Brothers! Sisters! Welcome! Welcome back to our humble little corner of the internet where we wonder what on earth we’re doing with our lives whilst we drink ourselves silly in far flung corners of this damp little isle under the pretence of watching shit football. And then rabbit on about it. Now, if you could please hurry and find yourself a pew, we have much to cover this fine day as there are many tales to be told and even more profanities to be spoken. Shall we begin?
Been a while eh? Over 2 months in fact since I last penned anything here Sutton United related, with our opening day battling point up at much fancied York being the solitary PROWS related nonsense recorded so far this season. And it’s probably for the best really as, well, to put it bluntly, it’s not gone well since then. It’s not gone well at all. In fact some people might be so uncouth to describe events to date as ‘a load of fucking shit’. And by some people I mean me. And yes. It’s been a load of fucking shit. This is also why the three last entries on here are from another country entirely.
Now us being shit isn’t the only reason of course, it’s not helped but with my recent change of job and a bout of illness shortly before that, I had to sack off both Alty and Brackley away and as you know, I really can’t be arsed with recording home games here any more, so this pretty much explains the radio silence from our bit of the People’s Republic of West Sutton so far. But I’m getting ahead of myself here. After the hope of York, we were then treated to a 0-0 with a limited Solihull side at GGL, then got fucked in the face 4-0 by FGR at their gaff. There then followed a limp 3-2 home defeat to Scunthorpe and an earnest but limited 1-0 defeat up at Rochdale. With me so far? Good good. Next up we welcomed red hot title favourites Carlisle to the Lane and recorded only our 14th home league win in 56 attempts (no, really) with a fantastic 2-1 win and a performance that had everyone just a little more hopeful.
Yeah of course it was another false dawn and we shit the fucking bed harder than Spud in Trainspotting after that. Christ, have you not been paying attention these last couple of years? That’s what we fucking do best!! False hope, shit defeats, calamity, depression. That’s Sutton United baby! So yeah, we followed that up with a 4-3 home defeat to Boreham fucking Wood (14 in 57), then Alty away where we dropped a 2-1 decision and then came from 2 down at home to Tamworth to immediately give them the lead straight back (14 in 58). With 1 win in 9 league games now, Steve was very much under pressure and cutting quite a frustrated figure on his post match interviews as the side continued to fuck up despite his and Jon’s best efforts. The final straw was a 2-1 home defeat to some youth team from down Brighton & Hove way and the following day, the news no one was that surprised to hear dropped. Picture of a corner flag, ‘mutual consent’ you know the drill, making Morison probably the only manager in history who’ll leave his job after a fucking National League cup defeat.
Jon Meeney stepped in as interim and despite his best efforts, we’ve steadfastly stuck to our form to date, with regualr fuck ups, an almost weekly penalty being conceded and with defeats to Brackley (away) and Yeovil (Home. 14 in 60 now) and draws from behind against Woking (away) and Boston (home), we’ve, if anything, looked even worse at times. So of course the news we’d drawn Farnham away in the FA Cup, a red hot side that have lost like 12 games in 3 years and scored 250 goals in the process AND were unbeaten this season at the time of the draw went down about as well as you can expect round these parts. And so that brings us to today. Which is Braintree away. Oh. God I need to sort my life out, I really really do.
Still, there was some good news in the run up to this one as the club finally announced Morison’s replacement on Thursday evening with Chris Agutter joining from NLS side Worthing, a move that apparently “…required significant investment to secure his release from his contract at Woodside Park”. Here’s hoping we didn’t fully empty the piggy bank on that one as he’s gonna need to replace one or six of our ‘promising squad’ that to date has only shown any real talent in apparently always ALWAYS being able find a way to fuck themselves, even in the most benign of matches and then subsequently lacking the basic ability to get out of the shit filled hole they’ve just dug for themselves. Good luck Chris, I think you’re going to need it with this mob. Right, I think that’s everyone up to speed? Time to get down to the here and now I suppose.
