Ches-ham had their chips

Well bugger me with a fish fork, cover me in eggs and flour and bake me for 90 minutes, that was a result and performance right out of a Delia Smith recipe book and we well and truly rose to the occasion. Let's be havin' ya!!

Whilst the seeds of a performance had been sewn against Walton Horizontals, a little re jig-a-jig-aaah of the team and formation with new signing Paul Hodges from Slough Town slotting in at the No.10 position with Le Git making way and Cards and Sam forming a central mid partnership. Rose was substituted on Saturday and was missing tonight, CJ slotting back in to CB after rumours he was going up be upfront tonight. Some new names on the bench but we mentioned them pre-match, a fullback from Woking and a Pompey youth team midfielder. 

If we're being charitable, let's say we were adjusting to a different formation and the missing team El Capitan, because we were as slow out the blocks as me at the 100 metres dash. The recognisable old tormentor Zak Joseph turning Pagèt this way and that and back again, smashing the crossstick and then being slipped in behind our high line and slipping it under Inferno without slipping over. 1-0 after just over 10. Bumholes. This could be a long night.

However, the opposite happened, not in that it went quickly, but that we didn't get spanked. We composed ourselves, took a few deep breaths, put our foot on the ball (for a little too long a couple of times in Sam's case) but we slowly turned the shrew. Reggie was doing all sorts of bits and jiggery pokery down the right, Rickey was stamping his authoritar all over the game and Hodge Podge was growing (maybe not physically but metaphorically). Then we got a freekick in prime Cards territory for another foul on the Youngster. No. 4 "Oh My Days" disagreed but he did for pretty much every foul so it was hard to take him seriously. Nic fancied it. Nic Johnny Wilkinson'd himself. Stomach in, couple of steps, boooooom, top bins, the crowd goes wild. Boootiful. We'd not created much but it twas the tonic we needed. The tonic of an equaliser to go with the gin of possession. Or some other metaphor about taking medicine or getting pissed. I dunno. 

The real turning point was when Fernandes took a tumble and got some treatment before trying to hobble it off but ultimately succumbing and lying down for a bit before gingerly walking off and a ginger replaced him, Reece Miller; Gooooal! Will he score a goal? SCORE A GOAL! Reece Miller (imagine that sung by Freddie Mercury).

With a proper actual striker, real not false 9 up top, we had a focal point. The fluidity of the three behind remained but there was someone holding it up and bringing them into play. Who knew hey?!? Round pegs go in round holes. 

From them on we were in complete control, with the occasional ocassion for CJ to chuck his whole being in front of a shot, but in the main, he and Seth had this sewn up. 

Louie Pagét tucked Joseph into his pocket and then played him at his own game by leaving their left side for dust on several occasions. Tiny Dancer was equally as offensive on their right, rumours were abound that he called their right back a "useless cunt" but were unconfirmed going to press. 

Half time was an unwanted interuption and broke our momentum as Chesham enjoyed possession in the early stages of the second half but we soon found the rhythm again and it was going to get them (Chesham). 

It didn't take long for the lead to be taken and never relinquished. Some lovely passing and moving; cos it's the Farnborough Groove (a genuine CD complication available in the 1990's) ended up at Reeces doing pieces and volleying goalward which was tipped round the upright stick by their ball bag protector. The current fashion for short corners was ignored and Rickey Holmes, under the hammer, dropped a beauty of a cross onto Seth's bonce and he plopped it into the onion bag. 1-2. 

Naturally, Cheese'n'ham had to start taking more risks and went more attacking and for a split second it looked like we'd try and sit back and defend the slender lead. Fortunately, we have some wiley old dogs that have played League football very recently and the midfield was marshalled superbly by Sam and Nic to the extent they never really looked threatening and when they did, CJ and Seth were brick walls. There only looked like one team that would win and after Rickey drilled narrowly over and Louie hit the outside of the post via the keepers fingertips, we made it safe.

 

The only short corner of the game resulted in a trip on Reggie or Tom, and the ref pointed to the spot. The Chesham Twitter said it was soft, very soft, and yet not a voice in dissent could be heard, not even from No. 4. Oh my days. Up stepped penalty taker extraordinaire, our French fullback going all Lizarazu and finding just inside the post with his plumbs, ballbag protector sent for a Burton. 1-3. Game Over. 

Chesham made a half hearted attempt at getting back into it but we were as safe as the huge, walled Buckinghamshire houses we just drove past on our scenic route to the ground. 

It all clickerty clicked very quickly but when you get some quality talent from higher up the football ladder, that's more likely than not. That tiny budget is being stretched to the absolute limit of that magic back of the sofa, but lets enjoy it whilst it lasts. 

Make no bones about it, as Bakes at Slough put it, paraphrasing, we're looking like we want to be doing something this season and clubs are going to look at the standard of player coming in and scoff at our meagre finances claims. We're saying nothing, but we're going to have to have something to show for it this season. At the very least, we'll need to be competing up there at the top end of the table. Not least if we want to keep the Holmes and Deerings et al. 

But let's be honest, it's exciting, we look like a good football team. The first sets of fixtures for the season has been the weirdest mixed bag with Hendon (our next home opponents) winning 4-0 at Truro on Saturday, then losing 6-2 at home to Hayes and Yeading. Walton even beat Gosport. A topsy turvy start. 

Maybe this'll be our best chance yet to challenge for promotion. Baby steps though, hey chaps. 

We won't be at Poole, previous engagements taking priority, but see you at Hendon and Swindon Maureens. 

As always, COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!! 

Friendly encounters, Casual meets. Phwoar.

Hello everyone! We hope this pandemic of prose finds you well and that you've managed to navigate a route through the temporary threat of the end of human civilization. A pandemic killing millions across the globe, climate change making the world look more and more like Aldershot town centre... it's truly end of days stuff. One thing that we can all rely on however, even as hell freezes over, is that Spencer Herman Isaac (né Trethewy) Day will be leading Farnborough into yet another season of football manager. 

With England's escapades at the Euros now little more than a hazy memory over the horizon, it's been a  fascinating (?!) 6 or so weeks of pre season jiggery pokery both on and off the pitch including a rumour mill purring at full velocity after its well rested period of hibernation. 

Here's a quick catch up on the friendly shiz.... scroll down to the corned beef, if that's not your beef. The friendlies I mean, not the corned beef.

First it was a balmy June evening at the Spelly where we got our first look at Cards back in a 'Boro shirt, Dicky Orlu back in a 'Boro shirt & Harry the Cooksley Monster back in a 'Boro shirt. To clarify, all our players were wearing Boro shirts, but you know what I mean. We even had two number 10's, one of which would turn out to be almost new signing Jordan "the shithouse" Rose wearing the captain's armband. New marquee signing Adam Coombes took his place up top. Fernandes, Louie "microchips" Paget, Tom Le Git, Seth, the kid Butler and the mysterious "Big Mo" in goal made up the numbers. Standard PSF affair, Nic got us off to a flier, 2 up at HT. Team of trialists 2nd half, nowt added. 2-0 FT

On to Staines where Ceej was back doing bits in a back 3. Coombes was absent, so we were treated to an increase in trialist based action up front. After the euphoria of scoring at Spelly, Cards had been blinded by his own brilliance so contrived to put as many balls not goal bound as he could. Dickie Orlu did his hammy, which was a pisser as his partnership with the shithouse was blooming nicely. "microchips" Paget smashed home a spotkick after some great work from the returning Jon "tiny dancer" Oyenuga. The win was nabbed off our toes though as superfan Aaron "the slayer" Bufton was left more exposed than a tipsy flasher by our entire defence forfeiting defensive duties at a corner. 1-1 FT. 

