It had been a nice, relaxing Sunday, after the colossal rush of that FA Cup tie. Hearts v Motherwell, settled by a run and shot from Danny Grainger. I knew a Danny Grainger where I worked years ago. He was heftier than me and was caught on cctv shagging the floor manageress in the car park. Though presumably not in a car itself as she was heftier than him.
I digress. Still time to take in the last 20 minutes of the Wear-Tyne derby. All Sunderland and Demba Ba scores a late own goal equaliser for them. Chortle. I guess Demba saw the 'Invest In Africa' slogans on the front of the Sunderland shirts, and thought he could also do his bit for other deprived, backward, Third World areas. He donated a goal to Wearside.
Tonight's little in the flesh treat, though, was another trip to the very edge of Greater London. Aveley had been on a decent spell the past few weeks, including putting five past East Thurrock United reserves in the Ryman League Cup seven days ago. If they beat AFC Sudbury over at Mill Field this evening, they'd go 3rd in Ryman One North.
I'd kept myself occupied during the day, though, by getting involved in a transfer. Not on Fifa 13 either. This was a proper 'manager wants player, player wants this, can you help with negotiations' type thing. There might just be a surprise in the pipeline later this week. You'd be surprised, in any case, at how little it takes for a play to drop divisions.
The Millers boss, Justin Gardner, had done a decent job at Bethnal Green in the ESL and evidently, after their relegation last season, had got this team believing in themselves again. On the other hand, Sudbury had won just a couple of league games and languished near the bottom. I've yet to meet a languish, mind, so I don't know what that means, really, but apparently they had been shite since that draw at Ilford.
The biggest barrier to a home win tonight, though, was perhaps the weather. The fog had been a proper pea-souper in the morning and had hardly lifted all day. Added to that was that slow, light, continual drizzle that saps your spirit. It's neither pissing down or a light shower, just constant getting on your tits rain.
Thinking back, this was the first time I'd seen Aveley when I'd travelled to Mill Field. I'd seen Basildon United face up to the exotically titled Mauritius Sports and the more mundane Romford there, and one or two other representative kick-abouts. I'd seen Aveley away a few times, too, but tonight was a bit of history. For nobody other than myself, mind, but still.
For those not in the know, Mill Field is what you come to expect from a Ryman League club. One oldish looking main stand, a covered end, a small covered enclosure by the halfway line opposite the stand, and the rest open to the elements.
Admission and a programme for a tenner. Smart clubhouse and burger bar. That'll do for me. Especially with that ad in any Ryman club programme with that model down to her lingerie. Worth £20 and a box full of tissues alone.
I took my seat, which I found had a bit of damp on it. Well, there'd been fog, and moisture in the air all day before the rain came down, so no big surprise or deal. Either give it a bit of a wipe or have a bit of a wet arse for a little while. I couldn't be bothered to dry it so wet arse I settled upon.
However, when the professional groundhoppers arrived, it was up there with the Jimmy Saville cover-up as an outrage. You can spot the pro groundhoppers a mile off. Carrier bags are rarer these days. Shoulder bags are in. As is bushy beards and, as ever, a propensity to talk far too loudly about grounds they'd been to or going to, purely so that everyone else within a radius of 50 yards can hear them.
Don't get me wrong, nothing against groundhoppers. It's harmless, and they generate a huge amount of revenue for clubs that really need it. I'm practically one myself, bar me not actually caring too much how many grounds I've been to (I've never sat down to work it out - more than 2, less than 20,002).
But please, don't talk loudly about going to Evesham tomorrow, or about someone going to Palace Reserves tonight and missing out. Nobody except you cares about it. And why not wait until the teams are announced on the tannoy instead of haranguing club officials?
As at Cricklefield, there was a decent AFC Sudbury following. You could tell because they came in what is obviously winter uniform. Stern, serious face, navy overcoat with club crest, and garish yellow scarf. Oh, and just like the groundhoppers, aged at least 60. I must have been the youngest one in the stand by about 15 years. This could be fun. Or a nightmare.
The fog wasn't worsening, but that rain was persistent. On the pitch there were large circles of what looked like frost but was simply moisture. You'd have thought that the game would be spoilt by it, but no. Both teams were at it from the off. Paul Burnett gives the hosts the lead, then Leon Antoine equalises, before a dozen minutes have passed.
Both sides were keeping it on the deck as often as they could. Aveley were looking particularly useful. Lovely passing and movement, even if Justin's motivational skills on the touchline came straight from David Brent. "Belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!" was the cry. Chortle. This was with 20 minutes gone, not with 5 left. With his suit and dark jacket, he looked every inch a manager. His side looked every inch a good team, too.
