Tuesday 26 September 2017

St Ives Wives put to the..... Sword?

So we'd travelled north to the Shire (King's Langley), through Modor to Gosport, rung our sodden pants out into the volcano and  had a weekend off to save the tyre rubber, shoe leather and the bank manager giving us more shit for spending all our money in BP garages up and down the South East motorways and A roads. All we can taste is Ginsters, Fanta Lemon and Polos.

So to the first of two consecutive homes games, one after the other, four days after the other and no away games inbetween. On this run of games that were infinitely winnable we've scored seven and conceded just two, albeit we scored all seven before we conceded any and basically gave those away like an unpopular school kids virginity.

Devastating news before our Hampshire Cup tie at Fleet (which we don't really give a shit about until we get a semi) was that Dan "Football Focus" Walker was going to be recalled once his month loan was up. St Ives was to be his swan song (what the fuck is a swan song?!?) but fortunately they had brought their wives and Dan was ready with his big swinging dick to fuck them senseless. (Really got to stop with the weird sex metaphors)

Curo was on the bench as Walker was given his place in Spencer's favourite 4-3-3 alongside The Hoffen and Mustard. Glen "Fister" Southam has made the centre midfield his own and with Richlist's match fitness improving he started his first game of the season after coming on early for Bellamy at Gosport. As The Salmon was returning from suspension and Hightower was fit enough to return, Reg moved into midfield. The Organ returned to right back with Truncheon on the left.

Confidence was high, but the disappointing last hour against Gosport meant confidence wasn't as high as it could have been but having been so dominant and scoring four in the first half against Gosport meant confidence was high. In the first half hour.

Going forward we were dangerous. Defensively we were dangerous. Hightower was sloppy, The Salmon wasn't match fit. The Kits of St Ives had the best first chance as it was the first chance of the game and it was a very good attempt. Cross, header, ooooooh just wide, close, phew!

Up the other end, freekick, cross, volley from Walker, ballbag protectors tips, woodwork. Ooooosh!

But we didn't have long to wait for the lead. Cos we scored. Huzzah. Soccer happened, Reg, pass, puts Focus Walker in, tight angle? Is it bollocks. Bosh. Smashed past the ballbag security chap. Woo hoo. 1-0.

But fuck niggles, we contrived to balls it up in a Salisbury manner. Very little minutes of time had past when their big centre forward number 9 dude chased after an actually perfectly timed pass and not offside like the 18 Yarders believed and attempted to change the referees mind by shouting at him incessantly. He actually deserved it very shortly after but at that point him and the linesman chap were spot on. Anyway, as Chilli Con Cairney came galloping from his goal he seemed to forget what he was supposed to do next and ran past the ball. Their prick couldn't help but laugh as he casual slapped the ball in the onion bag, much like he would in the second half with his elbow connecting with The Salmon's face. But again, more of that later. 1-1. Shit on it! A little light relief came as Fister very vocally questioned what Chilli may have been playing at. He had no answer.

From this point onwards in the retelling of this tale, the referee will henceforth be known as "The Cunting Bellend" or TCB for short. And he was fucking short.

We think the goals may have displeased him up there in his ivory tower as he then went on a rampage of cautioning every minor misdemeanour with the kind of power trip normally associated with megalomaniac world leaders with shite hair.

First up on this menu of fuck awfulness was booking Fister for a slight tete-a-tete with one of their management, who in all fairness was a bit of a jeb but didn't make much of it and all it needed was a make up kiss and promise of a reach around after the game but TCB had a quiet word with the six foot plus bloke in the tracksuit and booked little feisty Fister.

He continued his one man show for the remainder of the first half by booking the majority of their offensive players for talking back and kicking the ball away. You'd have thought they might have learnt their lesson after the first few but in their defensive one was for a shot being taken moments after the whistle being blown for offside. The guy was on a mission to make it the Referee Show and when a cunt like that wants it to happen, it happens.

A bit before half time, Fister was shown his second yellow card. A late challenge which the St D'Ives lad made a reet meal of was launched upon by their pricks and the bellend prolonged the agony just long enough so he could have it seared into his wank bank for later.

