Ooh, ain't social media a double edged sword? And both edges generally end up somewhere in your jacksie. That's what I fear may happen to Trenks, the player-boss at Great Wakering Rovers.
Everyone who's known him can vouch for him being typically decent bloke off the pitch. All that's played with or against him on the field knows how tenacious and inspiring he can be. But put him in front of a twitter account and ... oh my, why does he do it?
A little while back, after a Rovers draw at Clapton, he tweets that they were the worst team he's ever played against. And now, after a late postponement, he wonders aloud if Barkingside didn't 'fancy it' against his side.
Well done. That's two team talks already done for the opposition now. Really no need for it, and he's simply made his side's task that much harder. Save that sort of 'banter' for when the ESL title is all wrapped up.
The calling off at Barkingside was pretty chortlesome, mind. A broken down tractor on the pitch that had to be dragged off, leaving a number of deep ridged tyre markings all over the place. A horrible state, but just about playable. That's only my view though. Others obviously thought different.
I bet most home players felt the same as me, mind. I'd have said, too, that having won away at title chasing Enfield at the weekend, Barkingside would actually have been well up for a home game 48 hours later against a side a bit ring rusty after several weeks off. They'll be well up for it in February too, though, thanks to twitter.
I digress. Tonight was the road to Wembley. Southend United were at Oxford United in a Johnstones Sherpa LDV Windscreens Paint Van Trophy thingy. Win and an area final against Borient awaits. Two legs with the prize a day out at Wembley. Oh yes.
Bradford City had a more difficult but glamorous and glorious route awaiting them. After knocking out Arsenal, this evening was a League Cup semi-final 1st leg against Aston Villa. If you're a League Two side, and you had to choose one Premier League side to play against to try to get to a cup final, well, you'd pick Villa at the moment. The Bantams definitely have a shout of getting to Wembley.
Getting there? Pah. We already were there. The Vale Farm version, mind, but nonetheless we were at Wembley, Ed, Bri and I. Canvey Island were in town, looking to bounce back from their weekend humiliation (4-1 up at Whitehawk with 20 minutes to go, lost 5-4 - chortle) at the expense of Hendon, lodgers at the home of Wembley FC.
Another great name from the days of the Amateur Cup, Hendon. And also the FA Cup. In the dim and distant recesses of my memory, I can just about recall them getting a draw at Newcastle in the FA Cup. I also knew, as well, that after a terrible time of it this season, recent wins had seen them at last move away from the Ryman Premier relegation zone. Tonight wouldn't be easy for the Gulls.
We were met at the ground by Ledge, who insisted that the chips here were the best out of the lot. They looked good, too, fatter and chunkier than my torso. Looks are one thing though. The taste was of a certain degree of shiteness, The Bovril was passable but the coffee was probably made from mud. It certainly tasted like it.
We weren't here to be fed and watered regally though. We were here for the same reason everyone else was. Boredom, or to just get away from the other half for a few hours. Or maybe both. It was Tuesday night, we were at Wembley, where everyone else tonight were battling to be at. The world was our oyster. A particularly shite oyster, mind, but an oyster nonetheless.
The game starts off okay. Canvey look the part early on and the Hendon defence couldn't have looked more jittery if they'd taken sennapods after a curry. A high ball comes in. It really should be dealt with by the home side easily enough. But the defenders and keeper freeze, and Jay Curran nods home. He had a defender with him but he was more or less unchallenged.
As the game goes on, Bri starts to take pictures of spider webs, whilst I count the number of Canvey Ultras in attendance. About 20 I guess, which was only slightly less than the 'Hendon Loyal' situated at the other end. With the union flag it was written on, it seems to be a relic of the past from north of the border - Rangers in the SPL. Chortle. Again.
Whilst all this nothingness was going on, Hendon banged in an equaliser after being given about an hour to control and shoot home. Bri asked me how the scorer Cracknell was spelt. It put me in mind immediately of that sweet from the 70's that cut up like broken glass in your mouth. My, we were a hardy bunch back then, having 'treats' like that.
No matter, Canvey were soon on the attack and, sure enough, along comes the goal. Bradley Woods-Garness runs down the right, gets to the bye-line, pulls the ball back, and there he is, Harrison Chatting, unmarked from six yards out. Here we go, 2-1.
H takes a swing. It's a good, firm boot, the goalie having no chance. Had he connected with the ball. Instead Harrison conducts an experiment on how heavy air is on a football pitch in January and the ball tootles past him and away to safety. There's no anger. Only wide-eyed amazement and an incredulous 'How the f*** did he miss that?' And yet gain - chortle.
