Something had to give though and we were also hearing fucking deafening whispers that a couple of new bodies would be making their way into the fray. That was enough to keep the faint embers of optimism burning like Clintons' bum hole after a big night down the Ancient Raj.
Hitchin Town were the visitors. They'd suffered a pretty lukewarm start to the season, so it could have been worse. Saying that, our home form had been absolute toilet, so it was pretty obvious the plucky green minnows would fancy it.
Team news and there were a triumvirate of new names to get acquainted with. First up, our new ballbag protector would be Matt "Kula" Cafer. We were pretty sure we'd seen the name before. Gosport or Dorchester or some such like.... he'd even played Europa League qualifiers in Gibraltar. Fancy. Next up was Adam "suck-my-balls" Everitt, a defender/midfielder, whom was obviously the next to have a go at stopping the proverbial rot in the rotting hull that is our recent defensive record.
Calum "clamper" Willock, a striker, completed the trio from the bench. The latter pair, at 35yo, were clearly not long termers, but with Grandpa Cureton still in the starting lineup, they were veritable whippersnappers so fuck it. Some solid non-league journeymen was probably what we needed to help stem the tidalwave of excrement. So Everitt was in for "mustard" Calcutt. Off we go.
Kick off brought a mild level of warmth, to the less then sparse congregation of Boro masochist fans lapping up the luxury of the San Cherrio, as we looked to press on with some crisp passing and actually winning some second balls. A couple of early corners were won and squandered as Clintons started to get a feel for the visitors right back. Curo and Clintons then combined for the first real sighter as some lovely chuckle brothers interplay resulted in Clintons exposing their last defenders testicles and serving them up on a plate for Curo to gobble down. Unfortunately Curo couldn't halt his one man meals-on-wheels procession, only offering up a big fat dry cold cut which the ballbag man graciously cradled to his portly bosom. Boro's defensive unit, clearly with a remit to sit and keep things tighter then a duck's arse, were functional and concise. Reg back in at CB was making things tick and the "suck-my-balls" Everitt factor was showing early promise.
The visitors came to life and were on the corners trail themselves. The first one not defended properly, as standard, and the ball fell to one of their up toppers who hooked it over his shoulder and, thankfully, over the crossbarbar blacksheep. Moments later and they were at it again as one was driven low and one shanked it with all the conviction of a Trump tweet which fell into the path of Reg who also managed to airshot the leather sphere thing into the path of a waiting greeny who spanked it home past "Kula" Cafer. As you were. 0-1
Moments later and the hosts should have been 2 up as another piece of slack defending allowed a cross to be looped up into the squared circle and, with "the salmon" caught out the wrong side, their striker had a pretty much free header. He hadn't read the script, or maybe couldn't read the script, and fluffed his header wide of a relieved "Kula" Cafer. Another couple of minutes later though and the ball was in the net again for the visitors. There's an old saying round these parts. "Elbow someone in the fucking face, karma will catch up with you and roger you senseless". And so it proved to be as, following a blatantly obvious off the ball elbow to the face of "the Organ", their number 9 bell end of an Ibrahimovic wannabe meandered into the box and laid it off for their winger to carve one across Kula Cafer and into the empty net. Thankfully though their striker had the IQ of a bird bath and thought it best to touch it in from an offside position, thus giving the lineo no choice but to remove the flag from his arse and wave it in the air like he just didn't care. Bravo lads, bravo.
Big test time, could the lads suck it up and carry on playing? Would they lose their composure and start lumping it up to our midget goliaths?! The safe money was on the latter. We didn't have too long to wait for an answer though as completely out of nowhere our new ballbag man ploughed his kick out down the right into the path of the on-rushing "Hoffen" Coles who lobstered their floundering keeper, plaiceing it into the far side nets to crab the equalizer. Game on! 1-1
The relief around the ground was so palpable that you could literally take it in to the clubhouse and give it a right good rodgering over the pool table. The relief was only just starting to ratchet up though as just 5 minutes later Clintons surged on in his one man world record attempt to drop more shoulders then a faulty meat trolley at an abattoir. He found his way through the maze and squared at the bisexual line in the direction of Sir Cureton of East Anglia who deftly set himself up with a modified Cruyff turn, swivelling on a sixpence to then unleash his finish into the far corner. Absolutely fucking beautiful stuff from the 53 year old. 2-1
Saw out the remainder of the half fairly comfortably and, before you knew it, much like the trailing stench of stale ale and traction engine lubrication oil left by the Hitchin faithful, it was gone. HT 2-1
Winning at half time, at home, is somewhat of an unfamiliar experience so plenty of general merriment was had by all as we realised that we were going to give them a damn good seeing to in the second half. Their players were already starting to turn on each other so, as long as we kept 11 on the field, we'd get the trois points we expected. Signs of it gelling, as opposed to signs of playing like jelly. Nice.
