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“Have you heard about them skiers injecting their cock and balls to make them bigger so they stay in the air longer?”
In a relegation fight you need to have people who are prepared to battle in the trenches on your side, and on Saturday we say this literally and figuratively as the mud-caked players left with a vital three points at Yate, and Columbo fell over in the mud twice in an attempt at an ill-thought-out shortcut to the pub. Hopefully our on-field efforts can match the comeback made by Columbo’s shoes, and although it will still take more than just a brush and a 30 degree wash to get us out of the perilous league position we find ourselves in,…
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“I missed our fourth goal as I was having a piss and I thought it was 3-3 at fulltime. Couldn’t understand why everyone was so happy.”
Somewhere, there is a parallel universe that sees Dorch having another really good season. Following a convincing 3-0 home win over Walton that set the tone, we sit comfortably in the playoff picture with a rock solid defence, a potent attack, Tom Smith’s Dosed Coffee is available at the snack bar, and the Gorge never caught fire. However, the universe we currently inhabit ain’t that fucking one, as our injury time capitulation against Walton set the tone for an utterly abysmal season that has been consistent in only one sense, that being that it has been consistently shit. The defence…
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“Scandinavia? Is that a tractor or a country?”
In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death, taxes and Dorch bottling derby day. It’s a safer guarantee than socks for Christmas, and spoiler alert… this year was to be no different. Our record against “the rectum of Dorset” (Liddle, R. 2025) is truly, truly abysmal. We had only won 38 times in 135 years, compared to their 102 times; and not once have we ever done ‘the double’ over them in almost a century and a half! Even in the midst of their last of many financial troubles, when they were relegated from the Conference South…
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“They don’t have any lager, so half a pint of rosé it is.”
The phrase that football is a ‘funny old game’ doesn’t really ring true at the moment as I’ve had next to fuck all to laugh at watching Dorch this season. From pre-season optimism to a poor start, false dawns involving a step forward to be immediately followed by two steps back, to the somewhat crushing realisation that we aren’t in a false position and that we really do need to shape up and fast to not be involved in the sort of relegation battle that we’d hoped and thought we’d left behind. But, after some woeful performances and results against…
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“ I like to sit down in front of Strictly and catch up the messages then. I fucking love Strictly.”
Grief and emotional comedowns can do strange things to people — and affect their future. I’m not referring to the loss of a family member, or a night out at Motion in Bristol circa 2012, but rather the play-off final against Totton in the summer, which, quite frankly, was a shitshow of a performance from the officials. Emotionally, that period of watching Dorch has got to be up there with one of the greatest and most exhausting times in recent history. Nail-biters against Frome and Poole, last-minute chaos from Spetch’s fridge head at Hungerford, and the carnage of the Totton…
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“Clarkie, put 1987 on. They’re about to do the FA Cup draw.”
For the first time in 12 years, the August battle for my attention was won by playing cricket and not by the start of the football season. Keeping wicket in the Dorset League Division Two was how my Saturdays were spent, with my only Magpies games being a pair of somewhat underwhelming 3-1 defeats by Tiverton and Farnham. But, with the cricket season over and my absolutely fucked fingers getting a well deserved rest, the Magpies season could start properly for both me and hopefully the team as the orange coat and the Peppa Pig bag were dusted off for…
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“Spetchy would hate this sun when he’s up on a roof plastering”
Having come home to Dorset for Easter (aka Frome away) I had given serious consideration to staying an extra week to take in Hungerford. After all, games of this magnitude have been few and far between for us Dorch supporters. Ultimately, a culmination of work, reoccurring PTSD from Bognor away in 2004 and the small matter of Kings Day saw me return to Holland but with every intention of returning home should we make the play-offs. As it happens, Kings Day – the biggest street party in Europe – was a bit of a damp squid for me this year.…
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“Their steward asked me if I was on the coach, I said no, he said can you go anyway.”
On Tuesday September 30th in 2014 we lost 6-1 away at Cirencester Town in front of a whopping crowd of 75. This was our first season at this level following a relegation from the Conference South with a whimper, and you’d be forgiven for thinking this was as bad as it could get. Wrong. 6-0 at home to Farnborough, 4-0 away at Cinderford, 6-5 at St Neots having been 5-4 up, 5-0 at Plymouth Parkway, 4-0 at Redditch, a three-game run on the road of 3-0 at Biggleswade, 4-0 at Chippenham and 5-0 at Leamington Spa under Laird, the list…
