So here I am. And for any of you non Dover outsiders, or those not very clued up on non-league football (couldn't blame if you aren't) I will give you a quick lowdown on this fixture.
The original game at Treyew Road was scheduled for Saturday 20th October but this game was postponed on the Thursday evening with the extreme likelyhood that Truro would be liquidated and booted out of the league by the Conference. But after several twists and turns, Truro were eventually rescued at the final hour (well - actually several times after the deadlines had passed!) and now seem to be safe to at least see out beyond the season. So the game was rescheduled for Tuesday 27th November, but that too was postponed due to torrential rain. Luckily for me, as I was unable to attend on that day due to my work induction so I welcomed the news.
A week later was the new arranged date and this was do-able for me, although I had to risk upsetting my new employers by cancelling some overtime I had 'accidently' booked. While my free train travel means I do not deserve this bizarre hero status that some of you have given us Truro travelees as much as the others who came, I did turn down the chance of earning some much needed cash which I should be condemned for not doing and having my priorities completely fucked up.
But I am sick to death of hearing stories from the older generation, ones who have infamously been part of midweek followings to Fleetwood, Barrow, Scarborough etc because I have never done anything like that in my time supporting Dover. A midweek trek to Cornwall could cement my status as hardcore and I could finally prove myself as a Dover fan, in this strange twisted mentality of mine. I had already been to Truro last season but that was in the height of summer and provided a great weekender, even if that useless twat Ross Kitteridge gifted them a 1-0 win. But this time it would be nothing more than a quick "in and out" job and if the football was shit and we lost, there would be little reedeming features of the journey.
They were several terrible factors going against us in planning this journey, and anyone of reasonable sense would have just sacked off the idea of going. Most people did. Even with this being one of the current longest distance games in English football at 332 miles (perhaps THE longest, although Plymouth/Hartlepool might have a few longer games - I can't be arsed to properly check), there were plenty of other horrible factors to consider. The main one was the predicted heavy showers forecast for the South West all day, meaning a seemingly likely postponement could be made while we were travelling down there and after the others had forked out £71 each on wasted train tickets. Then there was the problem of First Great Western trains. We HAD to make the 12:06 train from Paddington otherwise we would not get there in time. And for the previous 10 days the sleeper train back home into London, which we were planning on using, had not been running due to severe flooding of the track. So heavy delays and being stranded were serious worries ahead of the day. Nonetheless myself, Kieran Dodd, Chris 'Jesus' Collings and Chris Hunt, decided to take the gamble and we would formulate what is now known as 'The Truro Four'.
Upon preparing for the day ahead in the morning, I wasn't feeling too good about the whole thing. I genuinely suspected that the game would get called off by mid-day and it would be a complete waste of time, and then I had to put up with my mother badgering at me for being failure of a person by priortizing football over new employment. Even I struggled to justify myself in reasoning my actions, so didn't bother. Unless you're another sad act hardcore football fan like myself, you just won't understand it. And I'm fully aware that there is no way you can rationalize such loyalty and dedication to what is just a game. (Sorry to those of you Bill Shankly enthusiasts out there - but it is).
For the 24+ hour journey ahead, I prepared my bag with the usual essentials. A randomly assorted collection of beers that I had assembled from previous away days, my litre bottle of jaigermeister my Dad had bought me for my birthday which I was saving for a "special occasion (which I deemed this apt enough), some energy drink to accompany it and two of my Dover flags (neither of which I actually bothered tying up as it was too wet!). Oh, and a peanut butter roll and pack of those go ahead fruit slices, which turned out to be my breakfast, lunch and dinner for the whole day.
And that's all I needed as I set off for the 08:31 train from Herne Bay, a disgustingly early time to set off for a 7PM kick off (instead of the usual 7:45PM KO, as our team's flights back from Newquay needed to be caught within time). My journey would take a lot longer than it otherwise would have because I needed to meet Chris Collings and Kieran Dodd at Ashford International. Chris was meeting us at Paddington from his Putney home. And we wouldn't even be on the hi-speed train to St Pancras as going the tediously long route to Charing X worked out cheaper for them.
