There are always difficult choices to make when both my Cities are scheduled to play at home at the same time. Whose turn is it? And is it perhaps inevitable that the spurned team will win, just to spite me?

Last weekend however the footballing gods had intervened and provided me with a dilemma of a different nature/potential domestic diplomatic incident (rest assured nothing a la The Archers). While the God of Fixtures (FaPremierus) had seen to fit to make Satday 2nd April a DHFD (double home fixture day), the God of Sky (Murdochista) had intervened, meaning Lesta City would be kicking off on the Sunday. Now the causal observer might think that was the perfect solution to my little footballing problemette. But to the regular TLF observer they can see the red flag being hoisted.

Yup the need to convince Mr TLF that while, yes technically this would mean he was being “Left at home. Alone. Again. For two days on the trot.” It was still a GOOD THING. I had to employ just the right mixture of stealth, cunning and scheming to get this right. And when that didn’t work I just opted for good old grovelling to get agreement that I could avoid all domestic weekend drudgery in exchange for a full footballing weekend.

What Mr TLF doesn’t seem to realise though is that it is no picnic for those of us who are chained not to the kitchen sink but to the terraces. For starters, time and energy needs to be invested in the usual bonhomie, drinking and chat at Clarence Park (what I think you would refer to in a football watching business plan as ‘business as usual’); it doesn’t just happen magically. The fairy that usually makes tea at 5.30am on a weekday doesn’t follow you to the ground so it can start buying your drinks or come up with some bad puns; you have to put the graft in.

Then there is the mental pressure; the constant reminder that everyone in the country (bar the Spurs fans) are ‘depending’ on your other team is a heavy burden to place on a TLF’s shoulders. And don’t get me started on managing our Clarence Park relegation fears, apart from having to watch through our fingers as we don’t manage an equaliser there is also the constant updating from fellow relegation candidates’ games and the calculation of various permutations as to what those results mean for our league position. This is more effort than goes into your average washing up bowl at TLF Towers.

There’s also a not insignificant shopping task to undertake, our honourable shopkeeper having a new range of fine Saints items to contemplate. Although to be honest as you can perhaps imagine choosing between a blue T-shirt and a pink one is not a tough call for a TLF.

Good job that bit was easy as on this particular Satday there is still further work to be done. Hordes of Maidstone United fans are in town and they need liquid refreshment. Julie and I act as back up bar staff to Michael, with Hatboy acting as tipper of the kegs. (tipping is not as hard as pouring though, that’s much more effort). Although I had worked my little paws to the bone there was still time to complete one more chore with a little impromptu glass collecting and bar tidying at half time. Honestly Mr TLF doesn’t know how easy he has it at home.

The formalities of the Premier League mean that there is no chance I will be called upon to help behind the scenes at Filbert Way, but don’t be thinking Sunday was about Slacker TLF. A lunch time kick off meant an early train and then I’ve got 90 minutes of panic to get through as somehow Lesta City are very tomato puréed (well Claudio does say his players are very concentrated) and manage another 1-0 win.

On both evenings I get home to find my tea on the table. Good job. I’m exhausted.

Never off-duty Fox

Match stats
St Albans City 1 Maidstone Utd 2
Attendance: 852
Alcohol: 3 pints consumed, numerous poured.
Snackage: Hooray, bacon fries are back.
Losing raffle tickets: 10. But would I have had the energy to carry them home if I had won?!

Crustacea slathered in a savoury dressing and trapped between two portions of boulangerie have never ranked high in the TLF top 10 sandwich list. There are times however when your weekend is looking so eccentric that you can’t help yourself. AFK (any fule kno) that if your weekend involves 3 consecutive nights of watching Fairport Convention (London, St Albans, Brum natch) with the parental TLFs you may well as put the cherry on top of your impending sleep deprivation and daftness flavoured cake, join the corporate world and sponsor the mighty Saints home game.

With such a packed weekend, it was vital that I organised parentals and Mr TLF within an inch of their lives. Satday looked particularly fraught and so I issued an exacting itinerary to keep us to time:
Noon – leave house. Noon thirty – brunch. One and a quarter – The Mermaid. 14:00 – arrive Clarence Park and enjoy the comforts of the boardroom. 15:00 – kick off. 16:45 post-match buffet. 17:30 Watch Lesta City in the bar. 19:30 Fairport Convention at Alban Arena.

