THE FA Vase final was perhaps always going to be the most likely source of season finale for therealfacup. The FA Cup final was always likely to be an unappealingly corporate whore-athon and the experience of our chum Rich at runcorn2wembley illustrates that perfectly.

This was therealfacup’s first trip to Wembley. Well, it was mine, Matt had been before to see Exeter in the Conference play off final and to see Oasis (!?) and Andy had been to see Blackpool in the League One play off final.

Pre-match was set fair and off to the Green Man in Wembley to join the throng. If there was any indecision about who we should be rooting for in this game, it was swiftly and sharply brought into focus by a ‘Wroxham fan’ wearing a Norwich City shirt. Why? This is Wroxham’s day, who cares if you are a Norwich fan you selfish aunt.

It was pretty quiet but jovial at the Green Man with the Whitley fans, there were some big lads having occasional sing songs but, generally, there were loads of kids around and it was all rather pleasant. And then the sun came out and it shone brightly off the not inconsiderable midriff of a Bay ‘fan’ wearing THAT Newcastle shirt. We nearly dropped our earlier objections to the Norwich one but it takes a special breed of man to wear that ‘Solero’ away kit, so we let it go.

Throughout the 3 pints we were there, the sun got warmer and the volume gradually increased but it dissipated from about 2:15 as people drifted off to the ground a bit early.

My other half, a Whitley native, had decided that planting seeds and shopping took preference over watching her kinsmen grace the hallowed turf of Wembley. As Wroxham had reportedly only sold 2500 tickets, it looked as though this absenteeism was unlikely to mean The Bay were outnumbered. That was the case, they had well over 5000 in a sub-par crowd of less than 9000.

Given the current strength of the Northern non-leagues, we were predicting a comfortable win for Bay against a side not used to this stage of the competition. After just 23 seconds, man of the match Paul Chow nipped in between the Yachtsmen’s ‘keeper and a defender, both clearly frozen in Wembley’s headlights, to score the quickest goal in Vase final history – and possibly the quickest at the new Wembley.

The early goal didn’t faze Wroxham and, with equal fortune, they found themselves level after Bay failed to clear a cross. But another defensive error was only minutes away as Wroxham’s Eastaugh turned a Hodgson cross beautifully past his own keeper and into the bottom corner. It was a great finish, wrong end.

 The rest of the half produced no goals and although Wroxham were second best they weren’t out of it. They were however favouring the outlet of Lemmon on their right flank but he was well marshalled and had little support. Wroxham were trying to play the right way but their insistence on short passes was proving restrictive because they were closed down effectively by every Bay player. Whitley were doing the same but their players had the vision and ability to punctuate their short play by occasionally executing accurate longer crossfield and forward passes that stretched Wroxham’s back line.

Having been burgled of £25 for a ticket and £4 for a thin but glossy programme before the game I decided not to eat, choosing to leave myself open for embitterment at Wembley’s well known refreshments racket. A £4 slice of ‘stone baked’ (my arse) pizza looked to fit the bill but proved disappointingly appetizing. Herby, cheesy, tomoatoey goodness. Damn you Wembley. Andy’s £4 vegetable pie proved more satisfactory in the disappointment stakes. It smelled vaguely of curry but was three inches in diameter, the colour of David Dickinson and had some different coloured pieces in it that were, we assumed, supposed to be the veg. Grim.

Such was the pizza/pie intrigue, not to mention the food queue, we missed Whitley’s 3rd goal. Mind you, so did the vast majority of Whitley fans who went scurrying for the tunnels as a muted cheer filtered through from the stadium. I got there just in time to see the ball bounce gently over the line on the big screen replay. Bugger.

The dozen or so ten year olds behind us who’d been singing “You only sing when you’re winning’ for much of the first half, despite being told to sit down several times by a jobsworth steward, went berserk and then started to open up their repertoire. I’m not yet fluent in Geordie so I’m paraphrasing with this translation but my favourite went something like “I told me mam not to fetch us some tea, coz I’m off to watch Whitley at Wemberley“. It’s not often you get such well behaved young lads going mental for the WHOLE 90 minutes in a barely supervised group so it was quite refreshing in an almost empty national stadium to get a decent atmosphere.

The game was effectively over. Whitely were the better side anyway but with Wroxham needing to attack they were getting picked off every few minutes and Bay added a 4th, 5th and 6th which could easily have been extended to a 7th, 8th and 9th. It was a bit of a shame for the Yachtsmen’s adventure to end with such a walloping but, by all accounts, Wroxham’s best players simply didn’t turn up, so a tricky tie was simply made impossible.

You could perhaps assume such a low crowd would have us suggesting a smaller, alternate venue might be more appropriate for such a lowly final but, no, we stand by our comments in the preview. This is exactly appropriate for all the reasons we suggested and when the scorers names flashed up on the scoreboard, the replays were shown on the screen and when the players took the walk up the steps to collect the trophy, I couldn’t help but have a pang of non-begrudging covetousness for what even the vanquished players had experienced.

One thing about the attendance, though. Even the latter stages of this competition saw ticket prices of around £6/8, why was it £25 for the final? The question is answered, presumably, by the cost of Wembley Stadium but, even so, this crowd would have been much bigger if it was £15, which seems more in line with sense. The FA are to be praised for having the foresight to play Vase and Trophy finals at Wembley but they are somewhat short-sighted with the pricing and you have to ask whether they should pay more attention to the clubs when it comes to finals and not ride roughshod over an otherwise worthy competition.

Commiserations to Wroxham, congratulations to Whitley and SHAME on you jobsworth steward for getting ten year old boys to sit down on the back row of a sparsely populated stand. Good game.

Wroxham 1 Whitley Bay 6
Man Of The Match – Paul Chow (Whitley Bay)
Cheers to Andy Taylor, as ever, for some of the photos.

Our bread and butter is, as I’m sure you’re aware by the name of the site, the FA Cup. The world’s greatest cup competition begins to lose some of its shine around the turn of the year however and so I chose this time of year to finally see some of the world before my life officially moves into middle-age. Inevitably, I’ve missed The Beautiful Game since I’ve been away so when I arrived in Argentina I insisted on a visit to an Argentinian league game.

The two giants of Argentinian club football, Boca Juniors and River Plate never play at home on the same weekend and since I was only in town for one weekend it was River Plate who would provide my football fix after four months without going to a game.

Both River and Boca are having a troubled season.

Boca are experiencing the usual in-fighting which seems to plague a lot of South American clubs – the main rivalry being that between aging midfielder Riquelme, who has famously retired from the national team after falling out with Maradona, and the even more aged striker Martin Palermo who will turn 37 later this year.

River have had an even worse time. Languishing in the bottom three after a run of only 1 point from 5 games, including a 2-0 defeat in the Superclasico at La Bombonera, they had managed an incredible 425 minutes without a single goal (a serious crime in this part of the world) and chairman Daniel Passarella had sacked the manager after their previous result, a 0-0 draw in Tucuman and appointed ex-Huracan manager Angel Cappa to try and steady the ship. Whilst it is well-known that an injection of energy, confidence or just plain fear from a new man at the helm can often bring about surprise results, could they really compete with table-topping Godoy Cruz?