Into the second period and Boro came out looking to kill this off like the retiring partner in a hollywood 80s cop movie. Shoot on sight seemed to be the next game in the order of play. "Richlist" Forbes, "Fister" Southam and "Clintons" all attempting lengthy slappers with varying degrees of success. Well, when I say varying degrees of success... I mean they all missed. But that's dramatic license for you. That said, "Fister's" effort did force the ballbag lad into a low save which, from the resulting corner bent in from "Clintons", "suck-my-balls" Everitt looped a header in from which 2 Hitchiner deeefendos did some weird penalty box synchro swimming performance to just about keep the ball from crossdressing the white line.
Time for our new ballbag man to put the shit up us by forgetting where his goal was but that was mere childs play as the moment of the match was about to unfold.... "Reg" intercepted a loose pass by the centre circle and laid it into Curo, setting off on his procession for a bit of chuckle brothers action. Curo happily obliged the chrome topped demigod and suddenly Reg found himself 25 yards out and with more acres of greenfield then one of his Somerset farmer neighbours. Hi picked his spot and unleashed a WMD, leaving the keeper needing 6 months of counselling. Shoot on site. 3-1
With the icing now setting nicely on top of the cake of a performance, we just needed the brandy soaked cherry to really get our bakeoff-lob-on. Rather amusingly that came from a Hitchinny-chin-chin corner which was floated in met by the fist of "Kula" and then the soaring left peg of "fister" into the feet of Curo. He laid it off to the on-rushing "Organ" Hammond who then channelled Curo down the right. His centre was taken off of "the Hoffen's" noggin' by the ballbag lad but only in to the path of the galavanting "fister" who settled with 1 touch, then leathered it home. Pretty much 20 seconds from them taking their corner to the ball being in their net. They'd be spunking over that on MOTD if it was Arsenal City or Manchester Rovers or whoever the fuck plays up there nowadays. 4-1
That just left time for
"Suck-my-balls" Everitt took official MOTM, but the day's performance was more about the majority of players winning their battles and putting in their best performances of the season. Not only that, but we finally realised that passing, moving and pulling the defence wide is how you beat teams at this level. Not a lumping in sight, just an absolute plethora of positives.
We really fucking needed that with a certain trek to Hereford on the horizon.
We don't miss too many games, but the Hereford weekday trek was a step too far. That said... if we were going to sacrifice ourselves for the good of the club, then so be it.
And what a sacrifice it was!!!
A "where-were-you" moment for sure. The 9 (not 9, we've already "fake news'd" this) who did attend were very very lucky to have witnessed it and we were sick with jealousy.
So 2 wins and next up? The St.Neotians again. We've beaten them already.... we've turned a corner... nothing will ever go wrong again... WE'RE GONNA WIN THE LEAGUE.
Make hay while the sun shines and all that.
ONWARDS
Kick off brought a mild level of warmth, to the less then sparse congregation of Boro masochist fans lapping up the luxury of the San Cherrio, as we looked to press on with some crisp passing and actually winning some second balls. A couple of early corners were won and squandered as Clintons started to get a feel for the visitors right back. Curo and Clintons then combined for the first real sighter as some lovely chuckle brothers interplay resulted in Clintons exposing their last defenders testicles and serving them up on a plate for Curo to gobble down. Unfortunately Curo couldn't halt his one man meals-on-wheels procession, only offering up a big fat dry cold cut which the ballbag man graciously cradled to his portly bosom. Boro's defensive unit, clearly with a remit to sit and keep things tighter then a duck's arse, were functional and concise. Reg back in at CB was making things tick and the "suck-my-balls" Everitt factor was showing early promise.
The visitors came to life and were on the corners trail themselves. The first one not defended properly, as standard, and the ball fell to one of their up toppers who hooked it over his shoulder and, thankfully, over the crossbarbar blacksheep. Moments later and they were at it again as one was driven low and one shanked it with all the conviction of a Trump tweet which fell into the path of Reg who also managed to airshot the leather sphere thing into the path of a waiting greeny who spanked it home past "Kula" Cafer. As you were. 0-1
Moments later and the hosts should have been 2 up as another piece of slack defending allowed a cross to be looped up into the squared circle and, with "the salmon" caught out the wrong side, their striker had a pretty much free header. He hadn't read the script, or maybe couldn't read the script, and fluffed his header wide of a relieved "Kula" Cafer. Another couple of minutes later though and the ball was in the net again for the visitors. There's an old saying round these parts. "Elbow someone in the fucking face, karma will catch up with you and roger you senseless". And so it proved to be as, following a blatantly obvious off the ball elbow to the face of "the Organ", their number 9 bell end of an Ibrahimovic wannabe meandered into the box and laid it off for their winger to carve one across Kula Cafer and into the empty net. Thankfully though their striker had the IQ of a bird bath and thought it best to touch it in from an offside position, thus giving the lineo no choice but to remove the flag from his arse and wave it in the air like he just didn't care. Bravo lads, bravo.