With Braintree not being at the arse end of the country, I’ve a relative lie in this morning. With time for a bit of toast and everything before I head out to get the bus into Croydon. Of course, the driver takes forever on the way in meaning I have to take a somewhat unseemly jog for my train to London Bridge. Here the plan is simple, train to LB, Greggs for a Bacon roll and then walk up through Bishopsgate etc to Liverpool Street. Everything runs smoothly and inside 25 minutes, I’ve a face full of cheap bacon and I’m strolling in the morning London sunshine, which is most perturbing as I’ve put my big coat on anticipating rain and shit thanks to Storm Amy and instead I’m sweating like Michelle Mone’s lawyer. Not what I had in mind. Despite the discomfort, I’m bowling onto the concourse in plenty of time and find Mr X and Indy making the place look untidy.
“Where’s hopalong Taffy?” I enquire, referring to our long time compadre 4Days, who managed to bust his leg in an unfortunate hire cycle accident a couple of weeks back. Had he been drinking? How very dare you, casting aspersions like that. For shame! Ahem. Anyway, he’s had it all pinned and is currently playing out some Non-League Long John Silver bollocks to the requisite amount of sympathy from the rest of the firm. “In the Spoons!” chuckles Indy. Apparently he’d got the hump on discovering the down escalator wasn’t working and went for a breakfast Guinness and a sulk. Fair play I suppose. Mr X sorts tickets and as I head for a cuppa for the trip, the crippled Welshman appears through the crowds on his sticks. See you losers on the train.
The train’s pretty quiet as we trundle out of town, with most of the chat surrounding the new man and quite how the fuck he’s going to get us out of the shit. The basic consensus is that it’s unlikely this squad as is will be able to give much more than it currently is, at least not on anything like a reliable enough basis to pull us clear. So we reckon there’ll be a couple of new faces soon, most likely via the loan market. “He has links at Brighton” mentions the Man of Mystery “and their U21’s looked better than anything we had in the shit cup game”. We also think it’s likely that Tuesday’s SSC tie in Guildford will be a first team game so he can get a better look at the rubbish he’s inherited. “Still, at least Dukey will be pleased!”.
The train pulls in on time and we set out for the pub we started in last year, the Nags Head, mainly as we know it’ll be open and won’t have any of the queueing bollocks the Spoons did last season. Of course, we invoke Rule #1 here and stroll off to leave 4Days to hobble along on his crutches. Look, if you’ve spent any time around here you know the score by now. Leave no man behind! Unless mutually inconvenient to the rest of the group. And besides, we don’t go sprinting off, we take a leisurely pace as we disappear over the horizon. We’re not complete wankers you know. We hit the pub and get a round in, including one for our less able colleague of course and then settle in to watch him hobble up the slight incline to where we’re sat. “Fiver says he pops into the Spoons halfway!” I offer. “Easy money that” counters Mr X “there’s big set of stairs just inside the door!”.
Here we get a few in and just ramble about all sorts of stuff, including what a ridiculous line up both sides had for the 2004 League Cup final. Middlesbrough v Bolton. Look it up. Ballers as far as the eye could see. “Imagine being a Bolton fan and getting to watch the likes of fucking Campo and Okocha every week!” I chuckle. We also discover that Braintree’s ground sponsor is one for the ages and that will fill old Vince at FGR with abject horror. “The Rare Breeds Meat Company? Christ. What do they sell? Giraffe? Onyx? White Rhino?”. Whilst I’m no sandal wearing vegan, I can’t help finding it a touch unsettling. 4Days also spots a Tranmere shirt in the mix and the lad stops for a natter. Seems he works down here and wasn’t able to get a ticket for their game at Bromley today. “I’m having a couple, then grabbing a 4 pack and some grub and going home to watch it on a hooky fire stick” he boasts. Good lad. Sounds infinitely better than an open terrace at Braintree that’s for sure.
We spot there are cabs outside at the rank, so decide to sup up and get to the Orange Tree over the road from the ground so we’re closer for kick off and so Dai the crutch isn’t rushing about. See, we’re almost nice people really. Here we find a few familiar faces and get a couple of rounds in before we’re booted off our table as some locals need it for the gender reveal party they’re setting up in the corner. We do try to trade for the big pork pie they have on the table, but they’re having none of it so we retreat to standing up to one side to finish our beverages like peasants before we head over for the game.
