The FA Cup. Part 9.

Saturday, 26^th October 2013

Fourth Round Qualifying

Hemel Hempstead Town v Sutton United

Vauxhall Road

Hemel Hempstead

HP2 4HW

K.O. 3.00pm

Half time 2-3

Final score 3-3

1-0 Lewis Toomey  03 mins

1-1 Mitchell Nelson  23 mins

1-2 Graig Dundas  35 mins

1-3 Ali Fuseini  40 mins

2-3 Ben Mackey 45+1 mins

3-3 Ben Mackey  48 mins

Attendance 1455

Miles travelled approximately 30 (not including the 328 miles).

Hello. I so wanted to start this with a line about Hemel being only 90 minutes from the First Round etc etc etc… A little like Walsall’s infamous fanzine “90 Minutes from Europe”.

But, what’s the point in pretending? I'm writing this in the dark, in Cumbria, in a storm and I already know the result of the game and the Cup draw. It’s Sunday. It’s almost midnight and if I don’t go to bed soon I’m going to start trying to catch the spiders that I know aren’t really there or crawling the walls…

I got to Hemel stupidly early. I didn’t mean to. It’s just the way it worked out. As it turns out, it was a fortunate thing to do. The car park was already starting fill up. I parked in my now usual place and waited for everyone to arrive.

Remember when I first went to Hemel and mentioned the atmosphere being different? Well this time it was really different, but not in a good way. It felt heavy. Nervous. Laboured. Strained. It just wasn’t flowing. Does that make sense? Everyone I spoke to seemed, well, different. I tried to say the right things about being and staying positive etc… While everyone else wanted to tell me just how good Sutton are.

I did all of my now usual things, programmes, photos, before entering the ground. Some youth walks up to me and tells me how he’d read my blog. How he found it boring and how he stopped reading it and went back to bed. Ha! Ha! Ha! Everyone’s a critic.

I meet up with Hemel’s staff, Leon from BT Sports, Tony who tells me that he’s going to put the tickets in the post. More people make the effort to come over and say hello to me. Which was a fantastic ego trip and the kind words are very welcome. Thank you all.

But the vibe was wrong. Dull. Down. Nervous. There’s that word again. You couldn’t avoid it. It was like a thick fog.

Slowly the Kick Off limped into view. Not even One Direction could get things going. They tried, but they failed. It just wasn’t happening. It wasn’t looking good. This was beginning to look like a good hiding in the making.

I found my spot on the terrace behind the goal. Sutton won the toss and swopped ends. Now that’s a sign of fear. So Hemel are now kicking up the slope in the first half and were all at the wrong end. On mass everyone just walked around the pitch. It was like a scene from a wildlife programme, you know, vast plains of Africa, Wilder Beasts, mast migration etc... While everyone was making their way to the other ends of the pitch it happened. Lewis Toomey popped up on 3 minutes and poached a goal. ONE NIL! Vauxhall Road exploded. Sutton, if you are reading this, that is what happens when you try to load the dice.

The goal opened the game up. One Direction found their voice but lost it again. Hemel had a break away down Sutton’s left and instead of going down for a free kick a wonderful cross was delivered by Thorne where it was meet by Mackey and an open goal which he promptly missed. It would have been easier to score. In the blink of an eye Sutton were down the other end and were scoring a well placed header from a corner. Text book and completely predictable. The first and second goals for Sutton resulted from missed Hemel chances.

The crowd went quiet. I felt sorry for the players. This was a decent sized crowd. The players deserved better than this. The band wagon jumpers would go home wondering what all the fuss was about.

Sutton took control of the game. The crowd stayed quiet and by 40 minutes it was 1-3 with Fuseini hitting a 25 yard daisy cutter, I’m not sure how much the keeper saw but I had a great view from the other end.

Hemel, were not themselves – I’m trying to be polite here – but they were hoofing it, not all the time. When the hoofed it they lost it. When they got it down and played like I’ve seen them do over the last four games they simply took the game to Sutton. Every now and again Hemel showed just how good they are.

On the stroke of half time Hemel won a penalty. Up stepped Mackey who stuck the ball down low to the keepers left. The keeper got a strong hand to it and pushed the ball onto the post. The ball bounced kindly back towards Mackey who scored from the rebound. Suddenly the vibe changed.

The game restarted and went straight into half time.

As we made our way to the end where we all started from, the burger van caught fire. The first I knew about it was when the staff from the other burger van ran across the pitch and without doubt it was the fastest anyone had moved across that pitch all day… WHAT!? We all stood there watching CO2 gas being set off while everyone continued to queue and be served… and that’s how it should be, commitment from both sides…

All too soon the football interrupted the entertainment.

The One Direction boys had found their voice. The vibe had changed for the better. The nerves had gone.

Within 2 minutes of the second half Hemel had won a penalty with a reaction to a tackle that would make Tom Daley proud.

Ben Mackey then did his best Bing Crosby impression and slammed the ball straight down the middle. Vauxhall Road went proper potty. It was a complete game changer. The momentum had shifted. Hemel were on the front foot and kicking down the hill.

Without doubt the worse moment of the game was when a Sutton player took out a Hemel player with a vicious elbow to the face. He knew what he was doing, he knew he was going to be out paced so an elbow to the face it was. All he got was a yellow.