Next road trip was a Fleeting sunny afternoon down at CowThorpe Park as we were still trying to emotionally process Beachy being announced at the Met Pol. Back to a back 4 with Ceej pulling the strings as Fernandes went on a mental, scaring the bejesus out of their full back and helping himself to a couple of ripsnorters. Could well have been 5 or 6 at the break, wholesale changes ensued and a much less exciting 2nd half yielded no more bulgers, the slayer got his half clean sheet though. 2-0 FT. 

England went out, the Fixtures came out. Reggie was back! Jordan was announced (turns out he's Gareth Bale's mate, who knew?!) The shits were self isolating themselves to ensure they were granted access into the capital of Rushmoor.

Nic belted in a sodding screamer (he bloody loves scoring against them), Seth and Ceej took centre stage in a back 4 but we were overrun in the heat and we trailed 1-3 at the break. Felt like a long afternoon was in store as the (now fixed and working) new scoreboard ticked to 1-4. With the Cooksley monster into the action at the break though, things started to change and he banged in a flippin' worldie to open things up. Fernandes chipped in before a soft pen and defensive switch off seemingly put it to bed, again, at a bizarre 3-6. We slipstreamed into another gear again though and Elijah the trialist finally got his goal and that man the Cooksley monster gobbled up one of his skippy bollocks penalties. Two pinball corners almost pulled it back to 6-6 before yet another soft pen allowed the scum to sign it off at 5-7. Absolutely ludicrous game of football. 

With that, Jeff Bezos blasted him and an old bird into space in a giant cock. Next marquee signing announced, Sam bloody Deering. (This shit is getting serious!) Southern League site also confirmed Andrew Beardy Blake was back (no) and that we'd registered DQ Copeland (seemingly no) and Elijah (registered but not good enough to make the club site squad list update!)

Slough were next into the mix. Deering started with Cooksley rightly back into the starting lineup. Jordan was back for more shithousing, but rumours of more pings and knocks than a 70s amusement arcade left numbers dwindling. A much tighter affair, not that you can get much less tight than a 5-7, with Slough getting a lead through an outrageous pen give early in the 2nd half. We kept at it though, matching the visitors and were rewarded with a goal from the latest forward trialist, ably assisted by the boy Fernandes. FT 1-1

The horse dancing and taekwondo were in full swing to no spectators, at the olympics, so we headed across to Cobham to catch the penultimate away instalment. Coombes still hadn't got anywhere near scoring and it was yet another different defensive combo as Spencer had to tinker. An absolute stinker of a first half as the Cobhamites played up in their cup final. Still not sure why they were all so angry. The ref was about 80 and had the smallest heat map ever witnessed on a football field. Proper funny stuff though. Bit better second half, hard not to be, and 2 trialist goals would be the icing on a very average cake. We did get a classic Spencer interview post match though. Aside from the standard fare of everyone's rich, we're poor etc.,  Apparently "we don't use lots of players, that was 4 years ago" and the aim is "to be better than last season". Truly Churchill-esque stuff.

Maidenhead at home! Rumours Coombes had already jumped ship. A lovely rabona goal from a trialist had us up at the break. Thankfully, yet again, no signs of the kamikaze defending from the shits game. Played pretty well and more than matched them. Robbed of a win by a late goal from a very handy little sub they brought on. Think this was the time we'd worked out our young trialist keeper was Dante Baptiste from Watford. Looked very very useful!!  

Final homer! Woking! No Deering, rumours he'd gone on a holiday, taking over duties from young Connor Cullen, who was indeed rumoured to be on holiday. That's fine though, all other teams had players on holiday a week and a bit before the season, right?! Really even first half, albeit we rode our luck with a spanking 1 yard miss from one of their strikers. We saw out the 45 minutes.... only to be undone in injury time. Sickener. Fear not though, our best half of football would follow as a spanking equaliser from the frankly ecstatic Young Reggie would set the game up. The sides exchanged blows up until the death, when tiny dancer meandered forward and belted one from 25 yards, massive deflection, soars into the opposite side from the stranded ballbag man. 2-1! Chapeau!

Dante was announced, Messi departed the Spanish Basket case region superleaguers. Unrelated, so far as we know.

Final PSF! Chertsey away! (well done if you've stayed with this!) They had the consistently useless topknot on their books. Yet another defensive combo for us as Ceej took up left back duties in tiny dancer's absence. Seth seemingly now given the nod, with the Shithouse, for the CB starter roles. Deering still on his alleged sunbed, Elijah still toiling away as the target man. Basically, to summarise, we were awful. Passing was shocking and we did as much wrong as we could. Bizarrely, Ceej started the second half up front, even though we had Joe the scoring trialist on the bench. He'd come on later in the half but play out on the wing. Don't remember their keeper (Big Mo!) having to make a save. Fernandes was marked out the game. They nicked one. Not even the "lovely jubblies" tea bar or the pound a pint mobile beer seller could salvage the afternoon. "That was fucking embarrassing" shouted Jordan. Spot on son.

So that was it. Friendlies done, side settled. Was it? Not on your life. Following day, our overlord drops a Non-League rag interview informing us of another "high profile" signing due within 48 hours. "Be better than last season" has been upgraded to "be competitive" and we've also "pushed the boat out" a bit this year... let's just hope we've invested in life jackets just incase. Aside from that though, just your standard doom and pessimistic gloom sponsored by covid and budgets etc.

Only took 1 day for things to leak though. A Southend United indy account, on twitter, throwing out rumours that Ricky "the Trickster" Holmes was on Spencer's radar. Yes, a league 2 player from last year. Thus followed a mad few days of Phil Brown, their manager, proclaiming Ricky was the messiah and that the chairman was a wee wazuk if he let him leave. Twitter is an amazing place though, we're paying him a grand a week don't you know! This rumbled on all week. Don't worry, Spencer will give us an update before the big official kick off on Saturday though, won't he?? About as much chance as our owner dipping his toes into the preserved meat market. Don't you dare question the regime!!

SOOOOOO Saturday August 14th rolled round and competitive football was finally back on the table, real points and everything. On paper, the fixtures lottery had been relatively kind to us on opening day, handing us a visit from our local-ish adversaries the Walton Casuals... contrasted with Hartley heading off into Wales and Hendon heading down to almost Truro, we'd got off lightly. We waited, breath more baited than Gazza's fishing rod, for the team news to drop, still with mild confusion at how the hell Ricky Holmes might be turning out for our beloved yellow peril. Rumours banded around included him 1) Not playing this week , 2) Backing out and being back at Southend, 3) Signing up for Strictly, 4) Retiring and taking oath as a monk, 5) Being arrested for peeping through windows and 6) Falling into a well where Sam Deering's arms were too small to reach him so he'd have to miss the game too whilst searching for a bucket big enough to pass down sufficient hair products to get them through the night. Thankfully, after his name appeared on the southern league registrations page, we knew he was definitely in. Official club announcement soon followed, although the "more to follow later" got a few people over confused. One particularly aggrieved Southend fan announced he was off to get his knackers tattooed in a demonstration of protest. Whatever gets you through the day. Still, enough of them by the seaside, languishing with the reality of having to visit Aldershot and Woking this season, Ricky Holmes was a Boro-ite! Bravo Spencer, you're sure working out how to stretch that zero budget this season! 

