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.....

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.

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"....

Royston the bogeyman

Well well well!! Play average and nick a clean sheet and 3 points away from the San Cherrio?? This step 3 stuff hasn't changed much since the last time we were here has it... was the main over cocky refuge of conversation post our victorious return from Cambridgeshire on Saturday evening. That said, thanks to those fixture arranging bellends at the southern league, our first homer would bring our old adversaries from last season back into the frying pan to try and continue their stretch as main protagonists in the 'pain in our arse' saga.

Ohhh hang on, first thing on the agenda though... Massive news from TheBoroWalk towers...

Anyway......

Keen to come along and inspect the tinpot egg cup they were so cruelly robbed of, at the end of last season, Royston rocked up to the hallowed turf of the RCS still in search of their first step 3 points after succumbing, at home, to Stratford Town on day 1. Both our results could well have gone either way so the laws of physics suggested this game would go 1 of 2 ways. Absolute goal-fest or squeaky bum nail biter. 

Team news? A case of as you were as the Molesey(you-next-Tuesday) effect still weighed heavy on the Boro line up with Mustard and Richlist forced to remain dormant. 4 subs again, with no real attacking options on the bench. We knew Royston were rigid and strong, like a phallic shaped set of brass knuckles. The hope was that we wouldn't get drawn into an up and under battle again as otherwise we'd really need to employ some sort of trojan-like horse effort for our little chaps up front. For the Royston potato peelers, a few new faces were apparent... but plenty of last seasons guard to evoke the nightmares of that brutal ball freezing night back in January.

Kick off came, following the indignity of the salmon losing the toss and having us kicking into the PRE. It would be the Roystonians who'd have the first semi sighting of the ballbag a couple of mins in when they found a few acres of space in behind "Ceejfax" Fearn, thankfully their frontman ballooned it like a clown at a job interview though.

Boro settled quickly once again, free of the burden of the chase which weighed so heavy at points last season. Cutting in from the right, Clintons rattled a sighter which caught the defender and meandered out for a corner. He got up to bend the resulting set piece on to the head of the salmon who still could not conquer the stream, heading high and wide.

Next came the move of the half, Reg setting things off to Clintons who sent out a heat seeker to the tappy toes of tiny dancer, down the right wing. He cut inside and set the hoffen on a surge, his final effort being somewhere between a cross and a shot, drawing multiple "ooooooohhhhhs" from the peckish PRE.

The Salmon was in usual angry bastard mode and picked up a yellow card to add fuel to his fire. I didn't see it as I was watching a kid walk down the side with 2 hot drinks, waiting to earn myself a £250 cheque from You've Been Framed. I'm told it was a touch heavy though. Shocking.

That was just the starter in the 2 course a la carte menu of disappointment which was being served up in quick succession. The resulting free kick was bundled over the top and a poor clearance from Johnny Regis and then The Easter Bunyan losing his man allowed someone called James TinPotton to steal in and ram one past Jagger and in to the corner of the brand spanking new ball bag net. 0-1

These things happen, nobody panic. Play our game, it'll come, game of 2 halves, put the ball in the onion bag, don't tell him your name Pike etc etc.

The Hoffen, still hungry for some touches found a quarter of an inch of space out on the right again and whipped in a centre which one of their big back lads headed juuuuust over. 

The Easter Bunyan then cranked up a gear as he did well to work himself in to shooting opportunities on 2 separate occasions. First gobbling up a shoddy goal kick before ultimately dragging his shot wide, before a nice move with Curonimo set him up to blast one into the top corner, but he opted for a side foot 'placer' delivered with about as much venom as an impotent earthworm.

Boro finally had the ball in the net on the stroke of HT as Clintons threaded it through to the hoffen, who'd be hanging on the shoulder of the last defender like a giant bag of oven chips. Unfortunately the linesman decided to 'play by the rules' and stuck his big old bellend flag up his arse.

That was pretty much it. We'd done well at the back, goal aside, but had been somewhat disjointed at times in the midfield. The lofted balls were not working against their rock hard spine. Needed more width and to get Clintons and tiny dancer running down their full backs. HT 0-1

Into the second half and after the visitors finally picked up a card for persistent bellendy-ness, Clintons took matters into his own hands and, robbing them around the half way line, finally surged at the shocked right back, beating him hands down and distributing a centre not seen since the Lib Dem gains of 2010. The Hoffen's run was absolutely perfect and it seemed an odds on ballbag buster... unfortunately their stick man had other ideas and managed to clamber it wide. Balls.