We saw out the half with Good Evans coming on for Hightower who had been as wobbly as a Weeble all game. Reg moved back into the back four to continue his ongoing audition for player of the season.

The difficulty with regaling a story about a game from Saturday afternoon is that Saturday night happened and several bottles of wine to yourself later and you're utterly bollock faced and everything from that day becomes incomplete and hazy.

Anyway, the good news is TCB must have had a nice cup of camomile tea as he calmed the fuck down a bit in the second half but the Ive'rsons smelt blood and attempted to use their numerical advantage. Fortunately, they finished about as well as a sad twat in his pants at a strip club.

Several opportunities that were too long and turgid to go into it in much detail but were attempts that they tried to expertly curl and they just aren't that talented to pull off.

Although we weren't much better at the other end as we clawed our way back into the contest and were eventually helped out by their big prick up top who introduced his arm to The Salmon's nose and was given his marching orders not before giving the ref an earful which probably just excited TCB more. On subsequent viewing it appears it was a straight red not second yellow which was probably a bit harsh but the result was the same if not the length of suspension.

Ten a piece and we fucking went for it. Clintons had come on at half time and looked twice the player he had been since the opening game at St Neots (which incidentally is looking more and more like a cracking win) creating several chances and having a few himself. A dribbler, a toe poke and a drive blocked by the ballbag protectors goolies.

Curo hooked one from the bye line and almost under the bar but the bruised ballbag bloke tipped it over.

Maybe it wouldn't come. Maybe it would be the first draw of the season. Fuck that, we still had Football Focus. A great cross from The Organ missed everyone but Clintons brought the ball down on a five pence laid it back to Focus, drop of the shoulder, onto the right peg, smashed it into the near post, onion bag buster. 2-1!

YYYYYEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS!!

The worry then was that we'd shit a brick and let them back in it but they were knackered and a bit clueless by then.

And there it was. Another win. Third on the bounce. Momentum.

We didn't have long to wait for the next game at San Cheerio. Dorchester were making the trip up the country.

This is actually being finished after that match but I won't spoil it for you. Like the News before Match of the Day I won't tell you the score. You don't have to look away now though. No come back.... I HAVEN'T FINISHED!!

Now I have. Thanks for reading. We won 5-0! Only joking!

As always COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!



Tuesday 19 September 2017

Gosport... records, hurricanes and consecutive away wins

Can you guess how long it's been since our last midweek away venture?? anyone?? I'll tell you.... 161 days. Is that interesting? I don't know, but there you go. With a promotion and an absolute shedload of 'Boro dedicated twitter nonsense under our blazers, since then, it was with a generous sprinkling of enthusiastic fervor that we headed out in the 'Boro mobile off down towards the seaside.
The 'google maps' factor had us cutting it finer then a last minute equalizer at the world professional tooth combing championships. Pressure? What fucking pressure. I think you all underestimate just how Andy Smart the M3 is now. We sent her a tweet and she lubed up and got ready to project us into her fast moistening outer slipstream. Let's be honest, we were just euphoric we weren't going anywhere near the M25. ALLELUJAH!
Oh, did we mention the weather yet? Jesus H Christ it was more relentless then Boris Johnson getting on the buffet at a bullshit convention. It was the most unsettled rain since Spencer took over.

The last 2 times we visited the Privett Hedge, a certain Sam "Fogle" Pearce captained "the (other) Boro" to narrow victories. Since then, however, Gosport have also been on the slide. Following their 2014 FA trophy final appearance, they've been dogged by financial problems and player turmoil (not sure what those things are). A look at the league table suggested they were still on the downward spiral. More defeats then Nigel Farage at elections. With our blistering(ish) goal frenzy at the Langley still fresh in the mind and our injury list reducing like a rich game jus, we all knew this could be a procession.

So by the time we pulled into the car park, and told the doggers to fuck off, we just about had time to bladder unload, into their unsettlingly small urinals, and get wood in the main stand. The painted partition lines truly were a thing of non-league fundamentalist beauty. In the blizzard rain, that stand kind of felt like the cast of scooby doo were about to run through and unmask the mayor as the villain who'd probably have gotten away with it if it wasn't for those meddling kids. That illusion was soon broken by their fantastically mobile DJ tannoy announcer. Ding Dang Do.

