Until a fortnight ago, Dulwich had scored in every one of their home league games this season.

Until Saturday, Dulwich had not been beaten at home in the league.

In an effort to increase the quality of the photographs available on this website and to try and avoid too many entries on Crap Photos of Non-League, my other half bought me a better camera for Christmas. In all the years of doing this blog, I’m yet to get a passable photo of a goal actually happening so my hopes were high as I trundled along to Champion Hill to see them take on fellow high-fliers Bognor in a top-of-the-table Super Saturday clash earlier this month. The game finished 0-0.

It was the first time Dulwich had played out a 0-0 draw at home for around 3 years so you’ll forgive me for feeling at least a little responsible.

I’m not a man of superstition though (I am) so there’s no way they’d fail to score two games in a row, especially when faced with mid-table mediocrity in the form of Godalming Town.

2.45pm. That was the time at which I left my house to get to the game. I love non league football.

Initial signs were good – Dulwich were playing their usual brand of free-flowing, passing football and chances were coming at nice, neat, regular intervals. New camera at the ready, it was surely only a matter of time? The Godalming goalkeeper had other ideas though. None shall pass.

At half time, I devoured Bovril. I love Bovril. I also moved to the other end of the ground and decided to take up a position in the stands for a bit of elevation on the shot of the eventual goal for the home side. Dulwich had other ideas.

Midway through the second half, Godalming broke away and scored. I missed it. I was at the other end.

Dulwich had no other ideas. They’d tried everything. Oh, there was huffing. There was even a bit of puffing. But houses were not in the mood for being blown down. And they lost. 0-1.

It can’t be me, can it? It can’t be.

I’ll be back.

Brighton & Hove Albion 1 – 1 Wrexham

Yeah

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump (x4)

Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3-4
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2
Check, baby, check, baby, 1

It’s called rump shaker, the piece is like sweeter than candy
I’m feelin’ manly and you say it’s comin’ in handy
Slidin’ my claws from New York down by N. Virginia
Ticklin’ you around Delaware before I enter
Total seduction, from face, hips, to feet
A wiggle and jiggle can make the night complete
Now since you got the body of the year, come and get the award
Here’s a hint, it’s like a long chop sword
Flip town, so let me see you shake it up like dice
The way you shake your rump is turnin’ mighty men to mice
But A+ got a surprise that’s a back breaker
Now let me see you shake your rump like a rump shaker

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump (x4)

Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3-4
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2
Check, baby, check, baby, 1

It’s Teddy, ready with the 1-2 checker
Wreckx-N-Effect is in effect, but I’m the wrecker
Off the track, ’bout the honey shakin’ rumps and they backs in
Booties of the cuties steady shakin’ but relaxin’
The action is packed than a jam like the kinds of beat
Bound to get you up, cold flowin’ like a faucet
Not meant to make you sit, Not meant to make you jump
But Jet make the hotties in the parties shake your rump
I like the way you comb your hair, uh
I like the stylish clothes you wear, uh
It’s just the little things you do, uh
That makes me wanna get with you, uh

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump (x4)

Shake it, shake it, shake it, now shake it
She could spend every birthday butt naked
Body and soul, makin’ me wanna squish her
More just in the game a rumper like a sub-woofer
Shake it to the left, shake it to the right
I don’t mind stickin’ it to her every single night
Come on pass the poom-poom, send it to papa
Shake it, baby, shake it, baby, shake it, don’t stoppa
Let me see you do the booty hock, and now I’ll make the booty stock
Now drop and do the booty rock
The way you’re shakin’ your grill’s really kill
It’s makin’ broth’ ills up a whole lot of pills
But I ain’t into trickin’ just to treatin’
And I ain’t into treatin’ every trick that I’m meetin’
No, no, no, no, no, no, no
Yeah, shake it, baby, shake it down, shake it like that

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump (x4)

Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3-4
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-1 (x2)

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump (x4)

Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3-4
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2-3
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-2
Check, baby, check, baby, 1-1 (x2)

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump
All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump

All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom
All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom
Just shake your rump
All I wanna do is zoom-zoom-zoom-zoom and a boom-boom
Just shake your rump

Break it down
Just shake your rump
WNE is in effect
Peace
And we out

Or, if you don’t like Wreckx n Effect’s “Rump Shaker”, you could read about the actual game on theballisround!  Wrexham were, in fact, EXCELLENT value for the draw. Well done chaps.

So, Notts County are now definitely, officially, the English Anglo Italian Cup Winners Cup Winners!

Last time we went to Sutton was in the second qualifying round. One of us was suffering very badly from ‘lunching’ very heartily the previous day. As a result, our match report was … errr … compact and bijou, Peter. This time, no such problem. Fresh juice was supped, salad was  eaten, oxygen tents were used. And then we went and spoiled it all by drinking something stupid like a porter. Or two. The pre-match lunch of nutty 6% food in the fabulous Hope was, perhaps, a foolhardy choice of solids. As a result, who knows what will follow?

We picked up our tickets from the club and bumped into realfacup stalwart, Agent Gerard, Sutton United’s club secretary who secretly wishes he worked for us, not Sutton United, and one day he might when the whole of the world’s media bow at our feet and realise what they actually need is rambling half-memories of games featuring some, lots, little or no actual discussion of the game [yawn - ed].

There were queues, we dodged them, a rare excursion round the tradesman’s entrance, up the back stairs and down through the main stand. We were ushered into a darkened room. Behind a velvet curtain lay a glass cabinet. In the glass cabinet was a relic. It was imbued with the dull warmth that only a biege car coat can give. A coat of few colours, a coat that had itself been imbued with some of the finest cup shocks known to man. Here lay John Motson’s crib sheet from 1989. Yes, here were his pre-match scribblings from Sutton United 2 Coventry City 1, the biggest Cupset of the last 30 years, or more. Fresh from this brief brush with greatness we were emboldened. As the crowd hove into view this most familiar of grounds, to us, was transformed from one usually well-garnished with fans to one heartily fed but not bloated with people. There was a hubbub too. If all games were like this, the footballing world would be a much better place.