Boro continued to work hard, snubbing out any creativity the Roystonians tried to muster. The other BIG opportunity came towards the end of the half when a free kick was whipped in deep and high and "hightower" Saville rose to the summit, heading down to the far post. Again what would have happily nestled, on any other given day, was clawed out to safety by the ballbag stickman. It was at that point that the sinking feeling started to set in something chronic.

There was still time for Curonimo to unleash a rasping right foot half volley from the edge of the box, in the final moments, which dipped like a rich tea biscuit in a steaming cup of PG tips. It beat the keeper but also beat the crossybar. His reaction was just about spot on for us all.

Injury time brought Jagger back peddling into his own post when one of the boneheads tried to lob him... then Boro had 2 corners right at the death, the final one involving our full 11 in the box. But it wasn't to be. Our visitors clearly exuberant with the smash and grab and indeed their first ever points at this level. FT 0-1

Summary. Well it's true, we did play well, on the whole, and didn't deserve to lose. The Royston juggernaut, which hammered 8 past us last season, was pretty much completely nullified. Our centre backs had the visiting strikers in their back pockets, goal aside, which was evidenced by the multitudes of offsides across the 90 mins. 

Minor gripes from this old git? Their full backs had strokes when Clintons and tiny dancer ran at them. We had to be more persistent with the width and allow them to do what they do best.... cause confusion, damage and opportunities. They're 2 of the finest wing-masters in this league.

Less of the balls up in the air, it was clear their CB's were going to carry on winning headers against our little fellas. Also, why was Ceejfax at LB when we had Truncheon and/or Clintons and/or Reg to do that role?

Finally, no attacking plan B from the bench is frustrating (yes I know, budgets and all that). 

That is all! 

On to Saturday... LET'S CREAM THAT REDITCH!!

#UpTheBoro

A drop in the (St.) Neotian

The 12th August would go down as a frantic day at TheBoroWalk towers. Primarily because, at the start of the day, it looked like we'd have absolutely no representation at our historic opening day fixture back at step 3. The lottery of the summer hols 'holiday-offs', with the relevant *wives/offspring/work/time travelling companions (*delete as appropriate) left our numbers dwindling like Glenn Tamplin's brain cells at an infant school spelling bee. I know the idea of having your resources stretched, before the season has even kicked off, seems ludicrous... but surely it's just us. 😏(Ladies and gentemen... please enjoy our only blogger emoji of the season).
That said though, cometh the hour, cometh the WhatsApp notifications and out of the jaws of defeat came a plan. A plan so cunning you could stick a tail on it call it a 90's Norwich City winger. Thus it would come to pass that a combination of bribes, favours, lifts, spare socks, an ex-girlfriend's dad, a bbq pulled pork sausage roll and 3 asda bags for life would make the trip viable and mean that we were hungover and fucking miserable psyched up and ready for war.

The last week of pre season hadn't yielded too much in terms of positives. A narrow win at losechester, with Ipat Cox (ForALiving) sitting out on the overlords' "gentleman's agreement", wasn't very eventful. The trip to Molesey-u-next-tuesday turned into a massive flaming turd on the front lawn of our season as "Richlist" Forbes and "Mustard" Calcutt were cut down by a nasty little bellend of a trialist who we'll just call Max Molesey.

So as I sped into St.Neots train station, still catastrophically over the limit & looking to assemble a human leaning post for the afternoon's festivities, making it for kick off was still evens at best. That was in no way assisted by the small collective of half cut grannies, heading off to goodness knows where to do goodness knows what, who thought that the access road seemed to be the best place to congregate to talk about whatever the hell old women talk about pre getting on it. I'm guessing it was doilys, scone recipes & bloody foreigners. HOORAAH, there he is... "get in you prick, it's 10 to and I have a hankering for a Ginsters and a Yorkie. Hello Tesco Express."