What could possibly go wrong? Wellllll, as eagle-eyed readers may have spotted, TLF’s cunning plan exhibited some serious omissions – application of the alcohol, retail and banter factors. It was all clockworky one pint of Amstel/cyder/moody looking dark ale (delete according to which family member you are) and the carefully crafted TLF plan started to go a bit awry:
14:15
Arrive ground.
Mummy TLF discovers to her delight that her favourite programme editor and magical keeper of the SACFC retail outlet has ordered some red…oops no sorry, MAGENTA bobble hats. They are things of beauty and pretty much match her fringe and once the Pam-Lee love in has concluded, one is duly purchased. Meanwhile Red Julie (boardroom and Fairport guest) has fallen for a Saints gilet, which comes with, whatever-will-they-think-of-next-adjustable armpits. SOLD!!
TLF does not go away empty-handed as Lee has found the now slightly battered stick of rock he purchased for me when I missed the away trip to Margate. The occasional breaks are handy as it means it fits in my bag.

14:30
Enter our afternoon boudoir, which does not contain floor cushions, nymphs and goblets of ambrosia BUT does have a queue-free bar and a very patient barman called Tom. Hatboy is with us and Davy Mac appears; our party is complete (spell checker just suggested ‘competent’….how far from the truth can you get?). We partake modestly of beverages and enjoy the very welcoming company of the Chairman, President and owner who have wisely chosen to say hello early on in the proceedings.
15:00
Leave the boardroom, much to the bewilderment and then mockery of a) fellow terrace occupants who are struggling to believe that such a bunch of reprobates are living the posh life, and b) Mr TLF who cannot understand why we wouldn’t take advantage of being able to watch the match from the warmth of the boardroom.

15:02
The mighty Saints concede a goal.
15:05
It being a very long time since brunch Mr TLF and mummy TLF purchase chips.

15:40
The weather turns nasty. In the face of hail and a swirling wind the boys retreat to the boardroom. The ladies are more hardy creatures and shelter behind Julie’s umbrella…which turns inside out.
15:45
MOREBEER
16:02
TLF checks raffle tickets and realises she is 2 off a prize….which means the subsequent purchaser must have won. Step forward Mummy TLF and meet your bottle of rose (which also matches your hat and hair). Davy Mac has beaten us all though, running away with first prize – the vodka.
16:45
Saints have lost but we are not downhearted as we avail ourselves of fine company (including West Ham fan and SBYS patron Kevin Mudd!), MOREBEERWINE and buffet. There really are prawn sandwiches! Unfortunately it is a vegetarian parent who makes this discovery.

17:40
We make our way to the bar so that we can join the proletariat and TLF can worry her way through the Lesta game.Davy Mac brings our remaining sandwiches and distributes them to the masses like a benevolent Victorian factory owner. MOREBEERWINE.
18:46
TLF eschews (BOOM!) the usual celebratory goal jig in favour of a simple standing up with arms aloft. This might be modesty or it might be recognition that beer consumption levels might have reached ‘slightly unsteady on her pins’.
19:20
Lesta have won! Davy Mac, Pam, Mike, Julie and TLF depart for Alban Arena.
19:45
We are late….I don’t know how that happened!? We are held back until a suitable break between songs and then allowed to disrupt all those lucky people (heh heh) sitting around us.
20:20
Interval.
MOREBEERWINE
20:45
The rest of the gig. We are seated centrally in the fourth row and we are animated. I think the band liked that. I’m sure those around us are slightly less enthusiastic (about us, not the band). Julie gets an acknowledgement from the stage, it being her first time seeing Fairport. We all beam.
22:50
Gig done. Two down; one to go.
Time to say hello to the band and a shameful selfie with the lovely Dave Pegg, bass player who is delighted (or slightly scared) to hear that we will be stalking…sorry following them up to Brum the following day.

Midnight
Home and happy. Never like to see a home defeat but when you pack that much into your day cake and ice it with most excellent company, it is, as they say, a whole different ball game.

One off Boardroom Fox

Match stats
St. Albans City 0 Sutton Utd 3
Attendance: 554
Raffle tickets – 10 losers for me. Winners for ma and Davy Mac
Snackage: Bacon fries do not grace the boardroom. Random section of sarnies
Alcohol consumed: 1 Amstel, Bottles corona – numerous..TBH….lost count. 3 German lagers. 1 Stella (good effort)

The final Satday of February dawns with a cold sense of foreboding and a cruel easterly wind. One football team is back after a two week break following that heartbreaking (and almost door breaking due to a minor TLF over-reaction) defeat to Arsenal, while the other, with one point from their last seven games, faces the team that put six past the Mighty Saints earlier in the season. The outlook feels bleak.

Desperate TLFs in desperate times, call for desperate measures. I’m not really a believer but it was time to put some TLF faith in the king of kings and appeal to a higher power. Step this way TLF, and bow your head in observant solemnity at the tomb of Good King Richard. You may mock but the change in Lesta’s fortunes last season pretty much coincided with my Lord of Gloucester’s reinterment so a quick nod to misunderstood-and-treated-cruelly-by-playwrights OR black-hearted-murderous-monarch-bottled-spider (delete according to your historical preferences) didn’t seem a completely wasted pre-match ritual. And it is a smart and understated bit of stone masonry, although the part of the inscription that says, “Blue Army” seems to be missing.

