What's That Coming Over the Hill?

I spent most of the second half of Saturday's home match against Dover Athletic wandering around the ground with my son, Little Nedved Junior. He can handle staying put in the first half, but after that he needs a bit of distraction to keep from getting too bored. We ended up in front of the Family Stand, which is the corner of the pitch where the substitute players warm up before going into the game.

There were a couple kids clutching pens and sheets of A4 paper, trying to get autographs from anyone looking remotely like a player. Being asked for your autograph must be a nice ego-boost for the players. Unfortunately, these kids had a way of doing it that must have had the opposite effect.

'Who are you?' they asked one player, thrusting pen and paper towards a nearby player.

'That's Matt Coupe,' I said. I tried to say it with a tone that suggested that everyone should know the player known as the 'Beast of Twerton.' Well, I think everyone should.

'Is your name on the back of this?' they asked, pointing to their programs.

'Yeah, it's on there somewhere,' Coupe said, taking pen in hand. 'Just not as high up as it used to be.'

You could hear the frustration in Coupe's voice when he said this, even though he signed the crumpled sheets of paper cheerfully and with good grace. Up until October he had been a regular starter for Bath City. For good reason too. He is not only an excellent defender, but a source of inspiration for fans and fellow players. Coupe's presence on City's backline is almost tangible when he plays. He doesn't just shout out encouragement to his team mates; the will to win seems to seep out of every pore in his body. Even when he has an off-day, he can overcome opponents just by sheer bloody-mindedness. These qualities have understandably made him a fan favourite for many years, and also explain why he has made over 300 appearances in a City shirt.

And yet, for the last three months he has started matches on the bench more often than on the pitch. Although manager Adie Britton has often not had much choice when it comes to selecting goalkeepers or forwards, the competition for places in midfield and defence this season has been fierce. The quality of players that have appeared as substitutes, or been loaned to other clubs, has been remarkable.

As a City supporter I feel conflicted about this. It is great to have such a surplus of quality in at least two areas, but I hate seeing some of my favourites collecting splinters. Fortunately Coupe's warm-up was quickly followed by him going into the Dover match, taking Jim Rollo's captain armband as the players traded places.

A sign of Coupe's popularity is the fact that he is the only City player who has two songs sung from the terraces in his honour. The first, I Wish I was a Pornstar Like Matt Coupe (sung to the tune of She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain) was first aired at the Grimsby match. The more traditional song, though, is R.E.M.'s Monster.

Within a few minutes of arriving back on the pitch, it was evident that time with the subs had not dulled Coupe's desire to win. In a scrappy, battling match, Coupe scrapped and battled with a tenaciousness that was heartening to watch. The 'Ultras' on the Popular Side took up the old refrain, 'What's that comin' over the hill, is it a monster? Is it a monster?' This caused some consternation among the nearby Dover supporters, who do not appear to have the tradition of singing songs for individual players. Anyone who has taken the time to watch Coupe tear through an opposition attack, though, would readily spot the meaning of the song.

As Dover did take control of most of the end of the match, reinforcing City's backline with such a determined presence was obviously the right thing to do. I know I am not alone in hoping that we see Coupe more regularly. In sympathy with manager Adie Britton's dilemma, though, I'm not sure who should be dropped to make way. I suppose, on balance, that's the sort of decision a manager is wants to be presented with. All I can say is, it's a decision I am happy not to have to make.

New Year Begins With Controversy

Today's Bath City match against Weston-super-Mare was postponed today in very controversial circumstances. Since Monday's home match against Havant & Waterlooville was called off as well, any decision not to play was bound to upset a lot of fans. What happened today, though, appears to go beyond disappointing and move into the realms of farce, gamesmanship, and shame.

