Boston United v Harrogate Town

Boston United 3-3 Harrogate Town

Tuesday 10th November 2015

Conference North

Attendance: 1074 (Approx 40 away)

Admission: £9 (Student)

As many of you will be aware, I have recently joined Leicester University to embark on a Contemporary History degree. As part of one of my modules, I have been permitted to survey rustic, traditional football grounds that are on their last legs in order to investigate the socioeconomic reasoning that encourages football clubs to decentralize from their traditional homes in order to pursue plush new facilities further afield. As part of this case study, I was enabled and funded to examine the case of Boston United and their soon-to-cease York Street home.

Not really. The simple reality is just plainly that I am a sad cunt. A sad cunt who deems it appropriate to travel for 2 and a half hours (each way) to watch a game of football he has absolutely no interest in the outcome of in (quite frankly) a sport that he harbours scant warmth for nowadays.

It’s difficult for me to explain and articulate in a way that anyone sane-minded can resonate with. Even I impose a stigma upon myself imploring a justification why I feel compelled to undergo measures to watch games that have absolutely no bearing on me.  It must be quite traumatic for my parents to foster the dawning realization that they have raised a son who tallies and charts an extensive list of football grounds he has visited in a meticulously nerdy manner. They’re probably longing for the day where I update them about a nice lass I’ve starting dating, rather than informing them I’ve just spent the day travelling to Burslem to watch Port Vale vs Scunthorpe United.

Alas, I am what I am. And the unfathomable delight that is visiting new stadiums still unleashes this strange, intense schoolboy excitement within myself. I am a fucking loser, yes. But more to the point.

Since moving to Leicester for my degree a pool of new groundhopping opportunities has arisen; with much of the Midlands still unseen territory for me. Unfortunately since gaining a store transfer I’ve been scheduled to work every other Saturday and every Sunday, thus my scope for anorak weirdness has been limited somewhat. Therefore I’ve been seeking out midweek opportunities when available, although the awful, irregular nature of the train network here again impacts my breadth of choices.

Surprisingly, Boston United v Harrogate Town was one of them. In spite of its (relative) geographical isolation, it would only cost £15 for a return and I’d be able to get back to Leicester in time, and at worse, if stranded in Nottingham, have the fall-back of joining my mate (who studies at Trent University) on his night out. I delegated my deliberated on my decision to attend and only proceeded with the plan on early afternoon of the day after a few lunchtime pints; swayed by having read on footballgroundguide.co.uk that the lease for their York Street home runs out in 2018, the club having gained planning permission for a reduced capacity ground elsewhere. This was a fundamental factor for me – so many a time have I looked back on images of grounds like Highbury, Filbert Street, The Vetch, Bootherry Park, Saltergate et al and pondered “I wish I’d had the chance to have visited there”. While Boston United and York Street hardly have the same element of importance as some of those venues in footballing context, they’re still a relatively proper club with an actual fanbase; a football league club as recently as 2007. 

They’ve remained a Conference North club since their financially related demotion amid their FL exit; never seeming to seriously threatening to elevate themselves to the level a club of their stature should be nestling. Therefore I wasn’t prepared to wait for the opportunity to visit York Street through Dover Athletic.

We have played the Pilgrims in my lifetime. The 2001/2002 campaign was the last time our club locked horns, whereby we finished at polar opposites of the spectrum. Their STEVE EVANS’ led side eventually won the league title having controversially pipped Dagenham & Redbridge to the summit amid the use of EVANS’ brown envelopes, meanwhile, the Whites finished bottom of the pile, initiating the first of three relegation within four seasons. One of the very few highlights of that season was a rare elusive home win against EVANS’ side, a game which I have watched a dozen times over on DVD despite not even following the club back then! The scenes when Thomas Tyne prodded us a winner with the last kick of the ball, having been 2-1 down with 15 minutes to go, are still a sheer delight to behold.

Anyway;  back on topic. Boston. Yeah. Smooth, uninterrupted journey there, thankfully (although the train is excruciatingly slow and calls at a vast array of nondescript stations where nobody gets on and off. And Grantham. Margaret Thatcher was born there apparently. A baker’s daughter or summat). Did a fair bit of Korean War reading. Peter Lowe’s ‘The Origins Of The Korean War’ since you asked.  Very interesting background context provided for the Japanese annexation, its subsequent decolonization, plus the ensuing ideological willy-waving between USSR/USA that had indefinitely split apart a very proud country. Very interesting conflict with traumatic consequences which is largely rendered as a little more than a footnote in the wider context of the Cold War. Glad I’m choosing to write my assignment on it. Long journeys are beneficial for forcing yourself to study, I guess.

Upon arriving, I had over an hour to kill so naturally I popped into a couple of watering holes, plus utilized a much needed KFC fuelling in between (couldn’t find a traditional chippy around anywhere – honestly).  My observation of my scarce snapshot of Boston is that it seemed pleasant with a neatly preserved traditional town square with a quaint bridge connecting over the river that runs through the stadt. I’d like to further investigate on a full away day in the future. Both pubs were really decent, featuring a vast array of Castle Rock/Batemans beers – the two Lincolnshire breweries that conjure up some fine beers between ‘em. My mantra is “you know you’re in the north of England when you can still get a pint for under £3”.

I headed to the stadium about 10 minutes prior to kick off, located just adjacent to the town centre. It’s literally about a 10-15 walk from the station to the ground via the town which again solidifies its potential for away day brilliance.

I envisaged from the outset from the smattering of images I had seen that I’d thoroughly enjoy this stadium would and boy, it did not disappoint. In fact you can immediately elevate to one of my favourites in the English lower leagues. Visually it is totally sexual and I think extra gloss was added by the factor of it being played under floodlights. My one qualm about the York Street is that you’re not freely allowed to move around from stand to stand – they’re perennial regionalised league merchants these days and thus they should adapt to their climate. But that was only a minor irk. This was a quintessiesantially proper ground, with four enclosed, individual stands. I stood on the huge terrace behind the goal -  not through choice, more as a result of it being the closest too me. This must be one of the largest remaining actively used terraces in the country. Proper Kop. It’s absolutely caked in pheasant excrement though – you’d think that somebody would have the initiative to give it a wash once in a while! Despite the stand’s vast volume and available space it was a tough task to find a spot where I could rest my arms on a barricade not overloaded with the white stuff!

Very UKIP-like with the Union Jack present. Unsurprisingly, Boston's constituency did attain a high level of the party's votes.

To the left of my view was the main seated stand, a beautifully rustic one complete with supporting pillars to boot, featuring the dugouts right in front of them. Opposite it is a small covered terrace extending the entire pitch side; its roof low enough to probably ensure the street of houses directly behind it can get a good view of the game from their windows. But it’s the stand at the other side of the stadium that is really most peculiar – its idiosyncratic feature being raised about 3 metres above pitch level with a tightly compact roof – mean staircases are necessary to reach its three or four rows of benching. At the bottom is a small uncovered terrace and what appears to be a temporary small block of seating nestling ahead of it. It’s an odd one but completes the vast character of the ground. The away army of Harrogate fans were congregated here; I assume by the bureaucracy of segregation rather than through choice but who knows.

Normally I hate non-league football and the clichéd nonsense that is espoused regarding it (usually patronizing ill-informed generalizations spewed by outsiders whom commend it for being “real football being played by real men for the love of the game” and other such bollocks). Non-League football is fundamentally a substandard level of the game made up of ex-pro dropouts and money grabbing mercenaries (much like any other level). Nonetheless, if the stereotype of non-league football being exciting does amount to anything more than fiction, this game would be a poignant supporting case.

This was truly an excellent, blustering, end-to-end game of football, crammed with several clear chances and important incidents. I’ve been to a few premier league games over the preceding month with a few Championship games in between – this game easily surpassed any of those in terms of excitement – and the standard and style of football was pretty eye-pleasing as well. A glance at the league table beforehand indicated the gung-ho nature of Boston United’s play, their ‘for’ and ‘against’ columns both bulky in stature, bolstered somewhat by a 3-4 defeat at North Ferriby in their previous outing. For once at a game I’d be attending as a neutral, the game would follow the laws of of rational expectation.