I eventually met them on the train at Ashford at around 9:50AM and was confused by the fact they were in company with some random person in a suit that I had never seen before. I eventually discovered after he got off at Tonbridge that he was the son of Chris's latest squeeze but I was too nervous to ask who he was during the journey. I did actually ponder "is this bloke coming to Truro with us because I've never seen him before".
While I'm here, I might as well introduce you to the group. Kieran, quite amazingly only started supporting Dover mid-way through last season, but has been pretty much an ever present since, and now regularly updates the club's live twitter feed and sometimes does the match reports. He's an example that you can catch the Dover Athletic bug at a much later age when you should know better. His main criticism is his perceived lack of charisma and his lack of attentiveness, but he is a very nice lad and we love him to bits.
Chris Collings on the other hand, is a club stalwart and legend, every single Dover fan will know him either by face or person. As a lookalike to Jesus Christ with his long flowing grey locks, he is the first person you see when entering through Crabble turnstiles as he is our programme editor and sells them on matchdays. He has supported Dover since the 1960's and has missed about 2 league games since the 1970's, and even attended a Dover game on the day of his wedding. And amazingly, he still fits the NLL 2CW bill by squeezing in Millwall games when he can.
His main attribute is also his perceived lack of charisma and dourness, while he is notorious for drinking his home brew ale which he stores in milk cartons. But he's a complete club legend, nice guy and comes out his shell a bit when he's pissed.
So the main conversation flowing on the way up was how long it would take we would hear news of the match being postponed, as we were being held on tenterhooks after hearing the dreaded two words every fan doesn't want to hear on their way to an away game: "pitch inspection at 11am". For me, this translated as "Game OFF" and my heart sank in relunctant acceptance that we would be turning back towards south east Kent shortly. So when I eventually checked twitter and saw that official confirmation the pitch had been passed fit, I felt as relieved as I do at scoring a last minute equalizer. This was pretty much a guarentee that the game would go ahead, given that the team were checking in at the airport at 12 and Frank Clarke, club secretary, gave us assurances that it would go ahead at all costs. Now we just had to make sure we had no problems getting across width of the country without any fuck-ups.......
It didn't look too promising when our train was running really slowly, about ten minutes behind what it should have, as we were approaching into London. We still had to get across to Paddington but did manage to make it there within fairly comfortable time, even though the walk from their main station to the underground was a ridiculously long one.
No sign of Christopher Hunt as we entered the main station though, which was the beginning of a painful and excruciating 15 minutes in which we had no idea whether the eccentric ginger cunt, who is notorious for turning up late everywhere, would make the train. Cue a fit of public anger rage from me as my repeated phone calls were constantly met by vodafone voicemail with him still clearly underground. Cue me shouting obscenities such as "the useless, stupid ginger, liability fucking arsehole" etc, something along those lines anyway. As the time until our train was leaving got tighter and tighter, and with no signs of him showing up, I had to make the decision to get on the train regardless of whether he turned up or not, as the FGW trains to Cornwall do not run on a regular basis. And with 3 minutes until the train, we decided to get on and walk up to find seats.
Then my phone rang. At 12:06, the time our train was due to leave. It was Chris, clearly out of breath and apparently stuck at the ticket barriers. There was no way he was going to make it.
But somehow, at 12:08 with the train departing the platform, I received a tap on my shoulder and there he was. He left it until Fergie Time to make the train, and despite my earlier obscenities and anger felt towards him, I was very pleased and relieved to see him there. All was forgiven and now it was time to crack on and #GETONTHEBEERSSON.
I'm not a great fan of First Great Western trains. Virtually all the seats seem to be reserved and there are hardly any tables either so we had to sit in two's instead. And with a 4 and a half hour minimum journey until we reached Truro, I had to endure the prospect of being stuck next to Chris Collings for such a long period of time.
But fair play to him, as he began sinking his disgusting looking home brew he began telling me some of his interesting football tales, both of Millwall (2CW) and Dover. Well that can't have been that interesting as I can only vaguely remember them, but he has been there and done it all football wise so he is worth listening to.
