Guess who’s back, back again? Taz is back, tell a friend! Yes all my delightful, near and dear, practically family readery type acquaintances, I have returned once more with some further pointless rubbish that helps you pass 10 minutes on the kahzi whilst you’re having a tip out. Angry birds, candy crush and the likes is old hat, sporadically published 3rd rate football content is in! Didn’t you hear? Maybe you missed that meeting. Shame as it was pretty good, we had biscuits and everything. And proper ones too, not those cheap Rich Tea shites.
It’s basically a month since we were last hanging around wasting your time, with the belated tale of our midweek trip to Southend prior to the start of 2026. And what a busy old month it’s been since eh? Sutton United have continued their little bit of minor slumpage as we exited the old lap around the Sun, although it’s not been a total disaster either. A narrow home defeat to title chasing York where we probably deserved better. And last week we managed to nick a late point against a rather meh looking, but no less title challenging Forest Green at GGL. They had a man sent off and Robbie Savage was fucking champing about it afterwards, so not that bad an afternoons work I think you’ll agree.
Also, prior to the York game, we finally, undoubtedly got to see our little FA Cup thing from 1989 truly eclipsed as 6th tier Macclesfield saw off holders Palace at their gaff. Fred Gee pitch, big hairy arsed defender with the opener (bandaged head to boot), team that had won it even more recently than Coventry had, you name it. Proper old cup shock that and no mistake. No arguments here, the torch had been firmly passed. It had to happen sooner or later of course, but we all secretly hoped that Premier League status would mean the gap was too far to bridge, but it wasn’t to be. Still, pitch invasion at the end was a bit lacking, so there was that. Poor old Palace though. First major trophy ever and 8 months later they’ve surrendered the title to some clogging part time lads at the first time of asking. Ouch. Football, she can be a cruel cruel mistress at times.
Before I continue, I must also touch on the usual rounds of endless Birthday messages that consume the Gandermonium top secret Whatsapp thingy around this time of year. It’s fucking endless, with each new day bringing yet more best wishes, celebrating emojis and charming bonhomie such as “I thought you were dead?”. This year has seen a couple of milestones however, with Magnum PI qualifying for his bus pass and Chalmers knocking up the half century. Jesus fucking christ we’re getting old. West Sutton’s finest snooper pushed the boat out for his big occasion, holding a no expense spared shindig at GGL post-FGR. At which he complained that none of his mates had turned up. Not fucking surprised with the amount of money you put behind the bar you tight bastard.
Still, I should not be too harsh on the PRoWS latest OAP, as he was responsible for booking our latest little adventure away in National League land. With Mr X 50-50 for this one due to a possible work trip, Magnum stepped in as temporary Travel Sec and got the tickets sorted, much to everyone’s endless gratitude. “Why the fuck are we coming back at 6pm?” and “Why didn’t you wait until the New Years sale? It was a fiver cheaper you dick!” being two of the more heart-warming messages. Still, Tamworth return for less than a score? Can’t be too upset with that I suppose. That and the 9.46am leave time. Hallelujah!
This meant I could rot in bed until 8am and knowing Purley Way being banjaxed might affect buses, I could get a sherbert to East Croydon. Up, shower, peck on the cheek for Mrs Taz and I’m out into the surprisingly parky mid-morning air. Still, it’s not long to wait before I’m being whisked to the station via the cheapest option Uber had on offer. Sweet! The rest of the trip is trouble free and the sun is at least now high enough to help warm the bones as I stroll through Somers Town for the last leg to Euston, where out front, I find some moody looking fuckers waiting. Magnum hands me my tickets and I do the usual at Sainos for breakfast before catching up with everyone.
Recent trips have been a little short handed for the firm, but we’re positively mobbed today. Magnum, Chalmers, 4Days, Indy as well as Mr X, having found out that he was able to join after all. Also lurking somewhere should be Rax and his mate Paul, who having done a couple of more local jaunts has decided to tag along today. Christ knows why, as we’ve been shit most times he’s seen us and the poor bloke doesn’t even drink. Which means not only does he have to endure Sutton United football sober, but us too. The man has more fucking patience than I dear reader, that I can tell you for a fact. Having bagged a cuppa, I and Mr X find the missing two on the train and settling in with the rest of the mob. And here the aggro starts.