Impeccably observed minute's silence in honour of a recently passed on season ticket holder. RIP. 

Harrogate certainly played the most attractive, on the-floor, swift-paced football though, and by the time they did make the breakthrough on just 10 minutes, they could have already been a few goals up. Boston would have certainly been tearing their hair out at the manner in they conceded, a tame header unopposed crept in courtesy of some poor positional sense of their goalkeeper.

This set-back did not provoke a lively response from the home side, however, with Harrogate continuing to press. An attempt from 25 yards was drilled narrowly wide and they really should have doubled their lead when an attacker had two bites of the cherry from close range; his first well saved, his follow-up arrowed emphatically wide.

Towards the end of the half though Boston emerged more spirited and conjured up an equaliser just before the break. Paradoxically, for a game where for a change, most of the better football was being deployed on the floor, they too found the net via the means of a set-piece. A long range free kick was floated into the back of the box and nodded across the area by their marvellously long-haired *Italian defender, which was promptly followed by a well-directed nod into the bottom right corner.  

*he’s actually born in Peterborough but his surname is Piergianni.

If the first-half had been a frantic, open football feast, its follow-up would be even more compulsive. Boston imposed themselves quickly out of the blocks, testing the Harrogate goalkeeper twice within the first 5 minutes of the restart. However, Harrogate, now attacking towards the home terrace, soon re-established their lead, which was suitably achieved through the means of normalized route one, non league football. Their goalkeeper booted the ball deep into the Boston half, which was promptly flicked on, leaving Piergianni to be outpaced on the turn and leave the Harrogate attacker to deftly float the ball past the onrushing Boston goalkeeper.

Barely a few minutes later Piergianni was nearly responsible for yet another Harrogate goal. With their attacker having just slid a ball through to a supporting team mate on the overlap, Piergianni was deemed to have impeded his ensuing run and the referee pointed to the spot – somewhat softly IMO. But he needn’t have dwelled too much – Boston’s goalkeeper triumphantly dived to his right to prevent an extension to their lead.

He steps up....

....It's saved!

Instead the luscious haired Italian prince would be making amends at the other end almost immediately. He used his canister to nod in from close-range after Harrogate defenders failed to deal with a menacing cross. 2-2.

Would this give Boston the impetus to push on and seek out a winner? No! Only as quickly as they had tied the scores they fell behind yet again. This time it was the making of their own doing. Buoyant from their equaliser, they pushed plenty of men forward only to sloppily give away possession just inside the Harrogate half. Harrogate, with four men pushed forward, broke away at startling speed. Barely 10 seconds after they had regained possession the ball had hit the back of the net. A lethal, impressive counter attack was capped off with a smart finish through the Boston keeper’s legs. What was less impressive was the goalscorer celebrating his goal by standing in front of the Boston fans to openly goad them, in an even more antagonistic manner than the previous goalscorer had done. I have absolutely idea if there is any pretext to warrant such transparent levels of incitement – if there has been previous between the two clubs then maybe there could be an element of justification behind acting like a knob – but on the surface this just appeared a case of being a bellend for the sake of being a bellend.

In this space crazy spell of eleven minutes we had been treated to a total of three goals and an heroic penalty save. In the proceeding time where I unfortunately had to leave this unsolved game on 82 minutes to catch the last train back to Nottingham, there had been no more goals, though the intention of both sides to attack at all costs continued to be potently evident. I’ve never been more aggrieved to have to set off before the end of a match and miss out on its conclusion.

Luckily I wouldn’t miss out on much. Only a third and final Boston equalizer, naturally immediately occurring after I’d exited the stadium. Looked a bloody good goal on the highlights as well. Then of course Boston would only hit the post from 8 yards out and Harrogate only had a one-on-one dramatically kept out in the dying stages. So yeah, a turgid climax to a boring game.

I jest, but as annoying as it were, I was satisfied - I had garnered more enjoyment out from the 80 minutes or so of this game I had witnessed than I had done from the 180+ minutes combined that I endured at Pride Park and Npower Stadium recently. (On a footballing basis at least). But the atmosphere and ambiance weren’t too bad for this one either; a healthy four figure gate on a Tuesday night. Harrogate’s legion of around 40 away travelling fans were genuinely been one of the best sets of supporters I have encountered in a while. Given my previous understanding of the town is that it is just a posh, tory suburb of Leeds, I wasn’t expecting anything in terms of numbers or indeed noise. But to the contrary they were excellent – albeit somewhat tinpot with the use of a drum – but they were totally constant throughout the evening and made themselves predominantly heard despite their numerical deficiencies. Their response to re-taking the lead prompted a wry chuckle from me – “you weren’t singing anyway”…. an apt uptake on the “you’re not singing anymore” ditty.

This games has provoked me to have a little re-think about non-league football, maybe to not try and immediately write it off and possibly seek out more outings to clubs within a reasonable proximity from me. Ilkeston FC is one that is really upon my hit-list, however, its train station has unfortunately not been built yet and is still subject to construction delays. Not that you can rely on public transport around here after 9pm anyway. I had to get the bus back from Derby last week because the last train was at 21:18. Madness; two cities with over half a million inhabitants between them and just 30 miles separating them. Guess I’ve been spoiled living with the vast infrastructure luxuries of the South East!

Thanks for reading, if you’ve indeed made it this far. I’m going to keep all of my future photos and blogs of new grounds on here from now on, rather than facebook so keep ya eyes peeled out if this groundhopping/away-day noncy stuff intrigues you. It’ll be seldom that I’ll be arsed to keep write them in the depth I have for this one – or indeed include write-ups at all. But they’ll be here, rest assured. I might do a bit of a backlog from this season at some point as well. A (provisional) list of planned fixtures can be viewed in my ‘Grounds Visited’ tab.

Positives:

• ·         Aesthetically-pleasing, old-school, traditional ground; visited in its terminal age, just prior to its expiration.
• ·         Rare, compelling, end-to-end, frantic game with commendable attacking intent from both sides, if somewhat lamentable defending at times.
• ·         Lovely pint of Castle Rock ‘Newark IPA’ in The Eagle, nearby the station. Good pubs, nice town, from the small scope I had seen. 

Negatives:

• ·         Nearly six hours of travelling to watch 80 minutes of non-league football; a huge dent to my self-pride and esteem.
• ·         “What the fuck is wrong me, why can’t I be normal?”
• ·         35 minute delay at Nottingham coming home. East Midlands not bothering to inform us the train driver couldn’t be arsed to show up on time, ensuring more frustration.
• ·         You’re in Lincolnshire; one of the best regions of the country for breweries. So why is the only offering in your club bar Shepherd fucking Neame’s Spitfire? I specifically moved away from Kent to avoid that filthy dishwasher-esque yeasty shite. 

Why university, why now, why Leicester?

Blimey, this year has gone quickly, hasn't it? It feels like only yesterday that I was passed out in a mate's flat, intoxicated in the aftermath of necking a few bottles of pinot grigio, having seen out the final hours of 2014 in my usual sophisticated manner. Now I have the enjoyment of fewer than three months remaining until I abandon my routine of slaving away in the famous orange & burgundy strip of Sainsbury's, before undergoing a life altering path that will hopefully enable an eventual permanent escape route from the mind-numbing tedium and ever-burdening disillusionment that retail work reaps.

Quite exactly why I have finally decided to 'make a go of things' is a topic that I'm sure the vast majority of the world couldn't give a flying toss about; but fortunately for the few of you who are vaguely interested in my livelihood, I am narcissistic and self-indulgent enough to provide my usual inane ramblings with a dreary attempt to explain why exactly I have decided to go to university at the age of 23. Well, I'll actually have turned 24 whence I've moved into accommodation - but don't tell anybody that. 

Why University?
Why not? In spite of my contemptible attitude towards education at the time, I still managed to attain decent A-Level grades in my two beloved subjects; an A in history and a B in sociology, the latter of which would quite easily also be in the A category too had my lacklustre demeanour not prevented me from bothering to re-take my final paper in which I floundered in. Surprisingly or unsurprisingly, my academic qualities lie firmly within essay writing based humanities subjects - IE the ones where I can aimlessly waffle on to the extent where examiners are so droned out, they just give in and award me a decent grade out of pity. When it comes to dealing with science, logics and facts, I am naturally hopeless.

