I realise, that the mere implication that AFC Wimbledon are anything less than whiter than white may be difficult for you to stomach, but bear with me here, because beneath the media-induced glorious surface lurks a club that have left a trail of destruction in their wake, the irony of a bigger club damaging a smaller one clearly lost on them. (This seems a reasonable juncture to point out that a dislike of AFC is not a tacit support of MK Dons. My feelings towards them are not new, nor different from the multitude previously expressed by many, and as such I won’t go over them again.) But the club have been far from perfect, especially in its dealings with my club, Kingstonian, of whom AFCW are landlords, and this coming week sees a move that is symbolic in the course of this relationship, the destruction of the Ks home (The Dons away) stand, The Kingston Road End, the re-building of which will see it replaced with seats.

We all know about the (re?)birth of AFCW, and despite the damage done by the Dons there remains something subversive and inspiring about a club refusing to die and fighting against the system in order to survive and eventually thrive. But the circumstances by which they ended up at Kingsmeadow have been less heralded.

Intrinsically linked to the birth of AFCW are the troubled events surrounding Kingstonian at the turn of the millennium. After a successful spell in the conference under Geoff Chapple that saw a 5th place finish nicely supported by two FA Trophy wins, things began to go downhill. As enjoyable as the era was, the golden period was built upon financial mismanagement, and despite being a matter of seconds away from an FA Cup fifth round tie that may have balanced the books, the demise of Ks was inevitable.

After lurching from one economic calamity to another, the club ended up in the hands of one Rajesh Khosla, who was, in essence, an asset stripper. To cut a long, messy story short, Kingstonian’s situation continued to deteriorate, and the selling of Kingsmeadow would not only save the club, but also line Khosla’s pockets quite nicely. It’s at this point that the recently re-formed Dons stepped in. The timing was perfect for the phoenix club, who were searching for a ground at the time KM became available. While it seems a perfect fit, surely AFC of all clubs should have avoided dealing with a man whose raison d’etre was individual gain, whether it destroyed a club at not.

Rob Tolfrey’s Decisive Shoot-Out Save In Front Of The KRE: FA Cup .v. Margate.

The historical balance is a delicate one. The sale ultimately saved the Ks, but the majority of the money was never seen by the club, a legacy that hurts the club to this day, as its total lack of assets has long-term implications. While it’s entirely possible that Kingstonian may no longer exist (in its current guise) were not it for the intervention of AFC, the loss of Kingsmeadow, and the way in which the scenario now plays leaves the Ks powerless. Not only is their future entirely dependent on decisions made by the Dons, but their lack of finances leave them powerless in any negotiations over the future of Kingsmeadow.

This is significant. Long-term, the future of Wimbledon does not lie at Kingsmeadow for the simple reason that for a club whose identity is so rooted in geography that surely they would drown in a bath of irony if their existence continued in Kingston. The end-game has to be a return to Merton (or somewhere a lot closer), in which case the future of Kingsmeadow hangs in the balance. (A side-issue, but key concern here is the future of Tooting and Mitcham. Their ground is far more ideally placed for Wimbledon, with plenty of room to expand, watch this space…) If Ks cannot afford to buy it off them, there’s a chance it could be taken over by the council and knocked down/turned into flats/turned into Tesco/turned into a shrine for AFC Wimbledon. This would leave Ks homeless, and perhaps hopeless.

But as I say, there’s balance here. Ks play rent-free at Kingsmeadow, the overheads are low, very low, and as such the continued existence is entirely down to AFC. However, this existence is at the expense of the chance of longer-term thriving. No money is made for Ks through the ground, and while this is an experience of many who share grounds, there is a bigger issue. As long as AFC exist in Kingston, the Ks crowds will suffer. Necessarily high prices amongst all the teams in the Ryman means the disparity between Ks and AFC ticket costs are not large enough to ensure new fans come to Ks. Your new or neutral fan in Kingston or the surrounding area will be drawn to AFC through a combination of a higher standard of football, and the chance to see the media darlings in the flesh.

For Ks, the possibility of getting new fans, in an area with so much choice of non-league teams (Met Police, Tooting, Sutton, Carshalton and Hampton are all crowd-stealingly-close-by.) A recent chat with a barman in a Thames Ditton pub was a prime example of this. A football nut, he is always looking for an excuse to go to a game, even stretching to take in a Met Police reserve fixture. But on a free Saturday his destination of choice is Kingsmeadow, to see Wimbledon. This is exactly the kind of fan Ks, and all non-league clubs, need to find to secure their future, but for Ks they are fighting a losing battle. Ks’ attendances are down by a third in recent years (they were higher in the Ryman South), this is entirely down to the continued existence of AFC. Those 150 or so fans that Ks have lost would mean very little to AFC, but for Ks, they mean everything. This ensures that the reach of Ks, both in terms of influence and league position is limited. The team that found themselves in the upper echelons of the non-league game 12 years ago now sit in the middle of the Ryman Premier, on a less-than-average budget for the division.

On a smaller scale there are other issues. It has never been made particularly public, but The Dons have made things difficult for Ks to arrange cup games in the past. A recent London Senior Cup tie was not allowed to be played on the desired date, despite it not clashing with any Dons fixture, with no firm reasoning ever given. It’s safe to assume that there were reasons, but this is typical of AFC, their concern is purely about themselves. This is seen in fixture planning (or blocking), the marketing in Kingston of the club, the removal of much of the Ks identity from Kingsmeadow and the destruction of the KRE (which was done with no consultation with Ks board). A microcosm of Wimbledon’s attitude is shown in the loss of the friendly between the two sides. This was agreed upon as part of the original deal, with Ks making money from it, however in recent years, as AFC’s profile has outgrown the need for such a goodwill gesture, the fixture has disappeared. Ultimately, AFC’s presence in Kingston means that the biggest losers from the MK Dons scandal are Kingstonian.

Perhaps you are thinking that this is entirely justified, surely any club’s priority should be themselves? But for Wimbledon, this is different, they embody more than a sodding club, they’re an idea, the last vestige of our heritage, a club whose existence was born out of a desire not to conform to the path football was taking. Because of this, it seems entirely reasonable to hold Wimbledon to a higher standard than the rest of the game. They ARE different, they are unique. Scrap that, they WERE different, they were unique.

