Private Ceremony, No Flowers


Att: 471


CAMBRIDGE CITY – 3    [Sheringham 20. Neilson 37. 67]

Thank fuck that’s over. A more painful season I could not have imagined, where our form barely raised above the level of ‘fucking diabolical’ and we’ve gone down with the sort of points total that would quite frankly make a Carshalton fan red-faced with embarrassment.

Sadly, having shown signs of life since Dacky took over and secured 4 points from the last 2 games, the side turns in a truly awful showing more akin to the festering garbage we had to endure back in…….well….most points between the middle of August and today to be honest to round out the season.

Thankfully for me, I missed most of it. Thus making this actually one of the most enjoyable home games of the season! My old dear, has cried off her usual gig of staffing the tea hut this week due to her having a bit of a worry on about my sisters upcoming nuptials next week. This is not a problem, we can cover this. Sadly, she forgets to mention that her colleague Heather is not available either.

I think you can see where I’m going with this.

Yep, muggins here ends up sticking his pinny on and serving the hungry GGL hoards their hot dogs, pies and beverages. Now Gordon Ramsay I am not, but I guess having the same hair colour and wide ranging vocabulary of rude words is enough for Roses Tea Hut. Still, like I said, it certainly beats watching our lot roll over and die for the umpteenth time this season, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, from my serving position, I can see our piss poor defending after 20 minutes that leads to Teddy Sheringham’s son taking advantage of a horrible air shot of an attempted clearance by Tom Hughes to direct an untidy half volley beyond Wilson to make the score 1-0.

From here, a constant trickle of hungry punters saves me from seeing much more of what is apparently a rather awful showing. The visitors doubling their advantage with a tap in from close range after some more rather dreadful defending a few minutes before the break.

At half time, I spend my time serving up the tea and pies instead of scoffing them as normal and relax a little in the second half as Cambridge are shooting the other way now and I can’t see the goal we’re defending thanks to the Collingwood Rec terrace blocking my view. Blessed relief.

We’re apparently pretty terrible again this half and the visitors wrap up a sauntering win with a third goal with a bit over 20 minutes left. I think it was another tap in. Aren’t they all these days?

Having sold out of stuff well before the full time whistle, John and I close up sharpish at the full time whistle and get into the bar for a badly needed pint. We take a short cut across the pitch and can overhear Jimmy tearing into his dejected troops a few yards away to our right. Oh dear. It might be the last episode of a dreadful season, but it seems Mr D has standards.

Back in the bar, there’s more bad news. The Scummers have somehow launched another last day escape, improbably winning 2-0 against play-off chasing Tonbridge to stave off relegation for the umpteenth time. Thanks a bunch you useless fucking Kent twats. Just you wait ’til we go there next season, I’ll certainly be having words about that load of old bollocks.

After a few pints and catching up with the visiting mob, who are by now nicely worse for wear after a day of thorough refreshment on the way through town and in Sutton, I shuffle off home to change for the end of season do and return shortly before 9 to see the Cambridge lot finally weaving uneasily off towards the station & homewards. Oh well, at least someone’s had a half decent day today.

The party is understandably relatively subdued given we’ve managed to win five fucking league games all season, but a few more beers helps and at closing time everyone wants to head into Sutton to carry on the festivities. Sadly, by the time we reach the chosen venue of Chicago’s, everyone but myself, Belly and Mrs C has changed their mind and sloped off to bed.

Fucking lightweights! And to think I’ve done a full days work slaving over a hot stove and I’m still standing ready for more. Right Mr Barman, I’d like the strongest drink you do. I’ve got 9 months of absolute shite to blot out from my memory……a double bleach should just about do it I think.

Actually, make that two.

MoM : Me. I was a legendary tea making, hot dog serving demon!

TEAM : Wilson, Cuff, Whisken, Scarborough, T.Hughes, Greene, R.Hughes, Dos Santos, Honey, Dundas, McBean   SUBS : Wright, Goodchild, Sammut, Ottaway, McLoughlin

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