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THE BOG END
The collected rantings of of Bog End Tim
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It took a week's worth of shredded nerves to realize just how painful last
season's play-off burglary really was, and just how much this year's triumph
meant.
A year ago, not only the title (and Grangehill's finest against Sittingbourne
at home were the tip of an iceberg of conspiring officials), but promotion
too, slipped away as the showbiz play-off travesty shafted truth and justice
once again.
It didn't seem to matter that much though, because of the fantastic season
we'd had - guts and drama beyond anything we've experienced in over 30 years.
And of course, we'd go up as champions this time anyway.
Which we nearly did. Dover scraped in by a dozen points - how about a play-off
for the title?
It was only in the last few weeks with the play-offs in sight and the prospect
of home disadvantage, that reality set in. Finishing second was, of course,
important. If we lost out again, we could claim the all-important moral high
ground and send in the troops until football sanity was restored.
Christ knows how the players felt but my nerves were hanging out of my arse
well before the Worthing kick off. 4 years of great football, high drama and
gut wrenching struggle. Another burglary would have been too much to take. But
we stormed home, thanks to an early blitz.
Another cavalry charge against Cray would do, if only for stress busting
purposes. To their credit, no such luck and even Paul Vines' majestic strike
didn't prepare us for what seemed like 38 minutes of injury time. But the
final whistle just about topped anything I've had in 35 years of triumph (not
much), disappointment (loads) and outright depression (occupational hazard).
A great collective effort from the players and the club, but Joe Vines
deserves particular credit for comming back from injury, coping with the duff
songs and burying the ghosts of Hastings with a couple of massive
performances.
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will never change my view that play-offs are but pus
from Satan's boils, but Tuesday's was nonetheless an epic blood'n'guts cup tie
in the mud and the Quest for Justice goes on.
Joe Vines shrugged off long term injury and the trauma of being victim of the
Bog End's worst ever song to put in a titanic performance and JHH seemed to be
everywhere. I thought the first goal might have been his, but it seems that Paul
Vines, better known on the South Coast as Bouadji, nuzzled the ball over the
line.
I suspect we will need the same huge level of self belief and commitment from
the players on Saturday. We can expect no favours from Cray.
As for the fans, I can only question the sanity of those who stayed in to watch
the Eurovision muesli fests at Anfield and Old Trafford while the Terrors
toppled Hendon and Worthing. The numbers weren't great but the atmosphere fairly
tasty on both occasions.
It is the Lord's eleventh commandment that every member of the black and white
hordes gets their arse into the Emperor's pastures and makes some serious noise.
Anyone caught engaging in polite conversation must be burned.
After Tuesday's belly flop, I don't think we deserve to be in the Surrey Cup.
I don't buy all this cobblers about not caring though. Either we enter these
things and get stuck in, as we did last season, and reap the rewards, or hide
behind fake apathy, like Bromley and Cray.
At this point, I should admit that I care more about the Egg Cups than life
itself. Back in '96, I was prepared to take relegation for the Surrey Senior
(and some feat it would have been after humbling Carshalton, Sutton and a
strong Premier Division Chertsey, before going down heroically to a Woking
side at the peak of its powers). To many, this is on a par with swapping a
sophisticated nuclear arsenal for a club sandwich , and of course, there is no
doubt that fixture congestion helped to stuff up promotion last season.
But let's remember another Egg Cup, a bigger one than the rest, but still well
on the way to disappearing up its own arse - the FA Trophy, where level 4
clubs fanny about to no apparent purpose in the vague and usually forlorn hope
that they will meet a Conference team bothering to take the competition
seriously. And with 8 games to take us all the way to the third qualifying
round, we know which competition did more to screw the fixtures than any
other.
But no way would I swap last season's epics against Satan, Bromley, Bores and
Yokels for anything else. Those were the games that built a fantastic spirit
in the team and kicked the fans into life. That kept us going in the Fleet
game and almost to the end. It was one of our greatest Cup runs since the days
of Pol Pot and Sham 69. Let's keep the spirit alive, along with the sun,
sangria and senile delinquents at Eastbourne tomorrow.
