AFC Croydon (A)
I almost didn’t go…..
On Tuesday evening I found myself depleted of ‘Irish Lot’ companions for various reasons- illness, family weddings, moving to Somerset to become a Druid and dance around trees, mind-addled drunk on cloudy cider – the usual sort of thing.
But no. The team has been in a fine run of form and the mood among the support has been buoyant. They deserve the support. I want to be there. A pint or two in the Antelope are had and a travelling party arranged – primed and ready to brave the back lanes and treacherous passages of eh…just outside Croydon.
There’s a bit of chatter about this one. They’re in great form themselves. The celebrity owners bring an extra interest. And in the lead up to this game, former England international Andrew Johnson is announced as a director of the upwardly mobile club. He’s in the ground we’re told. The cameras will be there too, apparently. The Bog End have come in their numbers. As usual. The team selection is announced to widespread approval – we are strong. Strong starting 11. Strong bench. Into these lads.
The game kicks off and it is evident almost immediately that we are ON it. Shay and Mario are terrorising their defence, hounding, pressing, chasing down EVERYTHING. We are almost treated to a comedy own goal as a result, only for the ball to trickle narrowly the wrong side of the post. It’s pulled back for, well, I don’t know really. To save the Croydon blushes? No idea.
We’re not waiting long to reap the rewards of the early endeavours. Some tidy play by the front 3 of Shay, Mario and Blake. Shay with the ball in and then dummy run, Mario assured on the ball and Blake breaks up the middle and pulls the trigger. The Croydon defender throws a leg out only to deflect the ball past the keeper who can only watch the ball sail past.
We’re firmly on top and its not long until the advantage is doubled. Mario wins a ball on the right wing that he has absolutely no right to win. No right. But he does. The cross is accurate and dangerous. Shay anticipates the heavy touch from the defender and he’s not disappointed. Two touches to steady, not a hint of panic and the ball is nestled in the top corner. Because that’s what Shay does.
Mario. We need to talk about Mario……
I don’t think its any secret that our recent run of form has coincided with a rich vein of form from Quiassaca. Tonight is another fine example. An absolutely insatiable work rate. Assuredness and confidence on the ball. There is a passion and innate want to win sometimes boiling over into hot-headedness, but that’s absolutely fine by me!
We see out the half, remaining in control. AFC Croydon aren’t a bad team all of a sudden. They have possession and a chance or two. But, by and large, they are kept frustrated by a resolute Tooting defence. The fullbacks, Louie and Johnny are standing their wingers up. No one dives in, no one is allowed to the byline for an easy cross. Lewis and Andy in particular are imperious in the middle. Highballs are dealt with and lines are cleared time after time. Deji on his return has not missed a beat. Balls are kicked where balls need to be kicked. Men are kicked when and where men need to be kicked. Ojo and Kelo are monition unending.
Everything that was good about the first half continues into the second. Croydon huff and puff a bit, but half chance after frustrated half chance is snatched at and oft time graveyard bound. The right subs are made- Mario and Lewis, on cautions, are removed and Conor Melody and Alex Penfold enter an increasingly tetchy game. We’ve often been our own worst enemies here. But no Tooting heads go. Resolve is held. The hosts, not so much. A red card is issued and quickly followed by a sin bin. The contest is put to bed as Melody slips past a full back playing higher than advised and he’s one on one with the keeper. The body opens and the ball curled into the bottom right corner. The Bog End erupts.
We’re not losing from here. We’re not conceding. We’re just not.
Full time.
Ecstasy. Scenes. Whatever you want to call it. Yeah, we haven’t and won’t win the league. But this mattered. It mattered a lot. The bond of fan and team and the overwhelming sense of togetherness in this corner of Thornton Heath was palpable. Football is 99% misery according to a sage resident of Hackbridge – but god, that 1%.....
Farewells are said and I decamp myself back to the safety of the Ramble Inn to enjoy the moment. To decompress and compartmentalise. A pint of Guinness lands on my table and it’s allowed to settle. The perfection of the black and the white. Appropriate. I take a picture to send to the absent friends on various Whatsapp groups. I need to think of a caption, really. It comes pretty quickly….
Up the fucking stripes!
