The first half was marvellous, we had it all; A lovely goal, great football, fantastic passes, fabulous movement, skillful, er, skill. It was such a rich tapestry that I struggle to retain all of the details, now what else did we have? Let me think.

Oh yes, by half time we’d been assaulted by their players, (Smythy had been attacked nine seconds in and had to be replaced) and we were 3-1 down. We were losing by 3 fucking goals to one. OMG, what the fuck? We’d played them off the pitch at times and we were losing by three  fucking goals to one, how? There were numerous reasons; The ref was shit (surprise, surprise) and their full backs were intent on committing affray. (The number two was a typical knuckle dragger.). Half time was spent in shock.

Then the match became legendary, we scored just after half time and Bala started to look jittery. The pressure was applied more intensely and we had our reward eventually a millisecond after Dave Morley rose in the area. He flicked the ball over the crowd and  into the net. Then their number two caught the ball full in the face and showed all the signs of a daze. He got ready for the corner. He urged his team mates to keep sharp with rapid arm movements. There was just one hilarious detail wrong; he was facing the wrong corner, to see the look on his face when he’d realised his cock-up was rather amusing.

Five minutes after that Bala had a man sent off. We couldn’t help feel it was the wrong person that was leaving the pitch, number 2 was still there. Bangor pushed up the pressure and more flowing football was applied to the situation; we hit the post and their keeper made some more great saves. The referee was attacked by cramp halfway through the second half. Today time became elastic, nobody knew how long we’d been playing for.  

We knew that Bangor would score any time soon and so it came to pass. Not only did Bangor finally have a chance but also their number 2 received his just desserts, he conceded the penalty for fouling Reed and had to leave the pitch after his second yellow card. Stotty grasped the ball and couldn’t be persuaded to part with it, even by Sharp. Stotty missed the penalty as their keeper saved again. Fortunately some of their players had ventured into the area, so we had to take it again. This time Sharp put the ball down, strode back and placed the ball firmly wide of the keeper. We were ahead again!! Before the end of the match they had another man sent off and we scored two more goals, bloody hell how many were we going to score? Oh that’s the final whistle. Time was elastic.

This was one of the most enjoyable matches that we’d seen in ages; 11 v 8, 9 goals, a great comeback, an injured ref, everything!!

The teambus was our method of transport this week. They say that you shouldn’t get too close to your heroes so I sat at the front. We disembarked into the mid-Wales sun with stiff limbs. Luckily I caught my knee on the door as I left, now my image was ruined in front of my heroes. The shame!!!! The shame!!! I’d done so well on the way down, sifting my topics of conversation so I didn’t appear to be weird.

Newtown definitely feels better on a Saturday afternoon than on a Tuesday evening, there were people around and everything!! We met Jasper in one of the lovely pubs on Newtown’s high street. A lovely walk to the ground followed, despite the loveliness of the surroundings it wasn’t the same without a cup on offer at the end of the game, or without local legend Dave Davies announcing our arrival.

We were late, we reached the ground to find that the match had already started. I noticed a gap in the fence near the corner. It seemed a nice vantage point and I’d save £6, then the others went in so I followed. The first half was a bit drab, a bit bleurgh, we had a few goalscoring opportunities but not that many, Newtown hit the bar so it started to feel like another one of those days. We murmured at half time.

Just into the second half we scored, just after that we scored again, and again, and again. 4 goals were scored in the first 15 minutes of the second half. What were we worrying about? It was pretty impressive stuff, as was my high speed texting in cold conditions. In such extremes your body can show remarkable dexterity. Your credit tends to be less dextrous, several of us actually wanted Bangor to stop scoring so we’d actually have some credit left by the end of the match. Well we’re just egotistical products of capitalist society.

Just after Bangor’s fourth goal some terrace wag, possibly yours truly, declared that now we could relax as we were past that dreaded milestone of 3-0, an obviously easily eroded lead. Newtown scored their first then they scored a penalty, then they missed a “gilt-edged” (I don’t what it really means either – ed.) opportunity when their player had a air-shot on the border of the six yard area, the wag felt suitably muted, nay foolish. Luckily Sharpy calmed strode forward to calm nearly miss the ball into the goal. 5-2, 5-2, 5-2!!!!!

The bus ride home was fun, drunk footballers can be amusing, then they’d said they’d see me on Tuesday, my heroes noticed me!!!

Tiger Woods has been quite prominent in the news media recently. He seems to have been experiencing a few personal problems so quite understandably he’s decided to take a break from Golf. Don’t worry  though, his sponsors are standing next by him. From here.

In a statement, Nike said: “Tiger has been part of Nike for more than a decade.

“He is the best golfer in the world and one of the greatest athletes of his era. We look forward to his return to golf.

“He and his family have Nike’s full support.”

Nice to see that slavery is alive and well, they actually seem to own these celebrity sportsmen.

If you thought that German goalkeeper’s jersey was fantastic value get a load of these bargains!!!!

Do you want a new ball for a kickaround on your local field? Why not buy this one, only £99!!!!

