Only 25 Games To Wembley - Erith Town FC Vs Horsham YMCA FC, FA Cup Preliminary Round, Badgers Sports Ground (30/08/15)

Notting Hill Carnival is on today, so my tube ride is a little bit more colourful than it usually would be on Sunday afternoon, as I make my way to meet Tom. Today’s match means we get to enjoy the driverless delights of the DLR (Docklands Light Railway). An elevated space age train or at least it was when it was originally conceived in the 80’s, a much more pleasant way to travel than the stuffy Underground. It snakes its way past the shimmering Canary Wharf, rubs shoulders with City Airport, like a Jurassic Park tour of the ever changing old docks of London.

The first sight of my fellow blogger is when I see a flat cap jogging up the platform, at the Austin Powers themed stop, Shadwell. Tom has slightly misjudged where to stand, so is forced into some early afternoon exercise, making sure he beats the beep, and gets on the train. He joins me staring, pointing, ohhing and ahhhinnng, out the window, hoping we won't need Jeff Goldblum to save us, as we travel South East to Woolwich Arsenal.

Tom is bizarrely excited to be back on the turf of his beloved Arsenal which they deserted in favour of the other side of the river, his vision of a Gooner wonderland, are dashed as we get out of the station, and queue for the bus.

Today’s game is at the wonderfully named Badgers Sports Ground, the home of the equally wonderfully named Cray Valley Paper Mills F.C. although it’s not them we are here to see. It's the team who also call it home, Erith Town FC (ET) as they take on Horsham YMCA FC (HYMCA), as we continue our quest to attend all the early rounds of the FA Cup.

On arrival we are both amazed at the amount of people already walking into the ground, and the line of cars waiting to turn into the car park. Does the FA Cup still have such draw in these parts? Is Eltham full of non-league fanatics? Or has it something to do with where the pumping music is emanating from? Sadly it’s the latter, a party in the clubhouse. The car park is full of kids in their Sunday best, followed by parents clutching presents making their way past manic sugar fuelled children and a bouncy castle.

A single turnstile greets us, built from white breeze blocks, a large sign on it welcoming you to the home of Cray Valley PM FC, and only a small paper sign in a plastic sleeve, pinned to an adjacent fence, informs you it's also the current home of ET.

Badgers Sports Ground seems relatively new in its construction, surrounded by allotments and fir trees, the two stands, have a flat pack Meccano feel about them, along with the non-league standard, of a single storey building which houses everything from the changing rooms, to the public toilets. Due to the party in the clubhouse, a hastily built shelter of scaffolding poles and tarpaulin has been erected, as a temporary hideaway, in case the ever threatening weather appears.

We have been very lucky once again, as we have been so many times before, after a few tweets, the club have agreed to allow us to take some pictures, on this occasion we are met by Danny, who after introducing us to the club Manager, is very happy to allow us to snap the team preparing from the match.

Understandably for Tom, it can sometimes be a little awkward sticking a camera in someone’s face, so we hover around the door of the changing room, overcome by the smell of Deep Heat, wondering if any of the players are bothered by the constantly skipping music. Tom takes a deep breath, and cracks on doing his thing.

“Come on boys, we can do it” shout some kids from the party, forcing their faces through a gate, applauding the unimpressed looking players, coming out to warm up. The majority of them though do seem happy with the conditions, testing the ground as they make their way to an area, behind the main pitch.

One ET player has not joined the rest, he is hanging about on the edge of the pitch, and someone gives him a nudge to warm up, “I’m waiting for the phys”. As he waits for treatment, he natters to people on his phone about coming to the match, but has to explain he can’t get them in for free because it’s the FA Cup, but he can get them in at a concession price. Another player, with a flip flop on one foot, and a football boot on the other, is getting impatient at the fact the physio has not yet arrived, pacing around in front of the changing room.

With a cup of tea in hand, we both pay a visit to the tarpaulin clubhouse. Three large functions tables are surrounded by chairs, one person is not enamoured by what looks like bird poo on one seat, and opts for another, giving it a good whack before sitting down. “If it rains, we will still get wet” says one woman, not convinced she will be protected if the rain starts.

Tom wants food, but the explanation from the woman selling it, has him a little bemused. She explains that it will take “five minutes” to warm up the grill, which is fair enough, she has done a big “preload” but it’s not quite “busy enough yet” to get things going, so Tom sits there eying other people’s, when all of a sudden the sizzle of the grill cheers him up “sounds like those burgers are warming up”.