The team news dropped and it was a veritable smorgasbord of attacking delicacies on display. "Microchips" Paget and "tiny dancer" took their places at full back having arguably been the 2 stand outs in pre season. As expected, "shithouse" Rose and Seth would complete the backline with Le git somehow forcing his way into the starting 11 just in front of them. Cards and "the hairy mascot" Deering would pull the strings in the centre and Reggie and Ricky (sounds like they'd star in a panto) would wing it, Fernandes shoehorned into an unfamiliar up top role. Reece "Grinder" Miller was back on loan, from the shits, on the bench, but all other strikers were culled from existence. A preseason campaign well used then. Not sure what Cooksley had done to upset the Fuehrer, expect he was late to training or critical of his new chorister training top or something, who knows. He was benched, along with Ceej.

So after losing the toss off, we had to settle for shooting towards the PRE first half (triggered). The Casuals had Fitz with them pulling the strings, he was his usual lively self (yes, he has hair like Grealish, well done everyone.) The first half was a very very tentative, opening day, touchy feely sort of affair. We were looking to feed Reggie and Ricky as much as possible, Ricky looking particularly direct, no doubt buoyed by the buzz of the ravenous faithful whenever the ball landed at his feet. The half really struggled to slipstream into hyperdrive mode though. Multiple stoppages, Walton based outrage and the referee delivering TED talks for each decision become the theme for the first half hour as we toiled away in the newly arrived summer sun. Fernandes got in first, drilling straight down the keepers gullet from a tight angle. It was the boy Holmes who made the incisive motion to set up the first of a couple of quickfire chances next, pulling the defence apart before laying off to tiny dancer who cut in and unleashed a curler towards the far corner, the keeper turning full Gadirova to turn it away. Just a minute later and the ballbag lad would twin up his tribute as Reggie cut in from the opposite side, same effort, same result. Plenty more huffing and puffing ensued as neither side could quite catapult themselves into the stratosphere of pen box pioneers. Reggie laying one off to The trickster, being his first opportunity to notch, but the keeper yet again finding the correct hand job to keep the scores at zero. Danté didn't have much to do, but was ambling around patrolling the outer edges of his box with the coolness and composure of a box of frozen cucumbers. Maybe life after Liam won't be so scary. HT 0-0, Beer!

After perusing the scores around the grounds and wondering how Hartley had scored in 15 seconds at Merthyr and Truro had decided not to turn up at their new squat, we ambled back out to take in what would no doubt end up the best half of football we'd seen all season.

No changes yet and we continued to try and play our game, albeit things were still feeling somewhat "opening day", understandably. Ricky was plugging away, still nothing was sparking us into top gear though, Fernandes struggling to fit into the game up top as he didn't have any full backs to get pick pocketed by and then go and kick them up in the air. The game turned on its axis with about 20 to go. The culmination of the sides exchanging cautions came as one of the Casuals was given his marching orders for his second misdemeanor. Man up! 20 to go, GAAAAMMBLLLLLLE!!! The Grinder was thrown on up top to try and force the matter.

Pagét, looking thoroughly accomplished down the right, had seen enough though and, meandering forward, decided it was time for the full backs to "get this net bulger stuff sorted", hurling a ball beautifully in from the touchline, tiny dancer stealing in behind the defender at the back post and delivering a well struck point blank header which somehow the keeper managed to keep out. Unbelievable. Was really starting to feel like one of those days.

Ceej replaced the walking wounded Jordan and was swiftly followed by the Cooksley monster, replacing Deering shortly after. Couple of minutes later and he was right in the thick of the action, barrelling a path into the area before attempting to lay off to the grinder whilst seeming to collapse under a challenge. Defender half cleared, tiny dancer worked it back to Reggie who fake reversed it into the path of the Grinder. A shimmy, a shake, left the defender for dead and he slotted it past the keeper.... YESSSSSS... oh, wait... NOOOOOO... he'd somehow put it wide. FML. It was DEFINITELY going to be one of those days. To add salt into the wound, Cooksley had to limp off with a knee injury, levelling things back up at 10 v 10. 

Couple of mins left and the favour was duly returned, one of theirs limping off as it seemed we were heading for last man standing. Going down to 9 spurred the visitors into one last attack resulting in an effort, top corner bound, that Danté had to be at his best to keep out. BLIMEY, new pants all round.

That was enough for the man in the middle. Spoils shared, 0-0.

Definitely 2 points dropped against a side unfancied and seemingly lacking in a real cutting edge, but ho hum what can you do. There do seem to be a number of questions in regards to how the side will settle. Can you really accomodate Reggie, the Trickster and Fernandes in the same 11? When will Orlu be fit? Is Le Git the right man to marshal the midfield? Do we miss Nic on the wing or is that just bloody minded nostalgia? Are we really saying Ceej is the 4th choice CB? Is he going to get another shot playing up top?! Will we sign another striker trusted enough to have his name added to the club site squad list? When will Fernandes get sent off? What's on Deering and The Trickster's playlist when they're commuting? Will Roger get his testimonial? Will pasties ever be available at the tea bar, like it says on the sign? 

Well, maybe we'll find out more on Tuesday as we head to Chesham's Meadow, the playground of Taskmaster. Did they ever fix the roof on the bogs? Is the metal boneshaker stand still standing? Will Chesham be any good? Who knows! But we'll be there! One thing's for sure. Their budget is huge, ours is tiny.

It's good to be back isn't it.

#UpTheF***ingBoro

Hey hey, Yate a minute, we're off the mark

The rain, it rained down hard, real hard, so hard it'd make your head bleed. Phew, good job for the MRE and PRE or we'd have some serious concussion. 

Good job we stayed conscious and alert for our glorious 5-0 victory. Simon Read got a hattrick, Phil Wingfield bagged one and a few assists, and Rocky Baptiste got the other, bundling home the opener after Sol Campbell and Stuart Taylor got in a tangle. Just going to leap into that corner and have a kip cos I'm feeling a little sleepy.

So, the heads a bit woozy but it's all coming back to me now. I see, a cunt in white with a number 2 on his back. There's a wanker all in black. Then, oh my god, it's a fucking giant appearing from the shadows of the John O'Hara Stand. 

The rain, is...is....just a bit of light drizzle really. Did I hit my head on the MRE roof as I rose to celebrate taking the lead after 2 minutes when AJ, or maybe Connor, perhaps new boy Reece Miller twisted and turned and laid it across the six yard box and Nathan "We've Got" Wood managed to heel it back across goal and....and....Jesus H Scott Corbett, wide. 

No, no it wasn't that. 

Maybe I was touched on the shoulder by one of my fellow supporters and I dropped to the floor, bashing my head against the terrace steps. No, no, sorry, that's that No.2 cunt in white again. Strange feeling of deja vu. So many images of diving,

cheating cunts in white wearing the No.2 shirt. I feel he will get his comeuppance soon.

I'm sat in the bar (with my head on the bar), bashing it against the table, waiting for someone to come and take my order for a FUCKING PINT OF GUINNESS. Ah fuck this, a cup of tea and a Mars Bar will have to do, this is a farce.

