Surprise! Well, I bet you didn’t expect to see us back boring you all to tears with our rubbish so soon after the last episode eh? Well, tough titty because we are. Why? What’s it to you? But seriously, we looked at the Trophy draw and having been paired with old Conference muckers Kiddy up at their gaff, we thought it would be a nice little follow up to the silliness of York. Plus it was cheap on the train (relatively speaking) and as we’d not been to Aggborough in a long while, why the hell not eh? Still not sold? Too bad.
And when we say it’s been a while since we trod these paths around the Midlands, we mean it. We have to go back to November 2013 no less when Doswell era was still barely halfway through and we as a half decent Conf South side went to Full Time and top of what was still called the Conference Kidderminster in the FA Cup 1st Round. Back then they were the boys looking to return to the Football League after an all to brief spell amongst the Great 92 72. On that day, Charlie Clough nutted us into an early lead before Full Time experience paid and they rattled in four in reply as we had every last little mistake punished. The only other memorable things about the day was the Supporters Coach famously went on a magical mystery tour of the South West on the way up whilst we suffered major train delays on the way home and Juan inadvertently got friendly with some Hereford Nazis over a smoke. Very topical, I think you’ll agree.
My how the tables have turned since then, as they’ve spent longer in the National North than the top tier (Kiddy that it, not the Hereford Nazis) and so today, we’re the ones looking to prevent the upset. Lovely. All the more fun when you consider we’ve never won here before. A 2-2 draw in the Cup back in 1995 thanks to goals from Joff Vansittart and Mark Hynes the best we’ve managed to my memory. No doubt Frakey will be along to correct me on the socials as soon as he fucking reads this. Still, that one panned out ok as we won the replay at GGL on pens. Another sign of how times have changed. Fucking replays? Chance would be a fine thing these days. Still, we’re unbeaten in a while and notched two good wins lately against York and Eastleigh, so we’re travelling with some hope at least.
It’s been a busy week wrapping up the year at work, so I must confess I’m not totally up for it when the alarm goes off Saturday morning. Still, I kill it quickly, lest Mrs Taz end my own noisemaking abilities just as swiftly and almost certainly far more permanently. I get my arse in gear and exit HQ into the cold morning air shortly after 7 with my usual 90 minute window to make it to our second home of Euston station. A bus is soon on scene and has me into Croydon in good time. There’s no Thameslink through town today (or via the loop either going by the mildly annoyed early comms on the Whatsapp Group), so I’m going old school via Victoria and the blue line on the tube. Still, I’m on station with 20 minutes to spare and having bagged my train tickets from Mr X, do the usual and grab some breakfast from Sainos.
As we await 4Days to finalise the party of myself, the Man of Mystery, Dr Bell, Magnum PI, Robbo and Indy, I munch and enquire after Mr X’s mood following his second week running at a trade fair. “Was 10 times the size of London” he groans “We were in hall 12, first meeting was in Hall 4. Took me 25 fucking minutes to walk it!”. His next drag on his pre-rattler smoke being accompanied by a thousand yard stare, as if to emphasise his ambulatory trade show PTSD. Eventually 4 Days arrives to complete the troupe and we head for the platform, thankfully finding that the places that should do tea on the concourse can actually do tea this time around, unlike for Alty. Result. We’re first at the gate, so can get on and get settled before anyone else. We’re a bit spread out and I end up on a table by myself with 3 strangers and my back to the mob. Suits me, they’re boring wankers at the best of times that lot.
The trip is pretty uneventful and the lads pass the time with the customary game of “Guess the Sutton line up from some fucking obscure game that’s popped up in Conversation today”. And it’s not even from the last time we played this lot! Whilst I chip in with the odd suggestion over my shoulder, I spend an inordinate amount of time acquiring my match ticket online, which is a seamless and absolutely trouble free process. Like bollocks. Why do these fucking sites insist on me having to sign up to an account for shit like this? I’m only going the once. Away tickets for games like these should be a straight jump on, select, pay. Not a 35 minute process of pissing about waiting for two factor authentication emails. Twats. Still, it helps pass the time I suppose.
