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.

The Agony, the Rain, the Worry, and a little bit of Ecstasy

There are times in the life of the average non-league fan when he wonders if he is really and truly sane. I had such a moment Saturday as I watched Bath City defeat Chelmsford City 1-0. I was standing on the Bristol End terrace at Twerton Park in pelting rain and howling wind. I was cold and wet and tired. Next to me was my seven-year-old son (known for purposes of this blog as Big Nedved Junior) who must have also been cold and wet and tired. We were watching Bath City frantically try to keep Chelmsford at bay for half an hour with only ten men. Bath City defender Matt Coupe had been given a straight red at the hour mark for a studs-up tackle. With the man advantage, the stiff wind at their backs, and a Bath City team sitting back to defend their slender one goal advantage, Chelmsford kept up near-relentless pressure on the Bath End goal. Big Nedved Junior and I stood at the Bristol End, watching our heroes struggle in the distance, desperately hoping they would break free to score in front of us. It was not possible to really follow what was happening from that far away. It was only later that I learned that a shot from Chelmsford's Danny Hockton had struck one goal post, only for the rebound to be struck against the other post by Hockton's teammate Anthony Cook. From our distance we could only see a mass of bodies throwing themselves at the ball. We stood in the rain and waited for the inevitable-seeming bad news, and counted the minutes (literally) until we could stop worrying. After half and hour we were allowed to stop worrying and go somewhere dry and warm. Basically, I had paid £10 to stand in the rain with my son and chew my nails for half an hour. I had done this because this is what I consider 'fun.'

The entire afternoon had not been taken up with rain-soaked stress, however. Big Nedved Junior and I had arrived early at the ground to take in a meal at the club bar, 'Charlie's.' After pies, sausages and chips in front of a football match on a big-screen telly, we walked down the Twerton High street. We were looking for some 'Match Attax' cards to enhance Big Nedved Junior's playground cred. We failed to find any, but we did end up in the Co-op at the same time as my son's favourite player, Gethin Jones. We both felt too shy to talk to him so we loitered around the dairy products until he had left. Although we returned to Twerton Park empty handed, we soon had something even better...

Bath City Players Cards!! Thanks to a fantastic initiative by the Supporters Club, Big Nedved Junior could now collect cards of his non-league heroes alongside the Premiership primadonnas he is increasingly besotted with. We bought two packs, each containing three cards, for 50p each. I had worried our first packs would give us doubles of Marcus Browning, but it turned out we only got one of him (in away kit). In addition to Browning we got cards for Matt Coupe, Sido Jombati, Mark Badman, Richard Evans, and Kaid Mohamed. It was a good haul, we thought. To keep them dry Big Nedved Junior stored them in a special plastic pouch he had brought expressly for this purpose.

Not long after we were settled in the Popular Side terrace I was wishing he had brought a plastic pouch big enough for us to put ourselves in. The wind was whipping around enough that it was hard to find anywhere under cover that was truly dry. Once the match kicked off that wind began to play a pretty prominent role in the play on the pitch as well.

Bath City had been fortunate to win the toss and attack the Bath End of the ground. The wind blew fiercely but erratically. Anytime the ball cleared ten feet or so off the ground it was impossible to know which direction it would take. You almost had to pity Chelmsford keeper Craig Holloway, who is not the best of kickers in good conditions, as goal kick after goal kick failed to clear the halfway line. Neither team was able to do much more than hang around and hope for a lucky break from the wind. Thankfully the strength of the wind meant that Bath City got to do most of their hanging around in the Chelmsford half.

Chelmsford did manage some frightening runs at the Bath City goal on the occasional break. It was actually a Bath City counterattack, though, that brought the goal we had all been waiting for. Stuart Douglas received a neat pass from Sido Jombati close enough to onside to keep the linesman's flag down. With two Chelmsford players at his side and Holloway charging from the goal line, I thought Douglas had left it too late. He began to fall from what looked like a side tackle. It was a mistake I had seen Douglas commit before - taking one too many touches before trying to shoot. Somehow, though, while appearing to be totally off balance, Douglas managed to chip the ball over the Chelmsford keeper. It rolled gently into the corner of the net. I screamed and jumped up and down and silently promised never to doubt Stuart Douglas again!