At halftime I watched the pre-match interview with our dark lord, listening to his Garbo'd bollocks teabagged in my cup. 26 in the squad at training on Tuesday. Trialist match next week after Wimborne. Two new faces. And it's bye bye JR, goodbye Jonny, be good (and come back soon).

No changes second half. Blazin Squad got the rule of 6 timesed by four and created a bubble of 24 bellends to go. They did sing long into the night through the car park mind. We'll see them at the crossroads, crossroads, crossroads.

Yate are and have been pretty second rate, but unfortunately we're a bit of a state. Too. AJ's miniature horse singular device has been found out a touch and besides the odd moment of brilliance his influence has wained.

Quality is lacking and it is our master that must find that spark. He needs to give some a chance but also cut his losses with others. He's binned Fitz way too early for our liking, doesn't seem to want to play Kamon or Blake and the latter was missing tonight. Sole wasn't about but seems out of favour with one diminutive midfielder enough with Dunne and he likes CJ as DM as Bryan was cut to the bench today. 

We have the upper hand as we get into the final quarter and defensively we're pretty solid but it's mistakes that keep occuring that concerns. Mis-placed passes could be damaging against better opposition, like Tonbridge Angels, but maybe we'll go all out for penalities again. 

Their keeper, who naturally gets the treatment from the Blazin' Squad, pulls out a worldy when we threaten to snatch a late winner. 

This is post handbags after the No.2Cunt gets what's coming to him. Liable to hit the deck at the breath of an angel upon his neck, he goes full blooded into a tackle on AJ but he leaps over the skidding challenge and the ref plays advantage and fails to return to the scene of the crime, seemingly deciding because there was no contact and we didn't bitch, shriek and moan flailing to the ground like a......a

.......massive twat, then he wasn't interested. 

Que the man least likely to. Dunney has seen enough and flies into the tackle as the cunt is passing down the line. It's rash, it's hard, it's close to the ball, the cunts right boot strikes Dunney's shoulder and he pirouettes in the air, bouncing and gesticulating like a ballèt dancer going full Neymar. Their bench go apoplectic. Their No.7, 5 and keeper rush at the ref to demand a red, seemingly uninterested in the well-being of No.2Cunt, probably cos they know nothing is wrong with him, they just want parity in number after their No.6 went for an early bath for a second booking scything of Tiny Dancer. Funny, we didn't lose our shit about that. They don't get their wish. Dunney is booked (I'd call it a badge of honour) and so is their keeper, probably for man handling the ref. 

No.2Cunt hobbles for a bit, pretending he has the injury we all wish he had. Thirty seconds on the touchline with hand in air waiting to come on and he's running around again. 

Spencer calls it man v boys. I call it cowards v the too polite. Jose Mourinho says that you have to be a cunt to be a winner. Well we are just plain and simply too nice. Unfortunately, we aren't going to beat them with honesty and integrity. No, that ship has long since sailed. Even down here, it's not as much of a contact sport it once was with all eyes on the pathetic parade of Premier primadonnas. And VAR. 

Down here, refs are part time, weak, and easily conned. We need to be more cunty. More, not going full No.2Cunt. 

We have to settle for a share of the spoils. Baby steps. A point is on the board. Work still to be done.

New fullback in Ezre who doesn't seem to offer more than Paget who isn't getting a fair run in the team. He has his favourites, although to give him his due, he did drop Leggett after a string of less than impressive performances but it is my opinion that he plays better in an advanced position and is seldom given that opportunity.

Reece Miller seems to be a confusing issue. Maybe but not really owned by Aldershite and Spencer's getting into bed with Danny to forge a "relationship". Makes you want to puke. I wouldn't go sucking up to Aldershot Town even if they were glazed in honey. 

So more changes likely. A settled squad, a settled squad, a "thanks Dom" for a settled squad.

Let's get excited about Tonbridge Angels. It'll only be us there. Yeah right. If you really believe that they won't turn up without their teams colours on, especially when they've already bought a ticket, you'll believe AJ is about to join a Championship team.

It's the FA Cup, anything can happen. Let's hope we give it a bloody good go and the spirit of 92, 96, and 2003 will see us home. LET'S FACKIN' 'AVE IT!!!!

COME ON BORO!!!!

Chalfont of St. Peter, The new Testamental comeback.

 

Few things are certain in life… The Sun being a monumental shit-rag, Boris’ cabinet being full of zombie cockwombles, hangovers getting worse the older you get, middle lane drivers & fans of Mrs Brown’s Boys all being nonces, death, taxes & Farnborough being incapable of pulling off a comfortable 2-0 win.

None of this will be news to any of you lot though, you’re only here for the in-depth, cutting edge soccer analysis aren’t you. Well let’s face it, you’re in the right place. Not meaning to blow our own trombone or anything but, with the old ‘rona winding itself up for a second crack through our glorious island, we’re now operating at the precipice of spectator sporting greatness. Farnborough is back where it belongs at the height of the nation’s beautiful game.  I know this wasn’t what we all had in mind whenever we’ve talked about hell freezing over, but it’s about as close as we’ll ever get to End of Days so we’re just going to plough a path through the murky waters and see where the hell we can get to before Dowden and his DCMS wrecking ball of gammon lurches in to force us out of football grounds and back into Wetherspoons to eat your Gran to death or whatever the feck their latest catchphrase is.

Where were we, oh yes… so with the Swindon Supermassive fuck holes well and truly in our rear view mirrors, it was time to go and cash in those vouchers we’d won the week prior at the funfair at Beachy hands. A Tuesday night dash up to St. Peter of Chalfont? Yes please! Is there anything better in non-league than the FA cup? If there is, I’m yet to see it. The history, the nostalgia, the pride, the crippling disappointment. She’s a hard taskmaster of a mistress. Building you up, enticing you into daring to dream, always toying with you for a few weeks before making you watch ex-pros fondle her balls over and over again in front of Jake Humphries before ultimately letting the same old overpaid big boys come and spunk their load over her in front of millions watching in their homes up and down the country so they can get on an open top bus and dream of going to places like Zrinjski Mostar, Drita Gjilan & Buducnost Podgorica…. Slutsk.

So as we thrashed off up the trusty M3, M25 corridor, conversation invariably moved on to tales of years gone by. Well I say that, most of the car journey was actually spent on a hypothetical narrative of if Spencer had the cojones to carry on his CJ up top shenanigans just to prove the point to Connor Cullen that he really, REALLY was not happy he went off to get a tan while the rest of us staggered half cut through Lymington. We reckon CJ could notch double figures easy. Does what he wants! 

 Teams were in! New striker Ollie Sims was still a no go, hopefully fast-tracking himself over a suspected case of the you know whats. Cullen was hoist out of the frying tan and into the fire. Tom Le-git was demoted to the bench for his defensive crimes at the supermariners, and was joined in the dugout by Fabs Solmio and Louie “McCain Micro Chips” Paget. Andrew “Beardo” Blakey, him of the Woking psf net bulger, was back off the naughty step too. On paper, ‘Arris, Cullen, Fitz and the Wilberforce sounded not too shabby.

After somehow navigating the minefield free for all of the car park, we evePASSed the shit out of the queueing system and navigated a handsfree pathway into the sanctity of this little piece of non-league mecca. Had it really been 4 years since we'd been here? Eddie "Gillette" Smith leading the line and Sam Shaban revelling in his fast developing super sub role. The meteoric rise to the egg cup promotion final. Halcyon Spencers. 

