Never Say Never!

A father and son attending a football match isn't a particularly rare sight.  Look around any ground and this familial partnership is the bedrock of football supporting.  A club is handed down from father to son, to son.  By the time the offspring has a chance to decide whether to support a football club it's too late, and they are well on their way to indoctrinating the next generation.  All perfectly normal.

Unless, of course, you are talking about me and my father.  We've done father and son things over the years, including playing cricket together for a few, cherished seasons.  But, before last Saturday's FA Cup tie with Southend Manor, the entirety of our shared footballing experiences was the 1979 Trophy final!  I am certain I have written of this before on this blog, but cannot for the life of me remember when.  And as I'm in no particular mood to wade through the near 500 posts which make up this blog, I'll quickly run through the particulars of this solitary, less-than-cherished father and son footballing memory.

"Take a bloody good look!"

Briefly, my father decided we should go to the final on the coach departing the Alex, so, at the age of 12 I was enclosed and surrounded by noisy, aggressive drunks and pathetic tobacco addicts.  A bit like visiting the sponsor's lounge.  As we took our seats at Wembley I mentioned that we didn't pick up a programme on the way in. My father announced that he would find one for me, and off he went.

Well, he missed almost the entire game, but couldn't track down a programme for me.  It always made me feel bad that he missed the match.  Almost 30 years later I tracked down a copy of the match programme from that day on Ebay.  When telling my father of this purchase we reminisced about the Stafford game, and I explained my guilt at him missing the match itself because of my desire for a programme.  He seemed surprised at this confession, as he recalls that he deliberately repaired to the bar shortly after kick-off, with no intention of finding a programme, or watching the game!  Thirty years of guilt, all for nothing!  Bastard!

After a gap of just 32 years we decided to attend the Poppies FA Cup game together, obviously sandwiched between having a few lunchtime drinks, followed by a post match bevy and meal.  It's always quite an education when you take a certified armchair football viewer through a real, live game.  Explaining which of our players to look out for.  Which ones to boo.  Who have had previous contracts cancelled due to criminal convictions.  Why we can't sit in the VP's area.  Why there are no action replays!  Why we can't score a hatful against a pub team?

What I couldn't get over however was the fact my bloody father knew more people at the game than I did!  "There's old so-and-so, we used to play football together."  "That's thingie, we used to open the batting together for E.N. Wrights".  "Him and me played skittles...." etc. etc.  Given the large number of years I have devoted to the Poppies without ever being on more than a nodding acquaintance with more than a handful of people, I found this f**king annoying!

I think he enjoyed the experience, albeit probably more the pre and post match bits.  Doubtful whether he enjoyed it enough to attend another game in the next 32 years, but you never know!

Will play... number 78

And so normal service has been resumed. After last season’s enforced sabbatical from the 1st Round Proper, it was good to watch today’s draw with more of an interest than hoping, out of sheer malice and petty spite, that Cobblers or Corby would get shafted.

I can’t remember when the early rounds of the Cup began to receive the televised treatment, but it’s not so long since the rattling of the balls was conducted on a Monday lunchtime, and in those years – all too infrequent – when our name was in the hat, the first news came via the stop press in the ET. What sad, unenlightened days before we could sit in our armchairs and enjoy the grimacing features of Jim Rosenthal, as he tees up the proceedings with the air of a creepy butler.

Nowadays they always dredge up a couple of ex players or celebrity guests to make the draw. Today the budget stretched as far as Keith Houchen and Matt Hanlon, whose phone will presumably keep ringing until another non leaguer knocks Sutton off their perch. Had things panned out differently in those last 4 minutes against Fulham, it could have been Westcarr standing there. As it was, our only mention was Hanlon declaring that Sutton would fancy their chances against us, which made me yell with indignation before I paused for a moment and realised he was right.

Before we got to that point there was the delicious agony of the draw, prolonged even further by there being 80 balls bobbling in that drum – 79 of them loaded with the full spectrum of human emotion from Gateshead away to Charlton or the smallest tiddler at home.

One of the iron rules of these occasions is that we are always among the last clubs to be drawn, to wring the maximum torture out of the situation. This time it again seemed to be heading that way, as the possibilities narrowed to best case, home to Plymouth, worst case, away to Plymouth. In the end we have something of a curate’s egg. Not a glamour tie or a money maker, but winnable if we can put out our best team (whatever that may be in two weeks time) and get a step closer to hitting the jackpot.

