The storm clouds were gathering. Not just above Burroughs Park either. After coming out of the traps quicker than Ben Johnson on speed - well, on more speed, then - Rovers had hit the wall. Defeats at Sawbo and Bethnal Green had put a doubt or two into Trenks' squad after all that pre-season and early season optimism.
Not that I was worried or bothered too much. There was a game on, and Brian and Ed were picking me up at the Bay. Which may or may not be a euphemism. Anyway, that was all that mattered. Turmoil or tranquillity, I didn't care either way. Out at the match with the Jolly Boys. It happily meant an evening away from repeats on Gold, England boring the watching millions to sleep, or Andy Murray's gurning face.
Perennial ESL title challengers Enfield 1893 were the next side to test the Great Wakering mettle. I guess 1893 refers to the number of games they'll have to play before making it to the Ryman. In each of their five previous seasons, they've either been champions, and denied promotion due to ground grading when Enfield Town nicked their main stand (you shouldn't, but ... chortle), or they've fallen agonisingly short thanks to ridiculous results, such as a 0-0 draw at bottom side Basildon United in their first season (this time, without any guilt ... chortle).
I remember their first season or two well. Among their supporters who was taller lying down than he was standing up, with a mouth bluer than a Chubby Brown convention, in a voice that made a passing whale broody. At Southend Manor, he continually berated the ref and JJ, which perhaps was no bad thing. With Enfield ahead and looking comfortable, his gob was tempting fate. Manor then pissed on it by equalising. Some of the 1893 contingent tried to punch him in the mouth after that, but fell in, and were used as a tasty snack to get him through to his full time bargain bucket.
I digress. Tonight's game was a Gordon Brasted Trophy game, one of these competitions that keeps the season ticking over in midweek. In honour of the late Burnham Ramblers club official, it contrasts nicely with the two-legged League Cup, this being a straight knock-out, with the final usually over Easter at Leslie Field. Which, contrary to nobody's opinion whatsoever, isn't some old posh English actor's back garden.
Rovers had made a few changes in their line-up, including a youth player. The 1893 side included, so the team sheet said, someone called Hughes. No other first or last name. Oh yes. Perhaps he was one of those X Factor rejects who lived a Walter Mitty world where he was up there with Elvis, Jesus or Cheryl. Or maybe a Gladiator like Wolf, Jet or Nightshade. I was disappointed to find it was a typo. His first name was Neil. It probably still is too. No long haired hippy version either. Bah.
As far as the game went, Wakering started off badly, then fell away completely. Enfield 1893 were organised, play simple football like passing to each other, and soon had the game by the scruff of the neck. Even before the first 20 minutes were up, we were indulging in important issues of the day. Have Argentina played at Wembley since 1980. Luckily enough, I remembered the 2-2 draw in 1991. Not for the game, but for getting pissed in the West End afterwards, and nearly burning my flat down when I decided that oven cooked after 12 pints was the best way to make a bedtime snack.
By the time we'd got round to Argentina's current claim to the Falklands, to which one rather nice looking and articulate twitterer had made the mistake of bringing common sense into the chat, and trying to buy an Andy Cameron single on EBay, Rovers were 2-0 down. I done well tonight. I did actually see one of them, a lob that Louis got a hand to but couldn't keep out.
Rovers weren't the only team faring badly. England were losing to Ukraine, although on ITV1+1 it was still 0-0, Scotland were experiencing their normal humiliation, this time against the might of Macedonia, and Wales were getting gubbed in Serbia. At least Northern Ireland were ensuring British pride was intact, avoiding defeat against a massively strong Luxembourg.
The second half was a bit better. Rovers sent on some of their more senior players to shore things up a bit but Enfield were still very comfortable. So were we, as another weekend trip was planned. On top of that, we all realised Brazil 2014, with or without British representation, was on the horizon. The master plan was outlined. Four of us, on web cams, giving our own uniquely unique observations on it all, before, during and after games - and cans. Get Neil from Bethnal Green in as commentator, and the next World Cup is going to be the best yet.
In amidst it all, 1893 got another. Wow, what a goal. Remember that one Frank Worthington got for Bolton that was goal of the season, over his head and volleyed on? Well, I have no idea if it was like that, as I wasn't watching, of course, but everyone seemed extremely impressed with it.
We scuttled off soon afterwards, into the clubhouse, just in time to see England's penalty and Steven Gerrard's red card. No prizes for guessing which one of those the people watching enjoyed seeing more. Chortle. I guess they'll be lighting candles, holding hands, and singing 'Justice for the Stevie G' all across Merseyside right now.