Our arrival at River’s stadium was met with hordes of riot police, there to prevent the away supporters, who had travelled for more than 20 hours from their home town in Mendoza (something they do 15 times a season as two-thirds of the teams in the Argentinian Primera Division are based in the capital city!), from making any contact whatsoever with the home fans.

A body search or two later and we chose a pair of seats on the Platea, the more expensive area of the ground on the middle tier. The hard core of supporters at both Boca and River are located on the open terraced upper tier and they were already there in force, despite their side’s lowly position in the league. Every inch of the stadium was covered in banners apparently stating the district from which the supporters standing originated from – a practice which conveniently hides the fact that without them, there is only the word ‘Petrobras’ (a petrol company) repeated again and again in dirty grey around the aging edifice, built for the 1978 World Cup and apparently not updated since. The ground is a real throw back to how stadiums in England used to be, with toilets consisting of graffiti’ed walls over troughs awash with urine and seats made of metal slats bolted on to old stone terraces. There are 10ft wire mesh fences topped with barbed wire to keep the fans off the pitch and, to complete the effect, several members of the local fire brigade stand on the running track in front of the home fans, ready to fire jets of water at the first sign of any misbehaviour from the penned-in hooligans.

The 40,000 or so home fans were either excited by the prospect of the new manager or are tremendously loyal to their team, even in dire circumstances, for they were in fine voice in the lead up to the kick off and it certainly seemed to inspire the players as River started the game extremely well and within 2 minutes had the ball in the back of the net only for the goal to be ruled out for offside. River hassled and harried, giving the leaders no time on the ball, causing them to make mistakes and continued to create chances.

The atmosphere turned a little sour after 10 minutes when the referee refused to give a penalty for a blatant push on the edge of the six yard box just as the striker was about to pull the trigger. Cries of ‘hijo de puta’ rang out around us – ‘son of a bitch’ is the Argentinian equivalent of ‘the referee’s a wanker’ it would seem.

Even more chances came and went for the home side as they virtually laid siege to the opposition goal, attacks coming from both wings as the Godoy full backs were outsmarted and outpaced on a regular basis. A looping header only narrowly missed the top right hand corner and a free kick from just outside the penalty area was wasted after the flying River winger was scythed down by the panicking right back, earning him an early yellow card. Another penalty was turned down by the referee as a River player was kicked in the chest by a flying defensive boot. Godoy were struggling to contain the constant wave of attacks and every mistake they made was greeted with superb shouts of ‘Burro’ (Donkey) by the vociferous supporters around us – a tradition I shall be trying to replicate at home when I get back.

The chances were coming thick and fast and an excitable little girl two rows in front of us had to be told to sit down by the man sitting behind her so that he could see the action. River had done all they could – apart from score. Somehow you knew what was coming.

How many times have we seen a struggling side create chance after chance against superior opposition, only to go a goal behind to the first chance that the better team creates? Lots of times, that’s how many. The River left back was getting carried away and was way out of position when a Godoy break down the right was squared into the centre for a fairly easy tap in for Higuain. The large contingent of away supporters in the top tier of the stand opposite signalled their approval and there was much shaking of heads around us. Football may be slightly different in foreign countries but some things are the same the world over and these people had seen it all before. It was a real shame – River had nothing to show for all their efforts, and they had been punished as off-form teams tend to be when playing top teams.

The goal had the usual effect in these circumstances and River struggled to regain their dominance for the remainder of the first half, looking understandably resigned to their fate after giving it their all.

Argentinian football at the top level is in a pretty poor state judging by what I’ve seen whilst I’ve been here. Their best players are spirited away by rich European clubs and refer years of government corruption has led to under-investment in facilities meaning that vital things like the pitch are in a dreadful condition, giving rise to some dreadful first touches. During half time my other half, who knows very little about the game, summed it up by saying “one or two of these players have their moments, but sometimes they seem surprised to see where the ball has gone when they kick it”. Couldn’t have put it better myself!

The second half continued in much the same vein until, on 57 minutes, River brought on the promising 22 year old Diego Buonanotte, who was involved in a car crash last year in which three people died and has somehow managed to return to the side after only a few months. His presence seemed to breathe a little bit of life back into the home side and, with Godoy beginning to get their act together, the game was much more finely balanced than it had been. The crowd was still very vocal and both they and the team were rewarded on 68 minutes when Buonanotte wriggled his way along the byline and poked the ball past the Godoy keeper along the edge of the six yard area for 36 year old Ariel Ortega to tap into the empty net.

The stadium was still jumping less than two minutes later when an abject pass back from a Godoy midfielder was overhit into the space behind the left back and Ferrari sped onto the loose ball, terrified everyone by dribbling way out to the left of the keeper before tucking in from a narrow angle to make it 2-1! No-one could believe what they were seeing and the place went berserk. A chorus of (the equivalent of) ‘We Love You River Plate’ broke out almost immediately and some superb rhythmic jumping caused the stand to actually bounce up and down with joy along with all of its occupants, making us wonder about the quality of late 1970′s Argentinian engineering.

Somehow River not only managed to hold on, they nearly scored a third and Godoy were sent home having been knocked off the top by a struggling team with a new manager who hadn’t scored for more than 8 hours.

It is customary in these parts for the home fans to be kept in at the end until the visiting supporters have been escorted onto the motorway rather than the other way around so we had to wait around for a good 15 minutes at the end but nobody minded tonight. River had gone above their mortal enemies, Boca and, more importantly, they have a brilliant new manager who has changed things around in less than a week.

Everything is going to be fine!

Picture, if you will, the photo on the front cover of Jeff Perkins’ ‘A Tale of Two Uniteds’. Jack Charlton. Less a footballer, more a post-war schoolboy confused by why his neighbour won’t give his ball back. Picture, again, if you will, this man below on the right. His name is Cashley and he’s a professional idiot.

This Saturday morning a collective male eyebrow was raised at the sight of the latest instalment of Cole’s world tour of faintly haggard bottle blondes. That Ashley chooses to shmoozes with this bevy of provincial hairdressers is perhaps indicative of his notorious lack of class. It is perhaps an example of the bullet-proof psyche modern footballers seem to have developed.

It would be pious to condemn Cole too much, we’re all fallible, he is simply one half of our example of the glorious contrasts in football. The life of a top footballer now is so at odds with Wor Jackie and, more pertinently today, the man pictured behind him, Sutton United’s Peter Drabwell.

Chelsea’s maverick sinistra is sorted, he has no worries, he is set for life, he can act with impunity in every sphere. Jack and Peter’s peers, on the other hand, were not so lucky. In their day a mistimed tackle or an unfortunate incident could so easily have seen serious injury, loss of career and loss of livelihood, even for well known professionals.

