If you had told me last July that I would witness two promotions (including a Championship winning 102 points), a play off win on my birthday (I know I bang on about that but I once saw TATTPIB lose at home 3-1 to the sheep on 5 May so I’m sensitive to it), be accepted by and meet some of the bestest people ever to occupy a football ground (and bar), talked to players, managers, owners (and the kit man), had my blog in the programme (regular like) AND over-used brackets on a weekly basis (sorry, couldn’t resist) I would have laughed at you and suggested you pop home and sober up. And I would have been wrong and your crystal ball would have been the highest performing crystal ball ever.

The football success has been unpredictable and a delight. But the constant, whether the results were good or bad and regardless of the quality on the pitch, has been those people at St Albans City FC who have adopted me, humoured me and made me feel as welcome as a welcome thing on a very welcome day singing I feel bloody welcome who have really made the difference and made moving out of London a better proposition than it could ever have been. So in true Oscar styley and let’s face it you could all imagine me on a red carpet in a frock….oh ok a football shirt…THANK YOU:
JohnKnockyIanLeeDavyMackHatBoyMattPaulRonSkitsLadiesbehindthebarMattSteveHelen
AnotherMattMarkBarrySarahTheplayersSteveNickTomLaurenceRayTheboyswhostoodintherain
MarkGazAndyDuncanKarlRichardMalcolmLovelyblogandtwitterfollowersPete
AnotherJohnNorwegiansEggyDanTom
andalotofpeoplewhoIsayHellotoandwhosenamesshamefullyIdonotknow (As Mr Shakespeare “might say I will sue to know you better” next season but not in a King Lear kind of a way. That would be messy and tragic).

Lena, Pepsico’s wife and my play-off transport companion and the brilliant whiskey sharing, lift-giving DavyMac

Topnotch synchronised lager drinking courtesy of HatBoy, Skits & Paul

It’s been a blast.

TLF

It had to end as it had begun. With John Jones. Back then he wasn’t a celeb. He was, my first Encounter of the St Albans kind (eat your heart out Spielberg) the bloke who regarded me slightly suspiciously last July as I stuck my head round the clubhouse door on a non-match day enquiring if I needed to buy tickets in advance for a pre-season friendly. To be fair he didn’t laugh at me…or indeed attempt a citizen’s arrest. I once asked if I could interview him for the blog and he said I couldn’t afford the fees. Lord knows what they are now, for he was this year’s winner of the Wagstaffe Simmons Award for person doing most for the club in a season – so he is A list interview material now. Anyway that first encounter meant that for the sake of neatness and sentiment it had to be John who I scrounged a lift off for the short trip to Chesham for the mighty Saints dream date with destiny (alliteration and clichés…it’s all coming out now).

And as it turned out it was the perfect D-day. Nothing eases the pain of hitting 45 like a day in the sun, with a few beers, in the company of some brilliant people and a play-off final VICTORY. There was cake, there was Stella, there were 3004 people or maybe 3005 as my friend Russell, (Brentford and Dulwich fan) who turned up on the premise of never having been to Chesham, used his powers of persuasion to gain entry having turned up after the gates had allegedly been shut – where there’s a will there’s a way. Or a at least a Russell.

And there must have been something in my eyes as well, seeing as they went a bit watery as the final whistle went. Cue pitch-invasion of the joyous kind and a ridiculous amount of hugging of people who I didn’t know 10 months ago. And how do you put the cherry on the promotion icing of the birthday cake? Well obviously it’s back to the clubhouse in St Albans for a few (more) drinks. Via John’s house….to get the keys.

Eggy audtions for a lead role in the next series of The Choir

More singing, more drinking and the chance to tell the players, officials and managers just what this meant to you, as they too have all come down to the clubhouse to share the celebrations. Well that was the sentiment as I mumbled at each one I saw, “‘Mazin.Fanku. Mazin.” I put this rapid onset gormlessness down to being tired and emotional rather than being star struck.

Club captain, Ben Martin with play-off trophy

Ben Martin humouring Mark the web editor and TLF

Remarkably sense prevailed and at 8pm sober inner fox had a quick word with very lost party fox. Those words were, “Work tomorrow. Alarm set for 5am, 4 mile run to complete before you go anywhere.” This had the desired effect and it was time for au revoirs definitely not goodbyes and then came the perfect end to a perfect day (well apart from the perfect bit when I got home and annoyed Mr TLF as every other sentence I uttered that evening began with “We are the yellow and blue army”).

As I prepared to take my leave of Clarence Park (Jane Austen read em and weep) I came face to face with Fenners venerable kit man and SACFC institution. We’ve not spoken before. I looked at him and smiled, “What a day.” There was a pause. Would he run screaming, “get this woman with the daft hair away from me”? Nooo for he has more class than that and it is a perfect day. He took both my hands in his, in a grandfatherly kind of away (for although I am now a year older, I am sure he would forgive me for letting you know that Fenners is quite a bit older) and he said, “It is a brilliant day. Are you the lost fox?” I confirmed that he had me banged to rights, I was indeed the aforementioned fox and because I was carried away with the moment I told him that this had been the best thing I have ever done. He nodded as though I had said the most obvious thing in the world. And the lost fox floated home. Happy, older and promoted.