It looks like being good turnouts for the match, as a steady stream of people make their way through the turnstile, but the music of the party is threatening to drown out the game, with today’s proceedings being played to a MTV soundtrack

“That smells unreal” comments a HYMCA player returning to the changing room, the bacon sandwiches cooking just next door, almost too good to resist.

We wait for kick off, and get chatting with the ET club secretary, clutching his clipboard; he tells us just how important the FA Cup still is, and what he thinks ET’s chances are today.

“It’s important for the money, it’s impossible to deny that, you don’t get £1,900 for winning a league game”, but he is very quick to emphasize “it’s also about a bit of glory, for the boys at this level it’s huge!”

He hopes they can emulate their best progress in the competition, the 2nd qualifying round, when they took on Dover, who were a Conference South side at the time, drawing a team from that level he describes as a “dream”. The match had a crowd of around 250 “mostly Dover” he says laughing, but although they lost, it was a proud day in the club’s history.

As far as how ET are going to get on today, he can’t quite call it, “both teams got off to a good league start, both from the same level, it’s going to be 50/50, it will be tough”.

We hear the referee's assistants banging on the door of the two changing rooms, notifying them that kick-off is soon, it sounds like they are trying to kick them of the hinges, it sparks both rooms into actions. Standing outside we can hear the shouting through the walls.

The assistant checks the player’s kits, and there is a bit of a debate with a member of the HYMCA team, but
he is quick to pass the blame “the kit man is a bit dyslexic, he makes it up as he goes along”.

Four mascots stand waiting to be taken by the hand, and led out onto the pitch, the referee, who doesn’t look much older, says he would have brought them something if he had known. He then produces a coin from his pocket “I wonder if they can share a shilling?” It becomes a talking point between a player and him, as the teams get ready to walk on, they both inspect the 1962 Shilling he uses for the toss.

Once again there is a sad reminder of the Horsham Air Show disaster, after the players shake hands, they all bow their heads in remembrance of the people lost. The referee's whistle breaks the silence, “come on boys” and the more dramatic “stand up and be counted today!”

All the mascots are presented with a signed ball as they leave the pitch. One Dad swoops in and prevents his Son bouncing it on the concrete, or running off and playing with it, Dad has other ideas. He explains how when they get home he will put up a “shelf” to display his FA Cup memorabilia, from the expression on his Son’s face, I don’t think he was convinced.

The party next door can’t be up to much, because a few kids have climbed the fence and are precariously perched on top of it in the opening moments of the match. Tom returns from taking his pics of the kick-off, talking of a story of pure fantasy, or is he?

Someone had mentioned in passing, that there was a journalist from Austria at the game today, and we spot him around the ground with his camera filming and chatting to people, his wife was pointed out to us as well, standing patiently with a buggy, as her husband get’s his non-league fix. It just so happened on passing, Tom had peered into the buggy and instead of seeing a rosy cheeked new baby, he saw a dog.

Now we have seen a few odd things on our travels, but this ranks pretty highly up there with a woman brushing her teeth at half time at Clapton, or a man barking in my ear on the way to see Hamworthy United FC.

The first half is incredibly open, the best chances falling to ET, a good squared ball across the box is not matched by the finish, and a shot from close range requires a sharp save from the away keeper. A HYMCA player is quickly getting frustrated with his team “Got to be louder, communicate, got too be better”.

With the home side edging the half so far, it’s somewhat against the run of play almost on the 30 minute mark when HYMCA take the lead, a good finish across the goal.

“Too fucking easy” shouts someone on the home bench. The Father and Son, manager and assistant at ET are not amused at going behind, and stand side by side, arms crossed, oblivious to the children's heads appearing and disappearing, appearing and disappearing as they bounce up and down on the bouncy castle behind them.

Every time ET go long the HYMCA defence gobble it up, and get the applause of the manager who replies every time with a gruffer than gruff, “well done”. When an ET player finally plays a ball along the ground for the forward to run onto, they get themselves back in the game about 10 minutes after going behind, but he nearly, nearly didn’t score.

The slide rule pass allows the ET forward to venture into the box, with only the keeper to beat, he rounds him well, but his touch sends him wide, and the pace of the ball means his chance to shoot is decreasing rapidly. Almost on the touch line, he rolls a shot from a narrow angle that rolls all the way across the goal, clips the foot of the far post and sits in the back of the net, great finish, lucky finish.

“LINO!!!” The HYMCA bench and players explode, they are livid to say the least, and the referee has to mime calm down to a few players, never actually saying it, but just mouthing the words. The assistant, who had already been getting a lot of verbal, is now getting more stick than ever now.