Weird how things even themselves out during a game.

The game moved on at a cracking pace. Either team could have won it. Both teams should have. Chances were missed at both ends, which made it much more exciting to watch, if that makes any sense.

Then it happened. Sutton piled forward, they entered the Hemel penalty area on the left, the ball bobbled up and hit the Hemel defenders arm has he spun around to find it, “HAND BALL!”, shouted everyone with a connection to Sutton, silence loomed out across the pitch from anyone with a connection to Hemel. The Ref pointed at the spot. The ball was placed. The ball was struck. The keeper went one way… and the ball followed him. Sutton put the re bound over the bar...

Weird how things even themselves out during a game.

I don’t know what made me do it, but I took out my phone and checked the time, 43 minutes glared back at me. Oh no, not again. Not another replay. Bloody hell. I’m in Cumbria next week. Suddenly the game stopped being fun. Suddenly I wanted a goal. I wasn’t bothered by whom. Just a goal. Yes I know it’s selfish, but I’m in Cumbria next week, do you have any idea how far that is…

A few minutes later and its Full Time. 3-3. *SIGH*

I stood on the terrace trying to work out how to get up to Cumbria, then down from Cumbria for the game and then back up to Cumbria for my daughters dental appointment on Wednesday.

The sun was setting on my dream. But then, it all depends which way you look at it…

As I drove north it gave me time to think about the replay on Tuesday and the FA, who were on the piss in Covent Garden. It was 150 years to the day since the rules were drawn up in a pub in Covent Garden. I wonder how many of them actually went to a game today before going off to pat themselves on the back, for something that someone else did 150 years ago…

At 10.30pm and after 328 miles, I arrived at my daughter’s house.

Noggin xx

The FA Cup. Part 8.

Saturday, 12^th October 2013

Third Round Qualifying

Hemel Hempstead Town v Dulwich Hamlet

Vauxhall Road

Hemel Hempstead

HP2 4HW

K.O. 3.00pm

Half time 1-1

Final score 3-1

0-1 Erhun Oztumer  23 mins

1-1 Ben Mackey  26 mins

2-1 Lewis Toomey  48 mins

3-1 Charlie Mpi  72 mins

Attendance 949

Miles travelled approximately 60

Nothing to do today except go and watch the best team in Europe play their 200^th FA Cup game against Dulwich Hamlet in the FA Cup Third Qualifying Round. To mark the event I dug out my Walsall FC rugby shirt, it seemed the right thing to do.

Jump in the car and I put the Sex Pistols in the CD player,

“March… March… March… March… March…

Doo-be… Doo-be… Doo-be… Doo-be… Doo-be… Do… Do… Do… Do… Do…

Cheap holiday in other peoples misery!

I don’t wanna a holiday in the sun

I wanna go to the new Belsen

I wanna see some history

So Hemel’s 200^th cup game, it is for me… “

I arrive at the ground, park the car, “Hello Noggin”, said someone I’ve never meet before, as I stepped from the car, “Hello mate, how are ya?” I replied. Well that was weird, I thought to myself.

I buy my programmes and watch the Ref park his car, how did I know he was the Ref, his number plate “**** REF”. The linesman said, “I hadn’t noticed the number plate”… *SIGH*

More of the usual photos before making my way into the ground. “Hello Noggin”, said someone else, while looking at my Walsall shirt, “I knew you weren’t Orient”, he continued. What I was about to learn, is that the Hemel programme editor, had lifted Part 6 of this blog thing and had printed the whole thing in their Redditch programme last Saturday, which is fine by me, what isn’t fine by me is that he wrote I was an Orient fan. He better start running…

Just as all of that was happening I bumped into BT Sport who were now filming Dave Boggins – Hemel Chairman, who was now making his way outside to help reverse the Dulwich Team Coach into the car park.

While chatting to BT Sport Tony rocks up in his civvies, I hardly recognised him. Introductions are made and then he tells me that he’s forgot my ticket. You just can’t get the staff can you… Ha! Ha! Ha!

Dulwich fans start to arrive in force, most comment on my Walsall shirt and then mention Arsenal in in the FA Cup in 1933. WOW!

Into the bar. I bump into Ian. “Noggin, I’ve got something for you, would you like a beer?” He said, “Erm.. yeah, OK, lager shandy please I’m driving” I replied. We found a table, he opened his ruck sack and then he handed me two items.

The first was book entitled “Journey To Wembley” by Brian James, who in the season 1976/77 did every round of the FA Cup starting with Hinckley Athletic v Tividale. The winners that year were Man Utd who beat Walsall at Old Trafford in Rd3 (1-0, Hill) in front of 48,870 fans.

The second was a programme from Arsenal v Walsall, FA Cup Rd5, 1977/78 (Arsenal 4 Walsall 1 – we have to let them win sometimes…) 43,736 watched us get battered. Inside the programme was a two page special on the 1933 FA Cup defeat to Walsall – the greatest cup shock ever – as it became known. It even gets mentioned in “Fever Pitch”.

“You can have them”, he said. Remember that Monty Python moment I mentioned at St Margaretsbury? What do you say, when “Thank you” isn’t enough? (There’s a song in their somewhere…). More drinking and chatting before we suddenly realise that it was 2.45pm.