This journey actually passed fairly quickly for what should have been a horribly tedious trek. I guess the vast quantity of beer I was sinking helped, along with the regular intervals of jaigerbombs helping. In the end I drank about half a litre of it - with only a few contributions from Hunty, so I certainly started to feel more and more half cut as the journey progressed. In fact in this modern technological day and age I kindly decided to
"Afternoon all Dover fans. Not much to report this afternoon, just the usual. Chris Collings is telliing us his 1970s Millwall stories (2CW) while stinking out the carriage with his pate and tomato sauce sandwiches (wtf), I.m half cut on watered down lagers and my litre bottle of jaigermeister, Hunty turned up for our 12:06 train from Paddington at 12:07 and made the train by the fraction of my cock, while Doddy has his head buried in his blackberry for the entire duration. So nothing new has happened, although the West Country is absolutely flooded and if the game goes ahead it will be an absolute miracle. COYW"
Yes that is correct, Chris Collings is that filthy and weird enough to have pate and tomato ketchup together. I'm a big fan of pate myself but that just sounds utterly revolting and ketchup is stupidly over-rated. He's the sort of person that will always bring along his own skanky looking sandwiches - truely living up to perception of non-league fans being meat paste sarnie munchers.
And re the flooding of the line. We were told to expect delays of up to 30 minutes as their had been severe track damage but even we were surprised by how flooded it was in places. Luckily we only finished the journey about ten minutes behind schedule but I'm not surprised they've been having such problems.
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| Just one example of severely flooding in the nearby fields. There was severe track damage in areas but I was unable to get any decent snaps. |
The last hour of this protracted journey seemed to pass through quite slowly and fears were circulating through us as the closer we came to arriving the darker the clouds became. It seemed that it was only a matter of time before it would begin to chuck it down but the rain was only quite light and by the time we rocked up at our destination it was pretty dry. After about 8 and a half hours travelling on a train we had finally made it to the holy grail, the other side, and could look positive to the game. We'd also had the welcome news when travelling up that the sleeper train home would finally be running, albeit on a revised timetable. So we had to find out at Truro ticket office when it became apparent our train back would now be running at 9:22PM instead of the 10:57PM originally scheduled. Thankfully due to the early kick off we would be able to make this but it also left zero time for post match beers.
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| The infamous home brew. |
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| My usual set-up. |
The lack of time we had between arriving and the start of the game meant there was very little point in going out of the way to the town centre and going to pubs down that way. It would involve taxis and hassle, plus I was very skint on this cold evening so instead we decided to go straight to Treyew Road via Sainsbury's, which was a lot closer to the station than I ever imagined. It meant not being able to devour a pasty that I had been craving - but the extra beer time was worth sacraficing it for.
I was surprised by the sheer size of this Sainsbury's superstore we stumbled across - it was the biggest variant I had ever seen of this supermarket. Complete with a two storey car-park and petrol garage. I know Truro's a city, but it has a pretty small population and they hate big businesses down there. So I was quite surprised, we all were.
I chose to stock up on some of their own brand 4.8% beer stubbies and some extra energy drink for the journey home, choosing to neglect my probable needs of something to eat.
The ground was only 5 minutes away from here. I was completely unaware where abouts it was in relation to the city as we just did a taxi job last year, but it was a relief that it was close enough and a really simple route so we wouldn't forget it on the way back. And as we approached Treyew Road I took some more photos.
Now was the difficult part. For virtually every single away game this season up until this point I had managed to somehow get in as Under 16. For this though, with myself
Upon arriving through though I was absolutely delighted to see the pitch looking to be in a near immaculate condition, rendering our previous fears meaningless. We'd heard of reports of heavy showers in Plymouth in the morning so were expecting some damage but by the looks of it there was absolutely no need for an inspection and it certainly looked worthy of hosting their unbeaten visitors. Brilliant.