They had the chance to restore localism to the game, but instead they’ve built a fanbase where perhaps a third have no connection to Wimbledon (old or new), their ideals have dissipated at the chance to make money and become fashionable, far from taking the game back to its roots, they’ve created a hipster club at the expense of the teams still rooted in their community that surround them.They’ve acted no differently than any other club in their situation would have, and that is exactly the problem.  Wimbledon are happy to be put on this pedestal by Sports Interactive, FourFourTwo and whoever else wants a piece of the action. Well, perhaps they need to justify their tag as the people’s clubs in their current actions, not just in their history. (Yes, yes, yes, they do things in the community, but MK Dons are streets ahead of them on that.) Until the pretence that Wimbledon are anything different to the rest of the game subsides it remains entirely justifiable to hold them to a loftier account than Carlisle or Northampton.

This isn’t a problem with AFC, this a problem with the monolith that football has turned into. Anything different, challenging, subversive is swallowed up and becomes part of the beast and turned into a marketing tool, just wait until Balotelli launches his own brand of PL-approved condoms. Football isn’t about community any more, it’s not about real hope, it’s not about anything real any more. It’s a pre-packaged escapism where you can buy the replica shirt on the way in and comply for 90 minutes, Wimbledon had the chance to do it differently, to re-imagine what that could look like. They had to chance to show concern for the wider game, to be something the game could rally around to dream again. Instead they conformed, they became part of the system. Their disregard for Ks history, home end and chance to thrive is telling. This week sees the death of a home end, but more than that, the death of AFC’s claims to offer anything different.

Jamie Cutteridge writes about Kingstonian, youth work and NFL and can be found on Twitter, here.

That odd yet glorious penalty shoot out in front of the KRE can be relived here.

In short, they have done one thing superbly. And very little else.

The tournament kicked off on 19th August with a unique and powerful development. A live streamed game via the Budweiser Facebook channel. Hello Football!  We had this to say. Choice quote: ” … when the first rumblings of this gimmick (for want of a better word) surfaced we raised an eyebrow and wondered what tomfoolery we’d have to endure. We needn’t have worried.”

Two Footed Tackle said this. Choice quote: “But what tonight’s FA Cup game does show is there is a willing audience for this level of football – they just need to be told about it. Whether tonight’s figures were boosted by the novelty factor or there is an untapped appetite and market can only be answered if Budweiser continue to broadcast games throughout the competition.”

The fanfare was bright, crisp, loud and an impressive piece of coverage followed. As most of you probably know, after the first movement came not the second but, well, nothing. Constipation. Several hundred people commented or ‘liked’ the event on the Budweiser Facebook page during and immediately after the game.

The thirst was there on their Facebook Wall, on Aug 3th Stu Harvey asked “any FA Cups this weekend”?  “Sadly not this weekend, Stu, but stay tuned …” replied Budweiser, as if inferring regret but intent that there would be more! Soon! The excitement was tangible.

On the 3rd of September, with little further comment, I wrote on their ‘Wall’ “Why no FA Cup game this round?”  The enthusiastic but cautious response was “Hi Damon, thanks for the interest – we’re looking into the possibility of hosting more games. As I’m sure you can imagine, it’s a pretty complicated process!”

FFWD to 8th September and enthusiasm levels seemed up. “So, who wants to see more of The FA Cup live on Facebook?” piped Bud. 54 people commented, most positively, 311 ‘liked’ the statement as if to suggest “YES!”. Five days passed. On the 13th Ola Andersson popped by to enquire if there would be “… an FA-Cup game on Saturday”?  The response, more matter-of-fact this time, was “Hi Ola – sorry, we won’t be showing an FA Cup game this Saturday”  Oh well, they’ve probably spent time examining the stats, facts and figures and haven’t had time to sort out a game for this round.

16th September: Conor Carrol adds to the number of persons to enquire about more games.  3 days pass … Bud: “Hi Conor – we’re still looking in to it – as you can imagine it’s all quite difficult to work out. Thanks for being patient…”  So, looks like the caution levels are increasing but the sign off hints at possibilities.

Also on the 16th Mike Houghton makes the same enquiry. He gets no response at all.  Well, maybe Bud thought he’d see the other response?  Or maybe, you wonder, they’re getting a bit bored of this football malarky and the attendant questions.

The cynical among you will have long since given up.

Meanwhile, on the 24th September Budweiser suddenly remembers it sponsors the FA Cup and “T-minus seven days until The FA Cup second round qualifier, grab a Bud and begin the count down!” arrives in the feed. Several people enquire what game they’re doing. Response? You guessed it? Zip.

And then on the 27th of September, with more gusto, apparently “The FA Cup is hotting up! Are we expecting any upsets?”  This is promising, surely they’ll be covering a game?  No.  More people enquire about a streamed game on Facebook. Yet again, not a single answer. This is getting just plain rude?

And on the 29th of September Andrew R Miles requests an update on the earlier (16th Sept) thread. Silence. Later that day it all becomes clear. “226 days, 00 hours and 14 minutes until The FA Cup final!” Err, but what about the 11 rounds between then and now? Any genuine interest in the FA Cup, or just the final?  After that, the FA Cup drops off the Bud radar. BUT HELLO NFL AT WEMBLEY!!!! Five posts in five days about NFL.  Budweiser sponsor the game.

But, hold on, whoah, hang on, what’s this, the third qualifying round gets a brief, half-hearted mention. They probably wished they hadn’t bothered. The less cynical, it seems, have now removed the wool from their eyes and knitted a natty woolen FA Cup. “So no more live games to be shown on here then? Only replays and one more round before the ‘big boys’ come in..” says Peter Gearing. I add “So, no more streamed games then? Some cynics said it was just a one off promo gimick. Appears they were right.”

I was expecting no response but, to Bud’s credit, they actually responded this time, with more of their ‘wait and see’ line but now with a concession of ‘probably not’.  “Hi Damon, we are unconfirmed as of yet if we will be streaming any more games but do keep checking back with us!” Forgive me, Mr Anheuser Busch, if I don’t hold my breath, or check back later. Mr Gearing, too, chips back in with as salient a point as any could make “Pity. A missed opportunity to showcase the clubs that make the FA Cup what it is”.  Quite.

So, that’s that then? Well, more or less, but the next two FA Cup related posts are just bizarre, tokenistic, transparent banalities.  We arrive at the 4th Qualifying Round and any pretence of caring about the football appears to have gone. Its as if they’re saying “Thank god this early charade is nearly over, we’ve kept the early uptakers going with ‘please call back’ and now the real teams come in”.