This all happened with fifteen minutes to go before the half. Considering how poor the conditions were, and how Bath City would be playing against the wind in the next period, it seemed likely to me that a 1-0 victory was the only likely scoreline that would be good news. Kaid Mohamed almost proved me wrong a few minutes later with an excellent, on-target strike from outside the box. Despite this, and a couple close calls in the second half, most of the rest of the match was made up of midfield tackles and pressure on the Bath City goal.

And so my son and I stood on the exposed steps of the Bristol end terrace, forlornly hoping our heroes would score a second goal and deliver us from the worry. After Matt Coupe's sending off I called out the remaining minutes as they passed. I think this only made them pass more slowly. From our far-away vantage, every Chelmsford pass appeared to cross the mouth of the goal or need clearing off the line by a Bath City defender. It was a race between the clock and bad news. Which one would come first? Eventually the referee blew his whistle. I let out a cheer that was as much a sigh of relief as a cry of victory. As we scuttled back to the warmth of the car I wondered how many new grey hairs I had gained.

By any rational viewpoint, it was a miserable day. People only endure such discomfort for love from insanity. For football fans, especially for non-league football fans, I think it is a mixture of both. Despite the cold, the rain, the tension and the broken play, it was all worth it for the joy of seeing Douglas' goal and the relief I felt upon hearing the final whistle.

Now, time to plan our next match!

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!

The Most Perfect of Perfect Days!

If you are a Bath City fan then yesterday's meeting with Bishop's Cleeve was the most important match of the season. It was not actually the glory of a FA Cup Third Qualifying Round that made it so important, though. What really made it a must win was the prize money: £7,500 was up for grabs for the winner. Adie Britton made in clear in this week's Bath Chronicle that without this extra money players were going to be cut. After seeing the upheaval the club went through last year after an exit in the same round to Aylesbury United, the idea of a loss to Bishop's Cleeve was unthinkable.

It could have been a long, quiet hour-and-a-half drive north into Gloucestershire for my friend Mark and me as we contemplated just how devastating a loss could be. It could have been, but wasn't, thanks to the presence of both Nedved juniors in the back seat of the Nedvedmobile. Little Nedved Junior kept up a steady chorus of, 'are we nearly there yet?' and Big Nedved Junior gave Mark a detailed account of Four Four Two's top 100 football players of the year (which he had practically memorised the day before). It was distracting enough that we made a wrong turn in Cheltenham and got stuck in some seriously bad traffic. By the time we had gotten through it we were seriously worried we were going to miss the kick-off.

We had reason to worry as well because finding non-league grounds at the lower end of the pyramid is not something you can take for granted. Once clear of Cheltenham our directions took us to a suspiciously rural area at the foot of Cleeve Hill. There were no signs to indicate that you were approaching a football ground and I began to think we had made another wrong turn. Fortunately my doubts were misplaced. It turns out that instead of signs, Bishop's Cleeve employ a woman in a pink top to stand by the road and point to the match-day parking through a gap in the hedge. How she is able to tell who is coming for the match and who is just a random person driving down Kayte Lane I don't know, but she got it right with us. She peered intently at me though the windscreen, sized me up, and pointed with a determined thrust of her arm.

After paying our entrance fee (£7 adults, kids under 12 free!) and snagging a program (£1) the four of us entered the ground where Bath City's season would either continue in hope or crash in ignominy. The sun was shining disconcertingly brightly for a match of such sombre importance. The ground itself consisted of a clubhouse and snack bar fronted by an expansive patio. This led on to a well-maintained but uneven pitch which was surrounded by a stout brick wall. For the most part spectators perched against this to view the match. Little Nedved Junior had to perch on top of it , actually, as he was too small to see over it on his own. There were two small covered stands for those who wanted a bit more comfort.

As the two teams entered the pitch through an accordion style tunnel my stomach began to tie itself in knots. What if we lost? How would City supporters deal with a defeat? Could we not all gather together, hold hands and say a quick prayer before kick-off? Mercifully the match kicked off before I could think of any more questions.

Because both children were having trouble seeing the match the four of us spent the first ten minutes wandering the perimeter looking for a spare bit of wall that was not quite so high. This distraction was a good thing for my nerves because, as it turned out, Bishop's Cleeve began the game with a determined style and good organisation. Even better for my nerves was a header from Marcus Browning that ricocheted off the Bishop's Cleeve post. The Villagers were not phased by this, though, and immediately took the ball down the other end for a decent shot on goal. Arrrhhhhh!!!! Didn't these clubs in the lower Southern League know they were supposed to be pushovers!

