Cheltenham Town vs Plymouth Argyle

Cheltenham Town 0 - 3 Plymouth Argyle   (28.3.2015)

From the old wooden seats of the Jelfry stand any distracted spectator can look out over the lumbering slopes of Gloucestershire fields. Fans of Cheltenham Town may be forgiven for staring into the surrounding cider country more so than at the sport being played for their pleasure this season.

With one win in ten games, the Robins find themselves at the bottom of the Football League. “We’re all in this together,” reads the sign outside the railway station, accompanied by a photo of the players in a team huddle above the ominous slogan. Another billboard in sight of Whaddon Road boastfully declares “Better than Manchester United – at least we beat Cambridge.”

These adverts were paid for by supporters but if the descent towards the Conference continues few individuals will feel their investment was well spent. At the relatively cheap price of £9 for a student ticket, the club already seem rather desperate for bodies to fill the ground.

With fellow strugglers Hartlepool United resurrected by a miraculous run of form in recent weeks, Cheltenham seem doomed to a period of exile from the prestigious 92 for the first time in 16 years. At least this genteel community can realistically survive the dip in soccer pedigree, whereas the likes of other League Two minnows would find the experience socially crippling. This spa town, of course, can still attract annual visitors and the hubbub of an active sporting life through its races, boarding schools (rugger and jolly hockey!) and calm pastoral hinterland. The likes of Tranmere cannot compete with that.

Without doubt, however, there is no way to disguise the disarray of this once-stalwart football team. So far this season it’s seen three managers at the helm, over 40 players used in total and yet, despite a six game unbeaten run at the start of August, all have failed to steer the ship from perilous inadequacy. After 39 games, the team’s top scorer still only has four goals to their name.

Whaddon Road’s pitch is also making no effort to hide its tired wear. Both goalmouths, evidently feeling the effects of another year groundsharing with Gloucester City, have the look of sandboxes. A resultant drop in revenues from relegation would only deteriorate the condition of the turf further next year. After five seasons of the neighbouring rivals staking a joint claim on the stadium’s modest resources, it looks like the uncomfortable cooperation between clubs will continue indefinitely.   

By late March, the usual point when fans resign themselves to disappointment before the inevitable optimism of the summer holidays, the atmosphere in the stands has settled into the pangs of lethargic hopelessness. With solid professionals of proven lower league calibre like Matt Richards on the books, the side can appear deceptively competent for long stretches. Once they are faced with any amount of skill, though, the red and white shirts flounder. Such was the case when Plymouth defender Carl McHugh strolled through a number of sleeping opponents to slide Ruben Reid through to score with the simplest of passes. As the group of typical terrace blokes sitting behind me pointed out, travelling teams such as Argyll can snatch the points at this beleaguered site without straining above third gear. A double from the muscular centre forward was enough to destroy any confidence remaining among the home side, leaving substitute Zak Ansah to mark a resounding victory with a deft header as the final whistle beckoned.

A three goal margin showed the Devon side handing their south-west counterparts the dreaded Black Spot, much to the amusement of a spiteful minority amongst the massive away support (1400 in all – covering over a third of the total attendance) who chanted “You’re going down” to no tune in particular. Lone voices offered the only retort to the Green Army’s taunts. A plain fact is hard to argue with, I suppose.

Indeed, the spirit of Cheltenham’s advertised rallying call was lost on the disaffected home mass, which appeared largely docile across the ninety minutes. A year outside the pyramid has seemingly been accepted as a certainty. Even so, at least the club’s board remain fighting – appointing ex-Yeovil boss Gary Johnson as manager within 48 hours of the defeat. If, for the sake of pragmatics, this friendly community club does get relegated, they will have to prepare for a long struggle in the wilderness. They need only ask fans of Wrexham, Lincoln and Grimsby how that feels.  

Bristol Rovers vs Lincoln City

Bristol Rovers 2 - 0 Lincoln City   (7.2.2015)

It has been an age since my last post on football in this cosy corner of England. Part of the blame lies in my increasingly manic workload. Who knew learning to teach could be so tough? On the other hand, Rovers have been starved of a game at the Mem' for an inconveniently long time. The lower down the divisions you go, the more fractured the fixture list becomes, as can be testified by a run of three away matches for the Pirates on the trot.