Chesham Utd 1 St Albans City 3
Attendance 3004/5
Bacon Fries consumed 1 lucky packet from the shop on Fleet Street (planning ahead you see)
Bacon roll consumed 1 of Mr TLF’s specials
Birthday cake 1 slice (Oh. Ok. 2 but I shared the rest of the cake. Honest)
Lager consumed 5.5 pints and one of those fruit cider things that I like the idea of more than the actual taste.

Thing I Learnt The day after….
My movements are no longer safe. Our postie was at the match and the post-match celebrations…..and he had a quick word with Mr TLF on Tuesday (oops)

TLF

As Russell (intrepid Brentford and Dulwich fan who made epic journey to our epic play off final) said,

“Wot no blog?”

And it’s true, this has not been delivered within the bounds of my usual SLA. Not to do with a monumental hangover, although I would be lying if I said drink was not taken. More a question of excess work commitments and completely losing track of time (birthdays celebrated over a number of days can do this to someone of my advancing years). Plus to be honest I feel a bit weird:

St Albans City promoted TICK
Play off final success coinciding with birthday for first time ever TICK
Brilliant day out at Chesham and fantastic post match celebrations TICK
Successful experiment with a whole season of cold turkey from TATTPIB TICK
Two top notch City promotions to celebrate TICK

In fact you could say its all ticketyboo (BOOMBOOM!)

But I’m not sure that my footballing cup has ever runneth over like this before. It’s left me discombobulated as I am not used to this much success and therefore a little worried that my rambles cannot do justice to the adventures of Play off Monday and the celebrations. Christ, imagine if England win the World Cup I might develop permanent writer’s block….No ok, fair play I couldn’t quite imagine that either (the victory or the block).
….and don’t get me started on the Dyke plan. I confess when I saw the first tweet slagging it off I did think it was some unpleasant homophobic trolling, until the penny dropped. See. Two promotions and the Fox brain turns to mush.

Anyway proper, do-it-justice matchday blog and end of season review coming your way shortly. I promise.

Dazed and Confused Fox

don’t always have time to throw stones. Especially when it is the Glass World stadium just outside Cambridge (well a long way out of Cambridge really, in a place called Histon) and they are too busy cheering on the mighty Saints in the play off semi final.

Now my play-off track record is none too healthy, I have form as the pundits say, and it leans towards the losing so I didn’t approach my trip to Cambridge with a particularly large bucket of optimism, more a small margarine tub’s worth. The omens though were good. Bacon fries had been sourced from the slightly dubious looking newsagents on Fleet Street. The pre-match fuelling, while following a fairly loose interpretation of the standard format, was close enough to tick the pork-and-bread-and-lager boxes. Although the face of the woman opposite me on the train did suggest she might have been veggie, teetotal and anti-football.

Anyway forget her; back to the omens – my taxi driver for the Cambridge station to Histon journey passed his driving test in St Albans and had lived in Leicester. Yes. Thank you. I do appreciate he might just have been saying all that in the interests of bonhomie and calming my nerves and none of it was true but it made me feel better. Or maybe he was distracting me from the fact that the taxi journey was costing me £15…EEK.

Although I probably should stop fussing about the taxi fare. Turned out we were blessed with the presence of one of our infamous Norwegian contingent…and it had cost PepsiCo a mere £270 to get to the game. Worth every penny or indeed krone as it turns out. The massive away support were on top form. We even had a drum…and a drummer who had rhythm…And while we were meeting our job description on the terraces, the team were doing the job on the pitch. A few nervy moments every time our two goal cushion became one, but they did it.

Through to the play off FINAL.

Cue mass celebration, excess hugging and beaming. All followed up with a journey home for seven in Davy Mac’s people carrier, and Stella provided by Hatboy – first class travel. And so to Chesham on Bank Holiday Monday. One more game to send the mighty Saints up and put the icing on my bank holiday birthday cake.

Of course he’s blurry – he’s travelled a long way and the photographer is tired and emotional…

Match stats:
Cambridge City 2 St Albans City 4
Attendance 768
No raffle tickets or golden goals, this is the lottery that is the play-offs
Bacon fries consumed 1 packet
Item masquerading as bacon cob: 1. An M&S american style pork flatbread sandwich
Lager consumed 3 pints lager (various)

Thing I Learnt today
This matters even more than I thought it might.
Come On You Saints
TLF

While Clarence Park might not quite echo with the history or grandeur of institutions such as Oxford or Cambridge, we do on match days, quite often rival those seats of learning for the standard of our academic debate, particularly in relation to use of the English language. This past weekend was no different with an earnest debate in relation to ‘bobble'(noun,’doing’ word as we used to call a verb…or both?) and also the most appropriate description of the melee/shenanigans/brouhaha/skirmish/fracas that surrounded the x-rated tackle which led to an early red card for the opposition.