A HYMCA supporter next to us chats to his side’s keeper, as the game gets back underway “He was about a foot of side, I was bang in line with him”

The half finished all equal, it’s been incredibly open, back and forth. ET number 8, sitting in a deep midfield role is small in stature, but effortlessly glides by players and is pulling all the strings, like a non-league Iniesta.

A kick about breaks out in one goal amongst the mascots, and some away subs warm up at the opposite end, one player’s shot pings of the crossbar, over the fence and into the allotment behind, forcing him off in search of it. The music of the party once again, provides us with upbeat halftime entertainment.

One ET player half-heartedly warms up, mostly talking to his friend on the sidelines, occasionally calling to his team mates, for them to pass the ball, returning the pass and continuing his conversation. It’s around this time that Tom suggest he thinks the HYMCA manager was smoking in the dugout, he was sure he saw a big puff of smoke, and this would explain his gravelly voice.

There are lots of burgers and polystyrene cups around us in the main stand, as the referee counts the players on the pitch, and blows his whistle for the second half. The tempo is high, and around the ground a good buzz, all in anticipation of the next 45mins.

The game continues to be very, very open ET getting an early chance, but the HYMCA keeper smothers the shot well, and a free header for a HYMCA that he has to score, but misses, the look on his face is priceless.

ET midfield maestro number 8 goes in the book, much to the confusion of the fans around us, simply based on the size difference between the two players “how can he hurt him?” Regardless of his size, he is fearless, and has been the standout ET player by far.

On 56 minutes the whole game changes, on what the home team feel is a controversial free kick, awarded just outside their box. The ET keeper organises his wall, the referee marches them back the required distance, and two HYMCA players talk between themselves. One takes a short run up, shoots, it skims over what doesn't seem like the world’s tallest wall, and straight in the back of the goal, 1 - 2. Most of the team run off in the direction of the bench, to celebrate.

“That was a disgrace referee, he fell over” yells the ET manager, and as the game kicks off again, the Father and Son double act, both take turns barking at their team, talking over what to do, the managers son, leaning over whispering in his Father’s ear.

Since the second goal, ET have been slipping further and further out of the game.

There is a comical moment when a HYMCA player goes down injured and the referee signals to the bench for the physio. The HYMCA person with the magic sponge is a lady called Princess, and on she comes clutching the tools of her trade. As she does, the downed player starts to stand up, and so as to prevent the injured player going off, if he receives the treatment, another player quite forcefully waves her off. Unimpressed at his lack of manners, she stops dead in her tracks, raises her hand, and with a big smile on her face, flips him the bird!

Heads have dropped, things quickly unravel for ET, as they concede a third goal, a header from a free kick, HYMCA’s number 5 he was standing all on his own, and it could not have been simpler. HYMCA’s growling manager ask his team a rhetorical question “When are you most vulnerable? WHEN YOU JUST SCORED”.

Another free kick to HYMCA and an ET fan near us, poses the team a question “One of you going to pick up the number 5 this time?!”

4 - 1, it’s well worked, a player in the box receives the ball, turns and lays up a teammate just outside the area who finishes well. Even though his team are ahead by 3 now, the HYMCA manager is apoplectic with rage every time his team do something wrong, and I think he might explode when ET get a goal back with about 10 minutes left. The keeper parries the ball, and ET put away the rebound “FOR FUCKS SAKE”, the keeper is less than happy with his work.

“Fucking hell, get it forward” shouts the ET manager, desperate for his team to give it one last go. The last moments of the match are a barrage of shouting and swearing from both benches, ET have one last flurry, but no goal, the hosts are out the cup.

“Yesss, that’s £1900 in the bank” says a HYMCA supporter on the way out.

Both teams are clapped off the pitch, and despite the most amount of swearing since a Derek and Clive record, the managers shake hands, and take turns congratulating and commiserating each other.

On the bus home I’m forced to dodge a smashed apple pie on the floor, and get verbally abused by a 12 year old girl, but even this can’t dampen what was a very enjoyable cup tie.

The FA Cup still gets the respect that it deserves, at this level, after people as far as Dundee and Austria were in attendance, there is clearly a passion from the fans and the players for this competition.

We can’t wait for the next round, all the best to HYMCA and in the words of one of their players “only 25 games to Wembley!”.

