"..........Welsh Cup's Coming Home!!!!!!!!!!!"

Bangor City 4 Llanelli 2
After Extra Time
Welsh Cup Final

A early start is not favoured by many as a hangover cure but I thought I'd give it a go today. I had to meet Nige in Junction. The car journey to Bangor became uncomfortable due to hot flushes but luckily we were in Wetherspoons by 9:15. After some refreshments and some sales we went to the buses at 10:30. By this point clamminess had replaced the flushes. As we waited attention was drawn to my attire; I'd chosen to wear a red polo shirt. Apparently this meant I was a Llanelli fan.

Long legs, a hangover and coach travel are not easy bedfellows. Their co-existence was even less smooth when the hot flushes began again. The coach's passage was made easier because I was sitting next to City legend Paul Whelan. Paul was the first person to score for a Welsh club at Wembley since the bloke who managed to do it for Cardiff in 1927. I found out that we shared the same birthday. Paul mocked my red shirt. More comments came my way as I walked the length of the coach , maybe I should become a Llanelli fan.

Thankfully the journey ended eventually and we de-coached into pleasant Newtown sunshine. Someone told us to follow the noise so we followed the noise. We were in the right place. The pub was packed so I sold a few flags instantly, after a few more refreshments I found that I'd sold some more flags and all of the wigs. It appears that increased sales are directly proportional to the level of alcohol consumed by the clientele, I don't think I'll go impulse shopping after cold drinks again.

At 3:30 we assembled for the march on Latham Park. The very jolly and noisy snake slithered towards the turnstiles. My selling skills remained high throughout the march. As we queued I sensed that some people weren't regulars at Farrar Rd; they complained that it was more than a fiver to get in. I let the fact that it had been more than a couple of years since prices were at that level pass since one bloke looked a bit handy.

The ground was almost a sea of blue and white, a few more waves were added after I was relieved of the last of the flags. It's sweaty work hawking wares around, but now I could relax with the football.

The pressure on my bladder caused me to miss the anthem. I didn't miss much as this was a typical football occassion; virtually no-one sang. Everyone was at the wrong end when the game started so we had a small walk to the other, standless, end.

I managed to find a space on the slope that the Johnny come latelys had deigned to leave free. The view was good but there was something nagging me; I was moving forward involuntarily. At first I thought this may have been the late onset of cup final fever but then I realised it was simply due to some clumsy bugger swaying into me. Just as I started to become accustomed to his rhythmical movements Peter Hoy Football Genius was leaving the field of play. I didn't see what happened so I had to rely on the impression of others, they assured me it was beyond harsh.

While this is normally a hinderance the Bangor players of the 2007/'08 vintage took the incident in their well-honed stride; Bangor attacked as much as they defended. The passing was good and chances were created; Stotty just failed to beat their keeper in a battle of wits. Their keeper also made two other good saves shortly afterwards. Llanelli also had chances.

Then, as if from nowhere, the goal arrived. Webber took a shot but it was heading well wide. Stotty's head met the ball and then it was travelling in the opposite direction, the keeper sprawled helplessly. The crowd surged into the barrier in elation.

City held their lead until half time and it looked like our name was on the cup. We'd been down to nine men against Caersws and won, we'd been held by Aber but won on penalties and now this; we were 1-0 up against the League Champions, 1-0 up thanks to a deflected goal, 1-0 up and reduced to ten men, 1-0 up, down to ten men and playing against professionals. In fact, not only were we 1-0 up but it looked fairly comfortable.

As is often the case when people begin to show the slightest confidence in an outcome it all changes. After a few minutes of the second half Llanelli had scored. About 10 minutes later they scored again. Maybe this wasn't our year after all, but was I too quick to judge again?

I began to reassess my view after Llanelli had a man sent off. The people around me, DO, Tam and Gareth, seemed bemused by the decision although it was welcome. Noony and KK entered the fray midway through the second half. For most of the time after Llanelli had scored I thought we could still win but this faith ebbed as chances were either missed or cleared. In the last couple of minutes we won a free kick, I thought this was our last chance, the one that could save our bacon. The taker, Sarge, is a master with a still ball in front of him. The ball was stationary, the run up was purposeful, the ball was struck, the goal was missed, the stand was cleared, the fans were downhearted.

Then two minutes into injury time the ball was in the area, the keeper came out and failed to clear it effectively. The ball dropped to Sarge. He met it on the volley. It looked good as the ball arced through the air. I looked at the path of the ball. I looked at the goal. I looked at the path of the ball, it was dropping!!!! I looked it the goal, the ball was going in!!! I was jumping around before the ball actually hit the net, the other fans were following my course, I hugged Gareth, his face was pure joy.

This one shot managed to encapsulate all that was thrilling about football; Before the shot all hope was gone and then the ball was kicked. It flew slowly but inexorably towards the net. You can see it's going in and the anticipation is blissful. When the ball past over the goal line it seemed as though something magical had happened, black had become white and the hopelessness had become ecstasy. It's hard to capture the emotions using the medium of words, the most adequate description of such a moment is that you'll be able to close your eyes, picture the scene and feel a warm glow.

Some people seemed to celebrate the goal very exuberantly, maybe too exuberantly. Some people seemed to feel too confined by the terraces. The next thing we knew Llanelli's keeper was on the floor and and the restart of the match was held up. During this uncertain time several people feared the worst; the match'll be called off, we'll be asked to leave, we'll be fined thousands, we'll be banned from Europe. Thankfully the match started again but I seemed to lose enthusiasm.

The first half of extra time passed me by. I was aware that we won a penalty and Limbo scored it. I was aware that the keeper kicked the ball against Noony and it had rebounded into the goal. I saw all of this happen but I felt unable to celebrate. I was seething inwardly. The cunts who didn't seem to be bothered by the earlier games in the season (in other words, people who'd invested little emotionally in this season) were sharing the glory with the regulars who'd hardly missed a game. They were singing their own songs and out shouting the normal songs. Some of them had even found their way on to the pitch. I hated them for taking away my moment.