All this high tempo debate was taking place as we move to what is commonly known in footballing parlance and cliche as the business end of the season. Nothing to do with suits, offices and the working week. No. It indicates that it is time for a bit of heart rending disappointment, uncontainable joy or for the vast majority, another mediocre and flat ending to a season of ‘what-ifs’ as the final scores on the doors are revealed. One minute the fixtures/results page in the programme (or StatAttack as it is known in our match day tome) is a blank canvass waiting to have a season’s dramas and miseries etched out in glorious technicolor with the occasional shade of humiliation thrown in for good measure. And then before you know it that page is full and it’s the last home game of the season.

Or not as the case maybe.

Because down here on Planet Non-League the play-offs are an altogether more nasty, brutish and short affair. The semi-final doesn’t mess about with any home and away leg marlarkey. It’s one game with the second and third placed teams getting the home advantage as they play against fourth and fifth respectively and than the final is between the winning semi-finalists, with the originally highest placed team getting home advantage (still with me?).

Saturday’s win against Biggleswade (with not an aerodrome joke in sight) left the mighty Saints needing 1 point from the trip to Frome to be assured of participation in the play-offs. This 1-0 home victory was in no small part down to the performance of the divot in the away goalmouth whose timely intervention ensured that a fairly insipid grass cutter of a shot did at the last second veer past the flailing arms of the opposition’s keeper, over his head and into the back of the net…..or maybe it just…..
bobbled?

Whether the divot will be available for selection, should we end up with a home game in the play-offs remains to be seen. I of course will be up for a bit of play off drama wherever it may take place, after all I’ve had the training for it…..

Match stats
St Albans City 1 Biggleswade Town 0
Attendance 724
Losing golden goal tickets 3
Epic raffle ticket fail 10 tickets
Bacon Fries 1 Packet
Andy’s van purchases A match-winning traditional bacon cob
Lager consumed 3 pints Stella

TILT
There is a rumour going round that I am not the best lucky mascot in the world….several TATTPIB fans have already begged me to go on another season of cold turkey from my lifelong team as that should guarantee Premiership survival. Hilarious.

Jonah Fox

Once a year, usually when season ticket prices are released or just before the season starts the sporting press will devote some creative maths and journalistic licence to an assessment of how much it costs an ‘average family’ to attend a premier league game. So I thought that in the interests of research and balance and with my random sense of timing I should now take a look at the cost of a day out at Clarence Park for the average TLF family of one (Mr TLF remaining unconvinced that a trip to see the mighty Saints is the missing piece of the perfect weekend jigsaw)

Now clearly if I included in the grand total the cost of Stella and bacon snackage such a public exmple of economic profligacy could send the western economy back into recession…or at least make Mr TLF raise an eyebrow and check the joint account. So instead I decided to check out how much I spend on the journey from turnstile to bar. Technically the journey through the turnstile costs nothing as I have a season ticket and any fule knos that money spent last year doesn’t count.

Once past the turnstile the first financial adviser to come across is Duncan, purveyor of raffle tickets (in a hue of delicate salmon or possibly orange. The tickets that is not Duncan). Not only is Duncan a bit of an English language aficionado, having adopted that great word wiseness, but he is also a bit of a goalden (see what I did there?) goal legend. This is a man who at an away game picked out 19 mins for both home and away golden goal competitions. And when was the first goal scored. Indeed. A true golden goal Jedi meister and on that basis how could I begrudge him two quid for my 10 raffle tickets?

After this dalliance with the murky side of football gambling, a little literature is necessary to cleanse the soul and so next stop is Karl, who is today on programme duty. Karl is a little less garrulous than the rest but happily relives me of my hard earned two pounds and poses for a photo with a certain panache.

Duncan, raffle tickets at the ready

Progarmmes R Us

At this point I think my moolah is safe. Trouble is that Clive, golden goal salesman supreme has an innate ability to not only hear a pound coin at 20 paces, but also spot a sucker with an open wallet and bear down on them with a serious turn of speed and focus. Unlike raffle ticket and programme sellers who tend to be a bit more static pre-match, Clive is on the move, so you can run but you can’t hide. And soon enough. BOSH! The two pound coin and the foolish fox are soon parted.

Once I’m on a roll like this it seems rude not to include Richard who is I/C raffle tickets at the other end of the ground. Resplendent in shades and selling a different coloured raffle ticket, it’s a chance to spread my investments and so I deposit a further two coins of the realm.

Cool, calm and collected Clive

I can sell you the winning ticket…Trust me

The final call on the wallet on this occasion is Ian Rogers, Trust Chairman, general-in-chief-of-loads-of -Saints-stuff, proprietor of the club shop and winner of the ‘Showing extreme and unwarranted patience with TLF when she tries to explain, while under the influence, her precise football club merchandising requests’ Award. He is beaming and that is because on this transaction I am handing over folding stuff…Fifteen of your earth pounds for my brand new SACFC polo shirt (very smart and perfect fit thanks for asking…and yes I probably will get another one in a different colour).

The sun is out and Ian is about to relieve TLF of £15…what’s not to smile about?

This week I learnt
Translating the Lost Fox into Norwegian is not as easy as you would think. There being a lot of Norwegian words for Lost…but here goes: Den Bortkomne Reven
DBR