Once upon a time this blog recited debaucherous tales of quite unsociable antics in National League towns and Southern League villages, bisected by 90 minutes of utterly dreadful football. In fact we became quite good at it and more than a handful of you enjoyed reading our frivolous activities such as Spuddy throwing up over a SW Trains table, or prostitutes propositioning us in Lewes whilst we blew hunting horns in their face, or Spuddy shitting the bed in a Bideford hotel… the list quite literally goes on. (We’ve recently been recapping them on the Whatsapp Group, so look out for a special edition Twelve days of Christmas this time next year)
Fortunately, for both the sake of variety and for my liver, times change. Be that due to age or the fact that watching Dorch is now a pleasure and no longer requires alcohol to get through a ninety minute ordeal. Sadly for you, avid reader, this has led to a growing trend of our blogs focussing more and more on the football and less about pre and post match antics. Today sadly will be no different.
Having arrived back in Dorset the night before, the day began by heading over to Swanage to meet my friends Alexander and Olivia (yes, private schooled) for the Durlston 5k Park Run. Unbeknownst to me the Durlston Park Run is the equivalent of climbing Big Ben twice and the second hardest Parkrun in the UK. My calves thought so too and at the half way mark they decided enough is enough, forcing me to retire. Which all bodes well for my marathon in less than eighteen weeks time. Good.
Sober and driving for the day (because Christmas time is a really common time of year to get caught drink driving) I headed up to Copper Street Brewery to pick up Vossy, who was surprised that my 75-year old, Crossways dwelling mother drove a battered old Skoda Fabia and not the sparkling white Mercedes C-class he had been walking towards.
Arriving at the ground with twenty minutes to go, the car park was already full and it required us to drive to the very far end, around a pallet collection and some left over astroturf, to squeeze in between a hedge and a Ford Fiesta. Looking over, said Fiesta contained El Generale still sat in the front seat, motionless. It had all the vibes of the non-league x dogging collab nobody has asked for.
Despite some self-appointed non-league twitter ‘experts’ tipping them for promotion, Tivvy are struggling in the relegation zone and looked particularly poor at the beginning of the season where our wastefulness somehow let them escape with a point. The hapless Leigh Robinson was replaced by the apparently unpopular Rob Dray a few weeks ago and they’ve picked up a couple of impressive results of late – which made us feel that it wouldn’t be as easy as the league tables would suggest. Were we wrong!
The first five/ten minutes of feeling each other out sadly came to an abrupt end when Braggy, executing one of his trademark balls deep to Pards out wide, went down in agony with nobody around him. He looked in an whole host of pain and was stretchered off and taken to DCH for a scan. Our fingers are crossed for him that its not as bad as we all fear and send him our best wishes. He’s had an impressive first season since settling into the team and his passing from deep really does set a foundation for our attacking play.
The break in play seemed to galvanise us and from there on we took control. Olaf was having a lot of joy down the right, whilst Hutch and Pards were the pulling strings on the left. With Jordan appearing well up for it and picking up every loose ball, Tivvy could barely get out of their box, let alone their half. When Hutch smashed a wicked free kick against the cross bar, it felt like just a matter of time.
That time came a few minutes later. Pards played a neat 1-2 with Wes on the edge of the box to get in behind their defence and square it perfectly for Shaq to tap in at the back post. It was a well worked move and just desserts for Shaq who was playing with more fire in belly than perhaps we’ve seen of late. His work rate throughout the game, chasing back, throwing himself into headers was spot on and he was a real handful for Tivvy all day.
Olaf wasn’t to be denied either and he got his goal a couple of minutes later. Pards was once again instrumental, picking the ball up from deep and running at the Tivvy defence before laying it out wide to Hutch to whip in to Shaq at the back post. The defender beat him to it, but his header landed at the feet of Olaf, who duly smashed home his 13th of the season.
Serenaded by a 10 minute long chant of “We’re rocking around the Avenue, singing Olaf Koszela…” (which is yet to leave my head) our tales were up as we continued to create chance after chance. It really could have been more.
