I know right. You don’t hear from us for weeks on end and then there we are, fouling up this little corner of the internet with our nonsense with two loads of old bollocks in two weeks. Hey, what can I say, other than “Tough titties”? Besides, it’s the FA Cup baby, away from home. You think we were missing this? Fat chance. Anyways, you’re here now. So you may as well just get a cuppa, shut your face and read it eh? You’re welcome.
So yeah, having seen off Truro a couple of weeks back at GGL thanks as much to Spike Brits late couple of saves as Osadebe’s first half goal, we all kinda hoped we’d get someone sizeable at our gaff, probably get some live TV and bow out after a brave battling effort with a few quid in the bank. But nah, the football gods had other ideas and for our first round glamour tie we pulled Guiseley, away. So not only is it miles away, at short notice, it was somewhere we’d already been. And after some investigations, we found that Spurs were away to Leeds in the 12:30 kick off making train tickets somewhat pricey as they’d all had weeks of notice compared to our two.
Taking into account that when our ball came out of the bag (or plastic bowl as it is nowadays) we weren’t exactly setting the world alight, and in our next game we phoned in that worthless 3-1 tonking at Harrogate, no one was really expecting much from this one. But this is Sutton United dear reader, so there has to be just a sliver of hope provided before the fall, as that makes the absolute size nine rocket powered steel toe cap to the nether regions that follows juuuust that little bit more effective. So of course, we won the next two league games with a couple of half decent performances including last week’s incredibly satisfying win at Worthing to make us all wonder. Had we turned the corner?
It’s the usual early start for a Northern away and I emerge from HQ into a rather murky, foggy November morning. Annoyingly the TFL app is failing to show any bus times, so I err on the side of caution and rustle up an Uber to East Croydon. Of course, as I wait, a 407 sails past. Typical. There’s a short wait at Croydon before I’m on the way through town to St Pancs. It’s been a tiring week, so rather than snooze the trip away I doom scroll on my phone as I don’t wanna wind up waking up in Stevenage or somewhere else. The scrolling keeps me conscious and I’m soon alighting at St Pancs. I skip the Greggs there as it looks busy and instead cross the road and head up to the one upstairs in Kings Cross. Big mistake. The queue there is 10 times the one I just ignored. Idiot! Fuck it, I have time. So back I go and nab a baguette, a brew and some orange juice. I think the lass serving must fancy me or summat as four sausages and 4 rashers of bacon get loaded in. And to be fair, if I wasn’t already taken, with standards like that I’d certainly consider putting a ring on it. Right, let’s get this show on the road I guess.
Back in Kings Cross, I find the once more limited travelling party awaiting. Indy, 4Days and Chalmers are hanging about. The latter is using Mr X’s outbound ticket as he’s sacked off after being under the weather all week. PC was due to be coming, but due to the aforementioned train costs, he was originally taking a daft early one up. By bagging the Man of Mystery’s brief, he was at least able to have something of a lie in. We head for the rattler and unsurprisingly find it somewhat busy being the last service that gets to Leeds in time for that early PL kick off. We leave on time and trundle North and as we leave London behind, the fog clears, The chatter is low key, with Oxford City’s brave effort against Leicester the night before and Tim Allison leaving the COO position at GGL. Be interesting to see who takes that on next, probably someone with no clue about SUFC, just like a lot of others around the gaff of late.
I take the opportunity to catch up on some shuteye and snooze most of the way up, finally stirring around Wakefield. To get the old grey matter going, I research some boozers for pre-match considering it’s been now close to a decade since we were last up here on a Tuesday night around the time of the Arsenal cup tie. We pull into Leeds on time and pile off with all the Spurs lot, who all start having a bit of a sing song as they make their way out. “Won a couple have we lads?” enquires a local. Fair point I s’pose. We wind our way to platform 2 for the Guiseley train and hop on to find the Dirtiest of Barrys already aboard. He’s ambled down from his new manor in Darlo for this one. “It’s a lot fucking warmer down here!” he confirms, shortly before spending about 15 minutes trying to locate his ticket on his phone for the guard, the stress of which is no doubt added to by all of us giving him shit about it the whole time. “It’s like travelling with Belly” comments Chalmers.