It is a pretty strange and shoddy ground though, I am surprised that it managed to meet the leagues requirement. Behind the goal you enter the ground from it is essentially a patio with some roped off banks of grass. To the west side there are two 'temporary' uncovered seated stands which are fine, and on the east there is a small covered seating stand along with a covered but unterrace stand. Behind the other goal is the best stand, another temporary seated stand but it is covered. Unfortunately though we were met with the terrible news that this stand was out of bounds and closed for health and safety reasons, due it apparently being blown back a few feet during heavy winds. How terribly non-league and tinpot! So we would have to endure a very cold evening with no cover for boths halves of the game.
They do however possess a pretty decent clubhouse and we were welcomed in there by our directors, who thanked us and bought us a pint each for our efforts. Well, 2 did anyway, Alistair Bayliss and another bloke I don't think I've ever seen before. They sell Carlsberg Export on draught in there which is good news as it's actually a pretty damn good brew, unlike the unexport version of itself.
We were also approached and spoken to by the manager, Nicky Forster, as we went outside for a cigarette (mine being my electronic one, obviously). He thanked us for travelling down, spoke to us for a bit about things and then left to obviously attend team matters. It was a nice touch from him and good to see that things like this go appreciated as this level, even though I'm sure deep down him and the players were probably cackling to themselves thinking "what a bunch of sad virgins" and I wouldn't blame them if that was the case! Also strange is that this bloke is the same one I was calling his head for after back-to-back home defeats a few week prior. I think mine and everyone else concerns with him certainly had reasonable enough foundations and I (and I assume everybody else) will be happy to be proven wrong to the extent where we are kissing for his feet and begging for forgiveness. It's never a matter of wanting DAFC to fail, I want us to succeed regardless of who is the manager. And if I'm felching NF's arse come the end of the season - then good.
Now we had arrived all the way down in Cornwall I had a really bad feeling about the game. That's not unusual in itself and I'm naturally a pessimistic cunt but I just felt it was going to be inevitable that our first away defeat of 2012 would be made in these circumstances. Truro, despite their ten point deduction and team problems, have a pretty decent home record this season. And many of them have seem to be riled by Jim Parmenter's comments after that postponed game in October, the "It's we the ones that suffer" quote which was perhaps a bit ill-timed.
Meanwhile in the bar we got talking to one of the barmaids who had an absolutely smashing pair of tits on her. Doddy was unsuccesfully trying to weave his magic on her "do you know that I do live text?" and I was unsuccesfully in getting a photo of her, which is a shame.
And other hordes of Dover Athletic fans continued to pile in. There was, errrr, an old couple I don't know the name of that travelled on the plane with the team, as well as a few other golden oldies that I errrr, don't know the name of either. I was most pleased to see my Tuesday night games lift buddy Reg Harris turn up, making his 1st appearance in a few weeks having come back from New York. Evidently it turned out that he had driven down straight from work in London, having not known he was coming midday. Then there was a father and daughter that also turned up, I do not know the names of them but most Dover fans will know them by face. No idea how they got down here. And also Steve Mac (who had been away at Billericay 3 days prior) turned up from his naval base in Plymouth along with some friends, who were adopted Dover fans for the evening. So in total there were about 15 odd Dover fans in attendance. Not too bad considering the circumstances and when you bare in mind that top flight Italian club Udinese took a total of ONE fan to Sampdoria recently for a simiar game. And that singular fan was also already in Genoa on business, so it doesn't really count!
I also caught up with a Truro fan that I went out on the piss with after our game at Crabble back in February, but I cannot for the life of me remember his name. I pointed him out who Parmenter was so that they could talk things over and make amends.
After four pints, a continue descent into drunkenness and much anticipation, it was time to PLAY TO THE GAME!!!!!!!
About 30 minutes before kick off it began absolutely pissing it down. The torrential rain that had been forecast throughout the game all seemed to come down at one. So this made for a very wet and uncomfortable viewing conditions, particularly seeing as we were not allowed in this stand we were attacking towards. Instead we had to stand to the side of it while it was being guarded by two disgruntled stewards.
