Saturday, 19 August 2017
Friday, 18 August 2017
That said though, cometh the hour, cometh the WhatsApp notifications and out of the jaws of defeat came a plan. A plan so cunning you could stick a tail on it call it a 90's Norwich City winger. Thus it would come to pass that a combination of bribes, favours, lifts, spare socks, an ex-girlfriend's dad, a bbq pulled pork sausage roll and 3 asda bags for life would make the trip viable and mean that we were
The last week of pre season hadn't yielded too much in terms of positives. A narrow win at losechester, with Ipat Cox (ForALiving) sitting out on the overlords' "gentleman's agreement", wasn't very eventful. The trip to Molesey-u-next-tuesday turned into a massive flaming turd on the front lawn of our season as "Richlist" Forbes and "Mustard" Calcutt were cut down by a nasty little bellend of a trialist who we'll just call Max Molesey.
So as I sped into St.Neots train station, still catastrophically over the limit & looking to assemble a human leaning post for the afternoon's festivities, making it for kick off was still evens at best. That was in no way assisted by the small collective of half cut grannies, heading off to goodness knows where to do goodness knows what, who thought that the access road seemed to be the best place to congregate to talk about whatever the hell old women talk about pre getting on it. I'm guessing it was doilys, scone recipes & bloody foreigners. HOORAAH, there he is... "get in you prick, it's 10 to and I have a hankering for a Ginsters and a Yorkie. Hello Tesco Express."
Having nicked a late winner over Tesco Express (a), we descended on the picturesque surroundings of the Premier Plus Stadium car park and, still in division 1 central autopilot, were very pleased to find a tidy little ground! Welcome back step 3, we've missed you. Nice little stand, lush shrubberies, plenty of well varnished sheds, a slightly sinister camera galley floating above a concrete wall... something for everyone!
Quick check of the team news confirmed the fallout from the battle of the Molesey prick. As feared, both Richlist & Mustard hadn't even made the bench. Chris "Johnny" Regis sprinted into the lineup along with other newly confirmed arrival, ball bag stopper, Liam "Jagger" Stone relegating "ChilliCon" Cairney to the
Their goalie was called Emery so we played with some punnery around Dick Emery for a while and whether he'd be awful (ask your grandparents kids), until we noticed the ref was called Cheek. We pondered on whether he'd be an "arse" or a "turn-the-other".
A pretty frantic start as within seconds we were in their box and "Curo-ro-ro your boat" flicked a clever little toe poke down the stream which appeared to catch the defender on his sleeve holder. Pen? Seen them given, but the ref decided to turn the other.... oh, you know.
The hosts had their first meaningful soiree into the Boro box a couple of mins later as Clintons got maneuvered by their big no.7, he rounded Jagger only to find Clintons back on the line thwarting him with his notable girth.
Boro continued to show some cojones and forced a couple of corners. Notably "the Salmon" Huggins connecting with his first headed sighter of the campaign. "Tiny Dancer" Oyenuga took up where he left off last season, terrorising defences like a Jamaican backyard pyromaniac. It was one of his foxtrots to the bisexual line which resulted in the first glorious ceremonial bulging of the ballbag. His cross arrowed it's way in across the box and, spying his name up in lights, the Easter Bunyan took aim as he saw glory beckon. Then, in a show of unrelenting selflessness, he spotted Clintons surging into prime location and skillfully dummied* the ball into the path of the on rushing legend who coiled up his right peg and unleashed a curler of sickening clinicality. (*thanks for the tenner Matt, definitely not an air-shot-shanker). 1-0 Boro
That was sort of it in terms of meaningful Boro chances for the half. The Easter Bunyan picked up a booking for what we'll call a "team foul" after about 25 mins.
