Tuesday, 2 May 2017

The Playoffs finally Payoff

We've been a bit tardy at Boro Walk Towers recently. One of us has been on a post Brexit trade scouting mission, the other has been having a break(down), having a shit cat. And of course one of us got locked in the ground for a night and had to recover from hyperthermia so had to catch up with the Kempston score from a hospital bed.

The result of which was a devastating writers and mental block and we couldn't remember a dicky bird of what happened in the Barton and Histon games. The less said about the Ashford game the better but it was a dead rubber that no one seemed that keen on playing in.

Beaconsfield got us so over excited about the possibility of burying all comers in the playoffs that we got so pissed we woke up in a square in Totland soaked in our own urine and with a possible STD. Proper itchy scrot.

Anyway, here we are. What we all knew was coming a mile off since Christmas, two final games to get us back where this team belongs after being robbed last season following a gargantuan effort to haul ourselves out of the relegation zone, only to be slapped in the face with the massive cock of relegation due to financial irregularities anyway.

Until the last knockings of the final game of the season, we still weren't positive who we'd get in the first game. If we were going to be given a choice, we'd have plumped for the Egg & Hamers as they had spent most of the season as perennial draw specialists but we had handed their arses back to them back in August. When it became apparent it would be the Sarnies we'd be having for breakfast, we were thanking our lucky stars it wasn't going to be a case of going Marlow-er than we already had done against the..... Marlowerers. We fancy ourselves against most teams but a 5 conceded none scored return from two defeats in the regular season didn't offer up huge encouragement.

A 1-1 draw away from home at the Egg, Ham and Chips Café on a freezing December night wasn't truly representative of our away form this calendar year (Royston aside) and we turned up at San Cheerio with more confidence than a Grand National winner being sent to stud with a massive swinging cock between it's hind legs.

We didn't start like we were to go on though, the Butties were determined to give it a good go and not be eaten out like an easy bridesmaid at the first sign of flirtation.

But with Curo and The Hoffen up top it was surely only a matter of time. And so it proved with two quick fire ball bag busters from the diminutive duo. Firstly, Curo lofted in a dink that was on a plate for Perry to gobble and he scissorkicked the munny funster right into the onion net.

That's....1,2,3.... bloody loads of goals for The Hoffen this term and he didn't even start the season. He's been learning from a solid gold flippin' legend in Curo this year and they've been keeping out 30 goal ball bag buster Pat "Mixu" Cox from the team. His time will come. The future is Pat and Perry. Going large.

Literally 120 seconds later, it was the other little maestro's turn. This time it was an assist from their centre back which makes it his tenth of the season. Probably. As Norris came barreling out of his goal their number five, or six, maybe four, decided it wasn't really fair that we'd not gone up automatically despite being about 17 points clear of 3rd and reached the ball before the ball bag guardian and knocked it straight into Curo's path. You wouldn't have given their tubby number 10 that kind of opportunity, let alone Jamie flippin' Cureton, and he didn't disappoint. 2-0 and we could see the arch of Wembley in our futures.

Well some of us could as they had tickets for Ed Sheeran on Monday.

With an unprecedented mid week attendance of 500 and something (What? The other one does the accuracy and stats) the queue at the bar was longer than.... the queue for the free burger and chips. Sorry. Ha ha. That's obviously not true. That's the only reason they'd turned up 😋.

Second half arrived and we were kicking at the PRE, which was fine as we were 2-0 up but it would have been better for our nerves if we'd been hitting the goal instead. But it was only a matter of time.

Things happened in that matter of time but I'm writing this the day after the Playoff Final (I won't spoil the ending) and we were celebrating/drowning our sorrows (delete as appropriate).

However, as soon as Reg took matters into his own hands, there was only one outcome. Showboating his way through the Eggers midfield he picked out Curo, who laid it square for The Hoffen who took one touch before leathering it through Norris's legs and in off his left bollock.

3-0 and we were home and hosed.

From then onwards it was all chicken gravy, an "Olay" here, an "Olay" there. Clintons surged into box from the left, as usual, spanked it into the six yarder, it was half cleared, then fully cleared but straight to Castrol who steadied himself before smashing it in off the right ball bag keeper-upper stick from oooooooh...45 yards. Probably.

4-0, and we may as well have just used the result from the beginning of the season. Although it wouldn't have been anywhere near as much fun.

News came in on the wires (Twitter) that Fart-on Rovers had only gone and bloody beaten Marlow. Huzzah and hurrah.

Instead of playing a team we'd been unable to score against let alone earn any points, we would meet the team we'd beaten by the same score Egham had just been despatched by at home, and only a few weeks ago taken to the cleaners 1-0 at their place.

So to May Day. Bank Holiday May Day Monday. At no point did anyone know what weather conditions we'd be playing in and if Michael Fish had told us it'd be sunny we wouldn't have believed him anyway. As it turned out, it was the typical English holiday weather, sunny spells mixed with rain showers, torrential downpours and general cold, grey overcast skies. God, I love this country.

The tension was palpable, not least as we weren't entirely sure the PRE could definitely withstand being full. 1,084 (see, I can do stats) lovely people turned up, probably for the free food as their benefits wouldn't be paid till Tuesday and the kids got in free, but let's gloss over that one and just be glad they fucking turned up at all.

To say it was nervy from the off would be an understatement. C from the Sunshine Band had been replaced with Kenny G, and Barton were knocking on our back door like the big guy in prison with only three fingers and a thumb on one hand and "love" and "hat" tattooed on his knuckles.

Fortunately, despite some recruitment since their 4-0 demolition in January, they still hadn't replaced their frankly useless No.9 who was as about as clinical as Gillian McKeith BEFORE she pretended to be a doctor, and stank of poo about as much as she did when she was and had her own TV program.

He scooped over the bar from about 7 yards from his only sighter at goal and generally just whined and moaned through out his 55 minutes on the pitch when their bench got the message and hooked him off.

Not that the rest of them weren't just as bad. It was delightful watching their captain show a great example to the stand full of kids, but then we suppose he hasn't had to worry about a crowd most of the season.

A particular highlight was in the closing moments when Tiny Dancer was sythed down and ended up leaving the pitch area on crutches, and he was having a good old bitch to The Salmon who appeared to find it quite amusing.

By this point it was all over as a contest.

Probably against the run of.... maybe not play, but possession, it stuck up top, Perry looked like he was about to do a carbon copy of his mazy solo run and goal against Beaconsfield last weekend but instead thread a sumptuous through ball for Curo to latch onto, out muscling their lanky git of a centre half, he buried into the netty thing between the white sticks that make the goal frame, almost removing their ball bag bouncer's right goolie.

The feared post half-time barrage of our goal never really materialised, and the only concern was whether their No.8 would make it to the end of the match with his voice intact.

It was obvious that we'd sit back and soak up the pressure and when you have Fogle in front of the back four and The Salmon and Mayfield in it, it was a forgone conclusion. Monumental displays from the three of them.

It was from one such Barton attack snuffed out so emphatically that promotion was all but secured. An old fashioned boot into the sky was headed down by their catpain and Castrol pounced first time to slide rule the ball into The Hoffen's path. The Boro Walk player of the year took it into his stride, approached their ball bag protector and slide the ball into the near post with his left peg. Que pandemonium and untold scenes.

There were other things that happened after that but we couldn't really give a flying fuck, and I'm pretty sure neither could you, dear reader.

The ref did his best to try and make it more interesting for himself, but it wasn't going to be about him this time and he can suck our collective balls. The best thing he did all game was blow his whistle after about 7 of the recommended 4 minutes injury time, and like Jon Anderson giving the signal for the Gladiators to begin beating the general public into submission on prime time Saturday evening TV, his gave notice for a pitch invasion and David Pleat dancing as far as the eye could see.

As the players began hugging everyone they could see in yellow and blue, The Salmon could be heard declaring as he embraced a pre pubescent child "Get me a fuckin' beer"!!! We'll let him off this time.

There was singing, dancing, Curo was held aloft by Mixu, and bemused faces from those who weren't completely sure what was going on and had only come to avoid doing any DIY and took the kids with them. There was even a conga. You had to be there. You probably were. Not sure why you'd be reading this otherwise. Although we have had some lovely comments by opposition teams and the their fans. Cheers for that.

Anyway. There we are. That's it for the season. Or is it?!?! No it isn't as we're going to do a season round up shortly.

You lucky bastards, you!!

There's only one thing left to say.



Tuesday, 4 April 2017

Ducks there for the roasting, make do with gentle plucking

.......... Help..... Help..... Someone let me out!! Kev?!? GARBO!!! I'M LOCKED IN!!

I'm writing this, shivering in the top left corner of the PRE. The last thing i can remember is Curo lobbing the ball over the advancing ballbag guardian for the Aylesbury Ducks, Cameltoe, and onto the roof of the net, only to be flagged offside anyway. It would appear i then slipped into a coma. I can't even blame it on the copious amounts of fried food from the F.A.S.T hut, i passed on the free burger and chips, saving myself for the wife's seafood platter, but here i am with 327 missed calls and my left arse cheek has gone to sleep.

If my recollection serves me, hopes were high going into the game, Hanwell given a right royal going over by a big Cox last time out, smashing it in three times, and Perry even had a quick stab at them too.

And low and beholden, within 120 seconds, The Hoffen had out muscled a defender three foot taller and 5 stone heavier than him, turned him like a weak willed Maggie Thatcher, and buried it at the near post. 1-0 Boro and it looked like the goal difference would get a boost of the like last seen being dunked into my half time cup of tea at Fleet Town.

Aylesbury United were primed and ready for an orange to be shoved up their arses.
They were ready to be shredded and served up with some cucumber and spring onion.

Alas, that was as exciting as it got. The delivery man came earlier than expected and frankly, it was a bit of a..... well..... lame............ I'll let you finish that one.

If anything, it could have been a completely different Duck Tale, as instead of Ayles-burying them, the United of Buckinghamshire rallied and took the game to Boro and had a couple of sights at goal, but their shooting was as accurate as a pissed up poacher and the defence was as tight as.........Scrooge.