The reasons why I never made better use of my A-levels at the time are varying and quite complicated. To succinctly narrow it to one overbearing factor though is this; in my misguided and deluded world I still viewed myself as a working-class warrior, that further education was beyond me and my unconventional background, that I was indebted to lead a life earning my pennies in a blue-collar environment, enabling me enough coinage to freely continue to watch Dover Athletic week in, week out. That was my raison d'etre; being the devoted fan of my club, that absolutely nothing else was important apart from being in attendance for each and every game.

As aware of my totally abhorrent and unambitious outlook I was at the time, I simply just did not care enough about outside perceptions of  my shocking lack of vigour for life. Farnborough and Eastleigh away were considerably more important to me than gaining a poncy degree and having to integrate among the sheltered, middle-class 'student scum' in doing so. While both physically attending football matches and gaining a degree can certainly be intertwined, for me they provided a possible unwanted barrier for my straightforward vision.

Had I gone to university at 18 though, I would have almost certainly have failed. My now regrettable apathy towards learning and studying would've ensured that I wouldn't have had enough drive in a more independent, research-led format to studying. Whereas you can just about get by on the spoon-feeding you receive through the classrooms, the leap into higher education requires determination and focus. Two traits that were totally absent to my narrow-minded, abhorrent self at the time.

So what's changed?

Well, I guess it would be fair to say that I've become incredibly embourgeoised over the past 18 months, ever since I managed to shed nearly half of my body weight. I guess I've started gaining ideas beyond my station I developed more of a positive outlook towards myself and life.

The middle-class values that I previously rejected, sneered and rebelled at, I have now more and more reluctantly started to embrace. I actually enjoy learning about new things, I spend my free time reading books, I now view knowledge as a desirable power. I like to think the vast amount of travelling I have undertook has broadened my horizons and enriched my empathy and understanding of other lives and cultures.

I'm not trying to claim that I'm now the embodiment of cultivation; that's certainly not true. I'll certainly always have that element of being a loud-mouthed, crude and immature gobshite who drinks way beyond more than what is necessary and sometimes reaps the unwanted consequences. But I'm less afraid now to display my 'other side', the one who is far more thoughtful, sometimes empathetic and can very occasionally can be quite articulate.

Thus I now feel in a position where I am in a position to want to expand my knowledge, to actually embetter myself and to test my capabilities at a higher academic level. I actually feel ready to do so.

Just as importantly though, it's more than just a degree itself that I feel I require to widen my employment prospects.  I still have plentiful amounts of growing and toughening up that I need to undergo. To improve myself socially, try and rid the shyness and awkwardness that often burdens me, by actually forcing myself out of the comfort zone that I've been scared to venture out of. Living independently and actually having to finance my income on living, rather than spunking it freely on watching football and travelling away, will be a much needed kick towards reality. Integrating with the unknown, and trying to display my few decent personable qualities in doing so, is a challenge I need to confront. My lack of self-confidence and belief have crippled away at me for the majority of my life, it's time I actually tried and fought against it.

Why Now?
I had vaguely tinkered with the idea for a few years but actually proceeding with an application for uni I repeatedly kept rejecting with a series of convenient excuses. Namely that I was either too old to go and that my time had surpassed, or that several graduates whom I know have struggled to find meaningful employment since receiving their honours. These cynicism's still niggle away at me to a small extent, truth be told, but if you don't at least attempt to improve yourself then there's absolutely zero chance you ever will.

I further opened up to the idea of university in the second half of 2014. A colleague at work, a year and a half older than me, was going to embark on his infant year as an undergraduate at Portsmouth in September. I pressed him on whether he felt his 'senior' age felt like a possible hurdle for life there. He dismissed me, asserting that he now has a clear vision on what he now wishes to do. Said fella has now just completed his first year; having achieved a first, and is clearly having the time of his life too. Granted, he's more confident, open and likable than I am but he has trod the footsteps that I need to emulate.

My serious considerations didn't grow until the closing months of the year, however. As October arrived, I had a minor bit of a breakdown. I realised that despite having lost a ridiculous amount of weight, I still wasn't feeling truly better about life or myself. I was still defeating myself with my heavy self-cynicism and criticism. This ensuing story will sound daft, but it came after an episode I had while out in Budapest. On our inaugural night, adrenaline-fuelled by alcohol and being among an alpha male peer group, I managed to pull a stunning and intelligent Czech girl out of a group of lasses that our more brash members managed to get us conversing with. It was the first time I had achieved such a feat in an unquantifiable amount of time. However, the next time we saw them out, I froze. Just completely froze, I couldn't even bring myself to look at her. Struck down with fear, that now sober, she'll look on at me aghast, completely horrified she had exchanged saliva with somebody as ugly and revolting as me. I was gutted that my insecurites repelled me from striking up conversation with her again, as we had really hit it off on a personal level on that first evening.

This was more than just a tale of woe of a desperate lad failing to get his end away; it symbolized the self-obstructing barriers that I've set against myself my entire life, that have prevented me from living my life as full as I would like to.

Post Budapest, and a huge sent-home-from-work panic attack later, I for once felt compelled enough to go to a doctors and open myself up and my problems to him. He rapidly prescribed me with a course of an anti-depressant; which I trialed with for the duration of my free subscription. Having failed to impact positively towards my mood, I declined to seek a further course, nor even bothered to contact my GP again.

Instead, worn down by the mundanity of my intense working schedule, driven by my obsession for accumulating travelling funds, I finally seeked an application towards university. In doing so, and researching the vast amount of courses available, I genuinely felt some excitement as I intensively scoured my options and possibilities. For once, I felt the vision that there were could be more rewarding ways to earn a living than filling up freezers with bags of petits pois and Aunt Bessie's yorkshire puddings; as selfless as such a task helps towards the well-being of Whitstable's middle-class pensioners.

With my five choices selected and submitted, my self-worth begun to arise as the offers slowly began to trickle in. Eventually, with three days to spare prior to Christmas, I was presented with my true festive wish. My undying favourite and firm choice were offering me a place to study. With this opportunity now firmly a reality, I knew my decision to apply had been thoroughly vindicated.

I'm going to university now because I need to challenge myself, I need to open myself up to a new routine of life that makes me look forward to the day ahead. My life at the moment it characterised by long, tedious periods of banality and restlessness, followed by a few intermediate spells of highs found in the escapism of football, travelling and alcohol. I need to strike more of a balance, where I can find spells of happiness more frequently in everyday life, rather than in just the infrequent times that are spent resourcefully away from work.

OK, I know that very often I take the piss out of my employers by feigning dramatic enthusiasm in both my role and the company, but in all seriousness I feel I owe a great debt of gratitude to Sainsbury's. They're far from being the perfect employers, they certainly exploit loopholes to extract as much man hours necessary without paying the full monetary worth in doing so. But they were the company to grant me the opportunity of employment at the end of an eight month spell when nobody else would; a grossly overweight lad who had been dismissed from his last role in a similar job. I like to think that I have repaid their faith with high levels of workmanship and dedication, while they have provided plentiful enough hours for me to afford my travels over the country and across Europe (and even the world), in exchange for my sweat and sanity.

As humdrum and continuous the work may be, it isn't anywhere near as awful as I sometimes may jest it to be (well, checkouts is another story, but I no longer work there). I can count many decent human beings as my colleagues whom often can make for humorous and interesting company.

There are some aspects of the role, that without wanting to enlist (as I don't want to subject myself to a disciplinary at this moment in time) that leave you feeling hopeless, worthless and just damn right fed up once the the working day has climaxed. I'm not saying that periods of lows, stress and disenchantment don't occur in more highly regarded roles of occupation, but they usually bring higher levels of reward and generally, job and personal satisfaction. I am working 55 hours this week, which will encompass five 4:30am starts, develop incredibly sore feet and be spoken to several times a day like I am subservient, transparent scum. Yet I'll still get paid significantly less than a friend, the same age, who works a far lighter, significantly more social routine as a trainee accountant. And rightly so; he's in a skilled role that he has worked extremely hard at. But equally so, this adds to the feeling of uselessness, and represents that I have ample chance to significantly improve my daily lifestyle.