As I had very much suspected, this first half was quite a scrappy and dull affair in quite awful conditions. It was the home side who were probably enjoying the better share of possession though, but they were unable to muster up anything interesting remotely scary. They peppered our box from corners but their final attempts never looked like hitting inside the frame of our goal.
Most of our good work came from down the wings and that is where we gained a slightly fortunate lead just before the half-time break. Barry Cogan fed the rejuvanated Ricky Modeste down the left hand side and he skinned their full-back before dragging the ball across the 6 yard box with a low cross. This was met by the enigmatic Ben May, who's scuffed contact came off the leg of convicted child killer Luke McCormick* in goal, and the ball bounced up in the air before eventually dropping into the right hand corner. It looked an incredibly ugly goal befitting of its non-league surroundings but to us, the tiny minority of Dover fans that made the journey down there, we didn't care. It was pretty surreal celebrating in such short numbers and we began quite cringeworthily to sing some songs, attempting to emulate Thurrock fans.
*Yes, I gave McCormick some stick. I always do with goalkeepers and I'm happily to stoop down to any levels to put them off their game. And Luke had a pretty awful game.
Without wanting to get into a debate about the morality issues of crime, punishment and rehabilitaltion here, I don't see why people think he's a poor ickle darling who deserves and easy ride. The bloke who killed two young children that will never get their lives back. I believe all drink drivers should be punished, and if you believe the media reports, he hasn't exactly shown much signs of remorse. And neither did he when he turned round and smirked at us. The guy is an utter cunt, and doesn't deserve a second opportunity in an industry like football. Just my opinion anyway.
But if a players is half decent then club's and fans don't give a flying fuck about players being scummy criminals. Look at Marlon King, banging them in at Birmingham like he bangs around women. Their fans don't care he's been jailed twice or that he assaults women because he sticks the ball away on a regular basis. Same with the remorseless vile cunt that is Lee Hughes. The same will be of convicted rapist Ched Evans in a few years time when he gets released stupidly early from his rape conviction. I would not want these players anywhere near my football club, simple as. If it's a petty crime they've comitted and they genuinely want to make amends and rehabilitate then fair enough. But some don't deserve a second chance in an industry like football with its money, fame and adulation. Just my opinion anyway, and I couldn't give a flying fuck if you disagree or think I'm a cunt for thinking that twats like McCormick don't deserve complete protection.
Anyway, that pointless rant over and out the way with, that gave us a lead going into the break, a chance for some much needed warmth in the bar with a pint.
The second half, which was somehow even colder than the first, continued in a similar fashion with Truro looking to get back into the game. They would have done so if it wasn't for a fine acrobatic save from Mitch Walker, who brilliantly kept out Cody Cooke's stinging 25 yard effort. Then on a Dover counter attack Callum Willock, who replaced Ben May at half-time after picking up a knock, put the ball in the back of the net after outmuscling a defender, only to see it ruled out for harshly being adjudged to have used too much force.
Moments later Truro almost got a route back into the match from a corner but the ball which bounced off their attacking player fortunately went into the path of Walker rather than either side of him.
But from there onwards we appeared to control the game against a tiring Truro side that were only able to name 3 substitutes on the bench. And we killed the game off with two goals within the final 20 minutes to ensure the hours of travelling were worth it.
The first game courtesy of a good team goal, started by Willock holding the ball past the half way line. He played the ball down the left hand side into the path of the industrious Daryl McMahon, who outsmarted his defender before playing a ball into Cogan's feet into the box. He took the ball away from the defender before unselfishly playing the ball across to Billy Bricknell, who gratefully tapped in the gift for his 6th goal in four games.
Then we had the luxury of introducing new signing Moses Ademola off the bench, replacing the impressive Modeste. He was involved in our third and game killer two minutes from time. He dispossessed them within our own half then sprinted away with the ball and laid the ball to Bricknell down the right hand side. He then found Willock in acres of space down the left hand side, who finished off the counter attack with a cool finish and left those of us in delirium.
That was pretty much it action wise and it sealed our 4th win a row. The result was perhaps a tiny bit flattering to us but make no mistake about it - it was another classy, efficient performance from us in very difficult conditions and we fought for it, and defended very well as a team.