Here is a sequence of events as reconstructed from several eyewitness accounts: club officials and volunteers arrived at Twerton Park at 10:30 am to help remove the ground covers that were in place from the previous night. Although one cover was found to have ripped, exposing a small area roughly three by five feet, the pitch appeared to have survived the overnight low temperatures in good condition. At 1pm the match referee, Mr Antony Coggins from Bicester, arrived and agreed with the Bath City assessment that the pitch was playable. According to Bath City supporter Daniel Tanner (and since corroborated by others present) Mr Coggins said, 'My bed is harder than this I have played on worse pitches than this. I have put the key into the ground and it is fine. The game is okay to go ahead. You have done a great job well done.' He then enquired about where the club had sourced their ground covers.

Fifteen minutes later the Weston-super-Mare team coach pulled into Twerton Park. According to one Bath City volunteer, Weston assistant manager Chris Smith marched straight over to the corner of the pitch where the Popular Side and the Bristol End meet. This is the area of the pitch that normally suffers from freezing, and as Weston have been coming to Twerton Park for seventy-five years, it would have been well known to the Weston management team. Moments later Smith claimed the pitch unplayable, and that his players would be risking injury if the game was allowed to start. Perhaps succumbing to pressure, Coggins held an additional pitch inspection at 1:30pm. Despite the presence of sunshine for the preceding half hour, Coggins chose to reverse his previous decision at 1:45pm and declare the pitch unfit. The Weston-super-Mare squad did not chose to stay around long after this. By the time I arrived at the ground with my two children at 2:20, their coach had already departed for home.

Arriving at Twerton Park today was confusing to say the least. Just as we entered the ground someone came up to me and told me the game was called due to a frozen pitch. I thought he was joking, but then I wondered why a complete stranger would joke with me about something like that. Two more people told me the same thing within seconds. A minute later I saw my friend Dave and his eight-year-old son. They had come for their first ever match at Twerton. I felt embarrassed, but he said they would come back again. As the gates were wide open, I decided to take the boys into the ground and have a look around.

The first thing I noticed upon entering was that the Bath City players were having a practice on the supposedly 'unplayable' pitch. I also met several other frustrated City supporters, and from talking to them, started to piece together the events of the day. In a nutshell, it is widely believed that Weston did not want to play the match. They have had some injuries and have been losing players to other clubs. In fact, according to Daniel Tanner's account, upon hearing the ref's decision to call it off Weston manager Andy Gurney 'rubbed his hands up and down with a smile on his face,' before making a sarcastic comment to City player Matt Coupe. This reportedly led to a heated argument between Gurney and Coupe that City manager Adie Britton chose to intervene in [there is some confusion about whether Coupe's exchange was with Gurney or Smith as they are somewhat similar looking].

I decided to make my own unofficial inspection with the help of a fellow supporter known on the Bath City message board as the 'A18.' We did a circuit of the pitch and spent several minutes around the area that was supposedly frozen. The grass was a bit crunchy, and there were certainly areas that could not be described as 'soft.' It was a long, long, way from the icy tundra that City had played on at Woking just two weeks earlier. It certainly did not look dangerous.

It turns out that Weston have form when it comes to controversial, last-minute postponements this season. On 5 December their match with Eastleigh was called in very similar circumstances, although the scapegoat in this instance was rain. After passing an inspection at 1pm the game looked declared 'on' by the match referee. After Weston's arrival at Silverlake Stadium the referee went on to reverse his decision, in this instance as late as 2:45. Quoting from a thread from the Eastleigh forum:

the pitch was passed as playable at 1.00 and ... it didn't rain from then until 2.45 ... so what changed?... As far as I could see there was no significant surface water on the pitch (none at all at the club house end) and the groundsman indicated to me by attempting to push his heel into the ground that the pitch wasn't particularly soggy either. I suspect that the game wa called off because Weston had a couple of players missing and put pressure on the referee.

Another poster on the same thread wrote:

Well I heard the rumour about Weston officials putting pressure on the ref to call in off from 3 different sources so there is quite possibly some truth in it.

