Sometimes you simply can't catch a break

When pondering this post I was initially thinking of the recent, shocking passing of Roly Fox.  He of the painfully dull procedural speeches and also he of the friendly, twinkling, mischievous warmth that even breached the heart of this old, wizened hack.  Yesterday was the first Poppies Travel Coach trip since we lost Roly and it was sad not to exchange a few hopeful words with him while waiting to board.

The coach set off on time, but, I think it's fair to say, this is pretty much where our good fortune on the day ran out.  

Personally speaking, this long trip to Leiston couldn't have come at a worse time.  I was feeling quite rough.  In fact, we had already stopped off at a chemist on our way to the coach where the pharmacist wove tales of potential horror from my described symptoms.  He didn't quite reach for the garlic bulbs or administer the last rites, but I sensed he wasn't far off from these actions.  When we boarded the coach my voice was barely more than a painfully croaky whisper.  Perhaps no bad thing for my fellow travellers, but you'd need to check with them.....

When we were no more than 10 miles from Leiston our coach, and we soon discovered, the players' coach ran into road works that completely barred our way.  Frustratingly, the road we needed was clear and in front of us, with our turn onto the Leiston road in easy view.  Step forward a noble safety contractor in the employ of Suffolk County Council, who, seeing our plight used his common sense.  He moved a few cones and advised a works lorry to shift slightly to allow us to pass.  He then personally escorted us through the couple of hundred yards of blocked-off road and allowed us to continue on our way.  His day was not impacted and 60-odd Poppies players, official and fans weren't horribly inconvenienced.  We all cheered this stout yeoman as our coach driver horned our appreciation and off we trundled to Leiston, the players right behind us also waving happily.

At least, he could have done this.  If he wasn't a prick.

In reality, he DID move some cones to give us just about room for the coaches to perform dangerous about-faces on the cramped East Anglian roads and take an extended tour of the back lanes of this delightful part of the world.  Numerous cars and pedestrians had to make way, sometimes precariously so, to allow our slow, muddy progress past, among other places of interest, Snape Maltings where the good lady and I had watched a leg of the Tour of Britain whoosh past a couple of years ago while holidaying nearby.  A fabulous spectacle on roads far more suited to bicycles than a pair of 20-tonne coaches....

Still.  If that was the worst that happened today....

Welcome to Suffolk

After an admittedly enjoyable half an hour at a lovely cafe in "downtown Lesiston" we headed to the stadium, choosing to enter via the turnstile rather than simply wander into the ground through the most enormously open entrance.  Missus was stymied from a concession entrance as Leiston's is set at 65, unlike most clubs' 60 years old. And of course the Poppies which is set at a helpful 175 years of age.

And onto the game.....when it started.

The Poppies turned up with a full home kit, including our red socks.  Oops!  Everyone knows that Leiston, although they play in blue and are known as "The Blues" have a sartorial quirk of playing in red (ah....) socks.  Ten minutes past 3pm, when the home team dug through their washing bag for some blue socks, we finally started

I find that I don't really fall into either the "Shut up and support the club" or the "Everything is broken, we're doomed" camps that our fanbase seems to be polarising into.  I can see that most of our players have ability.  They are fit and can play the game.  I can also see that we are so lightweight that I'd fancy my ancient legs in a 50/50 challenge with any of them.  I'm not sure I couldn't outjump the majority of them too.  I can see that we are one big, hard defender (like Connor Johnson), one tough midfielder (like Devon Kelly Evans) and one bristling forward (like Johnny Edwards of St Ives vintage) away from having a pretty good team.  But we don't have these players.  Instead we have a creme brulee of a squad.  It seems tough at first look, until slight pressure is applied and then it becomes a soft, gooey mess.

I think Liam could be the man to make, if not a silk purse from the sow's ear this season has become, he might at least make it a more decorated and pleasing sow's ear.  If we've acquired the art of hanging onto a Manager for longer than a season (and that's seasons of the year and not a footballing one....) he might end up doing well here.

In keeping with Patgod's established ethos, the less said about the actual game, the better.  A few comments though would be fair.  I had to go through it, and I don't see why you should get off scot-free.

The Leiston No.6 was one of the least able footballers I've ever seen who successfully touched the ball about a third as often as he successfully blundered into our players.  All under the understanding eye of the referee who simply must have been a family member or close personal friend.

We conceded yet another goal to an unopposed header.  Less understandable this week as all our back four players were 6 foot plus, rather than our usual set up of a back 6 at 4 foot each.

