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!!!

A right kick up the KetteRinger

Having suffered the sheer bewilderment of our first 'no midweek game midweek' in a couple of months, November had dawned on us with more ferocious velocity than Glen "fister" Southam trying to order a happy meal from the dodgy order point at a McDonald's drive-thru. It gave the side some well needed r'n'r from the previous week's procession in the trophy at Larkhall. When I say "the side", I obviously mean "the fans" as we were all in general shock that we'd won an away cup tie. No clean sheet, obviously, but Rome wasn't built in a day you ungrateful bastardos. 

That reluctant glance at the fixture list, hoping that the day would bring Dunstable or Gosport at home, was frankly ruined by the realisation that it was former Conference adversaries Kettering who were descending in our general direction. A glance up the league ladder saw them perched up in the bronze medal position. Clearly their lofty ambitions were at a more advanced stage of execution than ours. Going on recent form though, they'd have to go some to outscore us... or rather they'd have to go some to out-concede us.

TEAM NEWS and there was no sign of "fister" Southam or the Hammond "organ" or indeed "Richlist" Forbes for that matter too, as per usual it seemed we were down to the bare bones again. "Mischa" Barton was in for a deserved start in the centre and the odds were on "Good" Evans to plug that pesky right back spot. More interesting was the bench. Bobby "Davro" Dormer had signed on from the CowThorpe park feeder club lot and Lamidi "George" was yet another new face. Literally could find nothing on him on t'internet... let's hope he could bamboozle some defences with equal effectiveness. 

Into the action and.... 0-1

Boro's back 4 were stretched across the park and their winger dropped one right on the noggin' of their big'ol' unit of a number 9 who had a running jump on Reg. Could "Kula" Cafer have done better in his ballbag area?? Hands up I thought he could of. But I'm not a GK coach. Maybe Keith "net'in'yahoo" Benjamin could lay some analysis on us for that one.

'Boro had a brief foray into the Ket'rin' half as Perry "the Hoffen" Coles slip streamed into peak 'feret on speed' mode and created the space for "Good" Evans to surge to the bisexual line and square for "Mustard" Calcutt to snatch at his shot like "clintons" in 'spoons at happy hour.

The visitors were soon back at it though and, following a routine belt up-field, Josh "the Salmon" Huggins proceeded to caress the ball, into the path of the on-rushing striker, with his nipples. Thankfully the increased blood flow to his areolas allowed him to reach breakneck speed and clear the aforementioned striker's effort off the line, after his rounding of the marooned "kula" Cafer.

Our transient guests did not have long to wait for yet more ballbag action though as a corner, yes you guessed it, was arched in to the Boro box. "Mustard" flicked one on, "Kula" Cafer spiked his punch with a big ol' slice of mouldy orange peel, Curo couldn't clear it and the ball bag did bulg'eth. 0-2

The red invaders were building more of head of steam than a man with a kettle for a head, as our backline rocked on it's haunches. Stretching us across the park and then steering the balls through the gaps like a bunch of tea-bagging man whores. They could have been a couple further ahead by the time we crafted together our first real moment of quality. "Clintons" "Cap'n Ceej" and "the Salmon" all working together like a very oily machine giving "Mustard" the opportunity to turn the defender and unleash a shot with more venom then an 80's cartoon bad guy. Optimism lasted about 42 seconds though as their left back suddenly turned into Bobby Charlton with a man bun, jinking through our back line and leathering his shot into "Kula" Cafer's nearside stick. 0-3  HT

Kettering probably the best side we've seen in 45 this season. We were shit.

Into the second section and, with Bobby "Davro" Dormer on and little to lose, we started actually stringing some passes together and finding a bit of space. Kettering, knowing the game had gone, were sitting back and inviting us on like a big old slapper at the dogging. "The Hoffen" and "Mustard" both had half chances, stinging the ballbag protectors palms like a couple of dotard wasps. "Clintons", now operating on the right, arched his way in and dumped his load from 25 yards out, just exceeding the crossbra. 

The Special K's began to find their feet though and, with us pushing forward, found a few gaps to move in on. A moment of high comedy ensued in which "Kula" Cafer simultaneously blocked and nearly scored a belting OG with his face which thankfully was cleared miraculously by "Ceej" mentality.

Boro pressed again and finally got some well earned reward when, after a couple of corners, one finally found it's way on to a big yellow head and "Mustard" had got us on the board. 1-3

With the visitors' defences breached for the first time in around 15 years, they suddenly were starting to flap like a bunch of startled penguin smugglers. "The Hoffen" could have reduced the deficit further, right before Curo contrived to miss a header from 3 yards out, striking the bar. He gestured to the ref out of moderate desperation, might have had a point.... but then.....

Absolute worldie from that lad "Mischa" Barton again. Just drink it in 2-3

It's fair to say that not since that roadkill special of masterchef has something so flat ever been turned into something so tasty.

Up the other end and the ref began to move into his "I'm a massive bellend" phase as some cumulative shirt lifting from "suck my balls" Everitt and their attacker, while waiting for an incoming cross, resulted in the man in black pointing to the spot. Their striker stepped up and absolutely thrashed it against the crossbar!! GAAAAAME ONNNNNNN

Momomomomentum as Boro earned yet another corner.... floated in... who else do you want on those beautiful second balls in the box but that little flippin' legend. J'aime le Cureton!! 3-3

Chaos ensued as both sides went in the hunt for the killer blow. The officials had inexplicably found 6 minutes of time added on, generally from their own incompetence and, obviously with this being Boro, it would be in the final of those 6 added minutes that a ball over the top found Boro completely exposed down the right and the lucky bastards kept their cool and slotted home.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK.

