Tuesday 4 April 2017

Ducks there for the roasting, make do with gentle plucking

.......... Help..... Help..... Someone let me out!! Kev?!? GARBO!!! I'M LOCKED IN!!

I'm writing this, shivering in the top left corner of the PRE. The last thing i can remember is Curo lobbing the ball over the advancing ballbag guardian for the Aylesbury Ducks, Cameltoe, and onto the roof of the net, only to be flagged offside anyway. It would appear i then slipped into a coma. I can't even blame it on the copious amounts of fried food from the F.A.S.T hut, i passed on the free burger and chips, saving myself for the wife's seafood platter, but here i am with 327 missed calls and my left arse cheek has gone to sleep.

If my recollection serves me, hopes were high going into the game, Hanwell given a right royal going over by a big Cox last time out, smashing it in three times, and Perry even had a quick stab at them too.

And low and beholden, within 120 seconds, The Hoffen had out muscled a defender three foot taller and 5 stone heavier than him, turned him like a weak willed Maggie Thatcher, and buried it at the near post. 1-0 Boro and it looked like the goal difference would get a boost of the like last seen being dunked into my half time cup of tea at Fleet Town.

Aylesbury United were primed and ready for an orange to be shoved up their arses.
They were ready to be shredded and served up with some cucumber and spring onion.

Alas, that was as exciting as it got. The delivery man came earlier than expected and frankly, it was a bit of a..... well..... lame............ I'll let you finish that one.

If anything, it could have been a completely different Duck Tale, as instead of Ayles-burying them, the United of Buckinghamshire rallied and took the game to Boro and had a couple of sights at goal, but their shooting was as accurate as a pissed up poacher and the defence was as tight as.........Scrooge.

Well, for about 15 minutes they did. I think. I found this really funny video of an Australian farmer talking to his sheep, and one was called Kevin, and he kept calling him a cunt ha ha ha.

Anyway, the long and short of it, or The Butcher and The Hoffen as we like to call them, weren't quite firing on all cylinders, so it was time for the arrival of the legend, the myth, the diminutive banger in of ballbag bulgers, Jamie "Curo, Curo" Cureton. Huzzah.

He replaced Mixu with about 20 minutes left. Ish. Maybe more, maybe less, to be honest I'd been trying to remove a large lump of chewing gum from my shoe, and the top of the seat in front of me just wasn't doing the job.

On the plus side, with El capitan, CJ "Pammy" Fearn on the sidelines with a knock, the defence held out with a plomb, Keith "Reggie" Emmerson back in his position of (the Boro Walk's) choice at left back was in his most imperious form for a while, generally used as the utility man, Reg the Ledge is at his best giving no quarter to the prick at right wing and going on one of his trademark barraging runs into the enemies half.

In truth, we had their​ ducks in a row, and we failed to finish them off, although in the last ten we had them on the ropes, tied round their flippers, and hung them out to dry for target practice. Unfortunately, the combo of little and little didn't quite put the finishing touches to the score, their Ho-Sin was the final ball.

End of the day, when all's said and done, when the whistle blows, we've won a game of footy, huzzah. Playoffs in the bag.

It's frickin freezing out here, Mini Me, but i should really stop talking to my penis. I'm going to go and see if anyone's left in the clubhouse and maybe even get a pint full of Farney's own brew.

Next up is a trip almost as far as the Watford Gap, i think, Bedford maybe, to play a rearranged Tuesday nighter at Kempston Rovers, where we might be able to talk about a whole game of football instead of falling unconscious.

As always, COME ON YOU YELLOWS!