Having nicked a late winner over Tesco Express (a), we descended on the picturesque surroundings of the  Premier Plus Stadium car park and, still in division 1 central autopilot, were very pleased to find a tidy little ground! Welcome back step 3, we've missed you. Nice little stand, lush shrubberies, plenty of well varnished sheds, a slightly sinister camera galley floating above a concrete wall... something for everyone!

Quick check of the team news confirmed the fallout from the battle of the Molesey prick. As feared, both Richlist & Mustard hadn't even made the bench. Chris "Johnny" Regis sprinted into the lineup along with other newly confirmed arrival, ball bag stopper, Liam "Jagger" Stone relegating "ChilliCon" Cairney to the trench bench. With "The Easter" Bunyan & Jack "hightower" Saville getting their debuts, it was certainly a case of out with the new and in with the new. Oh, and it was confirmed "Hucknall" Smith and Patty "woowoo" Ruzicka were off to B'field for a month.
Their goalie was called Emery so we played with some punnery around Dick Emery for a while and whether he'd be awful (ask your grandparents kids), until we noticed the ref was called Cheek. We pondered on whether he'd be an "arse" or a "turn-the-other".

A pretty frantic start as within seconds we were in their box and "Curo-ro-ro your boat" flicked a clever little toe poke down the stream which appeared to catch the defender on his sleeve holder. Pen? Seen them given, but the ref decided to turn the other.... oh, you know.

The hosts had their first meaningful soiree into the Boro box a couple of mins later as Clintons got maneuvered by their big no.7, he rounded Jagger only to find Clintons back on the line thwarting him with his notable girth.

Boro continued to show some cojones and forced a couple of corners. Notably "the Salmon" Huggins connecting with his first headed sighter of the campaign. "Tiny Dancer" Oyenuga took up where he left off last season, terrorising defences like a Jamaican backyard pyromaniac. It was one of his foxtrots to the bisexual line which resulted in the first glorious ceremonial bulging of the ballbag. His cross arrowed it's way in across the box and, spying his name up in lights, the Easter Bunyan took aim as he saw glory beckon. Then, in a show of unrelenting selflessness, he spotted Clintons surging into prime location and skillfully dummied* the ball into the path of the on rushing legend who coiled up his right peg and unleashed a curler of sickening clinicality. (*thanks for the tenner Matt, definitely not an air-shot-shanker). 1-0 Boro

That was sort of it in terms of meaningful Boro chances for the half. The Easter Bunyan picked up a booking for what we'll call a "team foul" after about 25 mins.

The Saintly Neotians continued to press but appeared to have left their final ball back in their pre season notes. Jagger putting on a solid performance, between the sticks, as and when required. Reg the ledge made a sublime last ditch tackle right on half time, that got a hearty round of applause from the readying snack bar faithful. HT 1-0

Were we good value for the lead? Yes, we scored one, they didn't. I guess that's soccer eh folks. Were our bums starting to squeak? That's affirmative. Were we gelling like a footballing superpower? Not really no, but it was our first game so fuck all of that, we just wanted to sodding win. I really was very hungover.

Chips in our bellys it was on to the 2nd half. First 15 was mostly them probing. Jagger made a save or two. Again, more shit balls in our final third was making them seem more wasteful then an obese belt convention.

Curo could maybe have done better when some hoffen/Reg build up play presented him with a header which he couldn't steer on target. We especially enjoyed the Reg blockbuster, a few minutes later, which, from our angle, seemed to move in the air like a ballistic missile. Ballbag protector did well to get his boots in the way.

"Truncheon" Hutchings and "Mischa" Barton took their places via some latter substitutions and, credit where it's due, we held out pretty valiantly in the face of some, at times, sustained pressure. Top marks go to the salmon for leaving nothing in the changing room. FT 1-0

Summary... not a game for the purist really. The Salmon and Cap'n Ceej looked solid, tiny dancer and Clintons looked dangerous when they could find the space and Reg continues to look solid as a cock. "Johnny" Regis needs to calm down a little and I'm not sure how effective the up and unders will be against the better defences of this league. That said... 1st day of the season, long old trip, 3 points, clean sheet & clear motorway the whole way back to 'boro... you cannot argue with that. Unless you're a really fucking miserable sod. We're just miserable sods.

It's the Royston potato peelers next.... that'll be fun.
Oh, we were due to empty out the business account too. Sponsorshit time... 

