retired_carlos.jango71

Hartlepool (Away)

As you’ve probably worked out by now I’m a bit of a sad case. It’s 6.45am on boxing day, and right now I could be tucked up in bed, enjoying a few hours sleep before getting up and heading to my parents/Louise’s parents for a day of eating nice Christmas food and watching crap Christmas TV. Instead I’m standing in the freezing fog on Newmarket Road waiting for a coach to come and take me to Hartlepool for a day of football related fun. My family threatened to disown me when I first went to a boxing day away game, but they’re used to it now, and Louise is surprisingly understanding (not too sure what her Mum and Dad make of me but you can’t please everyone all the time).

Tommy has no girlfriend, and sees his mum everyday so he’s excused as well, but Mick and Will have family duties so it’s just the two of us. As it’s the festive season and Hartlepool is a long way away and neither of us want to drive in this god-awful weather, we’re taking the supporters coach. Surprisingly we’ve managed to fill two coaches today, the glory hunters are even coming out of the woodwork for away games it seems. Back in the pre-drivers licence days I used to do long coach journeys all the time, but I’d forgotten how boring they can be. I’ve read the Xmas edition of 4-4-2 by the time we pass Nottingham at 9am-ish, so I have to make a start on one of my Christmas books. Tommy is wrapped up in one his Christmas book; Cambridge United: The complete League era. Every now and then he pipes up with a useless piece of information such as "Did you know we almost installed a plastic pitch in the mid-80’s." Apparently the book contains information on every game in our 32 year football league history. Tommy is going to be spouting more bollocks than usual over the coming weeks.

Not even service station staff are up at this time on boxing day, meaning we can’t get a decent breakfast for love nor money when the driver stops for a rest. Trevor, one of the old codgers who goes to every away game on the coach, tells us Hartlepool are holding a pitch inspection at 12 noon because of the frost. That’s all we need. By 12 we’ll be pushing on towards the frozen north east, and if the game is called off it’ll take all afternoon to get home. I wish they’d hold pitch inspections a bit earlier for matches such as this. Hartlepool will have to go some to match Swansea, who a few years back declared our match at their place on, off, on again then finally off again. The coach driver that day was practically doing U-turns on the motorway. Everyone’s a bit tense as the clock ticks past noon, but thankfully we get the call saying the match is on, and the atmosphere lightens once more.

As it’s boxing day the roads are fairly clear, and we’re in Hartlepool by about 1.10pm, giving us almost two hours to explore the town where they once hung a monkey because they thought it was French spy. Last time I came to Hartlepool I was shocked that places like this still existed, and while the naff terraced houses and the shell-suits and the teenage mothers are still prevalent, the local council have at least made an effort to tidy up the town centre. There’s an art gallery, a little museum, and the shops around the Quayside have been refurbished and actually look quite smart. There’s not an open pub in sight though, so we have to blag our way into the supporters club (despite our lack of Geordie accents) to get a drink.

Hartlepool were another of the bookies pre-season title favourites, and unlike Rushden it’s hard to see why they’re struggling so badly. Ritchie Humphreys is still fat yet quality, while the likes of Gordon Watson, Paul Stephenson and Eddie Newton are all more than capable of playing at a higher level. They have also recruited a good experienced keeper in the form of ex-U Keith Branagan, who gets a warm round of applause when he appears for his pre-match warm-up. Our travelling contingent numbers about 400, and on the pitch we’ve made one change, with Adam Tann coming into the side to replace the crocked Phil Warner. Apparently Warner will be out for a month or so, but Tanny is a quality player and I don’t think he’ll be missed too badly.

I’m sure our players didn’t relish getting up at six this morning, and it appears they are still on the coach in the opening few minutes as Hartlepool rip our defence to shreds. Gordon Watson is allowed a free header after just two minutes but puts it wide, and then squanders a similar chance seconds later. The conditions aren’t helping us, with strong wind and driving rain blowing in our faces making accurate passing difficult. But with our first quality move of the match we go in front. Warren Goodhind plays a good ball down the left for Youngs, and his cross bounces up nicely for Omer Riza, who hooks the ball in at the near post. As usual we’re boosted by the goal, and it takes a brilliant save from Branagan to deny Riza a second. Youngs also goes close before Hartlepool score a spawny equaliser. A Humphreys free kick deflects up off the wall and spins into the path of Paul Smith, who beats Marshall from close range. Omer has another goal ruled out before half time, but considering Hartlepool’s possession it wouldn’t have been very fair if we’d gone into the break ahead.

At half time H’Angus the monkey appears. He carries out the duel role of being Hartlepool’s mascot and also being the town’s mayor. He got elected last year on the back of a promise of bananas for all, which says a lot about the relevance of local government in this part of the country.

Much to our amusement Humphreys scuffs a shot wide from close range in the opening minutes of the second half. He gets his revenge minutes later, delivering a teasing cross which Watson heads into the net. Watson must be trying to take the title of the most offside footballer in history from Onandi Lowe, but if we keep giving him free headers he’s going to punish us. He almost puts the game beyond our reach a few minutes later with another header that Marshy claws over the bar. At the other end our only threat is the pace of Omer, as Youngs and Tudor are struggling with the energy sapping conditions. One mazy run from the little wizard results in him being hauled back by Tommy Widdrington 25 yards from goal. With Simon Rodger out injured, no-one seems keen to take the free kick, and in the end Omer takes responsibility. This time luck is on our side, as Riza’s shot goes through the wall, takes a flick off someone’s leg and beats the wrong footed Branagan.

