Welcome back to yet more waffle from my burgeoning beak. You all know the drill by now, you get the finest offering of a Tourette’s sufferers* account, all things Beachboys related in the given month of December for this particular instalment of the dribble.

*Disclaimer. I don’t, contrary to popular belief, suffer from Tourette’s syndrome. Or perhaps more accurately, I’ve never been diagnosed with it… yet.

So let’s not waste anymore of our minutes, I’ll dive straight in and we’ll delve into elf enclave and explore the build up to the consumerism orchestrated crescendo that is Christmas all the way thru to the decades denouement. Enjoy.

West bound Wakering of the Great variety were next to make the trip to Concord Island. A last 16 tie to wrap 1/8 of this terms Essex Senior Cup quarter finalists. A fair fight it was not, for our Rangers ravaged their neighbouring Rovers notching six sultry goals to no reply. Jovial mood set, we decided to have a little fun on full time.

We make no apologies for the fact we’re a committee made up primarily of adolescent minds and took great pleasure in drewing a nibble via the simple act of including our No1 in the mom poll after he’d enjoyed playing a spectators roll watching a full 90 from between the sticks. “We’re National League South not Mickey Mouse” was the cry, inducing yet more giggling amongst us children. A little quote I regularly use at work to justify my stupidity on occasions which skims similarities to this situation and the words are these, “growing old is inevitable, but growing up is optional.” Life tends to be a lot more fun if you take it a little less seriously.

Needless to say Chris Haigh won that mom poll 😀

Attention pivoted back to the NLS snakes and ladders struggle as we looked to roll decisively with the dice when The Sports of the south coast showed up on stage. Eastbourne Borough were on a fine run of form having impressively won their previous 5 in 5 encounters. Poignant number though as it turns out, when during a crisp winters afternoon on the edge of the Essex estuary, it was five of your finest goals that were gone and gotten coupled with one of the cleanest sheets you’re likely to see sending our sportsmen further up them rungs in their pursuit of gaming glory.

I’m making space here for a little shout out of appreciation to the doers of the world, in which they’re becoming a scarce breed. Every Non-League FC are heavily reliant upon the work of these unsung voluntary saints, and without such selfless souls the small everyday successes we enjoy together would simply be an impossibility. So I’d like to take this opportunity to thank every single one of you who categorise in this field for our lovely little club as it’s you people that are the integral cogs of our over-performing machine. A tiny example on this side subject follows thusly.

Props to our club programme editor, committee member and fellow Beachboy dogsbody Big Al JP, who was a little miffed what with his Dartford counterpart requesting the works, and I quote “the entirety of the war and peace essay” for inclusion in their publication to be sold upon our visit. Now this is a busy man, juggling his globetrotting gallivanting with a full time gig as London’s finest fat controller coupled with a recent engagement to his lovely lady Danielle (congratulations you beautiful pair), shedding a small insight to the preciousness of his time, as goes for all our volunteers only with varying pastimes. However, Alan being the proficient professional that he is, decided against telling the geezer to google it and delivered his wish in a whirl.

“After all is said and done, it’s the done that makes the difference.” – Me. That was me that said that.

With Eastbourne sent packing and seemingly beginning to accrue our own patch of flourishing form-book territory in good timing we travelled to the garden of England, county town of Kent, or Maidstone for those of you who’re slightly awry from par on your Blighty geographic scorecard for a reasonably juicy FAT 1RP cup tie. And no that wasn’t the post code you sarcastic sods.

We arrived at the impressive Gallagher stadium with the optimism of an oracle, and boy oh boy were our prophetical predictions answered. In a tumultuous and tremendous regulation 90, our heroic band of brothers turned a two goal deficit into a stunning comeback victory, di-tri on full time, and in doing so placed our flourishing football club in a Trophy realm we’ve only once prior been capable of reaching. “WOW” I hear you say… yes WOW indeed.