Billy Johnson spent the first half of the game trying to hand us a goal, as he usually helpfully does with his variable distribution, but we continually declined his invitations, presumably intent on earning our goals at Leiston this season.

Welcome to a "Worldie"

At 1-1 Billy produced an excellent save to deny Andoh's usual goal at a stage in the game where

EVERY SINGLE PERSON in the ground would have had us down as the only possible winners.  Within minutes we had managed to turn this around with our usual aplomb.  Rowe looked unlucky to pick up 2 yellow cards, the second for, what looked to everyone except the referee and the shrieking forward, like a well timed tackle.  Moments later and we're 2-1 down.  Even then, we chased an equaliser against 11 men only to be gunned down with 2 more goals in injury time.  The last, a penalty 99 minutes into a game with 5 minutes injury time.

Again, we had spells where we looked good and outplayed the hosts for large sections of the game (the same as we did at Harborough) only to ship goal after goal to a team that were no great shakes, but when in front of goal they put the bloody thing in it.  They didn't attempt an additional flick or backheel, or powder-puff it gently to the keeper.  They aimed wide of Alexander and put their laces through it. 

It was too much for some of our number on the terraces.  But, I've noticed increasingly that we do have a lot of fans who have no concept of how we can't win every game, every week, against every team.  I would also like to personally escort, via the time machine I've yet to invent, some of our bleating fans back to the season where we started at Nene Park and finished at Steel Park when we genuinely DID see some of the worst games EVER.

Welcome to yet another lovely Suffolk sunset

So, time for the coach home, and surely all the day's reverses were behind us?  Guess again.

After dropping off at Latimer Park, those of us expecting to shortly disembark in Kettering town centre were out of luck as the newest coach we've ever had (2024!) developed a braking fault and refused to start again.  Trooped into the Club house and ordered taxis.  Yep.  Great end to a great day.

Except it's not quite the end of our misery.

Up on Youtube pops up everyone's least favourite follower of shite football - Mullered - who was today at (have you guessed yet....) bloody Leiston to capture our capitulation in all its HD glory under the hosts ever grumbly state-the f*cking-obvious dreary observations.  It has become apparent over the past few seasons that his appearance at our games presages nothing except underperformance and defeat.  Jinx does not even come close to covering this guy.  What was wrong with covering the table-topping clash between Spalding and Harborough FFS?  Why drag your gloomy, lumpen fatalism over to Suffolk to bugger up OUR weekend?

Off to bed.  Fully expect house to burn down overnight.

Still, at least Roly would have found today grimly amusing!

Use it or lose it

We've all been looking at the comings and goings at Corby Town FC like we're shortly going to be looking at the Boxing Day sales.  Do we want or need any of the items on display or are we purchasing just because they're on offer?  Perhaps we've gone too long since our last brush with oblivion to truly recall the horror that comes with watching your Manager and best players (plus Tyrone Lewthwaite) depart.  None of it at Corby seems acrimonious.  They simply don't have the money to honour contracts and their staff are taking their services elsewhere.  The club will replace departed players and staff and hopefully carry on.  And hopefully budget more realistically in future?

Rarely a week seems to pass when you don't read of another non-league club going to the wall, or re-constituting at a lower level.  In the last couple of seasons we lost Coalville not long after they gave us a good thumping in Leese's last pitch-side, shrugging exercise in Poppies colours.  Bang - they resigned from the league.  A season earlier, the latest club to play out of Nuneaton dropped out of the league part way through the season.  Both demises handed us some good players to boost our own flagging fortunes, but were calamitous to the supporters from Nuneaton and Coalville.  Farsley Celtic, another club we have played against in the past 12-months has also, through complete ownership mis-management ceased trading.  A cursory glance at non-league social media throws up many more clubs, large and small, that have simply thrown in the towel.  Just today, Bedlington Terriers FC have announced their "folding with immediate effect."

Years ago, the news of a single club forced to cease trading would echo around football.  These days such news barely gets mentioned.  Were it not for re-tweets or Facebook posts, we probably wouldn't even know the half of it.  And yet, behind every short social media announcement there are people for whom that club meant everything.  Supporters, volunteers and officials for whom that club held a unique place in their affections.  The next, empty Saturday to be dreaded.  And then the week after and the week after that.  

Most of us don't have to try too hard to remember us being in this position just over a decade ago when we were attempting to extricate ourselves from the shiny, but deadly pit in Irthlingborough and grasping at a lifeline from Corby.  Sure, Corby made a few bob out of the arrangement, but they didn't have to help out.  They could just have just as easily turned away and then what would have become of us?  We may well have hung in there just about, but I very much doubt we'd have enjoyed the promotions and FA Cup run we have had since.