It’s only a little over 12 minutes to Guiseley and having got our bearings, head for the first pub of the day. A little bottle shop/tap called the ‘Hoptimist’ just round the corner from the station. The lad’s stocking his fridges as we arrive and we cop a round of two thirds pints and settle in. It seems his choice of beverage size is mostly aimed at keeping his clientele ‘wanker free’. “We are wankers” confesses 4Days, “but we do like a decent beer”. We have the place mostly to ourselves for a couple with the only other customers being those coming in for a few home cans from the vast selection on offer. As we leave to head to the next spot, there’s a bunch of young lads a couple of doors down trying to use the concrete step to pop the caps on their bottles from a nearby offy. You can always spot an amateur drinker. I take pity on the underequipped youth and get to work with mine cracking the last couple open for them. “Important life lesson lads. Always carry a bottle opener”. We head down the road to the Three Swords and spot a few other members of the B Team heading the other way. Then a bus declaring “Airport, then Otley” on the front. “Sounds like a banging night out that” mutters 4Days. The Swords is another nice boozer this and to be fair, the curry menu on offer has some cracking looking options. It smells good too.
As we sup, the supporters coach turns into the main round outside and we wave from the window, well most of us do, 4Days alternates his with another hand gesture some of my generation would associate with an instant coffee brand. Childish! After a pint here, we move to the Hawkhill just over the road which is much much busier with locals taking in the Leeds game. We get a pint and nick a table by one of the screens. When HT arrives we natter to some locals, one of which we think says he missus boyfriend plays for Guiseley. Turns out he said niece’s. We’re blaming the accent! Still, the lad takes it in good spirits, as they do when we remind them of the last time we’d met. 4Days then gets one of the supporters coach travellers enquiring if he’d been flicking wanker signs at the bus earlier. Ha! Busted! He also apparently reckons the Wimborne badge looks like two sexy penguins on a night out. Fuck knows where that one came from if I’m honest, he’s only been on the Estrella in here.
On the telly, Leeds pressure tells and a late winner is pinched to see off Spuds, much to the delight of all the locals and at the whistle we sup up and meander down to the ground a short walk away. There’s big queues, but we spot a side gate taking card and slip in that way with still a good 10 minutes to kick off. Sometimes having no segregation can have it’s benefits. Fourteen quid too, just like the old days that. I’m somewhat peckish and check out the food bar, but the queue is sizeable and I reckon that leaving it until during the game would be a better option. Indy, being made of sterner stuff and obviously hoping it’ll obscure his view of the match, perseveres though and sticks to the task at hand. Oh yeah, the game. Oddly the line up is more Aldershot that Worthing, which seems a little odd given the success Njoku had last weekend. As it is, he and Temi start on the bench. Hmmmm.
Brits, Urpens, Topallaj, Kirk, Brookes, Knight, Osadebe, Taylor, Francis, Carter, Folarin SUBS: Nightingale, Babaloa, Ogbonna, Mussa,, Bell, Njoku, Amartey, Moore-Taylor, Haigh
Yeah. It’s one of those sadly. We have an ok first five minutes or so, Knight has a sniff of a chance, but then after that the game drifts and we have about as much impact on proceedings as Russell Brand’s lawyer. They’re bang up for it, but despite some hustle and bustle in and around our box there’s only a couple of oohs and aahs and not a huge amount for Spike to do. With 20 gone, I wander off for some grub. Sadly the queue is still fairly long, but I stick it out and soon have my order in. The wait is made easier by the lads in front of me being the Leeds fans from the pub earlier, stuck getting their kids the requisite burger and chips. I finally get my grub deep into half time with a dull first 45 minutes having long since ended on the park with little of note done by us. The wait has actually been marginally been more entertaining than the game.
