewis Hogg and Marcus Browning) and the debut of Florin Pelecaci (who no one had ever seen in a City shirt before). Adie Britton's only intention with his team selection was to be able to field a full compliment of players. If Hessenthaler had had access to even the most rudimentary scouting report he would have known this.

City fans were excited, if slightly anxious, before the match kicked off. Decisive victories over St Albans and Weston-super-Mare had brought City to within touching distance of a playoff spot. Dover were arriving in patchy form after their blistering start to the season. A win seemed possible, if far from likely. Would City finally break through the eighth-place barrier that has haunted them for the last two seasons?

The way the match started, it looked like breaking that barrier was going to be hard work. City's defence and midfield held their own, but had to resort to a scrappy style of play that was not typical in recent matches.

Something else that was going to be hard work made an appearance in the early minutes as well. The Dover supporters who gathered around the Bath End goal had brought drums. They began to play them with a relentless, unchanging rythym. I have only come across a drum once before in football, at Grimsby Town. This was a single, deep kettledrum-type that was usued occasionally to rally the support. Although the Dover fans included three drummers, and were carrying lighter, more versitile instruments, they lacked the musical ability to do anything else but a constant, dreary beat. It was kind of like listening to a leaking tap drip, except louder and less creative.

That was in the far distance, though, from where the City Ultras (including myself and Little Nedved Junior) were gathered beside our giant white ensign. As City were kicking towards the Bristol end, all the singers were gathered in one place and we were as loud as ever. With City Captain Jim Rollo's encouragement, we were determined to do our part to help lift the team.

I have my doubts, however, that anyone on the pitch was remotely aware of anything else than the furious pace of the match. This was not a match of ebb and flow. There was little chance for either team to create space or play with style. The ball seemed to get tied up in midfield for several minutes at a time in a sort of human pinball. In most matches this season City have been able to control midfield for long stretches. To me, it seemed after a frustrating start they gave up trying and began to settle for hoofing the ball forward. Both sides did have chances in the first half, although Dover had the best. Olly Shultz managed a powerful downward header on goal from a corner kick. City keeper Ryan Robinson was beaten, but Gethin Jones managed a dramatic clearance from the line. City's only real first-half chance was at thirty-five minutes. Kaid Mohamed broke through the Dover back line and had Darren Edwards free on his right for what appeared to be a sure-thing goal. His pass was slightly too far forward for Edwards to reach. It was frustrating to see the opportunity missed, but considering that neither striker is fully fit, it was a good effort.

At the interval I took Little Nedved Junior on our customary walk round the ground. On our way to the Bath End we passed the Dover supporters as they headed to the Bristol End. It is normal practice for non-league supporters to switch sides at halftime. This gives each group of fans the chance to watch their team from the goal it is attacking. A lot of City fans do this as well, although there are some in the newly-formed 'Bath City Ultras' who argue that it would be best for the most vocal supporters to stay in the same spot for the entirity of the match. The designated spot they like to congregate is next to the white ensign, which because of its size, can only hang on the Popular Side, towards the Bristol End.

As the second half kicked off I realised something very strange had happened. The drumming was back, but it was not coming from around the goal Dover was attacking, as it had previously. The drummers and some friends had decided to stand next to the City supporters near the flag. Because they were closer now I could hear that they were singing, but the City supporters were singing too. As you can imagine, it sounded like an unholy mess.

Josh, one of the City supporters who had remained by the flag, gave me his account of what happened:

Obviously the away fans had heard us singing and felt intimated or whatever that we might outsing them so they stood next to us. With their drums as well I think they were trying to drown us out. They came as close as they could to us. We weren't going to leave our spot with the flag there because you dont know what their plans were. They were standing next to us for a reason, but I'm not sure whether it was to provoke a reaction from us, or just to be annoying. Then they started having arguments with some of our lot. I thought it might have turned aggresive, but luckly it didn't.

