Well that was great.

It’s 4:30 and  it’s raining. Check the game was on with Groundman’s friend, it’s on. (Secretly hope game is off so I can go to play five-a-side).  Get home. Phone the Club to check game is on, it’s on. (Still secretly hope game is off so I can go to play five-a-side, well he did say it might be called off).  Get bag holding the club shop stock. Set off. Arrive in Bangor and get soaked on way to ground. Get into the ground 45 minutes before kick off, no-one says the game is off.

7:03 The referee calls off the game 1 minute after train has left.

This has been knocking around cyberspace for a bit now, I found it on the WSC Messageboard.

“Dear Players of Grimsby Town FC,

A very disillusioned Mariner”

It neatly encapsulates a fans’ frustration but it also shows how some people can take things a bit too seriously. It’s only football man!! I don’t think that activities are done ostensibly for enjoyment should end in rants like this.  I bet the soft sod is back for the next home game though, probably feeling a weight has been lifted.

To commemorate the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, here’s a photo of some football in an People’s Palace of Sport.

It’s useless to resist the Premier League, it will ensnare you eventually. The method that hooked me was the granting of free tickets. I would have preferred them for a European game, as advertised, but Villa managed to eliminate themselves from the Europa League. I offered my free pair to a Villa-supporting friend, Gaz, and he gladly accepted them. I had a choice of 5 games, all glamourous; Hull!!!!!! Bolton!!!!! Gaz chose glittery old Bolton on account of a weekend off. Then Neil had a thought; “Why don’t you get another ticket and we’ll go thirds”. I was £7 lighter but i had a Premier League ticket in my pocket.

Motorway services are the epitome of market capitalism. You turn up hungry, they provide the food, you pay the inflated, nay extortionate, prices because you’re trapped there. Wimpy still exists!!! Proust may have eaten a Wimpy burger once, the chopped onions on my Burger reminded me of childhood parties and green milkshakes. The services usually give you a flavour of which teams are playing on a Saturday, except this Saturday of course. We saw one carload of Bolton fans and two supporters, of an indeterminate team in stripes, waiting for a lift.

Motorway travel is great fun usually but it can lead to boredom on rare occasions. Next time you’re bored why not play, “How many Villa fans can you spot?” and the journey will fly by. We spotted 14 and I got the prize for the most morbidly obese. Strangely a lot of people didn’t seem to be going to a football match.

Parking was easy to find by the time we got there. We parked in the car park next to  the Aston Villa Leisure Centre. I vaguely remembered that this used to be some kind of music venue. “Seen Better Days” was the politest euphemism available, it’s very sad how time passes.

We found a nice pub in claret and blue. They were showing the Edinburgh derby and Poppy Fascism is alive and well up there too. Note to clubs; if you’re going to wear a poppy on a polyester football shirt it may be an idea to choose one with a stronger adhesive as several players had become divested of theirs. It was 0-0 when we left. This was not good for Neil, he had Hearts to win on his coupon.

Gaz left the merchandise tent with a half Villa / half Wales T-shirt and we all went in. I was in the upper tier of the same stand that I occupied during the Rapid match. The upper part was so clean and homely!! The simple addition of rubber flooring made all the difference. By the end of the game you could see the difference that all of the cleanliness had made. I had been surrounded by pleasantness and politeness, then to top it all,  I didn’t meet 1 nice steward, I didn’t meet 2 nice stewards, I didn’t meet 3 nice stewards. I met 4, yes 4,  very nice stewards. I even discussed the Swansea versus Cardiff match (they were showing it on the conviniently located TV screens) with one, he liked Cardiff!! Maybe the one’s working below are sick of  the wet weather and the morons so they can appear to be less than cheerful. I’d asked for a seat on an aisle because of my usual leg space/leg length ratio problems. It was only when I arrived at the correct row that I found my ticket was for the middle of a row.

After the silence for Remembrance Day we were off. Villa began well and scored early into the half. They doubled this lead just before half time. During the intervening period Villa were far superior but due to Bolton’s crappiness this wasn’t difficult. Despite their superiority Villa contrived to make things difficult by not taking the opportunities they had created.

James Milner looked very good. He was industrious (you couldn’t tell if he was a winger or an extra defender at some points), skillful and he hit some wonderful long passes. Bolton, on the other hand, plodded up the pitch. Their passing was tidy but they usually reached a dead end when they went past the centre circle. Kevin Davies wandered around like a child denied attention but still seeking to impress. On the rare occasions Bolton manufactured a good move it seemed to involve their winger Lee Chung-Yong. Lee looked like he could have caused Villa a few problems but didn’t get as much of the ball as he should have. If this is the standard fare on offer it’s no wonder that Bolton have a meagre(This is the blessed Premier League after all) amount of away fans.