The Saintly Neotians continued to press but appeared to have left their final ball back in their pre season notes. Jagger putting on a solid performance, between the sticks, as and when required. Reg the ledge made a sublime last ditch tackle right on half time, that got a hearty round of applause from the readying snack bar faithful. HT 1-0
Were we good value for the lead? Yes, we scored one, they didn't. I guess that's soccer eh folks. Were our bums starting to squeak? That's affirmative. Were we gelling like a footballing superpower? Not really no, but it was our first game so fuck all of that, we just wanted to sodding win. I really was very hungover.
Chips in our bellys it was on to the 2nd half. First 15 was mostly them probing. Jagger made a save or two. Again, more shit balls in our final third was making them seem more wasteful then an obese belt convention.
Curo could maybe have done better when some hoffen/Reg build up play presented him with a header which he couldn't steer on target. We especially enjoyed the Reg blockbuster, a few minutes later, which, from our angle, seemed to move in the air like a ballistic missile. Ballbag protector did well to get his boots in the way.
"Truncheon" Hutchings and "Mischa" Barton took their places via some latter substitutions and, credit where it's due, we held out pretty valiantly in the face of some, at times, sustained pressure. Top marks go to the salmon for leaving nothing in the changing room. FT 1-0
Summary... not a game for the purist really. The Salmon and Cap'n Ceej looked solid, tiny dancer and Clintons looked dangerous when they could find the space and Reg continues to look solid as a cock. "Johnny" Regis needs to calm down a little and I'm not sure how effective the up and unders will be against the better defences of this league. That said... 1st day of the season, long old trip, 3 points, clean sheet & clear motorway the whole way back to 'boro... you cannot argue with that. Unless you're a really fucking miserable sod. We're just miserable sods.
It's the Royston potato peelers next.... that'll be fun.
Oh, we were due to empty out the business account too. Sponsorshit time...
Friday, 11 August 2017
So here we go again. Another 9 months completely bereft of controversy and incident whereby nothing in any way noteworthy happens and we continue to not make any puns, write shed loads of absolute codswallop or talk about anything being tinpot.
Aaaaaaaand if you believe that, you're in for a long long fucking season my friend!
Preseason, in many ways, has thoroughly greased the cranking mechanism of that proverbial roller coaster we all love to hate. Signings, departures, mystery, spankings, a trophy, the rumour mill having us in meltdown, our overlord pulling off a couple of transfer coups and a reggae festival to boot.
Where are we off to first? St. Neots. No? No, us either... but Google is our friend and who doesn't love smashing the craphole out of some motorway to bring back all those memories of those glorious away days on route to us becoming the last ever team to go up from step 4, by finishing 2nd and winning an egg cup.
The Saints, as they're imaginatively nicknamed, are old hat in this league now having gained promotion back in 2012. Our very own Curonimo has close ties to the Neot'ians having been born in the same year as the original club was formed back in 1879.
So what do we know of the first team given the illustrious honour of welcoming us round their gaff? Well, not a fucking lot really because we're lazy fuckers. They've brought in a couple of the Barton lot from last season, so Connor "Mustard" Calcutt should be in full on banter-tastic mode during the warm up. They finished pretty low last season but have scored a butt load in preseason. They'll be gunning for us, so nothing more then our best will do.
Boro team news? The after effects of the bruising encounter with the Molesey knuckle draggers could have taken it's toll on the availability of some. "Richlist" Forbes, cap'n Ceej and "mustard" all were limping around like overworked prostitutes at a half-man half-horse singles night.
The arrival of Jackal "Fix-it" Saville (No, we're still in discussions with our legal team on where to go with that one), we suddenly seem heavy in numbers at the back. Wouldn't be surprised if someone's out the door before long. Will Spencer opt for his wingbacks or revert to a flat back 4?... Not a clue, not like he's going to fucking tell us is it. We're bellends with big mouths. Either way, "Truncheon" Hutchings and "tiny dancer" Oyenuga running the flanks most likely. Midfield is probably up for grabs more then anywhere else. The "Regis" factor could still come into play which, going on Molesey-u-next-tuesday, probably looks a good addition. Will the "Easter" Bunyan make his full debut? Hopefully so, because that's one of the finest nicknames we've bestowed up to this point. Front 3 seems to be the drug of choice again... and they pick themselves.
