Histon 3 Havant & Waterlooville 1

25feb06
Conference South
Glass World Stadium, Bridge Road, Impington
att. 502

[ . . . . . ]

In as much as I’d love to spend the time coming up with some genuinely imaginative swearing, I don’t see why I should spend my precious time coming up with some fresh invective for the dramatically underperforming Hawks, when the regular base tones will do, albeit now with a slightly more panicky edge. Fill in your favourite term of exasperation in the box provided above, and that should present you with a more than adequate picture of the disbelief that has enveloped we H&’Dub followers after a successive 3-1 defeat in what is supposed to be a promotion-chasing campaign.

Three defeats in four games then, two of which have been to sides in the bottom three, while our game with the third of those relegation-fighting sides was postponed last week. Perhaps a lucky escape there, although apparently it was a fairly controversial late cancellation. Word is, the referee called the game off despite everyone else, including his assistants apparently, telling him the surface was fine. He, allegedly, didn’t go out personally to check.

Mr Robbins (Bristol) had apparently been bricking it about a recent Non-League Paper article that concerned player injuries and insurance issues and feared being sued in the event of any harm coming to any of the players. With a local radio reporter successfully attempting a little light chin music in the offending “dangerous, unplayable” (I quote the referee’s succinct report verbatim) area, achieving as much lift as Curtley Ambrose with a cob on, it seems the vociferous complaints from both sides, at being out of pocket (amongst other things), were fairly reasonable. Besides FIFA laws state that refs can’t be held liable, so it really does appear to have been a complete waste of time.

One suggestion from our support was that we should sue the referee for loss of earnings, while others took it on a more personal level; the local evening paper’s hack-in-charge-of-non-league-coverage, who reports on H&W 99% of the time, chipping into the assembled indignation with “well, I’ll never forgive him for making me watch Fareham”. Apparently several had taken the option of Fareham Town vs Bemerton Heath Harlequins, and were met with a game of football so dull, ITV were apparently in negotiations to package it as a pre-watershed sitcom.

Still, I imagine my brethren might have taken that experience, over watching the Hawks capitulate once more, in manner akin to the Maidenhead game. Today, they are not quite as laissez-faire as a fortnight ago, although Fitzroy Simpson continues to equate playing in the Conference South with slipping into a cheeky thigh-length kimono and knocking back a pink gin.

See, for much of the game, H&W had plenty of the ball but seemed to have neither the ability or wherewithal to do anything with it. We have our moments, of course, and are unlucky to have a Carl Wilson-Denis strike disallowed for offside in a very contentious decision from the assistant referee. A female lino, I might add, which always makes me wince, not in terms of ability, but the type of comments that are likely to emit from the Hawk travelling support. A bunch of disparate characters we might be, but collective responsibility and all that, and today is another one of those days, like at Yeading, where being behind the goal isn’t much fun at all, too much aggression flying about cos we ain’t winning. Mind you the lineswoman doesn’t do herself any favours with ill-advised attempts at banter as she checks the net before the start of the second period. Not really a cause for outrage though. Mirrors required.

Not that it’s always this way though, and I don’t think we’re always bad losers, I guess it’s just conceding an early and likely insurmountable deficit that gets our tempers flying. Indeed, we find ourselves two behind within five minutes, two carbon copy goals coming from mistakes on the right. Neil Kennedy twice exploits the defence’s collective paralysis, where they take on the appearance of a gaggle of slothic zombies controlled like a fußball back-line by some self-defeating master brain, slipping the ball far too easily across goal for Robbie Nightingale to eagerly lap up. It’s a double suckerpunch within a single minute from which the Hawks never recover. A third goal not long after the second half re-start pretty much kills off the whole affair, aside from Tom Jordan’s jabbed consolation from a corner in the 55th minute.

This is frustrating, but we need to keep our composure and keep supporting these players when out their on the pitch to try and raise them out of this uncharacteristically poor pit of form. Injuries haven’t helped, but damn our raised expectations. After all, this time last year, we were looking certs for relegation to the Ryman League. However, after so long flitting between the top 3 places this year, to find ourselves, after this game, outside the play-off berths for the first time in god knows how long makes us fear that once again we’ll choke when it really matters.

The end of season run-in puts into our hands a test of character that could still see us pick up the keys to the magical chocolate factory that is the Conference National. In the face of this, though, our players currently seem keen to not only sneak out with the everlasting gobstopper but also Willy Wonka’s favourite cane and candid polaroids of his wife. Here's hoping they'll think better of it, and turn back.