Johnson teeters on the brink

With the Cobblers making another determined effort to join the ranks of the non league game one wonders for how much longer Gary Johnson has security of tenure in the home dug out at Sixfields.  Given that his Chairman, David Cardoza's two main hobbies are known to be (a) dreaming of being in League One, and (b) handing out P45's to failing managers, it is surely only a matter of time until Radio Northampton's usual playlist is replaced by a stately selection of funereal tunes.

"And now, the end is near...."

Considering how successful Johnson has been at other clubs it is interesting to note how dismal his stints within our county have been.  Even his time at other clubs close to Northamptonshire haven't been as successful as those with clubs further away.

My theory is that his time at Kettering was SO monstrously unsuccessful that it punched a hole in the space / time continuum and formed a fractured epicentre of failure around which the rest of his career has helplessly circled.  When he is physically close to "Ground Zero" of his footballing nightmare (otherwise known as the Poppies) his career nosedives - Cobblers, Posh and Cambridge.  The further away he is from the gates of the Holy City he suddenly becomes a footballing guru (Yeovil, Bristol City).

At least, I believe this is a reasonable summary of his managerial career to date. Checking his statistics with Wikipedia wasn't much use - it suggested he only presided over FIVE defeats at the Poppies!  WTF!  FIVE!  He lost that many games PER WEEK! 

The moral of the story is, that at soon as he gets the bullet at Northampton he should waste no time in forwarding his CV to Carlisle United, Berwick Rangers and Lands End Athletic.

Homeaway on the buses!

'Er indoors coined the above word as a way of rationalising to herself playing "home" games in another town.  She would be asked, "Ar, yoo 'um this Saturday?", and her reply would be, "Yes, we are homeaway", or "No, we are away", or even sometimes, "What's it to you?"

Consequently the words "home game" are rapidly falling into disuse, alongside, "Finishing with 11 men", "Thumping win" and "Full away end".

For last Saturday's homeaway game to Ebbsfleet me and the missus chose, by way of change, to travel over to Non Park via the Trust run bus from Rocky Road.  We picked a good day, as this coincided with a Real Ale Festival, and the Tin Hat was quite lively before and after the game.  At least it was for other people. Being a confirmed lager drinker I sense my attendance was barely tolerated.  Is it my fault I don't want to sup  raw sewerage from a half pint glass, with a look of superiority on my heavily bearded face?

If alcohol was meant to be opaque it wouldn't be served in clear glasses, would it?

Anyway, the atmosphere in the bar and on the double decker bus was boisterous and positive, as are all gatherings where Dave Singh is present!  Before we set off I had a conversation with a guy called Stuart and we joked about who would be sent off today.  No word of a lie, we both laughed that by process of elimination it must be Koo Boothe's turn!  Absolutely true!

"Next stop, Legoland!"

The bus trip was a bit wobbly and bouncy.  I'd quite forgotten how uncomfortable these big old double deckers could be.  By way of compensation, from the top deck, you got to look into people's gardens and bedroom windows! Wa-hey!  The good thing about going on the Trust Bus is that you are directed straight into the first car park, and not have to queue for the rear car park with the rest of the proles! (So far I've managed to insult all beer drinkers AND all Poppies fan!  Impressive, eh?)  After the game, at the appointed time the bus simply pulls out into the traffic, and we're on our way back.  No-one messes with a double decker!

The Trust must be congratulated for laying on this service, which the club officials (assuming we have any) do not consider important enough to waste their time doing.....I'll certainly be using the Trust bus again, and if you can somehow close your eyes for the journey you can almost convince yourself that you've had a couple of pints in the social, entered our new, well appointed ground for 90 minutes of anger and disappointment, and then stepped back into the Tin Hat for a few more jars after the game!

Never A Dull Moment

The spirit of Morell lives on in at least one respect – watching Kettering remains car crash TV. Take your eyes off the action for a moment and you risk missing another red card, kamikaze cock up or (on at least one occasion) a boy wonder crashing in a 25 yarder on his debut. Particularly good value for those who hold Nene Park season tickets, who have already seen more action than Rockingham Road witnessed in entire Peter Morris campaigns.

Take yesterday for example. A 2-2 draw that was a minor classic, as the latest ‘anyone who’s not suspended, crocked or excused games’ Poppy Select defied all that Ebbsfleet and Mr Merchant of Gravesend & Northfleet could throw at them to earn a moral victory.