As we skirted past one of the miniature stands we passed by City defender Chris 'Dutch' Holland. Dutch is one of the more imposing players you will ever come across in non-league - not just because of his size or his penchant for wearing black leather gloves like a Bond villain. No, he has that intangible sense of authority that you associate with policemen and the scarier sort of high-school principles. You don't mess with him, basically. He has missed the last few matches due to injury but I was pleased to notice that underneath his Bath City polo shirt he was wearing the high-performance long underwear he is fond of. Perhaps this indicated that he might have been prepared to sit on the bench if needed.

Our journey round the pitch was unsuccessful, so we ended up right back where we had started at the corner flag opposite the goal City were defending. Some ladies came round with a basket asking if I wanted to buy a ticket for the half-time draw. A supporter at Tuesday night's match against Bridgwater had told me to make sure I entered this draw. The Bishop's Cleeve manager is a butcher and supplies the prizes (first prize beef, second prize pork, and third prize chicken). After some reassurances about how big the portions were I gladly bought a £1 ticket.

About this time, though, I began to have a very bad premonition. It began to seem blatantly obvious to me that City were going to lose and that the whole season was going to unravel on the pitch before my eyes. I was sure of it. I decided not to tell Mark. There was no need to upset him before it was necessary.

It was a good thing I kept my mouth shut because my premonition, fortunately, turned out to be completely bogus. Former Bath City defender, Steve Jones, tripped Kaid Mohamed from behind and the referee pointed to the penalty spot. Because the Bath City crowd was spread out, and perhaps because we were all so tense, there was only a muffled cheer. Was this really happening? As I was trying to decide whether to pinch myself or not Darren Edwards lined up and took the shot. Despite making poor contact he somehow managed to get the ball in. City had the lead! City might win after all! The season might not be lost! The tension began to ease out of me like a balloon with a slow leak.

Little Nedved Junior tapped me on the leg. 'Daddy, I'm hungry. Can I have a hotdog.' Normally I hate queueing for anything during a match, but I was feeling giddy. 'Absolutely!' I said.

By the time we had circumvented the pitch again and navigated the excessively slow queue at the snack bar the first half was nearly over. We found a bit of unoccupied wall on the end City were attacking just in time to see the next goal. Jim Rollo launched a free kick into the left corner to reach Gethin Jones. He took the ball into the danger zone, and after a moment it landed for Mark Badman to slot it home. It was an excellent bit of play, and, I'm proud to say, not untypical for Bath City this campaign.

A third goal in injury time would have made it a perfect half. Like a genie granting three wishes, the City players complied! Florin Pelecaci, who had spent the half being quietly excellent in midfield, reached Badman with an excellent cross. After some hesitant defending from Bishop's Cleeve he was able to plant it into the net for his second goal of the match. The match was on the verge of turning into a romp. My premonition was turning out to be really wrong. I've decided not to listen to premonitions any more. Not until next Saturday, anyway.

The halftime break was notable for two things. Little Nedved Junior told me he was cold and took up my offer to put on my sweatshirt. It turned out that he was not cold at all but liked the idea of wearing something ten sizes too big for him. He bobbed and twirled as we moved around the ground which made him look like a giant grey jellyfish. Secondly, we found a section of the ground with a shorter wooden fence that meant both boys could have a clear view of the pitch. I mistakenly thought this would cause them to watch the second half quietly.

It didn't matter if the boys were a bit rowdy, though, because the rest of the match went by in a bit of a blur for me. I was so relieved that City appeared to be on their way to victory that I had trouble concentrating on the progress of the game. I do not think I was alone in this as most of the City fans around me chatted to one another amiably as if we were all just enjoying a jolly day out and not watching a season-defining match unfold before us. The tone got even more jovial when word was passed around that Newport County were losing to our friends Paulton Rovers 1-0. This was shaping up to be a perfect afternoon.

A touch of concern returned to our voices briefly, however, when Kevin Slack beat the City defenders to a long goal kick and easily beat City keeper Steve Perrin. Despite this goal, though, Bishop's Cleeve never again ruffled City's otherwise excellent defence. I knew I should have started worrying about the match after they scored but City were just too dominant. With seemingly inevitability, Edwards restored the three goal lead with a looping header off a Jombati cross with fifteen minutes left.