Oh yes, the bizarre posts … It’s now all about the Bud. On 26th of October: “In anticipation of The FA Cup Fourth Round Qualifiers we have made some furniture rearrangements. The mini fridge is now within perfect arm’s length of the sofa.” Errr, that’s grand but how will you be watching any football from the comfort of your sofa? There are no games on live.  Three days later – “Half an hour before the Fourth Round Qualifiers kick off. Are your Buds cool?”  Well, errr, possibly but what will you be watching while drinking them?  Certainly not FA Cup football. Unless your sofa is in a football ground and your fridge is out of sight of the pitch. Most odd.

We’re nearly up to date now. Bar a plug for their compo to be a judge on the Player Of The Round panel, there is very little else until, on the 4th of November, they laud Spurs for being the last non-league team to win the Cup.  Hmmm, you can’t help but ponder that if they were that bothered about non-league, they might actually have made more effort beyond their ‘HELLO, WE’RE NEW SPONSORS OF THE FA CUP’ statement on August the 19th.  Here is a smooth marketing operation brazenly trying to make it sound like they care. I say smooth, the fanfare was silky, managing expectation was a complete shambles.

Going back to our comments about the game, at the time it happened: “Is this the future for such sporting events? Well, Budweiser did themselves, the FA Cup, the FA and football a power of good tonight, much to the very surprise of this website. I hope they keep it up because with this level of effort it could invigorate grass roots football, people could see that there is something in their community worth supporting. We are putting our cynicism on hold for a while to take stock.”

Two Footed Tackle said: “And who knows, perhaps it may even provide the shot in the arm the FA Cup has needed in the eyes of the public. Maybe there’s no need to fiddle around with scrapping replays, and other aspects of the format. Maybe all the competition needed was to catch up with 21st century methods of communication.”

• Is this still the future for sporting events? Could be.
• Did Budwesier keep it up? Errr, no.
• Have we taken stock? Yeah, jus’ chilling with a BUDFAIL. Our reserved cynicism was well-founded. Budweiser appear not to be the shot in the arm for the FA Cup, which is a shame.
• And, finally, I’m disappointed to say my cynicism was never really placed on the back-burner. That photo of the Bud in a puddle? It was taken two months ago, I just knew it would come in handy.

Well, I’m sure it’s all been said, so I don’t think I’m going to add much to the party but the EPPP storm has broken me. For years now I’ve been dismissive of professional football and condescending towards those who consume it voraciously. I’m sure that’s all been very tedious for you. Sorry. At the same time I’ve always kept my eye in but the dissatisfaction levels have been increasing and, now, I’ve had enough.

You can read elsewhere what this means to people and to the game as a whole, The 72 say this, 200% says this and this and The Two Unfortunates say this. All of those make salient points with which I agree so there is little point in me regurgitating. So, rather than that, I’m going to tell you what I’m doing about it. It will have little impact, individually, and might appear, on the surface, to be overtly reactionary, painfully well-meaning, buttock-clenchingly twee and, well, all slightly childish. Don’t care.  Nurrrh!  I’m not only throwing my toys out of the pram, I’m taking the pram down the tip.  The Premier League and the Football League are dead to me. Yes, I know, all a bit 6th form and idealistic.

You’ll not see me at a professional football match in England ever again.  Sky Sports is eight years dead anyway but now for the rest.  No more MOTD on iPlayer (haven’t watched live for several years anyway), Hansen & The Chipmunks are unwatchable so the availability of >ffwd> on iPlayer is essential. My Twitter feed has been purged of ‘official’ professional football (even TWTD!), my bookmarks now have a hole where once there was a direct link to the BBC football page, iTunes is several podcasts lighter – gone is Football Weekly (I’ll miss you Barry, I’ll miss you Jimbo), gone is The Game (I’ll not miss Marcotti) – and sport sections of newspapers are to be instantly binned.  Basically, I am opting out. I am refusing to purchase that which either funds or perpetuates the professional game.

As you can see from the above links, blogs remain. Well, I’m not going to cut off my nose to spite professional football, these people may well be dealers of the drug but they don’t …  aaahrrghhh, I’m not justifying my blog reading to you, it’s flimsy and selective but these guys write well, I trust their views, I trust them to say it how it is, I trust them to alert me if there’s anything worth knowing and they don’t directly put money in football’s pocket – as far as I’m aware.

Aside from them, from now on, it’s non-league all the way. To be brutally honest, the FA’s role in this is, frankly, no better and I was very close to ditching the Old Jug too. We’ll see about that. “It’ll never last”, I hear the handful of remaining readers cry.  Yes, you might be right but why would I need to feed these ludicrants when I have the above blogs, I have the non league bits of Two Footed Tackle, I have EFW, I have The Ball Is Round, Modus Hopper Random, The Cold End, Beat The First Man, AiTinpot (or is it AiTumour today?) and many, many more.

The EPL has pinched a penny too many, the FL has retained a vertebrae too few. And because of that, I want nothing more to do with them. *Sulk*. *Waaaahhhh*. Between them they have killed or surrendered too much. Greed is now all encompassing, it’s not even subtle anymore. They rely on our addiction to keep getting away with chipping away at our Saturday. Or Sunday afternoon, or Monday evening …

The one bright spot in this is my team’s ‘NO’ vote against EPPP. Yes, who’d have thought? Marcus Evans does the right thing for once. Shame it’s the last thing I will consciously see him do. I don’t expect anyone to follow me but it would be nice. Imagine … if you removed yourself from the equation and you removed your financial support. If you removed your financial support the game would lose its funding, if the game lost it’s funding maybe the clubs would start doing stuff to get you and that funding back. Or they would die. That will, of course, never happen, it’s too far gone. That being the case, I want nothing more to do with it.

End.

This is going to be hard. Odds on, I’ll not see out the weekend without a little toke on something.

Previous things that have got up our goats:
Hypocrisy Blog
Is It All Over
Familus Horribilus
Exclusively On ITV
FA Cup Found: Alive & Well
FFS Use Your Imagination

Monday morning brought the draw for the Fourth Qualifying Round of the FA Cup with the winners progressing to the First Round Proper and the chance of drawing a league side with potential for a giant-killing. In what is the tie of the round, the part-timers from Hebburn Town, 18^th in the Northern League Division Two, go to the International Stadium to face their neighbours, Gateshead, lying 5^th in the Blue Square Bet Premier.