I was alerted to this earlier controversy by 'A18's father, known as the 'A36.' They live in Hampshire and had made a long drive to see today's match. It is supporters like them who were the real victims of this farce. Many people will have travelled long distances at great expense to come to Twerton today. Every effort should have been made by all participants to get the game underway. Whatever their motives, it appears that Weston wanted the match abandoned almost from the moment they arrived. They certainly were not willing to hang around to try to get the match started once the referee had made his ruling. Seeing how football clubs exist because supporters pay to see them play, such blatant disregard for the time and money of those same supporters appears to border on the scandalous.

There have been many reactions to today's events. The fact that City were holding a full training session on the so-called unsafe pitch was a statement in itself from City manager Adie Britton. When asked by a Bath Chronicle reporter, 'you think other parties may have spoken to [Anthony Coggins] about the condition of the pitch?' Britton wisely declined to comment. Speaking of the pitch, Britton said 'we don't feel it is dangerous at all. We wanted to play and we think it's safe. We're going to train on it. We don't have a problem with it at all.' (the full interview can be heard here).

The official announcement from Weston-super-Mare AFC is surprisingly bland considering the controversy:

Today's game against Bath City fell victim to the weather, after another late call by the Referee Mr Coggins, who apparently called the pitch fit for play earlier in the day.

It then lists no less than three other occasions in the last month when referees have reversed earlier decisions about their club's matches proceding [this blog has asked for a clarification of the events surrounding today's decision from the club but as yet has received no response].

As there is nothing official to shed any light on the situation from an official Weston-super-Mare AFC perspective, I have also solicited views from unofficial sources. An appeal for comments was placed on the Unofficial Weston-super-Mare AFC Fans Forum by myself at 4:04pm this afternoon. As of writing ninety-six people have read this post, but so far no one has felt inclined to express their opinion.

Another thread was started by a Weston supporter soon afterwards, however, calling for Andy Gurney to be sacked. 'Angry Gull' wrote:

'Is it true Andy Gurney was too scared to play the game? We can run and hide all we like, but we're certs for relegation and Gurney's cowardly acts, dragging the club even further through the mud, is a total disgrace. He's sending us down as a laughing stock. Time to go....'

Weston's forum allows anonymous posting, however, and it should be noted that 'Angry Gull' is not a registered user.

The same cannot be said of the forum's moderator Sean, though. He has posted on this same thread and this is the closest thing to an official response from Weston to have been made thus far. He wrote:

No it's not true Bath City told us the game was on at 11:09 Bath City lied the ref' called the game off at about 13:55. Bath City jumped the gun, they need the money hence why they were more than happy to tell the world the game as on when in reality it was never going to happen.

I have asked 'Sean' to clarify just who he is accusing of lying, but he has so far declined to elaborate. He appears to have gotten his times as confused as his grammar, but his main thrust (I think), that the referee did not pass the pitch as playable at 1pm is contradicted by two eye-witnesses as discussed above.

The Nedved Juniors and I hung around the ground for about half an hour before we decided to head home. Both children were delighted to receive free doughnuts from the tea-bar staff who needed to dispose of perishable stock. They might have succeeded if they had tried selling them, though. At least fifty City fans had stayed on to watch the practice session.

Little Nedved Junior, who is only five, asked me to explain again why the match had been cancelled. I swallowed my anger for a moment and tried to give him a simple, unbiased explanation. Although I was cross, I instinctively did not want to draw a child his age into the controversy. 'The other team did not want to play because they thought the pitch was unsafe,' I explained.

'Then the other team are scaredy-cats,' he said.

I suppose even at age five children have a grasp of controversy after all.

It was a very frustrating moment when we left eventually. The only thing that kept my mood from getting too low was the wonderful sunshine and clear skies. Not the kind of day you expect a match to be called off because of poor weather. But then, you don't get scheduled to play Weston-super-Mare every day.