They're trialling a free minibus pick up service, from a couple of nearby pubs, are our hosts. That's non-league at it's beautiful best.
3 points please lads. Good luck. Let's fucking do this.
TheBoroWalk prediction : 6-4 'Boro
Thursday, 3 August 2017
The more avid of you readers will know that our first, ultimately pointless, words collective of the season left us dangling our testicles out of the car, on the newly completed smart M3, impatiently waiting for a long overdue squad update. What would 4pm bring??? Well, nothing as someone hadn't ordered more ink for the photo copier. A quick trip to Staples though and 4:26 would hail the revealing of the tasty morsels we'd all been eagerly waiting to gobble up like a carnivorous turkey at a post thanksgiving day parade all you can eat buffet.
The non-surprises? As suspected, armed forcing his way in as ballbag protector was Luke "Chilli(con)" Cairney. He was joined on the new bus by former Cambo-rambo unit Matt the "Easter" Bunyan. Both had already featured in the p-s BS.
On to the bigguns though... Spencer's only gone and got Curo back in. I mean... I think we'd all allowed ourselves to drift away and imagine it at intermittent points over the summer break, but to actually see it there on the screen was a thing of beauty. As we've said on numerous occasions. "He fucking loves it up the Boro". Welcome back Curo, evidently we can see what the rest of the non-league pyramid cannot. HE STILL SCORES GOALS FOR FUN YOU BELLENDS.
Probably the most surprising name on the update, aside from the confirmation CJF had signed his contract despite us being told he'd signed a contract weeks ago, was the unveiling of Kieron "Richlist" Forbes. Have to admit, this one came from nowhere. He played 28 times for conf south champs Maidenhead last season for goodness sake. Greatest coup since the Cuban revolution? Only time will tell, but with "Castrol" departing for his extra large plate of chips and ham, this was without doubt the most pressing area to be addressed across the squad.
Of the departees... Again, no great surprises. Curtis "Mayfield" Osano was taking a break from the game. Rumours were abound that he's being lined up to appear in the Indian version of big brother. We wish him well. We also finally got closure on Zaki-gate as it transpires his dream move to Algeria had fallen through. We don't know why, but to then be forced to trial at Basingstoke the following week is the epitome of insult to injury, so we wish him well... (Maybe at Whitehawk).
That left the massive white elephant of 'mandemonium' Pat "Butcher" Cox. He was still a Boro player and would be in the squad for the weekend. Frankly if you believed that, you'd believe anything.
The other HUGE announcement was this joint venture with the army, to service our training needs. Unfortunately, reading between the lines, this just meant we could borrow a tank to lift "Clintons" Ciardini out of his sun lounger after an over exuberant summer break.
SOOOO buoyed on by this rather fantastic news, the following day brought us back to the San Cherrio for the first time. With 2 games in 2 days, 4 if you fancied the other games, this was a veritable feast of localized soccer.
"Richlist" went straight into the starting eleven and "Curonimo" carried on where he left off up top with Perry but with the added bonus of "Mustard" Calcutt playing anywhere along the line behind, above and below them. With the departures of Donnelly, Pearce and Osano, "Reggie" Emmerson started alongside Forbes in midfield and with "Truncheon" Hutchings on his holibobs or something, our esteemed leader chose 5 at the back with CJ, Huggins and Jack "Hucknell" Smith in a three with John "Tiny Dancer" Oyenuga at right wing back and Nic "Clintons" Ciardini on the left.
Despite a spirited start, the gulf in class became pretty apparent early on. HW won promotion to what was the Southern Division One Central last season and of course we are now back in the Southern Premier, so there is a difference and it told.
Across the weekend Perry and Curo hooked up like a couple of Love Island fuckers and on more than one occasions they finished each other off with aplomb.