Aziaya, Pruti, Vincent, Tizzard, Taylor, Odelusi, Jones, Simper, Harris, Nadesan, Dabre SUBS: Bell, Ogbonna, Njoku, De Silva, Boutin, Eccleston, Eyers
The early exchanges are pretty evens. Not much special happens, although we probably edge the sighters count with Pruti having a shot blocked in the box, Simper getting slotted through the channel but getting crowded out by a defender and then forcing a tidy save from the keeps. However, after that, we seem to lose our way a bit and go back to trying to play out from the back and failing almost every single time with a misplaced pass putting us on the backfoot and practically unable to get out of our own half. Despite this, Aziaya only has speculative stuff to deal with including finger tipping a rising angled drive over and having to punch a couple of others clear.
Odelusi is yanked at the break and replaced by Bell, but the second 45 starts much the same with us simply unable to retain any real sort of possession and it’s not until the last 15 or so with Ogbonna and Njoku on offering a little more directness in attack that we really make any sort of impression. And late on, Brandon has a half chance with a shot from an angle that the keeper does well to beat away at his near post. Still, a point’s a point and when it’s accompanied by a rare clean sheet, then I guess you have to take the positives. However I can’t see the new gaffer not making moves to bring in fresh faces over the next couple of weeks. And I’m still not convinced we’ll survive the Farnham trip.
Back to the Orange tree, we bag a table and settle in for pints. Chelsea v Liverpool is on the box, half keeping our attention. Here Indy voices his disgust at the hipster pint glass my IPA comes in, like I knew that beforehand. After a brief travel committee meeting we elect to get the 7pm rattler back to the smoke and so we have time to make it, I book an Uber dead on half six. When I get it, it’s 8mins away and I warn everyone that departure is imminent. Several minutes later, I check as pints are being drained ready for imminent departure and it turns out he’s fucked off 12 miles away on another job and is 20minutes out at best!
Time ticks away and soon enough, it’s pointless keeping it as we’ll miss our planned train now. So I cancel and we get another round in. Supping this, Mr X goes next on the cab pot luck and this time allows 40 minutes. He gets one and it too is a good 9 miles away. Having necked beers, he’s now getting adventurous and declares he fancies some Uber roulette and goes to replenish our rapidly draining drinks once more. Dick. Of course though, we’re professionals and all are downed as the sherbet appears outside. We might be getting a bit older and a bit slower, but we can still cut it when required, mark my words. In fact it takes 4Days longer to get in the fucking cab than it does to arrive. And with myself, Indy & Mr X crammed in the back, we have to apologise to the driver about the constant seatbelt beeping all the way back to the station.
Our train is on time and we settle in for the trundle back to the smoke. Of course, with beer in play and our staggering intellects thrown into the mix, the talk is of a suitably intelligent nature, somehow getting onto the subject of the house over the road from 4Days that does some rather notorious adult themed evenings. Let’s just say that if you hear of us referring to a result as “Getting a right Tasha J’ing” you can safely assume it hasn’t gone well for the mighty Sutton on that particular occasion.
Bask in London, we can’t help but laugh at the fact that the down escalator by the pub that was busted earlier today is now functioning, but the up one is subsequently out of action. Mainly as it sets off some Welsh crutch based complaining. Still he hobbles up to the Hammy Hall where we sit and take in a couple whilst the Sutton mob decide how best to get home from here. The Welshman suggests Lizzy line to Farringdon and picking up the Thameslink from there, but instead choose to cab it down to London Bridge. I politely decline and wave them off, as I don’t fancy being sardined into the back of a sherbet between Mr X and Indy for a third time today and instead stroll to the very same destination back the way I came this morning, taking in the sights and sounds of London town and enjoying the views as I cross back over the bridge. No hurry.
Train tagged, I dive into Leon’s for some middle class fast food and am up on the platform in time for my train back to Croydon. Straight on a bus outside back in the ends, I’m wandering into HQ just after 11 and finding Mrs Taz sound asleep. Thankfully my DIY from a week or so back in rewaxing out floors to remove the creaking in the laminate paying off a treat as I can pad around the gaff before bed without it sounding like a cheap haunted house.
Gotta take the wins where you can find ’em these days.
Taz