A couple of my friends, Gavin Berman and Daniel Babbs, are doing 'The Road to Wembley'. For the uninitiated, this involves picking a tie in the early stages of the competition and following the winners of each match, all the way to the final in May. This requires dedication and commitment way beyond that of the average supporter. They started off at, erm, Barkingside vs Clacton Town, I think, in the Extra Preliminary Round, and have since visited places as diverse as Tranmere, Margate and Woking. Today, of course, was third round day - a magical time for lovers of cup football everywhere, with shocks, spills, romance and drama as the big teams entered the fray. Sadly not for Berman and Babbs, though - their personal oddyssey had reached the dizzying heights of Peterborough United vs Plymouth Argyle. Having already dabbled in cup football this season (Gillingham vs Bromley and, seminally, Hitchin Town vs St Albans), my friend Spoons and I were more than happy to join in the fun.
First, though, a hellish trip to Peterborough in monsoon conditions, followed by the usual problems of actually finding the ground amidst a nightmare of roundabouts, pointless chicanes and housing estates. Peterborough's main selling point seems to be that its 'quite near' a few rather nicer places, and London is just about commutable - that's it. But never mind the scenery, a quick pint and we were on the terrace - a proper, old fashioned terrace with singing, shouting and abuse, just like back in the good old days.
Plymouth were red-hot favourites for this, being two divisions higher up the league ladder than their lowly hosts. They are, however, sponsored by Ginsters; I can only assume the team receives a healthy stipend of free pasties and pies as they were, with the greatest respect, fucking appalling. The first half featured some of the worst football I've ever seen, with neither side able to string more than two passes together, and the spectacle was hardly helped by a pedantic and officious ref. The second half was no better, but it was enlivened by an incident of pure and tragic farce. First, an Argyle player was sent off after receiving two yellow cards; almost immediately after this setback, their speedy striker fell theatrically in the box, conning the ref and gaining a penalty. This was saved spectacularly by the home keeper to general rejoicing, but the ref made them take it again for 'enroachment' - you can imagine the abuse that triggered. The Plymouth player tucked the penalty home second time around, but then seriously lost it with a genuine goal-related brain malfunction. Sauntering over to the massed and enraged home support, he cupped one hand to his ear, apeing the scum from the higher divisions that regularly do this to annoy opposition supporters (notably El-Hadji Diouf). He then placed a finger to his lips, blew a kiss, and finally did a long 'Klinsmann' dive. It all kicked off. The Peterborough fans (or 'Posh' as they are known) responded with a volley of coins as a prelude to the moment of the match - a perfectly flighted half-full plastic bottle, which may well have been 'refilled' with second-hand Coke for the occasion, came from somewhere just behind us, arcing a perfect parabola to smack the idiot square on the bonce. Its not big, its not clever, but it was very funny and the twat was asking for it. Stung, he turned, charged towards the jubilant terrace and, to coin a phrase, 'offered out' the entire home support, screaming 'COME ON THEN YOU FUCKING WANKERS!'. The locals responded with an El-Hadji Diouf tribute of their own by coating him and a few unfortunate team-mates with a film of well-deserved flob. Fantastic stuff.
After this outrage it seemed inevitable that the baddies would hold on to the win, but no, Peterborough scored a good goal to set up a tense final five minutes. 1-1 and honours even. I will not be going to the replay, I'm afraid - a seven-hour trip to Plymouth on a cold, wet wednesday evening in January doesn't sound that much fun, to be honest. Bad luck, Berman and Babbs.
Celebrity spots
None. Nobody is in London at the moment - the rest of the city is bunking off work. Its like a ghost town. Even the ubiquitous Harry Enfield has been conspicuous by his absence.
Enfield: absent.
Recommendations
First some music I've enjoyed rediscovering over the last few weeks. Babes in Toyland were virtually ignored when they were actually around (early 90s) and are now only ever mentioned as being a band that Courtney (Fucking) Love used to be in. But they are long overdue some critical acclaim. Another band from that era worth giving a go is Th'Faith Healers; they too never got the fame their fast, bass-heavy rock deserved. Plus their lead singer was really fit.
As for my cup bets, well Stockport lost at Watford (despite taking the lead), while Barnet v Colchester was rained off. Yes, rained off. I'm still hopeful for Cardiff to get a result at Spurs tomorrow. Switching to the darts, I am backing Martin 'The Wolfman' Adams to win the BDO World title at a healthy 4/1 (Bluesq.com). Always the bridesmaid but, until now, never the bride - will 2007 be The Wolfman's year?
Adams: fearsome tungsten warrior.
Addendum (added Sunday)
Just to prove I'm not some hopeless one-eyed oaf, here is what legendary Plymouth manager Ian Holloway had to say in today's Sunday Mirror (under the excellent headline 'Posh show their bottle'):
Ian Holloway blasted his side's goalscoring celebrations after a Peterborough fan threw a plastic bottle at this rejoicing players.
Argyle's players dived to the floor in a gleeful scrum yards from the home fans after Hasney Aljofree's twice-taken penalty had given them the lead in the 74th minute.
Plymouth boss Holloway said "I've had a go at my players over that celebration - except for Lilian Nalis who was trying to get them back to the halfway line.
"We should have run back and not alienated the crowd. We should have taken the sting out of it. It was disgraceful. I don't know if my player was hit by a bottle. I'd have hit him with a bottle myself if I'd been a home fan."
Me too. Hats off to Holloway.
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