For all of our photographs from the match, click HERE 

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Tommy Used To Work On The Docks - Hamworthy United FC Vs Sholing FC, Wessex League Premier Division, The County Ground (25/08/15)

It’s been a soggy few days since arriving in Bournemouth, for my summer holiday with my Son and girlfriend. The forever reliable English weather has kept up its side of the bargain, and has provided my week by the sea with sideways rain so far, only breaking to allow us to see the Red Arrows display and not need a yellow sowester.

In exchange for a day at the arcades and a visit to see Pixels, the new Adam Sandler film where he goes toe to toe with Donkey Kong and Pacman, and wins, I was so routing for Donkey Kong to trap him in a barrel and fuck him up, and having to sit though the awkward moment when an advert for the new Dads Army film came on in a cinema full of bored German exchange students, I was granted permission from the family counsel, after much deliberation, an evening of non-league football.

After an afternoon wandering around Poole Quay side, looking at a tall ship, trying to eat the biggest box of chips you have ever seen, avoid playing glow in the dark golf, after an extremely negative experience in Berlin and watching a parade of vintage motor bikes, we cross a bridge in the harbour, and make our way to a kind of no man’s land behind the shipyards, with their Wolf Of Wall Street mega yachts moored up in front of them.

What we had seen of Poole so far that day was very pleasant, but the area where we were now venturing into was let’s say, a little less developed, and my girlfriend would occasionally glance at me, with a “where the hell are you taking us” kind of look, but my instinct told me the trail of Saint Pauli stickers that were dotted on for sale signs and lampposts, meant we were going would be alright.

My resolve was tested by perhaps one of the strangest experiences of my non-league life, or in fact my 31 years on this planet, while waiting outside a shop on the way to the match, while my son stocked up on his new addiction of lime and mango Ribena, a man/boy/twat rode up behind me on a bike, like a cycling ninja and barked in my ear. That is correct, a grown man/boy/twat barked in my ear like a dog, followed by the sniggering of his fellow cycling compatriot, and by the time I had got over the initial shock, screamed like a Victorian heroine and turned around, they were gone in a flash, I was left vulnerable and wanting the safety of more familiar North London climbs.

Having to explain this to my girlfriend and 8 year old Son was a strange experience. My girlfriend went into work mode, she is an audiologist, so reeled off a list of professional sounding questions and my Son just looked at me, wondering what all the fuss was about, but we did not allow the dog man to ruin our evening, and anyway we were not far from the ground now, so with my ear ringing, my wits about me, and my girlfriend checking on my audiological health, we soldiered on.

Like a sign to a Museum or a place of historical interest, a brown sign points us in the direction of this evenings ground “Hamorthy United”. The County Ground was the setting for Hamworthy United FC (HU) Vs Sholing FC (SFC), Wessex League Premier Division, the Hammers Vs The Boatman.

Through the car park, past the shuttered entrance to the clubhouse, a single, breeze block turnstile, and £6 later, my Son was free, we were in. And straight away, the week’s weather was not the only topic of conversation, as members of both teams staff discussed where the team would be warming up.

Considering our location the fact that Bon Jovi’s,” Living on a prayer” is playing, when we walk in, with the opening line “Tommy used to work on the docks”, you can tell someone here has a sense of humour, and this evening after the barking, might just be ok.

Tonight’s venue was a simple, but charming one, surrounded all the way round by a low wall, with the back drop of an electricity sub station, electricity pylons disappearing into the distance. I was particularly enamoured by the original 1950’s main stand, which sits along one length of the pitch, a wooden structure with a few rows of benches, instead of seats, and a curved/humped roof. The Directors sections, almost bang on the halfway line, was marked out by yellow bars with a “H” painted on one half of the benches, and an “A” painted on the other.

HU have a very similar badge and club colours to a certain East London team, who also share the same nickname “The Hammers”, this is clear in the club badge, two crossed hammers, but they do not play in claret like the London Hammers, according to the programme its maroon. Maroon and blue is a welcome splash of colour, on what is otherwise a grey evening, the railing around the pitch alternates maroon and blue, as well as the porta cabin boardroom, and main stand. The boardroom makes up one side of a grassy square with picnic tables, the clubhouse and the changing rooms making up the other.

It’s been a relatively tropical afternoon, compared to the rest of the week so far, and this evening looks like it actually might be half decent, until distant rumblings of thunder, reinforce hurricane holiday is always close by.

“Come on boys, everyone in” shouts a HW coach, letting out a sharp whistle as well, calling in the team from the warm up. The referees are also going through their slightly unorthodox pre match regime, which looks like a game of “it” running around with smiles from ear to ear, avoiding each other.

A fan next to us has come prepared he has brought a small foam cushion to combat the hard wooden benches.