Where we stood on the Curva Sud as the game started, it was oddly subdued. There was some distant noise coming from the usual yellow hardcore but, among the general bluster of a fuller ground, it seemed slightly lost. Though it may have been the aural perspective on the exposed terrace, in the second half down the other side it sounded much louder. There were, apparently, some Notts County fans in.

Here it starts to go a little fuzzy. Mr Porter really started to take its toll and, ultimately, led to an uncharacteristic expletive-riddled outburst straight down aerials and onto our Twitter feed. Tsk, norty boys. Sutton were arguably the better side in the opening half an hour. Sure, there was some last ditch defending but it was, largely, not the Blue Square South side who were having to do it. Sodje was proving an immovable object though and, against the run of play, typically, fresh from being accused of further misdemeanours, Lee Hughes’ predatory instincts were forensically sharp.

Oh, no, you see, what we did there was to pretend not to know it was Jeff Hughes just so we could get some hot news in!  Though, in fairness to people who are hair-blind, it would have been difficult to tell the difference as Jeff turned in a very swift cross-cum shot, to which he had only a fraction of a second to react.

The previously reliable Sodje hauled down the busy Watkins and Griffiths put the penalty too close the keeper. Not the best pen but not the worst. Had Nelson gone the other way, it would certainly have gone in. It wasn’t Sutton’s day. “No more dreaming about tomorrow, forget the loneliness and sorrow.” [heh – ed]

At this point, there was a tape-loading error and I must rewind the tape, adjust the sound levels and try again …

Errr, what happened next … ?  *rubs eyes* *thinks hard* Half time.

What we really needed was a spot of supper. Go out of the ground, you say? Get into the bar round the back? OK. Here we found a new bar we’d never been to before, THE MAIN ROOM! And it had a supper of Tribute! (It may not have been Tribute but it was something of that ilk, something good, a filling food substitute that would make us feel better). And there were some men setting up a variety of noisy looking instruments on the stage. Ooooh! At non-league clubs you often get tribute bands, beveragely apt here. It’s always just one band though. By Jovi! Jeff Leppard. Faux Fighters. The Southmartins. We want them all on one bill, man. Make it happen!

Sutton had dancing girls. They looked freezing. I can’t remember what they danced to. It wasn’t Chaka Demus and, indeed, Pliers, which was number one when Notts County beat Sutton in 1994 and it wasn’t the aforementioned Kylie & Jason, number one when Sutton beat Coventry in 1989. More. Is. The. Pity. Especially for us.

The sureness of touch you get when a professional footballer is confident seeped through County’s players after the first goal and returned after the penalty miss and half time. Sutton prodded but never really looked like scoring. A few headers floated past the post but few close enough to cause any but a few Sutton fans to inhale sharply. Unfortunately, some of County’s players were going down a bit easily to kill time, they may even have had just cause at times but it was a little irksome after a while. Although our blind partisanship may be obscuring this a little.

But, enormous credit to the Magpie coloured team from the middle of England for avoiding the cliched bananaskin, they did enough, professionally enough, to hold out. When Murray got his second yellow and Sutton were down to  ten, Hughes poked in from close range for County’s second. Once again therealfacup were left scrabbling around on the floor for a mislaid piece of genuine cup shock. Underdogs will start turning us away from gates soon. So, if you run a big club and you’re playing a small club, guarantee yourself a place in the next round by sending us tickets. *Waves in Brighton & Hove Albion’s general direction – we’ll need about eight tickets*

Sutton were out and we retired to watch Pete Loaf. The Tribute ran out so we moved on to a pub, the name of which we can’t remember to meet with a few Sutton fans, led by Morph, sans Tony Hart and Chas but with the mysterious Amber Rambler. Commiseratory tea was taken. We missed the last train. We had a kebab. We had to get a taxi home. Thirty sheets! Thirty! Monday was very painful.

And Simon left his camera in the cab – photos to follow. [hic]

VCD Athletic 3-3 Tunbridge Wells

As I’m sure we’re all aware, the FA Vase is drawn regionally up until this round so this is the last game before they go national. In events elsewhere that rather ominous FA Vase munching machine, Whitley Bay, strolled into the 4th round with a 5-1 humping of another former winner Bridlington Town.

Both of those teams are in about the same position in different leagues at level 9 in the pyramid. Bay 5th in the Northern League, Bridlington 4th in the Northern Counties East League. Why am I babbling on about two Northern sides in a report about a Kent league Vase derby?

Well, aside from looking to emulate the previous winners, the Kent League duo are also at level 9 in the pyramid; like Brid, VCD are 4th while, like Bay, Tunbridge Wells are 5th. These two teams should have no fear about going far in this tournament and, on the evidence of this game, either side has the individuals to do it but, as a group, not sure either has the temperament to actually go all the way. We’ll see.

VCD were born of the old Vickers (V) works team in Crayford (C), on the Kent/South East London borders. The (D) stands for, seems to be Dartford.  A more anodyne little ‘burb you’d struggle to find. With its selection of bland, unappealing and uninviting pubs you could be forgiven for getting to Crayford and then immediately leaving. It would be foolish though, for the Oakwood sports ground is rather grand.

From opening turnstile you get a vista of  a sloping runway down to pitch level. We’ve noted the aspect on The Ball Is Round and Tales From The Pigeon Stands before and both of them seem to have visited on much more pleasant days. Those two venerable sites have documented the whys and wherefores of a trip to VCD so while you click the links (not now, later!) we’ll concentrate on the day.

Today was bitter, Bovril was taken prior to kick off, which is a first for this season. Next to the turnstiles is a little building that tea bar manager Maxine told us would soon be a club shop (excellent, non league club shops rule) and next to that is the VCD committee room. It takes it’s place above the pitch looking imperiously down upon the action below.