This achievement holding heightened regard due to the fact our hosting Stones currently operate with full time footballers. Round 2 beckons for us Beachboys and girls where we’ll have the pleasure of hosting the Roman City of Bath on I – XI – MMXX in what’ll be another cockle warmer I can promise you.

Back in table based play we traveled the short stint then bridge hopped to take on Lord Farquaad’s Kingdom of Dartford. Princes Park, for those of you who haven’t been, is one of those mini stadiums which cause you to question wtf we’re doing competing with (and beating) this calibre of club by pinching yourself, then realising that even at the gates of the 8 million pound castle, a Dart isn’t as powerful as once was especially when it misses the board. A squad full of relentless work ethic and valour yielded victory in battle leaving little Mr King fatuously facing his mirror wondering how the miniature ogre won the prize. (0-1). Switching subject matter for a second and I shall dare whisper this quietly, but Danny Scopes’ soldiery are beginning to look every part the imperious, efficient and potent well oiled footballing machine.

Santa Claus came and conquered our household in what felt like a flash, and with my intestines stretched to the seams plus 450,000 assembled Lego pieces later I awoke from the annual food coma the following morning with a sense of excitement in my belly, which was surprising considering how much volume it’d conceded over the past 24 hours but nonetheless gave me required additional impetus to roll out the Uncle Ned and into Boxing Day.

We were expecting a tough day at the office, for the visiting juggernaut was in fact the fabled Billericay Town in what promised to be a heated south Essex derby day clash of the haves vs the have-nots. The boys from north Basildon came to collect their coin but left with little change from their feeble attempt at derailing the Concord express on its way to 3 sumptuously gift wrapped points in a saccharine 4-1 turn-up. Truth be told, they’d been volleyed firmly into touch adding more questions than answers to their seemingly sinking ship leaving us to sip succulently on the sweet taste of success.

Derby day delight and a Merry Christmas to our yellow & blue contingent whilst back to the cheese board it was for the pampered Jamie O’Hara et al.

Sometimes as they say… this s*** writes itself, and as a short side note it’s impossible to ignore the Blues boss name dropping Stevie G with a hint of lachrymose in his tone, touting coincidently the ‘Rangers’ gaffa as his potential savour. Maybe perhaps he’d be better suited seeking the advice of our very own Senior Scopes considering the evidence of precipitous difference on display on that late December day. Absolute jub.

Cressing Road called for the swansong of the twenty-tens where we took on the unrecognisable Braintree Town. Devoid and depleted of the side we faced earlier in the campaign, we couldn’t have cared less. This was an Iron side there for the taking and that’s exactly what we intended to do, fielding a number of changes due in part to the Billericay battering a mere 48hrs prior, our squad depth proving its quality and competency with a difficult but deserved goal to nil triumph to make it an incredible 6 wins in 6 for the month of December in what should surely garner a special gong for our commander in chief.

It’s hard to put into sufficient wording the journey our football club has endured and enjoyed in the past 10 years. But I’ll give it a go.

‘The upside is too good to worry about the downside’ accurately describes the philosophy my 5y/o lunatic baby boy Leo employs when he bravely destroys a chunk of my chocolate without seeking prior permission, displaying not a care in the world about the impending consequences.

I think it’s fair to say that if we all lived our lives this way we’d likely come out the other end sitting pretty.

The point of my elementary story is that Leo’s philosophy little does he know it, is of extreme similarity to that of Concord Rangers FC. Since the turn of 2009, our football club when stood at the foot of a mountain has begun climbing first, no questions asked. Never looking backwards, downwards or giving a damn for the potential dangers we kept clawing away towards ‘that chunk of chocolate’, which in our eyes spied a multitude of successes so incredibly inspiring that I struggle to decipher the pick of which. We exit the decade sitting as pretty as we’ve ever sat.

So into 2020 and beyond we venture together, and I implore us all to keep climbing that mountain for the good of our football club. You don’t need permission to go for what you want in this world. You simply require the gumption.

Happy new year to one and all ?

See you all in the 20/20’s