Team news? With Connor "Mustard" Calcutt (continuing his climb to full fitness), "the Hoffen" Coles (back from taking his mrs up the aisle) and Curo (chomping at the bit following his cameo on Saturday), the big news was that it was back to the holy trinity up top. The C-unit was being deployed. "Reg" and James "the Organ" Hammond continued their fledgling, yet impressive, partnership at the back. "Clintons" on the bench. With JR back from Turkey, Christmas had come early and we just needed the stuffing to commence.

Boro were into the wind in the 1st half, and we don't mean in the Ciardini post-curry fashion which you're all thinking. From the off, Boro had an energy to them. Some shape and structure in the middle and the passing was crisp and concise. That said, it was the hosts who had the first 'pop'. An effort from the edge of the box which "chilli con" Cairney did well to claw away. Fair play to the lad as these were shocking conditions for the defensive unit. From there though Boro clicked up a gear and, following a deft turn, "footy focus" Walker would out pace his marker and unleash a furious spunk unloader, beating the ball bag protector from a good 20 yards out. 1-0

With the sheer euphoria of that goal still fresh, we'd barely finished plucking the next round of splinters from our bum holes before we were on our feet again. There'd already been a couple of  right sided soirees more tasty then a 'Boro hollywood movie trailer by the time "Good" Evans set us off on a move which completely ripped the Gosport defence apart like "Reg" in a laser quest. The move resulted in Curo dropping a shoulder and dinking it over the stick man. Absolutely top notch bombing. (p.s. It wasn't Perry ffs)
12 minutes on the clock... 2-0?! What the hell is this. What? You want more? Well we didn't have long to wait. Boro continued to purr like a well greased mechanical cat and Curo, fresh from breaking his season's duck, could smell blood. His opener, top notch timeless front man shenanigans, would soon be completely eclipsed by what would follow. Another 4 minutes or so had passed and Boro, still pushing like a salt'n'pepa tribute act, pressed forward once again in their pursuit of the jugular. This time it was a move down the left which resulted in the ball being centred and dropping towards the edge of the box. Curo wound up his right peg and unleashed an absolute ripsnorter of a volley which nestled deep in the left hand corner, leaving the ball bag protector requiring counseling. 3-0
Much like the weather, Boro were showing absolutely no signs of letting up. "Footy Focus" was running their right back more ragged then our Brexit negotiating strategy and both "fister" Southam and his new mate "Winwood" Bellamy were owning the middle ground like a pissed up Lib Dem donor. Unfortunately a tiny little spanner was thrown into the works as the latter limped off after a strong tackle. Never mind though, we were 3 up and had "RichList" Forbes back on the bench. It was just after this that we realised we'd now gone a frankly obscene 9 minutes without scoring a goal. As we readied ourselves to start calling for the board to resign, a corner was floated in by the "fister" and who was there to apply a big dollop of yellow condimental?? That's right... "Mustard" was back in the goals with a textbook free header. Oh won't somebody think of the children. 4-0
By this point, with the momentum and clinicality that we were displaying, this probably should have been heading for double figures. Basingstoke had walloped them for 8 only a couple weeks prior let's not forget. As the players were resetting, after the 4th, there was a bellow from "Reg" along the lines of "keep at them, don't sit back, don't settle". That, coupled with one of us having a "we're not going to score anymore tonight" nostradamus type moment, would become the apex of the night.

I cannot stress how good we looked in that first 25 mins, albeit that was matched with how poor our hosts were. To be fair to them they really bucked up their ideas and got their house in order. They pulled one back just before the half hour, "Good" Evans getting caught out on the slip'n'slide, and they got another one 10 from the end, courtesy of us revisiting our shambolic marking at corners.

"The hoffen" had an uncharacteristic night whereby he'd probably have played all night and still not scored. "Footy focus" Walker started trying to take it around everyone, like that kid in the school playground whose parents drove a Mercedes and probably didn't love him enough, which really started to fucking grate. One highlight though, Chris "Johnny" Regis delivered his best performance in the Boro getup. That said, I'm only talking about the comedic fashion in which he wore his hood in the half time warm up, like he was hiding a gopher in there. He eventually came on but did his completely indifferent bambi display routine as per usual. FT 4-2

So there you have it. Raced out the blocks, scored a hatful, took our foot off the gas, lost our structure, stopped doing the basics, saw it out. A win, in those conditions, is a win though.