KicK off.... we spent the first minute chuckling about the fact they seemingly had one of the harlem Globetrotters playing at 11. Then it started.... 0-1

Some quick interplay down the right and CSP tore into us like an angry badger, our backline taking turns to back off and flail around half arsed in an attempt to foil them. Final shot came in and seemed to either deflect past Liam or completely fucking bamboozle him. Either way he was completley rooted and we were looking uphill. Speaking of uphill, only a couple more minutes had ticked by and, with the CSP'ers running rings around our static caravan of an approach, a fast moving break down the left ultimately ended with him of the Globetrotters running unchallenged through the Messiah and Bradders and picking his spot past a helpless, disbelieving Beachy. 0-2

What the hell were we watching?! Spencer had not briefed us on this lot being the Barcelona of Buckinghamshire. Chalfont were delivering a lesson in dynamic attacking intent and sheer bloody desire. Seems a weird tactic, going 2 down before you start playing, but whatever floats your boat. So as the Boro faithful teetered over an existential crisis of "it's happening again" versus "this can't actually happen again", 'Boro began to try and fan some hot air into the dampening embers of a cup run disappearing faster than the average age of our squad. 'Arris was trying his best to spark something into life. In truth the defenders were shitting their pants when he got the ball as they hadn't quite mastered the whole doubling up thing. First time he was brought down pretty unapologetically by their somewhat erratic captain. He got up to take it and decided to thrash it high, wide and horrendously ugly. The ref, not really having a sodding clue what the hell he was doing, adopted the guise of a clinically depressed, recently divorced dad who'd just been lumbered with all the kids for the evening when he was supposed to be off paint balling with his work buddies. 'Arris was still drawing the treatment as he was brought down yet again. This time, in a similar situation to the first one, he went low, it deflected and, helped on by a couple of deflections, looped up on to the flying bonce of Cullen as he utilised his sunbed claim diving technique to snag himself a notch. 1-2

Tempers definitely started to fray as handbags galore erupted. A royal rumble exploded right in front of the dugouts as 'Arris was next brought down. Spencer was not a happy bunny and ran his mouth at, yes you guessed it, their bonkers captain from behind the safety of the linesman. Seemed to be accusations of a stamp, but we were too far away to call it. Took a few minutes to sort out as things went from the shit to the comically ridiculous. A lively half played out with plenty of bite and edge, but no real further goalmouth action. HT 1-2

So as Spencer and co went into full on Phil Brown mode in the centre circle, we braved the more congested recesses of club house alley and made a beeline for the tea bar queue. Few casual exchanges with some amiable locals and, brews secured, we took our place ready for what was sure to be 45 minutes of absolute biblical level FA cup action. The couple of changes meant we'd reset into a flat back 4. More touchy-feely jiggery pokery ensued as the second half swung into action like Billy Ray Cyrus' testicles. Ceej, looking revitalised having had his target man status removed, was trying his hand at being a box to box midfielder. He ghosted into the box and was fed some scraps which culminated in our hero rising full pelt and attempting a deconstructed flying scissor job, which failed to trouble the host's stickman. The Chalfonters still took any opportunity to pour forward en mass. The Boro defence now slightly calmer in its efforts to contain, clearly the better for having been touched up more frequently than a brown paper bag at FIFA headquarters. That said, there was one heart in mouth moment when our GlobeTrotting friend found himself in the right place to connect his high altitude head with the ball, from a free kick, somehow managing to completely misjudge just how tall he was, resulting in him heading high and wide from 6 yards out. Tit.

Free kick after free kick, corner after corner, St Peter's disciples were riding their luck like a one legged jockey. 'Arris cut inside yet again and fluffed his daisy cutter flush off the near post. Next it was Connor's turn to blaze one so narrowly wide it full on pinged the stanchion. Le Git soon entered the arena in place of Wilberforce and we cranked up in the direction of the next gear. With 12 mins to go, we surged forward yet again, this time though it was a string of penalty shouts which would play out over approximately 14 seconds, the ref finally getting sick of it and awarding a pen after the third tug off. Penalty, Paget, only one place this was going..... 2-2

So we lurched with fervour into standard next goal wins territory. It seemed ridiculous that we'd be subjected to yet another penalty shootout. The hosts clearly weren't interested in the inevitable pens loss, at the big safe hands of Beachy, as they finally worked themselves into a position to call him into regular action. The big pink stood up big and erect and thwarted their advances though. The game was bubbling up to fever pitch as both sides continued to take pot shots at one another. Into the last minute and yet another mazy dribble from 'Arris brought up yet another free kick from decent range which he picked himself up to have a go at. Whether it was something he heard (from me) or just Spencer's "leveller pitch" comments coming back into his subconscious, but he finally drilled one ferociously into the bobbly corridor of uncertainty a couple of yards in front of the keeper. It was subsequently spilled right into the path of the onrushing Le Git who leathered it high and handsome in the direction of the underside of the cross bar, coming down in the direction of the goal line. The faithful went bonkers, but the ref wasn't sure so looked longingly in the direction of the Soviet linesman who didn't hesitate in giving the goal. 3-2 England! 

All that was left was for AJ to take himself on a mazy solo run down the left wing to kill some time, cutting past half the beleaguered congregation (no into the corners for that lad) before going halves on a bastard with a reverberating crossbar. As the ball was launched forward one final time and Beachy gathered it safely, we knew we were headed for that big old metaphorical hat and yet another chance at Spencer breaking his "2 rounds max" PB. 

So what did we learn? Well we can't play like that for much longer otherwise we'll soon be propping up the league like a rusty old commode. We all know Spencer's trying to navigate his favourite "trickle down" approach, whilst simultaneously being very outspoken on the fact he doesn't seem keen to play and doesn't feel the season will last. Whilst he may well have a point, on the latter, the concern is that we'll get pushed into a position where we're floundering low down the PPG leaderboard if enough of the season does in fact get played out. Maybe we're overthinking it though, don't judge a manager until you're 10 games in, right? Not that anything would ever happen, we all know why that is, but here we are. Let's save that minefield for another day. Bottom line, at the Chalfont, was that despite a crappy start, we got ourselves out of a hole. That can only be applauded and warm the cockles that there is fight and potential there. Spencer cup wins are a rare breed and this season has now equalled his best return to date. Just the matter of Connie South strugglers, from last season anyways, Tonbridge Angels standing in the way of Spencer and that elusive 3rd cup win. Rumours appeared of confusion surrounding "elite" fans perhaps not being allowed into games with us step 3 riffraff. Hopefully this will evaporate into yet more DCMS horse dollops. God willing all will go ahead and we'll have a bumper load of ravenous Angels fans swelling the coffers. Good god don't let it be another Wealdstone. 

Up the Fucking 'Boro.

Marina of the wails

You know, we were genuinely excited about the start of the league season, post FA Cup exploits. We knew it'd be a tough one but we seemed to have made the signings he wanted and they were all ready and registered.

Then forty five minutes before kick off we get another of these pre-match interviews from our dark lord. To be honest guys, we couldn't finish it all. Fuck a duck, his media training in positivity seems to involve purely banging on about the fucking sunshine. Fuck knows what'll happen when we get a wet and cloudy one.