Once again the long haired one from New Jersey comes over the sound system, as the players line up in two orderly queues, along a concrete path from the changing room to the pitch, waiting for a man in a high viz jacket, like the starter at a horse race, to open the gate and let them on. Something I have noticed at non-league level and it must be a way to look after those all-important pennies, the flood lights are turned on, literally as the first player’s foot touches the grass.

As has been the case all over the country, at all levels of football, a moment of silence it taken, to offer remembrance to everyone recently lost in the Shoreham Air Show, which was respected flawlessly.

On the referees whistle, shouts come from both sets of supporters, “Come on Hammers” and from the away contingent who have taken a place under the only other cover in the ground, The Irvin Brown Stand, a standard terrace behind one goal, “come on Sholing”.

Our vantage point from the main stand is low, but close and really gives a good view of the game, except for a few pesky posts, but you soon forget they are there. The rain is back, forcing most people under its shelter, giving for a good atmosphere for the game ahead, certainly one of the better evening game attendances we have seen.

“We all follow the Sholing, over land and sea” sing the four or five away fans that have made the short trip from Southampton and stand in front of a large St Georges cross with “Sholing FC” written across it.

SFC have the early chances a one on one, with a lacklustre shot from a tight angle, but a much better header that goes fractions wide, and on the half hour mark, the away team are just shading it, but with the teams close in the league, neither one is really taking charge of the match.

HU attacks start well, but never quite culminate into anything, after all the promise of the build up their number 9 is tiny, but rapid, and is the main outlet, but it keeps breaking down at the vital moment. An early SFC substitute, who was injured on the far side of the pitch, grimaces, and has taken what feels like an age to limp around the pitch, in obvious pain.

It’s a manic end to the first half, with both teams giving the ball away, but with no final product in front of goal. SFC’s stocky, fast number 7 has started to come into the game, and is proving a hand full, but the half finishes 0 – 0.

A big queue emanates from two opened windows, next to the entrance of the clubhouse, stretching across the grassy area in front. The tea is dispensed expertly, by two white haired women, with giant metal teapots, who chat with the regulars, making their drinks telepathically working as one.

The tea is McDonald’s apple pie hot, and takes about 10 minutes, before I can even consider taking a sip. Their tea room is suitably stocked with Europe’s largest selection of cuppa soups, displayed neatly across two microwaves, it also doubles as the club shop, because behind them up on the wall is a cork board with the club shirt pinned to it, with the price written on a piece of green card, cut into the shape of a star.

Men with ties on sit in the well-lit board room, tucking into sandwiches. I peer in the window like an overweight Oliver, trying to get a glimpse of the food on offer.

HU come out the much better side in the second half, but its SFC who get the best chance early on, “come on Sholing” cry their fans. “Got to take the chances lads” says the SFC keeper clapping his hands after they almost score. HU though are quick to reply, with a point blank header, but it's tipped over with the slightest of touches, and they can’t believe they are not ahead.

Every so often in the first half a stray pass or clearance would land on top of the stand, with an almighty crash, what happened next though, made my life flash before my eyes, as a low fizzing clearance, shot off the pitch, and made its way straight for me and my family, only for the man next to us to stick out a foot, and prevent it smashing into us, the only casualty was a few drops of my girlfriends tea, after she flinched, I was of course preparing to dive to her safety, only for other people wanting all the glory, to save us. For some people it’s only about the medals!

It’s an own goal that breaks the deadlock, and puts the home side ahead. A whipped shot from just inside the corner of the box is deflected in by the wafted head of an SFU player, not committing to the clearance, just putting his bonce in the general vicinity of the ball. The keeper is moving to his right to deal with the shot, but the deflection takes it to his left, he is stranded, 1 – 0.

“Come on yellow, pick it up” the SFU keeper motivates his team, who don’t really deserve to be behind, and they are not for long, as they equalise almost instantly from a penalty. The referee has to consult with his assistant, and after a brief chat, points to the spot. WU on mass remonstrate with the referee, the SFU players calmly applaud his decision, they have their way back into the match, moments after going behind.

1 – 1 the scorer dispatches the penalty with ease “COME ON SHOLING, COME ON SHOLING” the “Ultras” as one man next to us, refers to the traveling fans as, remind us they are here after equalising. Although they are few in number, like any good away support they are doing their team proud, breaking into song regularly, boasting when they can about their recent FA Vase victory at Wembley “I was there, I was there”.

The remainder of the match is end to end, and has really come to life. SFC almost scores from a free kick and WU flash a shot across goal.