For me, it was one of my proudest moments as a Dover fan. Travelling down all this way in the face of adversity and coming home with three points thanks to a very committed performance from DAFC was just a strange sensation of delight that I struggle to express. We've had won far more important games in my era of supporting Dover, having won two league titles and our amazing FA Cup run 2 seasons ago, but this was just a very special night that I would rank alongside my best. I know it's essentially a run-of-the-mill league fixture in the same as any other we'll win this season but for me, just being one of a select few that were there, I will treasure it for ever. I know feel that I have proven myself as a proper Dover Athletic fan now. I could go out and get a life tomorrow and I wouldn't need to attend a game again as I have served my time. Of course that is not happening (not any time soon yet, anyway) but it is a situation that could arise at some point in my life. In 25 years time I could be telling my kids about the time "I was once so sad that I travelled down to Cornwall for a non-league football game and I tell you what, it was bloody worth it". So the decision to go and bollocking from my Mum was completely worth it in the end. My elation was so much that I left my avid facebooks fans with a spate of drunken love confessions for DAFC, leaving them probably bemused and annoyed at my constant updates. It beats the generic tedious shit you see on facebook though, doesn't it?
One final point RE: the game which I am editing in having written the rest of this blog. Only 279 went through the turnstiles on this cold evening. Admittedly the weather and kick off time were a bit shit but having recently just almost gone under, you think they deserve a bit more support and backing from the local community. T'was a far cry when over 1000 fans saw them beat us there last season. Shame really as they're a good club, Cornwall is a beautiful county and I hope they continue to provide a great away day for teams at our level who normally have to put up with shitholes like Staines and Boreham Wood.
Now it was time to bid our farewells and goodbyes to the beautiful county, with no time for celebratory drinks in the bar thanks to the rescheduled sleeper train. We did contemplate booking a hotel for the night and using the train tickets in the morning, but Chris Collings, notorious for being tight, understandably didn't want to fork out more money. And on reflection it wasn't a good idea for me with my lack of finances and snowy conditions the following day. So instead we walked back to the train station through the pissing rain in complete ectsasy.
I finally got to discover what these riviera sleeper trains were all about, having never got on one before. They have a load of sleeper cabins which you have to pay extra for, which none of us bothered doing. But the main seating areas were very comfortable and spacious, and much to our joy, it wasn't very busy either and we spread across 6 seats with tables. But the main annoyance was that there wasn't any charger sockets which they usuall provide on FGW trains, which wasn't welcome with my lack of phone b82rez life and with my electric ciggy out of charge.
My memory here is a bit hazy. I have no idea how long we stayed up drinking for but it musn't have been for that long (I know, I'm a fanny). But my original intention when getting pissed on the way up was that I would be drunk enough to fall asleep on public transport when on the way back. Because normally I struggle to - if you read back to my Truro blog from last season I managed to get a total of 20 minutes kip on a 10 hour overnight coach journey. Luckily there wasn't a repeat situation here.
But I did wake up at 3:48AM, so it wasn't all totally a magnificent sleep. Upon waking up and realising what the events of the previous evening were, I smiled and immedietly re-felt such a buzz about what had happened. So much so that I didn't bother trying to get back to sleep while we were sat at Reading station for a very long time. This lasted all the time until we got back to Paddington at 5:25AM when Chris Hunt finally awoke from the dead in his sleeping bag and cushions. He came a lot more prepared than we did, quite evidently.
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| Decentish effort. |
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| Not a pretty sight to wake up to. |
Getting off at the platform and preparing to part ways with Hunty, I finally realised that 'The Truro Four' had still not had their photo taken together, despite the fact we were being lauded as heroes back in Dover and that we had even had apparently had a mention of our names on radio 5 live. So I put amends to this, about 10 hours to late, thanks to the photography of a member of staff.