Hebburn’s ground may only be separated from Gateshead’s home by three and a half miles, but a massive 125 places are between the teams in the non-league pyramid. With Northern League sides rarely taking promotion to the Evo-Stik League, and Hebburn having only played seven league games this season – compared to their division leaders, Team Northumbria, who have played double that number – there is a false position about Hebburn’s place, as Radcliffe Borough found out on Saturday when Hebburn matched them and won by a scoreline of 4-2.

Reacting to the draw, one of Hebburn’s heroes at Radcliffe and a goalscorer on the day, Dean Nicholson said: “We’re all happy after Saturday and we have the belief that we can go anywhere and get a result”.

With players on the pitch who have Premier League experience, such as Jamie McClen, once of Newcastle United and scorer of an FA Cup goal against Peterborough United in 2002 and who will be returning to a former club, and Nicholson’s brother Stuart, who took to the pitch for West Bromwich Albion, mixed in with “some very good players who have huge non-league experience” then Hebburn will travel the short distance with hope.

There was talk from the Hebburn camp before the draw was made that they wanted one of the big boys in the draw such as Luton Town or Stockport County, and that they would have an away tie, but according to Nicholson there is no disappointment in drawing against their neighbours. “We wanted a top team and why not be pitted against a side that’s flying high. If [our Cup run] ends then what a way to go out” he added.

The reason for wanting the away draw came after the experience of travelling to the north-west on Friday night and “acting like a professional set-up” with a hotel and the team bonding experience that came with it. “There’s already talk of us staying together the night before the game and acting as professional as we can” said Nicholson, “And we’re definitely hoping for a big crowd. I’ve been receiving text messages all day and everyone is excited for this. We’ll have some fans there and many Gateshead fans will be expecting an easy game and their team going through. We’ll be looking to prove them wrong”.

Before Hebburn can prepare for Gateshead they have other concerns. On the evening of the draw they take on Team Northumbria and on Saturday they travel to Newcastle Benfield in the FA Vase. Nicholson explained “We will begin to prepare for Gateshead at the final whistle against Benfield. We’ve got a tough Vase game and a Northern League game to get through first, and we’re playing very good sides with promotion being our major focus this season, but once we’ve played those we will turn our preparations to Gateshead. Their [Gateshead] players are professional and will be training every day. As we’re part-time we will all have to take responsibility for our own preparation by making sure we’re relaxed before the game; that we’re eating and drinking the right things. I’m sure all of the lads will do this as we all want to stay in this competition”.

For Hebburn to have a chance of progressing they will need big performances on the day from each and every player wearing their blue and yellow shirt. But remember, FA Cup upsets aren’t just reserved for the ‘proper’ rounds when league clubs enter and Premier League sides fall. On Saturday 29 October there will be 11 men playing against 11 other men just by the banks of the River Tyne and by 5pm, whatever has happened, everyone at Hebburn Town can be proud of themselves for creating club history with their best ever FA Cup run.

Words: Andy Hudson. For more on Hebburn Town, Northern league and, currently, Spanish football, head over to Andy’s website, Gannin’ Away. And you can find Dean Nicholson on Twitter too.

When my team won the cup over 30 years ago after many barren seasons, I queued round the ground for over an hour for 5 precious seconds with the trophy in my hands, and I regarded that as a privilege to be so close to the object of my dreams. The photo is still on the mantelpiece, even though as time passed it became less a souvenir of an unforgettable final and more a sad relic of when I had hair. But these are changing times. The Premier League or Champions League trophies would draw a crowd but the FA Cup is strictly a second class irrelevance for the hordes of children and young people flooding our normally peaceful park. Next to the deserted tent, the queue for the burgers is twenty deep. It’s a shame.

25 pitches, 6 a side, 8 minutes each way, anticipation and excitement in the air. My grandson’s team take the field with determined faces and hopes high but even they find it hard to sustain this early eagerness after their third defeat in a row. They kick off for their final match two men down. A hastily convened search party finds the striker in the candy floss queue and a defender on the bouncy castle.

Their opponents have taken a different approach. Their entourage are gathered under two large gazebos, the players marshalled onto benches where they must remain between games, sheltering from the sun and their liquid intake constantly monitored. Their fathers snort with derision at the announcement that the under 7s are playing for fun and will all get a medal. Each match is preceded by a 5 minute tactics talk from the coach. These boys are 10 years old.

We urge our lads on, although frankly the search for something to praise becomes more desperate as time passes, even for an optimist like me. At one point they did get the ball in the opponents’ half. Increasingly the dreary moan of our coach intrudes on our efforts, a series of critical and over-complicated comments that leaves the team none the wiser about what exactly they are supposed to do. At a recent match my daughter was soundly admonished by another mother. Cheering them on, she was told in no uncertain terms to be quiet ‘because you can’t be positive all the time, life’s not like that.’ Reminds me of a friend who claimed to give his son a random clip round the ear every now and again. ‘That’s how it feels for grown-ups so get used to it now.

One team are racking up 7 and 8 a game. Word spreads that they are the Arsenal under 12s. I wander over to take a look. It’s the most entertaining 10 minutes of football I’ve seen for donkey’s years. Arsenal fans, your stars may be leaving but have no fear for the future, on this evidence at least. Wenger could do a lot worse than draft the number 11 into the first team this August. He may have to if the rumours are accurate.

It’s the last game and with no hope of the final, suddenly, to my surprise and pleasure, our boys start pinging it around. I whinge under my breath at the lack of movement of our lone striker, the coach’s son, then immediately remember where I am and despise myself for such a reaction so out of keeping with this day. I’m not in my usual seat now. Then, a neat one-two in the box, admittedly our own box but it comes off, a through-ball Gerrard could only dream about and the striker nonchalantly slots it home

The allegedly malign influence of the Premier League manifests itself in many guises. Certainly it’s a shame our team haven’t rehearsed their defending from dead balls as well as their repertoire of goal celebrations, although the finger to the lips loses meaning when the opposition fans consist of three mums, a spaniel and gran in a wheelchair. In particular one boy goes down and stays down at the slightest touch, clutching his leg. Someone I know looks after a youngster whose learning disability means he takes things literally. Playing in his Chelsea shirt decorated with the name of his hero, he repeatedly threw himself to the ground when no one was anywhere near him.  When asked why, he looked excited: ‘That’s what Drogba does!