Even so Bolton managed to score somehow. The ball was saved, it may have struck a post, Friedel may have got a touch to it but he was helpless to prevent the ball crossing the line. Due to the nature of the goal part of my brain assumed that there must be something wrong with the goal. Friedel must have had the same thought; his body language said “Referee, you can’t allow this effrontery to stand, it’s not cricket!!” The second half promised to be interesting.

I had a chat with one of the nice stewards at half time; my war wound was flaring up and I required a seat on an aisle. You know, like I’d asked for!! Could he help me? He said that he’d do his damnedest!! My ally and I spotted several likely candidates but, due to the nature of the modern football fan, half-time refreshments were still being consumed by a large number of inconsiderate people. “Those are free!!” No they weren’t. “What about that one? The one under the man with the scarf?” It wasn’t free. My ally eventually found me a place 2 rows up from the front. My knees almost cheered!!

Villa scored their third goal shortly after half time. Carew had it, then he didn’t, He was going to slip, ooooooh he’s still on his feet, Cahill will stop him, no he won’t, “Megs!!” It was quite the most skillful stumble you’re ever likely to see. Then Villa had a penalty. “Don’t let Ashley Young take it!!” implored a young fan. Milner strode up purposefully, the keeper saved. Sidwell fired at an open goal, he hit a post. Milner scored whilst falling. Would we see a clean goal at this end?  Cuellar flicked the ball past the keeper for Villa’s fifth. We had our clean goal!

It was a very happy car on the way home. Gaz was happy with the result, Neil was happy with his ticket and I was happy to have rediscovered faith in humanity. There are nice people out there, even in the Premier League!!

The Daily Mail, or Daily Xenophobe, is in another frothing temper. This time it’s over the issue of wearing poppies, or to be more exact, whether you have a poppy embroidered into your shirt or you don’t.  Thankfully some people can see through another attempt at playing the politics of shame by right wingers. Ironically, those on the right never seem to like it when those on the left play the “bleeding hearts” card.

The “Poppy Power” campaign of the Daily Xenophobe could be called “Poppy Fascism” when looked at from a certain point of view. The hectoring vilification, through the creation of a hostile atmosphere, of anyone that prefers calm consideration before acting is precisely the type of society that British soldiers fought against in World War 2. (Incidentally the poppy helps to represent the loss of life in that war too.).

It’s slightly distasteful to think that the vilification of people, far far stronger than today’s example, also took place during the Great War itself. For example, whenever people didn’t automatically leapfrog down the street to join the party in the Belgian mud. The really distasteful bit of it was that it was usually carried out by people that didn’t want to fight, i.e. rich newspaper owners, or weren’t allowed to fight, i.e. women. They simply urged everyone to join the jolly throng while they sat at home. If a soldier happened to be on leave from the front and they chose to wear a civilian suit they could be presented with the ultimate symbol of cowardice, a white feather. Incidentally footballers were also vilified in 1914 for appearing to want to carry on playing football instead of joining their country for the big game.

It’s not really the fact that the Daily Xenophobe is campaigning about people wearing the Poppy that is the problem. People should remember the sacrifices that people of previous generations made for liberty. The problem is the tone of the coverage that is the main problem.

People on the right seem to view the first half of the twentieth century as a period when Britain proved they were great by beating the Hun twice. ”WE MUST BE PROUD!!! PROUD TO BE BRITISH!!! PROUD OF THIS SCEPTERED ISLE!!!……” If you don’t view history in this way you’re committing emotional treason.

Let us not forget that during the First World War almost an entire generation of males in Britain were wiped out. This generation was sacrificed by general staffs clinging to outdated tactics, unwilling to adapt to new weaponry and stationed in relative  luxury while their comrades slogged around in the mud. “Lions led by Donkeys” as the cliché says. (Yes, yes, yes, the great victories of 1918 were due the brilliance of those in charge.)

To add insult to the injury the sacrifices of this generation were callously ignored by the ruling classes. The status quo was retained; “Right old Bean, you’ve done your bit and the country is proud. Now shuffle off back to the factory where you belong, Jeeves will see you out!”. This situation remained unchanged until after World War 2; witness the General Strike and the Jarrow March.

It took the loss of life from the two most destructive wars in human history to achieve a degree of social justice in Britain. How can anyone be proud of this? The fact that soldiers had to go through years of unspeakable suffering should make people angry. The Daily Xenophobe’s anger is aimed in the wrong direction, quelle surprise.

