So into a new decade we delve, welcome to 2k20 where the business end of the current campaign will creep upon us momentarily in what promises to be an exhilarating stretch to the finish.
Here is the place you’ll consume a concise compendium of Concord related activity fresh from the brain of a pious Beachboy bod. So sit back and relax, I’ve got you covered for the next 5 minutes of your life where you’ll spend more tick tocks of the clock wondering how on earth a seemingly illiterate numpty is capable of penning this piece of literal genius. Suck it up and savour it you lucky lot.
Etched into our fresh faced diaries for New Year’s Day, we were due to rekindle our romance with local gold mine Billericay Town for the holiday season return fixture. However, the treasure topped pot pouring from New Lodge, The DMC Circus, Tamplin legacy Towers or whatever else their gaff is named nowadays clearly remains tipped in the favourable balance of the vulture circling playing budget with little splash-back dripping into the wheelbarrow of the groundsman. In layman’s terms, our runaround was the single standout postponement of the National League’s 34 scheduled for the New Years Day program.
We like to take positives don’t we, yes, yes we do, which on this occasion presented our grafting gang some timely R&R in the thick of the busy winter period. Every cloud n all that.
Back round our neck of the woods we welcomed in the beauty spot Borough of Hampton & Richmond to test our young guns in the tale of two form sides. The busy Beavers plied their trade with Duracell bunny energy levels in a nip and tuck affair, which saw their vigorous work rate rewarded with a 2up topple to nil. It did however prove that extra chill means very little if you’re not willing to match the rabbits mileage on game day. I do hope that was subtle enough.
Serendipity served up the enchanting opportunity to write history. Presenting itself to our squad was the possibility to tread uncharted territory, to venture where no Beachboy has been before, for a W over the formidable Romans would place our FC into the FAT last 16 for what would be the first time in our existence.
Our battalion went in all guns blazing in pursuit of obtaining their Concord folklore status, the weaponry at our disposal though was fired with the aim of a lothario’s length, shall we say, a little loosely, meaning we were made to settle for the entertaining non-bore draw (1-1), thus summarising with a Tuesday night trot to Somerset to settle the score.
Trials and tribulations are inevitable over a full blooded football season. No worthwhile journey in life was ever completed without the bumpy ups and downs on the road travelled when seeking prosperity. In the midst of Tuesday the terrible, we motioned a ponderous and treacherous ill-fated five hour path from Thames Road to Twerton Park with Storm Brendan unrelentingly leaking his liquids with ubiquitous spritz without a care in the world. Selfish sod. Upon our arrival and just on cue the distinct lack of common sense which plagues the beautiful game then stepped forward, rearing it’s ugly head to take the reigns and the game was duly postponed at precisely nineteen hundred hours with the proclaimed ‘carpet’ deemed too wet to host a ball game.
I conclude this debacle by stating that I’m no longer giving the time of day to any man, woman or beast named Brendan. If you’re unfortunate enough to meet one, I’d recommend avoiding at all costs.
This next bit will be taken in acceptance or rejection for it contains a brutal truth. As you’re all well aware, I quite like attributing the odd quote here and there, and this one fits pretty well to the following scenario. “Truth is like poetry, and most people f***ing hate poetry”.
So last dribble out we explored the doers of the world and the beauty their actions contribute towards, however this time let’s look at their polar opposite, the sayers.
We have a member amongst our ranks who unfortunately holds the title as worlds most unreliable man. Proudly producing his artistic A grade excuses almost on a weekly basis at a whim, and unceremoniously delivered at the eleventh hour. These works of creative art belong hung in the Louvre, with possibly a spinoff book of bullshit that’d do wonders on the fictional shelves of Waterstones. If only he’d put his imaginative bonce to handy use by keeping to his word, we may have a dangerously useful dogsbody to rely on.
Said fellow has a heart of gold and I do hope he finds my musings amusing but also realises the potential he has to do some incredible work at our club. He’s a very capable man, let’s put those capabilities to great use.