But, such is the nature of football and football supporters that bad times are soon forgotten in the immediacy of a poor performance or other transient disappointment.  I think this is why most of us who are 50+ at Latimer Park seem to be able to take the odd reverse with more equanimity than some of our younger, more hot-headed brethren.  We know the precarious nature of football at this level.  How much everything costs.  How reliant you are on goodwill and volunteers.  How buying that extra Klondike, or pint in the bar rather than a nearby pub, a replica shirt, or bobble hat means so much to the club.  How each interaction gives us a fighting chance of continuing when other clubs struggle or fall.  If you have these thoughts always kicking around in the back of your mind, the odd defeat or under-par performance, whilst annoying on the surface, is very soon put into it's appropriate context.  

As a case in point, after today's game, the Trust Christmas draw will take place.  We've all been badgered into buying tickets, seemingly since last Summer.  Another hand reaching out for our hard earned money.  But, t's not for them.  It's more Kettering people putting effort and time into something that doesn't specifically benefit them.  It's to benefit all of us and hopefully help in some small way to continue to give us a club that we can moan and gripe about for many years to come, beyond the recently celebrated 153 we've so far enjoyed.

Hopefully coming to a non-league ground
near you for a long time to come.

But, what if we HADN'T invented Shirt Sponsorship?

By now you can't have failed to see the new slick promo video the club has released highlighting the 50th anniversary of the Doog-era "Kettering Tyres" shirt - available from reputable outlets the length and breadth of Latimer Park.  In the comforting glow of watching the smooth camera moves, soft-focus loveliness and Dave Singh looking for all the world like a sub-continent George Clooney, few question whether the origin of yet another footballing money-making enterprise is really something to celebrate.  

I've never heard an opposition fan brag about the fact their club was the first to charge an entrance fee.  Nor have I read of a club giving equal veneration to hosting the first pitch-side advertising hoarding, but someone, somewhere came up with it.   In our case I suppose we hark back to it as it is one of our few claims to footballing fame.  We all love the Poppies, but let's be honest, other than our lengthy, often painful and hard fought continued existence, shirt sponsorship and wishing hard for an early Spurs exit from the FA Cup is pretty much what defines us.

The Doog really was ahead of his time with shirt sponsorship, but in the following half century there must have been hundreds if not thousands of fabulously designed football shirts ruined by jarringly inappropriately coloured ejaculate across the chest.  And I've never quite understood why the shirt sponsor is so slavishly copied onto the supporter replica version.  It's not as if a company logo stretched over the taut paunches of us gurgling half and quarter-wits will enhance the reputation of the sponsor.  At least this season's main kit sponsors at the Poppies are all local firms, so they had at least an idea of the girth and relative glamour of the walking adverts for their companies.  

But why are fans never given the option of opting out of being a shambling billboard?  Any other time you might find yourself carrying around an advert for a company you would rightly be expecting some sort of renumeration?  But not with shirt sponsorship.  We pay through the nose to unwittingly sign-up to whoever the Club gets into bed with for the next year.  It doesn't matter if they have questionable business practices, are run by toxic owners or are content to encourage dangerous levels of gambling (When the fun stops.....yeah, that'll work) we are stuck with them for good or ill.  

And while I'm on a roll, who or what the hell were "Coinweb?"  For 12 months we all blithely walked around with their logo front and centre without a clue who we were tacitly supporting.  They could have been a worthy charity busy alleviating famine, immunising against disease or tackling childhood mortality.  Equally they could have been a gun-running, Southern American Narco outfit, or worse, a firm allied to Nigel Farage.  Who knows?  Not us, that's for sure.

Dave Singh relaxes between takes
getting in the mood for his next cruise

"...Oh, oh I'm Trapped, like a football fan I'm in a cage...."

.....I can't get out, you see I'm trapped, can't you see I'm so confused, I can't get oooooooout....!"

So sang 80's funkster and possible Smurf-wrangler, Colonel Abrams on his dance-floor filler, "Trapped".  And if you've followed the Poppies away much this season you'll appreciate and share the sentiment in the good Colonel's words.

Another tough day at the office yesterday on the road for the Poppies.  Another backs to the wall effort.  Another grisly afternoon's weather.  And yet another segregated game for the travelling reds.  Depressingly, we all know why this is increasingly happening.  Even more depressingly, those among us who are the cause are unlikely to ever read this.  Or read.