I rushed out to the car put my book and programme in the boot and went back into the ground… HA! HA! HA! Really, can you imagine doing that in the later rounds?

I found myself by the tunnel as it was being pulled out. Why don’t Durex sponsor those tunnel things? Think about it. They start small. They expand. They are ribbed. They shrink and return to their normal size. Durex, if you’re reading this, YOU’RE MISSING A TRICK!

Anyone out there want to offer me a job in marketing or advertising?

While I was in the bar being floored by an imaginary big fish someone had decide to let in close to 1,000 fans. I made my way to my now usual place behind the goal where the One Direction boys were making one hell of a noise. The twelfth  man is alive and well. I wonder if they know how much of a difference they make. The terrace is rocking. Properly rocking. But where is Caroline Flack? *SIGH*

The game kicks off and Hemel are playing down the slope as usual. Why do they play down the slope in the first half? The now usual domination of the game by Hemel, with the now usual missing of chances, time and time again. Dulwich stand their ground and take the game to Hemel as much as Hemel take it to Dulwich.

On 23 mins Dulwich work a nice little break away and a delicate chip from Erhun Oztumer leaves the Hemel keeper stranded. Everyone watched as the ball landed in the bottom corner of the goal. A glassy finish. Well worth the admission price alone.

One Direction continue to rock the place and Hemel continue to attack, on 26 mins Ben Mackey scores and the game settles into more missed chances for both teams. This is easily the best team I’ve seen play against Hemel. All the games I’ve seen so far have been well played (apart from London Tigers – still a stupid name) but this was a step up. The next level. This might read a little bit daft, but, after watching England v Montenegro last night,  I know which one was is the better game and I know which one I’d rather pay money to see.

The following paragraph contains language that you and I use every day but you may find offensive. There you go, you have my permission, be offended… go smell yourselves…

One Direction are rocking the place and then the chant goes up “What the fucking hell is that, what the fucking hell is that?” Now, this isn’t an excuse for “F’ ing and blinding”, it’s a social comment. This wasn’t “Fuckin’”, it wasn’t “Fookin’”, it wasn’t “Fackin’”, it was “Fucking”. This is Hertfordshire. They don’t drop the “G” here. It made me laugh. It was just like hearing your little old granny swear. It continued for the rest of the game. Chanting in the Queen’s English (There’s an album in their somewhere…).

The One Direction boys remind me of Walsall fans. Very quick witted. Very funny and they make a lot of noise, but what was that chant… No lyrics, just drumming and la… la… la… la… and then one hell of a time change before, der… der… der… der… or was it the other way around, who’d have thought that One Direction were into Prog Rock.

Back to the football. Hemel, in the last three times I’ve seen them have shown a flaw in their armour. They create chances, lots of chances, an obscene amount of chances and then they promptly miss them, time and time and time again. The other team then goes up the other end and scores, before Hemel, finally stick it in the net. Eventually, Hemel will miss their chances, the other team will go up the other end and score, before Hemel, continue to miss their chances. Eventually Hemel are going to get beaten by their own missed chances. They won’t lose to a better team. They will beaten by themselves and we all know what happens when you beat yourself… you go blind… (Sorry I couldn’t resist… hahaha…).

Everybody blinked and half time arrived. Straight into the bar. Colchester 1 Walsall 0 *SIGH* No chance of a Bovril as the queue looked like an advert for “4Gee”. I dive into the club shop and get my hands on the Redditch programme… Orient fan indeed…

The second half started as I walked around the pitch to the other end, where the Hemel fans had de-camped after the Dulwich fans had moved to the end that were previously in. It’s just like the good old days, everyone swops ends, everyone is mixed in together and there’s a fantastic atmosphere, well, in our end anyway… hahaha… “Look, here comes the Walsall massive”, shouted someone as I found my spot.

Three minutes into the second half and Hemel score a goal that is so slick that Greenpeace were already on the phone bitching about it… One Direction were going at it like one night stand in an alley and the game moved on at a cracking pace.

Attack after attack arrived at both defences. The ref let the game flow, the linesmen played their part too, by not being too flag happy. This really was damn good stuff. The more Dulwich went looking for the equaliser then more Hemel passed straight through their weakened midfield and defence, time after time the Dulwich keeper keep them in the game, while the Hemel keeper got a proper good whacking when he rushed out to the edge of the box going one on one. He went down and stayed down but he let the game go on and didn’t wave for the game it to be stopped. I know where my man of the match would have gone.

The One Direction boys started a chant aimed at the Dulwich No. 6 “Lewis Gonsalves”, “Shit Dani Alves, you’re just a shit Dani Alves”… Lewis laughed out aloud and applauded the crowd, a few minutes later he made a stunning block, 100% guaranteed goal, which flew out for a corner.

This was just like Witham all over again. Dulwich had to go for it and they did and Hemel picked them off.

The game started to get a little disjointed as one or two substitutions were made, before it settled down again. The Hemel substitution paid off when Charlie Mpi put Hemel 3-1 up on 72 minutes. While Jerome Walker got a straight red for scything down a Hemel player a classic case of red mist.

Just before full time, the Man of The Match was announced, which went to Hemel’s Ben Mackey, who on hearing it went, yes and punched his fist in a “come on!” type style way. No, Mr Mackey, you are supposed to be humble in being awarded such an honour, it is a team game, 11 against 11, not 01 against 11, STILL, it was funny, VERY funny and it’s good to see that he cares and gives damn. I hope he bought the drinks (orange juice of coarse…) especially for his keeper.  