Half time came with the sides somehow still level. Sudbury had taken a bit of a battering but were still well in it. You'd have thought, though, they were getting beat 5-0 the way they trudged off. The groundhoppers stood up to shout loudly about rooting for Hendon. I so hope that's not a euphemism. For all our sakes.
Then came the breaking point. With literally dozens of empty seats to choose from, and instead of sitting where they were, two groundhoppers chose to sit directly behind me. Which ordinarily wouldn't have been too bad but for one guy's knees and feet banging into the top of my shoulders. Followed by a succession of f words just in casual conversations. Now, as you know, I'm not averse to the odd bit of verbals, but not every other word.
So I got up and I ... I ... well, I buggered off to stretch my legs behind the goal. Nobody there, see, so no knees in the shoulder, no drivel about who's been to Mangotsfield United, no f words about what time the bus to Hornchurch is. A few minutes later, about half a dozen people felt likewise and stood behind the goal too. Saying not a word. They, like me, just enjoyed the peace.
The silence was broken, though, by Sudbury's centre half. He spent the whole time moaning at the keeper Fred Howe. For no reason other than, I suspect, to detract from his own failings. Apart from not being vocal when play wasn't near him, the goalie had done nothing wrong, and in fact kept his side in the game with one superb tip round the post.
Those of us behind the goal even began to rally to his cause. One Aveley fan shouted "Well done keeper, don't listen to him, mate, you've done nothing wrong." He responded to question of why he doesn't shout back at him with "He never listens to me anyway", and shook his head in resignation. Good man. And spot on, as that defender kept shouting. Good player he may be but clearly was looking for a scapegoat should they lose.
That didn't seem likely, though, as Aveley sub came on for the last 15 minutes. Sudbury were hanging on and looking more resilient as time passed by. Then, of course, it happened. A set piece, a shot on goal, a good reflex save, the defence standing there like dummies, and who else but sub Petrit Elbi to shoot home.
The keeper was livid with his defence, and rightly so. The centre half, of course, blamed the keeper for the goal and began swearing at him. Behind the goal, one Aveley fan, with his young son, shouted "You're talking rubbish mate, it's your fault, not the keepers." The response. "Come over here and say that and I'll f*****g have you." You've either got it or you haven't. Class. And you, son, have f*** all.
As was proved a minute later when he went missing presumed dead for Aveley's killer third, a nice finish after being given half a pitch of space down his left hand side. The visitors boss wisely took off that defender. He'd made himself look foolish and was now a liability to the team.
I wandered round back towards the turnstiles, ready for the stroll back to the bus stop at the final whistle, when Petrit Elbi finished off another move down the left as Sudbury pressed in vain and were hit on the break. 4-1 to Aveley. It was cruel. They deserved the win, no doubt, but not perhaps by that margin.
Anyhow, I looked towards the turnstile and there he was. The man of the moment. East Thurrock United manger John Coventry was doing his regular Monday night football out somewhere, and was being surrounded by well wishers. Of course I joined in. Blimey, I even gave him a man hug, for which he looked suitably embarrassed. Tomorrow night could be something else.
I head off for home and, to while away the time, I put on the Non League Show on the radio. I never normally listen in, I must admit. Watching it and shouting down a radio mic about it is usually my limit but what else can you do at a bus stop when there's no shelter to write graffiti on, or windows to smash, or piss in? Anyhow, I tune in, and of course, it's Covo on the line discussing tomorrow night's game. I'm convinced he never sleeps.
One thing's for sure, tomorrow night will be a good 'un. But with five goals and a divvy defender, so was tonight.
Despite those f*****g groundhoppers.
Aveley 4, AFC Sudbury 1
I digress. Still time to take in the last 20 minutes of the Wear-Tyne derby. All Sunderland and Demba Ba scores a late own goal equaliser for them. Chortle. I guess Demba saw the 'Invest In Africa' slogans on the front of the Sunderland shirts, and thought he could also do his bit for other deprived, backward, Third World areas. He donated a goal to Wearside.
I'd kept myself occupied during the day, though, by getting involved in a transfer. Not on Fifa 13 either. This was a proper 'manager wants player, player wants this, can you help with negotiations' type thing. There might just be a surprise in the pipeline later this week. You'd be surprised, in any case, at how little it takes for a play to drop divisions.
The Millers boss, Justin Gardner, had done a decent job at Bethnal Green in the ESL and evidently, after their relegation last season, had got this team believing in themselves again. On the other hand, Sudbury had won just a couple of league games and languished near the bottom. I've yet to meet a languish, mind, so I don't know what that means, really, but apparently they had been shite since that draw at Ilford.