By half time I was starting to wonder whether Lady Anne, his future missus was right. He is a dissembler and a foul toad who, when not busy murdering Princes in towers, is messing with TLF’s head….As while TLF had chosen to watch Lesta labour against Nor Which as Mr Ranieri likes to call them, the eschewed (BOOM!) Saints were three up.

In the second half the Lord Protector continued his fiendish ways. News from Clarence Park showed the goals still raining in for the Mighty Saints, while at Filbert Way the tension and resignation were growing. Of course a 0-0 draw wasn’t going to be the end of the world and we were bottom 12 months to the day BUT still we don’t want to wake up from this fantastic little footballing dream.

And we don’t have to. In the 89th minute a flowing move involving all three of The Thinker Man’s substitutes sees the ball stabbed past the Nor Which goalie. The explosion of relief of 28,114 football fans is a noisy thing. And a crazy thing. Just one game, one result but suddenly very important. Some were wiping a tear from their eye. Strangers were hugging and the man-who-even-swears-too-much-for-TLF, smells-of-booze-and-doesn’t-seem-to-think-women-know-owt-about-football grabbed me and kissed me square on the mouth. And I didn’t care because now he is my best friend, because that’s how much all this matters.

“Richard of Gloucester,
He’s one of our own”

Bosworth Fox

It was Valentines weekend and sadly Cupid (who I assume must be gainfully employed during the whole Valentines Day gig) proved to be a somewhat capricious, contrary and cruel chum. Much like the cunreferees charged with officiating at my beloved Cities’ games.

Here were two cast iron opportunities to let romance rule, for the sceptics and cynics to be slapped around the chops with a single red rose followed by a big, fat, loving smacker on the lips.

The Mighty Saints had a new manager, Ian Allinson, most recently of Boreham of the Wood as they don’t call it. Surely if there is a time for a team to go on a fairy-tale, heart warming run of form to avoid relegation it is when the new manager’s arrival coincides with Valentines weekend AND TLF giving a debut to the new varifocals – new vision in the stands and the dugout. And he looks the part (Mr Allinson not my specs, although they are quite cool…assuming your definition of cool is looking like a nodding dog that’s just had a stroke as I try and work out which bit of the lens you look through). Mr Allinson has that older-generation-I-know-this-league-sonny-give-me-100%-and-I’ll-do-the-rest look about him. And most importantly he is wearing a suit. He looks old school. Although I do fear for his tan brogues in the mud of the technical area.

And then there was Lesta City. Fearless little Lesta, everyone’s favourite second team, the story of the season, managed by the Thinker Man not the Tinker Man…blahblahblah. Sorry, as any fule kno TLF doesn’t like to be a churl but the amount of media attention is out of the ordinary, a bit unnerving and surely must be unlucky (TLF passim).

Anyway that Lesta City were away at Arsenal the following day, on your actual Valentines Day, presenting the aforementioned patron Saint with the opportunity to prolong the heart-warming daftness that is Lesta being top of the Premier League. Ever the caring partner, TLF had thoughtfully invited Mr TLF to a romantic, Valentine’s Day lunch….in front of SKY Sports, Chez TLF, with the promise that TLF would keep a sense of perspective regardless of how the game played out.

Turns out St Valentine didn’t share TLF’s views of the romance potential in either fixture. Satday sees the mighty Saints take a two goal lead with some attacking intent and a more convincing performance than perhaps we had seen down at Clarence Park in awhile. ‘Perhaps’ is a key word there as TLF was partly distracted by the discovery that glasses you wear all the time do not come with windscreen wipers or a de-mister. WTF?

WTF indeed, as Saints have a third goal disallowed for handball, Corcoran called offside as he went through for the next ‘third’ goal and then an 89th minute equaliser from the opposition. Even first prize in the raffle cannot warm the cockle of TLF’s heart.

Still, there’s always Sunday and Lesta. HA!

One soft sending off, a foolish foul and a 95th minute winner by the opposition later and TLF’s promise about perspective is not so much broken, more vaporised. One kicked door and a very long stompy walk later and calm is restored – Mr TLF is bemused but relieved that there hasn’t been a Valentine’s Day Massacre.

Match Stats
St Albans City 2 Concord Rangers 2
Attendance: 476
Raffle tickets purchased: 10, including the whiskey winning white ticket 501. BOOM!!!
Goalden goal: 2 failing tickets.
Alcohol consumed: one pint golden ale from the Three Brewers, one pint Stella.
Snackage: crispy bacon cob and bacon wheat crunchies due to Hertfordshire bacon fry shortage.
Incidents of general confusion and blurred vision due to new glasses: Too many!