Football’s not the same, money runs football, it’s not a game anymore … yadda yadda yadda … Not more of this bleating about the state of the modern game? Well, no. We’ve just started reading the aforementioned book and it genuinely does bring a lump to your throat and shows the stark reality of how football has changed. The point being, we liked the sound of the book, it was FA Cup related and this weekend we had no cup football to view and our man at Sutton United was going to furnish us with a copy. So, we went to meet him and watch the U’s play Tooting & Mitcham.

Once in Mitcham we snuck into a local hovel to watch the sodom and gomorrah show on Sky Italia Tutti Bella dodgy live feed. Much to our amusement, Moyesyey was delivering a substitution masterclass to old Mr Injury Time and his bunch of ludicrants. Then we realised this meant Chelsea would win the league. Bollocks.

Leaving lager land we crossed the River Wandle with it’s picturesque riverbank houses and through the bankside trees appeared the impressive home of the Terrors. Imperial Fields is a cracking little stadium that T&M physio Denis Lawton told us was actually yet to be completed. Big plans are afoot here, another main stand is to go up facing the current one and the increasingly famous Bog End is to be expanded while the bog behind it is to be transformed into a 3G training pitch.

Our man from Sutton is Gerard Mills, or MIllsy as he first introduced himself to us via the conduit of the i.n.t.e.r.n.e.t. We tiptoed across the red carpet towards the centre circle where, with mic in hand, Millsy presented us with our golden, hand crafted copy of Jeff Perkins’ tome. We bowed, took our bounty with gratitude, held it aloft to the cheering crowd and retired to the edge of the impressive massed bank of away fans. This actually happened but is top secret, off-piste realfacup information so you probably won’t read about it elsewhere.

As this game kicked off Tooting & Mitcham and Sutton Utd were separated only by goal difference and the terrifying fractured line that separates the end of season play off lottery from another season in the same division.

With form, line ups and previous localish derbyish knowledge aquired from Millsy, we watched as Sutton tore into Tooting’s poor home form. The bulk of possession was yellow and bar one smartly saved counter attack, the early chances went the away side’s way.

Matt Hann was scythed down on the left, the ref played advantage and Gargan failed to connect 3 yards out. Should have been 1-0 Sutton but the hack also served to warm up the niggles. A few minutes later Quarm clipped a ball through the Terrors defence, Charlie Taylor ran on to it and Dave King tipped his shot round the post.

As the half hour approached and the hard but mostly fair challenges continued to fly, Tooting finally started getting in to the game. The wick turned up further when Tooting’s former Carshalton defender Colin ‘Mad Dog’ Hartburn and Sutton’s James Norwood started slapping each other. ‘Told you’ said Millsy, confirming his pre-match prediction that Hartburn would at least get booked and probably sent off.

A bit of even ebb and flow preceded the sucker punch the Sutton faithful had feared their lack of goals might bring when Simon Parker, a teacher by profession like Peter Drabwell, found himself in space on the right and slotted comfortably past Scriven.

Tooting & Mitcham 1 Sutton 0

Sutton had an instant chance to reply but Gargan again failed to convert Taylor’s lay off. Quarm got booked for a late tackle and it was half time. ’2-1′ said Millsy confidently as he sloped off to the boardroom and we ambled to the bar.

Nice bar. Limited booze. Certainly not the Hogs Back T.E.A advertised in the programme, were we in the right bar? MASSIVE Stellingvision on the wall. I fairly promptly tipped my generic lager on the floor. Twat. Got another. But at least Ipswich were winning. I wonder who will get the equaliser” quipped Ryan. The spillage made us late. The beer Hitlers wouldn’t let us out of the bar to watch the second half start so we watched from the door where we could see one penalty box. It was riveting. Four minutes of watching Scriven amble around his area. Blinding.

The second half was a corker. 58 mins – Ball over the top, looked like Hann was through, looked like Mad Dog caught him, second yellow, first red. Millsy spot on. Tooting down to ten.

The resultant free kick was played down the left, Norwood cut inside and took a tumble. It looked a blatant dive, the ref just waved play on. Paul Vines wasn’t happy and had a bit of a foot-stamping paddy in protest at the perceived dive. Nothing happened.

A man down and Tooting were getting worse. They were OK in the first half but ‘only by attrition’, Ryan pointed out. I actually thought they should glimpses of some nice play, they just look woefully shy of confidence. ‘The lino looks like a woman’ added Ryan, almost exactly as I was thinking exactly the same thing. It was the menopausal, short, grey hair gave it away.

It was fairly consistent pressure from Sutton now and I was looking for some arty photos and musing that Tooting were ‘actually defending quite well’ just as comedy defending presented Gargan with a half chance that he frapped into the corner.

Tooting & Mitcham 1 Sutton Utd 1

There was only going to be one winner. Mann haired down the right, burst into the box and was floored (above left). Stone wall, nailed on, definite penalty. Not according to hermaphralino. Not according to the whistler Eric Mackrell. Definitely something fishy about that decision. Sorry.

With time running out Gargan rapped the post with a chance easier than he’d scored but harder than he’d already missed. Millsy had a better view, he said it looked like it was going wide. A point gained for T&M, two points dropped for Sutton but the Gambians looked better equipped to make the play offs. Indeed, having written this while watching Manchester City .v. Liverpool bore the country to death, I have to wonder whether both of these non-league players are that much worse than their richer counterparts.

Cheers to Gerard for the book, we owe him a drink or two when we finally make it down to Gander Green Lane. We’ve only just got hold of Jeff Perkins book but from what we’ve read we recommend you get hold of one. We’d also like to thank Denis Lawton for his few words as we caught a cheeky tab by the dugout.

As I Tweeted after the game, this game annoyed me. Immensely. For several reasons. I wrote my original match report on the Sunday and it was, essentially, a hatchet job on the Chertsey fans. I thought better of publishing the match report and thought I’d give it a few days before having another go in a more balanced frame of mind. So I did a write up of only game action but that was pretty dull. Finally, I tried to do a mixture of the two and it was a furious ramble about the state of the modern game, which was a bit out of place and OTT. Also, in the mean time I read several reports of the game and all of them seemed slightly at odds with my impressions of it. According to both teams’ websites this was an exciting game so why was my impression so different?

It has to be said, it felt odd going to a game with my other half for the first time. This wasn’t one of the things that annoyed me but it definitely coloured my experience. Gone were the football comments, the game talk, I couldn’t quite ascertain how many of the situational and cultural reference points were or would be wasted. So I didn’t bother. This game was unlikely to hit the heights and the chances of it doing so were undermined with the other half’s Facebook update just before kick off that questioned why she was here at all. It was a joke but also a fair point, although also quite obvious as she is from Whitley Bay.