By the second half of extra time I began to reflect in the glow. The match was definitely going our way, Griffiths was sent off for an elbow and they hardly looked like getting a shot on target. The final whistle meant the Cup was ours!!!!

After the game the cup did a tour of the ground and I got my hands on it, it was good!!! In the club house my attire drew a quizzical glance from the barman and a young lady at the bar, they enquired whether I was a Llanelli fan. I'll have to dye my skin blue next time as the hat and scarf are obviously not clear enough hints. A few minutes after this someone told me that it was all down to my "lucky" red shirt, oh, how quickly the tone changes in the glory of victory. Now that I was serene again I reflected on a game that had everything; it was a game that was the glaze on top of the cherry on top of the icing on this cake of a fantastic season.

Football as a method of killing time

Llanfairpwll 1 Guilsfield 1
Cymru Alliance

For the football anorak there must be many times when circumstances dictate the direction of your travel. Today I was driven forward by cosmic forces. The synchronicity of Llanfairpwll, a place I'd never stopped in, playing at home, my new camera requiring a test drive and a desire to kill time was difficult to argue against. The Jet Set does not interfere with fate so what else was one to do?

Today was one of those uncomforatbly close days. It was the sort of day that makes you squint. Luckily it was the kind of match where squinting doesn't prevent your enjoyment, it was a sea of misplaced passes punctuated by an island of a scrappy goal.

Two for the price of none

Llandudno Junction 3 Rhyl Reserves 1
Welsh Alliance

Had a nice chat with Jiws' dad, saw Jiws play, Rhyl went one nil up, Junction made it 3-1 before half time. I left for Llandudno at half time.

Llandudno Town 0 Penrhyncoch 0

Cymru Alliance

Penrhyncoch opted not to shoot, Grant Montgomery's last home game after 17 years in Llandudno's first team, guard of honour, second half of tedium.

Reserving Judgement again

Bangor City Reserves 2 Caernarfon Borough 1
Safeflue Cup Semi-Final

I took a phone call just before the game and it made me wonder about human motivation. Some of the pilfered goods from the club shop had been strewn around Bangor mountain. It's enough to make to despair about young people, nowadays they're even too lazy to carry out burglaries properly. It's obviously too much like hard work to actually saunter up to people offering goods at remarkably good prices.

While I digested this news Bangor won 2-1 thanks for finishes reeking of aplomb.

You know you're getting old when......

North Wales Coast FA 1 Central Wales FA 3
UEFA Regions Cup Qualifier

...managers are young enough to have been 3 years below you in Primary School. North Wales' manager is just such an age age. Ye Gods, one minute you're going with the flow along life's river and then someone you know says hello and suddenly, you feel the passing of time keenly. As Sartre once remarked; hell is other people.

Before tonight North Wales' team stood on the threshold of a trip to Israel. Unfortunately Central Wales spoilt the party, in fact they spoilt it in the rudest manner possible too; the skillful no.11 mocked the hosts in the second half. Each time he received the ball danger wasn't too far behind. He scored 2 goals in an almost identical manner; a run on to a through ball, a few jinks past the defender and then clear.

Setting aside the no.11 factor Central Wales could have been at least that far in front after the first half, so the result was a fair one. Only the reactions of the rotund yet agile keeper stopped the ball entering the goal more often.

While North Wales opted for a League select team whereas Central Wales decided that their Cup winners should be their representative. This decision was vindicated as Tregaron's greater cohesion was obvious to see. The 4 and half hour journey obviously didn't bother them.

The journey didn't seem to bother their fans either. Most appeared to have consumed cold beverages; the goals were celebrated as if they were scored in a European Cup Semi-Final. Towards the end of the match I noticed that North Wales seemed to be wearing Wales' old socks, in hindsight maybe this should have been considered a portent of hopes being dashed.

The League's over

Bangor City 1 Neath Athletic 1
Welsh Premier League

This weekend was annoying in the extreme. First of all some scally twat had taken it upon himself to burgle half of our shop's stock. After forensic evaluation it would appear that the job had been pulled off by a crack team.

The valueless programmes and t-shirts were left untouched. This may have been due to the prominence of words upon them, these symbols may have confused the crack team. They simply went straight for the treasure; Replica Shirts, Hooded Tops and Scarves.

It's thought that the goods taken may fetch as much as £100 on the open market. To put it another way, that could be 3 new pairs of tracksuit bottoms OR a new pair of K-Swiss, some tracksuit bottoms and some new white socks to tuck them into OR if they're feeling really flash, 5/6 of a Lacoste tracksuit.

There'll be 10 Scallies at the Welsh Cup Final wearing their brand new scarves with pride and getting all angry if Bangor aren't 10 nil up after 5 minutes. They'll be the biggest Bangor City fans in the world for the day. Come Monday they'll be back to setting each other on fire for You Tube.

And then there was Neath. They should consider changing their kit to all-black and begin playing at the Gnoll as they seem to play as if the split between rugger and soccer never happened. At first though their approach didn't work; Sarge scored and we led for the last twenty minutes of the half.

The second half , however, saw a master class in the art of fouling. Fouls, bodychecks and trips all made an appearence. Any punishment or similar approach from Bangor was met by outstretched arms and rightous indignation, as is the want of teams of this ilk. As Dewi said, they're like Rhyl without the subtlety. Of course they scored an equaliser.

If this match had been our last one this season I'd have felt enormously frustrated. thanks to our Cup Final place I only felt subdued. Our trip to Newtown can't come quickly enough.

