The effect that football has on my mood is at best unhealthy. Leaving the ground at Gloucester after conceding an injury time equaliser is the worst I’ve felt at football in a long time. I’ve felt better after the death of relatives, although I did only go to my Nan’s funeral in the hope of a buffet and to make sure she was actually brown bread as I couldn’t fucking stand her, so maybe that’s not the best simile. RIP, you old bag. But compare the feeling of Gloucester with the elation of the full-time whistle against Walton and you have the total opposite. A vital three points that put us back into the play off places and came after a proper battle against a very good side. This sort of day didn’t seem possible when we were getting thumped away at places like Leamington Spa and Biggleswade, but it is days like those that make me appreciate a season like this even more.
Gloucester as a day was probably blog worthy in itself. However, as you can tell by how late this has been written, time wasn’t especially kind to me over that period, so you get some sort of bastard double header that’s better late than never, or possibly the other way around. Gloucester was the first Dorch game my long-suffering sister, Amy, had been to since an absolute horror show of a 4-1 loss at Yate just after COVID. Amy’s main memory of that game was our skipper, Franklyn, yelling at the rest of the team “that’s why we lose every fucking week” as we conceded another no doubt awful goal. It was only a short drive over to the game for her from Bristol, and the route from Dorch to Gloucester was relatively straightforward. Well, it is straightforward until you add a detour to Newbury in there.
Why did you go via Newbury, I hear you ask? Well, I was asking myself the exact same fucking question as we hit every traffic jam, roadworks, and diversion humanly possible as we headed in that direction. The reason for the detour was to pick up Floydy, aka Columbo, who had asked for someone to swing by and pick him up before every away game this season, no matter if it was on the way or not. It was a running joke for so long that Columbo must have thought it was a piss take when El Gen agreed to ‘swing by’. The added time to the journey was inconvenient, but once we broke through the traffic we made up some time and got to Gloucester in a reasonable amount of time. We were going to park at Gloucester Quays where Amy was and walk to the ground. This was another thing that was simple in theory but difficult in execution as the Gen’s sat nav took us to the pedestrianised area right by the harbour, so the literal Gloucester Quay.
Having spent some seconds looking for a multistorey that was never going to appear, we did a nine point turn, got our bearings, headed towards the actual car park via the one way system to then miss the turning, so we then navigated another one way system to eventually meet a very confused Amy who asked “why the fuck did you go via Newbury?”. All three of us, including Columbo, were thinking that exact same thing.
We got to the ground with there still being adequate time for a beer and despite the very bizarre non- segregation that is definitely segregation, we were kicking towards the ‘T-End’. This is the home only end, and an end that had a display of smokes in it before the game that at times, and especially at night would look very impressive. However, on a bright sunny day with clear blue skies and not a huge crowd, it looked like someone’s car exhaust behind the terrace had backfired and they needed the fire brigade. I’ll rattle through the rest as it was a while ago and the was meant to be about Walton, so here we go;
-Wes scored after four minutes and we deserved it after a rapid start
-Quite how Wes still plays with the level of energy and ability he does is mad, and his knack of being in the right place at the right time has never left him
-Olaf put us 2-0 up with a hell of a freekick, as good as you’ll see
-It was the perfect first 45 minutes
What followed was not
-2-1 with a rebound from close range
-3-1 with a Shaq header from very close range, que pandemonium and Columbo doing a celebration that looked like he was riding an invisible horse
-3-2, penalty won and converted
-We all got nervous
-7 minutes added, fuck
-6 minutes down, I think we’re going to see this out
-Fuck, 3-3
-Fulltime
-For fucks sake, we’ve got to go via Newbury again
It was a season low point in a season of highs. Out the playoffs for the first time in months as Havant won and we’d dropped points, and although it might not have been a defeat, it felt like one. The car journey home was not one full of conversation with the only points of note being Steve managed to briefly go the wrong way up a one-way system, and as we were approaching home, I asked why he still had his Sat Nav telling him where to go. His answer? It’s linked to his partner’s phone so she’ll know when he’s nearly home and can put the oven on for tea at the right time. Remarkable. Hopefully his fish fingers, potato smiles and beans numbed the pain of the result. Horrendous result to take, but Walton the following Saturday would give us a chance to get back in the playoff spots, even if our destiny was no longer in our own hands.