#UpTheBoro

Don't be tinpots in St.Neots

So here we go again. Another 9 months completely bereft of controversy and incident whereby nothing in any way noteworthy happens and we continue to not make any puns, write shed loads of absolute codswallop or talk about anything being tinpot.

Aaaaaaaand if you believe that, you're in for a long long fucking season my friend!

Preseason, in many ways, has thoroughly greased the cranking mechanism of that proverbial roller coaster we all love to hate. Signings, departures, mystery, spankings, a trophy, the rumour mill having us in meltdown, our overlord pulling off a couple of transfer coups and a reggae festival to boot.

Where are we off to first? St. Neots. No? No, us either... but Google is our friend and who doesn't love smashing the craphole out of some motorway to bring back all those memories of those glorious away days on route to us becoming the last ever team to go up from step 4, by finishing 2nd and winning an egg cup.

The Saints, as they're imaginatively nicknamed, are old hat in this league now having gained promotion back in 2012. Our very own Curonimo has close ties to the Neot'ians having been born in the same year as the original club was formed back in 1879.

So what do we know of the first team given the illustrious honour of welcoming us round their gaff? Well, not a fucking lot really because we're lazy fuckers. They've brought in a couple of the Barton lot from last season, so Connor "Mustard" Calcutt should be in full on banter-tastic mode during the warm up. They finished pretty low last season but have scored a butt load in preseason. They'll be gunning for us, so nothing more then our best will do.

Boro team news? The after effects of the bruising encounter with the Molesey knuckle draggers could have taken it's toll on the availability of some. "Richlist" Forbes, cap'n Ceej and "mustard" all were limping around like overworked prostitutes at a half-man half-horse singles night.
The arrival of Jackal "Fix-it" Saville (No, we're still in discussions with our legal team on where to go with that one), we suddenly seem heavy in numbers at the back. Wouldn't be surprised if someone's out the door before long. Will Spencer opt for his wingbacks or revert to a flat back 4?... Not a clue, not like he's going to fucking tell us is it. We're bellends with big mouths. Either way, "Truncheon" Hutchings and "tiny dancer" Oyenuga running the flanks most likely. Midfield is probably up for grabs more then anywhere else. The "Regis" factor could still come into play which, going on Molesey-u-next-tuesday, probably looks a good addition. Will the "Easter" Bunyan make his full debut? Hopefully so, because that's one of the finest nicknames we've bestowed up to this point. Front 3 seems to be the drug of choice again... and they pick themselves.

They're trialling a free minibus pick up service, from a couple of nearby pubs, are our hosts. That's non-league at it's beautiful best.

3 points please lads. Good luck. Let's fucking do this.

TheBoroWalk prediction : 6-4 'Boro

Squaddie.... Le Hants Tournoi... Ashford Eco Sport.... Winnebago-chester

The more avid of you readers will know that our first, ultimately pointless, words collective of the season left us dangling our testicles out of the car, on the newly completed smart M3, impatiently waiting for a long overdue squad update. What would 4pm bring??? Well, nothing as someone hadn't ordered more ink for the photo copier. A quick trip to Staples though and 4:26 would hail the revealing of the tasty morsels we'd all been eagerly waiting to gobble up like a carnivorous turkey at a post thanksgiving day parade all you can eat buffet.

The non-surprises? As suspected, armed forcing his way in as ballbag protector was Luke "Chilli(con)" Cairney. He was joined on the new bus by former Cambo-rambo unit Matt the "Easter" Bunyan. Both had already featured in the p-s BS.
On to the bigguns though... Spencer's only gone and got Curo back in. I mean... I think we'd all allowed ourselves to drift away and imagine it at intermittent points over the summer break, but to actually see it there on the screen was a thing of beauty. As we've said on numerous occasions. "He fucking loves it up the Boro". Welcome back Curo, evidently we can see what the rest of the non-league pyramid cannot. HE STILL SCORES GOALS FOR FUN YOU BELLENDS.
Probably the most surprising name on the update, aside from the confirmation CJF had signed his contract despite us being told he'd signed a contract weeks ago, was the unveiling of Kieron "Richlist" Forbes. Have to admit, this one came from nowhere. He played 28 times for conf south champs Maidenhead last season for goodness sake. Greatest coup since the Cuban revolution? Only time will tell, but with "Castrol" departing for his extra large plate of chips and ham, this was without doubt the most pressing area to be addressed across the squad.

