I would usually start one of these with an attempt at humour, but I’ll start on a more solemn note this week after hearing the sad news of the passing of Laurence Good. Laurence wasn’t someone I knew personally, but he was a regular face at Dorch games both home and away over the years, and someone I’d always say hello to before the game, and until recent seasons, we’d usually find ourselves both rolling our eyes come full-time after some sub-standard footballing fare. Hopefully Dan and the rest of his family are doing as well as can be expected at this most difficult time.
There’s no especially easy transition to Southern Premier League football following that, so I’ll move straight to last Tuesday’s game at Hanwell and the associated frivolity our trip to London involved. This time of year is one I always take off so when the rearranged date for this one was confirmed after the initial postponement for what was a muddy corner, I was pleased I was able to go. How I was going to get there was another matter. But as luck would have it, Wardy was not only driving that way for work, he was staying in Reading with a spare bed and an easy train route into London for the game. He’d pick me up at Wareham, so after a pint at Copper Street, I got the train there to await my lift.
I was a touch surprised as I waited for my lift to see what appeared to be OJ Simspon’s white Ford Bronco hurtling towards the station. I was even more surprised when the driver tooted and waved, and it was in fact Wardy at the wheel in his work wagon, and there was not an ill fitting pair of gloves in sight. Disappointingly, it was actually a pick up truck, but that mattered not as we made our way towards Reading at more pace than other famous white Fords moved at – we talked of darts, Spuds, and a playoff push.
We weren’t the only Dorch fans making a road trip, even if we were the advance guard. Jury cleared out the half dozen booster seats for the kids from his people carrier and was heading from DT1 with Pete, El Generale and Gordy, and that was a crew that left Wardy and I wondering just what the fuck the conversation would be like on the nearly five hour round trip. There was also a minibus contingent coming from Dorch as well as a healthy smattering of exiles as Floydy, Goddard, Jonesy, Eames, Shanks and self professed bad luck charms of Ollie and Evo had all confirmed their attendance. It wouldn’t be bad numbers at all, and we all hoped for an improvement in results following two draws – of varying quality – in our last two.
After a McDonalds stop, Wardy and I arrived at the Reading Central Premier Inn to book into what Wardy had been told was a twin room. Well, that was the first stumbling block of the day. The only room left was a disabled access room, and it only had a double bed. The last time people had shared rooms with people from the Ward family on away days, Welchy had nearly been sick due to the odors being emitted, and Steve Hill narrowly avoided being hit with a bill for damages to ceiling tiles and a mirror. Still, at least we had a very spacious bathroom and easy access.
With bags dropped off we made our way to the local Wetherspoons though central Reading, which was the sort of area that gave me flashbacks to being on association at Pentonville. Spoons located and drinks acquired, we awaited Floydy’s arrival from his day of working in what we were told was the insurance industry. Well, Floydy may work in insurance by day, but it appears he moonlights as a private detective by night as he turned up dressed as fucking Columbo. We had just one more round, pints for Floydy and I, two espresso martinis for Wardy, and we then headed off to the station to get the Elizabeth Line towards Hanwell. Wardy got some expensive beers on the platform whilst Floydy got his printed paper tickets in what I assume was a salute to El Gen and his passion for group-savers, and we were soon on the way to Ealing Broadway.
Now, this should have been a straight journey, and for Columbo and I, it was. Wardy didn’t quite make it the whole way though as he fell prey to a need for a piss that left him looking in genuine pain. As he got off at Hayes & Harlington walking like a man who had potentially shat himself, Floyds and I continued to Ealing, and from there it was a taxi to the Mylett Arms. As a pub, the Mylett is pretty standard Greene King fare, the fact it is right next to the A40 is what sets it apart and makes it one of the stranger pubs I’ve been to in a while. It was here we met with TG and Jonesy, and I treated myself to the same pre-match meal as I had last season – a fat fucking carvery. If triple cooked chips were created by Heston Blumenthal, the roast potatoes I had must have been cooked at least twice, once in the oven and then a second time under the lights of the hot plate. It took a considerable amount of gravy to revive them, but it was a risk worth taking.
Pints and roast dinner consumed, and with Wardy having got an Uber to the pub following his piss stop in Hayes, it was over to the ground and to have a look at what changes we’d made from the Taunton game. Three was the magic number as Harry Lee came in for the injured Gez, and Jordan Ngalo and Matt Buse both started after being on the bench on Saturday. We had travelled well considering it was a Tuesday night in London, and if you needed any reminding we were in London, the gurt red double decker bus that doubled up as a food kiosk and covered seating area on the side of the pitch acted as a constant reminder. Hanwell were one of the last sides to beat us when they did a proper job on us in a 3-0 win at the Avenue in October and sadly, if you saw that game, you pretty much saw this one.