The lead up to the Walton game was slightly different to others as in the week we were offered the match sponsorship as someone had dropped out, so the question was did we fancy it and could we get enough there to make it worth our while? It was a resounding yes on both counts. Anticipation built in the week as the cast of characters there grew, favours owed by partners about who would look after the kids were being called in, previously made plans were being amended. It meant Friday was more like Christmas Eve than any other day in April, and when Christmas morning did arrive, it started the only way that is right and proper, a Spoons fry up and a pint. Some thought the chef did such a good job with the breakfast, they went back in for a second course, JP arrived and elected to have what looked like a glass of anti-freeze, others opted against eating altogether and went just for a carbonated apple juice to start the day.
We all knew it was going to be a good day, but as is often the case with days watching Dorch over the past few seasons, we all feared the football would get in the way of a good day out. We’d been unlucky in a sense to concede an(other) injury time equaliser in a 2-2 in the reverse fixture, but Walton had played well enough to certainly get something that day, and they came into this game on a long unbeaten run that had seen them take up a comfortable position in the playoffs. This did not deter Columbo and Ben Ward from putting their weekly tenner on a 3-0 Dorch win, a ritual that at this point might as well be just flushing a tenner down the bog every Saturday, but the mood on the whole was one of optimism. Proof that Tommy Killick is a miracle worker as getting anything positive of some in the group was as difficult as getting a round out of them. Now we’re doing sponsorship and predicting wins. Staggering.
A couple in TSOF strong hold that is Copper Street and a quick visit to the biggest beer garden in Dorchester, that is Dorchester Cricket Club for The Luth and I, and it was off to the Avenue. I had the job of chaperoning Luth as he wasn’t sure where the new sponsors room was, and he might not make the stairs. Both those obstacles tackled and Luth settled in a nice comfy chair with a lukewarm can of Abbot Ale and the drinks started to flow. Aiden, who has been in the age range of 14 to 4 depending on entrance prices this season, tried to claim he was 23, but was told to keep a watchful eye on the free bar rather than drink from it, and as more of the TSOF and crew arrived, some were surprised to find there was a second toilet in the stand that they didn’t know existed. Revelations about the shitters aside, it was a bloody good laugh up there. The chicken on the buffet didn’t last long, the 36-pint pin from Copper Street was going down nicely, conversation was flowing, then someone said the team news was in and we remembered we were here to actually watch the football.
There was only one change from the Gloucester heartbreak as Corby Moore missed out through work commitments, and he was replaced by sweet potato enthusiast, Luke Pardoe. It was a welcome sight to see Pards back in the XI, he’d have been my player of the season for the first half of it, and maintaining those very high standards was always going to be a task. He certainly didn’t let anyone down with a disciplined performance, the sort of discipline you expect from a man who, according to his own Instagram, eats that many eggs. We filtered out from the bar, pints in hand and sandwiches covered back up to ensure freshness, and it was off to the Tesco end to get behind the team.
Thanks to Richard Bayley and a hammer, we now have some hooks to put the flags up on, and based on how Bargey and I fared earlier in the season and how he and Dev Derrien went at Gloucester, having those hooks saved about 25 minutes of dicking around with bungee cords. Early on it became quite clear that this was going to be a good game between two good sides as the first few minutes weren’t action packed but were much sharper than some of the games we’ve seen against other opposition. Both of our games against Merthyr had been of a high quality reflective of two sides in the top five, and this one was no different. Walton had the first effort of real note as Bobby Taylor capitalised on some lax play down the Dorch left, his cross was met by a very measured volley from Dawid Rogalski and Harry Lee had to be at his best to tip his effort around the post. After a tough afternoon at Gloucester, that save would have done Lee the world of good. Minutes later and Lee’s handling of a shot away to his right from some 30 yards may have looked easy, but it wasn’t, he just made it look that way.
It took us a little while but we soon found our feet in the game and away keeper, Josiah Barker, matched Lee’s earlier save with an instinctive hand low to his left to repel Luke Roberts’ effort after a bit of penalty box pinball. Walton may have had a very young defence, but it was pretty solid with their 5 and 20 both catching the eye, but some more good play from us ended up with another fortunate ricochet falling to Wes, but he couldn’t control his effort and it might still be rising. There was no more goalmouth action but plenty of tidy football from both sides, the 0-0 scoreline at half time a fair reflection of a decent game. Back into the bar for a Saxon Gold top up and a cheese and pickle sandwich, quick usage of the toilet equivalent of the lost city of Atlantis and it was off to the bypass end to hang the flags and hopefully create an atmosphere. Both and more were achieved.