Well, for about 15 minutes they did. I think. I found this really funny video of an Australian farmer talking to his sheep, and one was called Kevin, and he kept calling him a cunt ha ha ha.

Anyway, the long and short of it, or The Butcher and The Hoffen as we like to call them, weren't quite firing on all cylinders, so it was time for the arrival of the legend, the myth, the diminutive banger in of ballbag bulgers, Jamie "Curo, Curo" Cureton. Huzzah.

He replaced Mixu with about 20 minutes left. Ish. Maybe more, maybe less, to be honest I'd been trying to remove a large lump of chewing gum from my shoe, and the top of the seat in front of me just wasn't doing the job.

On the plus side, with El capitan, CJ "Pammy" Fearn on the sidelines with a knock, the defence held out with a plomb, Keith "Reggie" Emmerson back in his position of (the Boro Walk's) choice at left back was in his most imperious form for a while, generally used as the utility man, Reg the Ledge is at his best giving no quarter to the prick at right wing and going on one of his trademark barraging runs into the enemies half.

In truth, we had their​ ducks in a row, and we failed to finish them off, although in the last ten we had them on the ropes, tied round their flippers, and hung them out to dry for target practice. Unfortunately, the combo of little and little didn't quite put the finishing touches to the score, their Ho-Sin was the final ball.

End of the day, when all's said and done, when the whistle blows, we've won a game of footy, huzzah. Playoffs in the bag.

It's frickin freezing out here, Mini Me, but i should really stop talking to my penis. I'm going to go and see if anyone's left in the clubhouse and maybe even get a pint full of Farney's own brew.

Next up is a trip almost as far as the Watford Gap, i think, Bedford maybe, to play a rearranged Tuesday nighter at Kempston Rovers, where we might be able to talk about a whole game of football instead of falling unconscious.


Saturday, 1 April 2017

Home, Hosed & Hanwell taken Hat-tricks

So the next destination on the SLD1C sat nav was the picturesque surroundings of Burt Reynolds field. After trawling the cashpoints of Farnborough for any that were actually working (5th time lucky!!) we'd eventually pitch up to second base with minutes to spare thanks to the further joint thwarting efforts of the M's 3,25 & 40. The sun was out, we'd 4 away wins on the bounce, I had a new pair of pants on and Hanwell were averagely mid-table. If that's not a recipe for an away day bonanza, I don't know what is.
A soiree into the bar to quickly offload some urine and gain some refreshment took an interesting turn as frequenting their Victorian school house bar was none other then half man half horse 'Boro legend amongst men Chris "Disco Pants" Boothe. Wish we could see more 'Old boys' at the games, appeals to us more nostalgic soppy bollocks types. Quite how the hell he looks the same age, as us, even though he must have about 15 years on us... is more of a mystery then Mrs Browns Boys.
You didn't need telling that it was a Boro die-hards procession as the noise coming from behind one of the goals was the familiar ranting of mass PREportions. A quick tweet to announce our arrival and it was time for the opening pitch... which looked VERY dry, dusty and bobbly. Combined with the abrasive breeze, it had all the right parts for an absolute non-league barnstorming goal-fest.
Team news... following Gillette-gate last week and the subsequent ostracising of Eddie, the eagle had flown. With that in mind Spencer clearly wasn't taking any prisoners and it was a 3 pronged attack from the off.
Take the game to them and win it early was clearly the order of the Day. That said, nobody told any of the players this as we found ourselves generally struggling to get a foothold in the game for the first 20 mins. Lots of hoof ball, loose passes and the like didn't suggest this was going to be one for the footballing connoisseurs among us. We were just about shading the territory and possession when the Hanwellians gained a soft free kick (yes, another one!) about 35 yards from "René's" ballbag. Their player stepped up and swung in a pearl of a delivery, slicing the defence up like a battenburg, and ,managing to land the bounce in no mans land, left René between the proverbial rock and hard place. He opted to hold his dive anticipating a touch but, much like a shrivelled up group of appendages, none came and the ball sailed into the ball bag. Shit the bed. 0-1

We needed a reaction and, praise be to the God of David Leworthy, we didn't have to wait long. The reaction came quicker then "Clinton's" at a gang bang offering free pizza. We won a free kick about 25 yards out and "Fogle" flicked on 'accidental Beckham' yet again blasting one at the Mintmeister in the homer's ball bag. He could but palm it down as it's sheer wrath got the better of his subconscious and who else was there to pounce but Perry "The Hoffen" Coles. On the score sheet yet again, his delight only matched by the collective relief of the travelling Boro hordes. 1-1

If the game had been the opening hours of an elephant calf's life, we were moving to the bit where the junior dumbo had staggered to it's feet and realised it's surroundings were there to be explored, the beast was hungry. Boro were pressing like a rogue Corby sweatshop and had the Hanwellians on the ropes. Movement, passing and composure ensued as we wound up the coil and prepared to move to light speed. It was a sweeping move right through the heart of the defence which lead to the completion of project 'game-on-it's-head' a few minutes later. "The Hoffen" and "Butcher" laid on their Chuckle Brother skit (to me, to you) sending the centre backs into early retirement and a snapshot from the latter nestled almost evangelically into the corner. 