As the match progresses past the break and into the second, interest wanes and the chat increases. Elsehwhere Bradford are making mugs of Villa. Southend are to-ing and fro-ing. As are Concord and Chelmsford, as well as Hornchurch and Col Ewe, in the Essex Senior Cup. And we are all in agreement, though, that the Met Police's 'I Fought The Law' is the best teams-coming-out song. Irrelevant but vital.
Whilst this was going on, Hendon have a cast iron shout for a penalty waved away. Evidently basketball is allowable on a football pitch these days. It's doubly sore on them, too, when at the other end Louis Dennis chests a ball down in the area for Woods-Garness to shoot home. Liquid football.
The ref decides to even things up a couple of minutes later. Woods-Garness is clear through on goal again. The Hendon keeper comes out and clatters him. There was a covering defender running back, but it looks a clear goalscoring opportunity denied by an obvious foul.
The ref gives free kick and the keeper ..... well, just a yellow card. An enraged Ledge shouts at the ref. He doesn't swear, but angrily informs the ref of what he should have done, borne of experience down the touchline and blowing the whistle himself. Chortle. If the ref only gave a yellow just to get Ledge going it was well worth it.
The game withers away after that. Despite Ledge's paranoia after the grisly afternoon at Whitehawk, Canvey see out the game quite comfortably. It's not been a good game to watch, but that doesn't matter for the Gulls. The result meant much more. Seventh now. On the edge of the play-offs. Not a bad night, despite the ref and H's horrendous miss.
As we meander home, Southend have done it. Beating Oxford on penalties after subbing the keeper. Ouch, that has to hurt. Borient and Wembley awaits. Bradford give Villa an inevitable, humiliating, beating. Concord and Hornchurch get through in the Essex Senior Cup. Who cares though? We've been to Wembley.
At the slightly more well known stadium nearby, Paul McCartney began a new career of completely destroying national events. Live Aid was going superbly until he came on. Even Bob Geldof then said on stage at the time, after Paul came on, that it was a 'cock-up'. This was a grievance Ed shared with us all, the latest being his awful Olympic appearance.
I managed to placate Ed by mentioning my admiration for the wonderful Heather Mills. Nothing to do with her being a Sunderland fan. But much more to do with that she frightens the life out of the untalented one of the Beatles.
No matter who he's married to these days, every time he sings or gets up on stage, or simply wanders by, he has to look over his shoulder, making sure psycho Heather isn't there, holding Bilel Moshni's hand and brandishing his scissors. She's fantastic.
And so to bed.
Hendon 1, Canvey Island 2
Everyone who's known him can vouch for him being typically decent bloke off the pitch. All that's played with or against him on the field knows how tenacious and inspiring he can be. But put him in front of a twitter account and ... oh my, why does he do it?
Well done. That's two team talks already done for the opposition now. Really no need for it, and he's simply made his side's task that much harder. Save that sort of 'banter' for when the ESL title is all wrapped up.
The calling off at Barkingside was pretty chortlesome, mind. A broken down tractor on the pitch that had to be dragged off, leaving a number of deep ridged tyre markings all over the place. A horrible state, but just about playable. That's only my view though. Others obviously thought different.
I bet most home players felt the same as me, mind. I'd have said, too, that having won away at title chasing Enfield at the weekend, Barkingside would actually have been well up for a home game 48 hours later against a side a bit ring rusty after several weeks off. They'll be well up for it in February too, though, thanks to twitter.
I digress. Tonight was the road to Wembley. Southend United were at Oxford United in a Johnstones Sherpa LDV Windscreens Paint Van Trophy thingy. Win and an area final against Borient awaits. Two legs with the prize a day out at Wembley. Oh yes.Bradford City had a more difficult but glamorous and glorious route awaiting them. After knocking out Arsenal, this evening was a League Cup semi-final 1st leg against Aston Villa. If you're a League Two side, and you had to choose one Premier League side to play against to try to get to a cup final, well, you'd pick Villa at the moment. The Bantams definitely have a shout of getting to Wembley.
Getting there? Pah. We already were there. The Vale Farm version, mind, but nonetheless we were at Wembley, Ed, Bri and I. Canvey Island were in town, looking to bounce back from their weekend humiliation (4-1 up at Whitehawk with 20 minutes to go, lost 5-4 - chortle) at the expense of Hendon, lodgers at the home of Wembley FC.
Another great name from the days of the Amateur Cup, Hendon. And also the FA Cup. In the dim and distant recesses of my memory, I can just about recall them getting a draw at Newcastle in the FA Cup. I also knew, as well, that after a terrible time of it this season, recent wins had seen them at last move away from the Ryman Premier relegation zone. Tonight wouldn't be easy for the Gulls.We were met at the ground by Ledge, who insisted that the chips here were the best out of the lot. They looked good, too, fatter and chunkier than my torso. Looks are one thing though. The taste was of a certain degree of shiteness, The Bovril was passable but the coffee was probably made from mud. It certainly tasted like it.