Turns out Curo has now notched goals in the top 8 leagues in England. Some debate ensued on Twitter and it appears the only other genuine claimant of this achievement is none other then Salisbury supremo Steve Claridge. This is made all the more ironic as he was sitting behind us as Curo bagged his brace. Small world. Quite what was going through Claridge's mind during the first 30 mins is anyone's guess. Something along the lines of "shit the bed, thank fuck for that" we're guessing.

So as we set off, dodging hurricane Hampshire, conversation in the car turned to squad evolution. We didn't really understand why "the Organ" was brought in as a right back, but switched to CB when we had Jay "Hucknall" Smith available, so guessed he'd be out the door sooner rather then later. Liam "Jagger" Stone has looked pony and been suspended, ill, on holiday and managing Swansea, so time to give Luke the 'chief ballbag protector' orb and move on. Also, enough is enough with Regis.

Back in the 'Boro, that brew never tasted better.... maybe @theBoroWalk brollys should be next.

2 away wins on the flippin' trot. Time to sort out that Cherrywood hoodoo now.
It's the Pants-shire cup next. Fleet away... that's exciting isn't it.

ONWARDS















Monday 11 September 2017

We are King's of the Langley

YYYYYEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS WE FUCKING WON!!

Thanks for reading.

No, but really, give us a break. We traveled through a monsoon to get to Gaywood Park, discovered on the way there that our starting eleven was minus The Hoffen and Curo, we had ANOTHER new player (hate to say we told you so), we had no natural centre halves in the team and then, when we got there, it started spitting and we didn't pack a mack. Fuck our actual life.

So Spencer had lost the plot and dropped our front two, had another brand new central midfield partnership and left Hucknall on the bench playing The Organ as centre half with Reggie (who can basically play fucking anywhere) despite being Tiny Prancer's replacement AND putting on loan midfielder 'Good' Evans at right back.

On the other hand, we'd been pretty toothless in our previous two matches in various stages of the contests, mainly the first hour against Slough and the first and last half hours against Salisbury, so the decision to put Easter up top to hold it up for Mustard and Football Focus with Clintons, Southam and new boy Bellamy, who is on remand from Aldershit, holding firm in the middle, did actually make sense. At least he was changing it up and trying to halt the slide.

As it turned out, Perry was off getting hitched so not dropped but completely screwed (only joking love, if you're reading this, which you're obviously not).

So whilst the wife was in Dunelms in Watford buying blankets, i was shivering my tits off and slightly moist in a gay wood.

First half, we did the job that we were intending, stopping them from playing. Unfortunately, we were so interested in stifling the Langleyians that we didn't really provide any forward thrust ourselves. Easter was more often than not isolated as Mustard went deep and Football Focus was pinned to the wings.

Clearly not match fit, Bellamy and Southam laboured like an overdue pregnancy, they toiled and worked hard but there was no spark. Clintons roving brief again failed to ignite and that left Mustard and Focus frustrated.

It took a bit of jiggery-pokery and moving Nic to the left that dragged their midfield about creating more space and giving everyone a bit more joy, and Robert's your mother's sibling we are camped in Kings Langley half like a Festival field of tents.

Once again half time arrived at an inopportune moment and we sucked on those oranges like lemons.

Part Two started, as it always does.
We had our peckers up and we started banging on their door like an over excited Hermes delivery driver.

First up, Mustard had a flicked header expertly tipped over the bar, and after new boy Bellamy had won the ball, he fed Football Focus who cut inside and tried to tee up Clintons but despite it being cut out, it fell for Mustard again who could only roll it wide tamely.

Enter Curo. The pitch that is. I love the guy but not like that. Easter Bunyan made way after working like a trojan horse, as in he was wooden and had lots of men inside him.

Bingo, best chance of the match falls to Focus after good work by Clintons and Curo, he cuts inside for the millionth time but blazes higher than a bong wielding hippy.

But it was coming.

