When I moved to London, had someone told me that in a years’ time I’d be looking forward to a trip to St Neots, , I’d have had to ask what a St Neots is, before politely telling them to fuck off. But what d’ya know, one year on, a trip to St Neots to watch The Magpies was on the agenda, and something that I was looking forward to. What has my life become!?
And I was not alone in looking forward the trip, with Fred texting me at 1015 saying he was ready to go. Well I wasn’t, and nor were any local pubs. Fred, the two Tom’s and Eames had done a circuit of the Finsbury Park area looking for a pub, but they were too keen to start the day’s festivities, and the pubs weren’t open yet. After eventually finding The Twelve Pins open, we found a quiet corner in which to drink (well, every corner was quiet as we were the only people in there) and started looking ahead to what the day might hold. We were minus one of the regulars as Cam as at the ‘Santacon’ in another part of London (dressing up as Santa and drinking lager). Not an excuse many of us thought was any good, but as Goddard pointed out, Cam does have the physique to dress as Santa, and it means he also gets to wear a hat to cover his hairline.
Having had a couple of breakfast Guinness’, we headed to Finsbury Park to get our tickets to St Neots (although Tommy Harrison still tried to use his oyster card), and found ourselves a seat on the train for the journey there. Tommy finding a seat posed a slight problem as he committed the heinous crime of asking a lady to move her bag off a seat so he could sit of the aisle seat. In an obvious strop, the woman moved her bags (we assume she had paid for both the seats she and her bags were using) and told him to sit by the window. When he pointed out he only wanted her to move her handbag so he could sit and talk to us, he angered her further and she angrily responded with “well I’m not moving it again”. Fear not lady, Tommy was capable of moving it for her. So with angry bag lady now back by the window and back in her box, we could talk freely, and consume the cookies Tommy had the foresight to bring with him.
After a short journey on what appeared to be the Southern League away day line (stopping at such giants as Biggleswade, Arlesey, and Hitchin), we arrived at St Neots, which turns out is actually a real place. The ground, a tidy little stadium, was right next to the station, so it was into the bar and to watch the whole Chelsea invincible’s season blow up in their faces, much to our amusement and Fred’s anger, before I then managed to spill a whole pint over an empty bar. Whoops. A look at the team sheet and a chat with AWH confirmed a 4-4-2 formation, and there was a faint hope we could nick a result. So what would happen on the pitch? Well, what didn’t happen on the fucking pitch?
After heading behind the goal to see that Paul Bastock was in goal for St Neots (Bastock is now aged somewhere between 44 and 73, we’re not sure), we were treated to Berry’s observation that there was central heating in the terracing walls to keep us warm. No, Berry, that’s just the warmth of the sun… Central heating or not, we were one nil down within 5 minutes as Drew Roberts got the first of his first half hat-trick. Fearing to worst, we were pleasantly surprised when we equalised through Robbie Matthews’ first goal for the club a few minutes later, after Bastock had dived roughly five minutes too late. 1-1 soon become 2-1 down as more slack defending left AWH with no chance, before Nathan Walker again equalised from a position that looked so far offside, he was almost on the terracing behind the goal when he scored. So, 2-2 after 20 minutes or so. The game would settle down now, right? Wrong.
3-2 down was soon to come as Roberts completed his hat-trick, but it was soon 3-3 as Chris Dillon got on the end of an Andy/Andreas Robinson free kick. Keep it tight until half time we thought. Well we hadn’t yet finished celebrating our 3rd goal when St Neots got their 4th, literally straight from kick off. For fucks sake. However, the half wasn’t done yet as Mason Walsh’s terrific finish from just outside the penalty area drew up level again at 4 all. 4-4 after 44 minutes, what were the chances? Thankfully we were able to keep it level until halftime and Bastock’s prediction of an 8 all draw didn’t seem that ridiculous. A halftime pint and much needed sit down got us thinking about what on earth the second half would bring. Could we get something from the game? Well, no.
Having made one change at halftime with Glees coming on, the first half an hour of the half saw us defend reasonably well for a large part (that was about the only time either team defended even remotely well), with the home side restricted to mainly long shots and over hit crosses. Then something bizarre happened, as for the first time in the game we took the lead. After seeing his initial effort saved by Bastock, Jack Odam smashed home the rebound, and we were now in an improbable 4-5 lead. With 15 minutes or so to go, a point was the least we could have hoped for, but we somehow contrived to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory as two late goals saw us go down to a 6-5 defeat. Gutting. The players couldn’t be faulted for effort, and it’s very difficult to try to gauge the side’s progress after a game that was so farcical. But you would expect to get a minimum of a point after scoring five away from home.
The mood after the game was more shock at what we’d seen than anything else, with Kempy providing some very honest opinions on how he wants to shape the side, and Paul Bastock saying that even in all the years he has played, he hasn’t played in a game quite like that. Looking at the positives, we scored five goals away from home, through five different scorers, and have proved in recent weeks that we can give anyone in the league a game. The side seems a lot more settled, and players seemed genuinely gutted to have lost. After seeing the side go through the motions at times last season, at least we can see that the effort and will to win is there at the moment, even if the results aren’t. On the flip side of that, we were defensively all over the place, and have still won only once in the league in the last 6 games. AWH could do little to nothing with the goals, and the defending has to improve. This is the third time we have conceded 6 or more this season, and that isn’t good enough.
But not to let football ruin the day, we headed to the nearby Tesco to exploit the reduced to clear section, as between the five of us, we purchased about £25 worth of food for about £3. Bargain. So after working my way through a box of grapes, some chicken, 3 packs of sandwiches, and a couple of Goddard’s strawberries, I drunkenly teleported home when I got back to London, and woke up this morning in the flat with a horrific hangover and a chicken and bacon pasta salad for company. Wonderful.
As a day, it was highly entertaining, as a game it was unlike anything I’ve seen since I watched Portsmouth 7-4 Reading several years ago. The club do seem to be making some progress, but yesterday’s game is a nigh on impossible measuring stick for the side given how farcical the game was. With Smeets, Critts and Dan Smith all to return for the festive period, the side has good core to it, but needs to drastically improve defensively. With several big games coming up in a short space of time over Christmas, this month could either see us in a comfortable mid-table position, having aspirations of a late play off charge, or nervously looking over our shoulders. Here’s hoping for one of the former options.
So, after 11 goals, a hangover, and a packet of chicken reduced from £3 to 15p, that was St Neots. Three points on Boxing Day is my usual Christmas present request, but I’m usually left disappointed. Hopefully this year my luck changes, and Santa isn’t actually just Cam dressed up with a fake beard drinking Stella. SV.
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