Despite their recent travels, the Gas remain on full throttle, slowly pulling back Conference leaders Barnet after remaining unbeaten for 16 games. So far the divide between the two league leaders has been reduced to five points.

At this stage of the season, Darrell Clarke's side deserve to overtake their London rivals. Their level of play is a step above this division and another comfortable victory on Saturday afternoon showed how wide that margin of superiority has become. 

At no stage did the journeyers from the eastern shires threaten an upset. Whereas earlier in the year, the Rovers players might have been thrown  by typical non-league plodders, they now gobble up this type of opposition with confident ease. 

Although the Lincoln 'keeper managed to produce a series of miraculous saves worthy of Gordon Banks across the ninety minutes, he could do nothing to stop a brilliant set piece goal from Lee Brown and a Nathan Blissett tap-in. Whether by shin, heel or a full-facial block, the Imps' man between the sticks did his all to keep the ball out of his net. Yet by half time the result had effectively been decided, leaving Lincoln to limp aimlessly onwards after their return to the field.

I saw the visitors, a former league club (there are few teams in the Conference who weren't members at some point in their history), ten months ago against Gateshead. Over that period of time, they have not improved in the slightest. If anything, they were poor then and even more lacklustre now. Based on my observations, therefore, Grimsby are Lincolnshire's only hope of a return to the glitzy world of the 92, where a visit by Mark Clemmit or Manish Bhasin acts as a ceremony of supreme soccer status.

Bristol Rovers are now daring to dream of a return to that glorious pyramid, having finally found the right recipe for scoring goals. An ability to kill teams off is still a missing ingredient but, in the energetic Clarke, the club has a manager well-versed in simple logic. This is his side now and they are beginning to play with a professional swagger too often lacking outside of the top tiers.   

Finding a strategy in the signing of Jermaine Easter, however, is a harder task. If failure to attain promotion strikes (always a possibility in the unpredictable play-offs) then the gamble on wages for this new intake could be shown up as plain, unsustainable arrogance. Is it even possible for a non-league club to make a marquee signing? It certainly looks that way.

In their humiliated opposition, Rovers can see how easy it might still be to dwell in the lower rungs without any hope of a foreseeable exit.  

Bristol Rovers vs Welling United

Bristol Rovers 2 - 0 Welling United   (29.11.2014)

You won't hear any more moaning from me. No way. Not at all. Nada peep! On Saturday afternoon a fresh and confident Bristol Rovers team swept Welling aside in a performance of total dominance. After a frustrating goalless opening 45 minutes, Darrell Clarke's introduction of Nathan Blissett and Angelo Balanta sparked the Pirates into some bouts of thrilling football.

Like Elizabeth Taylor in her prime, Rovers' play had an awesome glamour which consumed the crowd in appreciative gasps. For the first time this season, the Blues looked like they deserved to play in a higher division. In the face of this flirtatious onslaught, Welling's tired defenders had nothing to offer in return.

Both substitutes combined to open the scoring when Balanta played a perfectly-weighted pass behind the opposing back four. Blissett charged onto the through ball and bundled the ball beyond the 'keeper. Welling's misery was compounded a few minutes later when Jake Gallagher was shown a red card for a rough foul on Lee Mansell. From then on, the Kentish club were powerless to restrict the home side's controlling play. A Matty Taylor penalty effectively ended the contest inside the last 20 minutes and only then did the pressure begin to ease on the visitors.

The deficit remained two goals through mercy more than anything else. Once again the strict conversion of goal opportunities eluded the Gas, in particular, Taylor failing to complete his brace when gifted a one-on-one chance.

Suddenly, from perpetual doom and gloom, a buoyant sense of optimism has nested itself in North Bristol. One defeat in their last sixteen league games shows that even without reaching top gear, Rovers are a dominant team in this league. Now, with a lethal burgeoning pairing of Blissett and Taylor up front, they could take this competition by storm. Balanta and Lyle Della Verde - a loanee from Fulham - are also a step above this level and could prove to be major assets.

In the aftermath of Tuesday's downpour, the sun is shining on the Memorial Stadium. Will it last? Until Santa has been and gone over the next month, it is too hard even for my mystical powers to foresee.

