Saturday 28 October 2017

St Ne-not-so-good AGAIN!!

The Southern League fixture computer spewed out a weird anomaly where we'd only just reached the second full month of the season and we were beginning to repeat the teams we'd played already. Half a league of teams to visit and be visited by and yet we meet the Nits from St Neots again, fresh from the ridiculous result at Hereford where football Gods looked down on us favorably and we came home from basically Wales with three unexpected but very welcome points.

The corner had been turned and two straight victories meant we went into the fixture with belief that this would be the first double in the bag.

The omens were not good from the off. Hurricane Bobbins was meant to disrupt the half time brew but it had been blowing a gale all day anyway so it what difference would it make. Part of the party pulled out last minute as his family had the plague so screeching in at five past three to discover my seat was occupied. It's a massive fucking stand there's plenty of room, leave my seat alone.

Wind chill up a notch, hand in gloves, I take my seat to see a rat faced, rat haired Neot-wit smack the bladder into the blue and yellow onion bag. Buggerations!

As has been the general curve of the form graph, the trend is for us to improve once we go a goal down and so it was. Where we let them have the ball before so we now took it off them and lay siege to the Moor Road End and Curo was brutally scythed down for a quick peno. Despatched with aplomb, one one.

That was really where the plus points ended to be honest. Maybe we thought after the mighty win and ridiculous clean sheet against a promotion favourite that we'd got it sorted, but we're still ill and the final cure is illusive.

We were Reg and Perry-less and Fister went off mid way into the first half, and despite Richlist being named on the bench, on came "Clamper" Willock, seemingly into a three up top with Curo and Mustard. This didn't really help. Maybe Spencer believed a formation change was needed now we'd equalised and were on top but it wasn't. Momentum shifted and before the break the lead was restored. One of a plethora of ridiculously soft free kicks was awarded when either the No.9 or 10 nancy boy felt a flick on his person and out stretched arms in appeal appeared naturally like a reflex.

Bollocks marking at the far post saw one of their pricks ghost in and clobber it just inside the post with a great degree of inaccuracy. One two, load of poo.

Half time pint gave solice and a few of the Neoters graciously exclaiming that San Cheerio was the best ground they'd been to this season, basically because of the huge fuck off PRE stand. Views of the M3 astonishing.

Mysteriously, Clamper didn't appear for part two. No explanation given subsequently but who knows. He could have gotten into his car and fucked off forever for all we'll ever be told. Probably another Spencer master stroke. On came Truncheon. CJ moved into the Reg position of play fucking anywhere.

Bugger all changed. Except the scoreline. The shitty Saints went 1-3 when one of the woofters inexplicably bamboozled Josh and Kula Cafer made the first of his two mistakes for the afternoon and seemed to be in a strange position for a finish that wasn't anywhere near the bottom corner but beat him all ends up.

Barbarism begins at home, and it's been an unhappy place bar two wins. Away sells sanctuary and we're better off with our backs against the wall.

We improved slightly but they also got worse. CJ chucked his hat into the ring for goal of the season by bending a beauty into the bottom corner from out on the left, cutting inside to his right peg. 2-3 whoopee. Half a chance.

No chance. We looked the more likely to score, Clintons began to sparkle and a few speculative sighters gave their ballbag protector more trouble than they should have and Curo probably should have converted a spillage but to no avail.

An up and under caught in Windy Willy and Kula was all over the shop as feather like No. 9 pointlessly chased it down. He felt something on his back and went down to his default position in the turf and ginger vicar in a tutu pointed to the spot. The bellend. 2-4 fucking bore.

Stop me if you think that you've heard this one before, but quite what the problem with defending at home is we can't put our finger on but it's getting on our tits. Attendance has been shared between the Boro Walkers recently and it's very fucking one sided for this particular one to see face bumming defeats. Of the past three home games I've seen we've shipped 16 goals. That's unacceptable. So naturally the next thing to do would be to lose two defenders. Brilliant.

Cheers Hightower and Truncheon. Thanks for buggering off when we're knee deep in shit.

The arsewipe that is the fixtures computer meant consecutive Tuesday night away games hundreds of miles away and sometimes it's just a step too far.

And so it proved. That M1/M25/M3 journey home after the injury time winner for the potato pellers after the last minute equaliser by Mustard would have been a right cunt.

Some F.A Trophy light relief followed and we beat Larkhall somewhere near or in the Bath. Lovely good soaping. Life, work, vomiting, felines and funds have meant the away trips have been few and far between recently but that'll change now November is upon us and some breathing space.

Another team we've heard of visit San Cheerio today. Kettering are currently 4th so it's going to be a Weymouth like test but we've had a week off so hopefully limbs have been rested, all suspensions  completed and, post Trophy win, morale is up.

As always, COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!

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