No Time to waste as, smelling blood, Boro shifted up another gear. "Castrol" was given more space and time then a Doctor Who convention and crafted an incisive pass, finding "Butcher" who unleashed one of his award winning bangers into the ball bag giving the Mintmeister no chance. From nowhere we were suddenly borderline home and away dry. 3-1
Apparently he was on fire.... lucky we've got "the Fire Engine" I guess.
Quality told, like a tale telling snitch. HT 3-1

A switch to the other end for the second half and it was clear that the sea breeze was increasing in it's ferocity. 

Into the second half and Hanwellawella had obviously been given a dressing down from their management as a few of them came out with fire in their eyes. Unfortunately for them there wasn't enough room in this game for 2 narratives on fire so, a few minutes after "Clintons" was booked for having his foot kicked, Boro earned a corner after some neat "Clintons"/"The Hoffen" interplay down the left.... "Castrol" meandered down and fired in his corner unload and the ball seemed to catch everyone out, bouncing up and a crafty "Butcher's" hook saw the striker complete his raid. 4-1
There was a lot of talk on social media about how he was some kind of Paul Mersonary figure for what happened with his departure from Fleet. We don't really understand what they meant, but if he's going to come in with that hunger and desire... we'll take it thank you very much. And to that wazuk who called him a "blunt instrument" on the message board this week... Get down to specsavers, there's a 2 for 1 deal on.

Soon after the completion of the trick of hats, "Butcher" was pulled off like a horny teenager and replaced by "GoalDen" and the hero obviously received a standing ovation from the travelling hordes.... principally because we were all standing anyway, but you know what I mean. As he found his place on the bench, the loving look from Spencer's eyes was a beautiful thing.... Now get that account opened at Cherrywood eh Patrick?!!!

"Castrol" was booked as the game fragmented. A couple of the home players seemed to not be happy at the pasting they were getting and resorted to some Neanderthal tactics. Understandably frustrated at the lack of opportunities that were coming their way. I won't bang on about the rest of the half too much. "The Hoffen" could well have had one or two, coming close like a blind gigolo delivering a facial. "Fogle" had another free kick effort which didn't trouble the Mintmeister. "The Salmon" and "Clintons" also having pops which were ultimately unsuccessful.

"Clintons" was withdrawn late on as frankly he'd put in enough of a shift dealing with their number 2's constant moaning. Number 2 very apt. 
"The Goat" came on and, in a moment that I thought really illustrated the developed togetherness of our current squadron, was chopped down by the now hot-headed number 10. At this point the collective disgust of the side turned them all into a load of over protective big brothers. Equally distributing themselves between checking on the lad, berating the ref and having it out with the chopper downerer. I don't know if anybody else noticed, but it warmed the cockles. Great work lads, great work.

There was still time for the same party to receive his second yellow for another silly tackle and he was given his marching orders. ("#RegTheLedge" was on by this point so probably could have given him some tips on said marching.) Shame really as I thought he was their standout player. 

"GoalDen" could have put the cherry on the top in stoppage time but sprayed his load over the cross stick. 

Oh, big shout out for stitched up Boro number 1 Aaron "the Slayer" Bufton who joined the singing behind the goal. There's nothing better then a Boro player showing his total and unrelenting efforts for the greater cause. We really hope to see him back between the sticks before long.

Anyways, 4-1... That's your lot. 5 away wins on the bounce!!! Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. The heat was on in the car even though it was 15 degrees outside &, more importantly, my new pants remained unsoiled. Epic afternoon.


Three squared deals a Day... Royston's spud-nick a point

Tuesday the 17th of January. The night when, for the majority of Boro's faithful masochists, we knew the title was more gone then your mum to Iceland. The freezing conditions, the thread bare side, the illnesses, the cold, the players stuck on trains, the traffic, the STD's, the second coming, the Spanish Armada, James Corden recreating the bloody truffle shuffle. It's well documented how everything went to pot that night at Garden Walk. Let's call a spade a spade, they shat on us from a height greater than Jim Wigmore on stilts that night. It's fair to say we fall into two categories as footy supporters. You're either the "I can't fucking wait to inflict our revenge on them" or the "Jesus Christ look how far ahead they are, we could get dicked all over again" type.
So with haunting memories and moderate hangovers, from a Friday night excessive 'throatal lubrication' session, it was into fortress Cherrywood for the rematch more gargantuan then Spencer's mansion. The champions elect versus the... well, something that rhymes with champions elect and is witty. I can't write all the bloody jokes.

The biggest quandary of the week had been the continuing saga of the Boro ball bag protector role. With the Slayer in stitches (not the kind brought on by reading one of our match reports) and our new youth/ressie lad having had his ankles done in like a Noughties gangster movie extra, the race was on for our Overlord to pull something off. He climaxed with the signing of Aylesbury United stopper-tunist Zaki Oualah. Baptism of fire for the lad.
Elsewhere Curtis "Mayfield" Osano returned from his stint in the Commitments, Jack "Mischa" Barton returned from his stint in Scrubs the musical and Dennis "the Fire Engine" Oli returned to a lit firework. Keith "#RegTheLedge" Emmerson, Jordan "GoalDen" Graham and Pat "Butcher" Cox returned to the wings, like a bunch of 70s Paul McCartney look-a-likes.
Call me a bitter ol' codger, but most of us were just relieved The Potato Peelers couldn't wrap up the title in our backyard. That would have been a harder pill to swallow then that time Bradley Pratt had tonsillitis and tried to neck a bottle of Viagra for a bet.

