Memory Lane

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Young, Gifted & Fat

So we move on to the final match of 2017. It's been an eventful year I suppose you could say. Who would've thought that a trip 'Oop North' to the wilds of near Manchester at this time of year would end being a top of the table clash? I suppose one way to treat it would be to use the words of Our Lord Dos: "If you'd offered me that before, I would tear your arm off."

The Footballing Fagin’s

“In this world, one thing counts. In the bank, large amounts.
I’m afraid these don’t grow on trees, You’ve gotta pick a pocket or two.”

Now Fagin is not a particularly festive figure I will grant you but as my thoughts turned to the Boxing Day away trip to Boredom Wood I could not get this tune out of my head. Why? Because this is a club that despite being awash with more Gooner cash than they can jam in their pockets still insists on acting tighter than Arkwright out of Open All Hours. And without the dry northern humour.

T'was the Blog Before Christmas

T’was the game before Christmas, when all through the ground, Not a player was stirring, not even a ball. The kits were hanging in the dressing room with care, In hopes that three points would be had by five to five tonight.

The players were nestled altogether in the dressing room, While visions of scoring twenty yard shots went through their heads. And Dos in his gilet, Had given a rousing talk to get the team ready. 

Early Xmas Present

It's making a list and checking it twice, Gonna find out who's naughty and nice. The FA Trophy is comin' to town! Although it would seem that whilst we're not quite on the naughty list, we're probably on the 'undecided' one given that we've been a home tie with Truro. Sure they're a division below us, but they're going well and most importantly, if there's a draw, we face a midweek trip to Cornwall a week before Xmas. And that, quite frankly, can get to fuck.

Rumblings In Newington Butts

Orient. Let's be honest about this shall we. If you'd said to me a couple of years back that just before Christmas 2017 we would be heading to Brisbane Road, vying for top spot in the National League to meet our newest London rivals the famous O's in a league game I would have sent you off to St Helier to have your bumps felt. Well, me old chinchillas here we fucking are then, aren't we?

Woah, We're Halfway There...

Eastleigh. Famous for two things: firstly, as the venue for my sixth-form education; secondly, the motivation for Taz’s list of never-to-be-revisited non-league football grounds - the “Eastleigh List”. Our trips to Ten Acres have never been particularly fruitful, and our early season defeat there left the editor of this here blog insistent that he’ll never darken that particularly inaccessible door ever again. We’ll see whether his principles (yes, apparently some of us have them) hold for that one, although the way they’re going it’ll be taken out of his hands as they wind up back in the Conference South.

The Other Price of Success

It's back once again! The bounty of the county, the premier cup competition has returned for another season. So while the wait is still on to catch up with Dulwich Hamlet's record tally of victories (16 to our 15), could this be the year? It's been a while since we've won, over fourteen years and counting, and now we're behind Woking's record final appearances.

The Price of Success

Ah Leeds, one of the final bastions of virgin territory that has yet to see the Gandermonium boys inflict their trademark idiocy upon it. Well, virgin territory is a bit of a lie as several of the Firm have already sampled the place that invented Jelly Tots in the past. Oh yeah, full of information I am sometimes, or the inter webby thingy is at least...

The Likely Lads

As I head rapidly towards formal and legalised “concession” status, rather than just trying it on at the turnstile on a wintry awayday or at the pensioners lunch club down the Nelly, I find myself drawn increasingly to the more simple pleasures in life and the headlong dash towards what the marketing men laughingly call the Festive Season just serves to reinforce my more basic instincts.