We alight in Brum and find our way back out into the cold. Mr X says we need to get to Snow Hill and so we set off that way via a slightly circuitous route and not at a great lick so as to be sure not to leave Robbo behind. Along the way, we have to dodge at least five chuggers along the way and I fob them all off with the same “Sorry, we’ve a train to catch” bullshit. One even says that Mr X looks like a nice man! Clearly he who cannot be named needs to work on his scowl in the mirror at home some more, as he’s clearly getting soft in his old age. The same lad also comes back with “Be careful, it might be very heavy” to my train excuse. Touché Mr Charity man. You can still get fucked though. We arrive at the station and Mr X is puzzled. “I thought Snow Hill was the pretty, old looking one?” he wonders aloud as we await Magnum and Robbo to catch up. “No, that’s Moor Hill you div”. Still, it seems we can get a train from here, so no panic. We’ve just missed one so have a 10 minute wait and can see no sign of Indy, 4Days and Dr Bell. So we assume they’ve invoked Rule 1 and fucked off. Fair enough.
Our train pulls in and to our surprise we find the missing idiots in the front carriage. Erm? Seems they’d gone to Moor Street as they reckoned it was closer and because they’d correctly figured out from Mr X’s pretty station\Snow Hill nonsense what he was actually on about. Oh well, no harm no foul. And as our research is showing, there’s not much in the way of early openers anyway, so arriving a sniff after 11 actually works for us. After a 40 minute trundle through obscure spots like ‘Jewellery Quarter’, ‘Rowley Regis’ (which 4Days reckoned sounded like a West Indian Bowler from the 70’s), ‘Smethwick Galton Bridge’ and ‘The Hawthorns’, we eventually alight at Kiddy and set off for the ‘Railway Train’, a pub off down a back street near the station. Here we park up in the quiet, just opened boozer and talk shit as usual. One topic of conversation was the former nightclub ‘Legends’ back in Sutton, which turned to us older farts referring to it’s previous moniker of ‘Canon 123’, being a cinema. “I only saw one movie there as a kid” opines Mr X “Willow it was. And now here I am drinking with him” he adds, nodding in Magnum’s direction. Oooh, a height joke! It’s been a while!
We sup two here to give the noon openers time to get going and then head back down the other side of the rail lines to the ‘Station Inn’. “Fucking love a train round here! Worse than Crewe this lot!”. This place is way busier as the Forest-Brighton game is on the box and soon it’s going really badly for the lads from the South Coast. They’re already 5 down when we leave after one, wondering aloud how many away fans are already back in the Canal House drowning sorrows. Next stop is the King & Castle, our first non-train related boozer of the day, which is ironic given it’s the waiting room of the old fucking station and the starting point of the Severn Valley steam railway. It’s another busy one and there’s plenty of Sutton in enjoying pints. However, the strange phenomenon of queueing at a bar resurfaces here. I really don’t know where this has spawned from, Covid era maybe, but it’s bollocks and it needs to fucking stop. The long wooden surface of the bar is there for a reason. You stand at it and wait to be served, shoulder to shoulder with your fellow drinkers. If you want to queue, fuck off up the post office. Or the Wetherspoons, you weirdos.
Here we greet Tatts, already enjoying a pint. Although he’s not stopping as he’s got an important duty to undertake. It seems that the club picking THREE goalkeeper’s kits for this season wasn’t sufficient and for some odd reason the pink, green and orange ensembles we usually choose from won’t do for today and we’ve had to knock up a special blue one for the occasion. And it’s this precious cargo he is bearing. Of course we get him to give us a flash, we’re not compete idiots! It’s not half bad to be honest and continues the ‘feathered’ theme from this season, so that’s nice. With the ground a short hop away we cram in three here and make a dash at gone half two. Maximum VDT in effect! Even so, we’re still in the ground with time for a piss, a pie and to find a spot on the terrace before the teams come out.
Sims, Kirk, French, Vaz, Topallaj, Barbrook, Coley, Simpler, Woodyard, Wadham, Davies. SUBS: Kerbey, Odelusi, De Silva, Jackson, Muller, Boateng, Ransom
The game is not one that will live long in the memory. As in anyone there will probably have pushed it from their minds by next weekend. The hosts get on the front foot from the off and have loads of the ball whilst we sit in, absorb and look to pay out on the break. Except we don’t really do the latter very much, with the midfield in particular having little impact on proceedings. The ref also establishes early on that he’s going to be a twat with some baffling shouts out in the middle and couple of soft as shite early yellows. Still, Kiddy largely do jack shit with their possession and from their two best sighters end up high wide and handsome of the target. Sims has one save to make all day and even then from behind that goal we can clearly see it’s going wide anyway.
