Being dragged to the footie by the old man has been a Boxing Day tradition for me from a very young age, mostly to see us get a hammering by Weymouth. Our last proper derby game with a Boxing Day victory came in 2004 when Groover scored a hat-trick in a 4-1 victory over Weymouth, and with the announcement that Groover was to be in the away end supporting the Magpies, surely it was an omen for us to go on and win at the local cabbage patch in Poole.
The Day started in typical fashion. I woke after consuming too much of everything on Christmas Day, and my living room looked as if Toymaster had franchised out to the Ward residence. The group chat stated to wake up with people asking what time the meet in spoons was. I had a call at 08.54 from the youngest brother, who was already in spoons and was clearly unimpressed with the fact they did not serve alcohol until 9am!
As I waded through toys and left over Christmas dinner, I convinced the wife to bundle the kids in the car and drop me at Spoons for around 10.30. As I arrived there was a healthy bunch of supporters already there. However the TSOF contingency were all fed and ready to leave for the club. R Ward handed me a pint of cider and I basically had 5 minutes to drink it or walk down the club on my own. I delivered, and we headed to the ground. Myself and General Hill led the march down, and we chatted all things football, from AFCB’s remarkable season so far and all things Spursy. He took pleasure in a surprise meeting with my old man the day after Bournemouth had beaten Spurs. He also had to tell me twice that he no longer lived in Castle Park!!! We both agreed that it had been far too long since we won Boxing Day, and that today would be our day.
As we walked past the Rec we were informed that Ollie had arrived in Dorch after leaving Bedfordshire early doors via Newbury and Ferndown to collect Floydy and Gordy respectively, some commitment which rightly deserves some credit. As we got into the club around the 11.15 mark, there was already a healthy bunch of fans there. However the Christmas spirit had clearly escaped Dabbs as he was stressing profoundly and marching up and down the bar trying to get the WiFi working whilst serving 800 pints at the same time. Eventually he got it working, or hot spotted it from his phone, I’ve no fucking idea.
As we powered through pints, more and more supporters arrived, and eventually, the bar was absolutely rammed. The club would have made a nice little number on this, so fair play. And everyone was still in the Christmas spirit. Our table of mainly TSOF members chatted utter nonsense as usual, but was enjoyable to see everyone together as we don’t all get the chance to nowadays. Also nice to see my pal Ben Killian, I last saw him on my stag do in Benidorm last year looking like he required a hospital visit after a very heavy weekend! Nice to know he’s still alive and kicking. Even the local jet setter of our group, Cam, brought me a pint, I’ll cherish that one!
As the buses rocked up it was all aboard and onto Poole. The journey was uneventful. The only thing was we didn’t know where the fuck we were as the windows were full of condensation. As we arrived in Poole, we were directed to the away turnstile via a tree that had fallen from the recent storms with an A4 bit of paper strapped to it saying “away fans”, no expense spared there. As we entered we could clearly see we would be treated like royalty, two portaloo toilets, which looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since the last large away following at Poole, and a gazebo that housed a fridge that looked as if Joe Prior had picked up off the kerbside and dropped off to the ground for a cash fee. There was already a huge number of fans in the away section with 45 minutes until kickoff, and inexplicably a Poole flag had been left in our side of the segregation. With more still piling in, I would say as kick off approached, there was a good 300-400 in the away end. With two toilets to service our needs, we were in for an eventful afternoon.
The atmosphere was absolutely electric, and a credit to our supporters who made the players feel as if it was a home game. What is lovely to see is that all supporters are as one, and were in anticipation of a first win on boxing day for nigh on 20 years. As the first half started it was clear from the off we were up for it, and we were the better team in the opening exchanges, even if we had nothing to show for it. Neither team was able to create any real chances, and despite our much bigger share of possession, there wasn’t much in the way of goalmouth action.
As the half hour approached, I thought it be a good idea to queue up for some food and a comfort break. To my despair any food they did have on sale was all gone, and the line for the toilet was already dangerously long. Some had a decision to make as to piss themselves or to sneak round the back of the bogs and relieve themselves. Both are not options you should be faced with. One person took the latter choice and was then hauled out by stewards only for the stewards to be informed that this gentleman’s young son was still in the ground. A stern bit of persuasion by a few supporters and a chairman and said individual was let back in!
Just as we looked as if our 1st half dominance and chances were to go to waste, we broke free down the right hand side, a bursting run by Olaf was crossed in low and hard and smashed in to the back of the net, cue delirious celebrations in the away end. At the time, nobody in the ground knew who had actually scored, we assumed that Groover had hopped the fence and tapped it in, however it was later confirmed to be Harry Hutchinson for his first league goal. Fair play to Hutch, fully deserved to get on the score sheet as he has been immense since his return from loan.
The halftime whistle sounded, and was met with a huge cheer. The Poole youth club decided to not change ends for the second half, and decided to goad our fans rather than get behind their team, behind the end they were shooting. I can only assume that most would have been thrown out due to being under 16 and having no sensible adult in sight.
As the second half started a familiar face of old made a return to the terraces. Joe Prior appeared from the mist to show his face, I’m sure he had just dropped off a fridge, however he claimed to have been sharing presents with family, I’ll let you decide on the truth. Rumour has it that the heras fencing which formed the segregation line and was held up by 1 cable tie, nearly toppled as Joe and Clarkie lent in on it. Imagine the Big Show and Kane, and you won’t be far off. We seemed to be in control and had a couple of half chances from set pieces, but nothing came from them and we duly fell victim to a sucker punch as Poole equalised. A loose ball in midfield was worked wide, and a cross into the box was met with an emphatic, and, disappointingly, a free header to level the score.
As the hour mark approached and the game seemed to open up, we were suddenly plunged into darkness as the floodlights failed. We assumed there must have been some contractors from Gosport working within the area. After 15 minutes you started to wonder if they would ever come back on or if the game would be abandoned, but luckily after a 20 min delay, light was restored and the game restarted. The enforced break seemed to kill any momentum the game might have had, and a pretty dour final half an hour passed with next to nothing of note happening. Gez made a good save with an outstretched boot, Wes poking a shot just wide with the keeper rooted to the spot, but that was it.
The final whistle sounded, and you could see that everyone felt dejected, the look of disappointment was obvious as we felt we could have been out of sight come half time, and if we are serious play-off contenders then we need to really start winning these games.
A short trip back home on the bus, which included a few spews, a cider infused spew being drunk by one member and a sombre atmosphere was clear for all to see. As we arrived back at the club, I made the sensible decision to go home, so unfortunately I have no idea what antics followed, and if Steve lives in Castle Park still.
Merry Christmas all.
BW.