A Welsh Cup day was upon us again, what a lovely phrase!!! Over the years these days have become synonymous with revelry, frivolity and much laughter. The memories of Welsh Cups past lay heavily on our recollections, everybody seems to make more of an effort to enjoy the day. It’s as if we expect them to be better days, more enjoyable, more drunken. To be fair they usually are.

I met the other adventurous handsome heroes in Llandudno Junction and the atmosphere was building, gradually. We arrived in Flint with plenty of time to have another good Welsh Cup day, the chips were hot, the beers were cold and the cobwebs were numerous.

After paying 20p to enter Flint’s social club there was yet more beer and Arsenal versus Spurs to keep us going. I was so deep in discussion about the perniciousness of the market economy that I almost forgot to leave for the ground in time. We arrived just before kick off.

Watching football in Flint’s ground puts one in mind of the Vinnie Jones opus “Mean Machine”; the environs hint at a prison compound. Having said that, the brutal chic  is different from the railing and livestock backdrop we usually see at Bangor away matches, Cae-y-Castell actually looks like a place where football is played.

We were attacking the end with less trees in the first half and were nearly behind early on. Smithy came out and smothered the ball, in the manner of a soldier protecting his comrades from a hand grenade. Then Smithy collided with Brewie, in the manner of Hulk Hogan dispatching Ric Flair over the ropes. A few minutes later Brewie left the pitch. A few minutes later Flint’s fans cheered for some reason. We didn’t know why, the ball was clearly not over the line. We saw this very clearly from our position. Then we scored and celebrated as such. Then the goal was disallowed. Then we heard the ridiculing laughter. Then we went quiet. Then Football Genius scored, a header, BANG!!!!!! Then we laughed, life was good!!!

The second half was rather uncomfortable, but in a comfortable way. We could have scored a couple; we hit the bar twice and there were a few breaks that looked promising. Due to the nature of the scoreline every time Flint had the ball in our box we clenched, each time could have been THAT horrible moment. To release tension fans will try to find a safety valve, this time we chose the opposing keepers’ idiosyncrasies. He cried; “Left!!!”, we cried; “RIGHT, RIGHT, RIGHT!!!!” He cried; “Alan!!!” We Cried. “ALAN!!! ALAN!!!! ALAN!!!  STEVE!!!! STEVE!!!! STEVE!!!” Mash cried; “DEMIS ROUSSOS!!! THOMPSON TWINS!!!” It was all very juvenile but it helped to ease the tension and in this credit crunch nervous tension can lead to terrible health problems.

The final whistle meant relief and another trip to the clubhouse. As we found in Aberystwyth, positioning is everything when you’re hungry. This time we had a man by the split in the curtain. Les, the inside man, steadily supplied us with contraband peanuts and sandwiches. A cunning steward spotted what was happening and cut off our supply. Quick-footed Les was Indiana Jones for a split second, he narrowly avoided the snap of the curtains shutting. Draws and Bangor fans don’t seem to mix, we just can’t keep a lid on our exuberance. They had to do the draw behind closed curtain. News filtered out through the door, we’d drawn Ammanford!!!! No, no, no, no, we’d drawn Aberaman. We left Flint happy, on a train.

More tales from the Premier League with our guest correspondent Kevin Price……

Hello again!! It’s Kevin here!! Well I was asked to write something last week and what a week to pick! That’s football for you, one day you’ve gone down to Club 147 to laugh at the Scousers getting beaten in Europe and a few days later and you’ve got them gloating over their jammy win.

You got to love those bitter fans of History FC, they haven’t won the League for nearly 2 decades (that’s right all you Scousers reading this, 20 years, 2 zero, that’s a fact Rafa!) yet you’d think they’d won the League last Sunday. Jesus they’re so bitter, they’re almost as bad as Citeh fans!!

And another thing, when you hear History FC fans being interviewed on Sky none of them actually come from the self pity City. An Everton fan I know, another Kev as it happens!!, says they all come from Norway anyway. It makes us laugh every time we meet up in Llandudno to watch the football; “How many of their fans are actually Scousers?” we ask ourselves, what a joke those Scousers are in Llandudno!! They  have a go at United for having no fans in United when they don’t come from the self pity City themselves. As for Citeh, I’m not worried, same old same old, bitter twats!!