Please don't get the impression here that I'm bemoaning to the extent where I'm oppressed or hard done by. That's certainly not the case. With no outgoings, other than rent and phone bill, my disposable income is at a level that I will have to perform extremely admirably to ever reach again while I'm balancing a more conventional lifestyle. I'm fortunate and privileged enough to live in a country with such a strong infrastructure and living conditions that I'm enabled to travel abroad freely and cheaply. In my current predicament I am able to pursue my thirst for travel with regularity and ease. I have met incredibly sharp, well-educated, fluently bilingual lasses whom earn the equivalent of £2.20 an hour as trainee dentists in the Czech Republic. Like us, they harbour a real enthusiasm of travel, yet possess nowhere near the amount the same opportunities as average joes like us to do so, despite their talents. I've also been to Istanbul, where the hectic overpopulation sees people scrapping for their everyday livelihoods, it being difficult to move more than ten metres without somebody trying to make ends meet by selling you a bottle of water or packet of tissues.
These kind of experiences make you gain a bit of perspective and make you harbour feelings of guilt for ever even feeling downbeat about your comparatively breezed, opportunistic world.

In spite of this mitigated, for the in between the buzz of exploring Istanbul, Dresden, Bucharest or Krakow, life is often at the very other extreme. Dull, devoid of meaning, feelings of emptiness. That's why I need to alter my life; to address the imbalance, to become a better and stronger person, both academically and socially. I'm under no illusion that the real hard work begins when I arrive in Leicester on September 28th, and that things don't just happen without pushing yourself, but hopefully it will kickstart the greater direction and lease of life that I need.


Why Leicester? 
This needn't even be a query. When I included Leicester University in my application, I considered it little more than just an audacious, far-flung hope. After all, a 23 year old, without having studied in the previous five years, registering slightly beneath the required grade boundaries, whom had done nothing but worked in supermarkets (with a period of unemployment) in the intermittent years, stunk of desperation from somebody with lax behavioral problems who had suddenly realised they have messed up. And they would be right in thinking so. A top 20 ranked institution needs to carefully ensure they seap in the applicants with the correct mentality to ensure they maintain their high rankings.

Therefore I was delighted when I managed to blag myself into the university! I think being candid in my personal statement clearly proved beneficial, but I must hold a great deal of gratitude towards my eccentric old Sociology teacher, who for some reason really adored me. She wrote me a powerful reference which must have helped sway it. While the cynical tosser in me is aware that university need to fill their quotas, I feel proud and privileged to have been offered a place by such a highly regarded institution.

In addition to it's consistently strong placings in the university tables, Leicester also scores extremely high in its student satisfaction rates. The few people I know who have previously graduated from there have nothing but sky-high praise and warm nostalgia for the years they spent there. From the applicant day I spent up there, all the students on campus seemed genuinely enthused and adoring of the environment around them. And you could see why. The facilities on campus are incredible.

I had never visited Leicester prior to my applicant day. It didn't take long for me to feel at ease exploring my future surroundings. The dozen or so pubs me and my Dad frequented together would have been worthy of featuring among any bearded CAMRA nutcase's itinerary. Not that it's a city to only be enjoyed by boring old farts like myself, it certainly is a lively, youthful energetic city centre come nighttime, with a plethora of good restaurants and bars. I can certainly see myself slipping in rather nicely once I am embedded down there.

Most importantly, as it should be (!), it is my course itself that has me feeling totally enthused. It is Contemporary History, focusing on the modern aspects of the subject, mainly incorporating political and international relations within the twentieth century. So the core of the modules are geared towards topics and events that provoke deep interest in me, in areas that I have previously studied before, or differing modules that cover areas of unknown that I wish to strengthen and learn in I.E the Far East and Japanese colonialism.

Studying on this course also offers the opportunity to live and learn abroad, thus extending the course into a four-year one. This is an opening that I fully intend to seize; specifically overlooking perhaps more glamorous destinations in favour of pursuing a year in one of the three German university partners; Berlin, Munich or Darmstadt. The former specifically appears on the surface as the wisest of the choices, given it being a key frontier in both the Cold War and Nazi Germany. Its become an aspiration of mine to become fluent in German - I have already undergone personal learning measures - and will gain proper linguistic training should this premonition evolve into reality - and one day I plan to emigrate into the country I harbour much adoration for.

Ultimately, Leicester appears to be a great all-rounded package, in the form of it's diverse, cosmopolitan, seemingly friendly communal feel of the city, and the sheer quality and high standards set by the university itself. I cannae wait to get started now.

Common FAQS:

These are written responses to questions that have either been posed to me before, or stem from self-paranoia of outside perceptions.

History? Isn't that a bit of a tinpot degree though? What can you actually get out of it?
Maybe. It's a shame though that some people can't recognise the differing intelligence qualities that are required in learning certain subjects. It's one of the few things I excel at though I'm afraid; so tough shit.

Inquiring employment prospects of what a history degree can open out to is a very valid question. After all, history is a field with very few job specific roles directly related to it; I.E historians, or museum workers, or researchers. However, that doesn't mean there aren't wide opportunities available to graduates; many formulate careers in diverse fields such as journalism, law, HR, media, business & commerce. administration and archivism. Also, should I manage to develop the temperament required for it - following my history-graduate sister into the world of teaching is a possibility.

Many employers will be interested in the transferable skills from a history degree rather than the actual subject of itself. Achieving a strong degree in history demonstrates a talent for critical and analytical skills, infers a capacity to think through situations both objectively and reasonably, and also shows the ability to conduct independent, detailed research. From the admittedly small pool of people whom I know with history degrees, they've all gained useful employment after acquiring this nous.

Aren't you too old though? 
Possibility. My hairline is receding faster than Colin Cowperthwaite thunderbolt, I don't have the capabilities to drink out two nights consecutively, let alone a whole week, I've developed a perchance for real ale and I keep count of how many football grounds I have visited in a highly organised manner. Fitting in is certainly going to be a concern, regardless of those of a similar age who have tried to put my mind at easy. You only have to use that "on this day" feature on facebook to try and come to terms with just how horrified you are that you were once your eighteen year old persona. While I'm still highly childish, the mentality and maturity gap between an 18 year old and 23 yr old is more startling than you would think.

However, it's a gap that can be bridged. Maybe they might view my grey hairs as quaint? Maybe they can see me as the cool, father like figure to turn to? Maybe I can recall tales of how in my day we all went around with Nokia 3310's and had to download our ringtones? Maybe I can educate them about an old cartoon programme called The Simpsons?

We'll see. There are positives to be had.

Don't you hate all students though? I thought we were all hipster scum?
Do you know what I also hated once? Tuna. Fucking inconceivable to think about it now. Sometimes you just grow up regarding certain matters and concede you were wrong. Or in this case, I massively generalised an enormous community and pigeonholed them into  overriding negative stereotypes regarding students. Mainly because of my own begrudging jealousy and arrogance that I was pursuing nothing with my own capabilities.
That said, should you pop up to visit me and discover me conducting games of beer pong, or operating a 'chunder chart' within my student accommodation, or hashtagging #UniLife on social media, or trialling a new phase of veganism to tie in with my new found libertarian beliefs, feel free to smash me over the back of my bonce with a shovel.

Won't you get into loads of debt? 
Yes and No. While it's well documented how sky high tuition fees are here in Blair's Cameron's Britain, few seem to actually know that you don't actually begin paying anything back until your earnings exceed £21k per annum. Should I find myself earning a salary surpassing that, I'll be far, far richer than I am now working long and daft weekly patterns.
So yes, while you're burdened by making repayments for probably the rest of your existence (on interest rates alone), it's very, very small percentage of your earnings that you pay every month (I've already checked for examples on an online tax calculator). Theoretically, the student loans that you receive are certainly on the best conditions of a loan that you'll ever receive in your life.