Into the action and it was Perry "the Hoffen" Coles who was the first to see things open up like a Boro wag's birthing Canal. Quick ball interplay from Scott "Castrol" Donnelly and Nic "Clintons" Ciardini opened up the Roystonionion deeefence, with a surprisingly limited amount of lubrication, but unfortunately "the Hoffen" fluffed his lines like a seasick pirate with a coke addiction and ballooned it out of the arena.
It would be quite a frantic opening flourish as the mighty yellow homers took the game to the visiting whitey Crow-bar-stards. More half chances then you can shake a stick at. Zaki "René" Oualah was happy to take his customary first soft handle of a sCrowtal headed attempt.
So with things looking reasonably positive it was obviously inevitable that the visitors would sculpt a gem of a move and end up slotting home into "René's" ballbag. 0-1. FML.

As Boro heads went south for the winter, the Crows got their tails up and started to play a bit. It should have been 2 a few minutes later as a fairly innocuous free kick was floated in from somewhere near the halfway line and Josh "the Salmon" Huggins rose like the proverbial but could only knock it into the path of an onrushing white shirted man who rather politely thrashed at the volley like a Donald Trump tantrum, sending it goalwards with the ferociousness of a paralysed hamster.
Into the 2nd half and "Fogle" Beckham was at it again, this time trying to inflict a ball shaped hole through the keepers sCrowtal region from 25 yards out.
A couple more soirees into the Boro box as Royston tried to press home their momentum, but Boro held more firm then a hooligan element fringe. Another lovely piece of movement from "the Hoffen" again set "Tiny Dancer" quickstepping down to the bisexual line and his cross was met by "the Fire Engine" giving it the full blue flashers... fortunately for the Crows though, the keeper was able to palm it out for a corner.

Next to have a crack was their behemoth Frater train defender trying his luck from a free kick. That guy was a fucking beast! "René" would have been pleased to see it drift wider then "Reggie's" hairline. Couple more half chances came and went for the visitors which we managed to see off with some plums.
Redemption wasn't far off as "the Hoffen" found some space to turn and look up, allowing him to find the galavanting unmarked procession of John "tiny dancer" Oyenuga foxtrotting down the wing who then slotted it into the path of the onrushing "Castrol" who fired the ball deep into the ball bag. Top notch stuff. 1-1

So game on and both sides looked more than capable of being next to strike another notch on their 'Goals for' column shaped bedposts. "René" getting two good hands on one that was sprayed right down his throat and then "Mischa" Barton ended a lively Boro move by firing a trickler in which barely made it into the 6 yard box.
With the massive clock ticking down into the last 5 mins of the half, we had a FK for which Sam "Fogle" Pearce went into customary 'Accidental Beckham' mode and sprayed his load into the top corner only to be denied by the ballbag protector's finger tips and the big white erection stick... luckily, for the vociferous Boro faithful, "Mayfield" was galloping in like an unwieldy ostrich and had free reign to dispatch his massive header into the unguarded ballbag. 2-1!

Roysters came back at Boro once again and another shot blazed narrowly over the angry bar. Nothing further to add... We were only bloody winning at HT.... 2-1
Good half of football that... top 2 sides in the league by a mile. Saying that, both defences looking about as watertight as New Orleans.

Heading towards the hour mark and Boro were caught out doing some weird dress rehearsal for their new Broadway offering "football players do musical statues". A couple of neat passes and a cross sat up to the back stick and suddenly we were all square again. 2-2

Subs came and went on both sides but the tempo maintained like a retired horticulturalist's front garden. As we moved into the last 20, the undoubted highlight of the afternoon was about to unfold as, following a corner and some head tennis, the ball fell into the path of "Castrol" who wafted a bizarre half volley up into the air in the direction of the keeper's head. The ball seemed to remain in the air for what felt like an eternity and, in bizarrely comical fashion, the ballbag protector had actually fallen asleep... thus allowing the ball to gently slide from his angled palms down into the grateful path of "the Hoffen" who dispatched with his usual majestic clinicality. Unfortunately, for the visiting number 1, he was woken by the euphoric merriment of the PRE. Red faced!  3-2
Boro's tails were now up and they were ploughing on looking for the killer blow. A nice segway down the left from "Clintons" and Pat "Butcher" opened the visiting defence up once again like a packet of pickled onion monster munch, making space for sub "GoalDen" to release a curler which veered agonisingly wide of the ballbag stick. "Butcher" then unleashed his smart price Maradona routine with a marauding run across the area only ruined by his final shot having the venom of a comatosed earthworm, which trickled into the thankful grasp of the keeper.
As the clock ticked down to the 90, the Boro bums squeak-o-meter was reaching 'Alan Ball after dinner speech at the national convention of helium inhalers' level.