Seth is injured, so is JAWs, Jewers picked up a knock and is out, and new boy Coady who looked sprightly first half against Lymington is also out. New boy Sims is ill, Bryan was ill, but like the Messiah, he rose this morning and declared himself fit.

But anyway, what difference does it make, this isn't going to last long, not according to the great doctor himself, Spencer Day, we'll be in lockdown and dead before long so who actually cares. This is being written before we get to a post match interview, but we lost so maybe he'll run away from that one again. 

So, spoiler alert everyone. We fucked it. Well someone did.

Anyway, getting ahead of ourselves here. First up, the teams.....

Two debuts for Wilberforce Ocran and Fabio Sole, replacing Coady and Jewers respectively. Bradders Pearce returned in centre half in place of Seth and AJ was in for JAWs....

...... BUT CJ WAS STILL UPFRONT?!?!

To put that into a bit of context, he played upfront last week as we had no other strikers. Yesterday, we had three on the bench, Connor was back, Shaban had clearance and Jabbari. Kamon was also available for the wing if AJ was to be utilised up top. Fitz made up the subs, presumably still not fit enough (or more likely, we have to play the loanees from football league clubs).

So it looks a little something like this.

                        Beach

                      Leggett

      Akongo                       Pearce

Paget                                        Oyenuga

                Sole            Dunne

AJ 

                                 Ocran

                      CJ

New striker Wilberforce Ocran certainly wasn't playing as a left winger but AJ was on the right. A bit lopsided.

If the first half was a dog, it'd have an uncle called Scooby. Neither side looked able to break the other down. Supermarine are organised, physical and possessing a stable spine from last season. 

Our main tactic is to try an up and under which their six foot centre halves will lap up all day, and use the long throw from every occasion. 

This doesn't really work because of the aforementioned centre backs. By the half hour mark, Bradley's arms are tired, CJ looks terrible and Bryan is collossal.

Liam seems to hate a spectator on either side of the ground and keeps trying to hit them with goalkicks.

Then Le Git drops a clanger and ex-Boro man Harry Williams has the freedom of Rushmoor to smash home. Buggerations. Not really deserved, nil all at half time would probably have been fair but we shoot ourselves in the foot.

It does rally us for the final ten of the half and Dunne Dunne Dunne Dunne hits the up right with a subtle curler that took an age to smack against the post.

At times AJ looks imperious, sending their left back packing back down the M4, but more often than not his final product lets him down. His head doesn't come up and he's out on the right and can't get to the box. A frustrating half all round. 

As we make our way to the bar, we hear our management team consider a change of formation and going with AJ up top.

As it happens he seems to move centrally but nowt else.

Without paying too much attention, Swindon seem to have changed their shape a little and they get a fair amount of joy down the wings. Was it a corner, we thought it was just a cross from the right but there's terrible topknot to head in courtesy of the under side of the crossbar. Marking non existent.

We seemed to completely run out of ideas and motivation at this point. Kamon and Fitz enter the fray and briefly lift spirits and tempo but when the latter goes for a worldy that is blocked, Mariiiiiine break and eventually their 8 dinks it over Liam after seeming to dilly dally for too long. Nice finish. Game over. 0-3.

And Swindon seem to think so too. They step off the gas and make do with the possibility of hitting us on the break, which let's be honest, is a distinct one.

We huff and puff and Kamon has a bit of joy, CJ has been moved back to his Non-League Midfielder of the Year 16/17 position and Cullen comes on up front but for Ocran. I mean, we just... can't.....anyway.

Eventually, a freekick is actually sent into the box and it deflects back across the six yard line by a Supermarine defender where The Messiah bundles it almost apologetically into the net. Swindon seem more sure that it will be given than us as an initial offside flag is overruled by the ref. Correctly. For once.

A little earlier, Bryan, again, has the ball in the box and is stepped across by a defender sending him down. Even the Swindon Supermarine Twitter account said it was a strong shout. This big bald bellend hasn't been keen on giving us penalties over the past few weeks and today besides two blatant and cynical fouls which he couldn't have not given a booking to a man in red for, he decides to book Bryan for a six of one, half a dozen to the other grappling incident. As per, he's far too inclined to give free kicks for whenever an opposition player squeals like a bitch for one. He's unmoved when we try and con one out of him (you know who they/you are) but maybe we need to practice our shrieking in training on a Thursday. 

Above all, it's the team and formation that baffles the most. 

If the aim was for a settled and stable squad, besides Reggie Young making the move there's been no significant departures come kick off of the league season.

If he'd really wanted to he could have played this team.

Beach

Leggett

CJ

Pearce

Oyenuga

Paget

Fitz

Dunne

AJ

Cullen

Ocran

That's very similar to the team that hammered Taunton in February. Bryan Akongo should be in that team, in my opinion in place of Leggett who hasn't made the best starts to the season where as Bryan has generally been immense. There's Seth Owens to slot back in too. 

That team on Saturday was bizarre and baffling. Yes Connor was just back from a holiday Spencer clearly wasn't happy about and fair enough, yes there were a few injuries and illness but that team above all featured at the weekend. 

As he mentioned several times in his pre match interview, he's going to have a good whittle over the coming weeks and not everyone will make the cut, but he did say he was keen on a cup run, deadly pandemic permitting. Which hopefully won't result in another mass lockdown and prove him right as he's so looking forward to it.

To Chalfont St Peter where Ollie Sims will be available and others will be fit and healthy, fingers crossed so let's see who he goes for up front with on Tuesday.

As always COME ON BORO!!!

Let’s sPENSer Day in the FACkin’ sunshine

 Roll up, roll up!! We're back, WE'RE BACK!! After spending swathes of lockdown afternoons trying to perfect the brewing ratios of our soon to be rolled out “Spencer interview bingo bitter”, to say we were thrilled at the prospect (road end) of standing in a stupidly oversized stadium shouting at cunty full backs would be the understatement of the pandemic. Be still my beating heart, proper competitive football was back on the agenda. Proper stuff.  Football isn’t a TV show kids.

Seeing as at least 183 of you ventured into (at least the first few paragraphs of) our P.R.E season rollout “shitdump”, it seemed only right that we throw up the red carpet on frankly the most joyous  12^th September in popular culture history since Barry White vacated mumma White’s fallopian tubes of love, back in 1944, setting in motion the chain of events leading to the end of the second world war.

What’s that you say? Why are you talking about Barry White and the second world war?! Well, why the feck not to be honest. I mean it’s not like we’d roll up to the San Cherrio for this momentous FA Cup battle and find our heroic centre half and captain playing up front or anything….

Oh, I didn't mention the opponents did I? It was Lymington Town. Two divisions lower, booked their visit courtesy of a frankly ludicrous late winner against Brockenhurst. Unbelievable. Spencer had done his best to sell them as the Man City of the Wessex League ever since the draw. We all knew his apprehension was more rooted in the fact he was having to play fast and loose with smashing a squad together. Spencer's old goto of grabbing players from the preseason trickle down was somewhat being fingered in the arsehole by the fact nobody was able to turn the fecking taps on further up the pyramid. Injuries, illness, suspensions, alien abductions. You know how this works by now.