Bristol Rovers vs Barnet

Bristol Rovers 2 - 1 Barnet   (25.11.2014)

Lashings of rain beat down on the Memorial Stadium for a game of football which could have come straight out of a kitchen-sink drama. Domestic sport does not get any more dramatic than this brilliant encounter. With a minute to go, the atrocious weather looked set to be nothing more than pathetic fallacy and a tormentor of we humble supporters. That is, until a last minute winner sent the soaked anoraks of devoted disciples into a frenzy of commotion. Bristol Rovers, that perennial outfit of misfits and hoofers, had actually managed to claim a crucial victory. Barnet will still win the league at a canter but, by God, these lads pulled the rug from under their feet with relish.

Few fans were perturbed by the cold when Rovers made a rip-roaring start that saw the home side take the early advantage against the runaway Conference leaders. Barnet's defenders were all at sea when a slick pass through to Matty Taylor saw him crash the ball under the away 'keepers flaying legs.

For the rest of the  half, the Gas dominated the Bees with miraculously flowing football, despite the monsoon conditions. It was the most enjoyment I have had at a match in years. There was a real "oof" to the atmosphere and for once the players in blue and white did not disappoint. But by half time the weather worsened and a series of controversial incidents looked to overshadow a rollicking 45 minutes of fierce competition.

When a Rovers corner came sweeping into the box, a looped shot sent one of the Barnet defenders sprawling back towards his goal line. A desperate swivel of the body diverted the ball away from the net. Was it by head or hand? Referee said yay to a penalty, while his linesman - to the home support's apoplexy - said nay. The assistant won the argument and play resumed without the obligatory spot-kick and sending off. On first witnessing it, my instinct said head. But the more I think about the way the defender's arm waved in front of his face, I have to question my reasoning. Either it was a blatant act of cheating or the greatest defensive header I have ever seen. Without a television replay, who can know for sure? Certainly not a guy with rain-smeared spectacles and a notorious lack of awareness.

Before the break Barnet reaped the rewards of their fortune. A free-kick from twenty yards was comfortably stroked into the bottom corner, with the Pirates' goalie Steve Mildenhall relegated to the role of a helpless observer.

At that stage there was no escape from the downpour. Those of us in the East terrace were drowning under the deluge, so much so that by the ninetieth minute fans around me were hoping to skip the necessary injury time and get home that extra few minutes earlier. By the end they were all glad they stayed. Another corner fell into a blundering melee in the Barnet box. Somehow - and I really am clueless as to how it happened - the ball crossed the line. Damp celebrations ensued before the final whistle blew moments later.

Of course, by then the game's early promise had totally disappeared, the second half being an ugly scrap where neither side looked bothered to run into the heavy rainfall. All I wanted to do was find the nearest towel and burrow deep into its soft lining. Alas, the almighty, in his incomprehensible wisdom, continued to urinate on his flock. At least, that is what I think causes rain.

It was a night of amazing triumph for this motley Rovers team. Perhaps this will inspire them to future success. In new addition Nathan Blissett, they at least have a striker who could work in tandem with Taylor, running at the opposition with pace and power. For them it was a great three points, and for me, the start of a terrible cold. Oh well.

Bristol Rovers vs Kidderminster Harriers

Bristol Rovers 1 - 1 Kidderminster Harriers   (15.11.2014)

The Memorial Stadium is soon to be a fitting name. If I could care to be pretentious, I might even call it ironic. When the bulldozers have completed their work and a monstrous supermarket is erected over the rubble, a memory is all that the stadium will be.

Unlike such lost arenas of sporting inspiration as Ayresome Park, Roker Park and Boothferry Park, this rectangular patch of grass is enclosed by a beautiful structure, a pillar of local identity; a lost relic to the days when football was about something more precious than money. It has not been a happy home for Bristol Rovers but many a classic rugby union battle has been fought on its turf. Alas, no longer.

Sadly, once the football ground is gone, my favourite part of living on Gloucester Road will be snatched away. After much thought, over many a long walk, I have decided that I do not like the area. In the early days I kidded myself about its cosmopolitan vibe; a sort of British San Francisco, as I naively claimed . It was on this road that I first saw a same-sex couple holding hands as they walked along in daylight. It is also the scene of my first conversational encounter with Pidgin English. These are things that I embrace wholeheartedly with delight.