A carefree defeat

Bangor City 1 Rhyl 2
Welsh Premier League

Rhyl won and I don't care. We're in the UEFA Cup and they're not, ha take that!!

Jiws confirmed he has no soul by celebrating his goals.

The most entertaining things I saw tonight were the hilariously futile attempts to return a fallen Rhyl flag to it's position and the appearance of this little fellow.

The first, and possibly last, visit

Llangefni Town 0 Bangor City 1
Welsh Premier League

This was my first match off the mainland of Wales but it was no journey into the unknown; we were going to the charming village of Llangefni. Llangefni is conveniently located next to the A55 and is a place full of charming, cherry-cheeked youngsters hollering a welcome.

As Dick, Anora and I waited to enter Bob Parry Field we could here them welcoming us; "We hate Bangor, we hate Bangor, we hate Bangor!!!" We were they so quick to judge? This was only first season in The Welsh Premier League. Maybe Rhyl fans were here as well? I scanned the terraces but found no Rhyl flags. Were the sneaky buggers incognito?

The pitch doubled as a bog so the prospects of free-flowing football were slim but Bangor did try a constructive approach and it worked where there was a sure footing. Unfortunately most of the time Bambi on ice was an image that came to mind. Llangefni had a few chances. Bangor kept trying walk the ball into the goal but the conditions made this virtually impossible; Stotty slipped 2 or 3 times at inopportune moments. 0-0 half time.

The cold bit this evening. A delicate agricultural smell enhanced today's sensory experience on our journey to the other end. I said hello to Gary and I went to take my place behind the goal. Llangefni must have the most useless roof in football; the edge is about 5 yards short of the fence. This wonderful design quirk meant we felt the full effect of the sleet on our heads. The match seemed destined for a frustrating draw until Peter Hoy Football Genius diverted a cross in.

A few minutes later the Bangor haters appeared behind us and they were quite literally bouncing. After a while their monotone caterwauling irritated greatly. Unfortunately this moment of realisation arrived20 minutes from the end. The match petered out until the final whistle. As the jubilant young blues turned to leave the Llangefni Ultras became Cofi like; they started to circle the younger blues. We made it out of the ground before Armageddon arrived.

It would be a shame if Llangefni were relegated; their ground's better than Caersws' and Welshpool's, they try to play football and they're not Porthmadog.

Get your passports ready!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Bangor City 3 Newport YMCA 1
Welsh Cup Semi Final

I didn't wish to count poultry today so I didn't feel like becoming really excited about the game until we were actually in the ground waiting for the game to begin. We had a pleasant journey, we saw the first half of the Liverpool v Arsenal match in a nice pub and then we had quite possibly the nicest chips in Wales.

They were just the right temperature and just the right side of crispy. The peas were a fine compliment and as for the Cheese and Onion Fry, sheer perfection!!! The coating just melted in ones' mouth. As soon as the filling touched one's taste buds there was symphony of exultation exploding in one's pleasure receptors. Suffice to say, this delightful meal was worth the journey on it's own.

The food may have been very good but it lay heavily on the stomach, ally this to the massive queue at the bar and the idea of a beverage didn't appeal. I went outside to take in the atmosphere, I started to feel the Welsh Cup jitters.

The players descended the steps into a scaled down version of Estadio Monumental from the YMCA fans and WAGS. I'm sure it looked fantastic on TV but what about the aftermath? What about the paper usage? Was it environmentally friendly? No. Whose going to clean up after wards? Not Newportonians I'll bet. I bet they think paper grows on trees in Newport.

Hywyn was behind the goal so a stilted converstaion began; a bit of action, a bit of a chat, a bit of yelling, a bit of a chat, a bit of singing and so on. My nervous vibes must have been quite strong because YM tried to calm my nerves by failing get a single shot on target. The more we huffed and puffed the more hurried we become in possession. It wasn't until we scored that I could breath more easily, Peter Hoy football genius stabbed the ball home.

The second half was young when Stotty slotted the ball past the good-natured keeper. Sion made it 3 twenty odd minutes later. We were off to Europe. Stotty scored a fourth but the officials took pity on YMCA. YM scored one of their own and the nervous twinges were felt. Fortunately, the twinges didn't develop into full-blown panic; the whistle blew before YM could score again.

All of the players came over to salute us and press the flesh. Stotty even picked up one youngster to act as a surrogate trophy. There is something about football-related jubilation that is indescribable, indefinable and definitely addictive. The final whistle confirmed that this was a good season, one short noise was the signal for joy unconfined. Every player had a heroes' welcome into the clubhouse. On the way out some scallywag from Newport asked me if I understood him, I replied I didn't Speak English and he was confused. 1-0. The bus journey home was a rather nice one.

Where is the love?

When I was about 8 years old my family and I were in the house of another family. The father of the other family said to me; "Look there's another murderer!!" This was news to me. The trigger for the comment was me wearing a Liverpool shirt. It was the summer after Heysel and the father was an Everton fan.

I was reminded of this when I was on Facebook the other day and I came across the group "Justice for the 39". 39, I tried to remember the significance of that number. Yes that's right, the number of victims in the Heysel stadium disaster. The families of the victims obsiously deserve something. I clicked on the title to find more information. Aside from the group's title there was no other mention of justice to be found.

There was no space to leave your messages of condolence. There was no plan to pressure the European Parliament, Liverpool, Juventus or Uefa for compensation. No plan to pressure for even a monument, there was absolutely nothing constructive, all I could find was vitriol.

The group made me despair, feel angry and pitiful in roughly that order. Firstly you had the aping of similar groups concerned with the Hillsborough disaster. Then you had the actual messages left, "Murdering Scouse bastards" this, "Them murderin' Redshites" that. How the hell could some people use the occassion of the death of 39 people to score cheap points in an argument?

