Getting colder, but still not cold enough to say 'No, not worth it, where's the doll and the puncture repair kit?'
It hadn't given the greatest of choices, though, after Tuesday's extravaganza. Waltham Forest v Heybridge Swifts or Romford v Chatham Town. Four average to reasonable teams in Ryman One North that's had average to reasonable starts without breaking up too many trees.
Cricklefield was an attraction, and seeing Waltham Forest would complete what I set out to do in July. Against the first team I ever paid money to see as well. The thing is, though, whenever I've seen the Swifts in recent seasons they've all been terrible games. With a chill in the air it didn't appeal.
What finally swung it, though, was Ship Lane. It's about as inaccessible by public transport as any ground in South Essex. It had to be done. Even if the game was awful I might just have achieved something by just getting there.
First choice. Do I get the train to Rainham, Chafford Hundred or Elm Park? What a choice. A bit like asking if you'd like to die by hanging, electric chair, or lethal injection. I chose the latter simply because it meant I didn't have to change trains from the Bay and go anywhere near the Tilbury Loop. An area where people go to Gaza City to get away from it all.
On the way, the evening paper was imploring people to respect John Terry. Well, compared to Jimmy Saville, I'm sure I could. But it's still a close run thing. Of course, though, a serial cheat who gets a team-mate's ex pregnant then pays for an abortion, whilst married, and then uses racist behaviour 'ironically', is worthy of the respect due of a player that's been involved in the two worst World Cup Finals showings since the 80's.
After all the fun of the train and tube, the wonders of the bus. It crawled through Rainham. A depressing place at the best of times, at night it looks like the end of the world. On a street corner, people lurking around a car wash, whilst on the opposite side of the road, a bloke looks around, his face full of desperation to get away.
A bit further on, some chavs are hanging around Tescos, settled in for a night of sneering and shouting. Just horrible. I felt for the thousands of people who, one way or another, ended up having to live in a place so ugly it was bound to have some unsavoury elements. Environment has a lot to answer for. With 35 years of my life lived in Basildon, I should know.
The ground itself is a good one. Seats down both sides of the pitch but you can also stand anywhere, behind the goals, as well as down the sides. A decent clubhouse to boot. The landlords, Thurrock, were used to bigger and better things in recent seasons, with FA Cup runs and Conference football before their long overdue relegation.
It was the turn of the tenants tonight. Romford, a famous name from the past, before their defunctification and resurrection, which sounds like a reason for the recession. They stormed to the Essex Senior League title four seasons ago, losing just the one game at Southend Manor. Since then, though, nothing of any note. Consolidation. That was about it.
Being away from a proper 'home' can't help. They were up the road at Aveley, now Thurrock. They may or may not have been over at Rush Green too. It certainly has an effect on their fanbase. I looked out across the ground and the vast emptiness hit me. There had to be less than 100 supporters dotted around.
It wasn't only the number of supporters, which was average by Ryman One North standards. It was their age. I thought I was getting to be a bit of a codger and a grump, but I would be placed firmly in the youth section if my affinities were with Romford. I could only speculate that the club simply aren't picking up any new supporters from their nomadic existence.
It's a pity because they're a good bunch, always have time for a bit of chat and banter. It occasionally went overboard, especially that defeat at Southend Manor in their ESL days, where they made themselves look foolish charging at the metal grille tunnel towards the ref. That was the exception that proved the rule. They were Romford supporters, wherever their team actually played. Respect.
The visitors, Chatham Town, I knew little about, apart from I saw them last season when they played the fellow nomads Grays Athletic over at Rookery Hill. One of the Grays players I recognised warming up for Chatham and, for whatever reason, he recognised me, so a few minutes before kick-off he stopped and had a chat. Their manager did likewise, mind, so I think it's a club thing, they just like a pint and a bit of chat. The clue is in their name I guess.
The game? Well, what can I say. The first half highlight was the whistle for half time. It wasn't awful, there were very few mistakes. It was just that nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Just 22 idiots running around chasing a ball. Even the pikeys staying in the hotel copping a free match by standing on the fire escape soon buggered off sharpish. It wasn't either side's fault, but it was depressing. A dull match in a cold stadium with a constant noise of M25 traffic thrown in for good measure.
I was contemplating seeing if the early bus back was even earlier, when the second started in the same vein, when suddenly a blur of action. The Chatham keeper makes a decent save, then a few minutes later, Hussein Isa finishes nicely from the edge of the area. It was warming up, and how can you not love a game between gold and blue stripes and red and black stripes? Proper football kit, that.
They deceived me though. The bastards. After that flurry to entice me back, it was mind-numbing cancelling each other out. I looked around again. Even though the tenants were winning, the 'home' supporters were looking on gloomily, and looking even older. Maybe they'd had enough of not being in Romford. Although I'd have thought that was a cause of celebration.