Secondly, the game really WAS pretty dire and this was the main problem. Neutrality at big, tight and tense games means that you don’t have the emotion and adrenal that both sets of fans do. Chertsey had the shoulder-chip inducing lack of history in the Vase to make this their ‘Cup Final’, as the bunting and balloons would hint. Whitley fans had the emotion of being cup holders to keep them goin. We had nothing. This neutrality often makes you view the game with cold eyes and a critical insight that means your view of the game is entirely different to the ‘fans’.

There was also the added problem of having no reference point to the previous week/month/season’s performances of either side. Was this better or worse fayre than usual? At a guess, it looked like Chertsey were playing at about par and Whitley had a little more. That might be unfair but the respective write ups do hint at that.

Though the general quality on show here was poorer than recent games we’d seen, the players undoubtedly weren’t helped by the undulating and sticky pitch. Control was often heavy, passes inaccurate and shooting wayward, particularly the latter by the home side.

The first half was only notable for the early goals and my noting that Whitley’s no.4, Hodgson, looked like he would get sent off at some point. My theory was fairly flimsy but he had managed a few minor yet cynical fouls that he’d followed up with a cheeky smirk or wink at the linesman, as if playing some odd game of cat and mouse with authority. I am pretty sure the lino clocked this and I do wonder if he mentioned it to the ref at half time? What followed might suggest he did.

The Whitley fans were amusing, they indulged in some soft-southerner baiting, bigged themselves up like any good fans should and sung of nights out, ladies parts etc etc. In short, they were nice and balanced, as you’d hope, and their banter was on the humourous side.

Chertsey on the other hand ploughed a defensive, insecure and aggressive furrow all the way through. They had a ‘no one likes us’ song like Millwall, although why anyone isn’t supposed to like them wasn’t apparent until after they’d been singing about this and flat caps for 20 minutes. They came out with so many northern (and some not even remotely northern, or accurate) stereotypes we lost count – flat cap, ‘we pay your benefits’, ‘dirty northern bastards’, something about the council not knowing they were down here or something … and many, many more, repeatedly. Banter is all part of football and the blowing of trumpets in the Whitley keeper’s ear when he was taking goal kicks was highly amusing. But, after 20 minutes or so of the same crass, inaccurate and tedious stereotypes being trotted out, it was not banter, it was constant and aggressive badgering.

The lack of warming ale might have been a factor and my decision to drive, thinking it would be both quicker and a nice drive in our now repaired English sports car, was just folly. I was wrong on all points. The beer, the fayre, the temperature, the lack of football’s cognescenti, they all accentuated the fan-watching aspect of the afternoon.

Could someone please tell me why Chertsey fans have such a chip on their shoulder? Do they have a beef with Whitley that wasn’t obvious? Was it just that due to a Sunday game, Chelsea Village were missing their idiots?

The second half of the game itself was equally as close as the first, in general. Early on came the decisive moment. Hodgson, got entangled and arms flailed. He found himself having his name taken. He didn’t appear to have done anything but, possibly thanks to his previous, he was deemed the guilty party. This may or may not have been the case but a few minutes later his little first-half smiles and winks seemed to come back to haunt him again when, after apparently being bundled over for a clear penalty, the ref told him to get up, reached for his pocket, booked him again and told him to leave the field. Harsh

I hate to say I told you so but I told you so. It was distinctly unfair on Whitley but if you dance with the devil etc etc. For the remainder of the half it was still pretty even but honours should go to Whitley for managing about a half hour with a disadvantage and not really being troubled.

There were a few good saves by both keepers in the dying embers of normal time and again towards the death of extra time but for large periods of the first half of extra time Whitley were the better side. For the neutral, however, there were large chunks of this game where nothing happened.

So, what’s the conclusion then? I reckon I just saw the wrong game at the wrong time with the wrong accomplice. Not enough footy chat, not enough entertainment, slightly tedious crowd and the game affected by a poor reffing decision. And maybe all of this just made me a bit unreasonable and abit tetchy.

Full Time: Chertsey Town 1 Whitley Bay 1 TheRealFACupVase 0

Off to QPR v Ipswich tonight to either achieve the partisan feeling so lacking on Saturday or to try to be as objective again and see how rubbish the fayre actually is when watching my own team. Either way, sorry to Chertsey, although I suspect they’re brag of having super loyal fans will be sorely tested at Hollheads on Saturday for the replay. Attendance here: 617.

Over the last two season’s we’ve been searching for the romance of the FA Cup, we’ve been crossing fingers almost every game that the smaller team might spring a surprise. There’s been few. But a part of the cup’s rich history is, every now and again, the little side being given a big fat bloody nose by a bigger boy. And, today, we were feeling cantankerous.

We’d probably upset a few younger Fulham fans by suggesting they are not that much bigger than Swindon but, aside from spending more seasons in the top flight, Fulham haven’t actually won anything. Swindon, however, have, the League Cup but, despite never winning it, Fulham do have a good FA Cup record; once losing finalists and five-time losing semi finalists.

Today we should really be following Swindon but, initially at least, we fancied Goliath giving David a fat lip for a change, sorry Swindon. It is strange, given their slightly bonkers and outspoken owner, that Fulham are less frequently in the news for laughable decisions, sackings, dodgy finances these days than most other Premier League teams. They play nice football and their manager is a gent who few dislike. If any Premier League club deserves the support of therealfacup, Fulham are a candidate. We know it’s a bit wrong, a bit ITV, but every rule should have an exception.

Outside the Crabtree Arms, the only pub within 10 mins walk of the throwback that is Craven Cottage, we see a Police van. Normal for a football Saturday but at odds with the well heeled clientele present. We failed to make a dent on the 8-deep bar so after half an hour of looking for another pub we gave up, collected our tickets and entered the ground.

Unlike the games at Wigan, ‘Boro and Villa, it was really quite busy at the Cottage and, despite the usual ground prices, the beer was alright and the atmosphere convivial among therealfacupsters present. An optimistic post Christmas hubbub pervaded in the freezing winter sun.

We took our seats, shafts of sunlight streamed through the gaps at each end of the Riverside Stand, one illuminating the line of white and red shirts of the teams as they emerged from the Cottage. For the first time we noticed that Swindon actually filled their end. Turned out they’d brought only a couple of hundred fewer than their average home gate this season. So, literally, everyone was there.

Swindon are 6th in League 1, a position that seemed unlikely after their 5-0 humping by Gillingham on the opening day, a result noted both with glee and annoyance by therealfacupsters present Gills fan. The reason? Norwich 1 Colchester 7 kept them off the top of the table. Fulham you all know about so we won’t go down that road.

Fulham fielded a strong XI, the only real absences due to injury. Johnson returned from his own injury problems to partner Zamora in attack, Schwarzer was in goal, Hangeland was missing but Hughes, Smalling, Kelly and Konchesky weren’t. Greening and Dempsey also started. For Swindon, we didn’t really know anyone. A look in the programme highlighted a few ‘known’ players like former Preston net-minder Dave Lucas, spotted by the Blackpool fan among us, and midfielder Hasney Aljofree, by all. I recalled Ipswich and Forest being linked with a Swindon player last week but I couldn’t remember who it was. Turned out to be Charlie Austin who didn’t play as he was cup-tied.