Basically this group just exists to vent your spleen about Liverpool FC. You might say hating Liverpool FC is thriving. Any Tom, Dick or Harry can leave a message. While you could regard all of this as slightly off key the worst thing about the message leavers was their age; hardly any of them would have been old enough to have witnessed what happened on television.

To anyone that has perused to online portals for red-hot soccer chat the level of hostility espoused in the group would probably not come as a surprise. Online fanzines and message boards seem to present the idea that hating a rival is all part of being a fan. Other media outlets, such as the god-awful radio phones (except for Baker and Kelly obviously), fuel this by allowing people to put forward the most free-from-logic utterings heard in the media. The hosts actively encourage people to vent their spleen; "We've heard Arsenal's side now it's the Spurs fans turn, phone in please."

Is it that easy to find the root cause of the problem? Are people just the passive recipients of culture? Can't they think for themselves? Can't they decide not to act like this? Obviously the answer is yes. However the evidence of my own eyes a week last Sunday leads me to conclude that certain people can't, they have bought into the notion of hating the dreaded "other" is all part and parcel of contemporary fandom.

You can witness these feelings if you go to matches. Anything from The songs people sing to the banners they make to the slogans they print on Shirts to the t-shirts they wear etc etc etc will point you in the direction of which club is the hated other. You can even see this in the Welsh Premier. Rhyl fans seem to sing an awful lot of anti-Bangor songs, even when they're not playing Bangor. They even go to the trouble of making videos on You Tube. When you're confronted with such hatred it makes you wonder which is more important for some fans; supporting their own team or hating others?

I must admit that I find the idea of hating someone for simply supporting another club a wholly absurd concept. Hating someone for something as arbitrary as that is ridiculous. How can someone be scum just because they choose to follow another club?

In itself the act of following a club just means that, it's only a matter of choice. Why do some people invest this act with magical qualities. They seem invest their own clubs fans with noble qualities and invest the fans of other clubs with negative attributes. Surely people supporting different clubs is an undeniable part of the game.

Different sides are an inherent part of the structure of football. There are always two sides and they are both trying to win. Besides how boring would it be if we all supported the same club? One of the attractions of football is the rivalry. A bit of good natured joshing about results and relative success can really pep up a boring Monday. What has started to become difficult to swallow is the pressure to hate the "other". How did the hate take over?

Was it always this way? Well, no it wasn't. A friend of my Dad hails from Wallasey and is a Liverpool fan. In his youth he used to go and watch the reds when they were at home and the blues when they were at home. From what I can tell there are many examples of men from this generation doing likewise. Mark E. Smith, a Man City fan once remarked how he used to go to watch United infrequently.

You couldn't imagine this happening now, this strikes me as a little sad. In fact it's more than a little sad, it's downright off putting. Instead of breeding fans that are knowledgeable and philosophical about football, we seem to be breeding fans whose only knowledge is of sick songs and whose only philosophy is hate.

Bangor F..........

Bangor City Reserves P Y Felinheli P
Some Cup or Other

Newport YMCA P Bangor City P
Welsh Cup Semi-Final
(Played at Newtown)

I failed to see Friday's match being called off as an omen. There had been rumours all Friday about the possibilty of the unceasing rain meaning the match would be called off but I forgot about these on Saturday morning; It was sunny when I awoke. It was still sunny when we left in the coach. The rumours re-entered my mind when I could see the grey clouds on the horizon, I jokingly said to Alwyn, "The match will be on, won't it?" I mean how could it be called off now, we were on our way.

It was raining in Newtown but this didn't phase us, it was always raining in mid Wales. The other minibuses arrived and so did the village people. It was going to be on but I didn't like the idea of getting very wet. I won £20 on the football card.

We'd been there for about 45 minutes when we heard about a pitch inspection. Half an hour later people were wearing forlorn expessions. After another Five minutes the worries were confirmed, the game had been called off. Bugger.

Everyone went to Newtown's clubhouse. The YMCA players were still there with their funny haircuts, drinking their sorrows away. Maybe it was a good job that we didn't play today; they looked a bit mean and moody and it was sliding weather. We left at 3:30.

Enormous Easter

"GIGANTIC GOOD FRIDAY" 21/4/08

Colwyn Bay 3 Cammell Laird 1
Unibond First Division

The weekend's football extravaganza began at Llanelian Road. For the start of such a pivotal weekend in human history I expected more, I expected to feel history being rewritten. Unfortunately, the only thing I felt were my internal organs freezing.

The match pitted Colwyn Bay against the Welsh Premier All Stars or Cammel Laird as they're more commonly known. At least 5 of Lairds' players had played for Welsh clubs. A couple of rumours I heard today insinuated that the few who hadn't already would be next season.

One Lairds fan had a rattle but rather disapointingly he wasn't wearing a flat cap. What would he throw into the air if Lairds scored? During the game it became evident that there would be no rattle rattling or hat throwing as Lairds looked slightly off the pace. Cammel Laird were good last season and made the Bay look terrible. This season it was different even though Lairds were second in the league and Colwyn Bay stuttering near the play off positions. Even the presence of Wayne Rooney's relative on the bench didn't inspire them into total football.

The presence of a celebrity by association seemed to excite the local teenagers. All manner of questions were considered, although they mostly concerned Wazza's money. Most of the teenagers ventured to obtain the goss by asking the person in qusetion as he warmed up. They probably planned to sell the information to a newspaper.

The match experience was ruined by the cold but I'd thought I'd stick it out. Aside from the lack of feeling in my toes the main things I remember from the match are; the Bay taking a 2-0 lead, ex-Bangor player Alex Hay making it 2-1 with a pen and then Colwyn Bay scoring their third. After the third Colwyn Bay goal I left for the warmer climes of Llandudno.