Into injury time and a free kick, softer then a Mr Whippy convention at an erectile dysfunction clinic, was gift wrapped with a sodding bow on the top to the visitors by the pilchard in black. Everybody held their breath as it was wafted in with moderate speed and height at "René" who, mysteriously, suddenly lost the flight and trajectory of it, like a pissed up bird watcher with conjunctivitis. Ball nestles in the corner. Howler. FML. 3-3

We should have got over the line but, let's be fair, it really doesn't sodding matter as we're going to finish second either way. It was a good performance, with plenty of fight, against the best side this tinpot excellent league has to offer. We'll take losing the 2 points if it means clinging on to a narrow lead in the playoff semi or final.

So nearly a Murder of Crows... downgraded to SpencerDaylight fucking robbery.

Saturday, 18 March 2017

We've gone and found our way out... of the Wild-North-Wood

What were you doing 1 year ago? As a Boro fan you'd have been counting down the soul destroying days to our 16th straight month without an away win. Thankfully that 16 month mark was averted days later, at the Met Police, as borderline godlike displays from Aaron "The Slayer" Bufton & Dennis "the Fire Engine" Oli (if memory serves me correct) set the wheels in motion on our gloriously sumptuous late surge to escape the relegation zone.... resulting in us still being relegated.

Back to the future and it was another road trip, more mind numbing then Nic "Clintons" Ciardini's IQ, up to Northwood Park to see if March would yield yet more away maximums, following on from 'fill-yer-boots' Feb. 4 away wins on the trot?! Won't somebody please think of the children! The pain of the Kempston piss up fest cancellation still weighed heavy, but time's a healer. Deep breaths everyone. After nearly killing 2 old men outside of a nearby allotment, we were lucky to make it to the ground with 21 seconds to go, offer our so solid £8 and take our positions up against a fence.... of which there was plenty. Is there a greater feeling then venturing into the surroundings of a brand new non-league ground?! It's our craic.

On paper, we all knew this should be a walk in the park, ironic given the fact we didn't move from our chosen observation point once inside. The Woody's had visited the Fleetists last time out and were handed their arses on a plate by all the goals in 7. Obviously the argument could be made that their manager would be looking for some sort of a reaction to that result, always worth remembering they were only edged out by a single goal at the Royston Potato chips 2 weeks prior too, so they were more then capable of turning up. That said.... diplomacy isn't our forte. Nothing more then an away spanker would suffice

Team news and there were a couple of tweaks from the starting line up which took to the field in the Neighbours omnibus with Fleet 11 days prior. Perry "The Hoffen" Coles was in for "The Fire Engine" and theBoroWalk favourite Keith "Reggie" Emmerson returned to the brigade to run his utility prowess as centre back in place of the hooky Curtis "Mayfield" Osano.

Northwood kicked off and the Boro set off, at pace, to take the game to the homers. "Clintons" was looking hungry for a pie piece of the action and it was no surprise when the first opening fell to him, blocked well by one of the linebackers. If possession is 9/10's of the law, early signs suggested we were staying out of trouble today. All we needed was a goal....
Fresh from the customary misspelling of his name, on the teamsheet, John "Tiny Dancer" Oyenuga would quickstep his way down the line and win a corner. As we all passive aggressively crossed our fingers that we wouldn't waste it going short, that man "clintons" bent his delivery in with more bend then one of his patio chairs.... Cue havoc in the 6 yard box as the ball appeared to bounce, hit the cross-stick, then present itself like a cheap prostitute for someone to nod home. Step forward Josh "the Salmon" Huggins, obviously, to face plant home into the ballbag. 1-0

So now time to let the procession commence... a march towards a comfortable away win and boosting the goal difference, right? No... that would be far too simple. Chances weren't in short supply. Perry "the Hoffen" Coles striking the ballbag stick, around the half hour mark sticks in the mind. There was also another audacious half way line effort from Scott "Castrol" Donnelly which had the ballbag protector squirming like Sean Spicer.
We were comfortable, yet unable to strike the killer blow that the 2nd and 3rd goals would bring.
In true Boro style though, obviously we needed that jeopardy effect again to keep ourselves interested and it arrived in good time as the Woodys broke down the wing and a low cross saw "Tiny Dancer" and one of their strike-men go for contact. Ref called for the spotkick, don't really have an opinion as I sneezed so didn't really see if it was a just call or not. But fuck it... WHAT A DISGRACEFUL DECISION!!! Some prick stepped up and sent "The Slayer" more far right then Nigel Farage's moustache comb. 1-1

Boro continued to have the lion's share in the remainder of the pre-cuppa minutes. "Castrol" continued to illustrate that he'd left his shooting boots in the car as he first faffed a dribbler towards the keeper and then, following good work from "clintons", volleyed a ball into orbit as he adopted what can only be descriped as karate kid technique.

HT 1-1. It was clear to see that Boro had the superior technical ability, but it did have the feel of a performance that we were just struggling to slipstream into that top gear. We were more Chris Evans then Clarkson and co. No bother though... the HT team talk would iron that out.

