Absolutely Bloody Terra-ble

FA TROPHY 1st ROUND

Att: 704



WEYMOUTH – 2  [Unknown 30.44]

SUTTON UNITED – 1  [Boothe 70]

Another trip to the seaside for us pissheads to enjoy. Whoopee!  Weymouth, the scene of the infamous trolley/cone/ local plod encounter 2 years ago. Oh and beer. Lots and lots of beer.

Like last time we decided to make a bit of a weekend out of our trip and set off bloody early for Dorset to hunt down a B&B and then hit the pubs and maybe catch the Leeds – Liverpool game on the telly. Rather than put our trust Great Western trains again, what with the less than impressive state of our national rail network, Jules offered to drive us down in his ‘new’ Metro. Lovely.

We collect a rather fragile Chalmers at about 7 and tootle off in a Dorset type direction. Just after 10, we can see the sea! After unsuccessfully trying a couple of B&B’s we decide to stop farting around and try the one we stayed in last time. Success! The old girl that used to run it is no longer in charge, but the new owners make us just as welcome and for the princely sum of 15 quid, we secure ourselves a pit each for the night. Rooms sorted and bags dumped we stroll into town. With a good half hour til the pubs open, we hit a local cafe for some late breakfast. Mmmmm, sasuages.

Back on the high street whilst trying to decide which pub to start with, we spot a rather poncy looking place called ‘The Rectory’. Now normally we don’t frequent poncy places, but when said poncy places carry the Hobgoblin/Wychwood moniker we bloody well do! Our suspicions are proved correct as we’re presented with a good selection of scrunge. Sorted! So we settle down for a bit of a pre-game sesh and watch the Yorkies and the scousers battle it out on telly. Jules then becomes fixated with a young lady on the bar staff. Shes rather well ‘stacked’ and the old perv can’t take his eyes off them…..I mean….her.

3 hours later, fully refreshed, we nab a taxi from the station to the ground. The cabbie earns himself a tip for some top pub info. Nice man! The Wessex stadium is a bit of a nightmare venue for us. We’ve never won here. And who are we to fuck about with tradition eh? But at least it’s cheap, 5 and a half quid to get in. The team has 2 changes from saturday, Danny Brooker is injured and loan man Rob Haworth is unavailable as Dagenham don’t want him cup tied. Oh bugger. That’ll be Panter up front with Thompson then.

After the decent start to the day, it’s once more up to our 11 heroes in Choc n Amber to ruin it by turning in a clueless, spineless abortion of a first half. Weymouth, no offence, are similar to Bath in their approach. Direct & forceful. Direct balls forwards. Tigerish in every tackle, not giving up on a single ball. Simple wholehearted football. The latter could not be said for our lot. Thompson and Panter get nowhere against the strong home defence, Panter in particular floundering despite showing some neat football. Harlow is back to passing to every other bloke other than his team-mates, Nko is again restricted by his ‘Wingback’ position. Which is bloody frustrating as his pace caused absolute mayhem on the flank last time.

The back 3 are operating an offside trap, which catches the home side out a few times before they finally breach it. After about 30 minutes a simple pass in from our right finds the home striker in acres of space. Howells tuts, mutters an obcenity under his breath and watches helplessly as thier big lanky bloke thumps the ball into the near top corner. Rats cocks. And the way we’re playing, there’s no way we’re getting that back.

Then another 15 minutes of complete dross from Sutton follows before right on half time, another goal. I’d been wondering where those crap ‘right on half time strikes’ had gone. A free kick in from our right is mis hit by the striker in the area. It hits a U’s defender and drops invitingly for a Weymouth striker to slot home at the back post. Double rats cocks.

Moments later the whistle goes for half time. Thank christ. Watching crap like that is bad for the arteries. In fact the lads could have removed their shirts, laid them on the pitch and they’d have done more. Bollocks.

Sutton re-emerge from the tunnel after about 5 minutes break. Probably due to the teamtalk consisting of something like “That was fucking shit, now get back out there and sort it!”.

Sadly for the first 15 minutes of the second half, they pay no attention to these words. Carrying on in the same vein as before. This forces JR into a tactical switch. The ineffectual Panter is removed for Salako, Palmer goes into the defence and Chris Boothe, one time striker at Farnboro, pushes up front. This means we’re now playing a proper formation (4-4-2) with proper bloody wingers. This immediately has an effect. Suddenly Nko is starting to trouble their full back and we’re actually stringing passes together. Bolt is then sacrificed for Scotty Forrester as we attempt to claw our way back into the game.

Finally after about 70 minutes we get one back. Scotty feeds Thompson who in turn plays it into the path of Boothe, going like a train. He shows off his finishing skills by holding off the defender and lobbing the ‘keeper from the edge of the box. A quality goal. Bloody hell! This rocks the home side a little and we pile on the pressure. Boothe is causing havoc with his big bustling style and he almost provides an equaliser. His pass across the box is mis kicked by Forrester when he really should have finished. After this we don’t really create much as the home side get their composure back and start wasting time at every opportunity.

Ultimately our efforts are in vain and it’s another early Trophy exit to a DML side. And we still haven’t won at Weymouth. We grab the results in the bar whilst waiting for a cab back into town. We then dump our shirts off at the B&B and hit the town for more beer. First stop is the Hobgoblin pub to finish off the handpumps, then onto a side street boozer selling weird and wonderful local beers. Nice! And finally off to The George, the scene of the drunken heckling of the band whilst necking copious amonts of Tanglefoot. (Mmmmm, tanglefoot).

We have a quick pint and watch the band set up before nipping across the harbour for some chips, then it’s back to the pub. The band turn out to be a tadge disappointing. Playing mainly dull Paul Weller numbers that no bastard, except Chalmers, knows. The beer is the only reason we hang around as long as we do. But around half ten we make an executive decision to head back to the Hobgoblin as it’s got a licence til 12. Well, that and this band are fucking boring us to sleep! (Well, Jules anyway!)

The move is inspired. The Rectory is now populated by young trendies with the pounding house choons playing. We prop up the bar, admiring the assortment of scantily clad local birds shaking their stuff on the dancefloor. Yes I know I’m attached, but theres nowt wrong with window shopping as long as you eat at home!! Jules meanwhile is relieving unsuspecting punters of their drinks, nabbing them as the customer waits for the rest of their order!!! He then proceeds to relieve one bird of her tropical alcopop drink as shes being manhandled by some bloke. “You won’t need that!” he says and nabs the bottle. The fit sort is in no shape to argue as matey clambers all over her. Pure class!

We eventually stumble back to the B&B via the beach at about 12 with yours truly picking up a UDI (unidentified drinking injury) on the way. I know I fell over at some point, I just have no idea where or how. Whatever it was, I earned myself a bloody great graze on my shin. Which hurts. A lot (sympathy please!).

Four very fragile U’s fans rise the following morning for breakfast. I feel a bit shit and manage only a couple of slices of toast with a mug of tea. Meanwhile the other fat bastards neck a full English, with Chalmers laying claim to the sausage on my plate.

Ahhhhh, weekends away for footy. Big piss up, crap game and Chalmers scoffing all the grub.

Some things never change.

MAN OF THE MATCH : Chris Boothe

ENTERTAINMENT : 4. Piss poor first half. I wish we’d bin the poxy formation………

TEAM : Howells, Horner, Boothe, Hammonds, Palmer, Harlow, Sears, Ekoku, Bolt, Thompson, Panter  SUBS : Salako, Forrester

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