Do you plan to get a store transfer to a Sainsbury's in Leicester?
While I feel like I need an extended break from the murky world of supermarket slavery, realistically my student loan is unlikely to cover the extravagant lifestyle that I lead. Problem is, Saino's don't seem that adept at arranging dual contracts with other stores. Most of the current students just arrive back as temps once they're off-term, but very few I know seem to have secured a role in local stores in their uni destinations. I'm hopeful, but I doubt it. And I certainly don't wish to pursue anything greater than a 12 hour contract should I do so; I want to focus on what's important and keep my brain sanitized.

Does this mean you're going to halt your constant European expeditions for the time being?
I certainly won't be able to average a flight out of England every other month; the rate of which I currently seem to be at! But, well, East Midlands Airport is another one of Ryanair's UK hubs, offering a fruitful list of destinations, such as Rome, Milan, Wroclaw, Warsaw, Valencia, Malta, Riga, Berlin and Faro, to name some. Should I develop a friendship with somebody else sharing my explorative nature, who knows. I could quite easily find myself delving into my student overdraft for a sneaky mid-semester cultural learning trip, surveying the socio-economic reasoning behind the formulation of the Slask Wroclaw ultras group.

Now you've given up on Dover Athletic, does this mean you're going to be a Leicester City fan from here onwards?
Hmmm, not sure. I'm delighted that they have just acquired the hipster's wet dream; Shinji Okaziki from FC Mainz; the supreme Japanese goalpoacher. I'm dismayed they've parted company with one of football's true hardened, old-style gaffers though.  And they play fucking Kasabian as goal music ffs.
We'll see though. Perhaps I might rediscover my PASHUN for the GRASSROOTS game though, and find myself a regular through the turnstiles (if such a thing exists) at the nearby home of the mystical, eloquently named Heather St John FC.

Best Of 2014/2015.

The 2014/2015 campaign officially concluded last week for me in the exotic habitat of Istanbul; in what proved to be a chaotically exciting dollop of icing atop the hypothetical cake of what has been a rather memorable season. Being the meat paste sandwich connoisseur and un-sexed, socially inept anorak that I am; I will reflect on this monumental year by reviewing my most favourite aspects and memories in a series of tedious categories.

Across the season I attended 65 games, 44 of which were with Dover (36 league, 3 fa cup, 3 trophy and 2 pre-season friendlies). 23 of those games were at previously unvisited grounds; thus in addition to my 21 neutral games, over half of this season's tally has ticked off new stadia to the ever expanding list. Assessing my favourite grounds that this season has encompassed is therefore probably a solid process to kickstart this abject blog post. 

FAVOURITE GROUNDS VISITED WITH DOVER IN 2014/2015

5) AFC Telford United - The New Buck's Head.

I know that it's fashionable to knock contemporary football grounds, however, I offer no condolences for enjoying the smart and functional surroundings of the West Midlands cannon fodder outfit. 

4) Lincoln City - Sincil Bank.

Lincoln's ground is very disproportionate in it's layout with the contrasting sizes of each individual stand - particularly the odd two-blocked Lincolnshire Echo end. However, the vastly impressive main stand is the main factor in why it ranks highly on the "this ground is a million miles adrift of having to visit Boreham bleeding Wood again" scale. Fortunately we get to do both next season.

3) FC Halifax Town - The Shay.

This beauty of a ground manages to fuse state-of-the-art facilities, monstrous terracing behind either goal and the aesthetics of a huge, rustic seated stand built onto the back of a grass-bank. Unfortunately, it's deducted points on the sterility of the place. You can't help but envisage what The Shay would be like if it were used by a more suitably sized fanbase. 

2) Wrexham - The Racecourse Ground

As with Halifax, there's a real sense of squandered opportunity with this behemoth, and it's unused, enormous, largest-remaining terrace in British football. Wrexham will no doubt restore themselves to the level that they should be playing at in a few years down the line, 

1) Grimsby Town - Blundell Park

Our inaugural Saturday away fixture back in the top flight of non-league, this truly was a 'welcome to the Conference' experience. Quite simply an awesome ground, one that is quintessentially a definition of the term 'PROPER' when the phrase is used in football language. Set upon in the middle of a terraced housing estate; this was our first taster of segregation and being sectioned into an isolated corner of the ground. And I fucking loved it. Great venue. That they're trying to push forward plans of a new ground saddens me deeply; these are the sort of a dying breed. 

FAVOURITE FOOTBALL LEAGUE GROUNDS VISITED IN 2014/15

5) Sheffield United, Brammall Lane.

I'd probably have enjoyed the red half of the steel city even greater had the ground not been so sparsely populated on this occasion, and had they not made such light work of knocking  my7th favourite team (Plymouth Argyle) out of the FA Cup while here. Regardless though, a thoroughly decent stadium, situated right within the heart of the city n'all.  

4) Luton Town - Kenilworth Road.

There often a question posed in that "when does 'character' start to actually mean "a completely rundown shithole desperately in need of modernization"? Kenilworth Road certainly teeters on the brink of that line. It's not one for the pursuers of comfort and aesthetically maintained architecture. However, and more importantly, it is a bloody good footballing venue, with steeped, enclosed roofing ideal for making a racket. Even the odd, capacity-restrictive, executive 'beach huts' enclosed down one width of the ground just add to its quirky character. 

3) Portsmouth - Fratton Park

In similar vein to Luton, you'll be hard pressed to combat anyone purveying the need of renovation for this tired, worn and uncomfortable theatre. Those same characteristics make it the same brilliant ground that it is though. I loved Fratton Park, and am even willing to overlook the blatant restricted view that my seat in the main stand left with me. 

2) Brentford - Griffin Park. 

My previous attempts to watch football at Griffin Park were prevented by the elements of nature. Now playing Championship football and winning plaudits for their high-pressing, attack-minded mindset under Mark Warburton, this was an even more ideal time to tick it off. It didn't disappoint. The high regard GP is held in by pretty much the majority of away fans that visit there just stresses how ingrained and important terracing is to British football culture. Make sure you squeeze a visit in before they flee to the latest nondescript bore ground. 

1) Sheffield Wednesday - Hillsborough.

One of those grounds that just evokes a magical feeling being inside. A true classic; nothing which I can pour enough lexicon upon to succinctly articulate its beauty and grandeur. 

FAVOURITE FOREIGN GROUNDS VISITED 2014/2015

I achieved a total of 13 grounds on foreign waters, excluding the several I trespassed upon without seeing a game at. 7 of this haul were across German land; the rest solitary visits from Austria, Belgium, Netherlands, Romania, Slovakia and Turkey.

Here is a selection of the best;

5) FC Dinamo Bucharesti, Stadionul Dinamo.

I'm a sucker for ugly, communist-era, decrepit stadiums complete with a running track, thus meaning you're a million miles away from viewing what's happening on pitch. Dinamo did not disappoint meeting this criteria, and had it not, I'd hardly have had grounds to complain having only parted with the equivalent of £0.87 for my match ticket. 

4) Cercle Brugge, Jay Breydel Stadion.

I can't actually quite put my pulse on what it actually is I liked about this stadium. The ground was only renovated as recently as 1998 in time for Belgium to host the Euros, but it doesn't retain either a modernized or traditional feel to it. The ground is only filled to around a quarter of its capacity when the green jerseyed tenants are played, and the game I saw there was a mind-numbingly dull goalless draw. And I'm sure I'm not just shallow enough to include it on the premise of being able to drink glasses of beer for €2 inside the ground. Whatever the unexplainable element to it, I really enjoyed the experience here. 

3) FC Koln, Rhein-Energie Stadion. 

Like most other ground-lusting nerds, as a rule I prefer older, historic and indivualistic venues to watch football in. But I'm not blind or averse to seeing that (au contraire to many an opinion) that state-of-the-art new builds can be equally as homely or idealistic as the romanticized old ones. FC Koln have the best contemporary stadium I have been inside, to this date. So steeped, enclosed, and each of the 51,000 persons in audience are so close to the pitch. 

2) Slovan Bratislava, Stadion Pasiensky. 

