Vibe Check post Balham

I watched those Bear Grylls shows back when they were on a few years back. They'd find a dozen or so volunteers to be "stranded" on a not-so-remote island to see how members of the general public cope when needing to survive without the most basic provisions. There is no running water, no bedding, no food. It's staged, of course, but it looks pretty sketchy.

After some weeks of either no food or a massively inadequate amount of it, they are jet-boated back to civilisation. The wizened-looking participants skip up a jetty to be met by crisp-sheeted double beds, mirrors, showers and a banquet of prepared food. After marvelling at the clean, clear water effortlessly flowing from taps onto their chapped fingers, they sit down and briefly are struck dumb by the food they see.

The most basic sustenance is revered. They stretch newly-invigorated hands to gently lift slices of fresh fruit and small spoonfuls of salad. They gaze at bubbles of carbonation in sparkling water, mesmerised that this most boring of refreshment could so easily sate their thirsts, thirsts never quite sated in weeks. Staved off, perhaps, but never sated.

Each shy bite of banana or chocolate or croissant or French frie is followed by a renewed understanding of what it is to *taste something*. After weeks of morsels of poorly-cooked fish or bitter things from trees, or nothing, the sensation of flavours that should be familiar seem brand new. Revelatory.

They hungrily, but sparingly, begin to quench their appetites. They are told by experts to take it easy with their consumption- their guts have become unaccustomed to volumes, to richness, to the ease of gluttony. Too much and too soon, and they could end up feeling worse than when they arrived.

Tooting supporters are hungry.

We have crawled up the beach of Step 5 football, having clung to the wreckage of two dismal years to make it that far.

We have arrived at the table and been presented with a small, but ever so fucking tasty, banquet of consecutive league wins. We will heed no advice.

We feast. We fucking feast. We know we'll spew, but we'll fucking feast.

When was the last time we tasted this? Senior cup win, 2021? Two calendar years and more ago. When did it last feel hopeful? When did we last have a guy who banged 4 in a match that we thought might stick around to bang 4 in matches at Christmas?

We feast.

We recognise it's only two games, that it's only August, that we're out the FA Cup, that it'll all go wrong at some point, that it's a shit league to have to be in but we feast.

We devour every bit of the season to this point. The friendly results, Hussein's free kick against Dulwich, the first half against Newham in the cup. The pricing climb-down from the club. Chuck it all down us.

We drink in the Jersey game. Every drop of it- the goal, the luck, the lads who were there and made noise. The lad who looked crosser that we'd won because there would be nothing to moan about. We'll have all of that.

Balham we gorge upon. Two up, two-two, bit of luck, a fucking DECISION IN OUR FAVOUR FROM A REF, a winner to make sure of it, all of that we inhale into out grateful guts.

I look at the socials around it. Lisa K blissed out in a Tooting sunset. Mingechops drinking it in literally and figuratively. The Harrolds figuring out if they can get forty minutes out of a podcast where they just scream "fucking come on". The Balham account saying "that was good, fair play". I look at the WhatsApp group chats going mad. I drink it all in.

We have been stranded for a couple of years now, Tooting supporters. Bad luck, bad players, bad results, a bad fucking relegation. And now we're at a table where, tonight at least and in the very immediate aftermath of only the second game in the season, we can just be allowed to enjoy feeling full and worry about the hangover later.

Whatever happens after this, tonight tastes good. It feels overwhelming. It feels reasonable to write this and get it on the site when everyone interested to read it will probably be in bed. But fuck it.

Because if you can't enjoy the enjoyable things after so many unenjoyable things, you might as well just fucking forget it.

I love you all.

Up the Stripes