For the second half, the gaffer swaps out Wadham and Woodyard for Odelusi and Da Silva and this addition of presence in the middle and some darting pace gets us more of a foothold in the game and lessens their influence. Sure, they still have more of the ball but do even less with it than in the first half. We play it patient though and into the last 15, we step up a bit. Then with 10 to go, a little dart from Da Silva finds Simper, his shot on goal is deflected and Davies challenges the keeper for the ball. Andy Dibble’s lad shames his family name by making a mess of it and Davies manages to react quickest to shovel it in from inside 6 yards. You can keep your 30 yard goalazo’s to be honest. Give us a scruffy bundler any day of the week! Behind, Kiddy have to come out more and this more open game suits us fine. Barbrook has a towering header just nodded off the line from a corner and then with time running out, Da Silva should put it to bed. But having done the head work, he somehow hits the near post when it looked easier to score.
Still, they offer nowt but some York style dummy spitting in the now customary six added and despite his best efforts, the rather dire official half heartedly blows for time to put us into the Quarters. Job jobbed! Right, can we pack up and get drunk now please? We get our stroll on and head for the Weavers as it’s apparently a decent pint and near the station. That’ll do! The egg chasing is on and we luck out as some people leave, clearly having had enough of the public schoolboy bollocks on the telly and we nab their table & seats. Result! We neck a couple here before we decide it’s probably best to get back into Brum to give us more options should the shit hit the rotary cooling device. We’re joined on the trip back by Johnnie and a few of the other Yoof and natter along as we head back into the big city. Here they depart for their train back to London whilst we have an hour to kill, so Mr X goes pints and snacks whilst we camp out in the Shakespeare opposite New Street station. Here being the only people getting access without having ID checked the whole time we’re present.
Mr X is soon back with us, leaving his bags of cans with the bouncers on the door (cheers lads!) and we neck a quick one to use up the rest of the time. Wanting something more substantial than a sarnie though, I head in a couple of minutes before the rest to grab something hot. An initial plan to re-mortgage and go Five Guys is soon canned when I see the queue, so instead I go to Leon opposite, as I know their grub and there’s no fucker in there. Right, train!! Unlike the last time I went to get food here in Brum, I make sure I know the platform and am on the spot with plenty of time to spare. Choo choo! Next stop, Rugby. We trundle along, smash cans and scoff food whilst a pissed couple play shit chart hits out loud on their phones. The lad also tries to ponce a can after some half hearted small talk about football but we largely ignore it. Sorry mate, we’re going a lot further than you are! We need all the refreshments we can get.
The changeover to the faster train is smooth and being the absolute gentlemen that we are, we all wait until out on the open platform before recreating a scene from Blazing Saddles, sans baked beans and dropping our guts loudly and repeatedly. You did not want to be stood downwind of that little cloud of emissions, that’s for sure. Back on the move, it’s back through Bucks and shortly before 11pm, we’re stumbling off the train back at Euston. Right, tube! With no Thameslink, Mr X and Robbo decide to go back to Morden, so they fall back here as the rest of us rush to make connections at Vic. 4 Days, Indy and the good Doctor make theirs whilst I and Magnum head for East Croydon. Again, we just miss a poxy bus right outside and jump the tram down to Reeves Corner for the 407. And 17 hours after departing, I finally arrive home, fully glad to get in out of the cold.
As I polish this off the following day, I now know that we’ll be facing Spennymoor Town in the next round at GGL. So Spennymoor Pete actually gets to come to ours for a proper game and not to just have a pint with Keepo and us losers. We also get to return the hospitality they showed up at theirs that year. And hopefully dole out a slap on the pitch equivalent to what we got that day. It’s only fair innit! Right, has anyone got Karlo Ziger’s number? Just in case.
Right, has anyone got Karlo Ziger’s number? Just in case.
Taz