I watch the final moments of the game, standing beside a slightly tense home dugout, opposite the main stand, everyone on their feet, biting their nails. The man in black has been tough tonight, and is starting to get on the nerves of the home coach “there is going to be 30 minutes of extra time, just from the ref talking”.

1 – 2 a sucker punch from SFU, they have taken the lead in the dying moments. A WU player facing his own goal dawdles on the ball, has it pinched off him, and is punished as the SFU player slots it in the back of the net.

“SHOLING, SHOLING, SHOLING”, “WE ARE SHOLING, NO ONE LIKE US”

The bench is dejected to say the least, but one person tries to motivate the team “5 minutes left, we can get something from this”, but it’s not the case, the points are going back to Southampton, it was a well fought encounter that always had the feel of one team doing a smash and grab.

As quickly as the lights go on before the match, as soon as the pitch is clear, The County Ground is plunged into darkness. I call a cab from a Freephone in the clubhouse, opposite a large gold gilt mirror with the teams badge on, hanging next to a fruit machine.

While we wait to be picked up, some WU club officials discuss the imminent fine from the league:

 “Well that cost us £150”

“What did he get booked for?”

 “He called him a see you next Tuesday!”

The sandwiches arrive for the players in the boot of a car as we leave, and make our way back to Poole bus station for the short bus ride back to Bournemouth. It was a fun night had by all, it would seem the best way for my Son to have a good time, as he is not really that in to football, is to make sure I bring my tablet loaded with Sonic and Marvel games, and a pair of headphones, so Dad can watch the game in peace, and what a good game it was, at a very nice club indeed.

For all of our photographs from the match, click HERE

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Blogging In The Rain - Walton Casuals FC Vs East Grinstead Town FC, Ryman League Cup 1st Round, Moatside (19/08/15)

Sat on perhaps London’s most complicated train, Tom and I are surrounded by suits on our way to within spitting distance of the M25 on South London’s borders, but first we have to work out if we are on the right section of the train, a train that at various points along the journey will split into 3, and we need an enigma machine to decipher the long winded explanations from the conductor.

Thankfully we are on the right section, and as we disembark in London’s commuter belt, on a rainy Wednesday evening, at Merstham station, our next obstacle is now leaving the station, as our travel passes don’t work on this section of the network.  Sadly my vaulting over train barrier days are long behind me, but Tom is stretching and ready to go, however my lack of athleticism means we have to explore other avenues. Tom’s eagle eyes, and dexterity of foot, mean that he is able to snake his leg under the barrier, drag back a ticket on the floor the other side of our prison gate, and by a stroke of luck, like the magic words “open sesame” the gate opens and we are free.

The streets of this Surrey suburb are deserted, perhaps the oncoming rain has driven everyone inside their chocolate box houses, as we make the short walk from the station to the match.

Tom is getting himself prepared for the match, instead of moaning halfway through the game about not having brought enough provisions, he stops off at a shop he describes as like the one from The League Of Gentlemen, with what he says is selling some very “odd looking ham” and has a poor selection of sweets, and the fact he emerged with Jelly Beans, means I won’t be tucking into any of his camera bag tuck shop this evening.

We begin to see the floodlights, and can hear pop music floating over the roof tops, breaking the silence of the street we are walking along, we can almost make out the song, word for word.

Tonight’s ground is not the home of tonight’s home side they are lodgers for the season, whilst their own ground, Waterside Stadium goes through a major refurbishment. Moatside, of Merstham FC will see Walton Casuals FC (WC) Vs East Grinstead Town FC (EGT) in the first round of the Ryman League Cup, a competition which holds fond memories for us, after spending the day with Grays Athletic FC on the day of the 2015 final.

The outside of the ground, does not do justice to what lays beyond the library and Age Concern flanked driveway, where a large tree obscures the clubs sign, and a wooden notice board, like one outside of a parish Church is wedged closed with a twig. Up the gravelly drive, past the clubhouse, above an ajar gate is a hastily amended sign notifying you of this evening’s fixture. The usual name of the home team is covered by a homemade sign, displaying the name of the ground sharers.

On the turnstile we meet Kane, a man of many talents at such a young age, he is the Media Officer at WC, amongst other things, and he is only 18. Having once played for the club at youth level, until he was injured, he has now diverted his talents elsewhere within the club, including editing the programme. Even though he is off to University soon, to study Sports journalism, he will still be editing it from a distance and stands as a gleaming example of a volunteer helping their local club.