Should have gone to Spec Savers Fox

It is, as they say, “a funny old game.”

A grey, rainy, cold and windy day meant Dartford away for the mighty Saints. Nothing funny about the weather accompanying the game and nothing funny about the actual 90 minutes bit either. It wasn’t even mildly funny, never mind rib-ticklingly-amusing. There was no irony, there were no twists and turns. It was what it was. And what is was; was pants. The pitch was like a sandy beach complete with, dare I say it a few lurking donkeys, an opposition goalie in an ill-fitting kit in a very bad shade of candy-floss pink was cause for minor amusement but the football was as attractive as a beached whale (not that I find the current washed up whale predicament funny you understand – I’m just trying to keep the seaside theme going) and the referee’s performance, like a stick of rock had ‘bit rubbish’, written all the way through it (and there my tolerant reader we will abandon the ill thought out seaside riff).

More accurately what thy should be saying at the moment is, “it was a fun & funny old game on Satday, apart from the 90 minutes on the pitch”

First off it was a road trip! Technically I am not sure that the short hop to Dartford counts as a road trip. But it is a long while since I have been by road to an away game and so I was being a little bit excited when Julie arrived to pick me up (door to door service no less). TIP – should you ever have an over-excited TLF cluttering up your car, drive over the Dartford Crossing – turns out TLFs do not like heights…especially 4 lane heights over rivers. The TLF will shut up and focus their attention on the road trip snackage (limited due to healthy eating commitment by driver which TLF was doing best to honour – one packet of biscuits, one pack of Maltesers and some mixed nuts & raisins representing a very restrained TLF selection), while keeping their eyes very firmly fixed on the horizon.

It was also a game dripping with green credentials. Built in 2006, Princes Park is probably the most environmentally friendly ground in the UK.
FACT! It has solar panels.
FACT! It collects rain water for use in the ground.
FACT! The pitch is set at a slightly lower level to reduce light and noise pollution.
FACT! Possibly the bestest non-league loos I have seen. Actually no, just the best football ground loos EVER.

OK, so technically that last FACT! is not overly environmental but the state of the facilities does tend to be higher on my list of priorities for a good day out than green credentials. And yes come the great flood, defrosting of North & South Poles and the end of days then I will realise the error of my ways and wish I had focussed more on the green credentials than the state of the little TLF’s room.

That is the joy of a new ground generally though; things are quite shiny and sometimes quite…wait for it…fan focussed! Some might argue it has less character and wotnot (it does have a wooden man holding up one of the stands and if that isn’t character I don’t know what is) but you can’t knock a spacious, warm and welcoming clubhouse with a well-stocked bar and big tables to claim some Saints territory with. And of course I could have been in a shed really providing it allowed us to watch the Lesta fairy tale carry on for another week; don’t know how long it will last but TLF is enjoying the visit to Ranieri Dreamland while it lasts. I like to think that my traditional ‘get-in-come-on-YESSSS’ second goal celebratory gig (kind of forgot I wasn’t in my own living room), my jaw-dropping disbelief at Lesta’s third goal and then my usual glass half-empty (yep another pint please Julie!) frenzied arm waving, panic at every Man City attack and demands for the comfort of a five goal cushion provided at least a modicum of pre-match entertainment for the occupants of the bar. Fellow Saints supporters who are used to it and understand the madness presumably prevented any worried Darts fans from calling the local constabulary.

Who would have foreseen however that there were even more delights awaiting TLF as we braved the cold for kick off? An Aladdin’s cave of a purpose built snack bar, festooned with a most excellent variety of deep fried loveliness – although the they might want to risk assess their menu. Describing a sausage in a baguette as a sausage roll and then doing the same with your more traditional flaky pastry variety of sausage roll is asking for trouble or at the very least confusion at the counter.

And finally the piece de resistance in the funny accompaniments to this disappointing old game was the opposition’s firm. Sent to taunt us were 3 small boys, with their Adidas man bags, their chubby cheeks, their Chelsea & Arsenal shirts (I did want to tell them my team were above theirs but I played the magnanimous TLF) and their squeaky voices. The tallest (I use the word loosely) caused great hilarity as he turned round to the Saints fans, waving his arms and with the exhortation and sneer that only a 10 year old can manage, goaded us with “COME ON THENNNNN!!”

Mind you his team isn’t propping up the Conference South so we all know who had the last laugh don’t we?

It is
A.
Funny.
Old.
Game.

Funny old Fox

Match Stats
Dartford 0 St Albans 2
Attendance: 931
Alcohol consumed: 3.5 pints Heineken (it was quite a big day)
Snackage: small packet Pringles (BBQ flavour), 1 ginger cookie, mixed nuts and raisins (surely one of my 5 a day?) one sausage roll BAGUETTE!!
Unpleasant encounters with a high bridge over a river: one too many