It’s only right that we start this blog with a moment of reflection for the loss of one of the town’s oldest establishments. This was going to be a memorial for Ant leaving the WhatsApp group after a week-long debate over Hastey’s red card against Hungerford, but, to absolutely no one’s surprise, he came crawling back within days. Of course, this is a memorial to the Gorge Café, which has greasily filled the stomachs of many generations of Dorch fans before games. Sadly, a “mysterious” 2 a.m. fire swept through the café and burnt it to rubble. No real difference to the sausages within the Hunger Buster.
Onto Walton and Hersham. For those who read my Swindon blog, my track record is pretty poor for a team within the playoffs (since I crawled out of the Berkshire timber when we suddenly got good again). I am reliably informed that this club are “influencers” and have over 1 million TikTok followers. Fair play to whoever is head of marketing at W&H because it’s an absolutely soulless place with floodlights dimmer than my piss after a Berocca. I genuinely didn’t know what to expect result-wise. Vossy provided goals-against and for stats prior to the game, and we were neck and neck. Drawchester was obviously going to strike again.
Numbers were expected to be on the lower side for an away game, so I met Freddo at the station to head up to the nearest pub to the ground, as Walton, it appears, is like trying to navigate the Bermuda Triangle for pubs – ground – train stations. How hard is it to place a ground near a load of pubs these days? Games gone. Whilst Ubering through the estates of Walton, Freddo and I channelled our inner Pythagoras and Archimedes (yes, they were the first two on Google) to establish at what point Wardy’s 3-0 would potentially break even. For all of those who don’t know, our lovable Wardy has lumped a tenner on us to win 3-0 every game since the start of the season. Our estimation was that the odds average 28/1, so a potential of 29 bets before he actually loses money. Would Walton be the day? Of course not.
We arrived at The Weir Hotel and Pub to meet the Somerset Supporters Club. Turns out we had also joined the finish line of the Walton Running Club, where there was more lycra than Vossy’s catsuit he wears at home whilst watching the PDC World Champs. Turns out George and Ellie had been there since 11:30 am and were becoming well-oiled. From what I remember, most of it was discussing what will be an ongoing debate for years to come: Was Nick Crittenden one of the best players ever to play for Dorch and Yeovil? Of course, he was. A man who would nutmeg a LB four times a game then sit humming “This Charming Man” in the corner of a changing room has a place in anyone’s heart.
Ok, enough of the pre-match waffle. A short walk to the glorified Hardy’s Leisure Centre and barely had I bought my smelly pint of Moretti before Dabbs was waving a bobble hat in my face and putting Apple Pay under my nose. It was no shock that Dabbs removed his bestseller from the club shop during his Black Friday deal, so I was desperate to get my hands on one. Fair play, for £15 it’s actually good.
You may notice this is a long blog already, and there has been no mention of the game. It’s because for the first 40 minutes of the first half, absolutely nothing happened. I’d love to talk through tactics, who was starting, and key moments, but absolutely nothing happened. Not from us anyway; Walton looked like they had an absolute stonewall penalty turned down, and on VEO after, it was even more obvious.
To cure the boredom, El Gen and I reminisced about the Blue Square Keepy Uppy Challenge. Turns out I beat him, but because I was U18, I couldn’t have the free bet, and Gen got it. He still remembers what he lumped it on: Leeds to beat Carlisle in the 2008 playoffs. Leeds won 2-0, and Gen was a happy boy.
I also spent the half reminding Rasmus Højlund (their keeper, absolute spitting image) that he had a shit stain on his shorts and to be careful not to put one top bins after the Gloucester keeper’s viral OG a few weeks ago. More on this absolute fuck-up later.
Of course, we could never go a full half with nothing happening. Walton got a non-threatening corner after 40-odd minutes and, to everyone’s absolute dismay, it went straight over Gez into the back of the net, and we were 1-0 down at half-time. God, Gez is a good shot-stopper, but Christ, he needs to improve on crosses. Turns out last time we were here, we were 3-2 up at half-time, and absolutely no one expected us to win (we lost 6-3). This time, we were quietly confident we’d perform in the second half.
The second half started, and we were immediately better. Hutch and JD instantly became the best wing-backs in the country, and we started to batter them. A ball whipped across the box where Shaq got assaulted; Hutch laid it back to JD, who smashed it in. 1-1, fucking game on, lads. Now, I’ve seen some screamers in my time, and JD’s is absolutely up there. Thirty years out, he’s been allowed to cut in from the left and ping one, which looked like it was flying over the bar, dipped, hit the crossbar, and went in. Cue absolute fucking pandemonium with bundles with the players (highlights show me reacting like one of those inflatable arm-waver things). Also, sorry to Corby Moore, who I absolutely slapped in the face in and amongst the celebrations.
Light dipping, boys singing, floodlights doing fuck all, we were nervously holding onto our lead through the second half with not a great deal of clear chances for W&H. Surprisingly, we hadn’t made any changes going into the 90th minute. We made one change, and that certain player switched off and gave a needless free kick in their half (had a chance to give away a foul 50 yards earlier in our own half). As I was still on good terms with Rasmus, I urged him to get up there for the last chance and be a hero. A deep free kick had been knocked back down, smashed, and Gez has pulled off a worldie save, which, from the pitch-black opposite end, looked like it was flying out of the ground, so we all turned away. Turns out it’s still in play, knocked back, and Rasmus smashed it in. 90+ minutes, 2-2, the fucking keeper.
A 20-second rendition of “You’re not singing anymore” was quite cute and cliché and flattering, to be honest. Overall, happy with the point, as you would be before the game. We were poor, and they had a stonewall penalty and a couple of good chances. Must admit, the post-match discussion of Shaq’s crocs and whether Club Neo in Yeovil was actually any good was all drowned out by having Clubland 2000 on the TVs, which was a very bizarre choice.
George, Ellie, Freddo, and I jumped in an Uber back to the station to head off in our own directions. To our luck, our super left-winger, Harry Hutch, was at the station too, waiting to go back to Basingstoke to see a mate. Turns out it seems to be a Southern League Christmas Day out at Winter Wonderland tomorrow (Sunday), including Poole, Wimborne, Winchester, and others. I imagine it’ll be like the scene in Anchorman when all the news channels meet up for a scrap. Of course, if we’re involved, it’ll be a draw. Sounds like an absolutely dreadful day out though. He’s a good lad, Hutch, though who has recently come back from a pretty successful month loan at Winchester where he played full 90s for a month. We chatted all things, including his dad, Poole, whether Craig Davis really is as much of a prick in real life, and most importantly, is Wicked a good musical? El Gen later confirmed in the WhatsApp that yes, it is.
About four train changes later and I was finally home after watching JD’s second goal numerous times and having the odd tug in the toilet. Another day out, another draw, but we kept 11 men on the pitch.
RIP The Gorge Café – 1885 – 2024. DF.
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