4Days has rudely left his bag on the table so being an arsey commuter, I take him to task over his impolite manner and move it to the luggage rack. He moans that he’s not removed his munchies from it yet and I return it with a terrible ableist slur and encourage him to hurry the fuck up. Once sorted, I park and tuck into my turnover. He then nicks my smoothie, before claiming it’s 100% his and he’d just bought the same one as me. Being the better man, I accept the excuse and check my jacket one more time for my drink. “You sure about that??” I enquire after coming up empty handed. He checks his bag again and produces a bottle of green Innocent and sheepishly hands it over. Then to make matters worse, he produces two hard boiled eggs to scoff, stinking out the entire carriage.
After this rocky start, the rest of the trip goes smoothly, with talk centring around Gateshead being a monumental arse to get back from, so it’s a good job we’ve not all already booked the train up and hotels already eh? Sakes. Mr X though, firmly back in the Travel Sec chair however declares he’ll sort it. We also take time to fill Paul in on all the old bollocks we’ve seen over far too many years watching this nonsense. He’s a Spurs fan, so most the stuff about being shit resonates at least. Arriving at our destination, we tip off and having got our bearings, head for the Globe, the early opener we’d started in on the opening day of last season. A short walk later, we’re in, crowding the bar and getting the party started. In the corner, some oldies are tucking into a pint and what appears to be the dessert menu.
Downing one here, this takes us close enough to midday and we head off more into town to take in the Tamworth Tap, recently voted CAMRA’s national pub of the year, much to 4Days irritation, as his gaff only claimed Greater London honours. Something about provincial small town bias I think he said? Still, fuck it, it’s a nice pub and has good beer so we’re getting stuck in! With pints sorted, we head upstairs where there’s a bit more room. “Why don’t we go to the top floor?” I ask, referring to the next level up where we’d downed several last August. Everyone mocks me, states there 100% definitely isn’t another floor on the place and that I’m thinking of some place in York, before a minute later one of the bar staff arrives and unlocks the door to provide access. Naturally, no fucker apologises for the offence caused. Typical.
Here we tuck into a couple, Mr X reveals his work trip is to Nuremburg in Germany, but he’s staying in a ‘bio hotel’ in ‘Kunst’. “Almost right” comments Chalmers. I also steam a mouthful of Indy’s 2nd pint when Mr X arrives and hands it to me telling me it’s definitely my one. Tit. We’re also joined by AB and his good lady Mags for one, as he’s up here on official tie and blazer business. We’re also amused by a young man who arrives with a mate and removes his jacket to reveal the exact same sweater as PC is wearing. Of course, he’s utterly horrified to find out he wears the same clobber as a middle aged sparky and is not in the mood for a silly photo. Chalmers meanwhile is really quite smug about his new found fashion ability. With two done here, some of the lads want to try the Market Vaults opposite, so we down them and pop over. The place is just as busy as the Tap was and we enjoy a couple more in here before time starts getting on. Right, I suppose we’d better do this football thing then?
Sims, Tripp, Topallaj, Eccleston, Muller, Jennings, Harris, Simper, Njoku, Jake Taylor, Ogbonna SUBS: Haigh, Tizzard, Rodari, Nadesan, Jones, Bell, Eze
We make the short walk down to the ground although I have to persuade Mr X not to follow a familiar fellow U’s fan who’s walking in completely the wrong direction and only the floodlights peeking above the trees convinces him. Still, we’re in time for kick off and I take the opportunity to grab some soakage, although the bacon in my roll looks like its been on the go for a couple of weeks. A fiver well spent that! On the pitch, it’s clear that the hosts have noticed our predilection for conceding early and get right at us from the off. And not long in, that looks a decent shout, as an attacker strips Tripp wide, squares it and their lad has a tap in a couple yards out, but his finish isn’t the cleanest and Sims appears from nowhere to claw it out from under the bar somehow.
