In the Belly of the Beastleigh - Part 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nedved's Notes Turns Half!

Yesterday marked six months of existence for this blog. Considering how many blogs there are that fail to live past the initial excitement of the first few posts, I've decided to celebrate. Well, not exactly celebrate, but at least mark the occasion. So, today instead of telling you about life as a American football supporter living in England, I am going to tell you about life as a blogger writing about being an American football supporter living in England. Vive le difference! I say.

So here are some raw facts: since beginning this blog on 19 July 2009 there have been:

95 Posts (including this one), 7,457 hits, and 11,383 page views.

The most viewed pages (other than the main page) have been: In Praise of Fish and Cleethorpes - 363 hits, City Till I Die (Possibly from Exposure)! - 352 hits, The Nedved Interview: Sido Jombarti & Florin Pelecaci - 314 hits, and An Introduction to Bath City FC - 279 hits.

There have been visitors to the blog from eighty-one countries. About 80% of readers are from the UK, 10% from America, and 10% the rest of the world. You might be surprised to learn that after the UK and the US the most common countries are Brazil, the Netherlands, and Belarus. I'm big in Minsk.

I find all of these stats very exciting, although in the world of serious football blogging it is still pretty minor league (or maybe non-league?).

I would like to thank the many people who have helped me with this work in progress. Mostly I need to thank Mrs Nedved, who all things considered, has been very accommodating with my obsession. Also the two Nedved Juniors need special mention for providing with so much material to write about.

Perhaps the biggest help has been from the Bath City webmaster, known as Yuffie. Without his excellent photographs this would be a rather bare blog. He not only produces very high quality work, but gives it away for free to anyone who wants to use it. This is very generous, especially considering that newspapers and magazines borrow work from his Flikr feed about as frequently as I do. He also gave this blog a big readership boost by putting a link on the main page of his website.

I've also received some much needed help from Bath City programme editor Mark Stillman, and the City stalwarts known as Lord Bear and WSP. The Atlanta Beat front office has been very accommodating with the posts I've done about thier project. I am especially grateful for the encouraging comment I received from Beat General Manager Shawn McGee on Twitter.

How did this blog begin? Almost accidentally, to be honest. I thought it might be fun to write about British sports for my friends home in America to read. This turns out to have been a very minor part of what the blog has grown into over the months. I didn't really intend for the blog to take on the semi-journalistic role it has slid into over time (although that has ended up being some of the most enjoyable work of all).

The most exciting experience so far was interviewing Sido and Florin. I had no idea what I was doing, and I became really aware of this about five minutes in. The article would have been a miserable failure if the two of them had not been so nice and understanding. A special thanks has to go out to the Gibbons family for lending me a pen when the one I had brought to the interview mysteriously disappeared.

There have been a few low lights as well. I find writing about Newport County fairly unpleasant. I find the comments this generates from Newport County fans even more so. I have also, so far, failed miserably on one of the key projects of this blog. City manager Adie Britton was kind enough to give up some of his valuable time to let me interview him, but despite a lot of effort I have not been able to knock my material into anything readable yet. This is solely due to my inexperience writing up interviews, and not with the information Adie gave me. I am still hoping to get this published soon.

What can you expect from Nedved's Notes in the next six months? Well, hopefully I'm still writing. If you had asked me back in July if this would last into 2010 I'm not sure I could have honestly said I expected it to. There are two more interviews in the pipeline (including the one of Adie Britton). There is also a lot more coming about the Atlanta Beat, whose season very conveniently begins just about the time that Bath City's is finishing.

And now, a contest: I've written an article of some sort on every single match City have played so far this season except one. Which one was it? [In actual fact the article is half-written but never published] I'm not sure what you'll get if you win. Perhaps a mention in the one-year-anniversary post I write next July.

Okay, I'm going to end this rather self-indulgent post now. Thanks to everyone who has been reading (I still find it somewhat surreal that people do actually read this thing!). Feel free to contact me anytime with comments or suggestions at nedvedsnotes(at)googlemail(dot)com

Normal service resumes tomorrow!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bath City Rampant!

Bath City defeated Woking 5-0 on Tuesday night. This was amazing, but to explain it properly I am going to have to delve into the art of metaphor.

Football is often referred to as a 'cruel mistress.' Any City supporters who were unsure why this term is used were given a good example three days previously. City were eliminated from the FA Cup by Forest Green Rovers, despite being by far the better side. In fact, 'cruel mistress' doesn't seem like a strong enough term. Football, on this occasion, was more like a evil, sadistic girlfriend who dumps you by text and moves in with your best friend.