After this the match descends into a kicking contest. Hartlepool seem determined not to lose the match, and Widdrington and Eddie Newton are conceding free kicks all over the place. Terry Fleming and Luke Guttridge are not the type of players to shirk a physical battle, and both go into the book for stupid tackles. Wozza and Andy Duncan are also booked, and it’s a miracle that card happy referee Clingo doesn’t send anyone off before the final whistle goes.

Then it’s straight back on the coach to begin the long journey home.

I don’t think I’ve ever been this far on boxing day before. God knows what time we’ll be back in Cambridge. Having witnessed a not particularly good game played on a terrible pitch in pouring rain and a gale, you begin to wonder if it’s all worth it. I decide to ask Tommy:

"Tom. Do you think we’re a bit sad coming all this way when we should be at home with our families?"

Tommy looks at me as if I’ve just escaped from a mental hospital.

"Nah mate, the ones who aren’t here are the sad ones. Look at the feast of football they’ve missed out on today."

The worrying thing is I’m fairly sure he’s being serious.

[This message was edited by Peacemaker7 on 05 June 2003 at 15:05.]

retired_carlos.jango71

Cheers. I don't think I can ever remember doing this well in a CM game before actually. It gets a bit dull writing about win after win

Macclesfield (Home)

I hate this part of Christmas. The main festivities are over but no-one can get back into their normal routine as New Year is still on the horizon. So all there is to do is sit around the house, eat Turkey sandwiches and get bored. Luckily the weather is decidedly un-festive, so today’s match is in no doubt. Hurrah. Football is saving me in more than once sense today. We’ve been staying at Louise’s parents for the last couple of days, and today she and her mum are hitting the sales. So the plan was for me and her dad to do some bonding, but alas footy has intervened. Les is more of a rugby fan, and we don’t really have a lot in common, so it’s no great loss. I offered to take him along but he politely declined, as there is some egg-chasing on the box he wants to watch.

Today sees the debut of a new item from my wardrobe. A yellow and black santa hat which I got for Christmas but totally forgot about on the morning of the Hartlepool game. I’m always a bit superstitious when it comes to wearing new clothes to a match because I think I will jinx us. I got a new team shirt before the start of the season (Angus 6 printed on the back) but haven’t worn it to a game yet because I don’t want it to coincide with our first defeat of the season. At least with the shirt I can wear it at other times, such as when I’m playing (alas having Stev’s number does not seem to bring with it his quality). However, unless I want to look like an over sized gnome I can hardly wear the hat apart from at games, so it’s going on today. And it’s not like one little hat is going to make us lose at home to the bottom of the table side…

I make the mistake of not taking it off when I go to meet the boys in the Wrestlers. Although Tommy likes it, he and Will have some of their Newmarket Road End buddies with them and they proceed to take constantly take the pÃ*ss for the next half an hour. Mick is also looking smug because the abuse I’m getting is taking their attention away from his gut, which I’m sure has expanded over the holidays.

Macclesfield have never really recovered from the tonking we dished out to them way back on the opening day of the season. Their away record is particularly atrocious, and four points from a possible 36 on their travels is one of the main reasons they are propping up the entire football league. They’ve also scored just six goals away from Moss Rose, the same number as we’ve conceded at the Abbey all season (I’m full of useful statistics today). All the signs suggest a home win is little more than a formality, but Cambridge United are masters of snatching defeat from the jaws of victory so no-one’s getting complacent.

United are unchanged again, even though Paul Wanless and Simon Rodger are allegedly back in training. One player who won’t be appearing in a U’s shirt again is Fred Murray, who has joined Blackpool for a fee of £110,000. I was never really a great fan of psycho Fred, whose tigerish tackling was good but his general lack of footballing ability less so. He played a couple of games at centre back and looked ok, but mostly we saw him at left back and he was useless, especially when compared to our current left backs, Roberts and Warner. In fact I’m amazed we’ve got 110k for him, there seems to be more money floating around in football than the media (and our directors) would have us believe.

Fat ginger bloke isn’t about today, so there’s plenty of space for me and Mick, which is a nice change. Unfortunately the three wise monkeys seem to have brought more annoying little kids than usual today. One of the monkeys is in charge of a boys football team (I saw him ‘coaching’ the other day when I was walking Mum’s dog) and he seems to have his entire team with him today.

"Fúcking kids," Mick says to me, as one barges into him for the hundredth time. "They don’t even watch the bloody game. Why can’t they pÃ*ss off to the family stand."

I think Mick is turning into a younger version of my dad, which is a bit worrying. I need to make sure the same bitterness doesn’t affect me for a few years yet.

Macclesfield really are a terrible side. Today they’ve decided to stick eight men behind the ball to try and stifle us. Their attacking plan, reminiscent of our own tactics during the John Beck glory days, involves launching the ball towards giant striker Kyle Lightbourne, who attempts to flick it on for his smaller, quicker partner Matt Tipton. Most teams that come to the Abbey just seem to defend these days, and our players have learnt how to be patient until the break through comes along. Today it takes 12 minutes, as Tinson slips allowing Youngs to get to the by-line and cross for Tudor to score from close range. Fallon has obviously had Macc watched, and has developed a cunning plan to counter their attack. Instead of trying to challenge Lightbourne, Stev just stands off him allowing him to win the header and instead picking up the flick on. Genius, and Lightbourne is too stupid to realise despite receiving an ear-bashing from his boss on more than one occasion.

It’s 2-0 before half time when Tudes adds another to his own personal goal of the season contest with a 25 yard scorcher. Shaun Marshall hasn’t touched the ball except on a couple of occasions when the defenders felt sorry for him and gave him a pass back to deal with.