This last point is important. The Dover supporter's actions were not physically agressive, but they were obnoxious in the extreme. At a lot of other grounds, with less restrained home supporters, and there would have been a fight. I was very proud watching my fellow Ultras stand their ground, engage in a bit of friendly banter, and generally give good account of themselves. I like to think that the City supporters were respecting the natural franternity that exists between fellow non-league supporters -- even if the Dover fans were intent on taking advantage of this good will. Like being trapped with a senile, eccentric old relative, sometimes the best thing to do is just endure it.

To be fair to the Dover fans, they did have more to sing about on the pitch than the City supporters. Although they were unable to manage an actual goal, Dover appeared to be on the verge of scoring for a long stretch of the second half. Or rather, I had a sinking feeling that City were going to allow one of those messy, half-accidental goals they tend to concede when the opposition has the ascendancy. Happily, they did not. I did not want to admit it to myself, but taking a point from this one looked more and more like a good outcome for City.

Little Nedved Junior and I spent the last twenty minutes of the match standing among the 'normal' Dover supporters. That was not in order to be disruptive - my son wanted to collect some of the Ash seeds (you know, the ones that fall like helicopters) that were scattered on the terrace there. He managed to stuff both pockets with them. This got me close enough to the drumming to see more of what was happening. The main drummer was a rather portly fellow who looked intent on trouble. He pulled down his trousers to expose his generous backside to the City supporters several times. I had another uncle that used to do that too, but they put him in a home.

With the relentless drumming annoying everyone in the ground, it was easy to overlook that the match had been blessed with a fairly annoying official. Wes Linden started the match off fairly anonymously (as in good), but then became more and more whistle-happy as the match went on. Both sides were frustrated by his apparantly random distribution of foul calls. He upset City supporters when he allowed Dover's Shaun Welford to get away with a vicious elbow at Gethin Jones early in the match. Welford was already on a yellow, so he appears to have lost the nerve to give him a second.

Despite this, however, as the clock began to wind down I'm sure most City supporters were happy with the single point. From listening to the muttering of several in the crowd, they were just as happy that they Dover supporters would now be leaving.

Although I would have liked to hang out in Charlie's, I took Little Nedved Junior to McDonald's as a reward for his good behaviour during the match. After he had consumed his allotted portion of grease and salt, we ambled back to our car. The Dover's supporters coach pulled out just as we reached Twerton Park. I caught the eye of a Dover supporter on board and we exchanged friendly waves. It felt like the right thing to do. I learned growing up that when you are confronted with rude, aggressive, or just crazy behaviour, it's always best to just smile and wave.

To Soar with the Eagles You Have to Defeat Some Turkeys - Part 2

As I set down to write this I am aware that I might end up saying some not very nice things about Bath City's Tuesday night opponents: Weston-super-Mare AFC (the club so nice, they reformed it twice!). Perhaps that's not fair. I'll admit that it is probably not sporting. Weston are likely to be relegated at the end of the season and not play Bath City again for several years. I also must state that I have never had the chance to get to meet any Weston fans in person. They are probably normal people who in another context would be as nice to know as anyone else.

But then, this isn't another context. Any passionate supporter will tell you there are opponents that you can develop a strong, if irrational, dislike for. I'm getting that way with Weston. The shenanigans on New Year's Day did not help. They use a lot of dirty tackles. And hardly any of their supporters travel the short distance to Twerton Park on match day. Tuesday night I could only spot about five (there may have been more, but not wearing colours or sitting anywhere conspicuous). If City have a really amazing end to this season there might be two divisions separating the clubs next year, and that would suit me just fine.

Returning to my previous narrative, the match kicked off with home supporters nervously hoping that City would show their superior ability on the pitch against poor opposition - something that has often not happened in previous years. City chose to attack the Bristol End for the first half, and the singing, Ultra-type fans (including myself) gathered round the gigantic Bath City white ensign that the City supporter known as Paul1978 recently organised. We kicked off a night of singing with 'Oh When the Stripes Come Marching In!'