"SCINTILATING SATURDAY" 22/4/08

2:00

Llandudno Junction Reserves 0 Connah's Quay Nomads Reserves 1 (As I left)

Some Cup or other

Civilisation was moving inexorably towards zenith so I tried to kill time by going to another game. I chose Junction because it meant that I could manage to get back home in time to watch Bangor on TV. The fact that it was free was also an attraction.

When I arrived only the goal posts seemed aware that a match was due to be played. When someone actually turned up I enquired whether Junction were actually playing; "It's the Reserves today" he breezily replied before adding a hasty rejoinder"...but it should be a good game though!!" as if I was contemplating leaving.

Jesus, I must have looked like a groundhopper. Luckily I know the manager of the reserves, from a previous occupation. The only reaction my presence elicited was mild surprise followed by a jovial conversation. He also assured me that it should be a good game.

At first there were more players that spectators but by half time there were enough spectators for one team. As the temperature was reminicent of yesterday I left just before half time for the pub to recuperate. I arrived back to find that there were now enough spectators for three 5 a side teams.

To be brutally honest the whole match was deadly dull. The youthful promise of Connah's Quay met the battle-harded experience of Junction. The result was predicable; realtive artistry met relative brutality. The biggest indicator being the amount of "full-blooded" challenges made by Junction.

The more physical approach had it's comeuppence in the the goal they conceded. A couple of minutes prior to the goal there was a spot of finger pointing and gesturing by both teams after a bad tackle from a Junction player. The main gesticulator was Junction's seemingly young and brash (the haircut, ooooh dig that haircut, and that arrogant strut) Number 14. The target; Nomads' no.8. The free kick resulted in a corner. The corner was in the process of being taken and the no.14 followed the no.8 everywhere. Then his arms sprung forward in a pincer movement, he continued to follow his target. The ball flew over and the no.14 continued moving like a 1950s robot but the no.8 had broken clear of the embrace. He carressed the ball with his head. The ball bobbled past the dispairing lunge of the left back on the line. Ho ho ho. On that bombshell I left.

5:15

Carmarthen Town 2 Bangor City 1

Welsh Premier League

On Television!!!!

At first, this felt a bit weird. I was watching players on TV that I watched every week but they appeared to be different. I know that TV is meant to put pounds onto people's figures but this was riduculous, it had actually altered the appearence of several members of our team.

This was one of the most frustrating game of the season. First of all I wasn't there but I could still see it. I was just a passive observer. The players wouldn't be able to benefit from my exhortions. Secondly you could see the faces of the Carmarthen players when they scored, their smiles compounded my misery. Usually you don't get to see their faces in this amount of detail when you turn up to watch. Thirdly we lost and we should have drawn at least today. Bugger.

"GRAND SLAM SUNDAY" 23/3/08

So here we all were, the day the world has been waiting for since creation. The day which will mark a new beginning for the Human Race. The day upon which the Rubicon will be crossed. The day when the big four collide and matter will spew forth creating a new existance.

How did I know this was the day? There were bouncers on the doors of one Llandudno bar and you couldn't get served at the bar for four hours. As soon as you were in the bar you could feel the atmosphere, taste it, smell it (or was that the freely flowing alcoholic beveridges?). There were that many people in the bar that you couldn't pirouette without spilling drinks onto 20 replica shirts.

I found my way to some familiar faces and thought I'd be safe, how wrong that presumption would turn out to be. There must be conditions upon the granting of licences for pubs and bars but today gave me reason to believe that those conditions aren't stringent enough. There should be a restriction on the number of men that speak above a certain decibel level whilst wearing a replica shirt.

Just in front of me one young man, proudly wearing his United replica shirt and periodically texting when the action became too much to bare, shouted "SNAP HIM!!!!" every time a Liverpool player ran at the United defence. Now I realise that I should have questioned this lover of beautiful football to ascertain exactly how a defender would accomplish snapping a human torso in two because trying to figure out an answer will be like a splinter in my mind for ages.

Just to my right there was a table full of alcohol-fuelled philosophers. They alternated between shouting outlandish theories, shouting tall tales, shouting jokes they've read in FHM and shouting crudities at Liverpool Football Club. I wished I was at their table as they seemed to be enjoying themselves plus I haven't had a good debate about ethics for a few months.Over yonder there was another group who slightly less refined. They just shouted obsenities at the TV screen whenever Liverpool players came into view.

All of the disparate groups continued with their differing behaviours until United scored. Then the United fans rose in unison. "SNAP HIM" and 2 of the philosophers sprang out of their seats and began cavorting together. "SNAP HIM" then decided to try and fornicate with a pool table, the 2 philosophers took to abusing the Scousers around them.

I gazed around this room and I was filled with an overpowering emotion. We live in a world riven by so many social problems yet in this small section of this medium-sized bar there was sense of oneness. Everyone could join together in their hatred for the dreaded "Scousers". This is, of course, the overiding emotion of all ethnic Mancunians or "Mancs". What made this oneness even more remarkable was the fact that none of these Manchester United fans were "Mancs" and only a few of the the Liverpool fans were hated "Scousers". It was a real feeling of transcendence on this very holy of days.

In the second half the room became relatively quiet as Liverpool came more into the match but when United scored two the same behaviour was exhibited. Maybe Sky was right all along, this was a historical day. If you were to look at the United fans' celebrations you would certainly say so; this is what VJ Day 1945 must have looked like.

To put the day into a nutshell, it will be a very, very, very, very, very long time before I contemplate spending another 2 hours like this again. 2 hours in the company of cunts who know nothing about football, cunts who shout crap at one another, cunts who think they're funny when they're just boorish, cunts who think buying a replica shirt and sitting in a pub is enough to make them a fan, cunts who think that by wearing that replica shirt they also have to take on the ersatz emotions of hating the "other", cunts who think going to see their team play 3 times a season is enough. Days like today are the reason why I detest the Premiership.

