Fleet (h)
You talk of bars being set and realise you’ve talked about bars being set before. You talk about lines in the sand and realise that such lines have been drawn before and tripped over.
But then you look at Mario Quiassaca at the end of the game and his assertions to a Bog End in bedlam and say, “well, maybe this time”.
His exact words I cannot remember, but they were something along the lines of “that’s fucking it, that was fucking it, this is it now”. Precise wording unclear, message absolutely crystal. Unmistakable.
This Tooting, this 5 goals, clean sheet, guts and balls and level heads Tooting, *this* is the Tooting we’re getting from now on.
If this is so, we start to look up the table, not down. We look at the individuals in the team and assert that actually, yes, we should be expecting better results with the quality lads we have all over the pitch. We possibly, in some cases, accept that knells were sounded too early. There was a sense in Jamie Byatt’s programme notes a few weeks ago that online negativity was unhelpful and unwelcome and I suppose this site- my bits on it- and our twitter feed have been guilty of some pretty neggy thoughts in the last couple of months. But realistically, we were in the doldrums and it was getting difficult to see where the turnaround would come.
It has come. Two wins on the spin, including the rescheduled CWU game which we saw out despite some nervousness. 6 points from 6 for the first time since October. In fact the win away to Colliers Wood was our first since Halloween. We needed these results and if Colliers Wood away was important because it was us seeing it out, Fleet on Saturday was important because it was seeing us go out afterwards. It was the performance that launched a thousand pints.
The result is directly proportional to the queue in the pavilion after and our 5 goals and their no goals heralded a deluge to the bar after the game. It heralded a contingent to be out into the small hours, throwing money at the wonderful staff of the Ramble Inn to keep feeding them the good times. Discretion being the better part of valour, no names will be mentioned, but Andy O’Brien has become Mr Brightside. Is fucking right.
Mr Brightside. A brace of goals, one stooping header and one half volley. One to secure three points, one to add further gloss. More importantly, an imperious showing in defence, resolutely not fucking about with any of theirs. The first half was well more difficult than the second and Andy held firm. Here’s a lad that’s captained clubs a step above us. Here’s a defender who has seen out promotion campaigns. Here is the base of a spine that should start to click like an ASMR video from an LA chiropractor. Like an ASMR video from an LA chiropractor, Andy was fucking cracking on Saturday. In chats with people with an eye for this kind of thing, Andy was referred to as a “cheat code” for Step 5. Tooting will love him. We love him already.
Shay scored three. Shay Brennan scored three. “Shay Brennan scored x” should be a shortcut in every non-league keyboard by now. Control, S and the number he scored should just produce that sentence. Shay scored three. One gorgeously deft finish after good work down the left flank, one that required rather more labour after my favourite ever assist from Mario and one arching top-corner job from the edge of the D which he scored because he wanted three and we wanted five. It will be his least necessary goal of the season, so it may be my favourite. It was a nightcap. A big gloopy measure of Bailey’s over ice. Absolutely unnecessary, sheer indulgence. Fucking delish.
The assist for his second, from Mario, was a real indicator of the same fella’s final whistle rallying cry. Chasing down a spun ball over the top, Mario was probably never favourite to get possession. The Fleet fullback probably felt the same and, despite a head start, eventually found himself engaged in a physical battle with our forward. Mario was not for fucking about and as the Fleet fullback went to ground expecting the ref to help his cause, Mario ran clear and found Shay. When Shay found the net, Mario found the dugout and made some case or another to the bench. It was less a celebration than a declaration, it seemed. Of what, I don’t know, but it was certainly a precursor for his mission statement at the end of the game. Mario is not fucking about.
None of the lads are fucking about. As Andy made the game sure with his first, our third, there was celebration of a game won. The two further goals were joy. After the final whistle, at the Bishopsford Road end, there was a collective statement made- this is us. We’re your lads and we are not- none of us- fucking about.
Is right, lads.
A word for recent signings Connor Melody and Lolu Ojo, who both did well. A treat to see Sonic back in from the start, too. He’s an athlete and you feel we’ll benefit from his pace and strength at left full back. Deji went through the work we have come to rely on and Blake has become a firm favourite at IF.
A shout too- and a loud one- for lads off the bench. When you can bring lads like Callum, Warren and Marcus into a game in the latter stages, you know you will get hustle and energy and that is such a benefit. Nathan Best, too, continues to develop and will be an absolute nightmare for tiring defenders. And, of course, Alex Penfold came on after the whistle and heralded his long-awaited return to the fold. All good things.
All good things. We go to Balham this weekend with our tails up. Out of the doldrums and with a bit of wind behind us. Balham above us in the league and in a <slightly> better run of form. We will not expect a win, or even a point. We will expect that level of performance from the boys. That drive, that energy. Those levels.
Tooting, from now, are not fucking about.
Up the Stripes.