On Saturday it was Curo that was the giver and Perry received gratefully. A hook over the top by Richlist set Curo away and he put it on a plate for The Hoffen to gobble up. 1-0.
It didn't take long for the second to arrive. A cleared corner was expertly but hopefully lofted back into the box by Reggie to the surprise of everyone but Perry, who anticipated it with sixth sense and volleyed it home. 2-0. Easy street.
HW were organised and lively and will be a useful outfit in Division One, but the passing and movement by Boro was too much for them.
Second half was much the same, one way traffic and a miriad of other clichés. The cherry on the cake was a sumptuous early contender for goal of the season. Perry picked the ball up to the right of the area about 30 yards out and curled in a cross that Curo reached to nod the ball back into the path of Mustard. Without breaking stride he hit it on the half volley on the edge of the box and sent it arrowing into the top right corner with his left peg. Booooooom.
The 5-0 badgering was completed by a Ruzicka (trialist) header from a Mischa corner and a Clintons penalty when he was the chicken and bacon in a club sandwich (three bits of bread, three players?!? Ah fuck off) and he picked himself up to spank into the bottom left of the ballbag.
Whilst we were in the bar post match (we would have stayed outside and utilised the new pumps in the F.A.S.T food hatch but it started spitting) Basingrad handed Fleet's arse back to them in a doggy bag, 6-1. So The "Dragons" it was in our first but by no means last cup final of the season.
The only difference to the Saturday was that The 'Stoke must've really hit the town celebrating their win as only the kids turned up on Sunday. We expected a test but it ended up being fucking target practice.
If there's one thing we learnt from this weekend it's that Perry "The Hoffen" Coles is solid gold diamond. He's the mutts dangly bits. Whereas the day before he was boffing them in the ballbag, Sunday he was a Pez dispenser. First up he chased down a lost cause, nicked it off their centre back and laid on a plate for Curo to slide it home.
Next, he hassled the midfield, turned infield and bent a beauty into Curo's path and he's not going to need to be asked twice, rounding the keeper liked he'd been doing it for 25 years. Oh hang on....
Two up at half time. AGAIN!
The third wasn't too long in coming. Reg got moved out to left back and was getting bored so he took a quick free kick and fucking leathered it onto the toe of trialist "Kleenex" Andradry, he slipped a peach into the box and Clintons tapped home. Opposite to the Spice Girls, Three became four when Hucknell flicked a perfect Perry corner into the far post.
We equaled our tally from the HW game when a poor clearance was knocked back into the box and as the Stokers watched and waved at the lino, another trialist, Everett (or Kenny as he'll now be known) looped the ball over the ballbag protector. Nice finish.
And we went one better when Ginger Jack got his noggin onto another corner and buried a bullet header into the onion bag. He's already taking The Salmon's mantel as numero uno plonker in of headerererers.
So that was that. As Spencer would say, it was minutes into legs and lead into the pencils.
Ashford of the sexers from the centre ground would hopefully put up a bit more of a bloody fight, and so it proved. The only change was that Reggie had gone for a few days off after completing 180 minutes in two days so Matt "The Easter" Bunyan was in.
A close first half resulted in only one goal, no prizes for guessing who, so I won't bloody tell you.
Going in at the break in the lead and with no goals conceded lead us into a false sense of security and we bloody let them score. Funnily enough it was some prick what done it.
A bit of jeopardy was just what the doctor ordered as we need to be able to come back and win when brought back down to earth but when you've got Perry Curo up front you know there's a pretty darn tootin good chance you will do just that. If this preseason hasn't left every defence in the Southern Premier shitting their collective pants at the thought of coming up against them then.....well they bloody should be.
A Tiny Dancer solo sojourn slalom round the static shitty sexers defence that made Maradona's against England look like a fat, drug addled prick waddling at Kenny Sansom and Terry Fenwick, added the "icing sugar" to the cake.
3-1 it finished, a little flattering maybe but you aren't going to pass up the chance to put a shine on proceedings.