We started brightly with another Roberts effort bringing another good save from Barker to give us a corner. Luke Roberts’ return to form has been really pleasing to see after what must have been a couple of unimaginably tough years with injuries. He’s been an absolute menace to several fullbacks in recent weeks and both goals he’s scored have been very good finishes. He, like the rest of the side, were bang up for it. It wasn’t going to be all one-way traffic though and Lee once again had to make an excellent save from Johl Powell after he’d been slipped though on goal following a quick counter attack. It looked like it was going to either be a mistake or a moment of brilliance that would break the deadlock, and cometh the hour, cometh the moment. Or something like that.
With an hour played a Dorch corner was headed only partially clear, and as it was nodded back in by Spetch and helped on again by Hastey, it was met by the arm of a Walton defender who had made an instinctive movement towards the ball. The ref had no doubt and nor did those of us behind the goal; penalty. It’s the sort of penalty that if it goes against you, you’re absolutely furious with both your defender and the ref. But this one went our way, so it was absolutely stone wall. Olaf hasn’t missed a spot kick this season in league matches or shootouts, and he wasn’t about to start here as he thundered his effort past Barker away to the keeper’s left, despite the goalie guessing right. If there was one keeper who was going to save one, it was this bloke. Both he and Lee hadn’t put a glove wrong all game, and this was the only way it looked like beating either. We went fucking mental. Player bundle, beer shower, people falling over, grown men hugging each other before feeling a touch awkward after, all the bells and whistles. That made it 24 for the season for Olaf, and who knows, he might add to that tally with a couple more penalties at Frome, but he is the first Dorch striker since Groover to get 20+ league goals in a season, and that’s no mean feat.
If we expected a bombardment from the visitors, we were pleasantly disappointed. The only chances of note were a Buse effort that curled just wide, and a good block from Barker from Daws after a quick break from a Walton attack. Come the final whistle and with Havant’s draw already confirmed, we were back in the playoffs and we celebrated accordingly. It was the polar opposite to how we’d felt the seven days earlier and it was three points that we’d thoroughly deserved. Every player did their bit and an eggcellent (yes that’s awful and no, I’m not sorry) performance from Pards meant we didn’t feel the absence of Corby, which is a testament to the squad that Tommy has assembled. No player was less than a 7/10, and I thought Jordan and Wes were both superb with Wes continuing his purple patch of form. But in these tight wins with a clean sheet, it tends to be the defence who take the plaudits and as match sponsors we could only pick one man of the match.
It came down to a choice between Harry Lee and JD with Harry being the clear winner. It had been an excellent performance, and given how he’d have no doubt felt after last week at Gloucester, it was a hell of a turnaround and the mark of a very good keeper. He made two very good saves and made everything look very easy from his handling to his distribution, and everything in between. Performances like that win games, and winning games like this is what good teams do. Despite walking into a room with 15 or so pissed up blokes, Harry was in good spirits and happy to chat, and when given the bottle of white wine as his reward he was quick to say how he thinks his Mum will enjoy it. Mother Lee, if you read this, we hope you enjoyed your wine.
Harry headed off and after we’d polished the buffet off, several shots of Jager and a shot of something that was red, it was off to the bar for more to drink. Was it necessary at this time? Probably not. Were we going to do it anyway? Absolutely. Times like this seemed a million miles away not that long ago and we’re damn well going to make the most of them. Shots at the club were followed by stops at the cricket club for a pint of Landlord, Copper Street for some more Saxon Gold, and in my case also two bars of soap, and finally the exclamation point on the evening with Guyer deciding a bottle of champagne was the only appropriate way to end the evening. Well, we’d gone as corporate as we’ll ever likely be as match sponsors, so might as well act the part. A much-needed Dominos was acquired on the way home and my bars of soap made it safely home alongside the chicken kickers, twisted cinnamon doughballs and a large ham and pineapple pizza – yes, pineapple does belong on a pizza, online straighteners offered to those dissenting voices – and it was soon off to bed and to hope to the hangover Gods I’d not be too bad on Sunday morning.
It was a hell of a day and I’m not sure what we could have changed to improve it. It’s the sort of day you’d think would take ages to top, but Wardy will have more on that when his hangover from Frome wears off. It was the sort of day that we’ll not forget in a hurry, and the sort of result that could end up being pivotal as the season nears its end and fine margins are likely to decide the gap between a playoff place and another certain season in the Southern League. There are still going to be a couple of turns on the journey to get to a playoff place but hopefully we get there. And at least for the return journey Steve will have his sat nav handy so Leanne knows when to put the oven on. SV