After some furious, frantic google abuse on who the hell the new lads were and if they were indeed ones we'd seen in the friendlies, we settled into place with Spencer’s frenetic early excuse fests still ringing firmly in our lugholes from his spate of preseason based confabulations with the boy Lloyd. What’s that? He’s done another one pre match? He’s talking about how sunny it is? Sealey-Harris is back?? He can’t play because Spencer’s printer/sign/scan/e-mail game is less Linford Christie and more Tony Christie??? Well I’ll be fucked. I can’t keep up. That said, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again… agents at this level are an absolute sodding liberty. They can all get to fuck quite frankly. Fair dos to Spencer for sorting it out and not just telling him to get in the bin. Anywho, I digress! Teams were, indeed, in....

So it was psf ever present Jimmy "JJ" Jewers in midfield with Louis Dunne-Dunne manning the centre of the park in front of the centre back triumvirate of Tom "Le git" Leggett, Seth "the mic" Owens &, newly positioned TheBoroWalk favourite Bryan "the messiah" Akongo. JAWs and Louie "McCain micro chips" Paget would raid down the wingback channels and John "tiny dancer" Oyenuga and new lad Jordan Coady "McCoadface" would sortie in behind CJ fucking Fearn up top. Why the fuck not. From GK to target man in 3 easy steps. Hero. He couldn't really do any worse than topknot could he.

From the off, the visitors clearly had been given their instructions to get amongst it and make sure that the hosts knew they were in a game. Tackles were not offered in half measures and their manager clearly hadn't been on the happy pills the night before, flanked in totality by their number 6 whom I can only assume had shoved a cactus up his rectum at some point in the warm up. We spend most of the first half thinking up suitable nicknames for their weird velcro headed toddler in goal. After finally settling on how funny it would be to do a bunch of Leo Sayer lyrics in the write up, we realised that we didn't know any Leo Sayer songs. More than I can say, that really was a waste of time.... much like the majority of the half. A couple of half chances, a decent jinking run and shot from McCoadface cutting inside and a left foot daisy cutter from captain utility, were as good as it got. I think it's fair to say most of us were more than happy to hear that sacred halftime whistle beckoning us to the where the beer was faithfully waiting for us. HT 0-0

As we reappeared into the second half, we were surprised to see that the lively McCoadface had been given the chop, in favour of Ed "Jibber" Jabberi, but pleased to see Fitz back in the action, on in place of the JAWs who'd picked up a couple of knocks in the first half. The "Jibber" Jabberi was known to us through his frankly obscene panenka pen in the practice shootout against the 'stoke in midweek. He's very similar in style to the boy Cullen, just less likely to take a fucking holiday. 

It was the visitors who kicked into second gear first, Beachy having to get out and get large to block off their striker with his big old size 11's. Minutes later he was called into action again when a soft free kick was given, the ref continuing his personal spiral towards maximus ineptitudeus bellendus, and belted with sufficient gusto calling our fearless protector into one of his big old flying tip off jobbies. That was about as good as it got for the new forest lot though. As the game developed, it became that age old battle of "well this is clearly going to go to pens" versus "well this is clearly going to go to pens" and there was only ever going to be one winner. To be fair though, Fitz was proving to be the spark to make things happen as Boro pushed on. He was the first to force Leo Sayer into actually making a second half save in anger as he cut into the box and arrowed his effort low, the permed wonderkid doing exceptionally well to get down and smother the shot with his outstretched manchild right arm. Paget pinged a few efforts in and around and there were a couple of almighty penalty box pinball episodes as 'Boro threw everything they could find at the PRE, tiny dancer coming closest as his effort deflected more agonisingly wide than Keith Emmerson's hairline. The final piece of the big fat frustration pie came as Spencer was forced to throw on the boy Hooks as Seth limped off in stoppage time. He sauntered out to the left wing and a minute later, low and behold a final Boro stampede bobbled across right into his path and his shot was just smothered by Leo the stopper once again. With that, the collective "FFS" groan rang out from the PRE as that big old full time whistle brought us to pens. FT 0-0

Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Having already kept out a number of pens across the 2 dress rehearsal shootouts with Woking and the 'Stokers, I think we all dared to dream that perhaps Beachy would have enough to get us over that line and into the big fat felt bag for the 1QR. Flashbacks to feeling 800 miles from the shootout we lost at the Dripping Pan a couple of years prior niggling away in the back of our minds. Their first player steps up and Beachy hurls himself low to his right and BOSH, we were immediately in business. CJ, Dunny, Paget & Fitz all despatched their efforts, leaving their final taker with the chance of pushing us towards sudden death or not. No worries though, he was shit and smashed it over the bar inducing biblical scenes of celebrations in the PRE and the surrounding areas. FT 0-0 (4-3 pens)

Monday's draw would deliver us a pilgrimage to the Chalfont of St. Peter, whom were league adversaries with us when we won promotion back in '16/17. They're now seeking refuge in the Isthmian league south east. Could have been much worse! Spencer won't have a better chance than this to equal his greatest FA cup run.

So what did we learn? Well, good god we need a cutting edge. With 'Arris returning to the ranks, clearly welcomed by his teammates going by the love in post shoot out, and Fitz well on the mend from his injury, we should be much better equipped to deal with life post Reggie. At the back, we look well set. Hopefully Bradders will be back from his covid scare pretty sharpish and with CJ, Seth and the flippin' impressive messiah (now converted to an all singing all dancing centre back behemoth), Spencer has options there. The week would unravel, as expected, with players magically appearing on the southern league's official webpage thing. Fabio Sole, Wilberforce Ocran, Kamon Sherell Assidjo & Ollie Sims all added to the ranks to try and create an arsenal of velocity to take the southern league by storm and set the wheels in motion for that push for promotion the club were talking about at the start of the year.

A push for promotion? That might be more ridiculous than starting a tinpot football blog by talking about Barry White and his part in ending the second world war. You see the trouble with me is, much the same as everyone else, we don't have any idea how this season's going to play out. No time to breathe though, the Supermarines are coming to town again to kick off league proceedings. They'll provide a real acid test as to how Spencer's fledglings will hatch into the season.

 Weird old week. 2 defeats, 1 draw, 3 penalty shootout wins. If this is the new normal, it can get in the fucking sea. It's good to be back though.

Up the fucking 'Boro. 💛💙

BORO WALK back in the room

IIIIIIIIIIIIT'S.....US...HURRAY!!!

Like a badly pixilated eagle type thing-from-the-flames, we're back baby.

One of us thought the password for this was "Spencerisacunt" but the other thought it was "Princeisabigbaldbaby" but neither was right. What to do? Just forget all about the blog, that's what.

If we're honest, trying to find the silver lining to shit coloured cloud and polish a white fluffy turd with no shiny edges was getting tiresome and more than pointless. We weren't even entertaining ourselves anymore.

But, hey, what the fuck. It's 2020. The most fucked up year since, well, 2016, when we voted Leave and loads of cool famous people kicked the bucket. 

The concept of actual live Soccerball after basically 6 months had such a moistening effect that we had to dip our quill back in that pot.

It's not like the entertainment had stopped before we kicked a ball in mild annoyance again. Soothsayer extraordinare, our lord and master thought we wouldn't be playing football again until his kingdom had frozen over, but shock upon shock twas as if the Gods of football wanted to smite him and almost immediately put plans into action to let the good times return.

Because you see, we aren't elite. No shit. What appears to have happened is that the powers that be of the third tier and below of Non-League football didn't read the memo that appears to have been cobbled together by a blind, dyslexic child, direct from the government, that said non-elite sports could start again with spectators.