Every time a bunch of our Burberry-wearing part-time teenage contingent angrily rattle a fence somewhere, looking for a fight they know they are never going to have, it is noticed.  Each gumped-up piss-head celebrating a last minute winner on the pitch rather than on the terraces is recorded.  These incidents are ruminated over by officials at other clubs or the local plod.  Or both.  The result - segregation for the rest of us.

Invading the pitch is only acceptable (A) when you win the league, or (B) when Ronnie Radford scores from 40 yards in the Cup back in the early 1970's.  We've missed the latter by half a century, and the former seems a painfully distant prospect, so keep off the f*cking pitch you dolts!

But there's the rub - do these fences cause more problems than they prevent?  Are we "rewarding" the tiny percentage of dicks who view a confrontational atmosphere as some kind of validation?

This is non-league.  We've all spent more years than we care to recall mixing with opposition fans, drinking in each others social clubs, and managing to co-exist without fighting each other.  A lot of it comes down to self-policing.  One of yours gets out of hand and someone has a word.  Bad behaviour is coached out of miscreants by those around them.  Tougher these days when some less than savoury 70's attitudes are reappearing and in some disreputable quarters, being positively encouraged.

When you are among fans of another team you soon realise that they are just people like us.  They are just suffering the terrible misfortune of being born elsewhere and wearing a different coloured scarf.  They are not an existential threat to our way of Poppies-supporting life.  They can't help being from a less-blessed place and as a consequence, forced to support a far more moderate football club.  If you want to feel anything for them, perhaps pity is more appropriate than anger?

When you separate the two groups of fans into separate, caged-of areas the atmosphere becomes immediately confrontational.  It's US versus THEM.  Abuse can be pointed in a specific direction at a specific group of people.  You are stood in an unregulated echo-chamber of a single point of view.  The experience becomes the very opposite of what non-league football has always been and should continue to be. 

Colonel Abrahams, rather on-the-nose with the 
imagery for his song "Trapped".
No signs of the Smurfs though.

No, No, No! Really?

"Attention Season Ticket Holders: Christmas Clash at Harborough Town.

The festive football calendar brings with it one of the most anticipated fixtures of the season: Harborough Town away on Saturday 27 December 2025, 3pm kick-off. And, judging by the early clamour for tickets, it seems Poppies supporters are treating this one somewhere between a cup final and a pilgrimage."

You can't have failed to spot the Harborough ticketing post on the the KTFC Website.  Above is the opening paragraph which has rightly been widely mocked on Social Media.  Not to risk the FOMO we thought we'd pull our size 11's on and join in.....

Christ, where do you start? Now, we don't necessarily believe that EVERY official club statement should be filtered through the prism of PATGOD, but, bloody hell, this one should have been. At least it could then have been read without leaving the taste of a bit of sick in the back of your throat. Unlike the club's attempt, we have taken the liberty of re-writing the above in a way designed NOT to coax stiffies in any readers from over the Leicestershire border.

Attention Season Ticket Holders - you know, you suckers who stumped up for the WHOLE season before we came up with a cracking part-season ticket offer. And, you know, those we screwed out of having a concession price at 60...yes, you lot.

It's bloody Christmas again, when games come far too thick and fast and the missus wants to drag you down to sodding Rushden Lakes so you can spend half a day trying to park the car and the rest of the day being bored out of your mind as 'er indoors looks at EVERYTHING on sale in EVERY store. And then buys all the gifts from the first shop you visited.

Sandwiched within this ruinous run of home games is a trip just up the road to the plastic school-pitch and rudimentary facilities of the painfully over-promoted and over-financed Harborough Town with their squad of expensively assembled mercenaries lorded over by the grinning beard of Mitch Look-at-my-enormous-budget Austin.

Barely one or two people have asked about tickets for this upcoming slaughter. Everyone else is busy cowering and hoping they will go bust before they can slap us all around their joke of a stadium which will look hideously out of place in National North if they manage to piss higher up the spend-what-you-can wall than Spalding before the end of the season.

Now, we know that playing Kettering Town is still more important to these pissant, bumpkin clubs than the air that they breathe, and playing us gives them their only chance of ever nudging a 4-figure gate, so the game will be all ticket. It's not a Cup Final. We've actually played them before. For real. At places like Wembley. It's also not a quasi-religious event. Some of us watched Poppies teams with Billy Kellock, Frankie Murphy, Phil Brown and Carl Alford in their pomp, so we know the difference. Lining-up to watch a half team of former money-grabbers who bottled their big chance last season when playing for us isn't much to write home about.

