2012-13 Uncovered: Tuesday 13th November - Where Was I? Old, I Was Spotted Dog Inn

   The news from Hearts wasn't getting much better.  At last, a consortium riding to the rescue.  With an offer to the current chairman of £450,000 and on condition the club is debt free.  As the chairman is an owed creditor for around £16m, with HMRC wanting that £450,000 in the next few weeks and possibly wanting another £1.7m, it wasn't the most tempting of offers.  Romanov might be a mentalist but he isn't that daft.

   Not to worry, their debts may be a million miles from my own financial hardship, but hard up I was.  The bare fridge and cupboards bore testament to that.  A night out at the football was simply out of the question. With Brentwood in an FA Trophy replay, and East Thurrock also in action, the Phoenix FM coverage will have to be from my living room whilst watching Only Fools & Horses.  Or, even worse, ITV football.

   It was at that time of contemplation, though, that the Bay consortium came to the rescue.  Ed and Bri were off to Clapton v Southend Manor.  And, heavens above, I was being subbed the admittance price.  Who needs dinner when you can have a night out at the Old Spotted Dog?

   It's something the good people of East London have been doing since 1888, though in rapidly decreasing numbers in the past few years.  Just up the road from West Ham's ground, you would have thought the local non-league side would get a decent following in such a densely populated area.

   Not now though.  It seems the born and bred Londoners have moved out, and the people that have moved in have little interest in football and even less affinity for the Tons.  It's noticeable, too, that from Benfleet onwards, the trains into London when West Ham are at home are banged out.  They may as well be called the Home Counties Hammers now.  They certainly don't represent the area of Upton Park much now.  

   Not that they're alone.  Arsenal, Spurs and Chelsea are also Home Counties clubs based in London, rather than London clubs.  It's no bad thing, reaching out to get support from wherever you can.  Teams like Man U, Liverpool, Celtic and Sevco depend upon non-local support just to exist.  It just seems a pity that people won't go and watch their local side a bit more often.

  Anyway, enough of the soap box.  Being out and about also gave me the opportunity to do a radio football night live from a game, which always adds a bit more to it.  And as Bri hadn't seen his late father's Clapton team win in 29 years, he was summarising, just in case the home team created a bit of personal history for him.

   Southend Manor, meanwhile, were obviously undergoing a period of transition.  After last season's heroics, this time around they were scuffling around the lower and mid table places in the ESL.  A turnover of playing and coaching staff obviously needed time to settle.  Even though they were up against the bottom side, Manor were by no means assured of a win they'd have counted on last year.

   The transition was continuing off the pitch as well.  With Bob retired from his chairman duties in the summer, his incumbent, Steve, was finding out just how arduous and time consuming the job could be.  Feathers had been ruffled one way or another.  All was not content down Southchurch Park way.  And to think everyone at this level does it voluntarily.  They must be mad as well as noble.

   We settled down, the crowd small - but tonight extremely enthusiastic.  Sitting with us were the club's youth side and they were wonderfully vociferous, especially for their favourite player, Ninja.  Or maybe they just liked turtle soup.  Whatever the reason, they were great, adding a bit of surreal atmosphere to the night.

   Did I say surreal?  Bloody hell, too right it was.  Five minutes in and Clapton win a throw in.  Immediately a volley of fireworks light up the East London skies.  Then more.  And more.  A constant barrage of sound, smoke and pyrotechnics.  It was apparently Diwali, the Hindi 'festival of light' and my, were the locals in the houses around Upton Lane celebrating.  It was getting ridiculous.  

   On the pitch, the game was fairly poor, the first half only having one outstanding moment, Manor custodian Adam Seal parrying a Clapton shot from about 25 yards out for a corner.  Prior to that there was a fairly distasteful incident with a home player being kicked whilst on the floor.  The perpetrator was booked - along with the host keeper for being unhappy about it.

   If Clapton shaded the first, Southend Manor took command of the second, creating plenty of chances.  They obviously missed Pato a lot though.  He would have buried at least a couple of the opportunities that came their way.  The longer the game went on, the longer it stayed 0-0, the more Bri's sphincter began to twitch.  Could the run come to an end?

   Not that we could see much.  The Old Spotted Dog had become a mini San Siro.  The So Solid Crew next to us when keeping up their barrage of non-stop singing and banging of the seats.  Fireworks kept landing on the pitch.  Smoke was obscuring the view for long stretches.  And there was a loudspeaker growing out of a tree.  Ed and I were enjoying ourselves immensely.  Bri must have been more nervous than a News Of The World hack receiving a voicemail.

   Then it came.  The goal.  Whilst, of course, I wasn't watching, but Bri related this possibly historic news to the listeners.  An absolute beauty.  A shot from some distance.  Bloody hell.  1-0.  To Southend Manor though.  Chris Baddeley had scored the stunner.  Surely it was game over now?

   Not that it mattered to the So Solid Crew as they continued their rhythmic chanting.  The fireworks, explosions and smoke continued to pour down on the place.  The crowd was barely above 40 but it could have been 80,000 watching a Serie A title decider had a stranger just walked into the place, such was the colour and noise.

   As time ticked away, Bri's 29 year losing (with occasional drawing) streak watching Clapton seemed to be intact.  What I had forgotten, though, was that I was the master of the last minute in recent weeks.  The last 5 games covered live on the radio had included last minute or injury time equalisers.  And nine goals in the last five minutes of those games too.

   Clapton win a corner as we head into the last 60 seconds.  It's delivered superbly, on the right, in front of their clubhouse.  There's a scramble in the six yard box, at the near post.  Then boom.  Not only from the fireworks off the pitch.  There's one on it now.  1-1.  

   The entire Clapton side go momentarily berserk, all chasing each other in celebration.  The So Solid Crew are up on their feet, cheering as if it's that Serie A title winner.  Make that six radio games, six late equalisers.  And 10 goals in the last five minutes.  

   I laughed.  How ridiculous can football get sometimes.  Behind me, the Manor chairman looked on glumly.  And at their one-time PA man celebrating a Clapton equaliser with a little disdain, I guess.  Still, that's football.  I didn't particularly want Manor to lose, but you just couldn't help feeling pleased for the hosts and the youth side that had helped make it a great evening for all of us.

   And yet still Clapton pushed forward.  After almost continual visitors pressure in the second half, it seemed almost written in the stars that the hosts would steal it and break Bri's hoodoo.  More corners, more desperate defending, a shot at goal blocked, then another just wide.  Blimey.  They could do it.  They really could.

   Except that they can't.  The whistle goes.  1-1.  Bri's record is intact as both teams are applauded off.  One way or another, and for very minimal reasons on the field, and mostly for things happening off-pitch, it had been an extraordinary night at the Old Spotted Dog.  

   As we made our way out, through Green Street, then Barking Road, we caught a glimpse of the West Ham statue of the heroes of '66.  Pah, they may have won a World Cup, but I bet they never got a last minute equaliser on Diwali and been submerged in fireworks and smoke for it.

   On a night that threatened to end Bri's 29 years of history, I thought back through the decades and centuries.  The class of 1888.  They would have loved it tonight.

   As did I.  

   Clapton 1,  Southend Manor 1