It felt inevitable, and it was going to involve Football Focus. Once again, he gets wide out right and by now you'd think their left back would know what was coming, but apparently not as Dan cut inside on to his left peg but rolled it as softly as a Kleenex with Aloe Vera balm into the ball bag protectors palms.

You don't normally see Reggie get wound up on the pitch but as he chased down a Langley Lolloper the ball ended up off the byeline and the ref pointed to the corner, resulting in Reg going batshit mental at the jeb end in black. The corner nearly ended in Langley taking the lead but it was cleared and something else but as we were down the other end and I was starting to need a piss so wasn't really concentrating and I was getting nervous that they'd score and shit.

BUT, on came Richlist for his first minutes of the season after the Molesey mother fucker knobbled him in the last friendly. The difference was immediate and class finally told.

Mustard was as strong as an ox on a fuck load of steroids and held off several of their defenders and slipped in "Fister" Southam who made no mistake with a delicate dink over the ball bag protector. No disrespect to Fister but we didn't know if he had that in him but he put on the velvet glove and gave us the lead for the first time since the opening day of the season. 0-1 Boro. Woo hoo.

Naturally, we then feel a turtle head poking out and get numbers behind the ball in the hope of pushing it back up and not leave a skid mark.

However, it seems it was a master stroke as we lulled them into a false sense of security and hit them on the break like a cunt mugging a granny.

Unfortunately, it got to the point where my post half time tea filled bladder could take no more of the nerves and i was making my way up the bank towards the shitters when we fucking scored. I thought it was Curo as the players seemed to be congratulating him but it transpired it was Football Focus. I'm sure it was an absolute belter but I've no idea and there's no video evidence. Doesn't matter 0-2 Boro. Job done.

Bladder empty, and another great move involving Focus, Richlist and then finally Mustard got his reward as Forbes cross for Curo was blocked but it came back to him and he laid it on a plate like a big fuck off steak and Mustard snaffled it up. 0-3 Boro. Bish Bash Bosh.

Homeward bound with three points in the bag. THANK FUCK.

Next up was Gosport Borough. With all due respect, they are currently the whipping boys of the league and Basingrad gave them an eight star rodgering a few weeks back so they were there for the taking.....

Friday 8 September 2017

Not Sweet at Fucking All Cup: an unwanted five-fer.

With the end of days fast approaching, Farnborough are making sure we go out as miserably as possible.

Two braindead knuckleheads going face to face, but that's enough about Day and Claridge, if there's to be an apocalypse, the very least we want is to go out with a smile on our faces, and possibly our trousers around our ankles.

Normally when you talk about a five-fer it's either a nice surprise in your jeans pocket or five wickets have tumbled to a fast arm or sly flicks of the wrist.

Well in this case it's certainly a load of wank but it's not all our own doing. Bad luck, bad officialling and a bender into the far corner as someone else finishes us off. It's a whole hands worth of defeats leaving us feeling empty and deflated.

Oh for the optimism of that sunny day in Cambridgeshire as we skipped gaily away from the St Neots with three points tucked into the back pocket of our best shorts and belief that it's all going to be ok.

It might be, dear friends, it might be. But as the dark clouds roll in, summer is turning into the autumn of our discontent.

On Saturday just past, the great bastion of British sporting history, the Football Association Cup came to town. The streets had never been so excited. Not since Smyths Toy Shop opened has there been such a furore on a Saturday. Bank Holidays maybe, but not a Saturday. Would we get 500 coming through the turnstiles? Would we get a fucking win?!?

No and fucking NO!!!!

With more surprises than an extra special episode of Surprise, Surprise where Cilla rises from the dead like Jesus fucking Christ, ANOTHER NEW PLAYER is in the starting line up. Taofiq Olomowewe (or Pissflaps as we christened him) was at centre half alongside Hightower back from injury, thank Christ, with The Salmon suspended by his own petard (and the F.A), CJ injured, Reggie at a wedding and Hucknall out on loan, we were scrapping the big barrel of spares and releases.

Thanks to someone with half a bloody brain at HQ, The Organ's red card had been rescinded, withdrawn and returned up the ref's arse, so he was back to show us what he can't do at right back. Truncheon was on the left.

In midfield, Clintons was given the armband, and what appeared to be a wandering brief, and it was pretty brief. Johnny Regis was in the centre with "Good" Evans and Football Focus was given the much deserved, essential, blindingly obvious first start on the right.

