0 Days Since Our Last Incident
AFC Heathrow Reserves 1 GPR 4
Sadly, with our fixture list as balanced as Liverpool’s defensive line and me currently nursing an injury, I haven’t been able to go to games recently, meaning the blog is bare bones. The Salads are finishing the season with 6 away days, which is ideal for culture but hard on the travelling support. When I saw this fixture, though, I knew I had to be there on time to support the boys.
Unfortunately, day drinking has this knack of interrupting with your plans. Having woken up 30 minutes from kick off, well over an hour from the ground, it was going to be tight.
To bring it back to the game: we have history with Heathrow. Last Christmas saw a capitulation the likes of which even we hadn’t seen before, or since. 2-1 up with three minutes to go, the game ended 4-2 to the travelling side - our most crushing defeat to date. Today’s game was, therefore, critical to proving ourselves.
Now back to today. The last I’d checked, it was 0-0 at half time but GPR were on top and creating chances. I sped to the ground (shoutout to Ian and Jo) to find a few of the lads with their heads in their hands, and I feared the worst.
It’s been 214 days since we started Grove Park Rangers. That’s 7 months of hard-graft, midnight conversations about what we should have done and what we couldn’t get done. Months of anguish and toil and sweat. A season of walking away from the pitch knowing we should have done more, should have taken more. When you’re in that situation, every game becomes another uphill struggle, another potential obstacle to a good weekend. I’d panicked, assumed the same old story and replayed the worst of this season in my head, all at once.
As it turns out, Greg had just given away an indirect free kick in the box in a desperate attempt to make it all about him again. We were 3-1 up thanks to a Rory penalty and a brace from Douglas, the only response coming from a dubious penalty to Heathrow. Tears were flowing, sambuca was being poured. There was nothing to worry about. We were going to win.
Then Rory put another one in and you could feel the weight slip off our shoulders. Our first win of the season was imminent and everybody was playing well. Julian winning everything at the back. Rory and Doug causing havoc on the wings. Yannick winning every tackle. Jerell having a monster 45 minutes, a particular highlight given he only got home at 6am. Everyone was playing brilliantly, and looked like a proper team. Nobody panicking or dead on their feet. We shut the door in defence, and were dangerous going forward. In the final minute of the game, Maestro Matty whipped in a ball (on what I think was his weaker foot - I’m not sure he has one) to Douglas, whose poor header denied what would have been a sensational hat trick. For the first time, we looked like a team that believed they were going to win.
And then we did.
We’ve recruited heavily - two thirds of today’s team weren’t with us when the season began - but we know we are finding a core of players who want to fight for the mighty Salads. At times we had our doubts about whether we were cut out for this league - now we’re more determined than ever to prove ourselves. We could still get relegated, but that’s not the point. The lads are talking on the pitch, leaders are stepping up, players are showing genuine quality. We know we are better than the results have suggested, and we can’t wait for next season to back it up. But first, the final game of the year.
There’s nothing better than your team winning, even if you can’t play. For the first time, I had the chance to sit back and just enjoy the game. The gut-wrenching, fist-clenching nature of Sunday League suspends itself just long enough for you to shut up and relax.
Obviously I did none of that soppy rubbish. I don’t think I’ve shouted this much all year. But it was a privilege watching today. This is why we got into this game. Up the f-Ing Salads.
MOTM 🏆 = lettuce and tomatoes.
DOTD 💩 = my alarm clock. Our livers. Greg.