Yet, the illusion has finally been eroded away. Every day I walk past depressing, disappointing, despairing social wrongs. Over a two mile stretch I pass countless Big Issue sellers. I hate to ignore their polite pleas but I simply don't have the time or money to help them - even if it is only to buy a magazine I will never read.

They are what I would call the legitimate beggars, though there are plenty who request money without valid reason. A number of people in perfect health, with permanent homes nearby, stop me and state their case. Each time I say no. One man, who lives in my sector of the street, has asked me over ten times for spare change. Does he have no memory of my answer the last time we talked? And why me? On a cold day, when I had no coat and he was well-wrapped in multiple layers, he asked me. In times when I have been standing amongst a group, he has asked me alone. When I am in the laundrette, and have clearly spent a fortune in coins on the dryer, he still asks me. How is anyone meant to make sense of that? Karl, Che', Malcolm: what is to be done?

The football is unique in bringing out salt of the earth sorts. Standing on the terraces, anonymous in the crowd, I feel more at home among them than wandering in this postcode. Our cultures are different but I know enough to blend in. Stokes Croft, Redland, Cotham and Clifton, on the other hand, remain inscrutable.

Without becoming a total disaster, Saturday's game remained a poor outcome for the Gas. A familiar pattern of early Rovers' pressure, then loss of confidence when scoring looked unlikely, and a sloppy goal concede from a set piece, was followed predictably. Matt Taylor (the centre forward, not the rocket scientist with a controversial taste in fashion) saved his team's blushes by equalising from a skidded low cross. Space on the left wing was there to be exploited, and this was where Kidderminster's defence crumbled under a late raid from the Pirates. It was good football, the best I have seen this season, in all fairness. Nevertheless, it still took Darrell Clarke's team over an hour to realise that their long ball tactics were proving counter-productive.

Despite the result, this strong late showing sent the home fans back to their dwellings in good spirits. Back on Gloucester Road - that most strange of thoroughfares - the Royal Oak pub (a quiet middle class establishment with inflated prices) displayed a sign which read 'Home fans only'. How odd. Are Kidderminster's small assortment of travelling support likely to make a scene? In this division you would be lucky if you got 50 away fans, nevermind enough to cause a serious civil disturbance.

Bristol Rovers vs Forest Green Rovers

Bristol Rovers 0 - 1 Forest Green Rovers  (18.10.2014)

My, my, my, the West Terrace were not happy with this result. Two different referees came and went, departing with bellowed boos ringing in their ears. A ceaseless sequence of soft fouls, compounded by the dubious sending-off of the home team's right back, propelled the crowd into an attitude of stern recalcitrance. The world is against Bristol Rovers, or is it rather that, on this particular day, a rough and tumble derby was squeezed out of their nervous grasp.

How could I resist the autumnal bite of this hot-headed encounter? Gamesmanship, the bane of all downtrodden football supporters, was in full flow to the extent that my jaw locked into a type of gurn which similarly afflicts thousands of lower league devotees every weekend. Yet my own mildly feigned indignance was no match for the old man standing next to me. With each tweet of the referee's whistle, this moody codger swayed his head back and forth with the fury of a Hong Kong action flick. As the match stumbled to an irritating climax, I was seriously wary of the danger from a geriatric headbutt.

Bristolians react in strange ways to football, most of which are hilarious. One excited chap, for instance, moaned with a bovine variation on the classic "ooh!" with every close call to the goal. To my own private delight, Matty Taylor's wayward shots were greeted with a shriek of "moowaah!" every single time, without fail. Someone should have called DEFRA because it sounded like Mad Cow Disease had broken out in BS7.

In all fairness, the fans have every right to feel a little aggrieved, especially when over 7000 attended this mercifully forgetful game. The Gas are at a historic low and yet they still cannot score goals. For all his flaws, at least Matty Taylor creates chances for himself and his teammates. His positioning is good, he has the skills to run at defenders and the raw pace to get behind his opposite number. But, crucially, his finishing is awful.

Adam Cunnington, meanwhile, only feels the urge to stroll into the box about twice every match. For the rest of the ninety minutes he seems to attempt a faultless impersonation of the never-lamented Kevin Kyle. A lamp-post could make a more significant contribution to a team on this form than the lanky striker.