Saturday 1 April 2017

Home, Hosed & Hanwell taken Hat-tricks

So the next destination on the SLD1C sat nav was the picturesque surroundings of Burt Reynolds field. After trawling the cashpoints of Farnborough for any that were actually working (5th time lucky!!) we'd eventually pitch up to second base with minutes to spare thanks to the further joint thwarting efforts of the M's 3,25 & 40. The sun was out, we'd 4 away wins on the bounce, I had a new pair of pants on and Hanwell were averagely mid-table. If that's not a recipe for an away day bonanza, I don't know what is.
A soiree into the bar to quickly offload some urine and gain some refreshment took an interesting turn as frequenting their Victorian school house bar was none other then half man half horse 'Boro legend amongst men Chris "Disco Pants" Boothe. Wish we could see more 'Old boys' at the games, appeals to us more nostalgic soppy bollocks types. Quite how the hell he looks the same age, as us, even though he must have about 15 years on us... is more of a mystery then Mrs Browns Boys.
You didn't need telling that it was a Boro die-hards procession as the noise coming from behind one of the goals was the familiar ranting of mass PREportions. A quick tweet to announce our arrival and it was time for the opening pitch... which looked VERY dry, dusty and bobbly. Combined with the abrasive breeze, it had all the right parts for an absolute non-league barnstorming goal-fest.
Team news... following Gillette-gate last week and the subsequent ostracising of Eddie, the eagle had flown. With that in mind Spencer clearly wasn't taking any prisoners and it was a 3 pronged attack from the off.
Take the game to them and win it early was clearly the order of the Day. That said, nobody told any of the players this as we found ourselves generally struggling to get a foothold in the game for the first 20 mins. Lots of hoof ball, loose passes and the like didn't suggest this was going to be one for the footballing connoisseurs among us. We were just about shading the territory and possession when the Hanwellians gained a soft free kick (yes, another one!) about 35 yards from "René's" ballbag. Their player stepped up and swung in a pearl of a delivery, slicing the defence up like a battenburg, and ,managing to land the bounce in no mans land, left René between the proverbial rock and hard place. He opted to hold his dive anticipating a touch but, much like a shrivelled up group of appendages, none came and the ball sailed into the ball bag. Shit the bed. 0-1

We needed a reaction and, praise be to the God of David Leworthy, we didn't have to wait long. The reaction came quicker then "Clinton's" at a gang bang offering free pizza. We won a free kick about 25 yards out and "Fogle" flicked on 'accidental Beckham' yet again blasting one at the Mintmeister in the homer's ball bag. He could but palm it down as it's sheer wrath got the better of his subconscious and who else was there to pounce but Perry "The Hoffen" Coles. On the score sheet yet again, his delight only matched by the collective relief of the travelling Boro hordes. 1-1

If the game had been the opening hours of an elephant calf's life, we were moving to the bit where the junior dumbo had staggered to it's feet and realised it's surroundings were there to be explored, the beast was hungry. Boro were pressing like a rogue Corby sweatshop and had the Hanwellians on the ropes. Movement, passing and composure ensued as we wound up the coil and prepared to move to light speed. It was a sweeping move right through the heart of the defence which lead to the completion of project 'game-on-it's-head' a few minutes later. "The Hoffen" and "Butcher" laid on their Chuckle Brother skit (to me, to you) sending the centre backs into early retirement and a snapshot from the latter nestled almost evangelically into the corner. 
SCENES SCENES SCENES 2-1

No Time to waste as, smelling blood, Boro shifted up another gear. "Castrol" was given more space and time then a Doctor Who convention and crafted an incisive pass, finding "Butcher" who unleashed one of his award winning bangers into the ball bag giving the Mintmeister no chance. From nowhere we were suddenly borderline home and away dry. 3-1
Apparently he was on fire.... lucky we've got "the Fire Engine" I guess.
Quality told, like a tale telling snitch. HT 3-1

A switch to the other end for the second half and it was clear that the sea breeze was increasing in it's ferocity. 

Into the second half and Hanwellawella had obviously been given a dressing down from their management as a few of them came out with fire in their eyes. Unfortunately for them there wasn't enough room in this game for 2 narratives on fire so, a few minutes after "Clintons" was booked for having his foot kicked, Boro earned a corner after some neat "Clintons"/"The Hoffen" interplay down the left.... "Castrol" meandered down and fired in his corner unload and the ball seemed to catch everyone out, bouncing up and a crafty "Butcher's" hook saw the striker complete his raid. 4-1
There was a lot of talk on social media about how he was some kind of Paul Mersonary figure for what happened with his departure from Fleet. We don't really understand what they meant, but if he's going to come in with that hunger and desire... we'll take it thank you very much. And to that wazuk who called him a "blunt instrument" on the message board this week... Get down to specsavers, there's a 2 for 1 deal on.

Soon after the completion of the trick of hats, "Butcher" was pulled off like a horny teenager and replaced by "GoalDen" and the hero obviously received a standing ovation from the travelling hordes.... principally because we were all standing anyway, but you know what I mean. As he found his place on the bench, the loving look from Spencer's eyes was a beautiful thing.... Now get that account opened at Cherrywood eh Patrick?!!!

"Castrol" was booked as the game fragmented. A couple of the home players seemed to not be happy at the pasting they were getting and resorted to some Neanderthal tactics. Understandably frustrated at the lack of opportunities that were coming their way. I won't bang on about the rest of the half too much. "The Hoffen" could well have had one or two, coming close like a blind gigolo delivering a facial. "Fogle" had another free kick effort which didn't trouble the Mintmeister. "The Salmon" and "Clintons" also having pops which were ultimately unsuccessful.