Do you want a new shirt to go with your new ball? You could do worse than buy this cheeky little number from JEF United of Japan, a snip at £150!!!

If you’re going to get a ball and a shirt you’ll need a pair of boots. Look at this natty pair. Spend £140 and you’ll even get a penny in change!!!

Now you’ll need some gloves to complete this season’s look. What about these? An utter bargain at £99.99!!!

I may have been in credit crunch related shock but I could have sworn that stuff used to be cheaper. In my day you could buy a pair of gloves with your pocket money and still have change left over for a bag of chips and a bus ride home. Which gullible people are actually propping up this market? It’s certainly no-one I know and I know some high-rollers.

Having just read two books (one a re-read) about sportsmen doing great things in the 1950s I  feel nostalgic for a certain view of 1950s.  (The Perfect Mile and My Father and other Working Class Football Heroes in case you’re wondering about the titles).  Even when the sentimental gloss is removed, especially from the study of Landy, Santee and Bannister’s endeavours, you still get a certain sense of the 1950s; simpler, more relaxed and better?; The revolution was closer after all. Even accepting the conditions that Britain and the world found itself in (Widespread racism, Polio, A Nuclear arms race, rationing in Britain, the retain-and-transfer system in football’s case) you could say that it was a “better” time in some ways.

Take Landy, Santee and Bannister. All three saw athletics as something temporary (they all had jobs), something that you should care about but not at the expense of everything else. Sport was not to be taken too seriously. In football the players existed in the same milleu as their clubs’ fans; catching the same buses or, even more prosaically, fixing their drains, as the clichés have it. While the medieval relationship between clubs and their player, or property, was analogous to master-serf and despicable, the close proximity of fans to players seems quaintly noble compared to that gated isolation of today’s media darlings.

Fans seemed to be different then too. I was reminded of this idea thanks to two articles that I’ve read in the last couple of days. Both articles came courtesy of When Saturday Comes. One bemoans the ditching of reasonable behaviour by fans, like clapping the opposition for example. The other puts forward the idea that opposing fans can actually get along just like ordinary people, you know like the 1950s not the  bullshit image of football produced by Sky et al.

It’s gratifying to know that we are not alone. Other people have spotted that your modern football fan can be a complete pain in the arse.

It was good considering I couldn’t feel my feet by the end.

Just give them another chance please!!! This time it’s different, this time they mean it, they’ve changed.

Roughly 12 hours after the draw happened…….

I was in town today. I’d just finished work and I was browsing the DVD section in ASDA when I remembered it was the World Cup draw. Not long after it started to go all wobbly.

(Here’s a rough re-interpretation of the mental processes)…………Fuck, England are at the world cup again…….. It’s getting wobblier…………..6 months of build-up……..people queing up to get behind the boys…….. replicas by the sweatshopful…… crosses…… crosses….. all you’ll see is bloody crosses………. Get a hold of yourself man, you’re in public.

Where was I? Oh yeah Cheese, mmmmm Wesleydale with blackberries or Mango? Cheddar?…..Oh no, why is my hand trembling?……….Oh no not again……………The proper fans in polyester………the songs…….the wretched incantations……………..

Anyway the World Cup should be good, yeah it should be good, should be good………Bloody hell stop!!…. Why can’t you stop, please, please…..It’s….Happening Again!!!!!!!!!!!………. Diplomacy at its best!……”It’s just a larrrfff ain’t it. I mean I’m on ‘oliday ain’t I, just enjoying meself like”. Oh Fuck here’s some more twats;

It’s Ok, it’s Ok, I live in an independent principality and should find it easy to avoid all this shit……. Jesus, things are going wobbly again………….

It just shows us again that when one forgets something the remembrance of that forgotten thing can be a shuddering experience. I’d gone a few years since I’d last had to think about this thing, a few years of restful existence, a few  years of no worries. I should have thought about it about a month ago, when the first few slivers of memory had been awaken by events beyond my control, but I tried to put it out of my mind, I didn’t want to confront my issue. Now look at me, I’m a quivering wreck and there’s still over half a year to go. C’mon Uruguay!!!!!!!

Get a load of multi-millionaire footballers, paid very handsomely to wear sportswear that is not made in sweatshop conditions (FACT!!), to wear red laces and this will obviously end the tyrrany of AIDS. Or to put it their way;

“The fight against AIDS in Africa needs great brands to drive awareness and engagement,” said Susan Smith Ellis, CEO, (RED). “Nike is the right partner to connect education with sport, and in so doing help drive social change, prevention and understanding of HIV/AIDS. We are thrilled to have them with us.”

Nike has a proven history of elevating global causes to create consumer awareness and participation. “As a global brand and creative company, Nike can play a role in amplifying this important issue,” said Mark Parker, President and CEO of NIKE, Inc. “With football as the catalyst, Nike is joining the (RED) movement to fight HIV/AIDS in Africa.”

Is there anything that these footballers and global superbrands can’t do?

Having a free Saturday I decided to try to buy tickets for Wigan’s home game against Sunderland, I’ve never been to Wigan and the brochure looks nice. I simply asked them over the phone if I could get a ticket at the ground, ”No you can’t!” came the first part of a curt reply.