Fulham started as you’d expect and had the early chances with Zamora going close. Swindon played on the break, starting cautiously but bursting at speed when the chance arose. Immediately Swindon’s Daniel Ward and Simon Ferry caught the eye with their movement, pace and link up play.

The game was fairly bland and even after the first ten minutes of Fulham possession, Ferry blasted high over the bar a couple of times and Fulham strung together a lovely move down either flank with Riise and Konchesky not quite able to find Zamora or Johnson with the final ball. Fulham then upped the tempo again and Zamora clipped over the keeper to make it one nil after holding off two aggresive defencive challenges. He could have gone down but stayed upright and got his reward. 1-0 Fulham.

The half essentially ended there, there were no more goals, but Swindon gave as well as they received. A side issue for the realfacupsters was mobile-phone watching for score updates as Ipswich (me) and Blackpool (Andy) were playing each other at the other end of the country. 0-1 Ipswich, woohoo!

Zamora had an airshot after a corner, which amused the whole crowd but I was surprised at the level of affection and songs for Bobby given his recent outburst at the fans getting on his back. As the half closed Greening, Dempsey and Riise were getting sloppy, inviting unnecessary pressure. Ferry blasted over again before Greening delivered the most exquisite of corners from which Zamora should have done better than head over.

From the quaint cottage to the prefabricated ‘box’ seats at the side of the stands via the cattle shed bogs, Craven Cottage never ceases to amuse and warm the cockles. A million commentators have noted that in the past but it really is a nice place to watch football. OK, the atmosphere isn’t always the best but when the noise is there the two opposing old school banks produce a symmetrical and pleasing arena that produces chant tennis.

By the time the remaining suds of the half time beer were drained our stance on hoping for a thrashing had dwindled. Swindon had not been subdued and we’d reverted to type and hoped for an upset. For the first 20 minutes of the second half Swindon attacked Fulham with a quality that belied their status but unfortunately the end product illustrated it. I say that but Fulham’s finishing was no better. The period was punctuated with Johnson being brought down for a penalty and sloppily presenting Lucas with a fairly easy save. That should have been game over and the natives were definitely getting restless, “get into them fuck them up” became increasingly regular.

By 75 mins our now big hope that Swindon would come back into the game was starting to look unlikely. They were knackered, passes were going astray, touches were heavy and the clever runs dwindled. After a rising Johnson drive Swindon came up with “You’ll never play for England”, the retort was “You’ll never get promoted”, all classic fayre.

The stewards and police came out to form a barrier in front of the away fans with 10 minutes left. It seemed a bit early and almost immediately they dispersed to a loud and chirpy chorus of “You don’t know what you’re doing” from the travelling Robins.

The final act of a nervous last few minutes was the not unfamiliar “Premier League, you’re having a laugh”. With the opposition spent and two leagues lower down the pyramid, you would have thought a Premier League fan would have laughed off the chant, patted the underling on it head and chucked off into the night. Oh no. The following just goes to show a) the ludicrous tension you can feel as a football fan in an important game, b) how easily tempers can fray in the cauldron of emotion that is a football match and, c) the FA Cup 3rd round DOES still actually mean something to even big sides.

Frothing at the mouth, a fan behind us decided that the song was a sleight too far from the upstarts so he stood up and bellowed “Yeah, we are Premier League, top 10, who are you, you’re shit. What’s next? ‘You’re just a small club in Chelsea’” Bizarre but indicative of the power that football has over us. Even odder as he had spent half the game telling Dempsey who rubbish he was.

With the warmth that seasonal overindulgence gives wearing thin, we ambled off in search of pint at the Crabtree feeling that Swindon deserved at least a draw. Blackpool 1-2 Ipswich, woohoo! 2010 realfacup gets off to a poor start, seeing a Premier League win and we had brought it on ourselves. Perhaps. With Notts County v Forest Green falling victim to the weather on Sunday we think we may have seen the last of this season’s premier cup competition. With only Brighton, Brentford and probably Gillingham left of the small clubs, it looks like we may be FA Trophy and Vase bound. The journey is just about over until August. Now very cold.

You would have thought with seven goals to keep us occupied this game would have been a cracker. Some very good goals were scored, well, the executions were good but the defending left a little to be desired and the general play was somewhat bitty and more even than the scoreline suggests.

However, before all that we had a task. It was 6:30pm ish and we had about 70 minutes to visit the famous four pubs of Brentford, one at each corner of the ground. First up, the South West corner. The Griffin. All four realfacupsters were present and the first post-work beer slipped down effortlessly. Nice boozer, very tidy, more of a locals chill pub than a football boozer. Well kept booze too, in fact the nicest Pride I’ve had in a while.

A mere ten minutes later and on our way to pub two some charity chuggers asked for our pennies. The fella chugger said the lady chugger would kiss for a quid. We declined. Next pub, the Princess Royal, was less salubrious and devoid of tables and chairs but replete with more hardy locals (replica shirted), vibrating floor (no idea why), cockle basket man (excellent) and toilet man, urinal-side with trousers and pants round ankles (not a good look). The chuggers entered but no kisses were offered in here.

Third pub was the New Inn, another nice pub but somewhere between the Griffin and Princess Royal in style, had a big screen or two dotted around but was a cosy old pub. We flicked through a heavily thumbed copy of Frank McAvennie’s autobiography on the dresser (yes, the dresser) as we all made the unwise choice of Directors. Bit much for a swift pint but swift it was.

It was now pushing 7:40 so we cheated with a half in the Royal Oak, which was probably wise given the dreadful beer choice and the lurking rozzers. Grotty boozer

We got in just as the match was kicking off. In the first few minutes, Gateshead settled well and forced two corners, one after a Daryl Clare shot that was tipped away unconvincingly by the Bees ‘keeper Lewis Price. For the first half an hour, very little goal action came at either end but the visitors looked fractionally more likely to break the deadlock. The best moments of the game so far, however, were a beautifully timed tackle in the box from Gateshead’s Craig Baxter and a superb block from Williams.

The natives were getting very restless by this point and some audible rumblings and shouts were emanating from Brentford’s three sparsely occupied stands. Whether this served to ignite Brentford or not it’s difficult to say ut they did start to have more of the possession. On 42 minutes they then took the lead, somewhat fortuitously, when a spot of pinball in the box saw Ben Strevens force the ball over the line at the back stick.

Brentford are not having a great season thus far but the hand gestures and fury that was directed at the Gateshead fans when Brentford broke the deadlock, was somewhat odd and uinnecessary. What went on in the first game to spark that? It was only a small section of Brentford fans but why they couldn’t just celebrate going in front is beyond us.