Thinking back, this was the first time I'd seen Aveley when I'd travelled to Mill Field. I'd seen Basildon United face up to the exotically titled Mauritius Sports and the more mundane Romford there, and one or two other representative kick-abouts. I'd seen Aveley away a few times, too, but tonight was a bit of history. For nobody other than myself, mind, but still.
For those not in the know, Mill Field is what you come to expect from a Ryman League club. One oldish looking main stand, a covered end, a small covered enclosure by the halfway line opposite the stand, and the rest open to the elements.
Admission and a programme for a tenner. Smart clubhouse and burger bar. That'll do for me. Especially with that ad in any Ryman club programme with that model down to her lingerie. Worth £20 and a box full of tissues alone.
I took my seat, which I found had a bit of damp on it. Well, there'd been fog, and moisture in the air all day before the rain came down, so no big surprise or deal. Either give it a bit of a wipe or have a bit of a wet arse for a little while. I couldn't be bothered to dry it so wet arse I settled upon.
Don't get me wrong, nothing against groundhoppers. It's harmless, and they generate a huge amount of revenue for clubs that really need it. I'm practically one myself, bar me not actually caring too much how many grounds I've been to (I've never sat down to work it out - more than 2, less than 20,002).
But please, don't talk loudly about going to Evesham tomorrow, or about someone going to Palace Reserves tonight and missing out. Nobody except you cares about it. And why not wait until the teams are announced on the tannoy instead of haranguing club officials?
The fog wasn't worsening, but that rain was persistent. On the pitch there were large circles of what looked like frost but was simply moisture. You'd have thought that the game would be spoilt by it, but no. Both teams were at it from the off. Paul Burnett gives the hosts the lead, then Leon Antoine equalises, before a dozen minutes have passed.
Both sides were keeping it on the deck as often as they could. Aveley were looking particularly useful. Lovely passing and movement, even if Justin's motivational skills on the touchline came straight from David Brent. "Belieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeve!" was the cry. Chortle. This was with 20 minutes gone, not with 5 left. With his suit and dark jacket, he looked every inch a manager. His side looked every inch a good team, too.
Then came the breaking point. With literally dozens of empty seats to choose from, and instead of sitting where they were, two groundhoppers chose to sit directly behind me. Which ordinarily wouldn't have been too bad but for one guy's knees and feet banging into the top of my shoulders. Followed by a succession of f words just in casual conversations. Now, as you know, I'm not averse to the odd bit of verbals, but not every other word.
So I got up and I ... I ... well, I buggered off to stretch my legs behind the goal. Nobody there, see, so no knees in the shoulder, no drivel about who's been to Mangotsfield United, no f words about what time the bus to Hornchurch is. A few minutes later, about half a dozen people felt likewise and stood behind the goal too. Saying not a word. They, like me, just enjoyed the peace.
Those of us behind the goal even began to rally to his cause. One Aveley fan shouted "Well done keeper, don't listen to him, mate, you've done nothing wrong." He responded to question of why he doesn't shout back at him with "He never listens to me anyway", and shook his head in resignation. Good man. And spot on, as that defender kept shouting. Good player he may be but clearly was looking for a scapegoat should they lose.
The keeper was livid with his defence, and rightly so. The centre half, of course, blamed the keeper for the goal and began swearing at him. Behind the goal, one Aveley fan, with his young son, shouted "You're talking rubbish mate, it's your fault, not the keepers." The response. "Come over here and say that and I'll f*****g have you." You've either got it or you haven't. Class. And you, son, have f*** all.
As was proved a minute later when he went missing presumed dead for Aveley's killer third, a nice finish after being given half a pitch of space down his left hand side. The visitors boss wisely took off that defender. He'd made himself look foolish and was now a liability to the team.
I wandered round back towards the turnstiles, ready for the stroll back to the bus stop at the final whistle, when Petrit Elbi finished off another move down the left as Sudbury pressed in vain and were hit on the break. 4-1 to Aveley. It was cruel. They deserved the win, no doubt, but not perhaps by that margin.
I head off for home and, to while away the time, I put on the Non League Show on the radio. I never normally listen in, I must admit. Watching it and shouting down a radio mic about it is usually my limit but what else can you do at a bus stop when there's no shelter to write graffiti on, or windows to smash, or piss in? Anyhow, I tune in, and of course, it's Covo on the line discussing tomorrow night's game. I'm convinced he never sleeps.
One thing's for sure, tomorrow night will be a good 'un. But with five goals and a divvy defender, so was tonight.
Despite those f*****g groundhoppers.
Aveley 4, AFC Sudbury 1
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