Phase One Complete

21 01 2014
Bala Town 1 Bangor City 0
Welsh Premier League
14/1/14 

When we contemplated booking coaches for the New Year’s Day match way back in November we secretly knew the scheduled match would be postponed. We let hope fill our sails but the inevitable postponement on New Year’s Eve was hardly a surprise. Everyone knew that the rearranged match was also threatened. A football match, Bala, the winter, what could go wrong?

Naturally the days leading up to the match were all about the weather, the Bangor forum told of heavy rain, the Met Office told of heavy rain, the BBC told of heavy rain. We didn’t watch ITV.  Bollocks to the predictions, I was going to go to Bala!!!!!

The lack of texts on the way to Bala was reassuring but it wasn’t until we saw Maes Tegid’s floodlights that we definitely knew the game was on. The “heavy rain” turned out to be blustery drizzle. Needless to say the pitch was crap

I only need to repost a few tweets from the match to give you a taste of what happened;

@BalaTownFC Rain starting to fall again!
 
@BalaTownFC Pitch cutting up a lot now!
 
@BalaTownFC City dominating at the mo
 
@BalaTownFC Brilliant finish by Conno!

The pitch was like area around The Pyramid Stage after 3 days of rain and wellies. Why do all away games in Bala seem to end with a muddy pitch and a rain sodden defeat?

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Aberystwyth Town 3 Bangor City 3
Welsh Premier League
18/1/14 

Aber away is one of the better trips. The “people” in charge of the FAW denied me the trip last season as they scheduled the match for a Tuesday. The sadists knew what they were doing to me.

Today didn’t disappoint with the pub, the beer, the food, the moider and the short saunter to the ground in the hazy sun. The match was rather exciting as well.

Aber went 2-0 in front – cue moaning from those around me. Why do people come to a match to moan? By the way, have you ever noticed how moaners never like people pointing out their negativity? – and Bangor had equalised by half time. Aber scored a third in the first minute of the second half and Bangor equalised for a second time halfway through the second half. Either side might have scored a winner as well.

In the clubhouse everyone enthused; Aber’s chairmen told everyone that he thought it was a fantastic match, Mark Jones, Sgorio’s English commentator on the red button, said that it was the best match he’d seen all season. A bloke said that it was worth the £5 he’d paid to get in, I’d enjoyed it too. Unfortunately I had to rush to the coach whilst I was in the middle of a philosophical discussion with a pair of distinguished academics.

Everything was going swimmingly on the journey home until the junction in the middle of Trawsfynydd. When the coach hadn’t moved for about 3 minutes my sharp mind suspected there was something wrong.

We stoically faced the prospect of an  hour in a pub in the shadow of a decommissioned nuclear power station with locals of indeterminate standing. The most confident, and least coherent, could have been the mayor, he had a mayoral swagger, a trophy partner and handy mates drunk on the local hooch. The replacement coach arrived in time to prevent a “diplomatic incident”.

There was a final detail about today; we learned just how far Thatcherism had spread. We already knew that Aber’s teenaged fans didn’t like us as they tell us this all the time. God knows why they don’t like us but there you go. Today they had applied new sociological depth with their songs;

“Go back to your council houses” (I’m not quite sure of the exact wordage but this was the jist)

“Let’s all go to Tesco, where Bangor buy their best clothes”

We stood there while teenagers in branded clothes used economic factors to berate supposed inferiors because that’s banter. We stood there while  bloody kids insulted, berated and judged people from the comfort and security of an existence paid for by caring parents because that’s funny, because it’s the done thing in 21st century Britain. The worst thing was the ease with which words came to the little fuckers. Neither Dylan nor I were able to bite our lips. Thankfully our calm questioning soon darkened the expressions on their banter framed faces.

I can scarcely express just how abhorrent I found this situation, but I shouldn’t have been that surprised, cocky teenagers berating poor people because they’re feckless or worthless is one of the logical consequences of the 30 years of Thatcherism.

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