It'd seemed like ages since I was last at Billericay Town but in reality it was just a couple of weeks or so. They'd just played a fair few games. Unfortunately for them, they had just picked up a single point since Chipper and I had last turned up at New Lodge.
He was out playing for his own side tonight, though, so once again the person who actually watched the game for me when I was there (and I mean for me, rather than with me) would be absent. As it's for radio, it'd mean me watching, at best, around 20 minutes. The rest of the time is spent typing live updates, recording audio reports, taking pics, and keeping the twits informed.
It's not uncommon for me, mind, to not watch a lot of the game. Chipper and I once went to an England friendly and saw less than 5 minutes of it. For some reason there were some junk mail on every seat, of paper aeroplane making size.
To make sure it didn't come off the seat, they attached elastic bands around them. We spent the entire game bombarding the cameramen behind the goal with planes and rubber band missiles. Mostly me.
Even when there's no real distractions, and I'm not reporting or anything, I end up after about 5 minutes gassing away to a few mates about the important issues of the day. Things like Joey Barton joining Marseille - does it mean a new series of An Idiot Abroad will be made? Or if Jodie Marsh asked you out, would you be too scared to say no now. Proper stuff.
Anyway, I digress. After their opening day win, Billericay had picked up just a point since then. It wasn't quite as bad as it sounded, with 3 of the 4 games since then being played away, but still, you want to nip a winless streak in the bud. Although I've never seen a streak have a bud in it - and I was there when Erica Roe blocked out the light at Twickenham with her massive conversions.
I'm digressing again. Standing in their way tonight were Tonbridge Angels, the old stamping ground of Roy Hodgson and Malcolm 'Superdrunk' Macdonald - although, rather fittingly, they were just Tonbridge then. Not exactly an angel was Supermac. There was a phase too, where the answer to the question 'What is taken to the FA Cup Final every year but never used?' wasn't the losing team's ribbons, but Malcolm Macdonald. Chortle.
Digress number 3. Ah well. Anyway, where were we? Yes, yes, I remember. Billericay, yes. Bus, train, cab from the Bay. Usually I wander down Western Road from the station to the ground. It takes a while but it's due to me just dawdling. Still a little warm, though, and the last time Chipper and I toiled, heaving like pigs after a date with Jodie Marsh. Cab it was.
Gagging for a drink so I hot tail it to the tea bar. I'm interested by their lovely, professionally designed sign, informing all that they do the best chips in the world. I wouldn't know about that or argue, but Chipper swears by their bacon rolls. I, though, swear at my own bulk and get a couple of cans of diet coke from the cheery serving girls.
Getting myself set up, in the Quid Stand, I saw a reason where, if I was a particularly fan of 'Ricay, my loyalties could have changed. Wandering by was this gorgeous slim, dark haired, tan skinned, smiling beauty, resplendent in Tonbridge shirt.
My eyes didn't pop out of my head so much as explode. Sorry guys - and girls, she could certainly appeal to plenty of women, too - she's obviously spoken for, what with having her family with her. It was a pleasure to enjoy the view though for those few fleeting seconds. I anticipated that would be the highlight of the night.
Not for the first time, though, I was about as far wrong as it was possible to get. From first minute to last, something was going on. Take the kick-off. 'Ricay lose the ball, Angels come forward, earn a free kick on the left hand edge of the area. It's low and fast in delivery. A diving header. Goal for Tonbridge. Just 89 seconds in.
The play doesn't let up, which means I see hardly any of it. I type, I record, and all the while the crowd around me shouts. I have to rely on my perception of how loud the spectators are shouting as to when to look up.
I cut it fine a few minutes later. Another roar. I look up and see a 'Ricay forward clash with Angels keeper. The ball goes into the net. For a second there's silence. Then everyone sees the ref run towards the halfway line. Goal!
Billericay now take control but Tonbridge almost take the lead, chipping the keeper, only to see it cleared off the line. A Town corner results in about 5 shots at goal in 10 seconds that either hit a defender, the keeper, or the crossbar. Eventually, five minutes before the break, Rob Swaine gives the home side the lead with the inevitable header from a corner.
The thing to notice about the hosts is that, although there's not the Swansealona passing, and that they do indeed play to their strengths at set pieces and throw-ins, they also have plenty of players who go on mazy dribbles. Sam Lechmere, Duran Reynolds and new left back Joe Anderson all had a run or two.
It was good to watch and on the hour it looked all over. Glenn Poole has obviously been watching Julian Dicks videos for his penalties. Bang. 3-1. That should be it. Lots of sweary words coming from the away fans. There's either a few virgins in amongst the Angels support. Or they're hen-pecked. Either way, it's Angels with dirty mouths. Very rude. Chortle.
It isn't over, of course. Why would it be when I think it is? The Angels throw their subs on and it starts to make a difference. It still looks like 'Ricay will see things out. 3-1 getting on towards the last 5 minutes. But then in comes a rash challenge. Penalty. 3-2. Game on.
You still think, despite that, that Town will see things out, that they have the know-how and experience to make sure they keep the points. I expect a frenzy, but the pace is a lot slower. I start to write up the full time summary, commenting on the valuable 3 points, just as the fourth official indicates 3 minutes of injury time.
I've finished writing it up and have my hand over the send button, waiting for the whistle. I start to daydream. Or nightdream. Whatever. Anyway, I hear a shout. I look to my left. A centre has come into the 'Ricay box. No worries. Plenty of defenders. Except none of them get the ball. In comes the shot. Wallop. 3-3.
'You batards', I think. Not because of the late equaliser, but I have to hastily re-type the full time summary. The Angels players and supporters are delirious with their comeback. Rightly so. They hung on in there and took their chances. A real smash and grab. The home support and players slope off. It feels like a defeat.
Even I'm a bit downbeat. Despite what others say about the team, or the manager, the club itself is run now by a lot of good people. You know the types, properly decent sorts, that treat you well not because of any special reason, but because it's just the way they are. In short, the total opposite of a cynical, grumpy so-and-so like me.
I try the wander back up Western Road. It's a cool night, so I try to quicken the pace, just to prove to myself that the walk isn't that long. Yet again, and much to my disquiet, I'm wrong. It's far longer than I realised. It's like route 66. And mostly uphill. I'm more puffed out than a Sugar Puff on puff by the time I reach the station.
Train and taxi back to the Bay. It was a proper thriller with a sting in the tail. But right now, the epilogue and bed awaits. I'll sleep well now. Perhaps the only time I get something right all night.
Billericay Town 3, Tonbridge Angels 3
He was out playing for his own side tonight, though, so once again the person who actually watched the game for me when I was there (and I mean for me, rather than with me) would be absent. As it's for radio, it'd mean me watching, at best, around 20 minutes. The rest of the time is spent typing live updates, recording audio reports, taking pics, and keeping the twits informed.
It's not uncommon for me, mind, to not watch a lot of the game. Chipper and I once went to an England friendly and saw less than 5 minutes of it. For some reason there were some junk mail on every seat, of paper aeroplane making size.
Even when there's no real distractions, and I'm not reporting or anything, I end up after about 5 minutes gassing away to a few mates about the important issues of the day. Things like Joey Barton joining Marseille - does it mean a new series of An Idiot Abroad will be made? Or if Jodie Marsh asked you out, would you be too scared to say no now. Proper stuff.
Anyway, I digress. After their opening day win, Billericay had picked up just a point since then. It wasn't quite as bad as it sounded, with 3 of the 4 games since then being played away, but still, you want to nip a winless streak in the bud. Although I've never seen a streak have a bud in it - and I was there when Erica Roe blocked out the light at Twickenham with her massive conversions.
I'm digressing again. Standing in their way tonight were Tonbridge Angels, the old stamping ground of Roy Hodgson and Malcolm 'Superdrunk' Macdonald - although, rather fittingly, they were just Tonbridge then. Not exactly an angel was Supermac. There was a phase too, where the answer to the question 'What is taken to the FA Cup Final every year but never used?' wasn't the losing team's ribbons, but Malcolm Macdonald. Chortle.