"Clintons" was withdrawn late on as frankly he'd put in enough of a shift dealing with their number 2's constant moaning. Number 2 very apt. 
"The Goat" came on and, in a moment that I thought really illustrated the developed togetherness of our current squadron, was chopped down by the now hot-headed number 10. At this point the collective disgust of the side turned them all into a load of over protective big brothers. Equally distributing themselves between checking on the lad, berating the ref and having it out with the chopper downerer. I don't know if anybody else noticed, but it warmed the cockles. Great work lads, great work.

There was still time for the same party to receive his second yellow for another silly tackle and he was given his marching orders. ("#RegTheLedge" was on by this point so probably could have given him some tips on said marching.) Shame really as I thought he was their standout player. 

"GoalDen" could have put the cherry on the top in stoppage time but sprayed his load over the cross stick. 

Oh, big shout out for stitched up Boro number 1 Aaron "the Slayer" Bufton who joined the singing behind the goal. There's nothing better then a Boro player showing his total and unrelenting efforts for the greater cause. We really hope to see him back between the sticks before long.

Anyways, 4-1... That's your lot. 5 away wins on the bounce!!! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. The heat was on in the car even though it was 15 degrees outside &, more importantly, my new pants remained unsoiled. Epic afternoon.



ONWARDS











Three squared deals a Day... Royston's spud-nick a point

Tuesday the 17th of January. The night when, for the majority of Boro's faithful masochists, we knew the title was more gone then your mum to Iceland. The freezing conditions, the thread bare side, the illnesses, the cold, the players stuck on trains, the traffic, the STD's, the second coming, the Spanish Armada, James Corden recreating the bloody truffle shuffle. It's well documented how everything went to pot that night at Garden Walk. Let's call a spade a spade, they shat on us from a height greater than Jim Wigmore on stilts that night. It's fair to say we fall into two categories as footy supporters. You're either the "I can't fucking wait to inflict our revenge on them" or the "Jesus Christ look how far ahead they are, we could get dicked all over again" type.
So with haunting memories and moderate hangovers, from a Friday night excessive 'throatal lubrication' session, it was into fortress Cherrywood for the rematch more gargantuan then Spencer's mansion. The champions elect versus the... well, something that rhymes with champions elect and is witty. I can't write all the bloody jokes.

The biggest quandary of the week had been the continuing saga of the Boro ball bag protector role. With the Slayer in stitches (not the kind brought on by reading one of our match reports) and our new youth/ressie lad having had his ankles done in like a Noughties gangster movie extra, the race was on for our Overlord to pull something off. He climaxed with the signing of Aylesbury United stopper-tunist Zaki Oualah. Baptism of fire for the lad.
Elsewhere Curtis "Mayfield" Osano returned from his stint in the Commitments, Jack "Mischa" Barton returned from his stint in Scrubs the musical and Dennis "the Fire Engine" Oli returned to a lit firework. Keith "#RegTheLedge" Emmerson, Jordan "GoalDen" Graham and Pat "Butcher" Cox returned to the wings, like a bunch of 70s Paul McCartney look-a-likes.
Call me a bitter ol' codger, but most of us were just relieved The Potato Peelers couldn't wrap up the title in our backyard. That would have been a harder pill to swallow then that time Bradley Pratt had tonsillitis and tried to neck a bottle of Viagra for a bet.

Into the action and it was Perry "the Hoffen" Coles who was the first to see things open up like a Boro wag's birthing Canal. Quick ball interplay from Scott "Castrol" Donnelly and Nic "Clintons" Ciardini opened up the Roystonionion deeefence, with a surprisingly limited amount of lubrication, but unfortunately "the Hoffen" fluffed his lines like a seasick pirate with a coke addiction and ballooned it out of the arena.
It would be quite a frantic opening flourish as the mighty yellow homers took the game to the visiting whitey Crow-bar-stards. More half chances then you can shake a stick at. Zaki "René" Oualah was happy to take his customary first soft handle of a sCrowtal headed attempt.
So with things looking reasonably positive it was obviously inevitable that the visitors would sculpt a gem of a move and end up slotting home into "René's" ballbag. 0-1. FML.