With a two goal cushion against easily the worst team we’ve played thus far, United don’t try too hard in the second period. Tudor and Riza are both trying to see how many players they can dribble past before they get tackled, and Tudor wins with a great 80th minute run (where he gets his energy I don’t know) which takes him past four startled defenders but ends with a tame shot straight at the Macc keeper. The 60th minute introduction of Armand One also livens up proceedings, as he is still employing his ‘shoot on sight’ policy, which means three footballs end up somewhere on Newmarket Road. Armand does manage one shot on target, a thunderous effort that rebounds off the bar.

On the terraces the fans are relaxed too (it’s almost like pre-season has come early) and pass the time singing our Christmas songs. Unfortunately we only have a couple suitable for home games, Cambridge fans aren’t a very original bunch:

Away in a manger,
No crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus sat up and he said:
WE HATE BORO, WE HATE BORO
WE HATE BORO, WE HATE BORO
SCÙM SCÙM SCÙM

and…

Hark now hear the Cambridge sing,
A new king born today.
His name is Omer Riza
He puts the goals away!

Hopefully the third one;

Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells,
Jingle all the way.
Oh what fun it is to see,
Cambridge win away

can be used at Lincoln on New Years Day.

[This message was edited by Lionel Perez on 11 June 2003 at 00:52.]

retired_carlos.jango71

Got me a new CD :cool:

Lincoln (Away)

New Years Eve, yuk. New Years Day, yuk. Lincoln, yuk. Driving, yuk. I’m not a great fan of New Years Eve. There are always too many people out and about trying too hard to have a good time and the whole thing ends up seeming a bit forced. But last night Louise and I went to a small-ish party at one of her mates’ houses and saw the New Year in there, so that wasn’t so bad. However, I still ended up getting drunk, and getting into a massive argument with some bloke I don’t know about the reasons why Terry Fleming is better than Zinedine Zidane. A few hours sleep later a dry throat and a splitting headache have replaced drunken happiness. Why did I say I’d drive today, backing out now unfortunately isn’t an option.

To add to my woes Louise has decided she’s coming to today’s match. Girlfriends and football don’t mix. It’s a proven fact. I’m sure there are studies out there (and if there aren’t, there should be) concluding that the two should be kept apart. And I know that probably sounds sexist as hell, but I don’t care. When Louise comes to a game, the following things usually happen:
<UL TYPE=SQUARE>
<LI>She gets cold and moans. I then have to lend her my coat and freeze my ass off.
<LI>I miss large proportions of the match getting her endless cups of tea.
<LI>She moans that all the players are ugly (Although she quite fancied Ian Ashbee, which is another good reason the talentless gimp has moved on).
<LI>She spends most of her time reading the programme or watching the crowd or staring at the floor. In fact anything but watching the game.
</UL>

I know I should be pleased she takes an interest, but to be honest I’m still not too keen on her seeing the side of me that calls someone I’ve never met a fúcking ****, or the side of me that climbs over several rows of seats just so I can hug a bloke who spends too much time on the sunbed and looks like an Oompah Loompah. All this is neither here nor there, as she’s coming, along with usual suspects Mick, Tommy, and Will. After aspirins all round, a subdued car load of people departs Cambridge and heads up the A14. Lincolnshire is the flattest place this side of Holland. The fens have nothing on the miles and miles of rolling fields that surround us like a large brown ocean as we make our way towards our destination. The flatness is compounded by the total lack of civilization. Occasionally we pass a farm house, or a barn, but mostly there’s nothing between the horizon and the sky. Nothing, that is, except the rain, which is pelting down. The likelihood of today’s match being a classic is decreasing by the minute.

Lincoln itself isn’t that bad. In a Lincolnshire beauty contest, it would probably lose to Boston, but easily beat Scunthorpe (the delights of which we will encounter later in the season). There’s not a great deal of character here, but the area of the town centre flanking the river has been redeveloped and contains several bars, restaurants and clubs. It is also incredibly messy from last night’s celebrations. We kill time in a pub that has apparently been open all night, and although no one except Tommy can face alcohol, the atmosphere is friendly and relaxed. We’re still a fair way from the stadium because we’ve been pre-warned that all the pubs in the vicinity of Sincil Bank are closed thanks to the over-zealous Lincolnshire Police.

Sincil Bank is so called because it sits on the bank of the river (presumably the River Sincil, although I’m not entirely sure about that). The surrounding area isn’t particularly upmarket, and there’s a gang of pikey kids hanging about at the entrance of the car park. I’m glad my car is parked up safely in a multi-storey in the city centre, otherwise I’d fear for my stereo. The Stadium is dominated by one enormous stand that runs along one side of the pitch. It seems fairly new, and is very impressive. It dwarfs the other three, smaller stands giving the ground a strange, lop-sided feel. The proximity of the river may have something to do with the state of the pitch, which is without doubt the worst I’ve seen this season (and that’s saying something).

The pitch doesn’t really affect Lincoln’s game as they don’t use two thirds of it. From kick off they proceed to bombard our area with long high passes, all aimed at giant centre forward Dean Cropper. If the ball goes out for a throw in or a corner, giant centre half Ben Futcher lumbers forward to give us more problems. We’re still very much not at full strength, as Guttridge has joined our growing list of crocked midfielders. No loan signings have been forthcoming, so Shaggy Taylor is playing in midfield, alongside Wozzer and Fleming. Luckily Lincoln don’t really have a midfield to speak of (the two token midfielders in their 5-2-3 formation just sit in front of the defence to make it more of a 7-0-3) so we don’t get over run, and Shaggy and Goodhind are both good in the air for all the set pieces we have to defend.

