They say that moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do. So in a week in which I have moved both house and job, I was left a little stressed at times, and asking all the usual questions. What if I don’t like the area? What if I don’t like the people? Will I be able to find my way around quickly? Will I get bundled into a cell and taken hostage by 4 women (that is more niche to my employment, but nonetheless, a possibility)? Well the one thing I find this week is that no one in London knows where Dorchester is. Somewhere between Bournemouth and Bristol was as descript as it got. That and some of my new colleagues were baffled by the fact this small unknown town had a football team. My magpies scarf was the source of much amusement. So when the chance to join the lads on an outing to Havant came along, then why not go and support the team? So, on my first full weekend in London, I decided to go to Portsmouth to watch Dorchester play. And as a Pompey fan, seeing the team I support win in Portsmouth rarely happens. Sadly, this Saturday was no exception.
(Plenty of beers for a 1 hour journey)
The trip started well enough, no mad rush for the train, and tickets paid for the four of us. So, with frankly far too many beers in hand, and a seats with a table secured, we got down to the business of discussing some serious issues. Things such as just exactly who would play and where, pre-emptively awarding Alan Walker-Harris the MOTM award, and just how edgy had listening to Lost Prophets become since that court case. Other revelations in the discussion came in the form of Tom saying a shit on a toilet floor in a nightclub was his “type of anarchy”, Dr Melvin actually not being as bad as he was made out, Cam pointing out how “a sheep never changes its clothes” (not leopards and spots), and Fred asking Tom what his thoughts on Lady Gaga’s dress from in the week were. The latter of those being one of the more bizarre moot points of conversation I’ve come across in a while.
(Nothing says working class like Sport Direct cards)
A short taxi ride and a quick pint in the actually quite nice bar at West Leigh Park saw us all have a good chuckle at Manchester United’s expense as they surprised no one by losing at home again, before taking up residence behind the goal and watching Dorch wearing what would appear to be a kit inspired by the wrapper of a fruit salad penny chew. A look at the side (thankfully Phil himself was not one of the subs), and Cameron having a brief chat with Stuart Heath in the dugout, revealed that the team had travelled by minibus, Heathy wasn’t actually sure who some of the players were, and it was a side so young that they all had ordered Happy Meals at McDonalds on the way up. Despite the patchwork nature of the side, Dorch started reasonably well. A free kick in a good position that is quite possibly still rising and some reasonable possession meant a fairly even start. Not that it was to last as Dennis Oli, once of QPR, nodded Havant into a 14th minute lead.
(Obligatory behind the goal match photo)
After Havant saw a goal disallowed for offside (not that Fred noticed the flag), Dorch sprung a surprise by equalising with what was actually a very good goal. And excellent ball from Alex Godfrey saw Danny Way stay very composed, cut inside a defender, and smash the ball past Scott Bevan. 26 minutes in and the game tied up at 1 each, despite Fred still thinking us to be 2-1 down. Sadly, what followed for the rest of the game was less remarkable, as the expensively assembled Havant side with some standout players such as Shar Kabba and the very impressive Nigel Atangana (who they signed from some French team – as you do!) ran out 5-1 winners. The third goal just before half time really was a killer, and the second half saw the pace of Kabba cause many problems. With Atangana running the midfield, Dorch found themselves overrun at times, and rarely threatened despite trying to play decent football. 5 was harsh. With a very young side against a very experienced team with some very good players and a lot of football league experience, there was to be no repeat of Sutton a fortnight earlier.
With the players who were old enough to be allowed in the bar coming in before the journey home, discussion centred on how the club can force its way up the table. Well, winning games was the obvious answer. With big games against some of the sides around us coming up, all hope is not lost, despite the perilous league position. With no one team cut adrift (yet), and possible point penalties for nearby clubs (clutching at straws slightly), there is a lot that can happen in the coming month. The sight of us playing good football was encouraging; the 5 goals that were conceded were not.
Conversation then moved onto more trivial matters such as current WWE storylines, AWH’s views on just who would win out of John Cena and Randy Orton, my work (I’d love to say more, but find myself prohibited from doing so by the official secrets act), and AWH’s unfortunate pen pic in Havant’s programme of him lying in bed at DCH. The train journey home was a more mundane affair, mainly as I tried to sleep in first class. But being the upstanding citizens that we are, we did allow a woman we met to have one of the beers purchased for the train. Who says chivalry is dead? In return for said beer, she found herself having a photo with us whilst holding a Dorch scarf. The lucky, lucky lady.
So with a latte and a double cheeseburger in McDonalds, (where Cameron got told off by some Eastern European lady for throwing chips around – a case of mistaken identity though. It was me.) the day ended. The score line gave no hope, the performance offered a glimmer. Some tidy football was played, but more than tidy football will be needed if the club are to stay up. I for one will checking Phil Simkin’s twitter account to see which honest players he get’s to battle in the trenches with him, as the festive program gets going. SV.
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