Note: Nedved's Notes will still happily publish any official response from Weston-super-Mare AFC that is received in a follow-up post.

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!

Would You Mind Awfully If We Played You on a Weekly Basis?

The village of Willand, home of Bath City's FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round opponent Willand Rovers, is exactly two hours south-west of my home. This was deemed too long a journey for Little Nedved Junior to go on, but Big Nedved Junior, age 7, was allowed to claim his seat in the Nedvedmobile. Things started off well. I opened the sunroof to enjoy the Indian summer, and my travelling companion was in good form (partly brought on by the promise of an ice-lolly en route if he behaved well). The only blight on the otherwise perfect afternoon was that I had left without studying my road atlas properly. In other words, I wasn't really sure where I was going. I tried, and failed, to find Willand on the map during stops in traffic. Because I wasn't sure where I was going I was worried I hadn't left enough time. Because I was worried I hadn't left enough time I did not want to stop to look at the map. I followed signs for Taunton and hoped for the best.

By the time we reached Taunton Services for the promised ice-lolly I had finally found Willand tucked neatly into a slight bend on the fat blue line representing the M5. Despite my worries we found the ground with just under an hour to spare. After parking in an absurdly tidy looking side street we found ourselves queueing with a group of fellow Bath City fans who had just disembarked from the supporters' coach. I was charged £6 for admission and £1 for a program. When I asked if I should not be charged £3 for Big Nedved Junior, as the tariff indicated, the attendant took a look at him and waved me away. Westcountry hospitality at its best!

The 'Stan Robinson Stadium,' as it grandly styled itself, was like Willand itself: small, clean, and inviting. There was a small covered seating area that could hold about fifty, but the only accommodation for spectators around most of the ground was a whitewashed metal rail to lean against. The Bath City players were playing 'keep away' on the far side of the pitch, and we made our way to the other side of the ground to have a closer look.

Non-league football is intimate, but the Rovers' ground was even more intimate than I was used to. The railing we settled against was only about two feet from the touch line, which meant many of the players were no more than three feet away. After a few minutes I began to worry it was a bit too intimate, especially when I was asked, 'Daddy, why did Matt Coupe use the F word?'

This was a delicate situation. It is important to me that Big Nedved Junior believe that City players can do no wrong, and especially that City hero Matt Coupe can do no wrong. At the same time I could foresee how this could go really, really wrong if he gave too detailed an account of the day to his mother. After failing to come up with a anything better, I explained that he was just really excited and trying to get his teammates to play better. This I hoped, being essentially a true statement, would put the matter to rest.

'Is he going to get in trouble?'

'Ummm....'

Luckily before I had to answer this we were joined by Bath City manager Adie Britton. He patted Big Nedved Junior on the head (specifically on his Bath City cap) and asked if he was looking forward to the game. As is usual around any grownup he is unfamiliar with, Big Nedved Junior immediately clammed up. I tried to make up for my son's verbal reticence, but unfortunately I did not do much better. As someone relatively new to non-league football I am still unsure how to behave around people I read about in the sports pages (okay, its the Bath Chronicle, but it is still weird for me). This was my big chance to ask a probing, insightful question that I could share with you, my readers, but instead I just came out with the very bland, 'How do you think we'll do today?'

Faced with such an ordinary question I am happy to report that Adie gave a better than average answer. He confirmed how important a win would be for the club financially and how at lower league grounds the pitches made results unpredictable. Nothing earth shattering, but a real answer. Not just a 'we'll see, we'll see.' He wandered off after our brief exchange (perhaps to find some supporters with a bit more personality). A few minutes later a ball from the practicing Bath City players nearly hit Big Nedved Junior, so we wandered off too. Out of earshot, anyway.

The match began in a quiet, low-key fashion. This was good because, like most City fans, I was secretly nervous. I had seen City play a team at this level before and they had struggled to a 3-2 victory thanks to an own-goal by their opponents. A loss to Willand would be a financial disaster for the club. Seeds of doubt began to germinate in my mind when in the first five minutes the Willand Rovers players failed to immediately capitulate.

