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!