Hopefully the Hawks may have been inspired by the ostentatious silverware on display in Histon’s club bar; the Southern League championship shield, Histon’s loot from last season which, if upturned and put on legs, could easily house the buffet at a socialite’s wake. It’s ever increasing spiral outwards begins as far back as the 19th century, with names such as Southampton St. Marys and Tottenham showing just what a different beast the Southern League is nowadays, it’s status reduced to 3 steps down from the football league where once, it might be argued, it was as good as. Indeed the two clubs mentioned reached the FA Cup final, Spurs winning it in 1901, whilst nominally ‘non-league’ clubs.

Assuming the players ventured in after the game to drown their sorrows, it’d be hard for them to miss the thing, as it takes up so much of the far wall that it could well be a load-bearing trophy. Hopefully the sight of something as impressive as this will re-stoke the fire amongst the Hawks for honours this season. With money constantly an issue, who knows when we might get such an opportunity again?

Marine 1 Farsley Celtic 0

14feb06
Northern Premier League Premier Division
Rossett Park, Crosby
att. 216

If Pudsey-based Farsley Celtic look a little riled coming into the second half at Rossett Park, it maybe that promotion rivals Marine are alleged to have left the away dressing room empty of refreshment during the interval. Who says the stakes aren’t high in non-league? It is hard to dispute, though, a claim of “errr, we forgot”, as the lack of drinks isn’t quite as damning a pointer to malevolent forethought as, say, a fresh shit on the physio table.

That said, Farsley spend the entire 90 minutes, not just the second period, looking the more tigerish. This is particularly so in midfield, each second ball quickly snatched like car keys from the over-confident but heavily inebriated. This is in part due to the depth of Marine’s defending, a tactic undertaken to combat Farsley’s noted pace along the flanks.

It is this kind of tactical acumen that has seen Alvin Macdonald, ex-manager of pretty much every club around this level on Merseyside; make an excellent first impression with the Mariners. This is a new era for Marine FC, this being their first season sans Roly Howard, who finally relinquished command after 33 years in the summer. No longer did the Howard portrait peer down on every Crosby dinner table. The King is dead…, and all that. Although apparently not, as posters around the ground advertise the appearance of Elvis in the main bar this coming Friday. The lack of the word ‘tribute’ may well be significant.

Anyway Roly, doting granddad, Guinness Book of World Records entrant and Kenny Dalglish’s window-cleaner, oversaw quite a regime in his third of a century at the helm, and is such an iconic figure round these parts that you half expect to find his kindly septuagenarian jowls cast in porcelain somewhere in the ground. The lack of a bust is made up for with laminated cuttings from the various printed media that covered the climax of his record-breaking gaffership. It seems only a matter of time before Roly is usurped in these stakes however as Jolly Jack Pearce at Bognor is also in his 4th decade at the helm and has no immediate concerns over his employment, considering he’s also their chairman.

Roly and his assistant (for the back 29 of his years) Roger Patience, were more than just hired hands, turning down offers in the earlier days from nominally bigger clubs such as Altrincham and Rhyl. Roly built not only several league winning sides, but the Marine club as a whole up to a level that would have seemed impossible when the club first formed, in the Marine public house, in 1894. Since the start of Roly’s reign in 1972, Marine have risen from the Cheshire County League to the very cusp of the national Conference. Two years running, in 1994 and 1995, Marine finished at the top of the Northern Premier League heap, promotion denied them due to ground grading issues. Meanwhile they have reached the semi-finals of the Trophy twice and gone on 5 FA Cup runs, scalping Barnsley and Halifax as well as running Rochdale very close in a game played at Anfield. Not bad for a pub side.

It is this community club spirit, the loyalty shown to the manager even during the poor seasons that slightly tainted the end of his long reign, and the fact that Rossett Park is hemmed in by housing on virtually every side (dug-outs only on one side, an almost ridiculously thin strip of covered terracing along the other), that makes Marine my kind of club. If Havant & Waterlooville didn’t exist and I was likely to remain in Liverpool permanently, then this would be the side I would gravitate towards without doubt, despite my passing affections for Cammell Laird FC and Skelmersdale United.