It’s as if John Beck never left the Imps, right down to all the crappy gamesmanship. We kick the ball out of play for one of their players to get treatment, and instead of giving the ball back to Dancing Shaun they put it out for a throw and immediately put us back under pressure. Ironically I used to love all that kind of thing when we did it, but that’s the hypocrisy of football fans for you.

You may’ve noticed I’m rambling more than usual today, and that’s because the game itself is absolutely shocking. I wasn’t expecting much from our boys today, but as an attacking force we’re non-existent. Omer obviously doesn’t fancy it (I bet he didn’t imagine he’d ever be here when he was banging them in for Arsenal reserves) and Tudor and Youngs aren’t getting the service they thrive on when Rodger and Guttridge are on duty. For all their pressure the home side haven’t really tested Marshall. The crosses into the box aren’t of the highest quality and all he has to do in the first half is make a couple of unconvincing punches and stop a few gentle long rangers. Louise gets cold, moans that we’re worse than last season and takes my coat.

The second half is no better until the introduction of Armand One with 15 minutes to go. Now this isn’t the sort of match I’d expect Armand to show up well in, but on he comes sporting a natty pair of yellow and black gloves. With ten minutes to go a rare Tudor cross from the right finds him with his back to goal marked by two home defenders. In one swift movement he brings the ball down, turns and fires into the net. One is so gifted, and if he showed it more often he’d certainly be more than a sub for us. Keith Alexander’s riposte is to send on another striker, and four minutes later they’re level. A high cross finds the head of Futcher, and in the resulting scramble Sedgemore manages to smuggle the ball over the line. Percentages football Beck used to call it. It’s not pretty, but can be effective all the same.

No one really deserved to win so a draw is fair enough, and it’s time to go home. Or not, as we finally see the reason Lincolnshire police are so scared of football matches. As we attempt to leave a massive roar (much louder than any heard during the game from the home supporters) goes up outside the ground. Apparently Lincoln have a large hooligan element, and some of our ‘fans’ have managed to rile them up a bit. Now they’re taking revenge on the whole of the Cambridge following. Although we’ve been locked in for our own safety, this doesn’t stop, coins, stones, and, bizarrely, bits of stale bread, being thrown over the wall into our enclosure. The Millwall’s and the Cardiff’s of this world may get all the bad press, but it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.

Mike..

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Lionel Perez:
However, I still ended up getting drunk, and getting into a massive argument with some bloke I don’t know about the reasons why Terry Fleming is better than Zinedine Zidane. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

ROFL

...and for all the budding wannabes out there (like me!) just read Lionel's 24/6 post above - would make a worthy short-story in it's own right.

Apologies for the overly-gushing superlatives LP but I think that this is quite simply the best 'serious' post I've read on CMS...ever

retired_carlos.jango71

Cheers Flip. No need to apologise, my ego never tires of getting massaged

Bournemouth (Home)

So its belatedly time for our first home game of 2003. I say belatedly because it’s eight days since the Lincoln match and while the rest of the country was concentrating on the FA Cup third round last Saturday we had the day off. If you don’t like football Saturday must be the most boring day of the week. I don’t know what people do with themselves. I just spent the day moping round the house watching football focus, on the ball and Grandstand. I wasn’t in any way jealous of our conquerors, Cardiff, who entertained Premiership Sunderland. I was also not at all smug when they got tonked 4-0.

Anyway it’s Wednesday now and we’re ready for the visit of Bournemouth, a team so bad they kept Macclesfield off the bottom of the table for much of the first half of the season. A recent revival under the guidance of Howard Kendall has seen them climb away from the relegation places, but they still shouldn’t prove too much of a test for us. God, I’m beginning to sound like an arrogant Man United fan, but with good reason as we’re now 25 games unbeaten. That’s more than half a season, and so far this is without doubt the best league run I can ever remember Cambridge having. We’ve even made it through the usually tricky Christmas period with our record still intact.

Our good league form has come on the back of early exits in each cup competition, and it could be argued that playing less games has helped us stay consistent in the league. Mick is convinced this is the case, while Tommy and Will are less so. I’m inclined to side with Newmarket Road Enders on this one, as I think we could’ve had a good league season and a lucrative cup run or two. Whether we’d still be unbeaten if we’d played a few rounds of the LDV trophy is another matter, but I don’t believe that professional footballers get tired playing two matches a week. All (well most) of them are fit young men, they should be able to cope with more than 90 minutes of football a week. And a cup run or two is always good. Despite the thrashing we took it was great to see United run out at the Millennium Stadium last season, and it’s a shame we won’t be getting there again. Oh well, maybe our form will dip and we’ll have to go up via the playoffs.

On paper Bournemouth are a good side. I was surprised they got relegated last season and was expecting them to at least be challenging for the playoffs now. Four of their six victories this season have come on their travels, so a large following have arrived from the south coast, and are already offering good vocal support when we arrive. There are no ex-U’s in their side, but they do have the captain of the Hong Kong national side, the brilliantly named Wong Wai Tak. Once again free tickets have been sent out to the language schools, ensuring a large Asian contingent is filling the usually empty cheap seats.

Fat ginger bloke is also expecting us to turn the Cherries over:

“If Shane sticks wide then we could get five or six. I’d like to see him really toast their full back.�

‘Toast the Fullback’ is one of his favourite sayings. He screams it at regular intervals, usually as soon as Tudor picks up the ball and starts running. His outbursts usually draw a few odd looks but they don’t seem to bother him.

The week off has given our midfield the chance to recover from their various injuries, meaning Guttridge, Wanless and Rodger are in tandem again for the first time in nearly a month. Wozzer Goodhind reverts to his more favoured position of right back, in place of Adam Tann, while Omer Riza continues up front despite One’s goalscoring heroics last week. Fallon had hinted in the Cambridge Evening News that he was going to give Armand a start, but in the end he’s opted for the pace and trickery of Omer. Considering his general lack of fitness One is probably more suited to short bursts.