For the first 20 mins or so the dignitaries watched over some engaging play from both sides until a shambles in the tightest defence in the Kent League (just 8 goals conceded thus far) gifted Cornell the ball about 6 yards out and he tucked it past the keeper – VCD 0-1 Tunbridge Wells.

It wasn’t that long until VCD were level, the goal was deserved but controversial when it arrived. Seconds earlier the VCD no.9 Aiden Pursglove, a rather annoyingly waspish Paul Dickov of a striker, had held the ball up well at the corner flag but lost it thanks to an obvious twinge in his hamstring. He stood there rubbing it while the ball was cleared, except it wasn’t cleared very well and came right back towards him. The defence stood statuesque waiting for him to be whistled for offside, he wasn’t taking part in play and was still oohing and ahhing like Kajagoogoo (look it up, youngsters) while the lino steadfastly, and correctly to the letter of the convoluted law, failed to flag. The overlapping Wheeler was not offside and his pin-point cross was headed home by Scotter.

Letter of the law or not, twas a bit of a tricky call for the lino because, although Pursglove was clearly not active, the ball was just a few feet from him when crossed. The Wells defence didn’t play to the whistle but, on top of that, they outnumbered the forwards in the box by at least 3 to one so how they failed to get to the ball first is beyond me.

In mitigation, they may have been lulled into a false sense of security by a linesman’s error just a couple of minutes earlier. A ball was lobbed forward and Pursglove had nipped past the last man as the ball was played, only to be flagged offside when he received it. It wasn’t offside when the ball was played, I and the ten or so other people standing serendipitously parallel with the lino and the last line of defence quite clearly saw Pursglove was onside when the ball was played. Pursglove isn’t that fast, for a start, the lino was ball watching – and we’re usually so very pro linos.

What? What? Nooooo? You’re shittin’ me, it is! An ice cream van sailed past the chilly ground, full jingle blasting. I tweeted. Dangermousebot came to the rescue. I was distracted back to the game by a roar of “DON’T BE TOO PRETTY” from one of the benches. I assumed it was VCD as they had possession, although they may have been talking about Darryl Hannah [later].

Just a few minutes before half time and it was 2-1 to the home side, Pursglove turning his man, taking a touch and lashing into the roof of the net, his mysteriously healed hamstring not restricting him at all.

Half time, more Bovril. Brrrr.  For those who follow our tweets you may have noticed mention of chazzundave. Pre-match it appeared to be Chas & Dave Live, at half time my hands were too cold to care. I nearly spat out my hand-warming Bovril when I saw Darryl Hannah in the match programme looking like a terrible genetic experiment with a fish had gone horribly wrong. Hang on, no, not the mermaid thing, that Bride of Wildenstein thing.

Up to now the game had been pretty good without really kicking on and after just a few minutes of the second half it looked to have gone horribly wrong for Tunbridge as they shipped a third. But, with an hour gone, Tunbridge got one back and the game got all proper Cup match.

VCD had looked in control but the goal gave them the proverbial jitters and after a period of classic end to end shenanigans, xxxx pulled back a Wells forward who was through on goal and got his marching orders. Cue ten minutes of kitchen sink and Tunbridge equalised. I then spent the rest of the game wondering why Tunbridge hadn’t turned the screw and how VCD managed to compose themselves and get back in to the game.

What I’d failed to notice was a shove and second yellow for brace-scorer Cornell. Durrrr. My excuse was I was watching the Tunbridge fans. I was standing beside one of the goals and the Wells fans were mostly on the turnstile-side but there were half a dozen or so on the other side and they started singing “Tunbridge, give us a wave” to each other across the pitch.

Mission: Generate an atmosphere in a crowd of about 80. Mission Accomplished. Briefly.

My frozen fingers were praying for a winner but it failed to materialise. Extra time was 30 minutes of endeavour, more end to end action, chances for both sides, but, although both were trying to win it, they were tired, weren’t over committing so chances were of the half variety. A post may have been hit, some onion bag minder’s palms were warmed and some time was wasted, most notably by the home keeper who then wasted some more yapping to away fans when they called him on it.

Actually, an amusing afternoon and some good play. No idea who will win the replay, if I had to have a bet, probably Tunbridge now.

This is so late I can tell you the replay score was 2-0 to Wells.

I was determined to write lots about the Bath mascot tonight; Bladud the pig. That plan was well and truly scuppered by an awful decision which simply has to take primary place in any comment on this match.

Bath and Dagenham are both on shocking runs in their respective leagues and Bath were inevitably desperate for the feel good factor of a cup run, as well as the cash it generates. Bath are still part-time in a league where that is increasingly difficult. They are the sort of side that relies on the Supporters Club to pay for away travel for the team …

In that context, the valiant effort that got them a draw away to Dagenham last week was commendable and despite the wretched run of results they went into this game with real belief.  Twerton Park was buzzing in a manner it can’t often have done since the former squatters from Bristol moved out and a grand total of 1704 people turned out amidst the ESPN TV trucks and a full camera crew.  There were actually QUEUES at the turnstiles!

The match got underway at predictably breakneck pace but was remarkably clean for all the sides’ respective bluster.  Barely a couple of free kicks in the first 20 minutes or so by my reckoning.  Things were pretty even, despite the division gap between the sides and chances hard to come by until a cross from the right was met with a towering header by Dagenham’s Bryan Woodall.

My impression at the time was that if the City defender had concentrated on attacking the ball rather trying to lever his opponent away from it, he’d have had more success.  It was the type of goal that Bath have conceded incessantly this season and one might have expected heads to drop as a result.  The opposite was true.  For a team so used to losing, Bath continue to show remarkable resilience and spirit and did so again, getting some real momentum during the second half.