After such an emotional bruising most people tend to buy a tub of ice-cream and sit on the sofa for a week watching reruns of Dad's Army. City did not. Three days later they came out fighting against the third best team in the league, a team who had only conceded six away goals all season, and crushed them with a five goal shellacking. After the upset of the FA Cup match, it was the equivalent of smartening yourself up, going clubbing with your mates, and pulling a supermodel. It was that amazing. Take that cruel mistress!

I arrived early enough at Twerton Park to watch almost all of City's pre-match warm-up. Although they were about to dismember one of the league's best teams, there was nothing obvious about their behaviour to show this. There had been some exciting news earlier in the day, however. Bath City had signed its third foreign player of the season: former Latvian international Andrejs Štolcers. Although he is not a household name, his arrival is a real coupe for City manager Adie Britton. Fulham paid a reported £2 million transfer fee to get Štolcers from Spartak Moscow in 2000. Although he is now thirty-five, he has won league titles in four countries (Latvia, Russia, Azerbaijan and England) and made eighty-one appearances for his country. Not your typical non-league signing to say the least!

Despite Štolcers arrival, and a strong performance from Florin Pelecaci the previous Saturday, Adie Britton fielded the same exact same linup he has every week since the Grimsby Town match. This surprised a lot of fans in the terraces, including myself. We had expected to see key players rested and opportunities given to some of the bench warmers. Surely the City team that took the pitch would show signs of fatigue and dejection after the FGR loss?

Actually, no. A mere eight minutes into the match Kaid Mohamed beat the Woking defence to a ball in the air and launched a strike past Rob Worner into the netting. It was an emphatic goal. Obviously, Britton's plan to field the same lineup for the sixth match in a row was pure genius. Anyone still doubting this was genius got another dose of humble pie two minutes later. Sekani Simpson managed to elude four Woking tackles on the right of the goal and launched a neat cross to Darren Edwards on the left who headed the ball down and into the net. In a mere two minutes Woking's tally of goals conceded away from home increased by 33%.

Despite the early commanding lead, City did not sit back. In fact, if they had played with any more fire in their bellies they would have been showing singe marks on their shirts. It was as if all the pent up anger and frustration from the FA Cup ejection had been released in an enormous goal frenzy. Woking may have shown up hoping to gain some ground on league leaders Newport County, but instead they had walked into an open can of whoop-ass called Bath City.

Although the first ten minutes of the match had provided me with an important lesson on not second-guessing Adie Britton, the next thirty-five minutes provided me with plenty of reasons to second-guess Woking manager Graham Baker. After the first goal the Woking defence started playing dangerously far forward. There were several instances when the entire Woking team, except for the keeper, were in the City half. This would have made sense if City's front line was slow. In actual fact, City's strikers are pacey and very hard working. Kaid Mohamed and Darren Edwards are most dangerous on the break. They use their speed to get behind the opposition regularly, whereas they struggle more against a settled defence. Baker's tactics were like an engraved invitation to Mohamed and Edwards to fill their boots. It was as if Baker had read some other team's scouting report.

The third goal came soon enough. Yet another City attack on the break resulted in a corner taken by Lewis Hogg. Chris Holland's potent forehead found the ball and appeared to have succeeded again. Worner did manage to block it, although he did not manage to deflect the ball beyond Chris Holland's feet. A neat shot to the near post later, and Holland had a rare goal from below the waistline.

For me, halftime meant a delicious cup of tea and a bit of revelling in the party atmosphere of the Popular Side terrace. For the Woking players, though, halftime meant a serious bollocking and, for three of them, and end to their evening's service. Three halftime substitutions is a pretty good indicator the manager is not happy, but it was his tactics that were as much to blame as any of his players. He would have been better off substituting himself.

Woking did managed a little bit of pressure in the early minutes of the second half. It did not last long, however, and soon City were pressing them hard again. Sido Jombati was unlucky to not get his first goal in a City shirt with a blistering strike from fifteen yards. He may not have scored, but he did manage to take several layers of paint off of the right-hand goalpost. Perhaps sensing the game was in control, Adie Britton brought on his latest international acquisition for Mohamed with about thirty minutes to go. I was not the ony City fan eager to see how Štolcers would fare in his first venture into non-league football.

Pretty darn well, it turns out, but not how we were expecting. Because of the forward position of the Woking defence, their keeper, Rob Worner, was forced to play very far forward himself. This had almost landed him in trouble a few times, but it was Štolcers who capitalised (although in fairly bizarre circumstances). Worner had come a good twenty-five yards forward to clear a back-pass when Štolcers charged him. Leaping into the air, Štolcers turned in mid-flight so as not to be hit with the oncoming ball in the face (or worse). The charge was successful despite Worner's powerful kick. The ball ricocheted off of Štolcers' backside over Worner's head. It kept going. It was on target. Slowly it dawned on the fans and Worner that the ball might just have enough momentum to score. He made a mad dash back to his position, but it was too late. He reached the ball just as it had crossed the goal line. The legend of Andrejs 'Goldenbuns' Štolcers was born!