Before we made the trip down the M3 to Winchester we discovered that the worst kept secret in North East Hampshire was true. They're putting a Nando's next to Stinky Sisters in Kingsmead. No, sorry, not that, twas in fact that Pat "Dead as a Butchers Dog" Cox was on his way to our hosts to join the rest of the good ones from Fleet to form a super group. Good Luck Coxy. Maybe see you next season.
In coming news was that the cryptic "defender we're looking to sign once he's fit" was now fit and we'd looked and we'd liked and we'd gone and done the deal with St Albans for another bloody Jack. Jack "what could we possibly call him" Saville. Very exciting. We should never have doubted you Spencer.
We couldn't make the trip to the old capital of this great nation because we had shit to do before the real stuff starts and/or we fucked off on holiday.
In a nutshell, because we had our eyes and ears there for us, we won 1-0, it was Curo's turn to score today, we weren't great but the defence looked solid with Saville round the back alongside CJ and the Hugster. Truncheon was back on the left and we had another new midfielder. This time next to Richlist was a chap called Chris Regis, apparently recently released by Colchester. Also, Liam Stone was between the sticks instead of Luke Cairney so it's looking likely will see him in the squad by the time we take the trip to St Neots on Saturday.
We'd love to tell you more, but our mole was otherwise engaged and distracted by his guest to the game so we don't have anymore for you.
You may be lucky and get a preview of our opening league game but you might not. Put a gun to our heads now though and we'd say Spencer will stick with his 5-2-3 or 3-4-1-2 or whatever it is when he has the wing backs and Mustard behind Perry Curo. There'll be either Cairney or Stone in goal, one of the Jack's alongside CJ and Josh, probably Truncheon on the left and Tiny Dancer on the right, Kieron and Reg/The Easter in the middle and the front three pick themselves.
Don't ask us for a prediction, although we'd put a fiver each on Curo and Perry to score. You're welcome
This is a fuck of a long load of bollocks so if you've got this far, cheers, but maybe you should think of having a wipe and getting off the shitter. Your legs will have bastard pins and needles and you'll fall over and knock yourself out on the sink.
It's fair to say though that we're pretty bloody excited about the new season now.
We're uncomfortable with the optimism, it's not sitting quite right but fuck it, we're running with it until the pissing wheels have fallen off.
We'll see you there.
Lots of love
The Boro Walk
(P.S yes by the end of this we'd had a few beers and we're a couple of shitty sheets to the wind but there's FOUR FUCKING GAMES TO TALK ABOUT, FUCK YOU)
As always.... COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!!
Friday, 28 July 2017
IT’S BACK!! FOOTBALL IS BACK AT SAN CHERRIO!!
The longest three months in recorded history has come to and end and soccer is back at the home of the mighty yellows. The all conquering Farnborough F.C who fought off all comers last season (except Royston. And Marlow, dodged a bullet there; but apart from that) are back playing football on the lush green carpet of home, sweet home.
What a pre-season it’s been. Oh the excitement. Oh the anticipation. It started as it meant to go on. Connor “Mustard” Calcutt arrives. Nick “Truncheon” Hutchings arrives. Sam “Fogle” Pearce opts for fields nearer to home, but Jack “Hucknall” Smith returns to the fold. Who else is going to grace our fine band of merry men?? ………………
…………………….no one yet, well that’s fine as we’ve been assured that the victorious squad of last season are all signed back on for next season.
So…. the first friendly is upon us. Fleet host again, but it’s too hot for one of their magic cups of tea (do you remember, back at the beginning of the month when that big ball of YELLOW was burning bright, no me neither. It must be an omen) and we’re all bedecked in our yellow finery and news comes on the wire that Scott “Castrol” Donnelly has departed for a bigger portion of chips in deepest, darkest West Wiltshire. Disappointing, but hey ho. Onwards.