All in all, a terrible Rovers display, but a spiffing night out. That'll do for me. After all, turmoil is more fun than tranquillity.
Great Wakering Rovers 0, Enfield 1893 3
Not that I was worried or bothered too much. There was a game on, and Brian and Ed were picking me up at the Bay. Which may or may not be a euphemism. Anyway, that was all that mattered. Turmoil or tranquillity, I didn't care either way. Out at the match with the Jolly Boys. It happily meant an evening away from repeats on Gold, England boring the watching millions to sleep, or Andy Murray's gurning face.Perennial ESL title challengers Enfield 1893 were the next side to test the Great Wakering mettle. I guess 1893 refers to the number of games they'll have to play before making it to the Ryman. In each of their five previous seasons, they've either been champions, and denied promotion due to ground grading when Enfield Town nicked their main stand (you shouldn't, but ... chortle), or they've fallen agonisingly short thanks to ridiculous results, such as a 0-0 draw at bottom side Basildon United in their first season (this time, without any guilt ... chortle).
I remember their first season or two well. Among their supporters who was taller lying down than he was standing up, with a mouth bluer than a Chubby Brown convention, in a voice that made a passing whale broody. At Southend Manor, he continually berated the ref and JJ, which perhaps was no bad thing. With Enfield ahead and looking comfortable, his gob was tempting fate. Manor then pissed on it by equalising. Some of the 1893 contingent tried to punch him in the mouth after that, but fell in, and were used as a tasty snack to get him through to his full time bargain bucket.I digress. Tonight's game was a Gordon Brasted Trophy game, one of these competitions that keeps the season ticking over in midweek. In honour of the late Burnham Ramblers club official, it contrasts nicely with the two-legged League Cup, this being a straight knock-out, with the final usually over Easter at Leslie Field. Which, contrary to nobody's opinion whatsoever, isn't some old posh English actor's back garden.
Rovers had made a few changes in their line-up, including a youth player. The 1893 side included, so the team sheet said, someone called Hughes. No other first or last name. Oh yes. Perhaps he was one of those X Factor rejects who lived a Walter Mitty world where he was up there with Elvis, Jesus or Cheryl. Or maybe a Gladiator like Wolf, Jet or Nightshade. I was disappointed to find it was a typo. His first name was Neil. It probably still is too. No long haired hippy version either. Bah.As far as the game went, Wakering started off badly, then fell away completely. Enfield 1893 were organised, play simple football like passing to each other, and soon had the game by the scruff of the neck. Even before the first 20 minutes were up, we were indulging in important issues of the day. Have Argentina played at Wembley since 1980. Luckily enough, I remembered the 2-2 draw in 1991. Not for the game, but for getting pissed in the West End afterwards, and nearly burning my flat down when I decided that oven cooked after 12 pints was the best way to make a bedtime snack.
By the time we'd got round to Argentina's current claim to the Falklands, to which one rather nice looking and articulate twitterer had made the mistake of bringing common sense into the chat, and trying to buy an Andy Cameron single on EBay, Rovers were 2-0 down. I done well tonight. I did actually see one of them, a lob that Louis got a hand to but couldn't keep out.
Rovers weren't the only team faring badly. England were losing to Ukraine, although on ITV1+1 it was still 0-0, Scotland were experiencing their normal humiliation, this time against the might of Macedonia, and Wales were getting gubbed in Serbia. At least Northern Ireland were ensuring British pride was intact, avoiding defeat against a massively strong Luxembourg.
The second half was a bit better. Rovers sent on some of their more senior players to shore things up a bit but Enfield were still very comfortable. So were we, as another weekend trip was planned. On top of that, we all realised Brazil 2014, with or without British representation, was on the horizon. The master plan was outlined. Four of us, on web cams, giving our own uniquely unique observations on it all, before, during and after games - and cans. Get Neil from Bethnal Green in as commentator, and the next World Cup is going to be the best yet.
In amidst it all, 1893 got another. Wow, what a goal. Remember that one Frank Worthington got for Bolton that was goal of the season, over his head and volleyed on? Well, I have no idea if it was like that, as I wasn't watching, of course, but everyone seemed extremely impressed with it.
We scuttled off soon afterwards, into the clubhouse, just in time to see England's penalty and Steven Gerrard's red card. No prizes for guessing which one of those the people watching enjoyed seeing more. Chortle. I guess they'll be lighting candles, holding hands, and singing 'Justice for the Stevie G' all across Merseyside right now.
All in all, a terrible Rovers display, but a spiffing night out. That'll do for me. After all, turmoil is more fun than tranquillity.
Great Wakering Rovers 0, Enfield 1893 3
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