By now the Sun had set behind the stand and the air temperature started to drop. The air got damp and that familiar smell of damp earth started to arrive. I love that smell, it reminds me of midweek games, proper flood lights - instead of those stupid things that are bolted onto the edges of roofs making the grounds look like those Audi cars and their Chav Lights – as much as I like to watch football in warm dry weather, I love the cold winter games and that smell.

The Ref blew for full time and One Direction boys went proper potty. A full five minute after the game and they were still at it.

We know what we are

We know what we are

The best team in Europe

We know what we are…

Straight into the bar, Colchester 1 Walsall 1, 90+7 mins. At least I now know where Fergy was today. Seriously, 97 minutes?

I grabbed hold of the drummer from One Direction and asked about that chant, he told me about “Dale Cavese”, I’d never heard of it. *Hangs my head in shame*

Lots of chatting in the bar. Plans for the next round were being made. I really need a home draw at worse and an away draw up north at best, simply because I’m off to Cumbria straight after the next game to spend half term with my daughter.

Just after 8pm I finally staggered out of the bar. Sober. *SIGH*

Roll on Monday and the Cup draw…

Noggin xx

P.S. As a footnote once I got home I Googled two things.

The first was Walsall v Arsenal 1933 and this link was on the top of the list. The weird thing is that it carries a scan from the programme that Ian had given me earlier. Really, what are the odds?

http://angryofislington.com/2012/05/30/arsenal-v-walsall-1933-the-greatest-cup-upset-ever/

The second was Dale Cavese, the first link shows the history of “The Dale Song” and how it moved around the world http://youtu.be/87juYGYoLAU while the second is a Wiki link to the man and his song http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moliendo_Caf%C3%A9

Without doubt the best version of The Dale Song that I’ve heard is by One Direction. Someone should upload it to You Tube... Just a thought...

The FA Cup. Part 7.

Tuesday, 01^st October 2013

Second Round Qualifying Replay

Witham Town v Hemel Hempstead

 

Village Glass Stadium

Witham

CM8 1UN

K.O. 7.45pm

Half time 2-1

Final score 3-4

1-0 Jordan Parkes  05 mins

1-1 Tom Wraight  32 mins

2-1 Tom Wraight  42 mins

3-1 Lewis Godbold  51 mins

3-2 Lewis Toomey  84 mins

3-3 Ben Mackey  89 mins

3-4 David Pearce  90+2 mins

Attendance 156

Miles travelled approximately 95

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 4am. Already? I was just in the middle of a dream… I was kissing Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream… No. Hold on. That’s not right.

I’d got a plan. Instead of getting up at 3.30am, I was going to get up at 4am, a quick shower, into work for 5am and get going ASAP, 30 minutes saved at this end might just help out at that end.

I got into work. I’m not loaded. The minutes tick by at a frighteningly quick rate. Then when I was loaded, it was loaded drops, 4, 1, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and an extra drop in Haverhill making it 11. It turns out that Benet Street, Cambridge was going to be closed from 10am, so they said that drop 4 needed to be first. The only problem with that is that drop 1 is in Trinity Street and the bollards go up, so it has to be first. Also drop 2 and 3 are in Benet Street so why weren’t they moved? This is what happens when some pen pusher in office over 200 miles away thinks that they know how to drive my truck around the tight bicycle infected streets of Cambridge.

In an act of complete genius, the company I work for decided that taking drop 1 off my truck while I was still at base was too simple. They would send a 7.5 ton vehicle up to Cambridge where the  driver and I would tranship drop 1 from my 26 ton vehicle to the 7.5 ton vehicle in the street, the street in question  being Benet Street, the one that’s closing at 10am. He would then try to get into Trinity Street before the bollards go up and stop him completing the delivery.

Still with me? Keeping up? It gets worse. To complicate things even more the driver’s seat in my truck was broken. Eventually it is fixed.

Finally, I’m ready to leave and I’m on way to Cambridge, a massive TWO hours late. Let’s go Sat Nav racing. The fates are kind. Green lights all the way. I dig my way onto the A10. The Sun was a brilliant bright orange. The pale white crescent Moon was melting away and so were the minutes. My ETA started to fall. 08.59 … 08.56 … 08.54 … with 08.47 the lowest it was going to reach.

I started to play with my route in my head. What could I do to finish the route, not just early, but finish it. This route can’t be completed because of the extra drop.  If I can’t complete the route I can’t get to Witham.

As I plodded off the M11 and into Cambridge I came up with a plan, it was a cunning plan, so cunning it would make Baldrick’s head spin, but then, so would a turnip. My cunning plan went straight out the window as I ran into all of the commuter traffic that was still trying to get into Cambridge. As it turns out, one of the biggest hotels in Cambridge was on fire leaving most of the city closed off. I glanced at my Sat Nav, 08.50 … 08.55 … 08.58 … *SIGH*

I started my deliveries in Benet Street. Up rocks Adam. We tranship drop 1. He has a massive 15 minutes to dig his way out and back in again before Trinity Street is closed. He completes the drop. Yes he is that good.