Singing anything at all on a Tuesday night match is a great stride for City supporters. Mid-week matches always have smaller, quieter crowds. The last one, a 5-0 thumping of Woking in December, had been played in relative silence. A noisy crowd, though, generates the sort of atmosphere that will hopefully encourage more fans to attend. We have also been thinking it is helpful for the players as well. I'm pleased to say that I can confirm this is the case with this message of thanks from a player:

The atmosphere around the ground has been fantastic since the Grimsby game and now you have the brilliant flag it adds to the atmosphere. The support [Tuesday] night was fantastic for a evening game, the moment we kicked off you could here your singing all over the pitch. It does make a difference to the players when you hear the fans singing and creating a great atmosphere. I'm really glad you're all enjoying the games and I hope you all stick together for the rest of the season to helps get us into the playoffs.

-Thanks,

Jim

Jim, as in Jim Rollo, the Bath City captain and general legend. What Jim says, we must do. Okay everyone?

I suppose I'd better start talking about what happened on the pitch. Actually, you can probably guess. City dominated things from the start (although without scoring) and Weston started kicking anything in black and white stripes within reach. The first few minutes were typical of the first half: Lewis Hogg was just wide of the post with a strike from the edge of the penalty box, quickly followed by a two-footed assault by Weston's Craig Rand on Kaid Mohamed. The home support may have seen red, but match referee Antony Coggins only saw yellow.

A few minutes into the match I met up with my friend James. James works on Saturdays, but comes to the occasional mid-week match. This was his first appearance at Twerton Park since last seasons soul-destroying loss to Bishop's Stortford (not to be confused with last month's soul-destroying draw with Bishop's Stortford). After a few minutes of chatting I suddenly realised just how much has changed in the last nine months.

He was really shocked to see the flags, to hear the singing, and by the size of the crowd. More importantly, he was shocked to see how well City were playing. Last season City were a solid team who showed flashes of brilliance, but mostly just flashes. This season, despite injury setbacks and a small squad, City have become a team that pass the ball with a silkiness that the snootiest haberdasher would feel proud to display. Feel the quality!

Although James has enjoyed coming to matches with me, he has always assumed a slightly mocking tone. It is friendly banter between mates, but when he's seen a boring match he has not refrained from disparaging comments. Suddenly, as we watched yet another brilliant cross into the box from Sekani Simpson, he could not do that. He didn't want to do it either. 'Is he a new signing,' he asked of Simpson, with the Ultras' songs ringing in our ears.

I assured him he was not, and that 'Simmo' has even impressed the presenters on Soccer AM. Simmo was on fire, and City were thumping Weston up and down the pitch. I had a sudden upswelling of pride as I realised just how much the club and the supporters have accomplished this season.

After hearing so much about the undynamic duo of Andy Gurney and Chris Smith (respectively Weston's manager and assistant manager), I invited James to come with me and stand behind their dugout for a few minutes. I was hoping to hear something shocking, like the instructions Gurney had reportedly given to his team on Boxing Day to get City's Lewis Hogg sent off. We listened for about twenty minutes, and I can say that nothing incriminating was said at all. There was some low level intimidation of the linesman, and a bit of wandering out of the technical area, but nothing serious. When Gurney did shout something to his players it was, 'Don't foul!' He shouted this over and over again. To me, that's the equivalent of carrying a fragile vase and having someone behind you shout, 'Don't drop it!' I'm not the professional football coach, though. Maybe they needed reminding.

City continued to dominate play, but not score. I will admit that this worried me. Unconverted half-chances were racking up quickly. Even poor teams can punish you when you fail to take advantage of a dominant spell. Luckily City did eventually take advantage at thirty-four minutes.

Sekani Simpson (as previously mentioned - on fire) eluded a Weston defender on the goal line and launched another perfect cross into the six-yard box. This led to one of my favourite goals of the season. Normally favourite goals are the ones that come unexpectedly, like Mike Perrott's stunning volley off a Jim Rollo cross against Chelmsford in the season opener. This goal, however, was clearly going to happen almost from the moment the ball left Simmo's foot. Kaid Mohamed was in the perfect spot to get a good header, and was for once not being molested by any Weston players. Weston's Lurch-like keeper, Kevin Sawyer (who to be fair, had an excellent game) was going to have no chance. It was still a thing of beauty, though, even though it was not subtle or mysterious. I, of course, went completely nuts and started screaming like a banshee. Like a banshee stood only a few feet behind Andy Gurney, I should say.