We started the 2nd half fairly brightly, adopting a shoot on site approach from our first 2 attacks. From then though, the game kind of went all schadenfreude.
A free kick from the left hand side was floated in and the Boro defense made their entry for the Darwin awards. Some prick ghosted into the area and nodded home completely unmarked, as "the Slayer" and "Fogle" aired their first live performance of the 2 man show "Titanic hits iceberg". 1-2   A fairly lengthy delay would follow as it became clear "The Slayer" would have to come off. Step forward our substitute ballbag protector.... Oh fuck.... we havent got one. So for the 2nd time in 3 games it fell to an outfielder to take on the sweaty privilege of "going in". This time the epic game of rock,paper, scissors was won by CJ "Pammy" Fearns and the cap'n strolled fearlessly into the frying pan. Jack "Mischa" Barton came into the action for "the Slayer", who would head off to the local infirmary.
Meanwhile, "Fogle" was up and giving it the Monty Python "it's only a flesh wound, I can still bite you" routine. He only lasted a couple of minutes more as he was forced off. Infact it would be a double substitution as Eddie "Gillette" Smith and "the Fire Engine" would come into the action... Jordan "GoalDen" Graham the other retiree.

So there we were, 2-1 down... outfield player in goal, 4 strikers on... it had the feeling of going 1 of 2 ways. Luckily, the change in the Boro's purpose was more striking then Southern Rail. "Mischa" Barton won the ball in midfield and laid it off to "Clintons". Buoyed by the fact it wasn't him in goal again, he drove at the homers and carved an avenue to centre it to "the Hoffen" but the defender wasn't having any of it and sliced it deep into his ballbag protector's ballbag. 2-2!

With the wind in our sales it was all Boro now as a "Reggie" hail mary clearance was flicked on by Pat "Butcher" Cox, "Gillette" laid it off to "the Hoffen" who worked the defender over and sent him into early retirement. Sumptuous footwork allowed him to plant a low piledriver at the ballbag protector who could only flick his wrists at it and take an assist as "Gillette" was on hand to cut us mach into the lead. Absolute euphoria for the travelling hordes as we were deservedly leaders of the free world once again. 3-2!

"Butcher" and "the Hoffen" both had decent chances to put the game to bed, but we didn't have long to wait. A throughball cut the Woody's defence in half like a skewer through the kebab joint at Grandma Buggins. The "Butcher" would calmly round the keeper but, pushed wide, had the nouse to calmly slide it to "Gillette" who, in turn, would lay it in to the path of the on-rushing "Castrol" who cooly side stepped the defender and despatched his load into the ballbag. A thing of beauty. 4-2
There was even time for our glorious captain to make his customary ironic easy save, to top off a near perfect last 30 mins.

All over. 4-2

theBoroWalk motm :- "Clintons" probably just edged man of the match over "Castrol" for his unrelenting effort.

When the chips were down, the experienced heads took charge. Special 'word up', also, for "Mischa" Barton who played his cameo perfectly. He was winning balls like a kid at a funfair basketball stall, but then looking for the simple offload to his more creative peers... that's what he does, great to see.

If we can harness that determination and unity... we'll be more pro-motion then a Beyonce twerking video in slow-mo.

A blow to lose "the Slayer", we hope to see him back between the sticks as soon as is flippin' possible. "Fogle's" knee needs some TLC, give him a walkman with waterfalls on loop.

Next up? Only bloody Royston potato peelers.

Saturday, 11 March 2017

Preview - The Woods, their pad & the smugly

So the 'Boro playoff cavalcade hits the soul destroying M3/M25 corridor, once again, on a quest to carry on sculpting the statue of DAYvid that is our playoff momentum. With almost 2 months having passed since THAT Tuesday night siberian horror show at the Royston Potato peelers, we've somehow crafted a 100% trail of destruction away from the San Cherrio. The Uxbridgers, Arselays & Fleety turds all have been slammed down like an article 50 bill in the house of Lords.

Northwood FC is today's destination and the imaginatively named "Northwood Park" is another new ground for many of the hordes of the Boro faithful making the expedition. "The Woods" currently sit 17th in the table and, with only 1 win to date this year (P-field), have found themselves nervously looking over their shoulders as Histon and Aylesbury fight like pregnant Totland teenagers below them.

So what side can we expect to see today? If Tuesday night's 3-2 triumph in the speedily arranged 'friendly' against the King's Tonians is anything to go by, and we think it will be, then we'd expect Sam "Fogle" Pearce to continue his busman's holiday in midfield alongside the recently returned Scott "Castrol" Donnelly and new whippersnapper Jordan "GoalDen" Graham. CJ "Pammy" Fearns may well continue his recrudesce into the back four but, let's be honest, it all depends what side of the bed our almighty overlord gets out of. It has to be said that it's nice to have more options then a supermarket hot chocolate range, on our bench, for once.

Northwood appears to be most famous for Fearne Cotton and "Godfrey" from Dad's army having resided there. We'll stop by the museum and pick up a novelty pencil and rubber from the giftshop of course. Oh, large parts of 70's sitcom "The Good Life" were also filmed there. For younger readers, this was a sitcom based on an obstinate & pig headed bloke who gave up his busy commercial lifestyle to undergo a project to become entirely self sufficient, whilst trying to tolerate his judgemental neighbours. So yes, pretty much like life at Boro in recent years.