After the first five minutes, though, they did begin to capitulate. City made its first advance into Willand territory and began to dominate the procedings. Whereas City have recently struggled against physical sides that try to shut down their passing game, the Willand players allowed them the space they craved and City took full advantage. As the pressure increased Willand's ability to clear the ball deserted them and it became obvious to everyone in the ground that a goal for City was just a matter of time.

In these early stages there were two players who stood out. One was City's new Romanian signing, Florin Pelecaci, who was playing as an attacking midfielder on the right. It was my first time to watch him in action, and I was delighted to see him move the ball around the Willand defenders with such ease. The other prominent player was the Willand keeper, Brian Cann. He wore a lemon-yellow shirt with 'CANNY' written on the back, and, in a desperate attempt to avoid the inevitable, spent most of the first half shouting orders at his team like an angry drill sergeant.

Eventually the stalemate was broken by Pelecaci. Being new to England and the non-league scene, he obviously has not realised that perfect diagonal crosses are not normally a prominent feature of the game at this level. Hopefully no one will explain this to him any time soon. At fourteen minutes in he made such a cross, and it was in my opinion the best pass of the City season so far. The ball reached the forehead of Darren Edwards who was able to nudge it past Cann and into the netting. It was a superb goal at any level of competition and it suddenly dawned on the assembled Bath City fans that there was more than one reason the players had nicknamed Mr. Pelecaci 'Pele.'

Although no one saw it, Edwards apparently made some contact with Cann's nose in their brief exchange. After the goal the keeper remained flat on the pitch with his arms extended. I honestly thought he was just laying there in embarrassment. Big Nedved Junior asked me why he was playing dead. Eventually a medic did come out and patted his face with a magic sponge. There was no visible blood, but for some reason Cann required a change of shirt. The new one produced from the dugout, also labelled 'CANNY,' was an especially vivid pink. After he slipped it on he tucked it in by pulling his shorts down (giving half the assembled crowd of 442 a clear view of his blue underpants). It was one of the oddest injury breaks I have ever witnessed. Cann may have looked and sounded like a drill sergeant, but he strutted his stage more like Elton John.

Undaunted by Willand's day-glow keeper, City immediately pressed for another goal. As before, it only seemed a matter of time before the lead was extended. At thirty-five minutes 'Pele' cemented his new favoured status with the City faithful by launching a shot at twenty-five yards that screamed into the corner of the Willand net. It was the sort of attempt at goal you see several times a match in non-league, but always flying ten to fifteen yards over the bar. It appeared to have been as unexpected for Willand as much as it was for me because Cann and the back line stayed rooted to the ground as they watched helplessly. Our new hero capped this off with by doing two somersaults for a goal celebration.

Three minutes later Kaid Mohamed joined the fun with an excellent goal that reminded you that City had made more than one quality signing recently. He slipped the ball past Cann at a narrow angle when it looked to me like he had waited too long. Moments later Mohamed fed a short ball to Edwards who scored his second, and a few minutes before half time Mohamed struck again by earning a penalty and getting Willand defender Ben Mammola sent off. Edwards took the penalty which he scored confidently, giving him a rare first-half hat-trick.

City fans were all smiles at half time. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world, as far as I was concerned. I got a cup of tea for me and a Mars bar for Big Nedved Junior, and as I sipped it I decided I liked Willand a lot. It seemed a nice place full of nice people. How could anyone not like Willand on such a glorious day? The fact that a man drove a green Reliant Robin through the crowd was not a problem. I decided this must be the sort of quaint thing people in Devon do. Big Nedved Junior and I settled in near on a grassy bank on the opposite side of the pitch overlooked by a cottage with a thatched roof. There was a fruit-laden apple tree nearby. I just needed a bluebird to rest on my shoulder and the image would have been complete.

