Football is back. After what seemed an eternity, the beautiful game was being graced by Farnborough F.C. A sun drenched but frickin freezing PRE was swelled with bodies old and young, swelled by gluttony and sloth.
Obviously, the Boxing Day derby clash with Fleet was postponed in tragic circumstances and it left a hole in every respect.
If you hadn't spent the whole of the previous week shoveling enough calories into your cakehole to give you a fighting chance in a George Borg look-a-like contest, in the month when the sales of smoothy makers and blenders hit the roof, Boro buck the trend and give you free burger and chips when you buy the essential cup of tea to stave off frostbite.
The mild yuletide had frozen over and new year was distinctly brass monkeys but the lure of top class non league football and gratis fast food was enough to get the punters back into San Cheerio. It wasn't entirely clear whether they were there purely for the football or the grub as the queue was permanently twenty deep and resembled a line of school kids escaping Jamie Oliver's healthy school dinners and in search of a turkey twizzler.
The Boro Walk even missed the first five minutes of the second half.
It was almost enough to forego the offer if it wasn't for a first forty five as rusty as Rusty Lee's rusty old kitchen spoons left out in the rain to go even rustier. It felt like we deserved something back.
In the absence of game time, the boys had extra training sessions over the Christmas period, but fitness is all well and good but they looked like the only round things they'd seen in two weeks were brussel sprouts, Reggie's bald head and their own bollocks in the bath.
This is despite Ash Ford Mondeo going down to ten men when their left back chappy failed to notice their goalie rushing from his goal and proded the ball past him for the on rushing Hoffen. At the best of times he is faster than a spade of falling runny horse shit and the Ash Ford Fiesta defender sythed him down unceremoniously earning a red card from the ref who appeared to be some kind of wizard as the flashing of the card resulted in the Ash Ford Cortina player to disappear into thin air.
All it seemed to do was allow Ash Ford Granada to reorganise and take the game to our boys. Pammy nearly sliced into his own net if it wasn't for the sharp reactions of the Slayer. Aaron's goal was seasoned with salt and curlers and daisy cutters and field goal attempts but to no avail.
Until the curse of the Hanwell spectre reappeared and an Ash Ford KA striker skipped through the Boro centre halves like Dustin Hoffman and sent a rising effort above the advancing Slayer into the roof of his ballbag. Ballbags.
No more than they or we deserved.
Boro scrapped their way to the half time whistle and we fans joined the back of the queue for what seemed like hours as the good people fried their fingers to the bone. The kick off came and went with no changes apart from our fingers regained it's feeling after holding a cup of tea.
Just as we were retaking our seats in the PRE, Clinton's found space on the left, drove at their make shift defence and placed a ball into the six yard box that a combination of The Fire Engine, The Hoffen and an Ash Ford lacking Focus defender pushed in at the near post. All square and no sauce was spilt in celebration.
From then on it was one way traffic of the like not seen since the casting agents for I'm a Celebrity turned up at a TOWIE filming. The extra man seemed to be paying dividends and spaces opened up.
The ball Rick O'Shea'd around the box like a virgin with his first prostitute, shots were blocked and it finally span into the air where Clinton's met it with what he intended to be a bullet header but ended up being a top of the bonce looper that deceived the keeper at his front post. Pandemonium ensued. Fortunately, chips were finished.
Then the inevitable twitchy bumholes made an appearance but enough about Spencer pacing the touchline, we were a bit nervous.
In stark contrast to the refs decision making in the first half but not in the general standard of officials that visit Cherrywood, The Slayer was booked for time wasting which is frankly fucking laughable in comparison to the Ash Ford Male Escort keeper who spent so long at goal kicks and with the ball in his hands when they were a goal up, those in the food queue had time to order, pay, wait, smother with ketchup and consume before needing to look up. Of course the ref didn't feel the need to pull him up as it wasn't in the last ten minutes and they'd had a player sent off. The grapes of a eunoch.
Fortunately, Ash Ford Orion had blown their load in the first half and had no petrol left in the tank.
Not pretty, but that's enough about the Ash Ford Anglia number 5, Boro were far from their best but champions win ugly, but that's enough about the Ash Ford (I've run out of crap Ford cars) number 7.
Onto Potters Bar and Social Club.
This review has taken longer than an Ash Ford keepers goalkicks. In the absence of any other news from the club about anything at all we'll assume it's the same starting line up. Hopefully Reggie came through the 90 unscathed.
The Barmen aren't in the best of form but away games in January are far from simple affairs, but we've generally performed well on the road recently so we expect a hard fought victory.
Please could we all pray that somehow Royston Potato peelers start dropping points as well.
As always.
COME ON YOU YELLOWS!!
Prediction: 3-2 Boro
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