Up top was Pinky and Perky.

Let's have it.

Unfortunately we seemed far more interested in receiving within the first twenty minutes, and Salisbury were more than willing to plough us senseless.

If was a bit like deja fucking vu as after giving us a damn good pummelling, they took in the lead, when their No.7 prick, who was pretty useful and had a delicate, gentle touch was given the kind of room normally reserved for wedding nights to stroke home from the left of the area, off the upright.

As with the Sloughing we were given on Bank Holiday Monday, it looked like the floodgates would open like Iris over Houston. And we did have a massive fucking problem.

However just like last week, it appeared that our opposition decided it was all too easy and removed their pedal from the metal. This time, on the stroke of half time, some head tennis across their back line let Football Focus in on goal and with what we believed to be his weaker foot and from a difficult angle he slammed it into the far post, and just inside the onion bag. Whilst we dislike the antics going on at Billericay, we'd like to get on our knees and thank Glen Tamplin for lending us Dan "Football Focus" Walker. He's been the one bright spark in this run of dark, dark, putrid arse water of results. Can we have him for longer please, Glen, PLEASE!!

Half time would have been a blessed relief on 42 minutes but now we'd have preferred not to have gone in for a brew.

BUT.....

For a tiny period in the beginning of second half, the God of Football shone down on our little club and the lead was not so much gift wrapped as it had been given the full Rowan Atkinson in Love Actually treatment. A hopeful Football Focus ball over the top to the Hoffen was too long, but Perry gave their centre half enough to worry about so he didn't notice the keeper legging it out of his area and he nodded it straight past him and towards the empty goal. The look on Perry's face suggested he considered letting it roll in, but his natural striker instincts meant he tapped it in basically on the goal line.

Somehow we were 2-1 up, and it was perfect timing for the inebriated, misogynistic bellend who had been sat in front of us in the first half making pathetic comments about Emily when she came on to treat Hightower who had taken a blow to head and needed glueing back together. As he strolled past with burger and pint in his chubby mits he was given a proper mouthful from some of our youngsters in the PRE. Fucking poetry.

That was where the high points of the day ended though.

Credit to Claridge's pricks they picked themselves up and came back at us. It was only a matter of time before the equaliser came and it happened in our box from a corner and the woodwork and Liam might have saved the first header and I could have watched the highlights by FCVideo but I didn't ok cos i didn't want to because shortly after the equaliser they scored the winner when their substitute prick cut inside and curled one off in to the corner of the ball bag. Fuckerty bollocks.

The metaphorical field we play on is strewn with cow pats from the devil's own satanic herd.

We can make excuses and some are fair but sometimes you just have to knuckle down and grind the results out and we aren't doing that at the moment. Injuries will ease slowly, Richlist was on the bench but possibly only to make up the numbers, but hopefully he'll feature against Kings Langley this weekend.

There's a run of fixtures coming up now against teams in, around and below us. Now is the time to pick up some vital points, starting with the trip to Hertfordshire on Saturday and then we go to Gosport on Tuesday, followed by a weekend off as the GIVE.A.FA-CUP plays out the 2nd Qualifying Round.

Both teams won through narrowly in the cup last week against inferior opposition, but then they may say the same about us when we're in the league above Salisbury but in truth there isn't much to separate us on a level playing field, but we haven't had one of them for ages, and I'm not talking about the carpet we play on at San Cheerio.

Mustard has admirably been trying to play when not fit and he came on very early on when Spencer decided he'd had enough of what he'd seen from Regis and Evans and yanked them off after less than half an hour gone. He'll hopefully be ready to go now and we'll need him at his best as that will make the difference.

Reg the Ledge should have shaken off the hangover from the Reception, The Salmon might be back we're not sure but we think Hucknall will return as the month is up and Ruzicka has gone back out on loan to Fleet.

But, let's be honest, who the fuck knows. We could have even more new players.

Something to look forward to anyway.

Won't even consider a prediction. Don't want to tempt fate.

We'll see you there.

As always, COME ON YOU YELLOWS.

Friday 1 September 2017

The Baker's dozen - A pain-au-shocker-late

Football eh? What a fucking arse clown.