Bournemouth’s problems appear to be up front. Derek Holmes is too lightweight while age is finally catching up with skipper Steve Fletcher, whose strength doesn’t make up for his chronic lack of mobility. In midfield they look quite tasty, with the gifted Wade Elliott prowling the right flank and James Hayter probing from the centre. Our own midfield dynamo Simon Rodger looks fit and raring to go, and goes close to a goal on his return with a crashing shot from 25 yards that zips over the bar. In contrast Luke Guttridge, who is 11 years Rodger’s junior, looks tired and sluggish. Luke doesn’t have the best natural fitness, and it looks like he’s been brought back a bit too early.

Elliott fires a warning shot across the bows with a header just wide, and soon afterwards its 1-0 to the under-dogs. A long ball out of defence from Mark Smith finds Hayter 40 yards from goal. The midfielder runs forward, shrugs off a couple of half hearted challenges from Goodhind and Guttridge before blasting a low pot-shot past the unsighted Marshall. This is Omer’s cue to hobble off, clutching his hamstring. One is his replacement, and he takes just three minutes to make his mark. As has often been the case this season, it’s the left sided combination of Roberts and Rodger that creates the goal. The formers pass finds the latter, and his deep cross is inch perfect for Armand to nod in from close range. Despite being 6’ 5� or so I think it’s the first time I’ve seen him head the ball in anger, and on that evidence maybe he should do it more often.

From here on the rest of the half turns into the Armand One show. The French teenager seems determined to prove a point to Fallon for leaving him on the bench, and his usual shoot on sight policy draws two excellent saves from Gareth. After a bright start Bournemouth have faded badly and you have to wonder why talented Northern Ireland international striker Warren Feeney is only warming the bench.

Tudor gives Stewart an early test in the second half with a right footed volley that the keeper parries away, while a Tom Youngs header loops just wide. Elliott has looked subdued since the break, and is replaced by Feeney with half an hour left. This doesn’t make much difference to Bournemouth’s play, and we continue to press but don’t find a way through until the 80th minute. A powerful run by One is halted on the edge of the box by a rash challenge from Wai Tak. Rodger takes the free kick, which smashes against the post and rebounds to Shane Tudor who scores, much to Stewart’s clear disgust.

2-1 isn’t really a fair reflection of our second half domination, and when Rodger lashes in a stoppage time shot the scoreline takes on a deservedly comfortable look. A good finish to a game that started badly, and another win which extends our lead at the top thanks to stuttering Swansea. The Swans haven’t been playing well in recent weeks, and now Bury have taken over second spot. We’re going to take some catching though – Eleven points separate us from the Shakers.

[This message was edited by Lionel Perez on 29 June 2003 at 21:46.]

retired_carlos.jango71

Boston (Home)

It’s another massive match today. No, not the first ever visit of the Boston inbreds to our fair city, but my first run out since Christmas. My waistline has certainly expanded over the holiday season, and my pot belly pokes out like a little pink balloon over my shorts. Today the venue is Pie’s Rec, where the United youth team occasionally play their home games. This means real goalposts and, amazingly, nets. Of course we haven’t got eleven a side, only eight, but we play on the full pitch anyway so everyone is tired after about ten minutes. The standard is dire as usual, and there is only one moment of note from my point of view:

The score is 8-8 (we don’t usually keep score but this real wánker called Simon is playing and feels the need to shout out everytime a goal goes in) and there are about five minutes to go. Everyone is knackered, so I decide to make try a run out of defence. I go through a couple of weary challenges fairly easily and launch the ball out wide to Ian on the right wing. Ian is one of the few really talented players on show, and he dashes forward before whipping in a great cross. I’ve continued my run into the area and manage to leap above John and power a header towards the goal. It beats the keeper all ends up, but cracks off the face of the bar and rebounds out to one of their players. As I’m lying face down in the mud, they race up the other end and score the winner. Oh well, you can’t win them all.

I’d have swapped personal glory for another three points this afternoon anyway. Boston have surprised everyone by challenging for the playoffs despite starting the season on –6 points thanks to their misdemeanours last year. While they haven’t won many fans with their industrial style of football, they’re a tough side to beat and I’m sure we’ll have to be at our best today.

One player who wasn’t at his best last Wednesday was Luke Guttridge, who looked sluggish, and copped it from Fallon in the Cambridge Evening News as a result. This didn’t go down too well with li’l Luke, who responded in last nights CEN by saying he was fed up of playing in Division Three and wants to move on to a bigger club. Now Guttridge isn’t the most popular player amongst the fans (although his form on the pitch this season has won a lot of people round) and this latest outburst will do little to endear him to the U’s faithful. He’s always had an ego that exceeds his talent, if you saw him out on a Friday or Saturday night you’d think he was David Beckham the way he swaggers about. Anyway, Fallon’s been on the radio this morning and said he’ll talk to him on Monday, so we’ll have to wait and see what happens.

Mick has no mixed feelings about Guttridge:

“Hopefully the little cvnt will fúck off asap.�

Ordinarily a little battling midfielder like Guttridge would be the kind of player Mick loves, but he’s still bitter that Luke called him a fat git when we were having a drunken chat one night in Life.