Northwood can take some solice in knowing they'll be the first team to have graced theBoroWalk review archives twice. That day Boro ran out nervy 2-1 winners. Who knows what the hell will happen today. Either way, we're in the playoffs, so let's just enjoy the ride... And the banter. Ohhhhh the banter.

theBoroWalk prediction : 4-1 'Boro

Thursday, 2 March 2017

A Fleeting visit to our friendly neighbours

So after the big pile of excrement that was the home spanking we received last Saturday (see our review in the previous post) we couldn't possibly stoop any Marlow-er as we took the short trip to our North East Hants neighbours, Fleet Town.

It was pretty knicky knacky noos at Calthorpe Park but the 4-3 reverse fixture was warming the cockles as we approached the ground, especially as recent signing Pat "Mixu" Cox was making a rapid return to his former stamping ground after starting for the first time in the 3-0 rodgering at the weekend. Hattrick hero Jamie "Curo" Cureton on that Bank Holiday Monday in August has gone, come back for a game, scored, and buggered off again in the meantime, and since then our esteemed leader SD has been trying to lure The Butcher down the road to San Cheerio with no luck, until the new man attempting to fill the massive shoes of Steve Cantle decided to suspend all pay and he hot footed it to the mighty yellows. All a bit contentious so we'll leave it there.

Caligula gave the big thumbs down to the first eleven and decided to obliterate the team and formation following the return of Scott "Castrol" Donnelly into the midfield "engine" room to give us a bit of "va va voom" and a real "drive" in the centre of the park. Bruum bruum.

In came Castrol for Gillette, meaning we'd only have two up top. Mischa made way for the third member of the triumvirate of new joiners, Jordan "GoalDen" Graham, and The Hoffen made way for The Fire Engine to partner Mixu. Tiny Dancer was drafted into left back as Reggie took a knock last time out and Pammy moved into centre half with Fogle taking his place in front of the back four.

Early signs were the changes were a God send and our full backs were pushing forward with menace, the midfield was as water tight as a mermaid's brazier and the forward line was keeping the ball up the slop.

Chances were a bit few and far between until "The Butcher" opened his account. And boy was it a popular scorer. There was always half a chance he'd be reserved as he nodded the opening goal in the 19th minute, but instead he went ape shit and ran into his adoring new fans. Clintons charged at the defence, cutting outside and laying it on a plate for someone to tap in but it avaded everyone. Fortunately, Castrol appeared on the right wing to knock in a wizard ball and Cox rose highest to head in. We'd taken a decent crowd the massive 5 miles down the Fleet Road and they made a bleedin din, completely drowning out the boo boys.

The tails were up, and we poured forwards time and time again, Tiny Dancer clearly benefiting from his rest and and recuperation from.... whatever the problem was, lead the charge. Driving down the wing, twisting and turning like a twisty turny thing, he could have created a hatful. As it happened when the second arrived it was from GoalDen's run at the Fleet back four and thunderous shot that hit a defender and turned into an up and under which was held up brilliantly by The Fire Engine, who laid the ball back for Fogle to swing in a beauty and Mixu rose like.... well... The Salmon, and planted a textbook header into the bottom corner. 2 fucking 0!

It was then that the foot was removed ever so slightly from the gas. Fleet started running at our defence and winning corners and freekicks and then we won a few goalkicks. Unfortunately it was from one of those corners that Fleet smashed a goal back into the onion bag. In the nicest possible way, as ever, some prick scored for them. There was just enough time before the half time whistle went for Clintons to force their bulging ball bag preventer to tip over a tasty dipper from left of the area.

Off we wandered round to the tea hut for an XXL brew straight from the pot. As brilliant a job the ladies and gents do in the FAST Food kitchen, they could learn something from the good people at Fleet.

The initial concern would be that we'd be facing a Fleet buoyed by the last gasp goal and come roaring out the traps like Lance Armstrong post injection. This didn't transpire immediately and it was end to end stuff.

If anything, we should have put ourselves out of sight. Firstly a goal mouth scramble saw their ball bag guardian pull off a worldy and the resultant melay was forced out for a corner. From the inswinger, The Salmon jumped really really high, and planted his header down and....somehow fucking wide.

Immediately, Fleet surged forward and a neat ball through saw their No.7 take round the Slayer but it took him to an acute angle and his effort hit the outside of the post and bounced in to Aaron's grateful arms.

Despite heading downhill in the second period the ball seemed stuck in our half and every clearance came straight back at us. Some tidy interplay from their midfield and wingers always came to nothing, as, unfortunately for them, they needed the prolific goalscorer they had last year to put the chances away. But we had him. And he'd already scored twice.

With bottoms squeakier than Orville with his bollocks in a vice, we crept over the line to three valuable points. A marked improvement on Saturday, but it couldn't have been worse.

Next is a trip to Kempston, whose early season form had seemed to have deserted them until last weeks win so their peckers will be up. We then travel again to Northwood for the third away game on the trot. Following that is the visit of not so much champions elect as nailed on got the trophy in their cabinet already Royston Potato Peelers.

If we're honest 7 points from these three would be a job well done.

Confidence restored, we go again.