The half time chat largely centred on whether this was the game that Wardy’s bet would finally come in. Regular readers will know that the eldest and third best dart player in the Ward family, Ben, has been punting on Dorch to win 3-0 each game this season. It’s largely been a futile exercise as the nearest he’s come to winning was the Frome match, when he was thwarted by Wayne Robinson’s 88th minute goal which saw us win 4-0.
Nevertheless, despite the odds being half of the now 21-1 required to break even, he lumped on – joined on the day by Floydy and Luke; the latter of whom had whacked £30 on it, such was his confidence.
In this situation, the ideal scenario for the trio was probably a comfortable second half, where we never have to get out of second gear and we wrap it up with a late third. 3 goals, 3 points, no heart palpitations. Not to be.
Barely five minutes into the second half (or more importantly for Luke and co, with forty still left to play) we got our goal in a familiar fashion. Spetch (or Speck as he is known the Stadium PA) heading home a Corby Moore corner. It was criminal defending. Two Tivvy defenders appeared to mark the same player, leaving Spetch a free run to rise unchallenged. The two Tivvy defenders probably wondered why they were both on the same man and Spetch is not the only person in this league to leave two people asking are we with the same person?! Although Spetch is less likely to be found on Tinder than the other.
3-0. Game over. Whilst the rest of us sat back and enjoyed some “Ole football” the same could not be said for Luke, who was now in what can only be described as a heightened state of anxiety. When Pardoe ran through the entire Tiverton back line before somehow missing the target from six-yards out, Luke crumpled to the floor. When Shaq and Olaf were withdrawn after an hour to save their legs for Poole, he cheered. (What a fucking luxury that is btw! When was the last time Dorch had a team and were in a position to pull off our front two to save their legs?! How times have changed!)
Said anxiety was made worse by the scumbag betting companies suspending ‘cash out’ the moment the third went in. When Busey lashed in a forth from twenty yards out in the 80th minute, we pissed ourselves laughing as much as we did celebrate. Some friends we are!
Tiverton had a couple of half chances in the last ten minutes (this apparently constituted “we played some good stuff at times” according to their post match twitter) but we had the final word. And what a final word it was! Luke Roberts (or Luke Pardoe as he’s known to the Stadium PA) ran on to a ball to the left of Tivvy’s penalty box, held off the defender before chopping inside to leave him on his arse and rifling it in at the near post that left the keeper with no chance.
Whether it was relief or just simply too overwhelming, Luke barely celebrated, but he was mobbed by Spetch, JD and Corby (amongst others) who knew what this moment must have meant. Two horrendous knee injuries whilst at Poole had robbed Luke of a move to full-time football and almost ended his career entirely. He had multiple set-backs that kept him out of the game for a couple of years. It must have been horrible and thoroughly depressing for Luke, but he’s been growing in confidence all season and got his goal that I don’t think any one could deserve more.
And with that the full time whistle went. You can only beat what is in front of you and Tivvy looked destined to be in a deep relegation battle come the end of the season. But it was a thoroughly professional performance from Dorch, who controlled the game throughout. Shaq was back to his best. His movement and finishing we all know about, but his tracking back, tackling and generally putting himself about was top-class today – my MOTM. Pards was again excellent and is central to so much of our good attacking play. Turner looks like he’s been playing at this level for years, whilst Hutch looked very comfortable coming into the team and offers a lot going forwards with a great left foot on him (the less said about that right footed cross, the better though!) Hastey has some serious competition there. And when Jordan plays well, we play well.
Attention now turns to Boxing Day and a battle-bus ride over to Poole to face Dorset’s forth biggest non-league club. Even after all these years in this division together, its hard to get too excited about this game and I guess one consolation prize should we not go up this year, will be the return of the proper Dorset Derby next season. That this game will feature an alcohol ban and us being kept in the ground after the match for “safety reasons” is utterly mystifying given the lack of any sort of rivalry between the two fans or any history of trouble. But it’ll make for a more entertaining day if nothing else. At least Poole’s Stadium PA will be able to announce Spetch and Roberts’ goals properly. CM.