We bemoan the modern game, the money, the lack of tradition, the concerted efforts to leave the fans distant and disaffected. Yet today hundreds of kids have filled this park with one aim: playing football. Performing with freedom and expression, their unending enthusiasm remains unaffected by victory or defeat and is irresistibly infectious. The final whistle blows and immediately the players reconfigure into practice sessions in the nearest available goal. Kids too young to take part have a kick-about with dads, portly and stiff-legged, who silently pray for a stray ball to come their way so they can bring it down and pass it back, just to show they haven’t lost it

A family group gathers round the Cup. The dad’s eyes gleam brightly, mum’s long-suffering, the kids turn on the smile on the photographer’s signal for the precious fraction of a second. The trophy may not mean as much as it once did but the passion for what matters, a ball and a goal, is undiminished, passed on down the generations. Pottering in the garden later that afternoon, the cheers of joy and anguish drift by in the wind. The afternoon session is in full swing. 25 pitches, 6 a side, another bunch of hundreds of excited girls and boys. It’s natural that kids follow their heroes. If only the Premier League would learn a thing or two about the game from the kids.

Alan Fisher is @spursblogger and writes for his own blog Tottenham On My Mind.

My family moved to Horley, on the Surrey/Sussex border and halfway between London and Brighton, in January 1986, when I was four years old. Long before I went to university, I resolved to move to a city – any city – as soon as possible, stifled by small town life and feeling no connection to Horley despite spending the formative years of my life there. I left in spirit long before body, attending college in Horsham as Horley’s only secondary school, Oakwood, had no sixth form. Quickly losing touch with my local schoolmates, I made plenty of friends in Horsham who I still see now, as we all moved to Brighton – the preferred destination for south-easterners who defined themselves in opposition to the prevalent (lack of) culture in their commuter town but wanted to stay close to their families.

This closeness meant that when The Real FA Cup declared that this year’s Preliminary Round trip would be to the famous Corinthian Casuals’ tie at Horley Town, I decided to come too. (This article is entirely about Horley and me: please click here for more on Corinthian Casuals’ fascinating history as England’s leading amateur club.) Despite spending a season on Horley Town’s books in 1993-1994, before becoming disillusioned with my inability to break into the B-side or relate to my team-mates, I’d never been to watch them play, or indeed ever really socialised in the town. So I returned, to reconsider my relationship with the place I call home and – hopefully – enjoy the football.

I didn’t realise in my youth but Horley, and Horley Town, were trying to find themselves as much as I was. Originally a village, Horley did not appear in the Domesday Book but is thought to have been included in the northern manor returns. It had a population of under a thousand in 1812 but the opening of its first railway station in 1841 (designed by architect David Mocatta and demolished in the Sixties by Dr Beeching’s reforms) meant its population grew to 8,000 over the next century, as Horley suddenly offered equally easy access to the capital and the coast.

The population grew much faster as Horley became a dormitory for Gatwick Airport, which became a continental airport in 1936; in 1974, what were once three hamlets around a Common was granted town status. Horley FC, formed in 1896 and merged with Gatwick Rovers twelve years later, added ‘Town’ to its name, still playing in the claret and blue they adopted in 1912. It was this claret and blue which I wore during my brief dalliance with the hyper-masculine world of organised football with the Horley Town Minors, who, like me, were born in the early Eighties.

As a child with ‘gender dysphoria’ (basically, a sense that I was born in the wrong body), I had a love/hate relationship with football, loving the sport but loathing the culture around it. I soon gave up on playing for a club: I was keeping my gender issues secret, terrified of what might happen if my friends, family and schoolmates found out about them, and although my team-mates knew nothing of my transsexual wishes, I knew that these more than anything drove a wedge between them and me. Consequently, I was introverted off and on the pitch, reluctant to pass to them and finding that they refused to give the ball to me – desperate to prove myself, I wasn’t good enough on the ball to win them over, and I soon left, choosing to watch rather than play competitive football.

My parents didn’t push me into supporting anyone in particular, and Horley were too far from being a League team to capture my imagination.  Recent FA Cup finalists Crystal Palace were the logical option, but Selhurst Park was just too distant for me to attend regularly, and I inexplicably picked Norwich City – a traditionally less successful side from an area with which I had no links. This choice became central to my identity, as there were no other Norwich fans in my year at school (though Jeremy Goss’s nephew, who had a great reason to support City, was in the year below) but without the spatial and spiritual connection to my local community that, for many, is a crucial part of supporting a team. So, besides occasional six-hour round trips to Carrow Road with my obliging father, I decided to explore interests – particularly music.

My few friends at Oakwood shared my animosity towards the town, exemplified by the laughably insignificant stories on the front of the Horley Life that I delivered on my paper round. (Personal favourites included the summer-long story about poor paving in the town centre, or the flurry of indignant missives published after Horley was nominated as the dullest place in Surrey.) We all liked the line of music that came after punk, dealing with boredom, frustration and alienation (although I preferred The Smiths and Joy Division to Nirvana and Oasis, making me an outsider yet again), and the one thing in Horley that I loved was Pulse Records, the wonderful independent store that kept afloat by flogging chart CDs to Oakwood pupils walking home from school, which subsidised them selling Mark Stewart and the Maffia LPs to me for a fiver apiece.

Whilst I would go anywhere – London, Brighton, Crawley, Horsham or even Gatwick Airport in search of something to do – I realised that Horley’s smallness meant that chain stores and corporations had not monopolised the town centre. We had lots of charming little shops besides Pulse, run by people who genuinely cared about what they sold, until Tesco in Hookwood, just outside Horley, began stocking popular CDs, books and everything else at discount prices, and the combination of that and the Internet gradually closed most of them down. Now Horley’s main thoroughfare, Victoria Road, is dominated by charity shops – and Europe’s largest Waitrose, which the supermarket chain recently opted to open here, perhaps because they knew that middle class families in the nearby towns and villages would come and fill their Range Rovers with expensive groceries, every week for the foreseeable future.