Just for the record, Benet Street never did get closed. They walk amongst us, you know that don’t you…

I’m still stupidly late. I have another brainwave. I phone Customer Services and I speak to the lovely ladies 200 miles away. We form a plan of attack. They phone me back. We’ve got a “Yes” from my remaining customers. By the time I get to my normal last drop I’m 30 minutes IN FRONT! Yes I am that good. But I’ve still got that extra drop in Haverhill.

That extra drop kills the route. I now know I can’t make the KO. I try not to panic. The M11 and A120 give me time to think. There are no cunning plans. There is nothing I can do. I will miss the KO. It now becomes a question of what time I get to Witham.

I leave work at 7pm. KO is 7.45pm. Work to Witham FC is 1 hour 10 minutes away. You do the maths. Let’s go Sat Nav racing. The Stranglers CD kicks in and I’m off. My ETA starts to fall, 20.10 … 20.07 … 20.05 … I’m never going to make 25 minutes vanish or am I…

I get on the M25 at J25 and promptly stop. All four lanes are stationary. I try not to look at my Sat Nav. On a positive, I know that once I’ve cleared the accident the M25 will be empty. Slowly, slowly, we start to edge forward. What used to be a sports car was now on the back of a low loader. The HGV Class 1 it had run into the back of was blinking away in the dark with a slightly dented idiot catcher, while the Armco barriers on the side on the M25 were destroyed, which must really piss the Highways Agency off because they had only finished putting them in last week. I love the way those Armco barriers absorb the energy of the impacts.

I arrived at Witham at 20.10 having a done a steady 77mph all the way… honest officer I did… the car park was rammed. Beyond rammed. Cars abandoned anywhere and everywhere. A bloke walking past me said, “I’m about to leave you can have my spot”, I thanked him, parked the car, got my stuff together and made my way in. Erm… where the hell is the entrance?

I asked the kid on the turnstile if they had any tickets. No they didn’t. I bumped into James and his Dad who were also trying to do the Cup trail. I was told that score was 0-1. As we were chatting Witham equalized. I spoke to a few familiar faces including Mick who’s filming the game as usual and I made my way around the ground taking the now usual photos.

I made my way to the refreshment place type thing and I asked for, “A Bovril please”. “What’s Bovril?” she asked. Welcome to Essex. “I’ll have a cup of tea then please” I said, slightly sulking. As I made my way to the corner Witham went 2-1 up and ran towards me to celebrate. Easy tiger easy, I know you’re happy to see me, but…

A few guys behind the goal had an I pad or whatever the hell they are called and were watching ITV1’s coverage of the European Corporate Whore game.

Half time arrived and I took advantage of an empty ground and continued to take photos. I bumped into David Boggins – Hemel’s chairman, I asked if he’d got a spare ticket, which he didn’t.

The second half started, by now I was leaning on the fence, near the half way line and I was having trouble focusing on the ball. I was so tired I just wanted to cry. I turned around to answer someone’s question and looked straight into the eyes of Tony Last – Witham’s Chairman, “Good to see you young man”, he said as we shock hands, “And you”, I replied, “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare ticket have you?” I continued. “No, we don’t do tickets, but I did knock one of these up for you”, he said and he handed me a little one off guest pass/ticket. Ha! Ha! Ha! The spirit of St Margaretsbury continues. Brilliant stuff.

Witham then went 3-1 up with a very well taken free kick on 51 minutes. Well that’s interesting.

I tried to focus on the game. It was easier than trying to focus on the ball. Were they playing route one? Were they deliberately missing out the midfield? Had I got it wrong? Were Hemel going route one? That didn’t make sense. I need sleep. Anyone got a dimmer switch for those floodlights?

Hemel pressed forward, still looking to get something from the game. Witham hit them on the break time and time again. For the neutral, it was great stuff. As the game moved towards 90 minutes tactical substitutions were made. Witham should have played it safe, but they just went for it, 3-1 up, in the Cup, at home in the next round, 10 minutes to go and they are still going at it. The neutral in me is thinking that this is brilliant stuff while the footballer in me is thinking, stick it in the corner and wind down the clock.

Then it happened, again. Witham hit Hemel on the break, again. One box to the other. Lightning speed. Hemel were back tracking faster than a politician on a bad day. The ball was rolled straight across the six yard line and the advancing Witham player watched as it rolled pasted him. No one could believe it. Why didn’t he slide in? Maybe the ground was to cold and wet? POOFTA! I could have put it in with the end of my John Thomas. From that moment on they were doomed.

Hemel scored three goals in the remaining minutes, 84, 89 and 90+2. Mental scenes greeted the winner.

In the end I think it was a simple combination of Hemel being the fitter team and Witham refusing to run the clock down. Part of me admired Witham’s attitude while part of me wanted to slap them.

I bumped into Tony Last after the game. The look on his face said more than I can here. Heartbroken probably comes close.

I spoke to Tony and David about how they got involved in their respective clubs and why they still do it. Strangely both men said, “If my wife knew how much money I spend on this club…” Ha Ha Ha…

Tony said that I should go into the club and enjoy the hospitality, which I briefly did before making my way to the chippie and home.

A steady supply of Powerade and Jaffa Cakes kept me awake. The roads were empty. I made good time. My eyes were oozing goo. I got home, striped and crawled into bed. As my head hit the pillow I looked at my alarm clock, it read, 00 hours. 06 minutes. 00 seconds.