When last we left you we'd just been on the end of a smash and grab from our old mo'foes from last season, the Royston potato peelers. Never mind, another Day, another dollar. The mild irritation of the Royston result would leave us with an immediate RedItch to scratch. I'm not going into depth on that one, partially because I was half cut and frankly don't remember a lot at the best of times. Suffice to say though, a drab first half of paint drying-esque proportions was compounded by a kamikaze moment of ninja 2 footedness from Liam "Jagger" Stone, right before HT, leaving us a man down, a goal down, a Curo down and right up a paddle-less creek of 100% pure organic shit. 

A well deserved "the hoffen" goal got us right back into it and had "Clintons" not fluffed his lines in stoppage time we might have somehow rescued a point. The fact they promptly went up the other end and scored, pissing all over our mini revolution, was neither here nor there really. It's not like the subsequent weekend was a trip to fucking Wales, against a team who'd just won 6-0.... Oh.


None of us went to Wales. It's a long fucking way, the traffic was shit and we had a game 2 days later. Don't fucking judge us. Anyway, a better start on the astroturf was ruined by ANOTHER man sent off, the salmon this time. We've heard that he was unlucky... to be such an angry bellend. The other major point of interest was the video replay appearing to show a ludicrous 1 on 1 where the Easter Bunyan was felled like an Elmer Fudd wet dream, only for the ref to completely bottle the decision. Boro eventually succumbing to all the goals in 3. Fuck it, we've had worse. Onwards.

At this point, we should probably add a paragraph on 'TinyDancerGate' which we exclusively uncovered the night before we marched into Europe....
Let's be completely clear on this. Footballers are ultimately doing a job and are perfectly entitled to try and earn as much as they feel they are worth, when the chances present themselves. That said, why do they have to be such cretinous shitheads about it. We're in step 7 ffs. John, you've brought us some great enjoyment the last couple of seasons, but you can take your gold tooth and shove it up your arse.

So that, rather unsurprisingly, brings us through to Monday just gone. The Reg & BHOLie, The BHOLywood tiny dance-off, the ol' bank holiday banger. A year ago it had been Fleet put to the sword by a heroic 10 men performance in a 7 goal thriller. This year it was the turn of the Slough rebelion to attempt to lay siege to the hallowed turf of the San Cherrio. This was a special one for many Boro fans, of a certain age, as former players Jon "Underpants" Underwood and Neil "The Master" Baker would return for a go in the oppo hot seats. During our recent years, of more unstable boom and bust then a fireworks and silicone implants joint venture, the Slough train has been picking up momentum and almost made their return to the connie south station last season, only falling short in the playoffs. They've got a state of the art ground and all the trimmings, decent crowds and will no doubt be there or thereabouts come the end of the season. Just what the doctor ordered!! (or not, as he was far too fucking busy dealing with our lengthening list of infirms).

Team news: Following Swindon loanee Jake "Good" Evans & Dan "footy focus" Walker in, both signed on 1 month loan deals before we dialled M for Merthyr, the teamsheet for Slough's visit would now also include James "the organ" Hammond and Glen "fister" Southam. Seems we're that fucking desperate for players that Spencer's had to call in favours on players who haven't played in months. But I guess desperate times, desperate measures and all that jazz. We all know Southam, but "the organ" is evidently a RB who's been at Maidenhead. Wonder who he's in for! Oh, and "Mustard" Calcutt was finally back in the starting lineup... how fit would he be?? who knows, we were just hoping he wouldn't get sent off to be honest.

Into the action and, well, calling a spade a spade... we were pretty much a big load of toilet from the off. Their big number 9 was the focal point for a lot of their forays into our final third and he was pulling our backline all over the shop like a subservient husband in the bank holiday sales. Reg had already had to make a couple of key interceptions and head one off the line by the time the visitors got their noses in front just after the 10 minute mark. A corner was sent in deep and our marking was about as effective as a one legged man in an arse kicking contest. Just the shittest type of goal to give away. 0-1

Minutes later we were at it again. The marking somehow getting worse. This time we got lucky and Slough could only spunk their load all over "Chilli" Cairney's wooden erection posts. As Boro continued to look woeful and offer about as much flexibility as Michel Barnier at the Brexit talks, Slough continued to thrive like a right wing agenda at Daily Mail HQ. Take 27 and another corner was floated into the trench and Boro's players, all busy in no mans land, surrendered another ball up for an effort on goal. This time though, "Good" Evans unleashed his evil streak and cleaned the shooter out. The ref, for some reason, decided to give Boro the benefit of the doubt, obviously feeling sorry for us fans at the amount of dogshit marking we were having to stomach.