Gagging for a drink so I hot tail it to the tea bar. I'm interested by their lovely, professionally designed sign, informing all that they do the best chips in the world. I wouldn't know about that or argue, but Chipper swears by their bacon rolls. I, though, swear at my own bulk and get a couple of cans of diet coke from the cheery serving girls.
Getting myself set up, in the Quid Stand, I saw a reason where, if I was a particularly fan of 'Ricay, my loyalties could have changed. Wandering by was this gorgeous slim, dark haired, tan skinned, smiling beauty, resplendent in Tonbridge shirt.
My eyes didn't pop out of my head so much as explode. Sorry guys - and girls, she could certainly appeal to plenty of women, too - she's obviously spoken for, what with having her family with her. It was a pleasure to enjoy the view though for those few fleeting seconds. I anticipated that would be the highlight of the night.
The play doesn't let up, which means I see hardly any of it. I type, I record, and all the while the crowd around me shouts. I have to rely on my perception of how loud the spectators are shouting as to when to look up.
I cut it fine a few minutes later. Another roar. I look up and see a 'Ricay forward clash with Angels keeper. The ball goes into the net. For a second there's silence. Then everyone sees the ref run towards the halfway line. Goal!
Billericay now take control but Tonbridge almost take the lead, chipping the keeper, only to see it cleared off the line. A Town corner results in about 5 shots at goal in 10 seconds that either hit a defender, the keeper, or the crossbar. Eventually, five minutes before the break, Rob Swaine gives the home side the lead with the inevitable header from a corner.The thing to notice about the hosts is that, although there's not the Swansealona passing, and that they do indeed play to their strengths at set pieces and throw-ins, they also have plenty of players who go on mazy dribbles. Sam Lechmere, Duran Reynolds and new left back Joe Anderson all had a run or two.
It was good to watch and on the hour it looked all over. Glenn Poole has obviously been watching Julian Dicks videos for his penalties. Bang. 3-1. That should be it. Lots of sweary words coming from the away fans. There's either a few virgins in amongst the Angels support. Or they're hen-pecked. Either way, it's Angels with dirty mouths. Very rude. Chortle.
It isn't over, of course. Why would it be when I think it is? The Angels throw their subs on and it starts to make a difference. It still looks like 'Ricay will see things out. 3-1 getting on towards the last 5 minutes. But then in comes a rash challenge. Penalty. 3-2. Game on.
You still think, despite that, that Town will see things out, that they have the know-how and experience to make sure they keep the points. I expect a frenzy, but the pace is a lot slower. I start to write up the full time summary, commenting on the valuable 3 points, just as the fourth official indicates 3 minutes of injury time.I've finished writing it up and have my hand over the send button, waiting for the whistle. I start to daydream. Or nightdream. Whatever. Anyway, I hear a shout. I look to my left. A centre has come into the 'Ricay box. No worries. Plenty of defenders. Except none of them get the ball. In comes the shot. Wallop. 3-3.
'You batards', I think. Not because of the late equaliser, but I have to hastily re-type the full time summary. The Angels players and supporters are delirious with their comeback. Rightly so. They hung on in there and took their chances. A real smash and grab. The home support and players slope off. It feels like a defeat.
Even I'm a bit downbeat. Despite what others say about the team, or the manager, the club itself is run now by a lot of good people. You know the types, properly decent sorts, that treat you well not because of any special reason, but because it's just the way they are. In short, the total opposite of a cynical, grumpy so-and-so like me.
I try the wander back up Western Road. It's a cool night, so I try to quicken the pace, just to prove to myself that the walk isn't that long. Yet again, and much to my disquiet, I'm wrong. It's far longer than I realised. It's like route 66. And mostly uphill. I'm more puffed out than a Sugar Puff on puff by the time I reach the station.
Train and taxi back to the Bay. It was a proper thriller with a sting in the tail. But right now, the epilogue and bed awaits. I'll sleep well now. Perhaps the only time I get something right all night.
Billericay Town 3, Tonbridge Angels 3
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