Trialists aplenty at the Park of Calthorpe in the first half, lead by the tenacious captain-esque Jack "Mischa" Barton. A couple look tidy, many look titty. Second half, and the "first teamers" are back, but sans Pat “The Butcher’s Dog’s Dick” Cox, Zak “Saved by the Bell(end)” Oualah, Keith “The Fucking Legend Reggie the Rat” Emmerson, John “Does anyone know a mechanic?” Oyenuga and Aaron……oh no hang on there he is “Cooooeeee, The Slayer!?!?! WHY ARE YOU WARMING UP WITH FLEET?!?!?!”
…….and so it began!
Within 24 hours of the final whistle being blown, the massive truck of horse shit is dumped right on top of a very small fan.
Zak announces he’s got an opportunity to play professionally in Algeria (who knew!) so he’s off (more of that later) and rumours are abound that the reason Pat Cox was a no show was that he is on strike because he wasn’t given more money. The irony, if that statement is true, after playing Fleet is laughable. So in a heartbeat, the spine of team has been ripped away and there’s not an official announcement in sight.
Havant and Waterlooville was a nice trip and actually quite encouraging despite the lack of players but this guy can remember watching Farnborough Town stuff Waterlooville 7-0 on his first trip to Cherrywood 27 years ago so excuse us if a 2-0 defeat doesn’t float our boat.
The slow decent into the quagmire of cack continues as the following Saturday’s trip to Whyteleafe was cancelled. It was cancelled because we had less players than the Basildon Chess Club Wife Swap Evening. Fingers nervously hovering over the panic button.
Worse to come was that initial reports that Zak turning out for Basingstoke was for match fitness only, before he flies out to his North African box, seem to be underestimating the lack of honesty and transparency in the non league game as it appears his “dream” move has been dashed on the rocks. Further rumours suggest he was told to do one when he asked to come back are unsubstantiated.
But the good news is that there is a “Squad Announcement” at 4pm today where we expect the confirmation that Josh “The Salmon” Huggins has signed up for the season and that two players who have featured heavily in both friendlies so far, Luke Cairney, the Armed Forces goalkeeper, who looks an excellent proposition and Matt Bunyan, who is described as a forward, but seems to be a utility man of vast stature and strength that will certainly come in handy when facing Conference standard players from only last season. Maybe the guy who sounds like Mmmm tittys will sign too.
These are all welcome, and we will obviously be furnishing them with hysterical nicknames forthwith, but when we see that Royston are signing players from League 2 bound Lincoln who featured heavily in their championship winning side, we can’t help but feel a little less optimistic of our intentions on trailing the Hereford freight train.
The season tickets are primed in the wallets, the shirts have been despatched from Northern Ireland, player sponsorship forms are just waiting for our signatures and some of us have even been doing our bit by buying cars from our shirt sponsors. So no one can say that we aren’t supporting the fucking club.
It’s Le Hants Tournoi this weekend. An event I’m sure the club were confident was going to be bathed in glorious sunshine and met by the kind of optimism not seen at Cherrywood since we heard “We would like to welcome the new owner of Farnborough Town, Mr Graham Westley”.
On the bright side, there’s 6 hours of football to look forward to and there’s an OUTSIDE BAR!! AN OUTSIDE BAR!!!!
We’ll never be anything but 100% behind every player that pulls on the yellow and blue shirt and we’ll be vocal, vehement supporters of those who stick their body on the line for team, but optimism isn’t high on the terraces, or should I say blue plastic chairs of our massively inappropriate stand.
There’s still time, but let's get a fucking move on so we're not playing catch up on August 12th eh. We know only one team goes down, but momentum should never be knowingly squandered.
Don't worry, we'll be here all season offering countless hours of toilet reading and merciless threads of twitter bollocks.
Welcome back you mo'fo's!
As always.....COME ON YOU MIGHTY YELLOWS
Tuesday, 2 May 2017
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.
WE ARE GOING UP, SAY WE ARE GOING UP!!
YELLOWS! YELLOWS! YELLOWS! YELLOWS!
Tuesday, 4 April 2017
.......... 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.
As always, COME ON YOU YELLOWS!