As Boro heads went south for the winter, the Crows got their tails up and started to play a bit. It should have been 2 a few minutes later as a fairly innocuous free kick was floated in from somewhere near the halfway line and Josh "the Salmon" Huggins rose like the proverbial but could only knock it into the path of an onrushing white shirted man who rather politely thrashed at the volley like a Donald Trump tantrum, sending it goalwards with the ferociousness of a paralysed hamster.
Into the 2nd half and "Fogle" Beckham was at it again, this time trying to inflict a ball shaped hole through the keepers sCrowtal region from 25 yards out.
A couple more soirees into the Boro box as Royston tried to press home their momentum, but Boro held more firm then a hooligan element fringe. Another lovely piece of movement from "the Hoffen" again set "Tiny Dancer" quickstepping down to the bisexual line and his cross was met by "the Fire Engine" giving it the full blue flashers... fortunately for the Crows though, the keeper was able to palm it out for a corner.

Next to have a crack was their behemoth Frater train defender trying his luck from a free kick. That guy was a fucking beast! "René" would have been pleased to see it drift wider then "Reggie's" hairline. Couple more half chances came and went for the visitors which we managed to see off with some plums.
Redemption wasn't far off as "the Hoffen" found some space to turn and look up, allowing him to find the galavanting unmarked procession of John "tiny dancer" Oyenuga foxtrotting down the wing who then slotted it into the path of the onrushing "Castrol" who fired the ball deep into the ball bag. Top notch stuff. 1-1

So game on and both sides looked more than capable of being next to strike another notch on their 'Goals for' column shaped bedposts. "René" getting two good hands on one that was sprayed right down his throat and then "Mischa" Barton ended a lively Boro move by firing a trickler in which barely made it into the 6 yard box.
With the massive clock ticking down into the last 5 mins of the half, we had a FK for which Sam "Fogle" Pearce went into customary 'Accidental Beckham' mode and sprayed his load into the top corner only to be denied by the ballbag protector's finger tips and the big white erection stick... luckily, for the vociferous Boro faithful, "Mayfield" was galloping in like an unwieldy ostrich and had free reign to dispatch his massive header into the unguarded ballbag. 2-1!

Roysters came back at Boro once again and another shot blazed narrowly over the angry bar. Nothing further to add... We were only bloody winning at HT.... 2-1
Good half of football that... top 2 sides in the league by a mile. Saying that, both defences looking about as watertight as New Orleans.

Heading towards the hour mark and Boro were caught out doing some weird dress rehearsal for their new Broadway offering "football players do musical statues". A couple of neat passes and a cross sat up to the back stick and suddenly we were all square again. 2-2

Subs came and went on both sides but the tempo maintained like a retired horticulturalist's front garden. As we moved into the last 20, the undoubted highlight of the afternoon was about to unfold as, following a corner and some head tennis, the ball fell into the path of "Castrol" who wafted a bizarre half volley up into the air in the direction of the keeper's head. The ball seemed to remain in the air for what felt like an eternity and, in bizarrely comical fashion, the ballbag protector had actually fallen asleep... thus allowing the ball to gently slide from his angled palms down into the grateful path of "the Hoffen" who dispatched with his usual majestic clinicality. Unfortunately, for the visiting number 1, he was woken by the euphoric merriment of the PRE. Red faced!  3-2
Boro's tails were now up and they were ploughing on looking for the killer blow. A nice segway down the left from "Clintons" and Pat "Butcher" opened the visiting defence up once again like a packet of pickled onion monster munch, making space for sub "GoalDen" to release a curler which veered agonisingly wide of the ballbag stick. "Butcher" then unleashed his smart price Maradona routine with a marauding run across the area only ruined by his final shot having the venom of a comatosed earthworm, which trickled into the thankful grasp of the keeper.
As the clock ticked down to the 90, the Boro bums squeak-o-meter was reaching 'Alan Ball after dinner speech at the national convention of helium inhalers' level.

Into injury time and a free kick, softer then a Mr Whippy convention at an erectile dysfunction clinic, was gift wrapped with a sodding bow on the top to the visitors by the pilchard in black. Everybody held their breath as it was wafted in with moderate speed and height at "René" who, mysteriously, suddenly lost the flight and trajectory of it, like a pissed up bird watcher with conjunctivitis. Ball nestles in the corner. Howler. FML. 3-3


We should have got over the line but, let's be fair, it really doesn't sodding matter as we're going to finish second either way. It was a good performance, with plenty of fight, against the best side this tinpot excellent league has to offer. We'll take losing the 2 points if it means clinging on to a narrow lead in the playoff semi or final.

So nearly a Murder of Crows... downgraded to SpencerDaylight fucking robbery.
ONWARDS.