Lewis Hogg’s stinging volley straight at the keeper would have gone in were it a yard either side and a little later, some dogged work saw the ball roll loose in a tight crowd of players.  Alan Connolly stretched to reach it and shoot, slipping on his backside as he did so but somehow got the momentum of his fall through the ball and kept it down at the same time.  Its difficult enough to hit the ball that hard when standing properly, but it whizzed spectacularly the 25 yards it needed to reach the net.  Game on.

I expected the momentum to stay with Bath after that goal, but it wasn’t to be.  The Daggers put a good deal of pressure on, with a succession of corners, though clear chances remained few and, as time went on, things began to even out again.  By the whistle, it was the Daggers who looked pleased to reach extra time.

Now … I appreciate that referees are human, that they do their best and that endlessly whining about them ought to be the preserve of blinkered supporters who phone certain radio stations.  But what came next ruined the night and was inexcusable in my book.  The sense of bemusement in the ground was palpable when Daggers’ striker Nurse made it 2-1 from a position which was not just slightly offside, but a full 15 yards, if not more.

Nurse had been ambling back from an offside position, as strikers often do.  Play had moved on, and reached the other end of the pitch where a punted clearance from the Daggers defence was made.  Bath defender Jim Rollo stuck out a foot to try and block it, maybe mid way inside his own half, he made slight contact but the ball continued on its path through to Nurse who had never gotten closer than about 15 yards back towards the Bath defensive line.  Everyone stopped.  Even Nurse, until he sheepishly gathered the ball and trotted off to round the keeper.

The goal stood, seemingly on the basis that the ball had last come off a Bath player.  The point, of course, is that Nurse was a mile offside when the clearance was made in his direction.  At that point he was offside.  At that point the whistle should have blown.  The fact that a defender’s boots brushed the ball on the way through cannot restrospectively render the offside offence invalid.

In the past ten years or so, the offside rule has been gerrymandered, refined and complicated to the point where even something as absurd as this goal can probably be supported by one interpretation or another.  That mere fact demonstrates that something is wrong.

Football is a simple, yet fluid organic and complex game, and the rules have to be simple and clear to make it work.  If a referee misses something, or doesn’t see the tackle the way we do, its frustrating.  We might even use naughty words about him.  But when the incident is clear for all to see and the interpretation bizarre, everyone goes home feeling a bit sick and wondering why they bother supporting the team, if said team can be shafted not by misfortune but by something that just makes no sense.

If the referee’s approach was correct, then teams ought to start playing goal hangers to wait on the penalty spot for clearances.  Defenders further up the pitch then have the option of competing for the ball, risking getting a touch and playing the goal hanger in, or not competing for it at all and giving the opposition a free header.  Midfielders could develop the art of driving the ball at defenders shins in the hope of getting a deflection to their striker waiting 20 yards ahead, unmarked.  The goal hangers could also come from offside positions and try to nick the ball off defenders from behind, or compete for headers with them having arrived from the “blind side”.

Anyway.  Rant over.

City pressed hard, the introduction of (soon to retire) Scott ‘Solarium’ Murray brought some class to the wing play, and barrel-chested talisman Lee Phillips brought some urgency and aggression to the attack, but all to no avail.  Many might wonder why the pair didn’t start, albeit Murray (who is almost exactly the same age as I am- pushing 38) might struggle to last 120 minutes, and certainly had an impact against tired legs.

Last year, Bath would have won this game despite the crazy refereeing.  I have little doubt that the impact of two departed players (speedy brick-outhouse Kaid Mohammed, and excellent full back Sido Jombati – who has just secured an extended deal at Cheltenham) would have swung it.  Fine margins, and for a struggling part time club, huge rewards now lost.

Back to Bladud the Pig… (the game was largely ended by offside incident, and the third Daggers goal in the second half of extra time was pretty irrelevant).  Bladud is, of course, a bloke in a cheap non-league pig outfit.  However, he’s absolutely top flight in terms of energy and bang for the buck.  Having demanded one of my chips as I entered the ground, he proceeded to entertain us all with his crazy antics.  He never actually stops.  The game goes on, and he continues doing press ups on the touchline, doing high fives with kids and adults alike, and generally being irritating.  On this occasion, we had the pleasure of seeing him deliberately run in front of the TV cameras and force himself upon the Daggers substitutes’ training drill at half time.

If Bath ever found themselves 3 divisions higher, he would doubtless be in trouble and banned from in-game nonsense altogether.  Often he annoys me by getting in the way whilst I’m trying to watch, but isn’t it great to be at a ground where he can do it without sponsors or the premier league dictating protocol?  One day, Man City will find a way of imposing compulsory purchase transfers on players and mascots alike, and the likes of Bladud will get swept up for a pittance before mouldering in the City reserves until all their youthful exuberance drains away.  Until then: Up the pig!

I went home to bed, frustrated and saddened.  And then had to stay up until gone midnight trying to convince my terrified 3 year old that there was not a giant blue hoover (akin to the one in Teletubbies) hiding in his bedroom waiting to suck him up.

Better than watching Chelsea on the telly though.

Not many, is the answer.  There’s been a dearth of European non-league competitions for the very practical reasons of cost and, well, to put it bluntly, lack of public interest. There have been a few, though, and most of them involve England and Italy.  The first one of note was the Thomas Lipton Trophy, held in Turin, where West Auckland became the first ‘World Cup Winners’. Between then and the 1960s there were one offs and occasional mini-tournaments until the Coppa Ottorino Barassi, held between 1968-76 for semi-pro sides.

There was also the separate Anglo-Italian Semi-Pro Cup that ran for just two years 1975-6 but the one we’ve probably all heard of is the actual Anglo Italian Cup, which existed primarily, and latterly, for professional teams. But, for ten years in the middle, 1976-1986, the same trophy was competed for by amateur sides.  In truth, in both guises, it should have been called the Anglo Beaten By Italians Cup, the only English victories in the professional version were by Blackpool, Swindon, Newcastle and Notts County. In the amateur version it was worse, Italian teams dominated and there was only ever one English winner, indeed in the last four tournaments held the final was contested by two Italian sides.