I had a small weep to myself.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! 5am. Already? I was just in the middle of a dream… I was still kissing Valentino by a crystal blue Italian stream… No. Hold on. That’s not right. I think I have gender issues…

Have I really only had 11 hours sleep since 8am on Monday morning…

Noggin xx

The FA Cup. Part 6.

Saturday, 28^th September 2013

Second Round Qualifying

Hemel Hempstead Town v Witham Town

 

Vauxhall Road

Hemel Hempstead

HP2 4HW

K.O. 3.00pm

Half time 1-1

Final score 1-1

1-0 David Pearce  10 mins

1-1 Kris Newby  45+1 mins

Attendance 425

Miles travelled approximately 60

What can I say? St Margaretsbury passed on the baton and Hemel Hempstead picked it up. More accurately, Tony Conway picked it up and didn’t he run with it. When I first contacted Hemel, it was Tony that replied, the bad news was that they weren’t going to sell tickets for the FA Cup it was going to be pay on the gate. By the time I’d got home on Friday night, there was a ticket waiting for me. Ticket No. 001. Back of the net…

I woke on Saturday at 7.30am to a stunning sunrise. The mist and haze rising up from the two rivers created a lovely orange, pink, tint to the air, while the sky was bright light blue with vapour trails criss crossing the sky like a huge white fishing net. It all looked very similar to the artwork from War of The Worlds (the album – ask your Dad…).

As I walked around the wasteland that is Hemel town centre, I received a text off a mate of mine who’d seen the Walsall team coach at the hotel in Waltham Abbey. We were playing Orient away, who were riding on the back of eight league games unbeaten. What, do they think they are Hemel Hempstead or something?

I got to the ground just after noon and parked the car. The first thing I noticed was the vibe. The atmosphere was different. You could tell that I’d stepped up a level or two.

The second thing I noticed was that the local residents must get very miffed on a match day, especially if there is a half decent crowd. You’ve got to love that tree in the middle of the island. Now that’s an entrance to a football ground.

The third thing I noticed was the slope on the pitch. Bloody hell fire. I’ll bring a pair of skies next time. It wasn’t until I read the programme that I realised Sir Chris Bonington was guest of honour (OK – I lied about that bit – but the club is missing a trick here – they should get sponsored by the local mountaineering club). Still, the pitch looked in fantastic condition.

Into the ground. The now usual walk around the pitch taking photos. God the pitch looked good. Really good. Stupidly good.

Somewhere I heard a voice asking if I was Noggin. “Are you Tony?” I asked offering my hand. I thanked him for all of his help in getting me a ticket. We had a really good chat. The now usual answers about how he got involved in the club. It seems to be a running theme. More stories of getting involved with their local club and doing it for the love of the game, for the greater good of the community. I continue to fell really cheap for following a professional team.

He told me to keep an eye (and ear) open for the One Direction boys who are regulars on the terraces.

Strange but true event of the day. Hemel decided to have a team photo taken in the goal mouth, in full kit, with two Cups/Trophy’s on display, just as Witham Town turned up. I later asked if they had done that deliberately. Obviously they said no, and I believe them, but it was a master stroke in psychological warfare. 

Into the bar to watch the football on TV. Three screens. Two showing Spurs v Chelsea while Forest v Derby was on the other. So a TV all to myself then…

I found my spot on the terrace behind the goal. True to Tony’s word, there were the One Direction boys, strange, they looked different to how they look on TV. Still, I wouldn’t mind bumping into Caroline Flack on a quiet evening by a roaring fire, or a brightly lit car park for that matter… hahaha…

Some of the Hemel fans recognised me from the St Margaretsbury game. One bloke told me that his work mate was a Walsall fan. Bizarre. As I spoke to more Hemel fans we all agreed that this should be a good game and should easily go in favour of Hemel who were top of the league and riding in on the back of nine games unbeaten. What, do they think they are Leyton Orient or something?

The predictable happened. Hemel were kicking down the slope. Pass it and move. Triangles. Defence splitting passes. Total domination. Chance after chance time after time. Hemel only lacked that final touch. Don’t misread this. Witham’s defence did their job. It wasn’t just as easy as Hemel not being able to score in a house of ill-repute, Witham held their shape, did their job. To be honest, it’s all that they could do. It was just a question of how long could they keep it up and when rather than if Hemel would finally score.

This really was a good standard of football from both sides, as I said, including the defence, because frankly, as a game, it should already have been into double figures, in their bright red ADIDAS strip, Hemel looked like a team from Germany. What, do they think they are Bayern Munich or something?

If I lived locally to this team, I’d pay to watch this every week.

Eventually, after 10 minutes, David Pearce got the goal that had simply been coming. Everyone settled down to watch the oncoming slaughter. In your own speed. Whenever you’re ready. See those three white sticks with a net on it? Now put that round ball shaped thing in there. Don’t be shy. You’ve done it once. This wasn’t looking good. We all knew what was coming and so do you.

Eventually, Witham forced a corner right on the stroke of half time with a stunning save from Hemel’s keeper who clawed the ball out of the top corner like an Eagle plucking a salmon from a river. Over comes the ball. The usual scramble that we’ve all seen before. GOAL! I double blinked. Was that an overhead kick?