"MASSIVE EASTER MONDAY" 24/4/08

1.00

Neath Athletic 1 Bangor City 0
Welsh Premier League

With the world a different place now a very early start doesn't make any difference to me. What does make a difference is finding out that the kick off for a match is at 1 and not half 2, especially when you come by this information by chance; I decided to buy some water from a vending machine in Chester station. As I walked over to the I saw someone I recognised as a Bangor fan about to board the train. I hollared and then they informed me. Timing is everything, if I'd have waited 30 seconds to go and get the water...... It doesn't bare thinking about. Anyway, bang went my sightseeing in Cardiff.

I still nearly misssed the kick off thanks to the engineering work delaying Swansea-bound trains in Cardiff. After a short taxi ride from Neath station I was there, another game, another ground. I had five minutes to spare.

The match was frustrating. Neath scored from their only attack of the half. We, on the other hand, hit the bar, had shots cleared off the line and had a bad referee to deal with. Blackmore also gave us a piece of his mind and it wasn't complementary.

Now I'm as metrosexual as the next man but some of the players in yellow looked like they would have prefered to be still in the changing room perfecting a brave new look. Several of them looked like refugees from x-factor, did Neath have a boy band? The cherry on top of the bleached cake was the Neath's goalkeepers' kit, it was Pink. A kit of such a hue struck me as a little incongrueous in this land of mines and steel works, this domain of virile masculinity. What would they have made of it 30 years ago? Lynching probably. Having said that the Manics weren't afraid to experiment with their style, were Neath's players just part of the same south Walian continuum? If they are inheritors of that mantle, more power to 'em!!!

The second half was worse, the ref was pathetic. In hindsight it was probably a bad sign that the officials and the Neath stewards are on such good terms that they indulged in some leg-pulling as the officials re-appeared for the second half. If you were looking for a conspiracy it all began to look a bit fishy when Bangor didn't seem to get any decisions in their favour; handballs went unpunished, clear fouls weren't given, non-existent fouls were awarded in Neath's favour. This is not just the bitter carping of a losing fan, I mean we didn't play that well but I don't think the refereeing helped.

Neath were god awful but at least they have a few interesting fans. One kept shouting "EAGLES, EAGLES, EAGLES!!!!!" every couple of minutes, the manner of his shouting made one wonder about his mental processes. After about twenty minutes he became a duo, idiocy in stereo. Sputnic turned up and it was nice to see him and have a chat. This was definitely the best aspect of the afternoon. After the match I walked to Skewen to get the train to Swansea.

5.45

Swansea City 2 Bristol Rovers 2
Coca Cola League 1

I was down here I thought I'd go and watch Swansea, especially as Lofty was fit again. I bought a programme and I got some kind of noise maker free with it. The ground was about 2/3 full. It was a good game.

Rovers went into a 2-0 lead and the moaning commenced. Martinez didn't know what he was doing, one up front wasn't enough, why wasn't Duffy playing? Why was it raining? Why was my paper late? Have you seen the cost of houses recently? Why can't I find an NHS Dentist? It doesn't take much to set fans off. At first I thought that I may have chosen the wrong area, maybe the moaners all sat in this area. The chorus of boos wasn't confined to my area thus indicating the moaning was widespread. The Swansea fans seemed to be overlooking the fact that they had created chances too.

I'm not saying football fans are fickle but as soon as Swansea scored the mood changed. Instead of moaning the fans started encouraging. Swansea could have scored several in the second half as they played through the Rovers defenced easily.

The stewards in Swansea don't like people standing and they seem very stern. Several refusniks lasted about 5 minutes before they gave in. I decided to leave to catch my train about 10 minutes from the end, I didn't like the idea off leaving early, as it's uaually the province of people with better things to get to, but I liked the idea of spending a night on a draughty platform even less. Just as I made it down the steps I felt the roar. Swansea had scored again.

North Wales Cup Action

Llandudno 7 Bethesda Athletic 1
North Wales Coast FA Cup

All went swimmingly for the 'dudno, they were 4-0 up after about 20 minutes. It was almost too enjoyable for the Llandudno faithful, some were afflicted by disbelief. Llandudno's no. 9 drew my attention quite a bit in the first half. He was a stocky young man of Llanrwst farming stock, or in other words, a person not to be trifled with. Indeed, defenders were brushed aside with disdain.

A contest threatened to break out in the second half when Bethesda scored. For about the 5 minutes after the goal they looked relatively dangerous until the crossing stage. The crosses were either too weak, too strong, too mishit or too non-existant. The moment passed and so Llandudno scored their fifth. The sixth came just I'd begun a conversation.

The converstaion hung in mid-expression so we could marvel at Llandudno's histrionics. You'd think that leading by 6 goals to 1 was enough reason to be happy but it's not enough for the 'dudno boys. The showboating commenced. Duncan Norvelle was evidently on the field of play so the team followed in his wake guffawing and pratfalling.

It was further reinforcement for my opinion of their character, why did they feel the need to rub Bethesda's faces in the mess of their defeat? Is honour now a redundant concept in football? Yes must be the answer, Llandudno had the gall to score a seventh.

Nomads score!!!!!

Bangor City 3 Connah's Quay Nomads 2
Welsh Premier League

Another game, another soaking. The game was uninspiring until we scored. Sion curled the ball around the keeper whilst halfway inside the area. The keeper had deprived us of a goal several times prior to Sion's intervention so the reason why, the now curly, Bungle decided to have a go at him was difficult to fathom.

The second half started in a very welcome way, Stotty scored our second. What happened in the 20 minutes after was not so welcome. The Nomads contrived to score not once but twice!!!! Now this might not sound a little strange usually, a team scoring two goals, fancy that!!!, but it's Connah's Quay (2007-2008 version) that we're talking about here. The aggregate score between us and them in the 3 games this season was 14-0 in our favour. That they had a shot on target was annoying, the fact that they actually scored two goals was mind blowing.