Guttridge starts the match today, along with Armand One, who replaces Omer Riza and his bruised shin. Boston are skippered by ex-United keeper Paul Bástard, sorry Bastock, and have recently persuaded the talented Daryl Clare to come off the transfer list, so he starts on the right flank. Luckily Neil Redfearn is suspended (now there’s a surprise) so Wanny and Rodger should be able to get on with their normal game without fearing for their own safety. Boston are still playing in a similar style to Rushden, hoofing the ball wide at every opportunity for Clare and Jamie Cook to chase. Cook tormented us at York Street, and almost creates the first goal today with a great cross that finds Tom Bennett, whose glancing header hits the post.

Bastock just gets fatter and fatter. He was hardly slim when he was here all those years ago, and now he’s pushing 40 his agility has sunk to an all time low, and this plays a big part in the opening goal. One has won a free kick wide on the right touchline. Simon Rodger swings it in and Tom Youngs stoops to head into the net. It’s a decent intelligent header from Tommy, but it’s fairly close to the keeper and to be honest I would have been a bit gutted if Marshy had let it in.

The Boston keeper is still a good shot stopper, and denies Tudor with a great parry to stop a fearsome drive. Apart from his goal Youngs has been inconspicuous, and limps off just before half time to be replaced by Paul Simpson. This is Simpson’s first league appearance for the club (he played in our LDV defeat at Sarfend) and he seems eager to prolong his career, charging about like a fresh-faced teenager. Meanwhile, Guttridge seems unwilling to move more than five yards away from the centre circle, which is in stark contrast to the all action style we’ve come to expect from him this season. If he continues to play like this I would imagine his Cambridge career will come to an abrupt end.

Anyway, just as we’re all set to go and get our half time bacon rolls, Simon Rusk surges forward for Boston and gets in a cross which Simon Weatherstone converts from close range. The Pilgrims haven’t really offered much, and their goal isn’t particularly deserved. But 1-1 it is, and it gets worse for us in the opening minutes of the second half when Weatherstone curls in a free kick Beckham would have been proud of.

Usually this would be the key for us to step up a gear, but for some reason the onslaught doesn’t come. Whether the players are beginning to feel tired after a tricky Christmas period I don’t know, but we don’t really press the Pilgrims and as time ticks on the first defeat is looming large. Finally United stir, and with 20 minutes to go Armand One wakes up and launches a shot from 30 yards that is just wide of the target. One always perks up when he feels a goal could be in the offing, and moments later he wins a header that sets Guttridge scurrying clear on goal. Luke’s shot is saved by Bastock, but One picks up the rebound and nets the equaliser. Neither team seems to have the energy or the inclination to go for a winner, and the match peters out into a draw. That’s three very average performances on the trot now, and although we still haven’t lost we’re not playing with our usual confidence and swagger.

I guess it was inevitable we were going to wobble at some point, and as long as we keep grinding out results there won’t be too much to worry about. Maybe it’s time for Fallon to rotate the squad.

retired_carlos.jango71

Darlington (Away)

Our punishment for a couple of home games in a row is a nice long trip to the wet and windy northeast, Darlington section. This means a horribly early start, as we have to take the 8.15 to Peterborough and then change for a northbound express. Or at least we would be if Mick were here. It’s already 8.13 now and there is no sign of the fatboy anywhere. Tommy is all for abandoning him and getting on the train (having to get a later one and the subsequent delays to our journey may result in us missing the start of the game). But Will and I persuade him to keep faith, and sure enough Mick appears about 30 seconds before the train is due to leave. Luckily it’s delayed by a few minutes, so we’re in no danger of missing it. It’s nice when the failings of our railway system work in your favour for once.

The Cambridge – Peterboring leg of our journey is fairly uneventful. The fun starts when we arrive in ‘Boro, to find that no northbound trains are stopping in Darlington today. After a ‘conversation’ (we talk, he grunts) with a member of station staff, it turns out they’re carrying out engineering works at Darlo station, but we can get the train to York and then take a bus. The problem with buses is that they’re subject to traffic jams, and the one which we hit coming out of York is a right bitch. The bus driver has already told we should be in Darlington at approximately 2.30, but in actual fact it’s 2.50 when we get there, and by the time we’ve run up the hill to Feethams it’s five past and we’ve already missed the first few minutes of the game.

It’s a shame we had to rush because previously I’ve always found Darlington to be a nice town. Certainly a lot nicer than neighbouring Hartlepool, not only in terms of the town itself but also the people who live there. Unfortunately none of the charming pseudo-Geordies seem to follow the Quakers, and instead Feethams is inhabited by a bunch of miserable whinging bástardss. The supporters of our near and dear neighbours P*sh moan a lot, but even they are not in the same league as the Darlo fans. I guess being shÃ*t for as long as anyone can remember must have something to do with it. Their regular target these days is slightly eccentric/raving mad chairman, ex-safe cracker and millionaire George Reynolds, who has recently announced that Darlo’s new, all singing, all dancing 25,000-seater stadium will be known as the George Reynolds arena. Apparently the Darlo fans aren’t too impressed with this almighty display of vanity, but good on him I say. If someone offered to build Cambridge a new ground I wouldn’t care if it were called the Barry Fry appreciation stadium.

Generally I like old ground which have a bit of character, but I certainly won’t be disappointed to see the back of Feethams. Along one side of the pitch runs a new-ish two-tier stand, which is very smart. This is in stark contrast to the other three sides of the ground, which are basic to say the least. We’ve been allocated the stand opposite the big one, which fills the middle third of the pitch and must be a bit of a fire hazard seeing as it is predominantly made of wood. There are a few rows of seats at the back but our 600 or so fans (numbers are growing as our unbeaten run continues) are mostly squeezed onto the tiny terrace at the front. My garden shed is, literally, bigger than this. Gorgeous George must be hoping a new ground will ignite the passions of a few thousand floating fans, as Darlo’s current average gates will mean every Quaker gets just under 100 seats in the new stadium. Maybe the White Elephant Arena would be more appropriate.