My earliest experience of an Eastern (well, yeah, I know Slovakia is more central but you get my drift) European football, this was a thoroughly good laugh. €4 for a match ticket, €1.50 for a beer, a quite brilliant football ground, complete with idiosyncratic coca-cola sponsored floodlights, an ancient scoreboard, and bird-shit clad decaying seats. That the standard of football wouldn't have seemed too dissimilar to Conference South, and given just how poorly attended this fixture was ( only 2000 odd to see the previous season's champions' in the country's capital city), I couldn't have cared less. 

1) KFC Uerdingen 05, Grotenburg Stadion.

A testament to just how sad I am a character is this; on my 23rd birthday I spent the milestone by watching fourth tier German football all on my tod. And I have absolutely #noregrets. Quite simply this stunningly preserved monster is very much now my most favourite ground I have ever been to. An awe-inspiring relic; very much symbolic of the fall of grace of a club whom were playing in the Bundesliga as recently as the mid nineties. Amid financial meltdown, now they ply their trade in the regionalised fourth leagues, playing against reserve clubs of those they used to pit their wits against. 

WORST GROUND VISITED IN 2014/2015

I'd like to nominate outside mentions for Nuneaton's Liberty Way - an ugly, cold and unpractable breezeblock ground situated on the arse end of an industrial estate. While in terms of proper stadia, Southampton's St Mary's is as dull and identikit as they come, without having the comfortable seating facilities to redeem for its blandness. However, there can only be one undisputed winner....

Braintree Town - Cressing Road. 

Possibly one of the few grounds in history that has regressed and worsened to coincide with its club's rise up the pyramid. They genuinely have removed the cover behind the goal to compensate an extra step of terracing; even though nobody goes to watch them. A truly horrible place, made that much worse by watching their team comprised of antifootball cloggers embarrassing your club on the field.

BEST DRINKING AWAY DAYS IN 2014/2015

As an unashamedly borderline alcoholic with a perchance for drinking that dishwasher-esque liquid otherwise colloquially known as "real ale shite", this has undoubtedly been the most testing season so far for the integrity of my liver. This is the toughest category to choose from yet; such is the excellence of good drinking environments in this swish, big-boys division. I'm going to be brave enough to evaluate my favourites though....

5. Torquay. 

In terms of actual good beer pubs, the whole Torbay area wouldn't feature too highly on my list. Though it's a lovely drop, you don't really tend to find many places selling much other than St Austells' Tribute. It's a brilliant night out though, and a surprisingly pleasant area by the harbour, if somewhat tacky come evening time. A prime location for footballing weekenders though, particularly in the warmer seasons.

4. Macclesfield. 

The most pleasant surprise of the season was just how brilliant the high street in Macclesfield was for acquiring a brilliant pint. The triumvirate of pubs, centred by the brilliant Snow & Goose, make it an impossible away fixture to turn up sober at.

3. Halifax.

Actually being able to venture out of the dull and unfriendly Southeast for the first time inside my DAFC supporting career opened up a world of unseen opportunities. The notion of the north being cheap for drinking often elapses into a myth, but not in this West Yorkshire town. It's littered with hearty real ale pubs, seldom ever approaching over the £3 mark for a pint. The highlight was getting smashed in a nightclub; a minefield for ensnaring crumpet, in an establishment where jaigerbombs were only 75 pence.

2. Chester. 

I've alluded to Chester's glory in a fairly recent blog post so I needn't reiterate how good the pubs are there. You'll be harder pressed to find a shit pub there.

1. Lincoln.
Just eclipsing the Cheshire town IMO is this wonderful fellow ancient cathedral city. It's difficult to cram enough time in to frequent all the best pubs there within train arrival to kick-off, but if you stretch yourselves you can conjure up one hell of a crawl. Most away fans head to the excellent Golden Eagle pub nearby Sincil Bank; but most of the real gems are further adrift and nearby the cathedral. It also helps massively that both local breweries; Castle Rock & Bateman's, are bloody excellent.





BEST INDIVIDUAL PUBS VISITED IN 2014/2015.

An even greater task is to pick out individual watering holes, which must have totalled into three figures from across the season! But I'll give it a go, and will no doubt regret missing off a few glaring omissions.

5. Magpie & Crown, Brentford. 

Brentford FC are synonymously known for being the club that have a pub situated on each corner of their ground. Do your research and reading, however, and you'll gather that none are meant to be much cop. Instead we ventured a small distance in towards their high street, and came across this absolute gem. At least 6 cask ales were available, with also an extensive American/Belgian bottle list, plus fancy craft stuff, to choose from. More pleasant than anything was just how affordable it were for West London standards and most amazingly of all, it seems to avoid the hordes of matchday-going fans, despite it's reasonable proximity to Griffin Park.

4. The Cock & Hotel, Telford.  

Only a few minutes walk from The New Bucks Head, this wonderful traditional boozer is home to eight hand-pumps, mainly providing a selection of Salopian Brewery beers.

3. Stanford Arms, Lowestoft. 

Literally a stone's throw away from Crown Meadow, this CAMRA award winning pub even provides an ale to brandish exclusively to the football club, from its linked in brewery Green Jack. Wonderful choice of beer in here, with superb hospitality to match.

2. The Strugglers Inn, Lincoln.

OK, so this is absolutely nowhere near the football ground, being situated right up by the castle, it's certainly a taxi-ride job. However, it's simply a brilliant pub and should feature on any itinerary. A cosy, old-fashioned 'locals pub', with real character and history, it is supposedly haunted. The landlord was a great bloke. Oh, and I probably needn't bother mentioning it has a varied cask ale choice, do I?

1. The Kemble Brewery Inn, Cheltenham.

Surprisingly enough, my plaudit stealer here isn't selected on the grounds of a super extensive beer choice. To be honest, beyond the immaculately conditioned 6 rotating cask ales, there wasn't an awful lot to choose from. However, when you've cooked up a vat of jerk chicken soup for customers to freely enjoy, and provide such wonderful and warmly service, you needn't worry about stocking fancy overpriced craft beers. I could even stomach the company of the local eccentric nutjob. Truly a great pub, and what similar struggling smaller and cozy pubs should strive to be like.





BEST MATCHES SEEN IN 2014/2015. 

Oh yeah, I've actually fleetingly watched a few football matches amidst the endless drunken shenanigans. Let's talk you through some of the better ones that I can successfully recall.

5. Woking 3-3 Dover Athletic, FA Trophy 3rd Round. 

Preceding games against Woking up until this point had seldom provided anything other than simple, straightforward wins for the self-proclaimed Surrey Barcelona. This end-to-end, goal-glutted trophy tie initiated the turning of the tide (we subsequently squeezed past them in replay, then ended their play-off hopes over Easter). All three Dover strikes were aesthetically pleasing too; a diving header from Connor Essam, a side-footed top corner finish from Nicholas Deverdics and the best was reserved by Stefan Payne; an angled, vicious half-volley that almost busted the net open.
Woking's late equaliser earned them a replay they probably warranted.

4. Lowestoft 1-3 Dover Athletic, FA Trophy 1st Round.

Ok, this game was hardly a classic in terms of quality. What made it notable was that we saw through this tie, in spite of Lowestoft equalising before half-time with a penalty that earnt our keeper his marching orders. His replacement between the sticks? Our long-serving, cult-status'd, 5ft 8 full-back. Ok, so what that our lower league opponents never forced him into a committing meaningful save? He still commanded the area when called upon! Our success in overturning the numerical disadvantage in the second half was a testament to our team's professionalism and will-to-win throughout the season.

3. Dartford 2-1 Dover Athletic, Conference Premier.

It seems strange to select a game in which you've cruelly, unjustly, been beaten near the death by your biggest rivals in your division, isn't it? But if you reflect back on this defeat, and look at the picture, it was a thoroughly intense and emotionally charged game. Leading at the break through a Ricky Miller deflected free-kick, we rejoined the second half with a mindset to kill off the game with a killer goal. We threw everything at them, hit the post, squandered several glitzed edged opportunities, then looked on in horror as Dartford scored twice within the final 20 minutes; converting the very few chances they produced. The winner was scored past another defender covering goalkeeper duties, following Mitch Walker's hand injury, with Sean Raggett unable to see out Tom Bradbrook's header.
Into injury time though, we appeared on course to reap the very least of which we should have sowed; whence we were awarded a penalty. Inevitably though, Jason Brown kept out Miller's spot-kick; thus leaving us Whites to rue what for me personally, at this point, was one of the biggest footballing gut-wrenching travesties in history; in terms of having gained nothing out of the game. You need these ultra-frustrating, mindfuck producing games to appreciate the fruitful times that follow.