Shit 1st half. Set up was all wrong and we couldn't handle them. Superb spirit and fight in the 2nd, against a side who ended the day top of the pile. Good solid debut from "Davro" Dormer too.

If we could just stop conceding goals we'd be a fucking tour de force.

We're gonna need a bigger boat for that "If"

ONWARDS

Banned-bury from the Trophy??

Well fuck me sideways with a rusty badger, it not so much pours at Farnborough, it rains so hard it makes your head bleed.

Maybe to some a 3-3 draw would be something of a talking point, but oh no, not at Cherrywood Road. We'd start a fucking riot if there were less than six goals in a game. It's like a 0-0 and the excitement only starts in injury time with the peril that we might concede but, shit the bed, we might actually win.

Perversely, the thing that gave us a right bonk on was a first half cleansheet and a goal lead, courtesy of Perry 'the Hoffen' Coles. Sumptuous through ball by Curo, bamboozled the Bumbury defence and Perry nipped in, round the ball bag protector and poked it between the sticks. Uno Nilo Boro.

We had the wonderful pleasure of having the nice peace and quiet of the PRE disturbed by the Pure-tit-an "firm". Besides politely clapping our goal, it was quiet, peaceful and serene. That was until Berk Cuntoon and his Bellends showed up with their beer and blue language. Generally good natured and just bloody good bantz, then Berk Cuntoon lost his shit for what appeared no reason at all. All of a sudden he was telling the old chaps up the back that we should be embarrassed that only 200 people were in a 1500 seater stand (he'd done his homework). The sweet irony of us being embarrassed wasn't lost on his mates let alone the rest of us. This guy could have started a fight with himself, on his own, in his bedroom, post wank.

After the goal they lost a bit of momentum and it took a couple of late corners for them to get going again, which  consisted of Berk and his Ginger Minger mate walking onto the pitch behind the goal in an attempt to gee up their team.

Half time and they grumbled their way back to the bar for a couple of pints of piss and a hand shandy to relieve the built up tension.

We made do with a cup of tea and a KitKat. There were kids about.

As predictably as the sun rising in the morning and being used to line the cats shit box in the evening, we came out in the second half to "carry on what we were doing" in the first. The most fucking obvious, clichéd load of arse water that never fails not to fucking fail. Mainly as the opposition were going to show up and give it both barrels. They weren't challenging up the top for no reason and it was only a matter of time before their No. 5 prick did a Salmon impression and headed a corner into the onion bag. Une Une. Bum.

Very shortly after they took the lead. Their bald left winger who had been blowing out of his arse most of the first half showed why he was on the pitch with a cracking ball into the back stick where their number 10 was waiting already lying down to head the ball from two inches off the ground into the ball bag.

This did in fact wake us up and within 60 seconds of the restart, Clintons had leveled it back up, intercepting a poor clearance to charge into the box and squeeze the ball under the keeps via a deflection. Zwei Zwei!

2-2 soon became 2-3 though as the same Clive Walker lookalike bunged in another ball to the back post and there was the No. 10 again, slightly better marked and actually stood up but the result was the same. Damn and blast their goggly eyes.

Fortunately, as long as you have The Hoffen on the pitch you have a chance. And so it proved. Stuff happened, Perry got it, moved it to his left and bang, he hit a defender. But it came back to him and in a blink of an arse he'd bent it between their two lanky tits in CB and into the far post utterly confusing the ball bag protector. Þrír Þrír.

And so it remained. Almost as soon as the fourth official put up that computer board thing with red and green numbers on that said there were 3 minutes of injury time there was a horrendous squeak as all eleven players, staff and fans sphincters closed up. Every player visibly slowed down as the memories of Kettering, Royston and Slough reappeared. Plus they'd heard Banbury's home form was shit so let's go on a Tuesday night road trip.

This was where the fun began. With limited notice we couldn't get out of work early enough and to be honest it was a good job we didn't. First we heard about the shitanigans was that the kick off had been put back to 8.45 as half the team hadn't made it. Jack "Mischa" Barton was stuck on an hour late train and five others were stuck on the M1. We then postponed the game ourselves on Twitter before pulling that and it finally being postponed. Accusations, hearsay and rumours bounced around like an opposition corner in the Boro penalty box.

We will probably never really know what happened but the players never showed, we had 6 eligible players and Bobby Dormer who was cup tied at the ground (which caused confusion) and there was no other option but to call it off.

Today we've discovered that we've been charged with failing to fulfil a fixture but this is a formality due to the game not going ahead. We have to submit the excuses, I mean reasons for the game being called off and hope they believe it. It's never fucking dull with us.

You can bet your arse it'll be 0-0 and go to pens. If we get the chance. Just feels like there's something we're not being told, of course we're not.

Whatever happens it'll have to be decided by Monday. The next round is in a week where we might come up against neighbours Hartley Wintney so it'll have to be played this midweek. Or not. The longer it takes the more it feels like the latter.

Amongst all the excitement, we're playing Bishops Stortford this weekend, a trip that will feel like we're going on holiday as we travel to basically Stanstead Airport. As we learn Nick "Truncheon" Hutchings has arrived at Hartley, we sign his replacement, Luke "Specsavers" King joins from.....from.....somewhere.

We'll see you there. If we all make it. Let's  leave an hour earlier.