Three minutes later and the game was effectively over. A long but very accurate ball out of Brentford’s defence found Cleveland Taylor wide on the right. Taylor stood up the kind of cross that screams ‘HEAD ME’ and Charlie MacDonald duly did. 2-0. It was tough not just on the Gateshead team generally but primarily Paul Farman in the Heed’s goal, who had marshalled and cajoled his team mates through an otherwise very satisfactory 45 minutes

Half time saw the landmark introduction of Bovril to the season. This means that winter is officially here. This was good, indeed significantly better than the high price low content meat products that several of us sampled.

The teams came back out, the Brentford players sprinted over to the touchline in front of the away fans and proceded to warm up by doing frantic shuttle runs up and down a line painted stand-side of the pitch. What the fuck? We were a bit bemused by this, it smacked of intimidation or cod-psychology but just ended up looking very camp. If it was intended to generate some response from the away fans it did, hysterical laughter. Why not do it down the side in front of the Brentford fans, surely it would gee them up more

After a disallowed Brentford strike, a long ball over the top caught out the Bees backline and Graeme Armstrong had enough pace to get to it and keep the defenders at bay. He arrowed the ball past Price and Gateshead were back in it. Our collective half time thoughts that the next goal would change the game had possibly come to pass.

This proved wrong. Marcus bean sliced through the Gateshead midfield and slipped a pass through the defence to MacDonald who slipped the ball past Farman. Game over this time, surely.

Even after the goal Brentford didn’t look convincing at the back or with the more defensive duties of the midfield. Gateshead had a fair amount of possession without creating too many chances but when Brentford broke they broke with pace and with unerring accuracy. By 75 minutes Brentford were, deceptively, 5-1 up and Gateshead were looking at a hiding.

Armstrong scored a second, identical to his first, with 10 minutes left but it was too little too late and Brentford played out the remainder of the game looking dangerous every time they went forward. 5-2.

On the night, stewards outnumbered away fans, not that there was a particular dearth of away fans, just a glut of stewards. The most amusing steward had the difficult task of monitoring the shut and empty half of the bottom tier of the away stand. He kept casting admiring and provocative glances to the occupied half, as if willing someone to breach the barrier and enter his domain. At least he smiled.

To the absent, the scoreline suggested a fantastic game. It was OK but Brentford shone mainly on the break and mostly when the pressure was off. The visitors lived with and even bettered their League 1 opposition for the first 40 minutes or so but then two quick goals before half time effectively ended the tie. Brentford’s confidence boosted, they upped their game and looked a more assured outfit but they were really just picking off a team pushing up to get a goal back. Gateshead were solid until goal 1, played some decent football but, ultimately, were two leagues lower than the Bees and the end product illustrated that. A side nearer the top of Blue Square Premier may well have given Brentford more of game.

More obvious though was the atmosphere and the clear aura that we were now in the big leagues. The league crowd were more tribal, the stewarding over-zealous and the second half warm up was just crass and classless. I can only assume Andy Scott is a disciple of the Adie Boothroyd school of management, in which case, his current standing in the up-and-coming manager pecking order may be fairly short lived.

There were signs of life lower down and the serious attempts here to aspire to a higher league were belied by the half time chalk-board draw and sparse terraces. The FA Cup is heading towards the upper echelons so it will soon by time to go back in our nice warm lower league hutch.

Only the third least offensive match this round, according to voters in our poll for Round One ‘Proper’ of the FA Cup. In aesthetic terms, however, this should have been the winner. Weeping willows, dreaming spires, the smack of leather on willow and the wake of a million oars on the Cam.

First port of call, a functional footy pub on a main road, we could have been in any provincial town. Paulton Rovers 0 Norwich City 3 when we left. Second port, after crossing the wrong bridge, the Green Dragon, a fine establishment. Busy too. A riverside venue, ducks, boats, tourists … and a more ‘English’ pre-match setting you’d struggle to find, it would only have been more English if we’d been off to watch cricket or whichever blue hue is popular on the river in this part of Oxbridge.

“We’re not going to win the FA Cup but it’s a chance to make some money and give the fans and the players the feel-good factor, and we’ll be doing our best to get into the second round” said Cambridge manager Martin Ling. Ilkeston aren’t going to win it either and we’re not sure what manager Kevin Wilson thinks about it. However, his week was interrupted by the sad death of his father. As an Ipswich fan, who remembers Kev fondly, my heart and condolences go out to him. FA Cup or not, reality cuts through, it’s just a game.

It’s just a game but it is still a game and that game needed to be played and both sets of fans were up for it. Ilkeston fans were thin on the ground, surprisingly, we thought, but their drummer was highly active and had his top off in the East Anglian sunshine.

It’s just a game but, for the first time this season, our photography was compromised. “No photos during the game” said the steward. “Eh?” we replied. “Only pre-match, half time and after the game”, he qualified. Is this a legacy of a recent league side? Are these the simple restrictions fans can expect from now on in? The spectre of IP rights looms. We kind of thought this might happen but IT IS JUST CAMBRIDGE, this is not the Emirates, and it’s not as if we’re making money out of this. Thankfully, an anonymous, kindly dark lord of photography was present and provided us with a few match shots. The luck!

Cambridge Utd 1 Ilkeston 0

Sloppy goal. A few shots came in and were blocked, the ball broke loose and alleged Norwich target Chris Holroyd (below, right) was by far the quickest to react and tucked the ball home. As far as the tie, as a contest, was concerned this was probably the worst start possible. The Blue Square North side then had to come out and seek a goal.

Ilkeston huffed and puffed, they got forward a bit but, in truth, Sam Duncum (below, left) on the left was the only player at the races. He looked a quality player, quick feet, good control and a decent cross on him but his team mates couldn’t find the spaces that his threat created.

A Cambridge fan was escorted out of the ground by the police, for some reason. He went peacefully so we weren’t sure if he had to move his car or something. The half was fairly even in general terms but Cambridge looked in first gear whereas Ilkeston couldn’t overcome the one league deficit they were carrying into the game.

Cambridge graced the R Costings Abbey with some good football at times. Jai Reason fell in the box when well placed, Courtney Pitt beat several men but failed to get a shot in. Holroyd was brought down theatrically but perhaps not as badly as his nasty and awkward-looking landing suggested. Potter in the Cambridge goal was not troubled.

Cambridge have been in free fall since the 90s when they briefly graced the Championship, in fact they were a few games shy of challenging for the play offs to the Premier League at one point. The team and the fans have been in decline ever since. We noticed that, in the Abbey stand we were in, the average age of fan was probably pushing 40-50. There were younger fans in the North stand but Cambridge’s decline seems to have attracted few new fans and the future of the club has to be in limbo if they don’t climb out of this league quite soon.

The only other notable moment of the first half was a U’s clearance that hit the front of the stand we were in. A significant amount of rust cascaded down in front of us. The locals chuckled, we looked up wondering if the structure would last the game.