For the first three years it wasn’t much different, Monza, Lecco and Udinese despatched Wimbledon and Bath City (twice) so when Sutton United, Barnet, Matlock Town and Nuneaton Borough took to the group stage in 1979, it was more in hope than anything.

The group stages were odd, a bit Europa League to be honest. All four English teams went over to Italy to play two games against two of the four Italian teams. Then it was back to the green and pleasant land for each club to play at home the two other Italian teams they hadn’t played. Then, whichever English teams had the most points played the similarly bestest Italian team in the final, at that Italian team’s home ground.

In 1979, the four Italian sides were Juniorcasale, Cremonese, Pisa and Chieti. Two Sutton fans went to Juniorcasale and Cremonese to see a 1-1 draw and 1-0 win respectively. Sutton fan and unofficial historian Mark Frake wasn’t, sadly, one of them. He was but 16, still at school playing the leading role of Al Capone in the school’s annual theatrical production – and the dress rehearsal meant he couldn’t travel to Italy.

But, thanks to the other three English teams losing all their games in Italy, Mark only needed Sutton to win one of the two home games toguarantee himself a trip to Italy for the final. 1700 Sutton fans turned up at Gander Green Lane to see them dispatch Pisa 1-0 to more or less nail the final place. Sutton lost the last group game 1-0 to Chieti but they were there – and their opponents in the final were … Chieti. Mark believes that was actually a stroke of [planned? - Ed] luck because, had they drawn or beaten Chieti, Pisa would have won the Italian half of the league and “were better and I don’t think we would have beaten them in the final”.

Chieti
The final was set for 25th April.  Mark and six friends had 11 days to sort out their trip to Abruzzo. Easy now, a 3hr flight to Bari or Pescara on Ryan’s Easy Air but back then … “It was the first time I’d gone anywhere on my own, without my parents”. “I had to take time off work to get a one year passport, the Post Office wasn’t open on Saturdays for passport applications back then”. With air travel restrictively priced even in 1979 Mark left the travel arrangements to Nigel and troubled himself with actually being allowed in the country.

The seven’s arduous travel plan “started on Monday 23rd April with a train trip to Folkestone”. From there it was “a ferry to Ostend” and a train on to Brussels. Then came the Sound Of Music section, “a train from Brussels to Milan through the Alps in April, there was still snow”. The springtime Alpine journey took the edge off the next arduous leg “from Milan to Rome, eight hours of standing on a packed train because it was Liberation Day” – La Festa della Liberazione, the 34th anniversary of liberation from Mussolini’s Social Republic. When the Englanders got to Rome they only had “fifteen minutes to get a ticket to Chieti and find the train” but make it they did.

Mark believes the main reason the team had got this far was a tactical masterstroke by the managerial team of (future Malmo manager) Keith Blunt and Barry Williams. Having paid attention to the Italian style of the time, the regular right back was moved into a defensive midfield holding/sweeper role and it worked. But, even so, when the English turned up in Chieti, the obvious conclusion of the locals was that Sutton United would be soundly beaten and sent back to blighty with their tails between their legs.

When the seven got to the ground, they couldn’t believe it, the backdrop of this particular non-league game was not to be the East End, Walthamstow Avenue or even the relatively gentle air of Champion Hill, but the lush green foothills of the Montagne del Morrone. And the joy of the heady surroundings was embellished by the officials. “It was as if they’d got the ref from the English non league, we got everything”. “They should have had a penalty inside two minutes, Dave Collyer brought one of their forwards down in the box”. It wasn’t given.

Bobby Southam and John Rains netted in the first half and the boys (and one girl) were going nuts in front of several hundred perplexed Italians. “In the first half it was all Sutton, In the second half it was all Chieti and the ref started giving them everything” [Game of two halves, nice – Ed]. But despite the pressure and a goal pulled back, Mark said he “never felt nervous until the last ten minutes”.

Sutton held out, decked proudly not in their own kit but that of the England team, a gift from the FA. The Alitalia sponsored Gigi Peronace trophy was liberated from Italian hands for the first time in the amateur era and smuggled [cough] back over the Alps. “From nowhere there was this massive excitement” said Mark, “it’s the best moment I’ve had as a Sutton supporter, even better than Coventry”. The seven fans celebrated with the team, they knew some of them, they drank in the same bars of course. “Welly Waite [one of Mark's mates] had a bottle of scotch and tipped it in the cup. [captain] John Rains thought it was champagne so started gulping it, haha, his face was a picture”.

“The Anglo Italian cup [win] gave a completely different atmosphere to the club” says Mark, “with that ’79 side people started talking about Sutton again”. “We should have won the Isthmian league before then but we finally won it in the mid 80s and the following year went up”. The club didn’t take the promotion with the first win, ground requirements at the next level would have meant a large expenditure so they held fire. “The fans were gutted” but with hindsight “slowly building was the right thing to do”. The club was promoted the following season.

Since then it’s been the usual football cycle of ups and downs for Sutton, currently on an upward trend with promotion last year and a superb start to the current season and Cup. Chieti had a taste too, as well as being an amateur side they spent a lot of time in Italy’s third tier before imploding. They went bust in 2006 and were reborn as ASD Chieti and have gained promotion back up to Lega Pro Seconda pulling in crowds of 1500. Last year they got to the play offs to get back to the third tier, “their natural level” says fan Fabio Bucciarelli, only to lose to Carrarese, owned by a certain Gianluigi Buffon.

Trieste & Modena
Before this domestic success, Sutton had two more seasons in the Anglo Italian cup. They got to the final both times. “The following year was in Trieste and this time we went by coach” says Mark. “It was a long journey, there was probably about 50 people on the coach and it was a great atmosphere”. They couldn’t afford the Venitian hotels so went out drinking and then slept on the coach ” sneaking into the bar of the players’ hotel to sort ourselves out in the morning”.