As I walk round to the far end a couple of other locals try to be funny with some “Sutton are shit” comments. Without breaking stride they get a chirpy “I know mate, I’ve been watching ’em all season”. Then having got most of the way there, am turned around by a steward as there’s a medical emergency in the crowd and the game won’t be restarting either until it’s handled. Back I go! I wander 3/4 of the way round the ground and encounter AB along the way. No words are exchanged, just a shake of the head from me and him puffing out his cheeks. That’s all is needed. Finally back amongst my own, I polish the last of my nosh and shortly after the chap who’d caused my half time diversion is on his feet and we’re good to go.
What follows is as lifeless as the first 45. We create nowt, they don’t create much more and a 0-0 AET and the lottery of pens looks the most likely conclusion here. We make subs, they make little impact. They make subs and they at least give them a little bit of penetration up top with a couple of darting runs into the box. But as we’re setting ourselves for an extra thirty, it’s bed shitting time. 93 on the clock, we let a lad skip into the box, Taylor checks him. Penalty. It looks a bit soft to be honest, but by this point who’s remotely surprised. Their lad sends Spike the wrong way and suddenly we’re looking up the first train out of dodge back to Leeds. Out of the cup with a whimper, having not laid a glove on a side two divisions below. Cosmic. Fair play to the hosts though, stuck at it for the 90 and we couldn’t even match the effort. Pathetic. The team trudge over at the whistle to little or no recognition other than a couple of derisory comments aimed their way. Yeah, sorry lads. You’re not getting much change out of this lot, best call it quits and fuck off if I was you.
We head out and made a beeline for the station, but of course rock up just as the 58 past pulls out. Joy. 30 minutes more in Guiseley, although on the bright side, it doesn’t involve watching Sutton plod about like we were expecting, so there is that! Pub? Pub. We hit the Oxford Tap at the top of the road 100 yards away and get a quick snifter in. Well, the lads do. I got soft drink as I get a call alerting me to a family illness back home and with a possible bit of driving to do back in South London, some sobering up is required. I go for a piss and all the local facsimile yoof lads are in, and they all, en masse pour into the khazis too. And just stand there with all but my urinal occupied. So either they’ve all got stage fright, are gonna get a fat line going in one of the traps when they’re free or do some celebratory FA Cup cottaging. And ot be fair, it is 2026, so it really could be any of those. Amusingly, 4 Days departs as I return to the bar and he’s back a few minutes later to tell the tale of being confronted with the same scene and them then trying to be funny when they spot his colours. “Are you sad?” one crows. “Yeah maybe, but at least I’m not the one celebrating by hanging out in the fucking gents”.
We hop the train to Leeds and with an extra time and penalties factored return trip, we’ve still got almost 90 mins tossing it off here. Dirty Barry joins us for one and regales us with his plans for his full on curry tour of Goa later in the year before bidding us farewell and heading back to the frozen wastes of Darlo. The other lads neck two pints while I continue my soft drink sober up and then we all split for scoff and other refreshments. We make the train and departure is delayed when some West Ham ‘geezers’ hold open the door and then get a bit mouthy at the staff. Plod are called and one lad gets dragged off for his trouble before we depart 10 minutes late. “Might get us some delay repay!” I wonder aloud. Fat fucking chance, as we roll into Kings Cross bang on time a couple of hours later with us having filled the journey catching up on all the other sides in our division actually winning games, some even against sides above them. 4Days and Indy head for Vic, PC and I go St Pancs, where I leave him on the platform for a quick one back to East Croydon while he hangs back for the Redhill service.
Still, I’m walking up the slope at half ten and looking forward to a relatively early night all things considered. Nope. Thirty minutes, no buses and instead I end up getting in 45 minutes later. Fortunately the urgency of the earlier illness emergency has abated, so I at least can call it a night at this point. Mrs Taz is just readying for bed as I step through the front door, takes one look at my nonplussed boat race and decides questions such as “Good day out love?” can probably wait til morning. If not until after dinner.
Solihull at home Saturday. For what I’m sure will be another rewarding experience.
Taz