HT Cambridge Utd 1 Ilkeston 0

The old skool skyscraper floodlights were on, a very pleasing classic football sight that left a warm glow. Cambridge didn’t start the half well and Ilkeston had a short spell that had us pondering previous realfacup games where a 1-0 lead and dominance has so quickly turned into undeserved equaliser. Ilkeston had their first meaningful shot, after 53 minutes,which served as a warning and two minutes later another. no4 arrowed a shot that seemed to float not dip and grazed the top of the crossbar with Potter stranded.

At around the same time the previously competent ref was “starting to enjoy himself”, as Simon pointed out. Reason got booked for a shoulder to shoulder challenge, Holroyd had a penalty appeal turned down for something very similar and the natives were getting restless. “The ref’s gone mad” I added. Both sets of fans voiced their displeasure.

Cambridge’s increasing nerves were settled on 65 when Reason picked the ball up 25 yards out, set himself and drove a ball past the keeper’s despairing left hand.

Cambridge Utd 2 Ilkeston 0

From there on in Cambridge relaxed and started playing as only sides in yellow (sorry amber) can play with the pressure off. Much pressure proceeded but Cambridge also let Ilkeston have more time on the ball and, as a consequence, we got some more glimpses of Duncum down the left.

Holroyd broke down the left with some nice close control, he cut inside but the ball was cleared. A few pings later and an Ilkeston defender handled the ball just outside the area. The Cambridge fans had been a little harsh on Courtney Pitt all game but he convinced Willmott and Reason to let him take a free kick 20 yards out and slightly to the left. He stepped up, casually, and curled the ball over the ‘keeper and into the corner (above, right). He was immediately substituted.

Cambridge Utd 3 Ilkeston 0

It was all Cambridge now and Holroyd missed the second worst sitter (left) of the season, skying a riser from 3 yards out. He was immediately substituted, as was his strike partner Crow, clearly with league games in mind.

Carden and Reason were solid and efficient in Cambridge’s midfield, Pitt and Holroyd looked dangerous and Crow had worked hard. As the game was winding down Gleeson made an urgent foray from right back and moved it on to Challinor. His exquisite ball across the box had looked to be heading for a well-placed Willmott but Marriott stretched to reach the ball and, fortunately, just managed to control it before stabbing past the unfortunate Lowson in Ilkeston’ goal (below, right).

Cambridge Utd 4 Ilkeston Town 0

In injury time the Ilkeston fans remaining picked up their banners and flags and started singing with increased, defiant fervour. It was a good show from both sets of fans and a decent game aesthetised (is that a word) by some very well taken goals.

Onwards. Round 2.

Approaching The New Den from Bermondsey station is not the best way to travel to a football stadium.

The streets that snake their way through the myriad estates and industry around the ground are lit by an array of progressively less illuminating lights, lending a sense of foreboding to the crisp night air in this South London suburb. Expecting to be able to “follow the crowds” by the time I got to within a mile or so of Millwall’s lair, I was surprised and not a little unnerved by the emptiness of the streets that I found myself on. It wasn’t really until I began to work my way through the literally pitch black underpasses beneath the railway lines that surround the ground that, fortunately, some other similarly hardy, overdressed souls joined me on my lonely trudge to the FA Cup First Round match that had been rescheduled to the Monday night for the viewing pleasure of the TV hordes, huddled up in their warm lounges ready to see if the new version of the Crazy Gang of old could claim a League One scalp and increase their profile yet further.

I took up my place in the unreserved and yet reserved (I had to sit – well, stand – in a particular block but it could be anywhere in that block) area of the Lower Tier with the AFC Wimbledon fans behind the goal at the North end of this identikit ground, wondering whether my decision to witness the game with the away fans when visiting a club with one of the more, err, ‘well-known’ reputations for violence was a good one.

It is hard to rid oneself of the automatic notion that “Millwall fans are thugs” for some reason, despite having met one at the Ashford/Hendon game a few weeks ago who could only realistically be described as “a top bloke” but there is a very real sense of intimidation from some modern-day Millwall fans who do the club no favours at all when it comes to their efforts to rid themselves of the unfortunate mantle of “The Hooligan Club”. A large section of their supporters in the upper tier gather near the North end in order to engage in banter and taunt the visiting fans, adopting the age old “come on then” pose whilst singing their far-too-often-sung song about how indifferent they are to their level of popularity.

The Blue Square Premier side brought more than 3000 fans who did their team proud, singing throughout most of the game, despite their somewhat limited repertoire of songs and they must have regarded themselves as slightly unlucky not go in at half time a goal in front after Danny Kedwell saw his shot from a square ball just pass the left hand post in what ended up being the only real chance of the opening 45 minutes. It wasn’t that it was a poor game- far from it – it was entertaining without producing any clear-cut chances on goal and the Wombles of Wimbledon more than held their own until the break.

The half time interval saw some vaguely amusing action at each end where two teams of small children took turns to run with the ball from the half-way line to try and beat their own keeper and score. Most succeeded, one or two spectacularly so, and the odd one employed the sort of celebration which can only have been learnt by watching football from a much higher level than this.

All AFC’s first half hard work was undone four minutes into the second half when Millwall took the lead through “The Legendary” (the stadium announcer’s words, not mine) Neil Harris who slammed home from close range when put through by Morison. The home fans claimed that their visiting counterparts “weren’t singing any more” which wasn’t quite the truth but the bubble had been slightly tarnished, if it hadn’t been burst. Yet.

Glancing around at the rows of empty seats around the stadium, the Dons fans sang “Your ground’s too big for you” – the Millwall supporters in the East Stand eventually came back with “Your ground’s in Milton Keynes” which was wittier than I’d expected, despite having taken some time to deliver.

James Pullen in the AFC goal had failed to impress us with his kicking in either of the 2 ties we’d seen him play in this season and he did nothing to change our minds this time. But his shot-stopping and reactions were second to none in the early stages after the opening goal, pulling off what would probably be termed the save of the season were it performed at Old Trafford or Stamford Bridge, acrobatically tipping Abdou’s effort over the bar after it took a very substantial deflection to force it almost into the top corner. He could do nothing about Millwall’s second though, scored by substitute Jason Price after a succession of four corners and a free kick pummelled Wimbledon into submission.

A corner won for Wimbledon by Lewis Taylor saw him urge the hordes of fans to get behind their team which, to be fair to them, they already were but everyone understood his point. Wimbledon just needed that little extra and a bit of luck and the tie could be thrown back into the balance. Barely a few more minutes passed and it was Taylor himself that gave the fans something to really shout about, slotting in neatly after being put through by Kedwell. The surrounding fans felt that something could happen now and the noise was cranked up accordingly.

Something did happen, but sadly for AFC it was a 3rd and then a 4th Millwall goal. As the Dons pushed forward in search of a precious equaliser, Millwall’s Danny Schofield scored one within 5 minutes and created another for Price at the end to put pay to any chance of an upset and send the Lions fans home happy. It was, frankly, much more than Millwall deserved. AFC were thrashed 4-1 on their own ground at this stage last season by Wycombe Wanderers but they looked quite comfortable at this level tonight until the latter stages when Millwall’s class and fitness really told and 4-1 this season was a little harsh.