I am informed by reliable sources that at least 25 coaches, several
trainloads, a dozen helicopters and eighty-five tanks will be descending on
Surrey's north downs for some proper cup tie football at Merstham to see us
defend another of our Egg Cups (and avenge the reserves' defeat). Only
traitors and fools will miss the fun.
At least we can flex the vocal chords for the less prestigious event against
Vera Lynn's finest on Saturday.
The Golden Age of Black and White will never die, as long as Satan feels the
need to cheat and dive.
The latest crime was of course perpetrated by Ramsgate's Schultz, who
presumably failed the audition for Eldorado years ago. A shattered leg gets
the perpetrator a 3 match suspension, while Paul Vines clocks up a 4 match ban
for having some grinning cretin ducking into his face and rolling around just
long enough to convince the square headed berk on the line that he'd been
stabbed. Good to see our trusty officials maintain their sense of perspective.
Still, justice will prevail for the hordes.
The Automatic/Monster/Bouadji song opened to critical acclaim and mass
adulation at Worthing on Saturday. On current form, it is threatening to top
the 'Micky Rootes' song, which, as we all recall, went platinum in 2001.
'I Predict a Byatt' has come in for a spot of mild mannered criticism, but it
should be remembered that the massed choirs of the Bog End have had only 3
months to rehearse and get the choreography sorted. And 13 goals so far says
it must be working (sort of).
At the crap end of the Market is the Joe Vines song. Then again the Birdie
Song sold loads, but Joe's long term injury suggests a re-write may be in
order.
As for Paul's sending off on Saturday, I trust the players and fans have
learnt the lesson. Goalscoring must be saluted by firm handshakes all round
(players), and (supporters) polite applause with hats raised aloft and (if
sufficiently pissed) a spritely shake of the rattle. Failure to observe the
etiquette will result in some flabby git in black walking into Poland with a
red card and a few tanks behind him.
The only serious foul all game (tackle on Deano half an hour late with the
linesman 3 yards away) predictably went unpunished.
Great attacking performance with Dorian Smith rampant when he got his chance.
Best atmosphere since Tonbridge(?). More of the same at the pig farm on
Saturday. We'll need it.
In our Noble Quest for World Domination, I think we should recognize what the
players have achieved so far this season, get behind them and enjoy the
results.
I get the feeling, especially at home games, that the expectations get in the
way of support for the team. Nowhere was this more apparent than the
Whyteleafe home league game when, despite an excellent performance from the
team, a consortium of Whyteleafe fans, pesumably well oiled after a Young
Farmers' convention, did the honours with some great vocal support, in
contrast to our own suppressed farts. Take away the expectation, forget Dover
and the other impostors and enjoy what we have. We may or may not win the
league (as far as I am concerned we achieved that, at least in moral terms,
last season), but let's make some noise in the meantime.
Football-wise, we have been a more attractive side than last season. We have
not had the epic gutbusters, particularly in the Trophy, that helped to
galvanize the club last season (as exciting as any I can remember), but we can
hardly complain. Some of us will recall spells in the '80's and '90's when the
Great Bog End Experience was akin to rolling about naked in barbed wire.
The last few weeks have been generally pretty encouraging. Great atmosphere
and performance at Kingstonian, where Satan tried to distract elements of the
Tooting Hordes by planting strippers in the local boozer, and the recent
performances against a decent Leatherhead team, with Paul Vines' majestic
comeback on Tuesday, should surely rouse the masses to fever pitch and carry
us all the way.
I had assumed that the Micky Mouse affair in North London would lose several
thousand from the gate, with the competing attraction of us defending the
mightiest Egg Cup of them all against the Snot Clad foe. Apparently not. Let's
get the priorities sorted and get down to Sussex with the Stripes.