Dozy left backs and casual racism by the sea, plus other stories.

24 01 2009
Aberystwyth Town 1 Bangor City 2
Welsh Premier League

As someone who appreciates, nay anticipates, away days Aberystwyth is a highlight.  The journey down is full of “moider” and anticipation; The sea air, the locals, the heavy police presence, it’s heady stuff. The first few pints lubricate the discussion; this year’s topic was Scottish football’s esoteric nomenclature and its unfathomable logic.

We were taken to the “Best Chip Shop in Wales”. Les’ claim was pure hyperbole, the chips were passable, the peas were too runny and the fish cake tasted rather peculiar. After forensic analysis the one in Newtown is still in pole position; they do Cheese and Onion Fries too.

We were watched at the ground by a new special CCTV van. On top of the usual extra police officers earning overtime no-one can complain that either presence isn’t a reasonable use of police resources, especially in the present financial climate.  You may think that this is sarcastic but it’s not; I realise we (25 battle -hardened and mostly middle-aged thugs) need supervision. I also realise that we must be prevented from standing behind the goal lest we introduce the goalkeeper to Stanley. A cynic may think, churlishly of course, that they still have nothing better to do in rural mid-Wales.

A slight misjudgement meant we ended up at the wrong end at kick off so we had to walk past Aber’s teenage firm. Needless to say, it was very frightening. One of them actually asked if I wanted to see Stanley, I replied “Yes!!” whilst fixing him with a hard stare. He then produced his favourite teddy and scurried behind his friends. His giggles sent a chill down my spine.

The area behind the other goal was fenced off to mere mortals so I stood on the grass bank. I decided to stand with one foot on one side of the fence and one on the other (of course my feet were either side of an imaginary line from the end of the fence to the wall or this would have been a rather painful position).  I held my ground throughout the half, fighting the man comes as standard with the Jet Set.

The match was frustrating, as football is want to be. We should have been leading by more than Sharpy’s solitary goal by the time Aber equalised but there you have it.  Aber hit the woodwork a couple of times so it wasn’t all Bangor’s half. On top of this we saw an extremely bizarre refereeing decision, Sarge was felled in the box and ended up with a booking but the ref awarded us a free kick for obstruction.

Today I found that I the power of  Derren Brown. I started that “slow motion over the head clapping thing they do on Sky”. Then one of Aber’s teenaged firm copied it, then another, then another and another and another. It was all the rage and very amusing for Bangor’s ultras.

I saw Sputnic at half time so chatted with him for the second half. The second half was quite exciting yet boring. We scored again through Walshy and there were 3 red cards. First, Brewie was sent off for getting in the way of spiteful little Bari’s studs. The Dozy Left Back of the title was next; an exquisitely exaggerated dive for one yellow card, then a few words for the second almost immediately, what a dick. Jesus was sent off for a professional foul on Sharpy.


Spiteful little Bari was his usual self today, the man is one long expression of ungentlemanly content. To be fair to him I’ll bet he’s a different person off the pitch, which is what  they used to say about Idi Amin I believe. Sion came on towards the end and nearly scored our third goal.

The Aber teenage posse was large today and it’s nice to see that the fans of the future are there. They may have to work on their songs though as they were unintentionally amusing. “Go back to your council houses” was a particularly baffling one.

Supporters are just like anybody else so they need to eat from time to time. At the Welsh Premier level the home club usually provides food for the players. When there is some left us fans usually dispose of it and there isn’t a problem normally. Today there was a problem.

A middle-aged lady complained quietly to her companions so that we could hear; “Jesus, they’ll take anything”, her male companion enquired; “Why don’t you take the plates as well?” I enquired whether they would mind if we took the pool table back with us.

I worked out the root cause of the problem, we’d usurped somebody. Their position indicated that they were probably used to being the first people to the food. We’d been too quick for them unfortunately. Just as we were about to leave them to their simmering incredulity Les overheard the women say “I’d rather be a Wog than a Gog”. Who knew that they were showing repeats of Mind Your Language on digital TV? She wore a haircut from the 1970s but hairstyles are not usually a foolproof guide to moral attitudes. You get the feeling that in her spare time she sends  letters to good old Enoch complaining about her “dark-skinned” neighbours pushing dog shit through her letter box and bemoaning the fall of Empire. Fuck me, people joke about going back in time when you venture into rural mid-Wales but maybe it’s true. 





%d bloggers like this: