At the weekend, Bath City played Shortwood United in the FA Cup. Shortwood United – a team so unheard of, that Accrington Stanley fans ask “who are they?”
In typical Bath City fashion, they made hard work of playing their opponents, who play their league games two divisions below them. To be fair, I don’t think City did too badly. Shortwood more than rose to the occasion of the cup tie and matched Bath man for man.
City were at home, so from the start were going to struggle. In football, most teams generally perform better when playing on their own turf. The problem for ‘The Romans’ is they have some old boys, who have been supporting the club since it was formed in the late nineteen century – or at least they look like they have.
They think they’re football managers. This would be all well and good, except, instead of being good football managers, like say, Brain Clough, Arsene Wenger or Don Revie (I’m a Leeds supporter, I had to get that one in), these fans are more like Steve McClaren, Dave Hockaday and Mr Bean.
The would-be-managers will stand huddled together, berating their players throughout the entire game. This torment is enough to put me on edge, and I’m just a fan watching the match. It must get to the young players and affect their performance.
Anyway… the old boys don’t travel to away games, which is why Bath City play much better on the road and haven’t lost since the opening game of the season. It must be said, the match where they did lose, I was in attendance and I haven’t been to an away game since, so have missed all their recent victories, but that is just a coincidence – my presence has no bearing on results at all… no. absolutely not…
Tonight, I will be going to Shortwood. I’ll be leaving work early – in little over an hour and a half in fact. Having never been before, I’m not too sure what to expect. However, considering that Shortwood’s ground is located at the end of a muddy, country lane, which is too narrow for a coach to drive down (we are travelling by minibus), I’m not expecting The Emirates…
In brighter news, her’s a hamster in a cardigan!
I’m off to bed in a minute. I’m hoping I will have a better nights sleep than yesterday.
Last night, Dennis Wise (my hamster, not the manager/odd-job man at Newcastle United) decided he would redecorate his cage. This involved destroying his mini-house, tearing apart the newspaper on his floor and kicking food, sawdust and shit everywhere.
All this went on at 2am and greatly disturbed my sleep. It’s hard to see how such a small animal can make so much noise, but he most certainly did!
Right now, my feelings towards Dennis Wise (the hamster) are similar to those of the Newcastle United fans’ thoughts on Dennis’ namesake… I don’t like him very much.
The most annoying thing about Dennis Wise leaving Leeds is that I need to think of a new name for my hamster, who was named after the exiled manager. Any suggestions are welcome.
I spent over two hours of my very valuable time this morning cleaning the whole of my flat. My fish and pet hamster, Dennis Wise, also had their cages cleaned out. The flat is now very clean and tidy; although my normally soft hands are now hard, sore and smell of bleach. I want to get a cleaning lady (or a wife).
Just because England are not in the European Championship next summer, it doesn’t mean I can’t support a team competing. Therefore, I have made a draw on which team I will support. Here’s how it happened…
Firstly, write the names of every competing team on pieces of paper
Screw these pieces of paper into tiny balls
Ask my hamster, Dennis Wise, to make the draw
To encourage him to collect a bit of paper, I put a little bit of margarine and sugar on each piece
He finally picks a team
To stop him eating the sugary-fat coated paper, and getting a horrible combination of diabetes, high-cholesterol and ink poisoning, I quickly took the scrawn-up team off him
Great choice, Dennis… I think not
On this website, you’ll find me blogging (almost) daily about everyday life, living in Bath, working with computers, and the occasional bit of football stuff thrown in.
If you're expecting The Man Booker Prize, you've come to the wrong place. If you want to read a collection of sometimes eccentric, often disturbing and rarely amusing ramblings, gorge your eyes on this.