A few seconds later it was half time.

Into the bar. Orient 1 Walsall 0. *SIGH* Off for a Bovril. Why don’t Bovril sponsor the league? Any league. Bovril, if you’re reading this, YOU’RE MISSING A TRICK!

During half time I bumped into a small TV crew from BT Sport who were following Witham Town and basically doing the same as me.

By the time the second half had kicked off everyone had walked around to the other end of the ground. One Direction were in good voice. Hemel stayed in the dressing room. Witham grew in strength and confidence as they kicked down the north face of the Eiger (meeting Sir Chris Bonington coming the other way… see what I did there?). It was now a question of which team would lose concentration and slip up. In the end neither team did. Both teams conspired into forcing a stale mate. I started to think about the possibility of a replay and my heart sank. I don’t suppose there’s any chance of next goal the winner…?

No. The Ref blew for full time. GUTTED! I already know that I can’t make the replay. I stood on the terrace behind the goal trying to work out all the possibilities. I know that I should wait until 5am on Tuesday morning, I mean, you really don’t know what’s going to happen until it happens right, but it’s over and I know it. The only thing I can do is get in 15 minutes earlier and try to manipulate my tacho breaks.

Heartbroken I make my way to the bar. I can’t even drink because I’m driving. *SIGH* Just as I walked into the bar I saw on the TV Leyton Orient 1 Walsall 1. “YES! RESULT!” I shouted. Just me then is it… How weird is that, both Hemel and Orient on club record breaking winning runs draw 1-1.

Lots of chatting and making of plans for Tuesday. The lovely people at Witham Town said if I get there on Tuesday then they’ll have a ticket for me.

Before I finally left I went looking for Tony to say goodbye and thank you. He came towards me with a large plate of food which he offered to me, strange, he never said he was Jewish.

As I drove home what should pass me coming the other way, yes you guessed it, the Walsall team coach. I was so busy looking at her that I almost missed my junction. I just laughed like a drain.

It wasn’t until I got home that I found out that we had played over 70 minutes with 10 men (10 men, you couldn’t beat 10 men, you couldn’t beat 10 men…) and St Margaretsbury won 2-4 away.

Today had been a good day.

Noggin xx

 

The FA Cup. Part 5.

Saturday, 14^th September 2013

First Round Qualifying

St Margaretsbury v Hemel Hempstead Town

 

The Recreation Ground

Stansted Abbotts

SG12 8EH

K.O. 3.00pm

Half time 0-3

Final score 0-7

Oliver (Ollie) Thorne  18 mins

Ben Mackey  45 mins

David Hutton  45+2 mins

Lewis Toomey  57 mins

Lewis Toomey  60 mins

Ben Mackey  61 mins

Jordan Parkes  90 mins 

Attendance 97

Miles travelled approximately 10.

Dear reader. It’s the evening after the night before and I curse the name of the person who invented alcohol… and who’s bloody stupid idea was it to play Beer Pong?

Remember a few weeks ago I picked up a bug? Just a simple tummy bug, or so I thought. A few weeks later and I’ve still got that bug. I’ve not eaten properly for over a week. I’ve had to take time off from work. I’m on an obscene amount of drugs. I’ve had one set of medical tests. I’ve got a second next week. With a third consultation pencilled in for the following week. I’m supposed to rest and not drink alcohol.

I tried to explain to my doctor that it’s the FA Cup this weekend and that meant rest and not drinking alcohol was not an option and if that wasn’t enough Bob’s band was playing The White Swan on Saturday night (for all the Maiden fans in the room, he’s the bloke that wrote, Sanctuary). Well it’s your life, literally, your life. Don’t come back to me where you’re dead and say I didn’t warn you.

So, if it’s only a bug, doing the game isn’t going to kill me, while if it’s more serious, then not doing to game isn’t going to stop what’s about to happen, from happening. TRUST ME I’M A DOCTOR!

After taking a stupid amount of drugs to get me through the day, I got to the club house around 1.45pm and went straight to the bar. Hemel Players everywhere. The bar is rammed. I bump into Richard. We chat about one or two protects while I attack my beer.

Over walks Gary and I tell him that his staff have done a damn good job in getting the game on especially with the amount of rain we had over the last 24 hours. More chatting and more plans made for future events.

On paper this game should be a walk over. Hemel are two divisions higher the St Margaretsbury. They are second in the league and riding in on the back of six games unbeaten.

The game kicks off. Hemel hit the woodwork. St Margaretsbury go one on one with the keeper. The game stays at 0-0. It’s good end to end stuff with nothing really in it.

Hemel strike first with a well taken goal from Oliver Thorne. Here comes the walk over, except it didn’t. If you didn’t know which team was which you couldn’t guess.

The Ref was having a horror show. There were things going on off the ball.

On 23 minutes, the Ref decided to send off Joel Maybury and Oliver Thorne, for something which simply didn’t happen, or if it did, the Ref was the only one that saw it. Both teams are down to ten men. This sending off helped St Margaretsbury as Thorne was easily the best player on the park by a long way, a very long way.

St Margaretsbury were holding their own and just before half time it’s still only 0-1, but then it happened. Two goals in two minutes, 45 and 45+2, cruel beyond cruel. Neither team deserved that score line.