It took a good half hour for us to make any inroads into the Slough-ber men's area. Some neat interplay on the edge of the box saw "Clintons" played in and, squaring up to the goaly, unleashed a solid daisy cutter which the ballbag protector palmed away. A couple of minutes later and, following some Messi style tekkers from Reg, the ball was "over the topped" into the path of birthday old man boy "Curonimo" who was frustratingly called offside. These were nothing but a temporary pausing of the narrative though as the next Sloughmans lunch of a chance came as a cross in was once again met by their big no.9 who planted his header right back across "Chilli" and into the bottom corner.... but wait, what is that... IT'S GORDON BANKS COME BACK IN A TIME MACHINE TO SAVE US.... oh no, "Chilli" has just pulled off a fucking worldie of a save to keep the score to 1. Proper bucket hands stuff. A couple of minutes later and super Reg was called back into action as we were ambushed yet again. Another ball into the box and some quick passing ended in the keeper being chipped and Reg doing his one man, solid head show. Never mind though, there was still time for Slough to pillage their way to corner number 87, but this one was hooked over the bar from close range. Somehow we'd made it in at only 1 down. Hopefully the HT teamtalk could involve sending out a search party for our midfield. Oh, and stop whacking it down field!! What a time to be alive. HT 0-1

Sooo into the 2nd half and Boro came out. Could they find that gear and get back into the game? Well yes, they could... sort of. First chance of the half, if we're calling it that, was a classic "Hoffen" chase down and, post badgering the defender, he looped in a cross which caught the ballbag man off guard and the leather came ricocheting off the crossbar. Balls.
Up the other end and the 2nd biggest talking point of the afternoon was about to unfold as another Slough surge resulted in "the organ" chopping down his man like a scrapyard bound totem pole. First off, it looked out of the area, secondly it looked like Reg was covering. BUT of course the ref sees his chance to propel his bizarre agenda into bellend status and so sends "the organ" back to the tuning shop. REALLY?? 3 reds in 3 games??? Jesus wept. 

But then that thing happened... you know, when the 10 men decide they'll start playing better because the world is against them. Step up Dan "footy focus" Walker. On his home debut, looking totally out on his feet, he sets out from the half way line on an almost Giggs-esque dribble, leaving around 17 KaiserSloughtown defenders retired in his path. To the bisexual line and an absolute peach of a cross is landed straight on to the head of "the Hoffen" who buries his header deep in the bowels of the ball bag's subconscious. The PRE explodes like a teenage boy at a thong convention. Sweet sweet justice.

The Easter Bunyan was on and had a chance to chest it down and bury us in front... but seemed to be suffering from some sort of hangover which made him unable to remember who he was or what he had been put on that big rectangle of grass for....

Buuuuut that was your lot. Boro continued to defend heroically as Reg (motm by a country mile) and "The Salmon" made goal line clearances and last ditch tackles galore. It looked like it was going to be enough as injury time ticked down. Obviously it would be another sodding corner that was our undoing, a free header down to the corner but thankfully "Curonimo" was on the post to heroically hook it away. But wait, a couple of appeals, as you do, and the linesman gives a goal. Was it a goal? who knows. Was there doubt? Of course there fucking was. He cannot see through players and was guessing, pure and simple. Tit. FT 1-2

 So there you have it. A tale of 3 reds, 8 goals conceded, 2 Hoffen strikes and a load of bellend officials. We don't go for all this conspiracy theory bollocks, we've just had a couple of stinkers. We don't need luck, we just need our spine back and fully fit. That's when we'll see this lot getting back to winning ways. Less launching it, more width, better marking at set pieces, win more second balls. Job's a good'un.

On to the FA cup. Just don't anybody say "we're due a run"....