On the ‘pitch’ (another beach. Ian Darler, our groundsman, should write a book on how to prepare a football pitch, he’d make a fortune), there’s been no score, so that’s good. I haven’t missed a goal due to lateness for a few years, but I do remember one occasion getting stuck on the way into Wycombe and the home side scoring within 25 seconds or something stupid. That was my dads fault, and in retrospect it would’ve been better if we’d got totally lost and missed the entire game.

Anyway, Tommy Youngs is missing for us with groin trouble, so Paul Simpson is making his full debut. Other than that we’re unchanged. Tommy Taylor is still in charge of the home side, and looks set to steer them to their customary position in the bottom half of the table. Since we easily brushed them aside at the Abbey back in September Fat Tommy has realised that useless red card machine Barry Conlon is not the answer to their goalscoring problems, and has recruited possibly the oldest forward line in third division history. Peroxide pensioner Stuart Barlow is playing up front, alongside everyone’s favourite drug taking ex-scúmmer, Andy Clarke.

Our arrival triggers a goal, as almost as soon as we take our positions on the terrace Barlow taps home a cross from Danny Mellanby. Luckily for statue-esqe defenders Angus and Tann, the linesmans flag is already up. Offside will turn out to be a main theme of the afternoon, but first of all we go in front, slightly against the run of play. Tudor isn’t having a great deal of joy in the mud on the far side of the pitch, but he finally gets a run at his marker in the 23rd minute. The defender helpfully slips over, allowing Tudes to get in a superb cross that One tucks away with ease. While the team’s form hasn’t been great since Christmas, young Armand is hot at the moment, and we’re finally beginning to see the player that burst onto the scene so dramatically last season. Offside goal number two comes just before half time. Barlow is again the offender, standing a few yards offside as Arthur Coriera’s shot flashes into the net. Whether he was interfering with play or not is another matter, but nobody in a yellow shirt is complaining.

Feethams is also (in)famous for its toilets. Nowhere other football ground bogs in the country combine the smallness of Layer Road, Colchester, the decrepit-ness of St. James’ Park, Exeter, and the broken-ness of London Road, Peterborough. Plus they emit the most disgusting smell you can imagine. If MI5 could capture that aroma it would be a brilliant for torturing foreign spies and the like. In the end I take the safe option and pÃ*ss up a near by wall.

Having already been denied two goals for fairly blatant offsides, the Darlo fans have already decided the officials are against them and give up their feeble attempts at chanting to hurl a barrage of abuse at referee Messias and his assistants. Their anger is compounded on 65 minutes when Neil Wainwright’s ‘goal’ is chalked off, this time because Clarke has strayed offside. Clarkey and Barlow may have experience by the bucketload, but between them they have about as much pace as Laurent Blanc which means they’re frequent victims of our well-drilled offside trap. Even so, Darlo are on top, and when Clarke finally does spring the offside trap he’s unlucky to see his shot bounce off the top of the bar.

The home side force several corners as they begin to pile on the pressure, and it becomes obvious we’re going to need another goal, and it comes 13 minutes from time in spectacular style. Simpson has been working hard on the left, without making a great impact, but he picks up the ball just inside the Quakers half and just starts running. Three defenders are left trailing in his wake, and although his shot is too close to the keeper, Collett helpfully spills the ball allowing Simmo to poke in the rebound. Fantastic strike, I can’t imagine he’s scored many better in his career, and it totally breaks Darlo’s resistance. In fact we could have had one or two more goals in the closing minutes but for some wayward finishing from mssrs. Guttridge and Tudor. The Darlo fans give up whinging at the ref and start chanting “Taylor out!� instead. Fat Tommy is looking increasingly uncomfortable on the bench. I imagine he would welcome the sack and the chance to the relative comfort of his beloved Essex.

We have a quick pint in the supporters club, and when we come out the Darlington players are still on the pitch warming down. Looks like even we’ll be getting home earlier than them tonight.

retired_brinker317

Brilliant LP, simply brilliant

retired_carlos.jango71

Shrewsbury (Away)

I’m generally not a superstitious person, but following a football team can turn even the most rational man in the world into a nervous wreck who is scared of anything numbered 13 and won’t walk under ladders. Last time we got promoted I always wore the same pair of socks to away games, and at home games I still feel the need to shout ‘C’Mon Boys’ when we kick off.

And now, when we go to away games in the car, the first track on the CD player is always One More Time by Daft Punk. This is because it was the first song we listened to on the way to Macclesfield back in August, and because we won so well that day it was immediately adopted as our away trip song. We’re in Will’s car today, which means no CD player, but Tommy (whose superstitious tendencies are heightened on match days) has recorded the song onto tape, so it’s blaring away as we set off for Salop.

One player not heading to Shrewsbury is Luke Guttridge, who has handed in a transfer request in the wake of his public spat with Steve Fallon earlier in the week. L’il Luke came in for more criticism from Fall after the Darlo game, and responded by labelling the managers coaching style ‘basic and amateurish’, while restating his desire to play at a higher level. So he’s on the list now, and is said to be considering offers from several clubs. Most of the fans are right behind Fallon on this one (he has steered us to the top of the league after all). Despite his form this season Luke is still not a crowd favourite, and unless he reduces his ego a bit he’s going to be in for a shock when he comes up against some decent opposition. Tommy is a bit gutted as Guttridge is his favourite player, but I think with more money available to him Fallon should be able to find a quality replacement.