Big test time, could the lads suck it up and carry on playing? Would they lose their composure and start lumping it up to our midget goliaths?! The safe money was on the latter. We didn't have too long to wait for an answer though as completely out of nowhere our new ballbag man ploughed his kick out down the right into the path of the on-rushing "Hoffen" Coles who lobstered their floundering keeper, plaiceing it into the far side nets to crab the equalizer. Game on! 1-1
The relief around the ground was so palpable that you could literally take it in to the clubhouse and give it a right good rodgering over the pool table. The relief was only just starting to ratchet up though as just 5 minutes later Clintons surged on in his one man world record attempt to drop more shoulders then a faulty meat trolley at an abattoir. He found his way through the maze and squared at the bisexual line in the direction of Sir Cureton of East Anglia who deftly set himself up with a modified Cruyff turn, swivelling on a sixpence to then unleash his finish into the far corner. Absolutely fucking beautiful stuff from the 53 year old. 2-1
Winning at half time, at home, is somewhat of an unfamiliar experience so plenty of general merriment was had by all as we realised that we were going to give them a damn good seeing to in the second half. Their players were already starting to turn on each other so, as long as we kept 11 on the field, we'd get the trois points we expected. Signs of it gelling, as opposed to signs of playing like jelly. Nice.
Into the second period and Boro came out looking to kill this off like the retiring partner in a hollywood 80s cop movie. Shoot on sight seemed to be the next game in the order of play. "Richlist" Forbes, "Fister" Southam and "Clintons" all attempting lengthy slappers with varying degrees of success. Well, when I say varying degrees of success... I mean they all missed. But that's dramatic license for you. That said, "Fister's" effort did force the ballbag lad into a low save which, from the resulting corner bent in from "Clintons", "suck-my-balls" Everitt looped a header in from which 2 Hitchiner deeefendos did some weird penalty box synchro swimming performance to just about keep the ball from crossdressing the white line.
Time for our new ballbag man to put the shit up us by forgetting where his goal was but that was mere childs play as the moment of the match was about to unfold.... "Reg" intercepted a loose pass by the centre circle and laid it into Curo, setting off on his procession for a bit of chuckle brothers action. Curo happily obliged the chrome topped demigod and suddenly Reg found himself 25 yards out and with more acres of greenfield then one of his Somerset farmer neighbours. Hi picked his spot and unleashed a WMD, leaving the keeper needing 6 months of counselling. Shoot on site. 3-1
With the icing now setting nicely on top of the cake of a performance, we just needed the brandy soaked cherry to really get our bakeoff-lob-on. Rather amusingly that came from a Hitchinny-chin-chin corner which was floated in met by the fist of "Kula" and then the soaring left peg of "fister" into the feet of Curo. He laid it off to the on-rushing "Organ" Hammond who then channelled Curo down the right. His centre was taken off of "the Hoffen's" noggin' by the ballbag lad but only in to the path of the galavanting "fister" who settled with 1 touch, then leathered it home. Pretty much 20 seconds from them taking their corner to the ball being in their net. They'd be spunking over that on MOTD if it was Arsenal City or Manchester Rovers or whoever the fuck plays up there nowadays. 4-1
That just left time for
- Curo to get his lob-on and smash the big horizontal wood
- "Kula" Cafer to start bedding in with a couple of good stops
- Hitchin to carry on throwing around their handbags like Tyson Fury in drag.
- A (final?!) standing ovation for Curo as he was subbed for "clamper" Willock 10 from time
- 16yo EJ Anyan brought on for his debut. EJ and CJ.
"Suck-my-balls" Everitt took official MOTM, but the day's performance was more about the majority of players winning their battles and putting in their best performances of the season. Not only that, but we finally realised that passing, moving and pulling the defence wide is how you beat teams at this level. Not a lumping in sight, just an absolute plethora of positives.
We really fucking needed that with a certain trek to Hereford on the horizon.
We don't miss too many games, but the Hereford weekday trek was a step too far. That said... if we were going to sacrifice ourselves for the good of the club, then so be it.
And what a sacrifice it was!!!
A "where-were-you" moment for sure. The 9 (not 9, we've already "fake news'd" this) who did attend were very very lucky to have witnessed it and we were sick with jealousy.
So 2 wins and next up? The St.Neotians again. We've beaten them already.... we've turned a corner... nothing will ever go wrong again... WE'RE GONNA WIN THE LEAGUE.
Make hay while the sun shines and all that.
ONWARDS
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