After watching last week’s dire draw with Wimborne, I had nightmares for the next few nights that our season would now fall apart and we would return to the dross of the last decade. However, this team is different, and I convinced myself I was dreaming total bollocks. Come Thursday the excitement for Taunton on Saturday was building and I was like a kid at Christmas come Friday night.
Anyway, the day was upon us, and with Gordy gracing my sofa for the overnight stay, he opted against a nice brisk walk from Ferndown to Dorch, instead opting to be chauffeured down by non-other than Spud. Gordy tried to convince him to join us as a couple of spaces on the coach had become available, but he was having none of it.
It was decided that a meet in Vivo for some breakfast and light refreshments around 10.30 was in order, and we were joined by Luth, Welchy, Buik, Antony and our famous weatherman. Conversation flowed around how poor we were against Wimborne, our chances against a good Taunton side who were 12 unbeaten and Buik’s trip across the pond for the Salty Dog cruise.
As we headed down towards the ground Buik believed we’d have a good 100 in the away end today, I disagreed and thought it would push close to 150 with lots making their own travel arrangements. We arrived at the club just after 11.30 and there was already a healthy bunch of fans sampling the local refreshments. We received some frightening news just before 12.30, the coach had arrived, and was being driven by the most militant driver ever to drive a bus. No food, soft drinks, toilet use banned and you must never walk around the bus the wrong way!
The coach departed, and after a short pit stop on the main road at Grimstone to allow a corpse looking Dev Derrien to have a tactical spew, we headed to Taunton. Other branches of the exiles supporters club were making their way as Goddard barely kept Floydy awake by telling him how Cruzcampo is really just Carling Black Label, and Floydy himself had caused a near riot in the Reading branch of Greggs;
“Just taken the last of the bacon in Greggs and a woman behind me is fuming. Toxic behaviour has started.”
Up the toxic, bacon stealing, fake Spanish lager drinking Magpies.
The coach journey was uneventful, and we pulled up at Taunton. I liked their ground, they have utilised the space behind one of the terraces very well, with various food and drink vans available, plus a decent sized club house. I purchased a delightful pint of Sheppys cider and strolled outside to bask in the sunshine. As I walked back towards the food vans, I overheard a Taunton fan describing our fans as a disease, as we were literally everywhere. It was clear we had travelled well, and as the first half kicked off, you could see there was around a good 200 of us.
There wasn’t really much to report on in the first half an hour other than a couple of half chances for us and Gez making a decent save down to his right, then we got a corner and seconds later, we were one up. Corby’s corner was hung up to the back post, Ieuan headed it back across goal, Olaf applied the finishing touch from a few yards out, and we went fucking mental. That made it 21 for the season for Olaf and with a good few games to go, you’d hope he’ll add to that tally.
The only event of note to come after that was some interesting stewarding and directions from a home director. There had been two Dorch flags behind the goal for the best part of 40 minutes with no issues, and they definitely weren’t a problem when the score was 0-0, until a steward asked us to move the one that was blocking the pair of advertising boards, which was on the say so of the previously mentioned director. Not a problem. We were then asked to move the second flag that was covering a blank, grey wall as it was covering advertising. Well, it wasn’t, and we showed the steward this. This seemed to cause a problem as the steward had clear instructions to get them moved, but the reasoning didn’t ring true. So, we asked why the second flag had to go. Off the steward trotted to get an answer.
Not one, but two stewards came back, telling us we had to move the flags as they were pitch side, nothing to do with advertising. Ah, not quite what you said first time was it. With one steward obviously looking like he was prepared for an argument, the situation was helped by Vossy saying to him; “alright chief, and what have you come dressed as?” And The Luth asking why the flags had to come down. Our argumentative steward told Luth he could take it up with the director, if he wanted to. And the steward looked quite surprised when The Luth replied “all right, take me to her then.” So as the tannoy twice asked for the flags to be taken down, and The Luth was made to wait outside the director’s room for an audience with The Queen, the flags came down and the halftime whistle went with us 1-0 up.
Down the far end we headed as the flags were put up very neatly and away from the pitchside area, and The Luth soon informed us that his meeting with the top brass went down as well as you’d expect when his opening question was asking to see a copy of their ground regulations. He never did get that copy of the regs, but he did get asked what his name was.
The second half was pretty even to start with but we once again found ourselves up against it as we went down to ten men. It looked like there was some needle between Hastey and one of their players off the ball, and when the ball had gone out for a corner, they came together again, their man went down like he’d just copped one on the chin from Mike Tyson, and Hastey got a red. Apparently, Hastey had raised his arm to the bloke’s face, which is stupid and you can’t do, he’ll now miss four games, and we had 30 minutes to defend with ten men and a goalkeeper on one leg as Gez got injured making a save. It’s never easy with us.
We defended brilliantly right up until injury time when a shot from the edge of the box found its way through the bodies and into the bottom corner. It was a huge sucker punch to concede so late on as we did, especially as we held out for over 30 minutes with 10 men. The players were rightly applauded off, and it was back on the coach for the trip home.
The coach home was uneventful, and we arrived back just after 18.30, with myself, Gordy and Luth opting to meet Spud and Kriss for a swift one in the Junny before venturing back to Lord Ward Manor to order a massive curry. Gordy fell asleep mid curry, and being the good host that I am, I put the blanket over him and tucked him in. I’m expecting a 5 star review on TripAdvisor in the coming days. BW