A Waitrose, however big, was not enough to keep me in the town, and so I moved to Manchester, attracted by its alternative music heritage and the gay scene around Canal Street, with its drag bars and lively clubs. There, I found that I constantly had to explain where Horley was – near Gatwick, Crawley or Brighton – and as a result, nobody ever really remembered where I was from. When I first returned there from university, I bought the lone copy of the Guardian from my local newsagent on Horley Row: the vendor turned sideways and suspiciously asked “Intellectual?”, reminding me that this was not a place that dealt easily with any kind of “difference”. Indeed, there had been much soul-searching a year or two before, when the council built a gazebo in the Recreation Ground, and within days someone scrawled ‘No Gays’ across its side.

So I felt justified in leaving for Manchester and then Brighton, where I explored my cultural, sexual and gender interests and became myself – which included transition from male to female (I’ve written about that here). This was the first time I’d returned (except for going straight from Gatwick Airport to my parents’ house and back) as Juliet: on the train from Brighton, all my old anxiety about familiar faces seeing me wearing women’s clothes in this small, twitchy town, with its numerous WASP-ish churches and net curtains, came flooding back. Then I recalled how the girl over the road told everyone that she’d seen me cross-dressing and I got an angry call from a ‘friend’ forcing me to deny it, but luckily this happened after I’d left school and distanced myself, socially if not yet geographically.  Then, I realised, the sky didn’t fall on my head, and surely I’d outgrown these concerns by now. If I bumped into someone I used to know – what was the worst that could happen?

*

I meet Damon at The Black Horse – my local, and typical in that it’s faintly picturesque with utterly conservative décor and food. It’s on Horley’s edge, practically in Hookwood, and arriving from Gatwick, I’ve avoided the town centre again. He’s an Ipswich fan, so we have some friendly exchanges about our clubs’ rivalry before I share what I know about football in Horley. The club’s most celebrated ex-player is Nicky Forster, who joined Gillingham in May 1992 and had a successful career with various League sides, including Ipswich, before returning to local football with nearby Lingfield.

The following summer, as I went into Horley Town’s B team, the first XI beat Manchester United’s Under 12s in a friendly, 2-1. There was a fight as United’s youths couldn’t believe they’d come all this way to lose to these hillbilly hicks from the swanky south-east: I wondered, then and now, if the visiting players would have been so aggrieved if they’d known that most of the Horley team supported Manchester United.

It’s weird that having gone to major cities to find counter-culture and safe spaces for people of diverse sexualities and/or genders that I’ve come back to find an alternative to the commercialised, corporatised Premier League. The previous weekend, I’d watched Norwich at Chelsea, a short walk from the Kings Road that fostered the punk rock that I loved, and experienced all I hate about top flight football: all-seater stadia without atmosphere; odiously entitled ‘stars’ earning a hundred grand (or more) a week,  bankrolled by a foreign plutocrat with no real connection to the club or its fans; and having to pay £47.50 to see a contest that I knew to be ludicrously unequal (further thoughts on that here for European Football Weekends). In this world, Horley offered a refreshing counterpoint.

We enter The New Defence, Horley’s home ground, at ten to three on a Saturday afternoon – which in itself feels like a welcome contrast, until I remember that Norwich and Chelsea kicked off at the same time. Horley moved here in September 2003: there is still building work next to the clubhouse, which doubles as a stand seating 130 people. The previous ground, on Smallfield Road, was built on land donated by Major Jennings, later club president, in 1947, and named The Defence in memory of those who died serving their country in the two world wars. Indeed, the oldest man killed in the First was from Horley: Henry Webber, who died at the Somme in July 1916, aged 68, having persuaded the Army to let him take his personal cavalry unit to fight amidst the shells and tanks at No Man’s Land.

I see that Horley’s chairman lists his phone number (something ex-owner Robert Chase never dared at Norwich) in the programme, which bills the opposition as ‘Corinthean Casuals’ several times – twice on the cover. On the back, as if to taunt me, there’s an advert showing cheating ex-scummer Danny Haynes, whose handball won an East Anglian derby for Ipswich in February 2006 in their colours, contrasting with the two young boys sat behind the goal in full Horley Town kit. Pete the Drummer stands just behind them, sporadically tapping a drum tied to the barrier – besides Lol Tolhurst of The Cure (associated with hated rival town Crawley), DJ Luke Slater and jazz composer Dick Morrissey, he may be Horley’s most famous musician (my own attempts at punk bands went nowhere). Inside the programme, there’s an advert for Cherry Red Records, who sponsor the Combined Counties League in which Horley play. It references the Dead Kennedys, Nico, Ivor Cutler and other counter-cultural luminaries – infinitely preferable to Ipswich reject Haynes.

There are other non-League staples: a man with dogs (who don’t wear Horley scarves); a linesman who resembles Father Jack, who sadly doesn’t attempt to settle any offside disputes by saying that they would be an ecumenical matter. There are various hoardings, advertising local takeaways like Spice Boys besides Subway and, of course, Waitrose.

We perch alone in the corrugated iron stand, with no seats, behind the goal, with Horley shooting towards us. As Horley kick off, Damon notices planes landing overhead – something entirely unremarkable to me. The Clarets make the early running: I instinctively yell “Come on Horley!” as Town fire over the bar, the ball landing on the stand’s roof with a loud thud. Casuals goalkeeper Danny Bracken says “Cheers mate” as Damon returns it: Bracken launches an attack, and Glenn Boosey’s shot from the left beats Horley keeper Ian Chatfield, bounces off the inside of the post and is cleared, to the relief of Pete and his family, the dog owner and me. Minutes later, I turn after winger Adam Pullen’s cross produces a good chance and say “We could have scored there!”

“We?” says Damon.
“Yeah,” I reply, “we”, temporarily forgetting how much I’ve slated the town over the years. “I played for this club, I’m saying we.” I pause. “Anyway, I hate the Premier League. Fuck Norwich,” I joke, maturely reminding Damon of which of our clubs is currently best placed.

After seventeen minutes, Pullen finds striker Kyle Hough, who reminds me of my favourite current Norwich player, ex-Non-League centre-forward Grant Holt: matching Holt for strength and determination, Hough races through, beats two defenders Bracken and scores from a ludicrously tight angle. Amazingly, Horley are beating the famous Corinthian Casuals, for whom Sócrates once turned out, and who gave Real Madrid their iconic white kit.