But we'll buy the tickets. We'll try to park somewhere near their tinny stadium. We'll piss in their portaloos. We'll try to watch the match through the gaps in our fingers. We'll continue to wonder if the Sun revolves around Dolman or vice versa. And we'll still be attending our fixtures in 5, 10, 20 years if spared, long after the private moolah swelling the Harborough Town coffers has been spent chasing the opportunity to take 3 fans on an away trip to Spennymoor and they are back playing park football, assuming they exist at all.

This is how the announcement could have been headed. KTFC - if you want to use this, it's not too late. Please feel free to cut and paste. We only want to help. We've spent decades coming up with pithy ripostes to more would-be rivals than Jason Alexander has made saves this season. And for the love of God, before you write such a fawning piece of sickly guff again, stop for a moment and ask yourselves one simple question, "How would PATGOD phrase this?" Then go for it!

Bloody hell guys, let's not give
Austin a bigger head than he's already got!

Here comes the Perfect Poppies Storm....

Oh happy days.  We know the soft-underbelly of Poppies fanbase need little encouragement to stop attending games and resort to sniping from the side-lines, while checking out Harborough's upcoming fixtures.

But can anyone recall in recent years such a perfect storm about to engulf us?

• Three straight, abject defeats on the road in a week - check
• Tumbling down the table - check
• Several Poppies games coming up (far too many) - check
• Club owners suddenly go quiet - check
• Expensive Christmas period coming up - check
• Team being chopped and changed - check 
• Sicknote Will Glennon ill again (seems to annoy some of our fans) - check
• Open the curtains this morning and it's pissing down - check
• Still a sub-standard home kit (sorry, that's one of mine....) - check

Assuming Latimer Park's much improved drainage does it's job today we look forward to seeing the other 500 of you later today....

It could be worse....er....er.....

That Sinking Feeling

On being handed a list of the players at his disposal, an England cricket captain once said “My God, look what they’ve sent me!”  Liam McDonald might have felt something similar the other night. Coming to terms with just what a task he has on his hands can’t be easy. A few weeks ago, just after his appointment, the message was: these are all good players - they’re just low on confidence. The updated version is missing the first bit.

So just how did we get ourselves into this mess and how do we get out of it? Let’s begin by acknowledging that the slide began well before this season. Almost exactly a year ago the Lavery team reached its peak before an alarming drop off set in. From Christmas onwards we only fleetingly looked like a team capable of promotion, and ultimately got what we deserved. You can take your pick from the theories why – directorial interference, heavy handed management, key players losing form – but the facts don’t lie: just 9 wins out of 21, mid-table form really. 

All of which set us up perfectly for a triumphant march to the title this time, but for a few niggling things, hardly worth mentioning but let’s air them anyway. Lavs stalked off and some good players followed in sympathy / pursuit of more money. Three other clubs in this division now have financial resources we can only dream of. George picked a complete clown as manager. And we went into the season with our most unbalanced, over hyped, papier mache squad since the golden days of Morell at Nene Park.

When Hollyhead was appointed, about the one positive thing from his CV that fans could agree on was that he seemed to know how to keep it tight at the back. An impression he was quick to dispel, by shipping three before the season was 45 minutes old and merrily fielding a back line of players not in their natural position. Meanwhile our only specialist CB, with a proven track record, found himself a bench warmer at best. Navigation may not be Lewis White’s strength, but he soon found his way to a club that was happy to make room for him. Wouldn't you? 

Weak at the back, lightweight in midfield and top heavy with strikers who all wanted to play but not necessarily with each other – what could go wrong? Not much!  Since Harborough first exposed our powder puff credentials our form has been relegation material – three wins, three draws, eight defeats - and getting worse by the week. We’re in trouble and we know it.

At least Liam, still in his grace period, can truthfully point out that the squad just isn’t good enough. Responsibility for that has to sit with the brains behind recruitment. Probably not Hollyhead, he had other failings. The path to recovery has to begin with an acknowledgement, not necessarily public but it will soon show, that Fabian is simply not a good judge of a player and is stepping back from transfer business. 

What that leaves him to do, who knows, but keep him away from the knife drawer please. Hand in hand with that, give Liam full control. He was brought in because of his pedigree at this level, is still spoken highly of by fans of his previous clubs, the guy clearly has passion and tells it as it is – back him to the hilt and that includes all of us. 

What’s in store in the next few weeks and months is probably not going to be pretty, as Liam tries to reshape his options and we're forced to muddle through. Overconfidence and naivety has cost us at least one season of progress. The goal now is to just keep it to that, and by the spring have the makings of a more settled team that can be properly competitive next time. 

Oh and take that bloody scoreboard down!