- “….You need to be on our database”

“Can I buy one now, off you?”

- “No, you need to be on our database” “

So I can’t go then?”

-”No”

So that’s it, everybody is a potential hooligan, no-one’s allowed to go to football matches in Wigan without identification in triplicate.

With one plan dashed I could follow Plan B. This allowed me to finally go to the Deva Stadium, even though I’d always sworn that I would never darken their doors. This attitude was mainly due to the rampant anti-”The Welsh”-ness of their fans, and indeed the whole town of Chester. You can’t tell me otherwise; their town hall clock should have 4 faces but only has 3 because it doesn’t have a face facing Wales, ”The Welsh” aren’t allowed to see what time it is. “The Welsh” can be can be shot in the back by an archer on the high street and the bastard perpetrator can remain free of prosecution. Then there’s the shithole of Blacon…

I gingerly walked through the charming industrial estate. You don’t so much walk up to Chester’s football ground as consider what you should buy from the superstore with blue roofs. The away terrace was closed (I wasn’t sitting with Blacon’s finest) and the home terrace was shut as well. I eventually found the away seating. I paid my money. I went in. I caught sight of the Eastbourne fans. Bloody hell, I know it’s a long way for them but Bangor have taken more to Caersws than Eastbourne managed to bring up to Chester.

The match was quite enjoyable, proverbial ”end to end action”. Chester belied their negative status by taking the lead three times. One of those goals was a smart looking free kick as well. Eastbourne’s second equaliser was scored by a Welsh U19 international, Kayne McLaggon (his dad, sitting next to me, told me so.) One interesting note throughout the match was junior gloaters, obviously trained by their proud parents. Their trainers looked on smugly as their offspring strutted past the away fans with open arms and a comment. “Easy, Easy, Easy!” they chanted when Chester scored. That fucker Lovejoy will be well pleased that more young fans see that behaviour as somehow reasonable in a football ground.

Unfortunately, or fortunately if you’re not a Daily Mail reading type, the match will not be remembered for the scoreline or quality of football. The match will be remembered for the two pitch invasions that led to its abandonment. The first one, in the first half, happened in slow motion, as if the invaders were unsure they would get away with it. The second one, in the second half, was far more defiant. Both invasions were led by young men in cagoules. When you saw that banners were being carried you knew that this wasn’t an ordinary pitch invasion.

Just after the first invasion, a softly, softly approach was used and the invaders were herded back into the stand. Now we could see what their banners were all about. “Fuck Off Vaughan” read one, ”Chester Casuals; Vaughan Out!!” read another, “Adolf Hitler; Pol Pot; Stephen Vaughan” read the third one. The last banner was a slight over-reaction, the Chester owner may be many things but maybe not a mass-murdering dictator.

If you are unsure why some Chester fans acted in this way then read two hundred percent’s view and that will enlighten you greatly. (You can also read the stages of the current situation; One, Two, Three, Four, Five and Six.)  Vaughan also has extremely dodgy connections.

Even with their anti-”The Welsh”-ness it is impossible not to feel sympathy for their anger. Their club has gone from the Football League to the brink of relegation to the Conference North in a such short space of time. Then you must consider that for last decade and a half, generally speaking, the ownership of the club has veered between ineptitude and attempted carpetbagging. The events of this period directly led to the present incumbant, or “gangster-owner” if you will, running the show. To further add to the cheery tale Chester City might not even be here much longer due to the actions of Vaughan.

You had to admire the stand being taken, especially by those so young. Young people you say, you don’t mean the apathetic hoodies that we all love surely. The admiration wasn’t shared by all, the Chester Casuals may be screaming “Vaughan Out!!” but the Eastbourne Formals were saying “Jesus Christ!! Call yourself a club, in all my years….” Not even the distribution of green readmittance cards could quell their annoyance.

It was obvious that the second pitch invasion had been taken a bit more seriously than the first one. In the period between the halting of play and abandonment you could hear a multitude of sirens getting closer. This seems to be a typical Police reaction; they don’t show up at first (Their presence could have prevented a second invasion) then they send too many cars (15 at the last count). Now they’ll probably punish the transgressors severely, a possible 3 year ban from enetering any football grounds. 

People say that we’re living in a society that has lost it’s moral compass. It’s a society where people can be deprived of pursuing their interest for years because they set foot on the wrong piece of land, in order to protest about something they care deeply about. It’s also a society where you can play football against people that have a record of assaults as long as the proverbial arm (and then try to add to this record during matches). It’s a society where you can encounter people, in football club car parks for example, with dubious records for running football clubs still running football clubs, (You know, the type of people that name the stands of grounds after themselves). Yet these two groups of people have their liberty undisturbed. Maybe “The People” are right. 

A bloke at the bus stop seemed to have his finger on the pulse; the pitch invasion was due to Wrexham fans infiltrating the Deva, if it wasn’t Wrexham fans (I challenged him!) it must be “The Welsh” then. That moron will be the first to cry when he has no club to support. I walked to town.