I think it would be fair to say Moatside is not really overflowing with any great character, it is very smart, tidy and the pitch looks great, but it has the feel of a training complex, rather than someone’s home.

Along one length of the pitch there is a low all seater stand, with black and yellow seats and each end is a standing terrace, the largest of the two is called The Church End. Next to the main stand, with its white UPVC doors and windows, and looking like a newly built conservatory, is the boardroom and changing rooms, which outside has an ornate black metal gate, which allows the players on and off the pitch. Tom says it’s like “Lords”, just without the snoozing men in blazers.

Under the shelter of the main stand, from the teaming rain, we both bemoan the fact it’s August, and it’s pissing down, and agree it will be a “slick pitch” to say the least, which could make for an interesting encounter. Tom as ever is more interested in the sausage and chips for sale, from the porta cabin behind the main stand, it does make me wonder if he has any food at home, or perhaps for him this blog is not about football, but more about food.

Sitting and watching the rain falling in front of us, it has become far too depressing, so we go in search a pint to raise our moral, and walk through the door of the clubhouse to be greeted by a ginormous projected image of Sky Sports, a dart board, and Tom challenges me to a game “fancy darts?”

Our quickly drunk drinks, cloud our memories enough, for us to venture back outside again, when we bump into the WC Chairman, former Fulham and West Ham player, and now Sky Sports News regular Tony Gale. “This isn’t a slag off blog, is it?” Gale asks, during our brief chat, and we reassure him it’s quite the opposite. He is very complementary about what we are doing, and is clearly no fan of the weather either as he stands talking to us with a coat draped over his head, but is happy to chat with us for a while.

We watch both teams warming up, again from the safety of the main stand, as the rain continues to fall, and one team do a version of the hokey cokey running in and out, in and out. Behind us a man sets up a camcorder on a tripod. We get chatting and he is the WC goal keeping coach, who informs us of his European pedigree, as he was formerly a coach at Vitoria FC in Portugal, and he films “his goalie” to help with his coaching.

Shortly before kick-off, Kane’s voice softly comes over the tannoy, performing one of his many match day duties and reads out the teams. The floodlights come on, as the teams walk through the metal gate pitch side, and make their way back out into the rain. Tony Gale jogs past us again trying to keep dry as he makes his way to the stand from the board room, but confirms the inevitable “we are all going to get a bit wet”.

Tom is perhaps the least impressed, because as the game gets underway he is annoyed he has to leave our seats, and go out into the howling rain, “I’m getting some waterproofs!” In solidarity I move as well, to behind the goal WC are attacking in the first half, the Church End, a corrugated metal terrace, with some slightly bedraggled bunting hanging from the roof.

Two things are constant over the next 45 minutes, in fact pretty much the whole game, the dominance of the home team, and the extreme and ineffectual shouting of instructions from the away keeper, as the first of many chances fall to the home side, and regardless of what’s going on he does not stop talking, “come on then fellas” “nice and solid”.

There are a few stragglers walking around the edge of the pitch, carrying balls and the substitute boards, making their way to the dugout. Tom after taking some photos, has predictably succumbed to the food on offer, and I get two phone calls in quick succession, firstly asking if I want “salt and vinegar” and secondly if I want any “sauce” on my chips.

“Dining off a bin, are we?” asks Tom, as I set up the candles, and single red rose on top of a green bin, we use as our table, to share our food.

WC’s dominance is confirmed as they get their first goal of the match, and a very well worked one it is too. Great pace down the right wing, a back heel to an unmarked player, and a first touch finish into the roof of the net, from just outside the six yard box.

“We have got to keep the ball fellas” bemoans EGT’s keeper to his team mates, standing like statues, as the WC players run off and celebrate. Tom is a bit fed up already of his constant talking and poses the question, “do you think anyone listens to him?”, and I would have to say no, as the amount of times WC have broken through the defence in front of him, I can only assume they are not listening to a word he says.

A few people are braving the rain, standing pitch side under an umbrella, but the majority of people sit in the main stand, except for a few fearless kids who are dashing about getting soaked, as the game becomes so one sided, EGT are unable to get out of their own half, and the game descends into nothing more than a training exercise for the home team.

The fearless kids laugh in the face of the rain, as well as danger, after a clearance sends the ball over the back of the Church End, they dash up a ladder leaning against one end, and in a health and safety nightmare waiting to happen, clamber on top of the stand, coming back moments later with the ball.

EGT’s shouting keeper is lucky to stay on the pitch, after bombing out of his area, clattering one of the speedy WC wingers, then jogs back into his area like nothing has happened, only to be called back to the scene of the crime to receive a yellow card, and should be counting his blessings.