Plans started to be put into place for friendlies and Spencer thought now would be the time to get a team together again from those that hadn't already left to clubs that weren't allowed to start again, like Hemel Hempstead.

In the calender went Woking, but then we could only have a maximum of 300 at that game as it was the first game back, as was decreed by the Covid Police, at Sans Cheerio (Or the WE'VEGOTHIV Stadium) so they scrambled a Wednesday night fixture before against Leatherhead so we could have the 300 crowd decend then, before Woking brought the hoards to make up the 600 we were permitted, all ready for the FA Cup Preliminary Round when the bulk of our supporters could pack out the PRE and surrounding stands to the full 7000 capacity and sing the boys to victory and the 1st Qualifying Round. Images of Upton Park, Griffin Park and Highbury danced in our eyes as they glazed over and went all dewy. 

So, what with the inevitable delay to the season, our dark lord had not given the squad a moments thought and as we slowly creeped back, the squad began to jump ship. Reggie Young made the step up we expected, Rene Howe moved to Bedford and Goal of the Season nominee Bernie Tanner searched for first team chances casually at Walton.

Also, several other members of the squad disappeared without a trace with no whisper of their name, making us think we'd imagined them, and, let's be honest, with so many players crossing before us over the past two or three years, they have started to merge into each other, like some awful hybrid crap football monster.

To Leatherhead, or rather Leatherhead to us. We were promised trialists and by golly we got them. Trialists for what, in some cases, as it wasn't footballers? A few returning faces from loan spells also graced the green again and resembled a stoned gazzelle who had been shot in the arse.

If you're here for a full blow by blow of the football itself, come back for the next installment where we will pick apart the FA Cup shitanigans, but for now you're getting rough overview, ok? Tough!

It was shit.

Actually that's not fair, that comes in the third and final PSF against the mighty Basingrad a week later.

This 0-0 snore fest served as a limb loosener, a group that despite having played a handful of friendlies elsewhere behind closed doors, looked like strangers. We learnt just before that John 'Tiny Dancer' Oyenuga was departing for East Anglia Uni so we were down to just CJ from the promotion glory year, albeit injured.

What remained was Beach in goal (thank Christ), Brian 'The Messiah' Akongo, Seth 'The Mic' Owens, Jordan 'The Tits' Alawode-Williams, Louie 'Louie' Paget,

David 'Coltrane' Fitzpatrick, Tom 'Le Git' Leggett, Louis 'Well and Truly' Dunne, Connor 'One Pump' Cullen and AJ Sealy-Harris. More on him later.

Besides some comedy finishing that Baddiel and Skinner would have been hard pushed to replicate, it was what it was. For an opening home game after half a year absence, it could have been worse.

And so it proved. 

But not on the pitch. All of a sudden on Thursday AJ tweets he's upping sticks and fucking off. To who knows where either. Rumours fly around that he's got an agent, he's going to Gillingham, he doesn't like our football style (we have one?!?) or he is quitting football altogether. This proves to be a shock to everyone if for no other reason than timing. He'd signed registration forms the night before and it wasn't that bad. We drew for Christ's sake.

Our fuhrer hadn't given up hope but he wasn't down for the next match.

Woking only sent an U23's team on Saturday with Matt Jarvis on the bench apparently but never making the light of Day. It appears he was never here as his Instagram posts of his kids attests. So many lies.

I don't think we got to the 600 we were hoping for.

The best bit about the entire day was after what we were told was just a swansong for John 'Tiny Dancer' Oyenuga, subsequently transpired to be that he may be back for good as his Uni place could be more local. 

They were fitter, stronger, more productive in the first half than us, a couple of irritating little flies buzzing around the pitch that needed swotting and it only took a tiny bit of a nudge for one of them to crash down in the area and the penalty was dispatched. A generally competent defensive display was only blotted by one mistake that unfortunately was costly and it was two just before the break.

Second half was much improved with the introduction of several new trialists that we'd used the right agency for this time and they were in fact ballers. Messrs 16, 18 and 19 proved useful, from defensive midfield, striker and right wing respectively. The former scoring a slightly deflected free kick to halve the arrears. 

We were hopeful they'd appear against Basingrad.

Despite losing 2-1 it went to penalties where it appeared no one but Liam could be arsed and after ten penalties it finished 2-1 to Boro. Beechy playing demi-god with THREE saves and one striking the bar and going over. We scored two pens, can't remember who.

And then the other night, our chums from down the M3 travelled up in what was hoped to be a morale booster before the cup trials and tribulations. 

Only two trialists started, although one we are lead to believe is James Jewer in midfield who has appeared for at least the past four games. The other was the striker at 9, who started against Woking at 10. 

More good news (it just keeps coming) was that Bradley Pearce was back on loan for a period of time from Sutton United which was jolly nice of them. Dunne was back from non- Covid related illness. 

First half we were far the better side without the end product. A needs must top three of trialist striker flanked by Tiny Dancer and The Tits looked odd to begin with but they proved tricky for the Stockies to handle. Only a very out of character gaff by Liam allowed an innocuous dribbler to bobble past him as he knelt to gather. It's one you would obviously expect him to save and he would 99 times out of 100 but this time a combo of taking his eye off the ball and grass longer than my back garden did for him. Tiny Dancer restored parity straight away and it looked as though we'd push on. 

But then perversely, after around 40 minutes Tony 'Topknot' Halsey replaced The Tits. Nothing untoward occured in his brief first half cameo but there were no further changes at the break, except in formation. And it fucked it.

We received news at half time that AJ was turning out for Gosport but sebsequent teamsheets and sub lists proved otherwise.

Bizarrely we seemed so open to the counter and so it proved our undoing. Twice a slightly over nippy break allowed Amazingrad to score, the first a nice finish but the second a defensive calamity with keeper and centre backs switching off and not communicating. A myriad of subs proceeded that ended any continuity.

Trialist striker that was 18 against Woking but today 15 came on but toiled to no avail. Midfielder that was 16 but now 12 steadied the ship but there was no spark. 19 from Woking was injured. And to be frank, Topknot was abysmal. Attempting to sugar coat it has proven near impossible. He cannot be in any long term plans. Sorry Tony.

Further shite news was The Tits, who had returned to the fray, was scythed down by a dirty cunt when clearing from the edge of our area. Utterly pointless challenge that he hobbled slowly away from after several minutes of treatment. Unecessary in a friendly and unfortunately the eye was not revenged upon. 

Further penalties at the end proved that should we be able to get to 90 minutes all square against these world beaters from two leagues below on Saturday we might get through on spot kicks. On the second half tonight I doubt that very much. But then, that was always part of the plan, as with any season, to not participate in any cup competitions that could spin some cash and then complain about budget some more.

There's a laundry list of absentees and those we might not have clearance of one variety or another for Lymington but if these friendlies have taught as anything, we could not begin to guess what system we'll play or who might start beyond Beechy, Leggett, Owens and probably The Messiah and Dunne. Oh and of course Pearce. Hopefully Tiny Dancer is still with us. Connor 'One Pump' won't be.

A birdy told us that AJ ain't wanted by Gosport and might turn up on Saturday, tail between legs. But who fucking knows anymore.

It's never dull round our way, but the birds are minging (the dirty pigeons, they love a bit of it). You never know, we might be in the bag for the next round come Monday. 

As always, COME ON BORO!!!