The end came, not soon enough. Romford had edged into the play-off battle with their win but you'd never have guessed it. Spadework was all tonight was. Nights like these, turning up to freeze your nads off and watch, well not shite, but a game as dull as ditchwater bathed in dishwater, makes you appreciate the good days out that much more.
Frankly, the people of Rainham had it right. It might mean having to stay in Rainham, but stopping in instead coming out to watch this was the right idea. After all, when less than 100 people from Romford want to see Romford, and I'm the youngest one there, it says less about life in Rainham and far more about Wednesday nights at Ship Lane.
Like that's ever going to stop me, though .....
Romford 1, Chatham Town 0
It hadn't given the greatest of choices, though, after Tuesday's extravaganza. Waltham Forest v Heybridge Swifts or Romford v Chatham Town. Four average to reasonable teams in Ryman One North that's had average to reasonable starts without breaking up too many trees.
Cricklefield was an attraction, and seeing Waltham Forest would complete what I set out to do in July. Against the first team I ever paid money to see as well. The thing is, though, whenever I've seen the Swifts in recent seasons they've all been terrible games. With a chill in the air it didn't appeal.
First choice. Do I get the train to Rainham, Chafford Hundred or Elm Park? What a choice. A bit like asking if you'd like to die by hanging, electric chair, or lethal injection. I chose the latter simply because it meant I didn't have to change trains from the Bay and go anywhere near the Tilbury Loop. An area where people go to Gaza City to get away from it all.
On the way, the evening paper was imploring people to respect John Terry. Well, compared to Jimmy Saville, I'm sure I could. But it's still a close run thing. Of course, though, a serial cheat who gets a team-mate's ex pregnant then pays for an abortion, whilst married, and then uses racist behaviour 'ironically', is worthy of the respect due of a player that's been involved in the two worst World Cup Finals showings since the 80's.
A bit further on, some chavs are hanging around Tescos, settled in for a night of sneering and shouting. Just horrible. I felt for the thousands of people who, one way or another, ended up having to live in a place so ugly it was bound to have some unsavoury elements. Environment has a lot to answer for. With 35 years of my life lived in Basildon, I should know.
The ground itself is a good one. Seats down both sides of the pitch but you can also stand anywhere, behind the goals, as well as down the sides. A decent clubhouse to boot. The landlords, Thurrock, were used to bigger and better things in recent seasons, with FA Cup runs and Conference football before their long overdue relegation.
It was the turn of the tenants tonight. Romford, a famous name from the past, before their defunctification and resurrection, which sounds like a reason for the recession. They stormed to the Essex Senior League title four seasons ago, losing just the one game at Southend Manor. Since then, though, nothing of any note. Consolidation. That was about it.
It wasn't only the number of supporters, which was average by Ryman One North standards. It was their age. I thought I was getting to be a bit of a codger and a grump, but I would be placed firmly in the youth section if my affinities were with Romford. I could only speculate that the club simply aren't picking up any new supporters from their nomadic existence.
It's a pity because they're a good bunch, always have time for a bit of chat and banter. It occasionally went overboard, especially that defeat at Southend Manor in their ESL days, where they made themselves look foolish charging at the metal grille tunnel towards the ref. That was the exception that proved the rule. They were Romford supporters, wherever their team actually played. Respect.
The visitors, Chatham Town, I knew little about, apart from I saw them last season when they played the fellow nomads Grays Athletic over at Rookery Hill. One of the Grays players I recognised warming up for Chatham and, for whatever reason, he recognised me, so a few minutes before kick-off he stopped and had a chat. Their manager did likewise, mind, so I think it's a club thing, they just like a pint and a bit of chat. The clue is in their name I guess.
The game? Well, what can I say. The first half highlight was the whistle for half time. It wasn't awful, there were very few mistakes. It was just that nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Just 22 idiots running around chasing a ball. Even the pikeys staying in the hotel copping a free match by standing on the fire escape soon buggered off sharpish. It wasn't either side's fault, but it was depressing. A dull match in a cold stadium with a constant noise of M25 traffic thrown in for good measure.I was contemplating seeing if the early bus back was even earlier, when the second started in the same vein, when suddenly a blur of action. The Chatham keeper makes a decent save, then a few minutes later, Hussein Isa finishes nicely from the edge of the area. It was warming up, and how can you not love a game between gold and blue stripes and red and black stripes? Proper football kit, that.
They deceived me though. The bastards. After that flurry to entice me back, it was mind-numbing cancelling each other out. I looked around again. Even though the tenants were winning, the 'home' supporters were looking on gloomily, and looking even older. Maybe they'd had enough of not being in Romford. Although I'd have thought that was a cause of celebration.
Frankly, the people of Rainham had it right. It might mean having to stay in Rainham, but stopping in instead coming out to watch this was the right idea. After all, when less than 100 people from Romford want to see Romford, and I'm the youngest one there, it says less about life in Rainham and far more about Wednesday nights at Ship Lane.
Like that's ever going to stop me, though .....
Romford 1, Chatham Town 0
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