A few minutes from time a huge cheer rose from the City fans gathered around the Bishop's Cleeve goal. The person next to me said, 'That would be the Newport result. They must have lost.' A moment later he was able to confirm this on his mobile.

Full time was blown to a rousing cheer from the travelling City faithful. We were in the hat for Monday's draw. We had defeated a team that had beaten fellow Blue Square South side Weymouth. We had played with determination, passion, and flair. Most of all, though, we had secured £7,500 and would not have to release any players.

The drive home was peaceful and uneventful. Between the need to distract the children and the England commentary on the radio Mark and I did not have much opportunity for conversation. It did not matter, though, because it turned out we only had two things to say, which we said over and over again whenever there was a moment of quiet.

'We won 4-1!' one of us would start. The other one would immediately say, 'Yeah, and Newport lost!'

I was so wrapped up in these two facts that it was not until we reached the M4 that I realised I had not found out what the winning numbers were for the halftime draw. I had been hoping to bring home a half side of beef for Mrs Nedved!

Darn! It was still a perfect afternoon (but if anyone from Bishop's Cleeve reads this my ticket number was 111!).

How to Torture Yourself Online

After getting to watch the first three matches of the season live and in person, it was difficult to adjust to the reality that I would have to miss tonight's match anainst Havant & Waterloooville FC. I knew absolutely I would not be able to go, but I still sneaked a look at the train times from Bath to Havant, and checked on Google Maps to see how far the ground was from the train station (1.4 miles - a 27 minute walk it told me). The truth, though, is that Mrs Nedved needed me at home tonight to put the kids to bed while she attended a committee meeting. With all of the grown-up commitments I have these days I can't really expect to go to every match. That's what I tell myself, anyway.

Fortunately, thanks to the 'information super-highway' I can get a steady stream of live updates as they happen from the ground. This is mostly due to fellow fan 'Sean,' who runs a website called 'www.cityupdates.co.uk.' The website uses a very simple, but elegant concept. Sean attends the matches with his super-duper mobile phone which can access the Internet and adds lines of text to the sites page as the game progresses. In the past, as many as seventy-nine people around the world have been hanging onto every word Sean types in, so it is quite a responsibility.

The other website I always have up when I'm not at a match is the Non League Vidiprinter. This amazing website, which is based on the BBC's 'vidiprinter' which does a similar job for the larger clubs on television, lists goals, half time, attendances, red cards, and full time whistles from the top four levels of non-league football (some 254 teams) as they happen. It does this smoothly and silently each match day, regardless of how worked up and emotional its audience is. It is an amazing achievement, especially considering that there is no live media coverage of any sort for the majority of the matches it is covering.

The Internet revolution has transformed the experience of following a non-league football club, and this is most evident on these painful match days when you are not attending. Less than a decade ago if you missed a match you would have had no choice but to find something to take your mind off the subject until you could find out what happened (at least a few hours later or probably the next day). Fathers and husbands around the country probably spent the time with their families, or engaged in some edifying activity such as gardening or reading a book. Due to the bounty of technology, however, we can now spend this time hunched in front of a computer screen chewing on our nails. Progress.

As I said, Mrs Nedved had a committee meeting she was holding at our house at 8 pm. Through careful child-management I was able to get both boys into bed by 7:40, five minutes before kick-off. I had myself pretty worked up - we really needed at least a point from our visit to Havant & Waterlooville, but I was worried that the 'Hawks' were showing much more form than the pre-season surveys had suggested. Two seasons ago Havant managed to get to the fourth round of the FA Cup and drew Liverpool away - the non-league equivalent of winning the lottery (with the powerball!). Through prize money, their share of the gates, and television earnings the club earned an estimated £750,000. All the pundits tipped them to run away with the league last year because of this, but they finished a mysterious fifteenth. Although no one was talking about them before this season, early reports are that they may be feeling the effect of that cash injection a year later than expected. Seven points from a possible nine was impressive, and better than City's record. Despite all of that, City would surely want to keep the momentum of the previous two matches going and at least come away from the match with something.

In the first half hour things looked bleak. Sean was reporting that the Hawks were really dominating play, and their new signing, Manny Williams, scored a goal at seven minutes into the match.