It’s the pace of the WC attack that is causing a lot of problems, amongst other things and they get two goals in short succession, which are almost identical, both from straight balls over the top, one is deftly struck lob over the WC keeper for 2 – 0, the second is a poked in from close range to make it 3 – 0.

EGT have their first chance of the game with about one minute left on the clock, only for an excellent save from the WC keeper to deny them, I’m sure the Portuguese coach in the stand must be delighted, one for the highlight reel.

The end finishes with the visitors 3 – 0 behind, and the group of kids are now giving the keeper grief from behind his goal, and keep shouting something that sounds like “gibbon”, but I can’t be sure if this is some new ape based insult I have missed, or I’m just not hearing them correctly. The whistle for half time blows with them banging the stand and shouting “Casuals” and “come on the Casuals”, when all of a sudden they are dashing back to the boardroom, after a Dad like figure shouts at them, only like a Dad can, and they know not to ignore him.

Sodden players either walk back or drag themselves back, depending on who they play for, and the main stand quickly empties, as people go in search of somewhere a little drier. There is no great noise and the half ends, just the sound of the rain on the corrugated metal above us.

We swap ends for the second half, convinced of seeing more goals from the home side, and sit under the porch of the Youth Changing rooms, and watch one player warming up ask a fan for a chip.

Although his shouting seems to fall on deaf ears, you can’t fault his spirit, and the EGT keeper comes out for the second 45 with all the same enthusiasm, as he did in the first, regardless of being three goals down, “come on then fellas”, and Tom is quite right to say that at least someone has a bit of enthusiasm, because at the moment The Moatside is a little bit quiet.
“Standards” shouts the WC Manager, “play”. Even though his team are well ahead, and EGT show no sign of getting back in the game, he still wants a better level of performance from his team, because at the moment the team are just going through the motions, and the game is stagnating.

The lack of action makes Toms mind up for him and he goes on a tea run, and comes back having walked half way around the pitch with two china mugs, a step up from your standard white polystyrene, with that look of concentration on his face of someone trying their best not to spill any.

“Got yourselves a nice little spot there. Is that the blog cabin?” says Tony Gale as he walks around to the dug outs, opposite the main stand. We ask him his view of the League Cup, and it seems that regardless of the level of football, the early rounds of Cup competitions are used to “blood youngsters”, and as they have “no reserves or youth team, during the ground share” it’s even more important of an opportunity for the manager to assess all parts of his squad. He is though slightly cautious, as we comment on how well the game is going, “we have lost from better positions”.

EGT’s frustration starts to show as the game begins to descend into a bit of a bad tempered one, on and off the pitch, as the fouls start to mount up, and both coaches exchange a few words, the EGT coach sounding like Taggart, but harder and more Scottish. At one point after two players come together, the WC player signals to his manager “take me off, he is going to send me off” referring to his perceived harsh treatment by the referee, and his coach agrees, as he is subbed off shortly after.

The group of kids have lost interest, and you can’t really blame them, they would rather kick about a flat ball than watch the game, occasionally breaking away from their own game to harangue the EGT keeper again, whenever he takes a goal kick all you can hear is “Woooooooooooooooo”.

Full time is almost upon us, and EGT’s bad night is compounded after they are given a golden chance to score, only for the player under no pressure at all, puts it wide, ironically it would have been easier to score, and then they concede a fourth.

In the words of the EGT keeper “IT’S TOO EASY” as the WC players pass their way into the area, unopposed, and after a short solo run, the player drops his shoulder, leaves two EGT player for dead, and dinks it over the goalie, and that’s how it ends, 4 – 0.

A small child mans the gate allowing the players off, keeping the spectators from getting in their way. The main stand is quickly empty, and is littered with the yellow and white tea mugs. A man straining under the weight of a rice filled pressure cooker makes his way to the boardroom and someone asks him “is that from the boot of your car?”

The rain is at its heaviest, we are quite far from home, and are struggling to find a cab to the station. Once we do, “it will be with you in 10 minutes” turns into 30 minutes, as we stand under a tree, desperately trying to keep dry.

It was a warm welcome, and people were very friendly. WC’s performance on the night was pretty flawless, and the lobbed goal was great, but EGT really did not make it very hard for them.

I’m sure that WC will be looking forward to being back on home soil soon close to their fans, because tonight’s experience was a little bit flat to say the least, but perhaps we can blame that on the rain Gods!

For all of our photographs from the match, click HERE

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