The rain was unrelenting. My mum would never bought me a white kit when I was younger. I can finally fully appreciate this thinking after today. The Nomads were a very dirty team, the laundry team would have a devil of a time making those shirts sparkling white again. As soon as their subs came on they seemed to desire a brown shirt. Were the Nomads being coached by my old Primary school manager? "The true sign of effort boys, is dirty knees" was his adage.

Noony scored our third after a run from near halfway. He checked for an offside flag for an apparent eternity before continuing his run. Upon reaching the area Noony slotted the ball past the advancing keeper. Noony was right to check the officials before expending any more energy. Our ref today was another off the production line, where do they find them all? The destruction of this shadowy facility could be a job for the A-Team.

There seems to be a never-ending stream of officials whose interpretation of the rules of football (only 12 of 'em remember) can be charitably described as variable. Here is the case for the prosecution, the evidence is drawn from the matches of Bangor City during the past month, m'lud; some fouls gain yellow cards yet worse fouls remain unpunished, linesmen can be afraid to give decisions, Lee Hunt continues to play unpunished, free kicks are mysteriously awarded when advantage could be played, referees refuse to stop the game as players lay on the ground, injured, players are ordered to leave the field of play and then only allowed to return after their team has defended a corner, etc etc, etc. I could go on but I'm not a bitter soul, we won so technically this could not have been a bitter rant anyway.

Any Port in a storm

Porthmadog 0 Bangor City 0
Welsh Premier League

The rain lashed in and we got wet. This meterological nugget was the most notable feature of the first half, at least I had my new coat to keep me water and windproofed. The second half was different though; we had cover. Port hit a post in the first half and we hit the same post in the second. Port resorted to time wasting from about 20 minutes onwards. Some Rhyl fans came and brought flags, will their bitterness ever cease? One could wonder if they hate Bangor more than they support Rhyl. We left in a frustrated mood.

Colder, Colder, Colder

Llandudno 2 Denbigh Town 0

Cymru Alliance

Llandudno actually managed to string a few passes together today and so they scored two goals. The icy wind cut through my coat so I watched the second half from the clubhouse. It was a pointless act from the point of view of following the game, the ball dissappeared if it found itself on the left wing. I may not have been cold but I missed the noise of the match, it's funny how missing the smallest things lead to an unfulfilling experience. The icy wind was my only companion on the way home.

An extremely pleasant interlude on the road to glory

Guilsfield 0 Bangor City 6

Welsh Cup

We were half way along the A55 when the dark thoughts returned. The hopes of our season hung by the metaphorical thread again. To put it another way the magic of the cup sparkled once more. As it was Welsh Cup we were off to mid Wales again. The dark thoughts pulled me back from rejoicing with good company. It felt like a dog owner yanking the lead. They began to dominate my mind.

I couldn't escape them when we'd made it to the pub in Guilsfield, couldn't escape them escape as I ate my lovely food, couldn't escape them as I drank the lovely drinks, couldn't escape them as we tried to write new songs for today, couldn't escape them as we got into the ground for nothing, couldn't escape them as I felt guilty and went to pay the £3, couldn't escape them as we scored our first goal or our second.

The dark thoughts finally ended after we'd scored our third, fourth and fifth goals. Now we could relax in the second half; we could chat to the keeper, chat to the stewards, share a joke or too, look forward to the semi final, enjoy half a pork pie. All it took to achieve this new found joyfulness was a 6-0 lead, it was that simple. The second half frivolity became a tad boring to be honest and we all craved a little drama. Unfortunately it remained 6-0 for 40 minutes.

The Guilsfield social club cum villiage hall cum school gym was the post match venue. It was very welcoming, Guilfield's top scorer congratulated us on our progress. They provided hot pork rolls and the beer was cheap. I'd say it was "Quality!!!" if I were a bloody bloke.

Then we had the suspense of the draw. First, John Deakin carrying the wooden box containing the balls. Then, the official FAW table cloth was draped over the official FAW draw table. Then finally, the cup appeared so we all touched it. Malcolm Allen drew one team, someone else drew the other. Rhyl first, then Llanelli, then us then Newport YMCA; one word; QUALITY!! A QUALITY DAY!!

cold, cold, cold

Llandudno 1 Llanfairpwll 1
Cymru Alliance

Arrived late, one goal after a few minutes, another a few minutes later, cold crept in, half time 1-1, turgid turgid turgid, saw Luke, had a chat, players came back out, a bloke shouted imcomprehenisble rubbish, Llandudno's striker seemed to be wearing boots covered in orange rubber, it began to feel even colder, went for a walk, game rubbish, tempers short, shouting, swearing - ball called a slag, bastard and twat, Llandudno play a long ball game without tall strikers - ineffective, crap crap crap. Full Time 1-1

As this match seems to be the standard fare served up by teams from the Cymru Alliance it shouldn't seem surprising that the team promoted from this league is usually one of the relegation favourites in the Welsh Premier.

The Return of the Redshirts

You know when the six nations tournament is upon us; everyone has found their red shirts again. I realise that it sounds churlish to describe stout men in such a way, in fact now I've written it I realise I may be wrong. How can someone in Wales object to people supporting the national rugby team I mean it's common knowledge that absolutely everyone in Wales stops whatever they're doing to watch our boys in action. Everybody knows this because everyone knows that rugby is Wales’ national sport.

It simply must be true because lazy journalists and acerbic cultural commentators tell us so. Miners, choirs, leeks & rugby are what constitute Wales. All of us should know better than to question such august authorities but I’d like to commit heresy; football is more qualified to be Wales’ national sport than rugby.