Kowalski leant me Looking for Eric the other day but apart from Eric the King’s part I didn’t like it, there wasn’t enough United in it. I couldn’t go with him to watch FC United last Saturday because I was playing golf. He said it was good but last time I stood I only paid £6 and it gave me a bad back. I prefer sitting myself. Speaking of which a mate of mine has promised to get me a ticket before Christmas but he’s let me down in the past so I won’t hold out much hope. Besides it won’t matter if I don’t, I’ll watch it in 147. You get a good atmosphere in 147, there’s loads of regulars, it’s just like the match. Plus you can wind up all the Scousers who go there as well.

Well in terms of the League we may be second at the moment but that won’t be a problem, Europe, we’ll be through again no problems, we’re even through again in the League Cup. Compare that to History FC and it makes it even better, almost out of Europe and behind us again in the League. That’s a Fact you bitter Scousers.

See You soon,

Kev

(Ed: The Llandudno Jet Set does not endorse the views written by this author)

So how is the Road holding up? Well there are no bottlenecks yet.

2nd Qualifying Round

Honka Espoo V Bangor City - Honka Espoo won 3-0 on aggregate

3rd Qualifying Round

Honka Espoo V FK Qarabeg – FK Qarabeg won 3-1 on aggregate

Play-Off Round

FC Twente V FK Qarabeg – FC Twente won 3-1 on aggregate

Group Stage

Fenerbache 1  FC Twente 2 

FC Twente 0  Steaua Bucharest 0

FC Sheriff 2  FC Twente 0

FC Twente V FC Sheriff

FC Twente V Fenerbache

Steaua Bucharest V FC Twente

Well there goes the theory, Bangor gave up the baton and it’s been passed on and passed on and passed on…….

Thanks to the doom and gloom spewed forth, the entity known as Bangor City was surrounded by much trepidation. We have an attack that can’t be arsed, a midfield that is terrible and a defence that’s not much better. We were stuck in the valley waiting for annihilation, the football version of Rorke’s Drift.

They attacked from the off, it was relentless. Passes found their intended targets. Shots found the net. Shots were smashed here there and everywhere. Were my eyes deceiving me? Weren’t all of the players shooting, and passing well!, wearing the blue of Bangor? No it couldn’t be, wait a minute Sion’s about to score. He does score, that makes it   3-0 you say. Well well well.

Bangor were already 2-0 up thanks to goals from Limbo (a low shot after a never-ending run across the edge of the area) and Reedy (a smart shot after a smart turn) when Sion sidefooted his contribution. The passing was superb, one touch, short, long, medium, it had them all. My favourite was a pass to Sion that arrowed across the turf, just around a defender’s outstretched leg. Jesus, I thought we were crap this season, and Prestatyn are 3rd in the League as well. It was too easy.

The second half passed me by a bit, I had conversation after conversation. The match was that enjoyable kind where you didn’t need to keep track of things too much because the situation is so relaxed, we were too far ahead. A few details that I did manage to notice included; Prestatyn’s Number 5 appears to be a tool (, he fouled, he squared up to people, he tapped Stotty’s ankles then squared up to people, which led to a footballer’s aggression followed by Prestatyn’s manager diving to attempt incrimination); one of the ball boys accidentally kicked the ball into the face of Prestatyn’s keeper, the look of shock was rather amusing; finally and most beautifully, many evidentally joyful visages at the final whistle.

A good day!!

It’s hard not to see the romantic side of FC United. They are, of course, they are a fan-owned club set up by disgruntled fans of Manchester United. You sense the romanticism in Ken Loach’s Looking for Eric. So with a free saturday and FC United playing in the F.A. Cup just down the road the romantic in me made plans to go to Northwich. Watching Looking for Eric last week also helped to focus my thinking.

After checking the plans for this match I found that Northwich operates a “Cash-free entry system” or “buying a ticket” as it’s usually known to you and me. We had to carry out this step well beforehand so we didn’t become part of the multitude that will only turn up on the day of the game. Why do multitudes always leave it to the last minute?

A brilliant two-part plan was hatched in order to avoid disappointment. Part One; misread an electronic timetable in Chester Station. It’s amazing how modern technology can make a 3 and an 8 appear similar. Part Two; turn the 10 minute stroll, from the nearest station, into a 25 minute hike. The plan worked perfectly; I arrived at 10 past three. I may have missed the kick-off but I’d also missed the congestion.

On my way to the ground heard a faint throbbing, whatever it was was muffled by trees. As I cleared the trees the throbbing changed into more recognisable sounds, a crowd! The songs became clearer the closer you got to the ground. By the time I got through the turnstile I could see that FC United fans made up about 2/3 of the crowd, and they were in full voice. After visiting the toilet I interacted with a fan “Would you care for a hot dog?” I thought; “What’s the point, it’s dead!” I said; ”No Thanks”.