The route that is enforced on the away fans out of the imaginatively titled The New Den to South Bermondsey station is nothing if not imposing. A long, dark alleyway of steel fencing topped with metal spikes, which culminates with a junction at which the home fans join from another angle, watched over by several members of the local constabulary was not my idea of a comfortable way to leave the ground.

Several extremely drunk Millwall fans bellowing out the “Millwall Roar” as they shuffled up the station ramp reminded me that the FA Cup has almost left the friendly non-league clubs behind, replacing them with large police presences, segregation and bitterness between rival fans. I returned home cold and exhausted and wondering why clubs at the level of Millwall can’t provide the same level of comfort, friendliness and safety as the clubs from the non league without resorting to police and steel fences. AFC Wimbledon’s number one aim is to make it to the promised land of The League but there’s a part of me that thinks that they’d be better off where they are for a few more years.

Thanks to our little chat with Ashy earlier in the week and the few League two sides dumped out of the cup on Saturday, we were rather looking forward to this. The pre-match atmosphere around the Stones relatively new home did nothing to quell this. The locals were excited and we met a few Rotherham fans, erring on caution with predictions given recent form but reasonably confident of avoiding the proverbial banana skin

Partly thanks to averageness of height and partly because of the decision not to get a seated ticket we struggled to get a meaningful view of much of the early action. It’s obviously difficult to cater for 1600+ fans with a ground set up for a 1000 less than that and with little banked standing room. That said, the officiousness of the presumably non-regular stewards who had been drafted into the match perhaps didn’t help. On with the cliches.

The cameraman was on the roof and he got an early touch of the ball from a Wealdstone clearance. One could lazily depict the opening exchanges with analogy to the Haye/Valuev fight, both the big man and the smaller but potent challenger swapping some tentative jabs. A promising underdog move snuffed out with a clearance from a weak shot after a nifty backheel on the Wealdstone left.

The lino was getting some light hearted banter thanks to some questionable offside calls and a slight resemblance to Ashley off of that Eastenders. Wealdstone enjoyed some good spells of pressure, they showed no signs of being overawed and no signs of being out of their depth. Rotherham had a few corners but they were dealt with well and Wealdstone had a questionable penalty turned down. The partisan crowd were convinced but we didn’t see enough of it to tell.

Inevitably in such situations the League side broke the deadlock with some outrageous fortune. Thomas in the Wealdstone goal tried to clear a backpass, got his angles slightly wrong and hit the advancing Le Fondre, off whom it returned past the unfortunate ‘keeper and into the goal. We thought it was an arse goal and shocking bad luck for the home side. An undeserved lead for the away side.

Wealdstone 0 Rotherham 1

The Wealdstone lads did not let their heads drop and they passed the ball around as neatly as their more illustrious opponents, if not more so on occasion. They had a shot blocked and some through balls didn’t quite find their target. They did ride their luck too, surviving a penalty box free kick given, we think, for Thomas collecting a back pass.

Rotherham had probably only created 3 or 4 half chances, the next one however was a rasping drive from Ellison that Thomas could not get anywhere near. 2-0 Rotherham and it was a bit harsh on the Ryman Premier side. An error and a class finish was all that separated the teams at the interval.

HT Wealdstone 0 Rotherham 2

It was ruddy cold but the sun had come out. Pies – sold out. Burgers – sold out. Chips. Hotdogs. Nice chips. Some people moved at half time and we managed to settle down to the second half with a view.

The Stones came out with some purpose, which was good because they had some work to do and they had showed they were capable of causing the Lge 2 promotion challengers some problems. Undaunted, the sparring continued but there was more urgency about both sides, particularly the home side. The game ebbed and flowed.

Wealdstone attacked with purpose and from a ball across the box, Ryan Ashe unleashed a volley that Old Man Warrington in the Rotherham goal had no chance with. Warrington had been getting a few comments about his age, he did look old, although the programme suggested otherwise.

Wealdstone 1 Rotherham 2

Wealdstone were having some good moments and seemed to have unsettled the Rotherham defence since half time. E’Beyer shot just past the post. Was that the chance? There was still pressure so maybe not.

Rotherham finally broke out and a rash challenge brought them respite in the home side’s half. A free kick was floated into the box and Broughton flicked a deft header past Thomas. That was surely it.

Wealdstone 1 Rotherham 3

Wealdstone had other ideas. They piled on the pressure and the home fans drove them on. There were a few half chances and some tension in the Rotherham defence but they just couldn’t find a way through and were running out of time. After a bit of pin ball the ball fell to Ashe on the right of the box, he turned inside leaving the defender behind and floated a ball over the keeper into the corner. Another cracking goal from our favourite Wealdstone player.

Wealdstone 2 Rotherham 3

Was the equaliser on? We moved right up the end the Stones were attacking, the refs assistant had apparently signalled 4 mins and it was looking unlikely. Rotherham may well have been three leagues above but they had to fight for this. In the last couple of minutes a shot went narrowly past the post and Stones had a corner or two that caused some ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ among the nervous home fans but the ball just wouldn’t go in. A valiant effort but not quite enough.

FT Wealdstone 2 Rotherham 3

Rotherham were a bit fortunate and the Wealdstone fans had played their part in attempting to overcome the odds. It was an impressive performance from the Ryman side but wasn’t quite enough this time. Nevertheless, Gordon Bartlett’s tactics were good and his team did him proud. It was perhaps enough to put 10-20% on Wealdstone’s next home gate though. A lot of the fans we passed talked a good game, as if they were regulars but there were more than 4 times the last home gate there so some of them were fibbing. A lot sounded as though they’d be back. One can hope that Wealdstone do get those extra fans, the team certainly deserve it with their good football.

Final word. The ref. Well done. Barely noticed him. Thanks to Andy Taylor for the photos.

An FA Cup journey began at a Wetherspoons in a positive manner.
4 pints for a fiver is not to be sniffed at.
A slightly simple looking Rotherham fan chatted.
Initial fears of violence were soon dispelled.
A quiet suburban Ruislip afternoon was destroyed by a car alarm and a host of chanting.
On the walk, a turning missed and a kick off missed.
On arrival the ground was a shed.
The ticket overpriced.
The view terrible.
The toilets warm.
A walk of 3 sides of the ground yielded a small hole at a fence to see ¾ of a pitch.
The first goal was missed behind a head and possibly due to a lack of attention.
The spectator was thinking – what’s all the fuss about this FA cup lark.
The 2nd goal a goodun. Some bald guy tonked it in past the afro-ed peach keeper.
The onion bag bulged.
On half time the crowd moved
A view was gained
An average day became far better in the 2nd half.
A small hillock was found.
The Grassy Knoll of Football.
A quality underdog goal.
Some breakaway league team luck.
A solid spirited fight back from the local builders and token postman.
Another quality goal. 3-2…
More chances.
A spectator was happy.
A Romance? Not sure – but certainly a start.
Come on you Stones!