The second half began with Cann having changed into a complete pink ensemble and me entertaining fantasies of a 10-0 victory. After five goals in the first half it seemed logical anyway. City did continue its dominance right up until the closing few minutes, but frustratingly, never got a sixth goal. Willand deserves some credit for this, especially being a man down, but they also received tremendous help from the linesman's offside calls. At least four clear-cut chances were called back. Although I was not in a good position to judge them properly I have nonetheless decided that each of these calls were at best marginal. Since we were already leading by five goals I magnanimously refrained from complaining too much.

I was not the only City fan being magnanimous during the match. Despite making up at least a third of the assembled crowd there was no concerted effort to ridicule the Willand players or fans. No one sang, 'Can We Play You Every Week?' Perhaps we were just relieved to have an easy victory, but I think it was more that the people of Willand seemed like nice friendly people and no one wanted to be churlish. Their club had won three matches before they drew City and it was hardly their fault that we decided to put on our best performance of the season. I would no more have taunted them than I would have tracked mud into one of their lovely thatched cottages. It would have been mean.

The referee blew his whistle just as it appeared that Mike Perrott was about to score goal number six. Cann said goodbye politely to the City fans behind his goal (I noted that no one asked to trade shirts with him). Big Nedved Junior and I filed out and I chatted to a Willand supporter as we made the short walk to the car. He commented on how big the difference in standard was between the two teams. I made a few bland remarks and tried hard not to refer to the complete shellacking his team had just received.

The ride home was the easiest two-hour drive I have ever made in my life. Big Nedved Junior got to have his choice of ice-creams at Taunton services again. I was in the sort of mood that he could have stung me for a lot more. It was the sort of perfect day that reminded you why you are a football fan. Hopefully there are a few other clubs that are as nice, friendly and beatable in the next round. Another pink keeper wouldn't go amiss either.

Rovers Return

When City's pre-season fixture list was announced the most attractive looking entry was tonight's meeting with Bristol Rovers. Not only are Rovers a League One team (three levels above Bath City) but they are also a local rival. There are close ties between City and Rovers as well, as Rovers were tennants at Twerton Park during most of the 90's after a fire destroyed most of their home ground. If nothing else, a big crowd of 'gasheads' (as Rovers fans are known) was expected.

Rovers' pre-season fixture list read rather differently from City's, though. They list Torquay United on 18 July, Cheltenham Town on 21 July, Crystal Palace on 24 July, and a Liverpool XI on 3 August. No mention of City, and matches with fellow league clubs Cheltenham and Palace right before and after our match. It became clear to everyone that the Bristol Rovers side that was going to show up at Twerton Park tonight would be made up of youth players and reserves.

So clear was it, in fact, that not many people showed up. The attendance was not to announced but I would guess 250 at the most. For me, after an absence from Twerton Park of nearly three months, I was just glad to be there and didn't really care who City was playing. The late July sun was shining bright when I arrived, and I celebrated the new season with a purchase of my first Bath City replica shirt. I wandered over to the 'popular side' terrace to watch the teams warm up and grab a cup of tea in a styrofoam cup from the 'tea bar.' Twerton Park has a wonderful view of the centre of Bath, and on a warm summer evening with the blue sky above and a nice cup of tea in hand, it is hard to beat.

Despite following football closely for a couple years now, I don't feel qualified to execute a decent match report on this blog. There are people who do it much better at the Bath Chronicle, and especially 'Kelstone Kopite' on the Bath City forum. Although with each match I am able to understand the intricacies of the play much better, large sections of play can still pass me by in a bit of a blur. I'm sure my 'vision' of the pitch will improve with time, but I really mean for this blog to be about being a football fan as much as about the football itself, so for now I'm going to stick to writing about being a fan.