Of the departees... Again, no great surprises. Curtis "Mayfield" Osano was taking a break from the game. Rumours were abound that he's being lined up to appear in the Indian version of big brother. We wish him well. We also finally got closure on Zaki-gate as it transpires his dream move to Algeria had fallen through. We don't know why, but to then be forced to trial at Basingstoke the following week is the epitome of insult to injury, so we wish him well... (Maybe at Whitehawk).
That left the massive white elephant of  'mandemonium' Pat "Butcher" Cox. He was still a Boro player and would be in the squad for the weekend. Frankly if you believed that, you'd believe anything.

The other HUGE announcement was this joint venture with the army, to service our training needs. Unfortunately, reading between the lines, this just meant we could borrow a tank to lift "Clintons" Ciardini out of his sun lounger after an over exuberant summer break.

SOOOO buoyed on by this rather fantastic news, the following day brought us back to the San Cherrio for the first time. With 2 games in 2 days, 4 if you fancied the other games, this was a veritable feast of localized soccer.  

"Richlist" went straight into the starting eleven and "Curonimo" carried on where he left off up top with Perry but with the added bonus of "Mustard" Calcutt playing anywhere along the line behind, above and below them. With the departures of Donnelly, Pearce and Osano, "Reggie" Emmerson started alongside Forbes in midfield and with "Truncheon" Hutchings on his holibobs or something, our esteemed leader chose 5 at the back with CJ, Huggins and Jack "Hucknell" Smith in a three with John "Tiny Dancer" Oyenuga at right wing back and Nic "Clintons" Ciardini on the left.

Despite a spirited start, the gulf in class became pretty apparent early on. HW won promotion to what was the Southern Division One Central last season and of course we are now back in the Southern Premier, so there is a difference and it told.

Across the weekend Perry and Curo hooked up like a couple of Love Island fuckers and on more than one occasions they finished each other off with aplomb.

On Saturday it was Curo that was the giver and Perry received gratefully. A hook over the top by Richlist set Curo away and he put it on a plate for The Hoffen to gobble up. 1-0.

It didn't take long for the second to arrive. A cleared corner was expertly but hopefully lofted back into the box by Reggie to the surprise of everyone but Perry, who anticipated it with sixth sense and volleyed it home. 2-0. Easy street.

HW were organised and lively and will be a useful outfit in Division One, but the passing and movement by Boro was too much for them.

Second half was much the same, one way traffic and a miriad of other clichés. The cherry on the cake was a sumptuous early contender for goal of the season. Perry picked the ball up to the right of the area about 30 yards out and curled in a cross that Curo reached to nod the ball back into the path of Mustard. Without breaking stride he hit it on the half volley on the edge of the box and sent it arrowing into the top right corner with his left peg. Booooooom.

The 5-0 badgering was completed by a Ruzicka (trialist) header from a Mischa corner and a Clintons penalty when he was the chicken and bacon in a club sandwich (three bits of bread, three players?!? Ah fuck off) and he picked himself up to spank into the bottom left of the ballbag.

Whilst we were in the bar post match (we would have stayed outside and utilised the new pumps in the F.A.S.T food hatch but it started spitting) Basingrad handed Fleet's arse back to them in a doggy bag, 6-1. So The "Dragons" it was in our first but by no means last cup final of the season.

The only difference to the Saturday was that The 'Stoke must've really hit the town celebrating their win as only the kids turned up on Sunday. We expected a test but it ended up being fucking target practice.

If there's one thing we learnt from this weekend it's that Perry "The Hoffen" Coles is solid gold diamond. He's the mutts dangly bits. Whereas the day before he was boffing them in the ballbag, Sunday he was a Pez dispenser. First up he chased down a lost cause, nicked it off their centre back and laid on a plate for Curo to slide it home.

Next, he hassled the midfield, turned infield and bent a beauty into Curo's path and he's not going to need to be asked twice, rounding the keeper liked he'd been doing it for 25 years. Oh hang on....

Two up at half time. AGAIN!