Mark didn’t have such a great time this year. “The game was windy and cold and I had a splitting headache, as much from the wind as the tension.” By all accounts the game was not a classic but it was live on Italian TV and went to penalties. “Micky Stephens had been superb all game” but the English curse had transcended the football pyramid and he was doomed to miss the crucial penalty. Sutton lost 5-4 on penalties to Triestina.

In 1982 Sutton got to the final again. This time it was held in the south, in and around Modena and it was a weekend tournament featuring the hosts, 1980 finalists Triestina, Sutton and 1981 finalists Poole Town. The Sutton fans had another epic train journey and stayed in Sorrento, one can only imagine whether the writers of Jossy’s Giants knew about this. This time they stayed in the same hotel as the players, on strict instructions to behave. Mark tells of an impromptu game in a nearby “dustbowl” where about twenty Sutton fans got together for match. While they were playing, “the Poole Town captain Bill Beaney wandered past and asked if he could join in”. “He had a game the next day!” Those Were The Days.

Playing in Campo Basso was a bit different to the salubrious environs of Venice and Chieti. They were met by machine gun toting Police guarding the next door prison and the locale was best described as “not the friendliest”. Poole lost to Modena and Sutton drew 0-0 with Triestina and then won 4-1 on penalties [IN YOUR FACE, HISTORY!!]. “Poole had no fans there so, when the 3rd place play off came round, because of Bill we became Poole fans for 90 minutes and went down to support them.” Poole lost 3-0 despite having former Fulham pro John Evanson in the ranks and, probably, with no thanks to Bill being knackered.

For the final, against Modena, the Sutton fans got an early ‘hello’ from the locals. “Someone chucked a fire cracker into the Sutton end and there was big bang. We thought we’d been shot. The players thought someone had been shot”. It sounds like the on-pitch welcome wasn’t much better, “they were typical of Italian teams of the time, pretty rough and diving”. Sutton lost 1-0, to a 5^th minute goal from Scarabelli, “but we had a few hours to kill before getting the train back and were in the same hotel as both Sutton and Poole players, so we all partied together”.

Sutton United went on to promotion, a draw against Middlesbrough in the FA Cup and that famous win over Coventry a year later, which remains the last time a non league side beat a top flight side. And they are still the only ever English amateur winners of the Anglo Italian Cup. Seeing your local team play in the ‘proper’ FA Cup is not unusual, seeing them play a big side is occasional but seeing them play in and win a European tournament is almost unheard of. Sutton did it. Of the seven on that trip, four still go to Gander Green Lane, three of them regularly. Mark’s whistful about the Cup now. Like I thought, when pondering what Sutton event or person to write about for this game preview, Mark said “Every year Ronnie Radford or Sutton get dragged out by the media”, he says. “But seeing your team winning in Europe is better”.

“I don’t think any of us will forget those four days in April 1979 for as long as we’re all still breathing. Magical”.

Sutton United .v. Notts County.
Sunday 4th December 5pm, tickets £13-£15 and concessions.

Thanks to Mark Frake for speaking to us, Gerard Mills from Sutton United for facilitating and Amber Rambler for supplying Chieti info from Fabio Bucciarelli.

Blyth Spartans 0 – 2 Gateshead
FA Cup 1st Round 2011/12

Bogie Team Heed Account For Blyth Again.

Gateshead cantered into the FA Cup Second Round at the expense of local rivals Blyth Spartans. A scoreline of 2-0 flattered the famous Cup giant killers as the Heed controlled the game almost completely from start to finish.

With Spartans hoping to draw on their famous Cup exploits of 1978, when they should have reached the Sixth Round and a tie against Arsenal to progress to the Semi-Final stage, their visitors turned in a professional performance that had the green and whites chasing shadows for much of the game.

With Phil Turnbull excelling in the Gateshead midfield, able assisted by Micky Cummins and Kris Gate, Heed dictated much of the tempo and but for a number of fine saves made by Blyth ‘keeper David Knight, could have won by a far greater margin.

When Blyth were defeated in the FA Trophy Quarter Final by Gateshead last season, it was a defensive error that allowed the Heed to open the scoring, and the hosts were again guilty of falling behind as a result of their own play.

Dangerman Jon Shaw helped himself to his 19^th goal of the season, this being his 20^th game, after 14 minutes where the only attacks came from the men in white. There seemed little danger when Shaw headed a long ball on that was collected on the edge of his own box by Dan Groves. With Shaw chasing man and ball, Groves inexplicably tried to dribble out and was dispossessed with ease by Shaw who rounded Knight and slotted the ball into the unguarded net from just inside the box.

Gateshead almost extended their lead soon after when Cummins rose highest to connect with a right wing corner, but Knight flung himself to his right to collect the header. Knight was again in action within another couple of minutes when he tipped Shaw’s right footed drive over the ball when at full-stretch and with the ball looking destined for the top corner.

With Gateshead’s defence rarely called into action, the chances came thick and fast for the Heed Army in the Plessey Road end of the ground, making up 1,014 of the 2,763 crowd.

Before the first half was out, Shaw went close with a volley that flew just over the bar before a header was again well saved by Knight. Yet for all the one way traffic, Blyth went in at the interval still in the tie after a “disappointing” period of football according to Spartans boss Steve Cuggy.

The home side started the second half with their best spell of the game and Jamie Mole, their recent attacking capture, went close only minutes after the restart when he latched on to a Richie Slaughter long ball and clipped the top of the net with a vicious right footed shot from a cute angle.

Unfortunately for Blyth, the spell didn’t last for long and Cummins doubled the lead after 54 minutes to kill off the last of the Northumbrian team’s hope.

When the ball was played in from the left side, Shaw collected the ball and instead of turning on goal, he unselfishly laid the ball off into the path of Cummins who was arriving unmarked on the edge of the box. There was no need for a first touch as the former Ireland Under-21s midfielder side footed the ball to Kinght’s right, smartly threading it through a crowded box before celebrating in front of the mass of celebrating Heed fans.