The non-league experience is supposed to be more intimate, and tonight there were two such moments that I will remember especially. One was at the beginning of City's warm up session. Matt Coupe, one of our excellent defenders, gave me a friendly nod when he saw me standing in the terrace. Oh sure, I was the only fan there at the time, but it was not just a perfunctory nod. He recognized me. In all my years of following sports, I've never had a player on a team I've supported recognise me. Matt and I had had a short conversation last season before an away match against Eastleigh. He had noticed my accent and wondered how City had acquired an American fan. Not being used to talking to players, I was a bit tongue tied and must have come across like an inarticulate dork. I suppose even inarticulate dorks are memorable. Despite our conversation six months previously, I still was taken aback, and I instinctively looked behind me to see if he was nodding to someone else. Someday it may seem normal to be on acquaintance terms with the players, but I hope it does not happen too soon.

The second moment came at half-time. I bought a small portion of chips (fries) and was wandering over to my regular spot on the terrace. In the same general area one of the club directors I know named Phil was chatting to Ken Loach. Most Americans will not know Ken Loach, but he is a famous film director in Europe. He has won the Palm D'Or at the Cannes Film Festival, and he has recently released a very well received film called, 'Looking for Eric' about the legendary Manchester United player Eric Cantona. Ken is a dedicated City fan, and a former director himself. I see him at most matches, but I have always adopted an air of non-challance, as if I saw famous film directors on a regular basis and had grown bored with the concept. It is, of course, a complete act. So Phil and Ken are chatting and Phil waves at me and says hello and I wave back and then Ken waved at me too! Now, I really did not think that Ken Loach could be waving at me. Sure, he might have a vague recognition of me from seeing me on the terraces in previous matches, but it could be nothing more than that. I was so sure he could not be waving at me, in fact that I ignored him. There could be nothing more embarrassing than returning a wave of a famous film director that was meant for someone else. But then, Ken waved again! A bit tentatively, of course, because I had just ignored him, but there was no doubting it now. I said hello to him too. Then Phil took one of my chips, and so did Ken Loach! I shared my chips with Ken Loach! This required a brief hiatus so that I could text this information to several people I know.

This should not have been very surprising, really. By all reports Ken is a very kind and generous person. He has given City incredible support over the years. Last year he convinced Hollywood star Robert Carlyle to host an 'Evening with Robert Carlyle' in the clubhouse as a fundraiser, and just last month brought Eric Cantona (ERIC CANTONA!!!) to Twerton Park for a similar event. If he is going to do that, then he is the sort of nice guy who is going to say hello to a fellow fan, especially when we have both made the effort to turn up for a friendly against Rovers' reserve unit on a Wednesday night. Still, it made me a bit giddy.

The match itself was a very relaxing experience. For once, I was not worried about whether City won or lost. I was hoping to familiarise myself with the new signings, and hopefully get some reassurance that a good squad was coming together. The first half saw Rovers get two goals, both of them after City's defense had momentarily lost its shape. Other than those two lapses, City's defense held up well against the higher league opposition. There were some excellent tackles, especially from new signing Sido Jombarti. 'Sid' has a long legs that look too fragile for the rough and tumble of non-league play, but several times he effortlessly wound them around the ball from a prone position to relive a Rovers mid-fielder of the ball. He was probably the most impressive of the new players on the pitch, but there was a ex-Rovers veteran called Browning who showed a lot of leadership in mid-field and a promising looking local striker named Jamie Tayor, recently of the Swindon Town youth team. The second half began with a lot of substitutions and the balance of play shifted. In fact, City managed to mostly keep the ball in Rovers' half except for a few fast breaks. Actually scoring goals has a struggle for City in the last few seasons, and tonight was no exception. With only a few minutes of regular time left, though, returning striker Darren Edwards chipped the ball over the Rovers' keeper to give his team a respectable 2-1 scoreline. All in all, I, like most other City supporters I suspect, felt reassured by the performance of our team.

And Ken, if you are reading this, my name is Ned and you can have my chips any time!