Reading about City losing with only a computer screen to look at is an excruciating process. I would much rather watch them lose live and in person. On the computer the bad news comes suddenly and out of context. Your mind, trying to make sense of the information, is in a state of shock. It tries to comes up with all sorts of scenarios to explain the news, but none of them satisfy. The only thing a sane person can do, and sanity at this point is already being pushed to the limit, is stare even harder at the screen, hoping this will force an update carrying better news to appear.

In this instance the starring worked. As my wife's fellow committee persons began to assemble downstairs word appeared from Sean that City was playing more aggressively. No goals came before the half, but having seen City's fightback in Chelmsford I knew they were up to coming back from a goal down.

Once half time was finished I began to get the BBC i-player loaded up in order to listen to Caroline Barker's Non League Show that is broadcast on Monday nights at 9pm on BBC London. It is a good source of Non League news, something that is not always easy to come by the way the Premiership dominates the sports media. Luck was in because Caroline had a reporter at West Leigh Park, so for a few precious minutes I was actually hearing ambient noise from the match itself. Not much happened while he was on the air except a City player got a yellow card, but for a brief moment I felt an irrational surge of excitement.

The news from Sean continued to be positive. The meeting downstairs continued in a manner that gave me confidence I would be able to follow the match to its conclusion undisturbed. Then, all hell broke loose.

I must have concentrated on the digital reports a bit too much because unbeknownst to me the meeting had in fact finished and everyone had left. Whoever heard of a meeting that only lasts forty-five minutes, anyway? Mrs Nedved calls up, 'Is the computer free now?' Disaster! Saying 'no' would be risky. This is the same Mrs Nedved who's blessing I need to go to the Saturday match against Hampton & Richmond Borough, and annoying her with Bath City stuff could bias her against this. After making a quick, Richelieu-like calculation, I said 'yes.' Just as the words left my mouth, though, important news from Sean appeared: an excellent cross from Darren Edwards had connected with Mark Badman who put the ball in the net. City were level!

I punched the air, silently, and tried to compose myself. Mrs Nedved would not want to see me acting like an imbecile, no matter how understandable it might be in such a situation. Then, as I heard her ascending on the stairs, Sean sent through a cryptic update: 'Bath City penalty.'

Was this a penalty for City? Or against it? Or maybe I had misunderstood Sean's previous update and the goal from Edwards and Badman was a penalty? I waited eagerly, pretending it was no trouble to open a new window for Yahoo mail, and walked away from the computer none the wiser. As I did this I could hear the sound of the computer working hard to process some data - exactly the noise it makes when an update from Sean is coming through!

Just then my phone began to vibrate furiously with incoming texts. 'Who's texting you?' she asks. I don't know actually. I'm having trouble concentrating at this point to be honest. 'Would you like a cup of tea?' I ask weakly.

Down in the kitchen I fumble with my phone and find a text from a colleague at work. He is a Swindon Town fan, but by glorious providence, had chosen that moment to see what the score was for the Bath City match and to text it to me! He had never done this before, but chose just the right moment to start. 'Bath 2 -1 H & W, get in there,' he wrote. Then a moment later I get further commentary on the scoreline: '2 goals in two minutes, just need to hang on, City going up!!!!!'

I managed to make the cup of tea and spill less than half of it on my journey up the stairs. Mrs Nedved was furiously typing out emails. Being a perceptive person, and of a kind nature, she senses the distress I am trying to hide. 'Do you want to look at the Bath City page?' I gave her a half-mumbled answer and lunged for the mouse. Yes, it was true. City lead 2-1 with minutes to go.

As she returns to her emails I tried to text my colleague to ask for more help. I say 'try' because the message I meant to type was, 'Wife has tied up the computer so keep the texts coming.' What I actually sent to my puzzled friend (thanks to predictive text and a lack of concentration) was, 'Bomb has tied us the computer so keep the texts congo.' Just as I was pressing 'send,' another text came in: 'S***, 2-2'

Mrs Nedved was finished moments later, but there was no further change in score to get updates about. The game finished with two goals each. Conflicting voices filled my cloudy head. 'You said you would be happy with a point, and that's what you got. Be happy.' 'Yeah, but if City had gotten all three points they would have been in third!' 'Yes, but they were a good side and' ........blah, blah, blah. Time for a distraction.

Fortunately I don't drink.