Cobham

Three points. That’s it. Anything written beyond this point will, as ever, be more or less meaningless, except at the end which will mean a great deal (but only to

me). The three points last night vs Cobham were the beginning middle and end.

In the last fart I did on this website, I suggested the games vs Camberley and Cobham at Imperial Fields were particularly important, given the fixtures which followed. Given the frustrating loss at Balham. In a table which has begun to look far less alarming since the turn of the year, I still felt it was necessary to take points from two teams below us at home before getting on the road to teams well above us.

The lads have done it, taken 6 from those 6 available. And while it wasn’t always sexy- I’m only speaking about Cobham as I wasnt present at Camberley- the points are the same. There was certainly nothing alluring about Tuesday night. A cold, damp night in South London with business to attend to. Get a win and get home.

It was good to see Jayden back in the line up, starting in the midfield alongside Noah Kelo. Good to see what seems like the emergence of a settled side in key positions- goalie, centre halves, front three. Some chopping and changing in midfield because of Deji’s suspension, but we are seeing a consistency in line-up that I dont think we’ve able to relax into for some time at Tooting. There will always be changes, but there’s continuity and you feel it’s to everyone’s benefit. Louie Reid continues to impress at right full back. He’s an athlete, that young man.

The evening started reasonably miserably, all that said. Maybe the quickest concession I’ve seen since Basingstoke. Maybe the quickest ever. A deflection from an attempted long ball- I think- sees Tooting defending a corner 30 seconds into the game. The resulting dead ball is half-cleared and the ball knocks about the box a bit and inexplicably some lumpy centre half decides he’s Wayne fucking Sleep and flicks the ball goalward with his heel. Time stands still, symphonies are composed and the ball invents its own form of kinesis, rolling into the corner at a pace which would shame a turtle. That corner of the net, we later learn, has cosmic qualities.

One down in 53 seconds, officially. Too quick to cause anger in the stands, just that kind of rye laughter and gallows humour that accompanies goals against Tooting in such style. Shay didn’t see the funny side, screaming his frustration towards the Bishopsford Road. As is my wont, I announce the goal in the manner of a teenage boy reading out his report card to his absent father down the phone. There is no joy to be had here.

At least there’s time to correct it, I thought. It looked unlikely for a long time, as Cobham sensed perhaps that Tooting might implode. They attacked consistently and well and Jackie Minchin continued his solid showings for the Stripes. Lewis and Andy, a wilier set of centre halves than we’ve had at Tooting for some time, were resolute and unfussy. Jayden was doing the things I love him for, having a toe in exactly the spot where you want his toe to be. Noah Kelo too, whose work rate makes you salivate at the prospect of a partnership with Deji Adeosun. That’ll be a midfield to aggravate ankles.

Tooting begin to string some moves together and Blake, Conor, Mario and Shay start to threaten. Offsides are called liberally, but eventually the lads sync up and Mario gets in behind and is one on one with the Cobham goalie. The outcome is inevitable. Mario’s not missing at the moment, 1-1.

The game was pretty even to be honest and there was none of the rollicking form we so enjoyed versus Fleet. In truth, I probably would have taken a draw as the second half started, it was cagey enough. But we have Gary Goals on our team.

At the Bishopsford Road end, where the ball had rolled in in the first minute, Shay swung his foot at the ball and even as I considered it to be an uncharacteristically snatched chance from the best finisher in Step 5 and mentally prepared for a Cobham goal kick, the Bog End started celebrating. I was convinced the ball was going wide. It also seemed to travelling at a pace where the goalie could have collected it whilst doing a £5 scratchcard. But it went in the corner. That same corner the ball went in for them at 1mph. That corner is a portal to another dimension. It’s cursed or blessed or has some cosmic chaotic energy. Headline- Gary Goals on the scoresheet, Tooting winning.