As the ball hits the net, a thought strikes me: identity is formed in struggle, in tragic defeats and heroic victories. After the Norman conquest, nearly a thousand years ago, the south-east subjugated first the rest of England, then Scotland, Wales and Ireland before the London-centric United Kingdom imposed itself on America, India, Canada, Australia and many other territories – historically, very few people in the world have been less oppressed.

The lack of struggle explains why the world wars, especially the Second when the south-east formed a bulwark against the German invasion, remain so prominent in the psyche of a nation dominated by London and the Home Counties: the monument in Horley commemorates residents who died fighting, particularly those in the East Surrey Battalion, but I think it’s widely understood that these were national conflicts, not regional ones, and the absence of local struggle and associated mythology, I speculate, means that people searching for a cornerstone to a sense of self prefer patriotism (or nationalism) to regionalism.

It also suggests why people in larger commuter towns that can produce top flight or competitive sides – for example Reading, Watford, briefly Oxford United in the Eighties and after – become so attached to their local teams, with football offering a narrative where they, finally, are the underdogs, and where they can take on ‘bigger’ teams from the Northern cities or London districts (who did much worse than they did under Thatcher) and memorably overcome them. Perhaps I didn’t form any affiliation with Horley despite playing for them as our team used to lose heavily every week (and I was rarely picked). If I’d played for the more successful first XI, it may have been different, and I may not have made my transsexuality, my cultural interests or even my left-handedness more central to my identity than the place where I lived.

I returned my mind to the match. Horley hold on against the Ryman League team – just one division above them in the pyramid but above them nonetheless – until just before half time, when Boosey equalises. The two boys behind the goal catch Bracken’s attention.
“Was that a goal?”
“Yes,” says the visiting goalkeeper.
“What’s the score?”
“1-1” replies Bracken, trying not to lose patience with them.
“1-1 to who?” asks the boy, and Bracken turns away.

Having seen football fans at every League ground I’ve been to yell “You’re shit, ah!” at every goalkeeper in the hope that it’ll make him shank his kick to their side’s centre-forward, without it ever working, I wonder if the direct conversation made possible by the scale of The New Defence has resulted in the Casuals number one being out-psyched by a single child. Immediately, Horley attack: there’s a melee in the box, Hough shoots, Bracken saves, the rebound bounces back to Hough and he finishes – 2-1, right on half-time!

We drink in the clubhouse, watching the second half kick off from there. Casuals have a succession of corners, pushing hard for an equaliser, but with about twenty-five minutes left, Hough breaks, shoves past a defender and scores again. I’m sure the referee won’t allow it, but he points to the centre circle, Hough has his hat-trick and Horley are two goals clear. From there, it’s surprisingly comfortable: Casuals offer little (one shot is met by a spectator with “Mind my car!”), and Horley defend resolutely, with substitute Darren Tidy looking particularly skilful. So we – we – win to set up a First Qualifying Round tie against Dulwich Hamlet, another club with a proud amateur footballing history.

So we walk back through the town centre, past the churches, charity shops and cafés, to the station. As it happens, I don’t see any familiar faces, and by now I don’t care if I do. In any case, the town has changed: I tell Damon that the other famous player from Horley is Faye White, who was a few years above me at Oakwood and who captained England as their improving fortunes helped to popularise women’s football across the country. And there are now two nightclubs: besides Liquid Lounge on Consort Way, which had numerous names during my teens, there’s also Bar 429, which recently opened on the same street, selling itself as ‘Gatwick area’s only gay venue – homo, hetero, metro, whatever’.

I don’t think I’ll be coming back to Horley for Bar 429 – I can take or (more likely) leave its combination of ‘commercial house and handbag’ – but I can’t wait to return to see the Town take on the Hamlet.

Juliet Jacques is the author of Orwell Prize longlisted Guardian blog ‘Transgender Journey’. She also covers European literature, experimental film, art, music & (usually French) football on her blog.

All photos therealfacup, except:
David Mocatta plaque courtesy www.djibnet.com
Jeremy Goss courtesy www.canaries.co.uk
Pulse Records Logo courtesy www.pulserecords.co.uk

Bill Shankly had quite a turn of phrase. “Ladies and Gentlemen, yesterday at Wembley we might have lost the Cup but you the Liverpool people have won everything. You have won the admiration of the policemen in London and you have won the admiration of the public in London.” He was talking about the fans of both Everton and Liverpool and the public and policemen of London. I’m not sure he would have such admiration for certain people in either place right now, or indeed many other places. In short, this last week in England has been … most unseemly.

This weekend sees a chance to redeem ourselves, as a nation, and put those near to us ahead of commercialism. All we’re going to be saying is, your local community needs you, your local community club needs you. Just for one week you could partake in the very first round of this season’s FA Cup and help out a club that relies on you more than the commodity you normally go and watch, the commodities that are tearing up rule books and looting our game and your pockets. We’re not intending to be preachy, simply joining the zeitgeist, and partly because that word has to go in most of our posts. Search for it, you’ll find loads. This one seems relevant, for once.

Liverpool fans. Your team is away, at 12:45. Unless you’re going, why not watch the game in the clubhouse of any of these teams … Formby, Runcorn or Bootle … and then watch their game? OK, you Toffees have the slight excuse of a 3pm home game but, well, you could give it a go?

Tottenham fans. Caught up in the middle of it all. Team not playing again. Haringey Borough are – and they play on White Hart Lane. Not actually at WHL but up the road, against AFC Kempston Rovers.

On Sunday, you Norwich City fans will be excited at the prospect of a first Premier League home game for a while so, on Saturday, you’ll all be free, won’t you? What you could do is pack your shades, if summer has arrived yet, and head for the broads to watch Wroxham Town .v. Dereham Town. Alternatively, you might want to pack your bucket and spade and head for the beach to watch two of East Anglia’s premier seaside resorts see who’s king of the sandcastle, Great Yarmouth Town .v. FC Clacton.

Geordies! Mackems! MASSIVE game on Saturday, huh? Odd kick off time though, eh? Midday? By our calculations that gives you an hour from final whistle to get to … Whitley Bay .v. Bishop Auckland or Jarrow Roofing Boldon CA .v. Guisborough Town, hell you could even go to Sunderland RCA .v. Birtley Town on Friday night.