The half ended with City almost scoring twice more. James and I returned to the Popular Side of the ground. As we walked I reflected on how many goals City could have scored, and how surprising it was that match referee Antony Coggins had assumed such a low profile. After his flip-flop on the suitability of the pitch on New Year's Day, I was expecting more controversy from him. It turned out I needed only to wait until the second half.

Well, twenty-five minutes into the second half, to give him credit. Between minutes forty-five and seventy, the second half was much like the first: City dominating but not converting. Then all heck broke loose.

Weston striker, Josh Klein-Davies came at Lewis Hogg with a dangerous tackle on the sideline near the main stand. I was surprised by this. During a loan spell with City last season, Klein-Davies had come across as lazy an disinterested. I didn't know he had a dangerous tackle in him. Anyway, Lewis Hogg didn't like this very much. There are several versions of what happened next, but I am going to relate the one I heard. I sprinted over to the other side of the ground and questioned two fans who stood only a few feet away from the events that followed. They gave roughly the same story, and stood far enough apart from each other that they had not conferred. Here is what they said:

After being tackled from behind, Hogg stood up and said a few unkind things to Klein-Davies, who was still lying prone. Klein-Davies stood up eventually, and, taking Hogg by the face, proceeded to simulate receiving a head-butt from Hogg. He then threw himself back onto the pitch. This led to a lot of aggressive posturing from players on both sides, and a lot of people separating various players to keep things from getting out of control. A long time passed, with Coggins seeming unable to resolve the situation and get the match back underway. Eventually a red card was shown to Klein-Davies. Predictably, a red card was shown to Hogg as well. Although at least a minute passed between the two red cards, there was a further scuffle in the tunnel. Klein-Davies, two separate people told me, had been waiting in the tunnel for Hogg.

Coggins appears to have been suckered by the Weston striker. It was not be the first time, of course, he had been pressured by that team into making the wrong call. Coggins had assumed a low profile in the first seventy minutes, but he had done this by going too easy on the bad tackles Weston had been employing. Now, as he tried desperately to stamp his authority back on the game, he just looked ridiculous.

Suddenly there was not infraction so small that it could not require a whistle. One free-throw was re-taken four times. Players on either side who got a bit physical received long lectures about something or other. Coggins made it look important with lots of gesticulating. Well, he tried. Shorter lectures earlier in the match would not have gone amiss.

Although both sides were equal with ten men, the new dynamic seemed to favour Weston. They began to pressure City in a way not seen in either match. They even managed a decent shot ten minutes before time. As injury time approached I began to worry Weston would earn their second ever draw at Twerton Park.

Then, a bizarre match got even more bizarre. At ninety minutes Weston made their third substitution. On to the pitch came....Andy Gurney. That's right, the manager. It's not unheard of for a manager to name himself as a sub in non-league football. I suppose they want to make the squad look a bit bigger. It is pretty weird for one to actually suit up and come on to play. This was the fifth time Gurney had named himself as a sub this season, but the first time he'd actually come on. At thirty-six he's not quite too old to be a player, but it was his first league appearance for any club since he left Newport County for a career in management in 2008. I can't help but wonder what his motivation was here. What was the best outcome he could have expected? If he got a goal and levelled the score, what would the dressing room be like after the match? Wouldn't he be undermining the confidence of his own players? Wouldn't they all secretly (or not so secretly) hate him? And then there is the outside chance he could embarrass himself and shred whatever personal authority he has left. Certainly, an odd-ball call.

In the end Gurney failed to have much impact on the final few minutes (which I guess still makes the decision hard to justify). Coggins whistled for full time, and the relieved City fans roared with triumph. Things were good. City was in eighth place. Bring on Dover Athletic. Goodbye, until next season, Antony Coggins. Goodbye, hopefully for many seasons, Weston-super-Mare AFC!