With Gateshead playing out the remainder of the match, almost as though it was a practise match, and allowing the Blyth players hardly any of the ball, their ‘keeper, Jak Alnwick, was forced to make his only save of the game with seconds remaining when a Glen Taylor shot was hit straight at him.

Sunday’s draw brought a home tie against Tamworth or Hinckley and a real chance of progression to the FA Cup Third Round for the Tynesiders, and a chance of being drawn against neighbours Newcastle United, a tie that manager Ian Bogie admits would be “a dream come true”.

For bottom of the table Blyth, attention turns to what could be a season long battle to avoid relegation down to the Northern Premier League; a battle that Cuggy is confident of winning.

Blyth Spartans: Knight, Slaughter, Cave (Forster 72), Phillips, Groves, Pearson, Mason (Offiong 66), Hooks, Armstrong (Taylor 77), Mole, Emms.  Subs (not used): Anzevui, Crook (gk), Purvis, Hunter.

Gateshead: Alnwick, Baxter (Henderson 80), Carruthers, Clark, Curtis, Brittain (Moore 69), Cummins (Nix 85), Turnbull, Gate, Fisher, Shaw. Subs (not used): Deasy, Rents, Mulligan, Gillies.

Referee: Daren Bond (Burscough)
Att: 2,763

Words From Croft Park: Andy Hudson. For more on Northern League, visit Andy’s world-wide-website Gannin’ Away – and for Swedish football at Blagul Fotboll.

Photos reproduced from the Gateshead FC website.

Brentford 1 – 0 Basingstoke Town

When it comes to the FA Cup or indeed most sporting contests, I, like many, often support the underdog. We’re always told it’s a British thing, we like to pick the poor sods that are expected to lose in the hope they will rise against the odds. It’s not always quite as simple as that though, there are a few other considerations, such as budget and on and off pitch attitude to consider (think Crawley last season) but in general I think you know what I am saying.

Unless your team aren’t the underdogs.

This can cause me a few problems as a Brentford supporter during the early FA Cup rounds. On most occasions I ignore it and I just hope to see the Bees through to the third round. Then it’s time to pray for that draw against a giant and our turn to be the little guy. I prefer one that’s beatable. Liverpool will do me this season thank you very much. Bollocks to going to Maine Road or Old Trafford for a tonking.

But it’s not always that simple.

Eleven years ago the Bees lined up against Kingstonian at Griffin Park. It was the period when Ron Noades was self-appointed manager of the team, which sounds even more ridiculous as I write this than it seemed at the time. Brentford were having a run of bad results and looked clueless on the pitch. The other thing was I lived in Kingston. Not only that but I popped down to the friendly Kingsmeadow when I couldn’t get to a Bees away fixture and thoroughly enjoyed it. I remember being very impressed with midfield play-maker Geoff Pitcher. I always thought he’d play at a higher level. Apart form a few games for Brighton, he didn’t.

So I’ll be honest I took the Bees 3-1 defeat and humiliation that day rather well, Noades resigned (as manager at least) and I decided to jump on my hometown team’s bandwagon. I enjoyed away trips to Southend (a 1-0 backs to the wall victory, with shots on target something like 1 to 20) and Bristol City (the league club grabbing a late, late equaliser) before the norm was resumed in the replay. There have been other times when I’ve quite enjoyed seeing a non-league team I know little about playing well at Griffin Park, although not to the point where I remember wanting them to win.

Basingstoke Town then. On the face of it I have no affinity with the town just down the M3 from me. But dig a little deeper into the football team and I have a few, if tenuous, connections. I live the other side of Kingston Bridge nowadays and my local team is Hampton and Richmond Borough, where I enjoy Saturday afternoons when the Bees aren’t calling me. Basingstoke feature two players who spent a few years on Hampton’s books.

Stuart Lake is a midfielder who ran and ran for the Hampton cause. He popped up in the opposition’s penalty area as much as he defended in his home half and he scored a very important goal on the last day of the 2006/7 season which helped drag the Beavers up into the Conference South. I know his dad too, well a little bit.

Shaun McAuley was more of an enigma at Hampton, a bit of a luxury player. Manager Alan Devonshire didn’t seem keen on starting him so he had to make do with mostly substitute appearances. But he offered something different from Devonshire’s effective but basic tactics, he’d find space, run with the ball and beat players, the sort of stuff I always imagined was frowned upon. He scored an important end of season goal too which looked like it would help push Hampton into the Conference. In the end it didn’t but that’s another story.

Then there’s Basingstoke keeper Ashley Bayes, anyone who supports Brentford and is my age or older will remember this goalkeeper with a cold sweat. I still have nightmares about a young Bayes dragging a crossed ball into his home net right in front of me. But he seemed like a nice guy and I always looked out for him after he left Griffin Park during his more successful stays around the lower and non-leagues.

I headed to Griffin Park on Saturday with some mixed feelings then. So far Uwe Rosler has done an okay job as Brentford manager so certainly I didn’t share the thoughts I had prior to the Kingstonian game or worse still during Terry Butcher’s horrendous but thankfully short-lived stay at Griffin Park. I went on strike immediately he was appointed, only crossing my personal picket line once. I am embarrassed in some respects to say I was happy to see Brentford humiliated just to see Butcher removed from the club as soon as possible.

Overall I think I was hoping for an exciting Brentford 3-2 win with messrs Lake and McAuley getting a goal each.

I am sure Basingstoke’s supporters had even higher hopes and of course they showed up at Griffin Park in impressive numbers, probably close to or exceeding their average home attendance. They started strongly, prepared to attack (or ‘hoof it’ as the bloke next to me preferred to describe it). But the first goal came from another excellent Sam Saunders free kick for Brentford. Some call Saunders the David Beckham of the lower leagues. There, I guess I’ve done it now as well.