David Batty gets stuck in to his prey.

But hey, what do I know about football, anyway? As a committed student of the 'David Batty School of Footballing Excellence' I have never, nor actually wanted, to hit the ball in the back of the net. A crunching slide tackle is far more satisfying.

Speaking of the ex-England midfield enforcer, he would have been proud of Daniel Leadbitter's uncompromising challenge in the second half. Leadbitter, a son of the greatest city on Earth, struck his opponent with a forceful impact for a 50-50 ball - although there was no question of malice on his part. Sadly, you can't play like Batty anymore (you probably couldn't when he was still playing, to be honest), and the already unpopular referee made himself the most disliked man in Horfield by dismissing the Pirates' defender.

At that point the visitors were already one goal ahead after sloppy defending from a corner. It is not the first time I have written that sentence this season and, I daresay, it won't be the last. Until the goalkeeper learns how to catch high balls it will prove to be a continually damaging weakness.

The next match at the Memorial is not until November 15th so I will have to write about something else for a while. Maybe I might start that epic socialist novel I have been planning. Or not... Who knows? At least we get a three week holiday from the drudgery of more Conference action.

Bristol Rovers Vs Dartford

Bristol Rovers 1 - 0 Dartford   (09.10.2014)

An ugly incident unravelled towards the end of this tawdry encounter when visiting 'keeper Jason Brown, gesturing towards the North Terrace mob, complained of racist abuse. Brown spent at least two minutes vociferously protesting to the referee, his teammates, and stewards about a particular section or individual of the near crowd that he believed was the guilty party. BRFC officials say they are currently investigating the incident

Jason Brown accepting his country's call.

but nobody has yet been identified and prosecuted.

Up to that point, the chants from the crowd had been relatively good-natured, with the targeted individual even joining in with the chorus of 'Aahs!' after a goal kick. Much merriment was made of his pink shirt, although, even at these early jovial stages, I could sense a tipping point was imminent.

If ever there was a time for an old pro to think "what is the point?", it surely came for Brown on Tuesday night. With three senior Welsh international caps and a five year stint at Blackburn Rovers to his name, the 32 year-old must have wondered which sins he had committed to be suffering the abuse of idiotic bigots on a cold October night. Two years ago he was playing against Mexico in the soccer hubbub of New Jersey. Now he represents Dartford in a league where they would be ecstatic just to avoid relegation. Every so often, sport throws up a sad story of disappointment and unfulfilled glory: a real life Bull Durham, if you will. Jason Brown will stick in my mind as one of those melancholic footnotes as shouts rang around the Memorial Stadium of "Who the f***'s the black man in the pink?"

Juvenile school yard humour seemingly held a renaissance amongst the Gas' terraces, especially in relation to the unfortunately named Tom Bender, who felt the mockery of a small section of home fans. The incessant yapping of men old enough to know better stirred my own ire against a support base which behaved impeccably the previous Saturday. I wonder, do these immature twits shout at their television set every time Lars Bender controls the ball in the Champions League or German internationals? Of course, it is difficult to effectively ridicule a phenomenally successful professional sportsman, like the man who was initially selected for Germany's World Cup winning squad. A scrawny left back with foppish hair, plying his trade in the non-league, is a much easier target to pick on. As another famous Bender would say to these guys, they can "bite my shiny metal ass".

Over on the pitch, Rovers struggled through an uncomfortable ninety minutes where a scrappy Matty Taylor penalty was enough to shade their dogged Kentish opponents (the Pirates' second from that county in four days). With 37 minutes on the clock, Brown got two palms onto the under-fire striker's placed spot kick, but could only push it into the side netting.

Throughout the game both teams played some atrocious football which lacked any quality or efficiency. Miraculously, however, this win sends the Blues up to 4th place in the table, having been unbeaten in eight games. After such an impressive run, why does the team play like they have the world on their shoulders?

Stewie Sinclair, or perhaps 'Chewie' would be more appropriate with so much facial hair, is an exciting presence in midfield. Aside from his full-throttle approach, Bristol simply do not have the commitment to play triumphant football. I supect the next away game at Aldershot will test their mettle and cause them to buckle. By 5pm on Saturday we will know for certain.