Driving to Shrewsbury is a tricky business at the best of times, let alone on a Tuesday. By the time we hit Birmingham the M6 is beginning to resemble a car park and we sit for a good 40 minutes staring at England’s second city. Once we get going again Will drives like a man possessed so we’re not too late, and arrive in Shrewsbury by 7.05, giving us plenty of time to take in a pint or three at a very friendly pub near Gay Meadow.

As a town I like Shrewsbury a lot. It reminds me of home and I guess its what Cambridge would be like if we hadn’t been lumbered with the University. I imagine it’s quite a boring place to live as a young person, but it certainly looks nice and I wouldn’t mind moving here myself when I’m old and grey. Gay Meadow itself sits on the bank of the River and is thus susceptible to flooding. It’s positioning also gives rise to one of the most charming stories in the football league. Back in the day, if a ball was kicked out of the stadium and into the river, the groundsman would go out in a little coracle to retrieve it. Unfortunately this doesn’t happen anymore (how they do get the balls out of the river is anyone’s guess) but apart from that it seems little has changed at Shrewsbury’s ground for the last 50 years. All four stands are old and decaying, so much so that soon after we get into the away end and take up our positions a small pile of dust and rubble falls on Will’s head, much to our amusement.

Luke’s replacement in midfield is Terrier Fleming, who’ll no doubt give his usual 100%. Andy Duncan is also missing through suspension so Warren Goodhind is filling in at centre half. Apparently Phil Warner is back in training now, but he’s a week or two away from the first team, so Adam Tann retains his place at right back. Shrewsbury line up in an attacking 4-3-3 formation, featuring a front three of the brilliant Luke Rodgers, the ancient Ian Stevens and the thuggish Nigel Jemson. At the back their defence is marshalled by the fattest footballer I’ve ever seen. Matt Redmile looks more like one of those Burberry wearing England fans you see getting arrested in foreign countries than a professional athlete. He’s fat, bald and ugly, and warms up by getting a team mate/ball boy/member of public to throw balls up in the air for him to head.

Despite the thuggish qualities of Redmile, Jemson and several of their team mates, Shrewsbury do have a bit of class in midfield in the form of ex-Forest star Ian Woan. After just three minutes a delicate chip over the top nearly sets Rodgers away, but he is denied by an excellent covering tackle from Wozzer. Eight minutes later the Shrews hit the front when Woan’s corner skims off the head of Redmile and the unmarked Ryan Lowe scores from close range. While Redmile’s aerial prowess is causing us problems at set pieces, he has the turning circle of a traction engine, and this is being exploited by Armand One, who is in one of his mercurial moods. One outrageous turn leaves the big men for dead, but unfortunately his cross is inches too high for Shane Tudor to connect with.

United are beginning to dominate now, and get their reward on 26 minutes. A Tudor corner is nodded clear to the edge of the box, the position usually taken up by the absent Guttridge. Today’s lurker is Warren Goodhind, a player whose goalscoring record is about as good as Stev’s was before this season. The difference between the two is that Wozzer was always looking for a goal, and when he played at right back his shoot on sight policy was good for a laugh. This time however he gets his shot on target, and with the aid of a little deflection it sneaks into the bottom corner for the equaliser.

With the wind in our sails any team at this level will struggle to cope with us, and it’s no surprise when Tudor makes it 2-1 before half time. One is the provider, beating two men and threading an inch perfect pass through for the orange one, who makes no mistake with a measured finish from just inside the box.

Surprisingly Kevin Ratcliffe removes Woan at half time, and sends on an extra defender in an attempt to subdue big Armand, who is starting to dominate proceedings. Unsurprisingly the ex-Everton skippers methods of subduing the Frenchman aren’t exactly within the laws of the game, and One is left on the floor several times in the opening minutes of the second half after being kicked or shoved over. But Shrewsbury’s cheating ways are eventually their downfall, as one horrendous challenge by Tolley on One earns us a free kick on the left. Simon Rodger arcs it into the area, where who should be arriving unmarked by the now prolific Stev Angus, who leaps like the proverbial salmon and powers a downward header past Iain Dunbavin.

With a 3-1 lead I expect us to go onto a comfortable victory. The previously noisy Shrews fans seem to have come to the same conclusion, as they stop singing for the first time since kick off. They’re soon perked up when we fail to deal with a cross from Sam Aiston, and Ian Stevens is left unmarked to score and bring his side back into the match.

The goal sees the Shrews step up a gear, and they apply some serious pressure for the next ten minutes without getting a decent effort on Marshall’s goal. With 15 minutes to go Tudor breaks free and wins us a corner. Again Rodger provides and inch perfect delivery, finding Wozza, who heads into the roof of the net to secure our victory. The bizarre sight of goalscorers Goodhind and Angus celebrating together keeps me smiling all the way home.

[This message was edited by Lionel Perez on 28 August 2003 at 0:31.]

retired_kellywinkler42

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Lionel Perez:

To add to my woes Louise has decided she’s coming to today’s match. Girlfriends and football don’t mix. It’s a proven fact. I’m sure there are studies out there (and if there aren’t, there should be) concluding that the two should be kept apart. And I know that probably sounds sexist as hell, but I don’t care. When Louise comes to a game, the following things usually happen:

+ She gets cold and moans. I then have to lend her my coat and freeze my ass off.
+ I miss large proportions of the match getting her endless cups of tea.
+ She moans that all the players are ugly (Although she quite fancied Ian Ashbee, which is another good reason the talentless gimp has moved on).
+ She spends most of her time reading the programme or watching the crowd or staring at the floor. In fact anything but watching the game.


<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Class

I lost fell behind on this a little bit but it was a joy to have so much to read. KUTGW LP this is a great read.