As I said, this is not intended to be preachy and you’re probably bored already so we’ll stop but, frankly, Mr Shankly … you must move fast, you understand me? There may not be much time left for some of these clubs and, ell, it might be good for the soul. There are just three Premier League kicks off at 3pm this Saturday, you might make a difference by going somewhere new. And if you can’t do it this week, another chance is there in just two weeks time when the national team are playing and it’s Non League Day

We’re off to Ascot .v. Wembley on Friday night, Colliers Wood United .v. Chessington & Hook United on Saturday and maybe Barkingside .v. Hertford on Sunday. And all for less than it will cost to get into Arsenal .v. Liverpool, if you can source a ticket. Find a game here at the FA.

FIFA’s recent troubles have been leapt on by the blogging community and the mainstream writing fraternity alike. Our collective dislike of FIFA has led to campaigns launched against a number of FIFA’s ‘media partners’ such as Adidas and some other big brands.

The homogenised blogocracy have never been fans of Blatter but they really have leapt on this particular bandwagon with gusto. ‘Down wid dis toip a ting’, “boycott Adidas!” and “don’t buy Coca-Cola” just a few of the zeitgeist feelings emoted to bring about a swift downfall to the old man. FIFA’s money comes from these brands, it comes from these brands via the World Cup, realistically, as it is FIFA’s only real money maker. These brands can only earn FIFA money if people watch the World Cup, which they did, in billions. That’s us folks, football bloggers were chief among those fans gorging on football, gorging on Sepp Blatter’s product, talking about it, regurgitating it and perpetuating it.

This doesn’t mean Blatter and FIFA don’t need attacking but when your ire gets round to those backing FIFA, first have a word with the ones that give them the biggest mandate, the ones who bought into THE PRODUCT, the fans themselves, you. This horse is very high, I am getting off it now. I must, I have to have a word with myself right now, we even did a fricking World Cup podcast!! Doh!

You’ve got a big day out, a final no less. Where do you want to go? City of Manchester Stadium?  Hmmm, not really. What about Old Trafford? Well, maybe, but can’t we go to Wembley?  ‘fraid not, some beegveegs are in town and they have fatter wallets and they don’t want the likes of you anywhere near the pitch for a couple of weeks before their delicate little waifs have to pirouette around it.  But you’ll bring all your fans up to Manchester, won’t you … ?

It appears not. A final isn’t a final unless it’s at Wembley, even more so if you’re from, errr, just outside London. Like Luton, for example.  They took 30,000+ to Wembley for the Johnstone’s Paint Trophy final 2 years ago yet well under half that made the trip to Manchester for the Blue Square play off final.  And it wasn’t just because of the journey. Ticket prices played a part too but that’s another matter?  Well, you know, Old Trafford makes sense because they were playing a Northern side … Yes, the famous AFC Wimbledon of Yorkshire (I realise this analogy is in particularly bad taste but the fanbase argument doesn’t work as well from the AFC angle!!)

It’s OK though, that’s just non-league really. The League 2 and 1 finals will be boing-boing bouncing with fans, the average Wembley attendance for a League 2 final is 45,000 after all!  *cough* At the time of writing, various sources suggest 10,000 Stevenage and Torquay fans will head to Manchester and if you look on any Torquay forum you’ll find a series of posts asking the very same question as us.  Why not Wembley?  Stevenage are less unhappy but the response is the same. ‘Wembley please’.

At the time of writing, the Lge 1 final clubs have sold 45,000 tickets for Old Trafford but that is largely thanks to the 75% purchased by fans of the team who are 45mins from Old Trafford.  These same Huddersfield fans didn’t turn out in quite such force for a similar play off final in Cardiff 7 years ago but it wasn’t far off.  How many more would have gone to Wembley? Well, at Wembley, the average League 1 final attendance is 67,000, and that is even with teams considerably less well supported than Huddersfield and Peterborough. It’s also some 50% more than the Old Trafford figure as it stands.

The Championship final, at Wembley, on the other hand sees two fairly averagely supported sides trying to exceed the average Wembley attendance of just above 80,000. Both sides have pretty much sold out, so that’s 75,000 in the bag and the final attendance will depend on neutrals and blaggers.  There were loads around last year, I was one of them.  OK, in all instances, the two Championship teams are better supported on average, come from bigger towns and garner more neutral attraction. However, it looks like Wembley will see an above average attendance, which is odd when you consider Sheff Utd, WBA and Derby have been there recently. Yes, the teams are bigger, in some instances the towns are bigger but neither Swansea nor Reading would come close to filling their Wembley allocations from their average support, or even double their average support.  And the reason they have is because they are going to Wemberlee. If this game was at Old Trafford, would it be as attractive? The League 1 & 2 ticket sales suggest not.

You can finger point at the fickle and selective fans, fairly, but is it not down to the keepers of the game to ensure that ALL fans are encouraged to join in?  They are supposed to be promoting the game, not reducing the access to the elite. Indeed, it is further folly to go away from Wembley because it is almost certain that the League 2 final will cost the league money, it’s even feasible the League 1 will too. This in turn costs not only the clubs in the final but the rest of the teams who got to the play offs

The Football League need to have a word with themselves about where the games are taking place but their hands are slightly tied by the FA’s decision to whore Wembley out to the people who are essentially trying to kill them. What?  Yes, you heard me. In reality I mean the Premier League, not UEFA, but as each year goes by the Premier League erode the FA’s ability to run the game.  They take all the money, they take all the kudos, they belittle the England team and now are trying to put the FA & Football League further in their box by dishing out even more sizeable sums of cash directly to the clubs just below the Premier League in gratuity payments and parachutes.  Why would the bears of the football league be attracted by the FA/FL’s travel sachet of raspberry jam when there’s a big jar of honey next to it with ‘PROMISED LAND’ written on it?

One can only assume that the FA’s game is one of desperation, offering up the big arch in the hope that it will keep the PL wolf from the door.  However, with this decision it risks marginalising and disenchanting the very clubs they need to keep onside by taking away their day out at Wembley and pissing off the fans.  It’s really only a matter of time before the FA and FL lose control of at least one of the leagues (the Championship), only a matter of time before they lose their control over the England side and only a matter of time before that has a major impact on ‘grassroots’ football. Will the PL be supporting the kind of initiatives that the FA are (casting aside whether the FA do that very well, they do at least fund various disabled England sides, youth football across the country and initiatives that spread across communities rather than established football clubs)?

One can only wait and see but I think the decision to cow-tow to the big boys can only lead to further bullying and that isn’t good for the wider football community.