The second half springs into life. Again there is nothing to suggest that Hemel are two divisions higher, or 0-3 up, until the 57^th minute when Hemel upped their game while St Margaretsbury took their eye off the ball. Three goals in six minutes, 57, 60 and 61, put a sword to any hopes of a comeback. St Margaretsbury let their heads drop and stopped talking to each while Hemel were producing enough chatter to keep your average GCHQ operative happy for days.

To add insult to injury Hemel got a seventh goal on 90 minutes bringing the game to an end with un-necessary a coup de grace.

0-7 on paper looks bad, unless you are Hemel. Don’t be fooled. Neither team deserved that score line.

After the game we piled into the bar. More chatting to St Margaretsbury staff. I know that I’ve mentioned this before, but the amount of time and effort these people put into their respective clubs is simply amazing. These people don’t just plough money into the clubs, they put blood, sweat, tears and time. Vast amounts of time. It’s the time that they put into it that really amazes me. It’s got to me. It’s got under my skin.

By the time Steve and Richard leave, giving a lift to Gary on the way, it’s well past 6pm and they have been there since 9am. That’s 9 hours of dedicated time all unpaid and that’s just today.

Sharpie (Tony Sharp, Cricket Club chairman) is the same with the Cricket Club. He reckons he’ll get carried out of there in a box. I reckon he’s already arranged to be buried under the wicket.   

The way the two clubs, football and cricket, have joined forces for the greater good of the local community is very special. Truly special. I get the feeling that they really believe that they are custodians of something bigger, something more important.

Just as I was about to leave and get the train home via Bob and the White Swan, someone decided that it would be a really good idea to play Beer Pong. A game forged in the depths of hell and sponsored by your local brewery. A game where if you lose you win and if you win you lose. Beer Pong for the Olympics is what I say. Gavin and Myself are crowned Beer Pong Champions.   

Is this the last time I visit St Margaretsbury for the FA Cup? Yes.

Is it the last time I visit St Margaretsbury? NO!

I will be back… In Search of Elvis The Mouse…

 

Noggin xx

The FA Cup. Part 4.

Saturday, 31^st August 2013

Preliminary Round

St Margaretsbury v London Tigers

 

The Recreation Ground

Stansted Abbotts

SG12 8EH

K.O. 3.00pm

Half time 0-0

Final score 1-0

Steve Barker  90+1 mins

Attendance 35

Miles travelled approximately 10.

I woke to a dazzlingly blue sky. It was already over 60 degrees and climbing. But I felt rotten. It wasn’t a hangover it was dehydration from the day before and something dodgy that I’d eaten.

The plan was to leave early and sit in the bar at the club house, the only problem is that I was having a problem leaving the bathroom, if you know what I mean. Eventually, I did manage to leave the bathroom. I made my way to the train station, £2.50 return, RESULT!

I got to St Margaretsbury, walked up an empty car park and bumped into Richard. “Noggin, good to see you, I’ve got a ticket and a programme for you, I’ll see you later…”, he said, before dealing with the people he was already dealing with.

I went for a walk around the cricket ground, just soaking up the game, the atmosphere, the environment, while taking photos of anything and everything that moved or didn’t including someone that I found face down in the grass in front of a bench and sleeping off a hangover before going into bat…  

This is how Sheffield United must have looked like all those years ago. A cricket pitch and football pitch side by side.

I made my way to the bar and formed my own queue. Up walks Richard, I got the drinks in and he gave me a programme and ticket for the game. At that point Gary walks over, “I’ve got a ticket for you”, he said, as he put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. He opened the envelope and gave me this. I laughed like a drain. What a fantastic thing to do. Here comes that Monty Python moment again…

Richard introduced me to the Secretary of London Tigers, saying that this is the guy you need to talk to if they beat us today. We shuck hands and I promptly told him that London Tigers was/is a stupid name. He took it all in good spirits. Top man.

Just before 3pm I left the bar and walked the 100ft along the gravel path past the cricket score shed thing and entered the ground.

The game was stubborn. I think that’s the best way to describe it. It didn’t matter what either team tried to do, neither team could get a grip on the game. There were chances, but the stale mate stubbornly held on.

This wasn’t looking good for me, it wasn’t looking good for anyone else either to be honest, but especially for me. I started to make mental plans about getting to West London the following Tuesday night. To be honest, as the game approached 90 minutes I just wanted someone to win, it didn’t matter which team, just don’t go to a replay.

The most entertaining part of the game was the Manager of London Tigers who took great pleasure in verbally abusing the match officials. It got to the point where it stopped being abusive and became funny because we all just treated him like a recently escaped mental patient sitting on a bus shelter roof while barking at low flying aircraft… Maybe he gets abused by his wife or something and needs to vent. Who knows.

Then right on 90 minutes St Margaretsbury won a corner. Over comes the ball. Everyone missed it and it started to bobble about the box. A shot was attempted. Legs were taken. Somewhere a whistle blew. We all looked at the Ref… who was pointing and walking towards the spot.

11 players were going crazy with joy and hope while 11 players were going crazy with anger and frustration. I just stood there thinking, DON’T MISS!

Just after the re start the Ref blew for full time 1-0. RESULT!

Into the bar. Beer. TV. Football results. Where are the results? Who’s got a Smart Phone? Walsall 0 Preston 3. MORE BEER PLEASE!

Noggin xx