The next half hour was testing and required level heads and quick legs and concentration and Tooting lads brought it all in abundance. Noah was brilliant at that and earned his rest when he was replaced with 25 left. The fullbacks were relentlessly energetic and even our attacking trio put in solid defensive shifts. When Jayden was puffed out in the dying moments, Penny came on for his first appearance in a good while. He played in midfield and it was good to see his experience coming on to see the game out. The subs were used wonderfully, using up precious seconds in the madness of Cobham’s hunt for a point. The most animated I saw JOC during the game was when he exploded in fury at the nearside linesman’s lack of awareness that we wanted to make a sub during a brief break in play. Said it before, here it is again- seeing lads with the energy and workrate of Callum Porteous and Marcus Whittaker come on to see a game out is a blessing.

We saw the game out and the Bog End erupted. The match day announcer did too. A good three points, a result that the boys’ collective effort deserved. Not beautiful, but weather-beaten and leathery and dearly beloved. Some three points you wear as a crown and parade around wearing. Other ones you fucking strap to your body as you cling to a tree in a gale. These three were towards that end of the spectrum. Such threes are wonderful. Tooting now comfortable in the middle of the table and looking upwards, maybe. Get through the next run of games with a couple of results and maybe the back end of the season might herald a late drive for playoffs. I say that in hope rather than expectation, but a month ago I would not have had hope.

Progress.

This is likely my last bit on the site for a while as I go away for work for a bit and, moreover, close the book on my South London life. My wee family are moving west to Somerset to be closer to grandparents and the opportunity to have a garden. Everyone knows this, I think.

I came to the club when I did because my circle of friends had arrived at the decision to leave London before Sarah and I, and so I found my weekends were broadly uneventful. I didn’t have many people left to knock about with. So, after nearly 15 years living in and around Tooting, I pitched up to Imperial Fields.

Immediately- and fucking immediately, mind, Steve Harrold sauntered up and sat down and welcomed me to the football club. Made a point of doing that every single match I turned up at. On my own, or with a pal I’d brought or with my brother, every game Steve would come and chat.

And then Warren Andrews and I started chatting on the bus on the way back, and then I started chatting to Duncan and Joel started coming. And Jimmy Ramble pointed at a guy called Peter in the pub and said “he goes Tooting” and so we started going to Tooting together from there and then some more folk came from drinking in the Ramble. And, all of a sudden, I’m now a guy that goes to Tooting and Mitcham and I go to away games.

And I stand behind a goal with people I don’t know but who I look forward to seeing and really without realising it or having to work particularly hard to do it, I have a gang of mates again.

And we start up this website and I have pals who know me and give a shit about me and who are excited for me when I tell them I’m going to be a dad. And one daft day I bring my tiny daughter to Imperial Fields and I’m literally the proudest man in the fucking world and fucking every person I meet in the ground that day sees that I am the proudest man in the whole world and they’re happy to see that I am. And the wonderful Phil Nightingale opens an office for me and my baby and I change her shitty arse on a desk.

We turn up and fix things and paint things and clean things and I never thought that’d be me. We sell raffle tickets or programmes or scarves and I never thought that would be me.

Unbelievably, when you consider the torrent of utter shit that successive seasons have seen, I have been just absolutely and overwhelmingly happy to be a guy that goes to Tooting and Mitcham United, and it’s basically because everyone there is my fucking mate and I am eternally grateful to the club for facilitating that.

Whatever factions there are, whatever disagreements or differences in opinion, being a guy that goes to Tooting and Mitcham is fucking brilliant.

So thanks, mates. Thanks Steve and Ant. Thanks Phil and Duncan. Thank you, thank you Warren. Thanks Irish Lot. Thanks Ed and Lisa. Thanks the Newsoms. Thanks Tim and Sam. Thanks Stephen. Thanks the Tingleys, Scotty, Brad, Tim, Ty, Mitch, Matt, all of yis. Anyone whose back I’ve slapped or whose beer I’ve drunk or who ever backed me when I started a song. I genuinely appreciate every fucking one of you and will miss your craic desperately.

Anyway.

Up the fucking Stripes

📸 Tim Marcus