2. Dover Athletic 3-3 Bath City, FA Trophy Quarter Final. 

That pesky FA Trophy competition, eh? This certainly trumped the 3 games and 3 goals I saw in Frankfurt, Cologne and Amsterdam in the midweek preceding this fixture. On entertainment levels at least.
Our advance towards Wembley appeared to be a straight forward formality in first half proceedings. Stefan Payne gave us our customary home lead to establish a comfortable lead. Then he decided to 'turn villain' (as the inevitable cliches go) by receiving his marching orders on the stroke of half-time; punching resident shithouse and all-round cunt; Bath goalkeeper Jason Mellor, after provocation.
His red mist appeared to savage our dreams of playing at the national stadium. When they raced into a 3-1 lead ten minutes from time; few could have complaints on the basis of their adventurous, swift, counter-attacking. Then out of nowhere, Ricky Modeste angled one in from a close scramble, three minutes from time.
Setting up a tense finale, Chris Kinnear threw on the much maligned Jake Reid, a slow, plodding, stiff forward formerly on the books of our opponents. He hadn't scored since early September.
One of his first actions was to completely miscontrol a simple touch in the dying stages. This prompted me to launch a rather polite tirade consisting of the words similar to "Jake Reid you are an absolute fucking disgrace to your profession, hand your notice in now you fucking useless waste of space".
60 seconds later, he put the ball into the net. A tame header, directed straight into the path of the toad inhabiting their goal, somehow squeezing through the grasp of his hands. Cue absolute bedlam with the bodies congregated on the Dover Port End.

What subsequently happened, or didn't happen, in our unlikely lifeline in the replay, isn't up for discussion.

1. Luton Town 2-3 Exeter City, League Two.

It's always an oddity when I actually manage to witness an exciting, open, end-to-end game as a neutral. A particularly unlikely way to end my drought of witnessing drag encounters would be to be sourced from the basement division.
However, this was a truly compelling and fantastic game, wide-open and ridden with chances galore,. Luton went into the interval with a perhaps slightly unwarranted two goal lead, thanks to the openness and gaps left in Exeter's back-line due to their adventurous style. They oversaw the deficit though, thanks in part due to Luton squandering a couple of notable glorious chances, and they duly punished them in the cruelest of circumstances. 95 minutes had surpassed when Dave Wheeler prodded home the loose rebound into an unguarded goal. It proved to be a fitting finale for what had quite simply been one of those awesome games of football, actually leaving me with a real buzz when I left the stadium.





BEST MOMENTS IN 2014/2015.

5. Dartford Sent Home With Their Tails Between Their Legs. 

If there was one way to avenge that aforementioned cruel and undeserving loss at Princes Park, then smashing them 6-1 in the reverse at Crabble was certainly one way of going about it. Admittedly the scoreline was probably a tad flattering on our behalf, but who cares? Dartford's misery was compounded by this loss, signifying their descent back towards the horrible M4 league, consigning them to a consecutive bottom four finish.

4. Telford Ravaged & Savaged. 

Our away fixture at Telford, only six games into the season, already appeared destined to be one of the earlier six-pointers of the campaign. The scoreline was level at half-time with a goal apiece; both strikes that were so embarrassingly preventable that both sides felt ashamed to have scored a goal out of their paralleling situations.
With the introduction of one of the most exciting loanees the club has ever had, Ricky Miller inspired a late vicious onslaught that saw us emerge comfortable 4-1 victors. His strike, couple with a Jake Reid brace (yes, Jake Reid! a brace! Jake Reid!) earned us a memorable first away win back at national level. Needless to say the journey back towards Kent was a drunkenly chaotic one.

3. Racing Into A Two Goal Lead At Barnet.

On September 10th 2014, Dover hosted Barnet live on BT Sport, a game which saw them brush aside with barnstorming conviction; a 3-0 scoreline that flattered us more than anything.
Three and a half months later, in the synchronized fixture at their gaff; we found ourselves holding a 2 goal advantage against them, the champions elect, and by far away the best team we faced in our division. That Barnet fought back in the second half to salvage a late draw wasn't too great a cause of concern; that we fought and took the game to them landmarked the transformation and evolvement of a placid, timid team heading straight back down without a whimper, to a fearless, lioness side willing and striving to overcome any hurdle.

2. Essam Sends Us In Round Three At Cheltenham.

I have to admit that, for the first time in yonks, the FA Cup didn't feature as too much of a priority with this new, exciting division to focus on. It was however a rather pleasant surprise when we found ourselves within the hat for the third round of the draw for only the second time in our history. This came courtesy of a superb, late sweeping finish from defender Connor Essam in the closing stages of our tie at Whaddon Road, prompting a bit of bump and grind with those of us gathered in the away end.

1. Murphy's Late Mentaller At Bristol Rovers.

Let's be honest, last minute winners or equalizers are always good fun, aren't they? There's seldom a time where in that concise moment they don't provide sheer adrenaline rush and pandemonium with you and your peers around you.
When that late, unexpected, moment of glory comes at the Memorial Ground, to silence the bodies of 6,000 Gasheads expecting to steamroll to comfortable victory, it really is something else. That day and occasion felt a million light years away from the defeats at places like Metropolitan Police and Cheshunt; thus prompting some absolute LIMBS in the away end from the 194 of us who made the trip into Somerset.

BEST GOALS WITNESSED IN 2014/2015.

5)Stefan Payne (Gateshead v Dover Athletic)

Man likes Stefan. Man likes Stefan very much; his adoption of being the spearhead of our attacking system has in my opinion been the main catalyst for our unexpected surge into the top half. While this strike has probably been bettered on a technical level than many others I have seen this season, it is one of my favourites, that set us towards a hugely satisfying away day success. His glancing finish with the outside of his boot was both intelligent and pleasing on the eye. Viewable here.

4)James Armson (Nuneaton Town v Dover Athletic) 

How sporting of me to nominate an opposition player in my prestigious awards.
If you're going to suffer the indignity of losing away to the worst team in the division, on a freezing cold Tuesday night, then it's more comforting to do so when one of the netbusters that consigned you to misery was of undisputed phenomenal quality. This 30 yard half-volley wouldn't have looked out of place in an Eredivisie match. There's no video evidence to supplement my claim, so it's down to your trustworthy instincts if you weren't part of our 55-strong away following.

3)Jonjo Shelvey (Southampton v Swansea).

The solitary Premier League match I attended this season was certainly not one to live up to the whole bullshit 'best league in the world' mantra. Well, apart from the individual goal to settle the contest!
The extremely unique and endlessly talented trequartista, Jonjo Shelvey, ran the entire show with a performance level that suggests that if he didn't look like a bloke working for his Dad's removal vans company, he'd be an England regular. His jinking side-step and ferocious drive from a distance of 25 yards was fit to win any game.

2) Bjorn Jopek (Union Berlin v FC Ingolstadt).

This was one of the cleanest, quickest and crispest long-range strikes I've ever had the privilege of watching live. Please skip to 2:36 onwards of this link to let me know your thoughts. I loved how sudden and out of nowhere it came from in real time. The ball isn't even hit adrift or either side of the goalkeeper, but it's hit so hard and so true, with just enough dip on the trajectory, that it brilliantly evades him despite his best acrobatic efforts. His free-kick moments later on that vid weren't bad either.

1) Matt Lock (Grimsby Town v Dover Athletic).