It's heresy because the real Wales is only found in the south of our little country. The valleys and major cities are the real "Wales". In this area the chasing of the eggs seems to be rather popular. As this is "Wales" and egg chasing is popular, egg chasing is the national game - QED!!!

It's a heresy for the "national" media too; egg chasing is the only sport they deign worthy of coverage. This outlook holds sway despite rugby's relative unpopularity in the north and football's popularity in the south. The Welsh media never reflects the true picture in this regard. We are all rugger fans in Wales so we're treated to the "comedy" stylings of Scrum 4 (4 fans of egg chasing get into all manner of hilarious situations, picture Last of the Summer Wine without the sophistication).

The only thing funny about the coverage of football is the laughable standard of it. Our national broadcaster doesn't seem to be arsed with football, sorry Welsh football, basically. They were outbid by Sky for international matches. They choose not to broadcast the Welsh Premier League and they're going to end their involvement in the only competition that contains all Welsh Clubs, the Premier Cup. You don’t have to be a genius to work out where the media's based.

People might say that treating rugby as the national sport is reasonable; "I mean come on, we're better at rugby. Look at football, we're a laughing stock". It's as if rugby somehow casts Wales in a better light. To be fair to such dunderheads, relatively speaking the rugby team is more successful; Wales have qualified for every rugby world cup whereas the football team, ah well. However, rugby is played in fewer countries than football. For example Wales have only ever played 20 national teams. Basically, it’s easier to look good.

If that idea is rebutted those people may resort to saying something like; "Rugby's more popular, rugby crowds regularly fill the Millennium Stadium whereas football regularly draws pitiful crowds there." A few points can easily contradict this; Firstly, the national stadium is nearer to the rugby playing heartlands and secondly, it’s only full against the top nations. When Wales play Canada, Fiji and Romania it’s half empty - it didn’t even sell out during the 2007 World Cup. Anyway the Millennium Stadium sold out several times for football matches during 2002-2003.

Statistics, the last refuge of the logical, can prove the whole argument. There are more registered players (67,500 V 42,000) and clubs (1,920 V 239) in Welsh football than in Welsh rugby. In football the WPL contains from clubs from all over Wales and there are pro football clubs in north and south Wales. In rugby the Celtic League and Premiership contain no rugby clubs from north or mid Wales.

The most damning evidence is the WRU’s attitude. In 2007 Llangefni should have been promoted to Division 2 but for some reason they were relegated instead. Allegedly, southern clubs weren’t too keen about travelling up north once a season. How can rugby be a national sport when such a callous attitude is taken towards a member club from outside its southern heartlands?

It's doubtful whether logic will enter the minds of those people in Llandudno who become reanimated rugger fans once a year. If you choose to you can see them in the pub every other Saturday at this time of year (only if Wales have won a few games of course.), swept along by the crimson tide, wearing their freshly purchased red shirts and trying to sound knowledgable about things they know nothing about. This time of year makes me fearful for the future of civilisation in our country, if people are this easily swayed by the zeitgeist we'll only need a demagogue to say the right things and a dictatorship will appear forthwith. Be warned!!!!!

The rain, oh the rain

Bangor City 0 Port Talbot Town 0
Welsh Premier League

As Billy Connolly once said; "It's not the wrong weather, it's the wrong clothing." At first I didn't worry about such matters; Llandudno was fine and it looked fine further afield. I thought a jumper would be ok. Spots of rain began to appear on the bus windscreen near Llanfairfechan. I immediately thought about cold remedies. Then I remembered that my jumper hadn't been washed before. I began to picture a multicoloured t-shirt. Ineeded some protection and settled on a lovely child's rain poncho. It was blue and only a pound, what more could you ask for? I'd be dry and cut a dash.

The poncho made an earlier than expected appearance because we were attacking the St. Paul's end in the first half, again. I joined the hardy souls against the wall but I was not met with the hushed tones of admiration as I'd anticipated. I was met with laughter. How could I have misjudged my wet weather style so badly? Why was there a gap in between my mind's perception and reality? I now felt unable to offer sartorial advice in the shop.

The game didn't help my mood; the wind definitely inhibited our attacking. Unfortunately it didn't inhibit Port Talbot's approach. Foul, foul, foul, moan, moan, moan. Their Number 5 looked like he should have been supervising doors not playing football. It was the shaven head that put one in mind of Saturday night altercations.

However, even with the atmospherical and physical problems we created more of the chances. Smithy began to hobble after a challenge from their striker and this was a worry. The situation may have been more stress-inducing if Port Talbot had actually managed a few shots on target though.

The Poncho not only proved to be less than stylish but it was also less than effective. Splits rapidly developed. The splits not only reduced the ponchos' efficiency but they helped the wind to inflate it. It was the worst pound I'd spend for a long while. There was something with a greater efficiency though, the Port Talbot trumpeter. He didn't fail to annoy me. Any sign of encouragement his team provided resulted in a brief flurry of notes. A hunting scene came to mind, was he trying to encourage the mad dogs in his defence to run towards the other end? 0-0 half time.

Even without the wind we still looked more dangerous than them but we didn't manage many shots on target. When we managed it on one occasion the ball's progress was halted by a marvellous save. Every other attack was unsuccessful. Even when we went through their defence the shots never arrived. The anticipation of their lumbering no.5's "attempts" at tackling won't have helped our strikers' composure. The sound of stampeding hooves from behind followed by the trepidation of his large frame looming into one's peripheral vision would be enough to shake anyone's steely resolve.

Smithy performed manfully whilst carrying that first half injury. A stretch for the ball at their strikers' feet was one save too far and he had to go off. Peter Hoy donned the green jersey and produced some wonderful saves. Every save raised a cheer.

In the end, thanks to the circumstances, it was a point gained. This seemed to be an opinion shared by the Port Talbot fans; one unfurled a giant flag in the European style. They seemed ecstatic. For some reason the trumpeter was silent.