Obviously when your new international signing scores the fourth goal of the evening with his buttocks, things are going well. Woking did managed to force City keeper Ryan Robinson to do some work soon afterwards, but it was not long before Darren Edwards scored his second goal of the evening. Another Lewis Hogg free kick, another short range kick into goal, yadda, yadda, yadda. It seemed so routine by this point.

But it wasn't. Woking are the only full-time team in the Blue Square South. They have an excellent defence. They had scored fourteen goals in their previous nine away matches. They should not have lost 5-0 to mid-table opposition. Unfortunately for them, they happened upon some a team that was mad, angry, and ready to pounce, and actually a lot better than their table position shows. And they have a new player who can score with his bottom.

The ref's whistle ended the torture for Woking for the night. I don't believe they will be the last side in this league to suffer the same fate this season.

Blue Square South, you have been warned!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'Let me see it,' I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!

Staines Massive Impassive

Bath City drew 1-1 with Staines Town Tuesday night. Pretty much everyone says it was a forgettable match. This is hardly surprising given that both clubs had just defeated League 2 opposition three days previously in hard-fought FA Cup matches. Staines had been victorious 1-0 over Shrewsbury Town. Likewise, Bath City had come out on top 2-0 over Grimsby Town in THE GREATEST FOOTBALL GAME EVER PLAYED ANYWHERE IN THE WORLD!

Well, I thought so, anyway.

I was pretty shattered after the Grimsby match. I was so excited the night before I hardly slept. Match day itself consisted of a five-hour coach trip in the morning, three hours of constant singing, shouting and clapping in the afternoon, and another five-hour coach trip home in the evening. I got home too wired on adrenaline and disbelief to sleep properly for two days. A league match against Staines? I had trouble remembering it was happening, let alone get excited about it. I can only imagine how the players were feeling!

Actually, I don't have to imagine. The first half of the Staines match was a good indication. Manager Adie Britton chose to keep the same lineup that had been victorious in Grimsby (excepting the addition of Stuart Douglas to replace the injured Darren Edwards). A team of heroes, no doubt, but they must have been a team of tired heroes. Staines, sporting five new faces from their weekend, managed to keep City pinned back for most of the half. Apart from a near miss from a little bit of Chris-Holland-set-piece-header magic, City's only accomplishment in the first forty-five minutes was not conceding a goal.

Maybe Adie gave them a good talk at half-time. City returned to the pitch with more determination and more possession. This was rewarded at sixty-five minutes by a goal from Kaid Mohamed. Not much of a goal, mind you. It resulted from a scramble in front of the goal instead of a connected series of passes. Still, it was a goal and City had a lead that would have seemed improbable in the first half. I read about it in front of the computer, half wishing I was there and half wishing the game had been postponed until later in the season. I still wanted to savour the victory in Grimsby.

Eleven minutes later Staines equalised. Sido Jombati gave away a free kick in a prime spot. Andre Scarlett took the kick for Staines and managed to thread it through the City wall. I felt annoyed when I got the news through on the computer. Annoyed? Since when do I merely feel annoyed when City concede a goal? A goal that could have secured league three points?!

There is an argument that cup runs are dangerous. Players will be so distracted by their cup success that they will stop focusing on their league performance. I've never given this idea much credence, but I will admit that at least I have been distracted by the cup run. I have no business being annoyed! It's time for some more mental preparation because I am determined to at least be disgusted or gutted the next time City concede. Honestly!

Mike Perrott and Florin Pelecaci were brought on in the closing minutes but failed to find the goal to put City ahead. If anyone doubted the cup run was responsible for the tepid performance, Britton put them straight in a recent interview with the Bath Chronicle:

We did not get the response we were looking for at Staines and that is unusual with this group of players. To be fair, to have a 600-mile round trip at the weekend, then go into work on Monday before travelling to London and back on Tuesday is very demanding on part-time players. I have never been in this situation before and neither have a few of the players. Whether we can keep them focused or not I am not sure, but I know I will be totally focused.

It's hard to feel too disappointed with the result, however. I'm sure going into the match both teams would have been happy with a draw. City preserved their unbeaten run, and despite a sub-par performance, preserved that rare and indefinable thing known as momentum as well.

About the time the real hard-core fans were arriving back in Bath on the supporters coach I was tucked up in bed waiting for sleep. I had already forgotten about the Staines match. I was fondly recalling Chris Holland's header against Grimsby. Give me a few more days.

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!