Those of you who know me, or know Dover Athletic, or were in attendance at Blundell Park on that famous afternoon, could always sense that there were to be any other winner. Dover's first goal at Conference premier level is still yet to be bettered, even in spite of the 68 efforts that have followed suit.
Those of you who are excited by the vision of direct, fast and skillful running at speed will have flashbacks of Diego Maradona in Mexico, 1986 by watching this video. OK, so the poor pixelated quality of the video won't serve it justice. It's still quite hard to explain though how Christian Nanetti went from being circled by three men on the byline with nowhere to go, to engineering an escape from all of their advances and leaving them for dead, advancing all the way into the area and then laying the ball perfectly on a plate for the advancing Matt Lock to finish first time with aplomb. Quite simply a stunning example of a breakaway goal, only bettered by the feeling of seeing it go in in real time.





BEST ATMOSPHERES WITNESSED IN 2014/2015. 

5) Torquay United v Dover Athletic, Conference Premier.

This game were the origins of where the humble phrase "we may not win many games, but we're winning people's hearts" enveloped from. That would of course later alter into "Dover Athletic - now winning games, not just people's hearts".
But on this sunny September afternoon, our 96 travellers in the Plainmoor away section were remarked upon by many home fans as the best they had seen in years. Why? Probably the 30 minute, nonstop chorus of "Chris Kinnear's Black & White Army" in the second half, despite losing, a strenuous effort, designated as our famous manager's swansong and send off before his imminent departure. Chris Kinnear remained in the hotseat though, things slightly improved hereafter and I have since then gone hiding into my shell.

4. Eintracht Frankfurt v Wolfsburg, Bundesliga.

If I were to select one of the German games I have been to this season over each other, I would probably just slightly give the nod to Eintracht Frankfurt over Borussia Monchengladbach, although I thoroughly enjoyed both and thought they were both good value, despite being lower-key midweek affairs. Eintracht are widely known as having one of the best and loudest fan scenes on the Fatherland, and while this wasn't the craziest night known at Walderstadion, they were bloody loud and constant throughout. Check out some of their displays on youtube.

3) Austria Vienna v SC Rheindorf Altach, Austrian Bundesliga.

Buckets of ticker tape, small doses of pyro, various cool, colourful and artistic cartooned flags, fans conga'ing across the stand and a nonstop, constant racket. You don't know what to expect sometimes when you turned up to a game in a league you admittedly know little about, so the vibrant atmosphere created inside the otherwise nondescript Generali Arena was somewhat of a pleasant surprise. It needed to be too as the game was predictably shite, racking up as yet another goalless draw bore on my travels.

2) Cheltenham Town v Dover Athletic, FA Cup 2nd Round.

To use one of the most horrific cliches repeated in football, this is one of the occasions where that metaphor "sucked the ball into the net" appeared to ring true. In the building moments to our late, dramatic winner, I stopped, absorbed the moment and took a searching look across all around me. It was one of those rare, never-to-be-seen-again moments where virtually every soul, each and every one of those 587 standing in the away end were joining in song, or at least clapping and contributing to the now deafening volume rising from behind the goal. An awesome, hair-raising moment, with that all-important winner soon to follow.

1) Galatasaray v Gerenciblili, Turkish Super Lig.

Let alone the best atmosphere I've been amongst this season; probably the best atmosphere I have been a part of ever. Not just inside the stadium either; whether it were pre-drinking on Nevizade street before the game amongst the pyro waving, efes guzzling, sea of orange masses, or getting caught up in the chaotic and crazy human traffic before and after the match, Galatasaray was truly a special, unique matchday environment to be a part of.
While the singing was constant, with all four sides of the stadium contributing, it was the sheer intensity and will-to-win, typified by Turkish fans, that startled me the most. "Welcome to Hell" is more than just a cheesy moniker. There is no way on earth you'd want to be an away fan, player, or even a match official in the TurkTelekom Arena! Any time the opposition are in possession, the whistling and shrieking is deafening, ringing out until Gala have regained possession. Have the audacity to award the opponents a free-kick? Don't bother. It was fascinating just observing the officials shirk out of punishing any fouls Galatasaray committed or flag decisions in favour of Gerencblili, whom performed admirably given the circumstances.
When the ball eventually did make its way into the back of the away side's net twenty minutes from time, courtesy of the talismanic and outstanding performer, Wesley Sneijder, it felt as if the stadium was going to collapse. I felt the buzz amongst them too.
A truly remarkable experience, to be seen to be believed.

BEST FOOTBALL FOODS CONSUMED IN 2014/2015.

In years gone by, I have seldom bothered or ever felt the need to buy the plastic, rubbery and substandard crap that is usually served up at UK football grounds. This season I discovered that that's an unfair generalisation to make though. And coupled with my several escapades across the continent, I have enough genuinely decent culinary experiences to formulate a list....

5) Rindwurst, Eintracht Frankfurt. 

Sausages are always good. This certain local delicacy, produced out of pure beef instead of pork, is that little bit extra special. So succulent and tasty.

4) Steak Roll, Union Berlin.

This freshly grilled, generously spiced & seasoned juicy slab of steak is thrown straight into a crusty bread roll. Couldn't have had too many complaints about it tbh.

3) Cottage Pie, Kidderminster. 

The excellence of the matchday food cooked up at Aggborough has always been widely documented. I'm glad to report that the experience did warrant the hype. A lovely effort, fluffy mash with a peppered and crisped top, while the beef beneath it was surrounded in a perfectly thick gravy substance.

2) Goat Curry & Jamaican Jerk Rice, Luton Town.

Technically sold outside of Kenilworth Road rather than inside it, this stall directly outside the gate is still affiliated with the club. And what a brilliant culinary experience it is too, a shining example of how great multicultural Britain really is.

1) Chilli Con Carne with Nachos, Cheese & Sour Cream, Lowestoft Town. 

My winner, however, is one of the bolder and several idiosyncratic offerings served up on this great Norfolk away day.

BEST OPPONENT PLAYED IN 2014/2015. 

Crystal Palace. 

It's a funny thing, the fa cup. You spend your whole football life getting sucked into the propaganda of it and its supposed unrivalled magic, then once you finally get that all elusive tie on TV against a Premier League club, the entire occasion is an enormously damp squib and the circus that leads up to it leaves you pining for its closure.
I could have overlooked the dreary wankfest surrounding the game had we actually lived up to the occasion in any shape of form, but we just didn't. And the credit for that must be awarded to Crystal Palace players, for putting in a ruthlessly efficient and ultimately professional performances, by never at all looking in any danger of putting themselves in risk of an upset. They restricted our players from being able to express the best of their abilities. Too often the credit is allayed to the plucky underdogs for their valiant efforts in overcoming the big, bad wolf, but seldom do we ever hear too much credit for those Goliaths who resoundingly dispatch of David.

WORST OPPONENT PLAYED IN 2014/2015.

Nuneaton Town.

Nuneaton's showing on that Tuesday night at Crabble was quite simply the most embarrasing I have ever witnessed from any side having the audacity to call themselves football players. Our 5-0 scoreline may look like a mauling but in all honestly, I felt uncomfortable with how little resistance they offered. Most startlingly, we didn't even play particularly well or have to work hard for it. Some of the goals we scored were just cringeworthy. Remember when Stefan Payne tamely struck straight at their goalkeeper, only to be allowed another bite of the cherry?  I'd be demanding our club's immediate liquidation if we'd conceded that.

FUNNIEST MOMENT IN 2014/2015. 

"We're Only Here 'Cos We're Single".

On Valentines Day we played away at Halifax; a mere 278 mile drive from Dover. Hilariously, a supporters' coach that made the trip, comprising of around 30 Dover fans on board, were only able to catch the final ten minutes of our 2-3 defeat, due to horrendous traffic on the motorway. Cue chants of "part-time supporters!" from those of us who bothered to turn up in time for the game's infancy, once they finally did arrive.





PREDICTED TABLE VS ACTUAL TABLE.

Right, that's enough writing for today. Let's take a look at how hilariously misguided and nonsensical my pre-season forecasts were from my pre-season blog.

Actually, when you investigate that at closer inspection, you'll see that I didn't actually do that badly; a third of predictions finished within 1 space of their actual league finish. Most pleasingly one of my most inaccurate guesses was with Dover, though I can be forgiven for that as few people - even the Phil Smith's and Jack O'Sullivans amongst us -, surely deep down could never have foreseen an 8th placed finish!