Once we’ve weathered the early storm though, the game settles and becomes more even and bitty. Although we have a couple of moments with Njoku glancing a header on goal that’s an easy save for the keeps, when surely a more serious contact may have bagged. And then Simper forces a decent stop from the keeper, hooking Ecclestone’s nod down on goal and having the effort tipped over. There’s little to write home about other than us almost conceding penalty 34652334 of the season when even from 100yards away it looks like Ogbonna’s tripped their lad in the box, but the refs having none of it and we all breathe fuck me’s of relief at the other end.
At the break, Tripp is hooked again for Tizzard and the older head seems to give us a bit more in the back line. There’s again not much to really speak of as the half fails to really catch light, with the hosts seemingly out of ideas other than the long throw at every opportunity and us making the wrong choices with our final ball time and again. With 25 to go, Aggy shakes it up and brings on Rodari and Nadders and this gives us a little more life. The change pays dividends several minutes later when some patient build up has Tizzard thread one in behind. Simper gets to the bye line, pulls it back to the near post and Rodari nips ahead of his man to divert it into the far corner. Fuck a duck! We’re in front lads!!
The only other things worth touching on is Mr X’s terrible farts and Jack Sims telling us “I don’t want the ball!” when it goes into the away fans behind him late on. Oh don’t worry mate, this ain’t our first rodeo! So we put on quite the show of loudly abusing 4Days pretend bumbling efforts to retrieve said ball. Somehow through all this, our keeper remains firmly un-cautioned From here we dig in and despite the odd long throw, Tamworth look out of ideas. The only nervousness is when the ref somehow finds nine added minutes, presumably for all the fucking yellow cards he’s dished out for very little and not our Poundshop Keystone Cops “Oh lordy larks we’re so shit at picking up a football!” routine earlier, but even then he shits it and only plays a little over eight. Christ, maybe our luck is turning!!
It’s a hard fought and very welcome win and the lads are applauded for their efforts. Although Mr Rodari ruins his first goal with a Ronaldo ‘Siuuu’ celebration at the end. No no no. Fine please gaffer. None of that thank you! We head out and with Magnum having booked us on an early one back, we set out on the march to the station. Fortunately, there’s an Aldi on the way for cans and we even have time for a cheeky one before the train in the Albert, even as they set up for a private 50th party around us. “We only want one!” pleads Mr X “And it was his 50th this week too!” he adds, pointing at Chalmers. This seems to work, the lass behind the jump relents and it’s shorts all round to celebrate the very welcome three points. “Fucking hell, we’re 18th!” comments ‘birthday boy’ PC. Heady heights indeed!
Drinks downed and our gracious hosts thanked, we nip over the road in plenty of time to get the train back to the smoke. Here we wave off Indy, heading for a night out in Derby and we’re joined on the platform by a rather pleased AB. “OOooooh Davide Rodaaari!” he sings as he doles out those painful fucking handshakes of his to all and sundry. On the rattler, we settle in to demolish our big bag of Aldi cans, with even beer snob 4days confessing that their craft IPA isn’t completely undrinkable. As per usual with these services though, there’s literally one khazi working on the entire rattler and even that’s touch and go. Most elect for the sink rather than lift the lid and have half a gallon of piss swilled over their pumps.
Back in Euston, we wave of Mr & Mrs Barry and hit the Euston Tap for some more celebratory refreshments. Here we get chatting to some Peterborough fans on their way back from Wycombe. A couple of them being just as old as us and remembering our 1988 FA Cup win there, Lenny on the fence and all that. Good lads. But before long, it’s home time and with the others heading to Vic, Magnum and I go collar up and wander back to Euston via the deserted streets of Somers Town. We’re in luck and don’t have to wait long at all before we’re being whisked back to East Croydon.
Back in Stabworth central, I need some stodge and against my better judgement go for a grotty Burger King whilst Magnum jumps the tram to Reeves Corner. I get my grub and as the rain starts to pour, I have to make a swift jog to make a 410 that’s just rocked up. Still, it means I can sit at the back and inhale my lukewarm junk without getting soaking wet. Everything’s coming up Millhouse it seems! Soon after, I’m trudging back into HQ sipping on my coke, where I find Mrs Taz up watching some telly and delighted to see me. Or more to the point, my large sweet soft drink.
“G’won. Gis a bit”
Taz