The third wasn't too long in coming. Reg got moved out to left back and was getting bored so he took a quick free kick and fucking leathered it onto the toe of trialist "Kleenex" Andradry, he slipped a peach into the box and Clintons tapped home. Opposite to the Spice Girls, Three became four when Hucknell flicked a perfect Perry corner into the far post.

We equaled our tally from the HW game when a poor clearance was knocked back into the box and as the Stokers watched and waved at the lino, another trialist, Everett (or Kenny as he'll now be known) looped the ball over the ballbag protector. Nice finish.

And we went one better when Ginger Jack got his noggin onto another corner and buried a bullet header into the onion bag. He's already taking The Salmon's mantel as numero uno plonker in of headerererers.

So that was that. As Spencer would say, it was minutes into legs and lead into the pencils.

Ashford of the sexers from the centre ground would hopefully put up a bit more of a bloody fight, and so it proved. The only change was that Reggie had gone for a few days off after completing 180 minutes in two days so Matt "The Easter" Bunyan was in.

A close first half resulted in only one goal, no prizes for guessing who, so I won't bloody tell you.

Going in at the break in the lead and with no goals conceded lead us into a false sense of security and we bloody let them score. Funnily enough it was some prick what done it.

A bit of jeopardy was just what the doctor ordered as we need to be able to come back and win when brought back down to earth but when you've got Perry Curo up front you know there's a pretty darn tootin good chance you will do just that. If this preseason hasn't left every defence in the Southern Premier shitting their collective pants at the thought of coming up against them then.....well they bloody should be.

A Tiny Dancer solo sojourn slalom round the static shitty sexers defence that made Maradona's against England look like a fat, drug addled prick waddling at Kenny Sansom and Terry Fenwick, added the "icing sugar" to the cake.

3-1 it finished, a little flattering maybe but you aren't going to pass up the chance to put a shine on proceedings.

Before we made the trip down the M3 to Winchester we discovered that the worst kept secret in North East Hampshire was true. They're putting a Nando's next to Stinky Sisters in Kingsmead. No, sorry, not that, twas in fact that Pat "Dead as a Butchers Dog" Cox was on his way to our hosts to join the rest of the good ones from Fleet to form a super group. Good Luck Coxy. Maybe see you next season.

In coming news was that the cryptic "defender we're looking to sign once he's fit" was now fit and we'd looked and we'd liked and we'd gone and done the deal with St Albans for another bloody Jack. Jack "what could we possibly call him" Saville. Very exciting. We should never have doubted you Spencer.

We couldn't make the trip to the old capital of this great nation because we had shit to do before the real stuff starts and/or we fucked off on holiday.

In a nutshell, because we had our eyes and ears there for us, we won 1-0, it was Curo's turn to score today, we weren't great but the defence looked solid with Saville round the back alongside CJ and the Hugster. Truncheon was back on the left and we had another new midfielder. This time next to Richlist was a chap called Chris Regis, apparently recently released by Colchester. Also, Liam Stone was between the sticks instead of Luke Cairney so it's looking likely will see him in the squad by the time we take the trip to St Neots on Saturday.

We'd love to tell you more, but our mole was otherwise engaged and distracted by his guest to the game so we don't have anymore for you.

You may be lucky and get a preview of our opening league game but you might not. Put a gun to our heads now though and we'd say Spencer will stick with his 5-2-3 or 3-4-1-2 or whatever it is when he has the wing backs and Mustard behind Perry Curo. There'll be either Cairney or Stone in goal, one of the Jack's alongside CJ and Josh, probably Truncheon on the left and Tiny Dancer on the right, Kieron and Reg/The Easter in the middle and the front three pick themselves.

Don't ask us for a prediction, although we'd put a fiver each on Curo and Perry to score. You're welcome

This is a fuck of a long load of bollocks so if you've got this far, cheers, but maybe you should think of having a wipe and getting off the shitter. Your legs will have bastard pins and needles and you'll fall over and knock yourself out on the sink.

It's fair to say though that we're pretty bloody excited about the new season now.

We're uncomfortable with the optimism, it's not sitting quite right but fuck it, we're running with it until the pissing wheels have fallen off.

We'll see you there.

Lots of love

The Boro Walk

(P.S yes by the end of this we'd had a few beers and we're a couple of shitty sheets to the wind but there's FOUR FUCKING GAMES TO TALK ABOUT, FUCK YOU)

As always.... COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!!