And that was it. We parted ways with Hunty and made our way down to the creepily sparsely populated underground and made our way across to Charing Cross, which is where the fun and games began. It became evident that a few sprinklings of snow had caused DISASTER in the south of England, which of course meant the cancellations of trains. Our initial one to Ashford was cancelled meaning we would have to wait around in the cold station for even longer, and would get home an hour later.
Meanwhile I was suffering from some well deserved hunger pains having forgotten to eat since the peanut butter roll the morning before, excluding a few starburst sweets I was given on the way back. However, I am not prepared to sell out my morals and ethics to buy a shitty overpriced sausage roll for £3 at one of those dreadful station stalls, so I opted to wait and wait until we got back into Dover. The desire and vision of having a few cheese burger puffs from Rooks upon getting home became my raison d'etre so I stuck by that goal and desire. I knew it would make the hunger pains all the more worthwhile than a shitty overpriced sausage roll would, and I'm glad I abided my principles.
But that vision became more and more a thing of the future when our train had no signs of showing up, before the 07:30AM train finally showed up. But if I thought this would be the start of an easy journey home I was wrong. It soon became clear that the train was running about as fast as Rik Waller in the Sahara because of 'disruptions in Orpington' - a town we were absolutely nowhere fucking near. Evidently everything was running extremely slow because of the 'severe weather conditions' which is roughly translated as 'a light dusting of snow'. After an exruciatingly painful journey we ended up being chucked off at Paddock Wood as our train decided to cancel itself. Fucking marvellous. Stuck on a freezing open platform waiting for a train we had no idea when and what time time it was arriving, just as my hangover and tiredness began to kick in.
But on a positive we were met by a fellow Dover fan, Neil Moors, who opted to turn around from his journey to work after seeing us as his train to London wasn't moving anywhere either. Neil's a top bloke who proper knows his football, one person I always enjoy talking to and we see eye to eye on most things. He's also a 2CW (unsurprisingly) albeit with Borussia Dortmund so he always has some interesting tales to tell. So this made the final length of the journey a bit more bareable.
I also found myself on the receiving end of some unwanted random phone calls from a Dover Express journalist, wanted my version of events of the day. I really couldn't be arsed with this at this point and told him to ring me up later, and after much badgering from this bloke, I eventually found myself and the others featured in the Dover Express and in an online news article. Which has some great selective quoting from me, not giving a clear idea of what I actually said.
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| Since when have we ever called ourselves the 'barmy army'? Shit lazy journalism from a shit lazy newspaper, which oftently cannot even get the name of our ground correct. |
And the online article can be read here.
After twenty minutes in the freezing cold we were eventually met by a train, which amazingly managed to get all the way to Dover Priory without too much problems. But it did drag, with the vision and smell of Burger puffs ringing in my head I was just desperate to get back. At 10:40AM, 26 hours after setting off for Truro, I finally got to cave in to my desires. And boy, when that delicate pastry combine with melted cheese and proper butcher's meat burger hit the back of my taste buds I was well and truely having a well deserved orgasm in my mouth.
And that ladies and gentlemen is pretty much it. This is the story of a group of sad gits travelling midweek the length of the country to watch the shitty non-league outfit they support. I'm sure I've probably left out one or few minor details that should have made the cut but I think I have written enough now.
I would just like to reiterate what an amazing experience it was as a football fan and any of you younger whippersnappers out there, if you ever find yourself in a position where we are playing let's say hypothetically Whitby Town on a Wednesday night in a trophy replay in January. If you're able to make the game, just say "fuck it, YOLO" to yourselves and get your arse down there. Because even though the gamble is extremely high it can pay off in the end. It did for us and this game will forever be stuck in my memory and go down as potentially my favourite of all time.
As for the future of this blog, I hope to write some more blogs in the near future providing my energy and enthusiasm creeps back. Come the 25th of this month I will be in possession of my own laptop so I have no excuse not keep my blog unupdated for so long. But I'm not promising they will be every game like they used to be, but I will make more of an effort. I will keep you posted.
In the meantime, get your sorry arses down to Crabble and keep continuing supporting our great club that deserve all the support they can get at the moment. Because believe me, we can and should be going up as fucking champions. COYW!
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