Weymouth were next to wriggle their way to our sunny shores where we eyed a reverse in fortunes from the dismal display in Dorset. They say there’s a first time for everything, and unfortunately on this occasion it was a dissatisfactory first as those tricky Terra’s completed the dooming double over our Concordian contingent. Our barn door bashing days of December seemed a distant memory as we lacked the prowess to turn advantageous situations into actual real full blooded goals, whilst the visiting sky blue clad selection scored a brace of their efforts yielding a 1-2 punchline at the end of their statement.
Bath tub FC come a cropper when their carpet failed to get the nod of approval for the second week in succession. Olaf himself made an appearance turning the once oh so reliable surface into a rink, altering it’s capabilities to enable hosting puck related play for the evening. One can’t help but think that the haughty Jerry Gill maybe due some timely ‘karma’ for his refusal to allow the original tie to completion on our manor in his attempted seeking of a potentially slender advantage on honours even adding “they do not want a replay”. No sh*t Sherlock.
So I’m going to go all electrical geek on you peeps now and explain something we learn at spark skool. One of the scientific phenomena we encounter on our journey to electrical stardom is something called resistance. Low conductivity, high resistance. High conductivity, low resistance. Pretty simple stuff even for your average moronic football fan wouldn’t you say. On this particular winters day Eastbourne Borough decided to register heavily on the low conductivity side of life meaning level terms were the best we could muster up with a 2-2 upshot.
Our club secretarial scoundrel Sir Lewis Pack was due some type of appreciative acclaim as his superior organisational skills were put to tidy use what with the FAT replay 3 strike issues we’d encountered in month numero uno, forcing his handy work into rearranging no fewer than 8 contests. Grazie molto signore. Your work with us is invaluable mate, and we’re privileged to have you as one of our Beachboy brothers in arms.
Right that’s enough of that personage praise. Too much is bad for you or so I’m led to believe.
It seems as though the potential ‘karma’ backlash due at the hands of mini Mr Gill may have come a few days too early when his arse was duly handed to him, suffering a 7-0 humiliation in a good old fashioned Grosvenor Vale Stoning. Let’s hope lightening strikes twice when we head back to the Roman fortress for take 3.
Judgment day jostled into view and the stage was set. The book titled history slid off it’s dusty shelf and a fresh page peeled open provocatively, begging sacred scribe ready. Our war primed warriors made the arduous journey back to Bath with flames of focus burning fiercely behind their eyes on only one outcome. Twerton Park sat in wait, finally suited and sound to wrap up this cup tie.
Sensing blood and digging to depths beyond comprehension, with mere minutes left on the clock, Joel Nouble wrote his name alongside each and every one of his tremendous teammates onto that blank page and into that book for ever after. 1-2 the scoreboard shed on the final whistle and a fairytale was founded except this one was real. A simply stunning achievement contributing to a feeling of seemingly perpetual bliss.
Kobe Bryant 23.08.1978 – 26.01.2020
Rest in peace Mamba.
It was overwhelmingly poignant to discover that a hero of mine growing up was killed in a devastating accident along with some of his beautiful family and friends. I considered naming my first born after Kobe, such was his positive influence on his fans worldwide. I’d like to touch on two of his philosophical approaches to living life and competing in sport.
“I can’t relate to lazy people,” he said. “We don’t speak the same language. I don’t understand you. I don’t want to understand you,” and finally, “To go where others have never gone, you have to do what others have never done. We don’t quit, we don’t cower, we don’t run. We endure and conquer.”
When I read through countless, incredibly inspirational things this man had done or said in the wake of his passing, they related.
These are the mindsets that’ve turned our young boys, beach based football team founded by our dear late great Albert into a minor miracle National League South outfit standing it’s ground amongst some colossal clubs in comparison.
Writing new chapters in our history book is what we aim to achieve and day by day, brick by brick, a special club is growing, slowly but surely into something much bigger. Whether we are making record ground in the FA Trophy, experiencing hundreds of successes amongst our burgeoning youth section or feeding the seeds of this stunning sport to the next generation of infant footballers with our Tiny Tekkers community program.
CRFC really is a special place to be, and I hope you all appreciate and enjoy it as much as me.
See you on the flip side of Saint Valentine for more drab dribble, addio amici.