Hanwell are a big physical side but that’s not to say they can’t play football, and at home they’ve got one of the best surfaces in the league to play on. But if football was the game, we didn’t look like we knew how to play it in a opening 15 minutes that really weren’t very good. We didn’t really click at all and seemed to have difficulty keeping possession as well as looking very unsure of our own shape. We thought we’d find our feet and come into the game a bit more and we did have the ball in the net as Shaq ran onto a through ball and lobbed home keeper Sam Beasant. The problem was the flag had gone up and the whistle had already gone for offside, and we thought no more of it. From our angle behind the goal, we had no idea if Shaq was off or on, but Olaf’s reaction to the decision seemed like that of a man who knew it was a poor call. Olaf was right, and by a couple of yards. Now, being totally honest, given how we’d played to this point I doubt we’d have kept the lead for long even if we’d taken it, but seeing it back is fucking annoying.
Not that it made the slightest bit of difference to how we were playing as we were second best all over and were indebted to Harry Lee and Spetchy who kept the score at 0-0 with some good keeping by the former, and a goal saving tackle by the latter. It felt like we needed to make a change to either shape, personnel, or potentially both, but the only thing to change was the score as Hanwell took a deserved lead in the 39th minute. The ball just evaded the outstretched boot of Ngalo in the middle of the park, and one pass and finish later and we were 1-0. It was no more than the home side deserved, and for those of us who have watched our fair share of Dorch away days over the years, this all felt very familiar.
They say familiarity breeds contempt and we all absolutely fucking hated what came next as Hanwell made it 2-0 only three minutes later. The cross and header were both excellent, the defending was not, and we were looking at a serious task in the second half. The highlight of the half came shortly after as the halftime whistle blew, and we trudged back to the bar and hoped for a better 45 to follow. Shanks had arrived midway though the first half and he was in the bar with Guyer and others – their decision to remain there for most of the second half was a wise one as although we improved, we never really looked like getting back into it. Luke Roberts came on for Hastey at half time and was lively in the second half, but despite the increase in endeavour, chances never really materialised. Corby had our first and really only meaningful effort with 15 or so to play, but it was at the other end where there was more danger as only more good work from Lee and a goal line clearance kept the deficit at 2-0. It was a performance that left some of the exiles who hadn’t seen us much this season wondering what all the fuss was about. Thankfully, it isn’t always like this.
In the bar was where the real action was as Guyer had decided that he was going to get well and truly Guyer’d. Having asked for a shot of sambucca, he was asked if he’d like a large one. What is a large one, he asked? Well, it’s a triple shot and the initial glass they gave him was too small, so he ended up having his shot across two glasses. After his triple and getting stuck into some home fans, Guyer might not have noticed the third Hanwell goal going in as they made it 3-0 as injury time approached, and the final whistle couldn’t come soon enough. It had been a bad night all round with no one really coming out with any credit, but performances like this are the exception and not the rule after many years of it being the other way around. The players came over and apologised as they acknowledged our support, a nice touch but after 19 games without a loss, they’ve nothing to say sorry for. Although Shaq did give a very sincere apology as he accidently knocked Eames’ pint out of his hand to compound a night that was only made tolerable for Eames by the Italian food on offer in the bus.
It wasn’t just Italian food on offer and some of the travelling fans decided to have a ‘red Big Sam’, or a pint of red wine, for the road, a road which would be travelled by Lime Bike for novelty value, but for Wardy and I it was the Elizabeth Line back to sodding Reading after an Uber from the ground. We returned to find the bar of the Premier Inn shut to top off a bang average night, but mercifully I fared better than previous people to have roomed with a Ward and have no horror tales to tell. As Wardy headed off to work the next morning and I got the train to Winchester for a couple of days away, I tried to avoid thinking about the previous night’s game, and didn’t really dwell on the football too much until Saturday rolled around and Gosport visited the Avenue. I’ve since been trying not to think about football again as our results and form have both dipped at the wrong time.
Positives from Saturday:
– The new room for sponsors in the stand is very nice, as was the barrel from Copper Street
– Another decent crowd of 685
– I had a nice pizza on the way home
Negatives from Saturday:
– Another loss and we looked very short of ideas and options
– Lack of cover centrally at the back is an issue
– Two ex- Dorch players scored and they weren’t the usual shit ones that score against us, they were two players I actually liked in Cam Murray and Alfie Stanley
– The gap to Havant is now only one point and we are in our worst patch of form for months
– I got asked if I was Bargey’s Dad and I’m unsure who was more offended, Bargey or I
All in all, another naff 90 minutes and all of a sudden, our play off position is not looking as safe as it did a week ago. We look like we need freshening up, and the next two games, away at Chertsey and home to Marlow – which is also the ex-players day, so any ex-players reading this who want to go, please drop us or the club a message-, are now looking even more important before we play Totton, Gloucester and Walton in the three games that follow. With suspensions and possible injuries to contend with, it’s a pivotal time of the season, but this squad have earned our trust and support, and in Tommy we trust. I’ll be there on Saturday, and hopefully a win will see me forget these two games ever happened. And if there is a cause for our current issues, maybe Floydy can don Columbo’s coat again and solve the mystery. SV.
