FA TROPHY 3rd ROUND
Weymouth – 1 [West 55]
Sutton United – 0
Yawn. Another trip to the South West results in our Wembley dreams ending for another season thanks to a less than memorable game with the U’s on the wrong end of the scoreline despite having had their fair share of the contest. Standard.
An early morning departure and a nice leisurely saunter down to the coast courtesy of Drunken Arse Coaches Inc with Col behind the wheel is only interrupted by an opening time diversionary stop at the Firkin in Chichester for a purely medicinal opening time drinky-poos to get the festivities under way. What? We were thirsty!
Having found what seems to be the only B&B still open in the town at this time of year and all for the princely sum of £13 a head, a couple of local hostelries are put to good & heavy use before a cold wind greets the intrepid
drunks travellers at the home of the Terras.
Out on the pitch, Nko Ekoku is straight back into the side after 3 months out and Mark Watson is restored to front line duties. Dacky isn’t present however. Cup tied we presume.
The first 20 minutes or so is nothing to write home about, with Weymouth having slightly the better of it, forcing Howells into a couple of smart saves. Our hosts have quite clearly watched us closely prior to this meeting, as their main tactic involves banging long balls over our two centre backs (Riley & Berry) and getting the two nippy little forwards to run chase after them. This seems to be working, with Berry & Riley turning about as quickly as the QE2 in heavy chop, it’s only the woeful finishing of the two home forwards that keeps the scores level.
Then with five minutes to the interval and we blow our best chance of the match. Salako’s pass is aimed at Naz on the edge of the box, the defender moves to cut it out but only succeeds in falling over the ball. Our little French wizard is on it like a shot and is in on goal with only the keeper to beat. The ‘keeper goes down early and we hold our breath, waiting for Naz to either classily dink the ball over the stranded goalie or stroll round him and walk it into the net. He does neither. Instead he somehow construes to hit the ‘keeper square in the chest from the distance of 2 yards and the chance is gone.
The second period starts badly. Ten minutes in and a Sutton attack breaks down and the now expected punt over the centre of our defence sees West race clear and finally making up for all those missed chances in the first half, slipping the ball past Howells. Law of averages really, keep giving ’em chances and they’ll take one eventually! The U’s are now in trouble and seemingly running out of ideas. Nko appears to be our best hope attacking wise and he starts to give the Weymouth No 2 a particularly torrid second half skipping past him almost every time he gets the ball (or just running through him on the odd occasion matey manages to stand his ground) but the cross is either defended, or there is simply no-one there up with his run to meet it. The full back’s afternoon is made slightly better when Nko is withdrawn 15 minutes from time to end his torture. He also somehow manages to be win the Man of the Match award despite having been largely run ragged all day. With the tannoy announcement being met with loud derision from the thoroughly amused away support. Clearly they love a trier down here.
Only one side looks like scoring now and it’s Weymouth. Time and again their two forwards waste chance after chance to put the tie to bed, with our plodding rearguard struggling to keep track of their pacy raids. But, 1-0 it stays and we’re out of the Trophy at an early stage again to another decidedly average side. Ho Hum. So, not for the first time ever, it’s down to the piss up to rescue an awful afternoon. And it does thankfully.
A ridiculous night of boozing ensues and ends with a final binge in a boozer on the harbour. Quality beer, live music and a balcony from which the assembled drunks can loudly heckle for Black Sabbath numbers from the band, which they of course completely ignore, although with gracious good humour.
The final act of the evening involves Chalmers in a shopping trolley, with a traffic cone on his head being pushed home by Col. However his lift home is interrupted at the end of the high street by the arrival of two of Dorset’s finest in a patrol car. Clearly on the lookout for ne’er do well’s like us.
In a show of great solidarity, the rest of us scatter and dive over the nearby sea wall onto the beach and leave them to their fate, while we peer over the top of the wall giggling like twats.
The exchange goes something like this.
“Oh, evenering ofisher”
“Is that your trolley sir?”
“Erm, short ofsh. Borrowshed it”
“And the traffic cone?”
“And the gentleman in the trolley wearing the cone on his head?”
“Ooooh, thatsh ok, itsh Chalmersh. He’sh mine”
“Righto. Better take the trolley back where you found it eh?”
And with that, Col simply tips the trolley to one side unceremoniously dumping the cone wearing Chalmers onto the cold hard pavement, does an about turn and slowly weaves his way back towards the High Street.
Satisfied his little chat has done the job and put an end to this little episode of drunk and disorderly, the copper winds his window up and departs to no doubt start another circuit of the town centre looking for more twats like us behaving idiotically. And once out of sight, Col instantly ditches his trolley down the nearest side alley and returns to find us all now sat atop the sea wall, still giggling away like idiots.
“Lotsh of fuckin’ help yoush lot was eh!” he slurs.
Next year Wembley. Next year!
MAN OF THE MATCH : The lady at the B&B. £13 for a bed for the night. Can’t argue with that!
ENTERTAINMENT : 4 for the footy. 9 for the drinking session.
MOST LAUGHABLE AWARD AWARD: Their number 2 getting MOM for standing & watching Nko run past him for 75 minutes!
FUNNIEST MOMENT : “Thats a niiiice trolley sir”…….”Yesh orifshcer. Itsch an Ischlands one!”
FIRKIN PUB COUNT : 5. (Winchester, Bournemouth, Southampton & Portsmouth x2)