We weren't here to be fed and watered regally though. We were here for the same reason everyone else was. Boredom, or to just get away from the other half for a few hours. Or maybe both. It was Tuesday night, we were at Wembley, where everyone else tonight were battling to be at. The world was our oyster. A particularly shite oyster, mind, but an oyster nonetheless.
The game starts off okay. Canvey look the part early on and the Hendon defence couldn't have looked more jittery if they'd taken sennapods after a curry. A high ball comes in. It really should be dealt with by the home side easily enough. But the defenders and keeper freeze, and Jay Curran nods home. He had a defender with him but he was more or less unchallenged.
As the game goes on, Bri starts to take pictures of spider webs, whilst I count the number of Canvey Ultras in attendance. About 20 I guess, which was only slightly less than the 'Hendon Loyal' situated at the other end. With the union flag it was written on, it seems to be a relic of the past from north of the border - Rangers in the SPL. Chortle. Again.Whilst all this nothingness was going on, Hendon banged in an equaliser after being given about an hour to control and shoot home. Bri asked me how the scorer Cracknell was spelt. It put me in mind immediately of that sweet from the 70's that cut up like broken glass in your mouth. My, we were a hardy bunch back then, having 'treats' like that.
No matter, Canvey were soon on the attack and, sure enough, along comes the goal. Bradley Woods-Garness runs down the right, gets to the bye-line, pulls the ball back, and there he is, Harrison Chatting, unmarked from six yards out. Here we go, 2-1.
H takes a swing. It's a good, firm boot, the goalie having no chance. Had he connected with the ball. Instead Harrison conducts an experiment on how heavy air is on a football pitch in January and the ball tootles past him and away to safety. There's no anger. Only wide-eyed amazement and an incredulous 'How the f*** did he miss that?' And yet gain - chortle.As the match progresses past the break and into the second, interest wanes and the chat increases. Elsehwhere Bradford are making mugs of Villa. Southend are to-ing and fro-ing. As are Concord and Chelmsford, as well as Hornchurch and Col Ewe, in the Essex Senior Cup. And we are all in agreement, though, that the Met Police's 'I Fought The Law' is the best teams-coming-out song. Irrelevant but vital.
Whilst this was going on, Hendon have a cast iron shout for a penalty waved away. Evidently basketball is allowable on a football pitch these days. It's doubly sore on them, too, when at the other end Louis Dennis chests a ball down in the area for Woods-Garness to shoot home. Liquid football.
The ref decides to even things up a couple of minutes later. Woods-Garness is clear through on goal again. The Hendon keeper comes out and clatters him. There was a covering defender running back, but it looks a clear goalscoring opportunity denied by an obvious foul.
The ref gives free kick and the keeper ..... well, just a yellow card. An enraged Ledge shouts at the ref. He doesn't swear, but angrily informs the ref of what he should have done, borne of experience down the touchline and blowing the whistle himself. Chortle. If the ref only gave a yellow just to get Ledge going it was well worth it.The game withers away after that. Despite Ledge's paranoia after the grisly afternoon at Whitehawk, Canvey see out the game quite comfortably. It's not been a good game to watch, but that doesn't matter for the Gulls. The result meant much more. Seventh now. On the edge of the play-offs. Not a bad night, despite the ref and H's horrendous miss.
As we meander home, Southend have done it. Beating Oxford on penalties after subbing the keeper. Ouch, that has to hurt. Borient and Wembley awaits. Bradford give Villa an inevitable, humiliating, beating. Concord and Hornchurch get through in the Essex Senior Cup. Who cares though? We've been to Wembley.
At the slightly more well known stadium nearby, Paul McCartney began a new career of completely destroying national events. Live Aid was going superbly until he came on. Even Bob Geldof then said on stage at the time, after Paul came on, that it was a 'cock-up'. This was a grievance Ed shared with us all, the latest being his awful Olympic appearance.I managed to placate Ed by mentioning my admiration for the wonderful Heather Mills. Nothing to do with her being a Sunderland fan. But much more to do with that she frightens the life out of the untalented one of the Beatles.
No matter who he's married to these days, every time he sings or gets up on stage, or simply wanders by, he has to look over his shoulder, making sure psycho Heather isn't there, holding Bilel Moshni's hand and brandishing his scissors. She's fantastic.
And so to bed.
Hendon 1, Canvey Island 2
Enjoyable as ever Groyney, luckily the red card that wasn't didn't come back to haunt us! As for your defence of Heather Mills, I don't think you have a leg to stand on....
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