I quite often look at the stats on this blog. Generally there’s not a lot of interest but today I noticed someone from the Gambia had visited. It took me a while to realise who it was. In fact, it wasn’t till I was standing on the Slab looking out over the greenness that is the Rec that it finally struck me.
We were at the Rec to see Aldershot (currently sitting in equal second place with two other teams) hopefully take away all three points against Bromley. We need all the points we can get if we want to make the playoffs this season. (I’m not sure I DO want them to make the playoffs because it could mean going up to League 2 forcing us to take money from the TV which, of course, is from all of those pretend football fans who sit at home watching it on their televisions.)
So, Nicktor picked me up at about 5:30pm and we headed to the pub where we met Steve From Number 11 who’d already got the beers in. We then passed a lovely hour (or so) having a few drinks, eating pub food and talking nonsense about containerisation and Nicktor’s book. Our jolly party then moved on to the ground.
And the game started bright enough. We even scored a goal very quickly though, for some reason, the referee didn’t like the fact that our player had punched it into the back of the net rather than use his foot. After this false start we played some fancy passing, looking, in one fan’s words, like Manchester City. I did think that was a bit far fetched but I didn’t say anything.
Then, out of nowhere, punctuating our complacency with consummate ease, Bromley scored at the other end. It was awful, horrid and ghastly (sounds like a funeral home – “Awful, Horrid and Ghastly doing the jobs everyone hates for a price everyone loves”) and we all started crying in despair.
And the despair lasted a very long time. Our playing was terrible as was Bromley, fortunately, and the game had very few flashes of anything, let alone mild brilliance. Then, in the second half, Waddock made three substitutions and the game suddenly came to life. We attacked the Bromley goal, making their keeper do some work for a change.
Mind you, we didn’t manage to score in normal time. In a pleasant gesture of generosity, the fourth official gave us an added four minutes and the pressure stepped up. Shot after shot went wide, high or short. Then, out of nowhere, we scored. There was no time for lengthy celebrations, the ball was replaced on the centre circle in record time as we waited breathlessly for the whistle to restart.
Then, in the dying moments of the game, oddly selected man of the match James Rowe, missed two sitters. One was into an empty goal mouth with nothing but air in the way. Unfortunately it was only air that received the ball as it went higher than the stands, waving us goodbye as it reached the edges of space. It was desperately disappointing. Then, as if our disappointment wasn’t desperate enough, the referee blew his whistle for full time.
So, 1-1 and a single point for the not so mighty Shots. We were a sad threesome who trudged back to the car and home. At least it was nice seeing Nicktor, given I’ve not had that particular pleasure since January 1 at Woking.
And who do I know in the Gambia? That would be cousin Dawn who is clearly enjoying the sun while we stood around on the Slab being buffeted by Arctic blasts from the frozen north. Not that I’m jealous or anything.