From then on the pattern of the match seemed to be Basingstoke would work hard and push forward, while Brentford were prepared to bide their time. The danger of this of course is that the momentum starts to change and in truth Basingstoke started looking the most likely to score, especially into the second half. I was pleased to see Lake running ‘Stoke’s’ midfield and much of their attacking options coming from McAuley runs and passes linking midfield and attack.

Did I want to see a Basingstoke equaliser? Well no not really. Did I want to see Brentford score more and humiliate Basingstoke? No I didn’t. They were putting up a fight. I didn’t feel like I could really win with this one. By the end of the game it was only Basingstoke who were carving out chances, although they were more of the half variety. Lake came close with a long-range shot, substitute David Pratt had a strong shot stopped by Bees keeper Richard Lee and there was a scrambled goal-line clearance.

The single goal difference kept a level of interest until the end. I considered that an equaliser wouldn’t be the end of the world and Bees would likely win a replay. But then there was that chance they wouldn’t.

But the final whistle saved any Brentford blushes. No doubt Basingstoke’s supporters left disappointed. I left having not experienced any of the drama I enjoyed at cup games at Hanworth Villa this season. But to be honest I hadn’t really expected to.

I am sure there were plenty of fans that did get something out of the game. Bees fans who were delighted to cling on at the end or annoyed with their team not thrashing the non-leaguers. Basingstoke Town fans proud of their club and reliving the memories of how they almost brought a league club back to the Camrose.

On my way home I felt a bit neutral about the whole affair and wondered if my afternoon wouldn’t have been better served by heading down to Sutton v Kettering. Then I noticed various items of clothing hanging from a tree outside some flats close to West Middlesex hospital. Closer inspection identified the front garden area covered in many more items including a pair of football boots. On this afternoon of personal indecision and wavering, there was a story worth hearing about.

Words & Pictures: Matt Allard, a wandering Bee and (his own words) ‘very part time motocross journalist’.

Redbridge 0 – 0 Oxford City

There is very little to say about this game. Throughout, it was eminently watchable, lots of endeavour, some hard fought challenges, some decent (long) balls but, bar a long range effort that hit the foot of the post (I missed), a missed sitter from Lee Steele and a last-minute disallowed Redbridge goal, there was little of genuine note to the game.

But it was the first time since the 80s I had been to a game with my dad. He is now a senior, a fact that the generous/cheeky young turnstile lady noticed even though he didn’t. “Half price!?”  Grrrrr.  With Dan and Nick also present, this was a restrained and alc-lite Real FA Cup afternoon out on a warm and dry then cold and misty afternoon in the Essex borders.

After a beer, a quick ‘hello’ and ‘good luck’ to Thursday’s interviewee, Motormen boss Terry Spillane, and a well observed minute’s silence through the lens of a Canon 450D, the game was underway to some hoopla and joie de vivre from the travelling support. In the opening 20-30 minutes it was all about City’s Darren Pond pulling strings. He was left to wander and got a lot of City’s moves going.

Throughout that period and indeed the game, Redbridge defended stoutly and tried to hit Ryan Murray with the aerial ball. More often than not he won whatever was thrown at him but his co-striker was never going the right way, nor close enough for the flick on, nor was Gardner able to find space in which to look for a pass. Essentially, Redbridge were well-prepared for what Oxford City had to throw at them but you wonder if Round 2 is a bridge too far for the Motormen. Hope not, they remain the lowest ranked team in the tournament.

After about 40 minutes Declan Benjamin let a shot go for City from about 35yards, the keeper lost it and it hit the foot of the post. I am told. I was in the toilet at this point. 0-0 At half time and for all Oxford’s possession (must have been 65%+) they didn’t look much like breaching the Redbridge wall.  Lee Steele replaced the ineffectual Basham on the hour and immediately blazed a shot wide.

Ten minutes or so later and Steele found himself in the best position of the match but tamely lobbed the ball into Rafis’ arms from about six yards. Should have buried it. At this point eyebrow’s started to raise, Oxford City were starting to look like they couldn’t score and wouldn’t score. The seasoned cup watchers around started to ponder the not uncommon outcome of a mugging, a late underdog goal against the run of play.

Sure enough, with the game well in to, if not past, the three added minutes, Redbridge swung in the last of their two corners, the ball wasn’t cleared and was headed through a crowd of players into the net. The ref blew and wheeled away to the centre spot but all but one of the crowd saw the linesman’s flag up. The goalkeeper may well have been baulked and Redbridge didn’t deserve to win but how we would have celebrated had that goal stood.

We may well have gone as mental as the ‘BBC Essex’ commentator sitting behind us, ‘commentating’ to himself throughout the game. His pitch shifted up through the octaves as the game went on and by the time he’d realised, about ten seconds after everyone else, that the goal wouldn’t stand, pretty much the only thing capable of hearing his shrieks were dogs.

Mr Radio Essex was fairly quiet in the first half and only occasionally could you hear his mumblings. But, once the second half was nearing it’s conclusion, it became clear that this was not BBC Essex’s finest. Indeed, a Tweet by Mark Segal from a Redbridge game four weeks previously started filtering back into my consciousness. He’d clearly witnessed the same guy and Radio Essex big wig Glenn Speller assured him they were not covering that game. BBC Essex’s Matt Barker provided the same assurance this week.

The game restarted and the final whistle went. 0-0, not a bad game but oddly bereft of incident except in the final minute. The away bench were disappointingly pragmatic and destructive, which may be why they couldn’t break down a dogged side. Had they looked for space and positivity, maybe they would have had more joy. As it was, it was all ‘get tight’, ‘pin him’ or ‘get in to them’, which was odd as they were clearly the better side.

Whether the 465 attending here will, in ten days time, be heading back up the mysterious motorway Mr Radio Essex reckoned lies between Redbridge and Oxford, we have no idea. Whoever does will see a tie decided, the victors visiting last year’s alleged non league FA Cup story, Crawley Town.