I hadn’t been on a packed terrace for several years so I’d forgotten the basics, I was quickly reminded; 1) Getting somewhere is difficult; 2) The etiquette i.e. don’t stand in anyones’ way, be careful with bags (i.e. don’t swing them around), don’t tread on peoples’ feet, etc, etc; 3) Your view may be interrupted. After the enforced recollection it was almost a pleasure to stand there. Then again today was always about more than just going to another match, it always felt like being a very small part of something special.

From this point of view the day didn’t disappoint. For a start the songs were witty. I especially liked the re-worked punk ones; “I am an FC fan, I am Mancunian, I know what I want and I know how to get it, I wanna destroy Glazer and Sky…” A classic by any definition. Now the crowd may not have appeared very romantic, in your classic sense (on one occasion a few people indulged in the chant “Murderersssssss, murdererssssssss” when the subject of Liverpool came to their mind) but that didn’t mean you didn’t feel a warm glow being part of this crowd.

I felt as though I was part of a proper football crowd. You just had to hear snippets of peoples’ conversations to realise that these people were proper fans; been there, seen it, got the tall tales to tell about it all. Due to the fact that these people were here and not just waiting for tomorrows big game shows why there is a problem with the Premier League; it alienates people.

If you read around on the subject of the foundation of FC United you will know that lots of people were unable to stomach the direction in which the capitalist behemoth of Manchester United was taking. You will also realise that FC United is not just a protest against the ownership of Manchester United, it was also about a sense of frustration at modern football, at what’s missing from the modern “match-going experience”.

You do gain a sense that the FC United fans feel an alienation from their past, how part of their life had been diluted. To put it simply, as one fan did in one of the extras on the Looking for Eric DVD; “Basically following United wasn’t fun any more.” That world has become less about feeling and more about experiencing, and it has squeezed anything out that couldn’t be packaged and sold as wholesome family entertainment. It’s now a world where standing up is forbidden, taking photos is a crime and even singing can frowned upon.

On the other hand all of these FC United fans are actually united, united by the idea that there is more to football than spending all your disposable income on it. They are united by the idea that their Saturdays had been turned into drab experiences by desiccated counting machines in marketing offices. Due to the fact that there appeared to be many  long-standing fans of Manchester United here today there seems to be a good deal of mileage in the theory of “alienation felt by traditional football fans”. If this match is typical then every FC United match is a ludic festival. They seem to have created what was missing by themselves and you have to applaud that.

Anyway, the match. You’ve probably already guessed that this was of secondary importance for me today. It would have been nice to see FC United win but the fact they didn’t wasn’t too annoying. FC had a lot of the ball but they didn’t really create many clearcut chances. In the first half Vics didn’t really look like scoring either. In the second half Vics had a bit more about them but still didn’t look much like scoring until they earned a dubious looking penalty. The number 11 seemed to vault over the challenge in a more theatrical manner than a lot of people with nefarious reputations for such behaviour. He held his painful shin for ages before the penalty but was sufficiently recovered to play a full part in the celebration of the goal. Vics looked dangerous on the break after this and FC looked about the same. Vics scored their second via an own goal. The deflation of the crowd around me was almost audible. Vics scored their third in injury time to give the match a very unfair image. Northwich didn’t look that much better than FC United even though FC United are in the division below.

On the way home I had to wait in Chester station for the connecting train. Whilst there I couldn’t help hearing joyful  lilt of the Dublin brogue wafting around the ether. I turned around to see plenty of Irish tourists, wearing red clothes and accessories, waiting on the platform for Liverpool-bound trains. It wouldn’t have taken Sherlock Holmes to deduce that they had tickets for tomorrow’s game. There won’t be a more succinct example why clubs like FC United come into existence.

10:35 pm: I write this as Herr Griffin is about to insult the British people by appearing in public. We will report back later…..

…..11:40 pm: Herr Griffin appears to be the man who never said nuffink. He is the most mis-quoted, taken out of context and  mis-represented person in Britain, apparently. Luckily there is plenty of evidence on the internet to remind Herr Griffin of what he has said.

There is also plenty of evidence from tonight’s Question Time that when the Fascists are pushed slightly to explain themselves, or when logic is applied to any of their core beliefs i.e. “The Problems of Modern Britain”, they  came across as stuttering buffoons. Herr Griffin was almost unable to explain any ideas coherently, what a shit politician, what a cunt of a person. At least more people can now see this for themselves.