But such is our catalogue of misfortune since moving to this accursed bit of reclaimed swamp/Indian burial ground, it just seemed that something bad was bound to happen after we’d used all our subs, possibly involving a double concussion that would reduce us to 8 men followed by Navarro impaling himself on a corner flag. Yet wait! Here was the player formerly known as Get Im Orf, transformed into a sleek (well, two short sizes smaller) marauding right back, who put in an impressive shift without once hopping over the wall for a quick visit to the snack bar. And young Dawkin from Norwich took the straw out of his mouth for long enough to dazzle us with his ability to run with the ball at speed and shoot on sight. It promises to be a great loan spell, apart from the cup tie he’s not allowed to play, the inevitable sending off and/or injury. In fact, that was it. Thanks for the memories!

But sooner or later we really must find a way to complete a match with the same number of players that started it. It’s a strange feeling to be following, statistically, the dirtiest team in senior football, especially when many of them have found ways to be dismissed that have left opponents both unscathed and bemused. Our new total of 9 reds puts us on course for a couple of dozen before the season is out – and that’s before we start racking them up in cup ties. There are teams in South America who would kill for a record like that, and I mean literally.

Even allowing for the modern tendency to flash red for offences that would once have earned a quiet word, this is something quite unusual. Until a few weeks ago I can’t recall us ever losing two players in a game, now it feels boringly familiar. You can’t help but wonder what fresh calamity is heading our way, what new rules we will infringe. Refusing to give up our seat to a pensioner? You’re off. Lapsed TV licence? Early bath. Taking a trolley into the handbasket queue? Three match ban. Quietly efficient, settled team? Don’t hold your breath.

Seeing Red

As our EIGHTH player saw red this season, and trooped off the pitch not trying to make eye contact with the gaffer and contemplating a nice warm shower, we have to ask ourselves, "What's going on?" 

 

• Do we possess the dirtiest bunch of players ever to lace up gay-coloured football boots?
• Is it always wrong for players to fight their teammates during the game?
• How would the Leeds team of the early 70's or even Alty of the early 80's measure up if they were playing now (Clue - neither team would ever finish a game with a double-figure number of players on the pitch!)

 

It may seem obvious to say, but giving the opposition an extra man every game is not entirely conducive to winning football matches.  In the six games so far where we've shot ourselves in the foot this season we have picked up just 2 points (averaging 0.33 point per game - stats fans!)  Compare this to the whopping 1.18 points per game we have racked-up with a full compliment of Poppies stars on the turf, and the value of not seeing red becomes apparent.

But is the fault entirely that of the group of lazy / unfit /undisciplined (delete as appropriate) thugs we have in our employ?  Probably yes, but anyone trawling over the officiating statistics found here -

http://guardian.touch-line.com/StatsCentre.asp?CTID=11&CPID=108&pStr=Comp_Referees&t=5

will spot that refs seem to like reaching for the red these days.  We should invite Mr Amey to stand in the middle for all our games up to Christmas just to see if he will give us an easier ride, or see if we make a dent in his statistics.

Brave New Lawn?

So now it’s back to back wins for a Poppies side we may tentatively, clutching that rabbit’s foot, crossing ourselves three times, describe as “improving”.

It was certainly a massive improvement on my last KTFC experience – the now legendary night by the Nene which ended with JP landing more blows on his strike partner than Audley Harrison has mustered in his last three bouts.

Both pugilists (© Chris Eubank) defied most post Hayes predictions by not only reappearing in a red shirt, but also appear to have declined the modest Sky purse on offer for a rematch.

Well done JP and Moses! Make them cough up more if it’s going to be on pay per view.

Forest Green are no worse a side than Hayes yet we managed to contain their rampaging goal threat rather better, adopting innovative strategies like being awake and talking to each other.

Also in evidence was the equally novel concept of defending being a team game. At one point Verma popped up to clear a corner with a thumping near post header, whereas a few weeks ago that same cross would have pinged around our box for 10 seconds before nestling in our net.

As for the fitness thing, that was maybe always more a case of lazy minds not lazy bodies but we did get through the whole 90 minutes without someone complaining of a stitch, so progress there too perhaps.

So, getting more organised at the back, better communication, body language no longer totally apathetic, no red cards, Cunnington starting to look the part. Possibly a few things there that suggest that the sloppy anarchy of the Maison period is starting to fade.

Assuming of course that it wasn’t just all down to the fact that we always win at the New Lawn. Even MM managed to claim all the points last season – a statistical quirk so unlikely, there must be some supernatural forces at work.