To give you an idea of how much the notion of footballing family permeates every nook in this undersized stadium, we can take a look at the fact that supporters have recently donated cash so that local school kids can be given Marine flags. We might also spot the thriving supporters club activity run by an inspiring bunch of die-hards. Then, we might look inside the programme, where a whole page is given over to Chief Steward Tommy Scaife’s epic poetry that weaves in references to virtually all their club personnel. I imagine Darren Brookfield will be fairly pleased with “doesn’t look his age” despite the following “now the opposing team wish they’d brought a cage” which could as much cast him as an ogre-like freak-show exhibit as it could highly prized midfield general. It is not the last of the oblique compliments though, Marine’s physio being treated to a blunderbuss of a couplet: “Pleasing to see Ann on the bench/this lady certainly isn’t a wench” which, as lyrical deference goes, has all the subtlety of Tracy Emin decorating her camping gear with a nail gun.

With their box ground that lies not only in the shadow of the surrounding streets at close proximity but the two other Liverpool clubs, you might argue that their Northern Premier League championships saw them punch above their County league weight; indeed Roly Howard’s penultimate season saw them miss the cut for the new Conference North. However, expectations are high here and Alvin MacDonald sees the new Conference regional division as Marine’s “natural home”. With the club lying in 3rd place prior to tonight’s game, 6 points behind leaders North Ferriby, but with 3 games in hand, they have plenty of reasons to feel optimistic about potential progress this year.

Tonight’s visitors, Farsley Celtic (geographically my Marine equivalent during my year living in Leeds), are just 1 place behind the home side, with merely a 4 point deficit. After they were stripped of the championship and automatic promotion last season in the controversial fall-out of the FA overturning the Unibond League's ruling to expunge Spennymoor United's record, Farsley too will fancy themselves in the run-in and, as such, tonight’s game is a vital one for both sides. Is it any wonder Marine might have mislaid the kettle?

Farsley’s inability in breaking down Marine’s resolve means that Danny Byrne’s handsome strike into the top corner in the 11th minute keeps the sides apart for the remaining 79, although Andy Ralph is required to make a tremendous save in the final minute. After 3 rather unhelpful draws in the league, including their one-all draw at Leek, Marine will once again have confidence amongst their squad that they can go on to promotion and, possibly, without the need to take part in the play-offs.

So the busier side may not have won, but being allowed a flurry of activity doesn’t make them necessarily the better side. I think it's fair to say that Farsley are no Barcelona, if not on the pitch then certainly in terms of the sanctity of their strip. While Barca’s shirts remain famously free of advertising, Farsley’s read, quite meekly, “This Space For Hire”.

Links
Marine website
Farsley Celtic website

Maidenhead United 3 Havant & Waterlooville 1

11feb06
Conference South
York Road, Maidenhead
att. 251

Every non-league away day should begin with a full, artery-blocking breakfast and end with a curry. That, my friends, is the law of the beano. Today I manage that, albeit with the Ruby in non-Hawk company, but I’d trade more than the pilaw rice and the free poppadoms for the day’s shenanigans to have peaked at 16:50 pm. Isn’t it always the way, though? Whenever you plan the big train/coach trip, rather than sidling up in the back of a mate’s car at ten to three, you can almost guarantee a negative result.

Let’s look at this empirically, from my years based in, and travelling regularly from, Havant. How about the big Trophy game at Rushden where we took loads, got there early and sung non-stop for 90 minutes? 1-0 defeat. ‘Inflatable day’ at Burton Albion in the Southern League, where my entry with a 5ft bottle of Budweiser was briefly prevented by a steward who deadpanned the dictum, “Sorry mate, no alcohol in the ground”? 4-0 Burton. What about Barnet, when they were still a non-league side, in our FA Cup 4th Qualifying Round replay? Spent the afternoon flying the London Eye, but 3-0 to the Bees come the evening, Wayne Purser scoring one the fastest hat-tricks in Cup history.

The rule appears to be that if you dare enjoy yourself before the game, karma will use the game itself to try and level you out. Too much of a good thing is apparently bad for you. Can’t see it myself. Mind you, it wasn’t all joy prior to the first whistle today, as there was a fair bit of consternation among the Hawk support at the news that our attempts to re-attract recently canned Derby County assistant boss Dean Holdsworth to our playing ranks after his efforts for us last year, had been spannered by a club willing to offer him £1200 a week and a house, which is well beyond our currently very stretched means. The club in question? Weymouth. Much of my Saturday was spent watching many of our officials and supporters turning an Oliver Hardy shade of puce by way of response.

Mind you, we had a similar situation a few years ago with Oxford United legend Paul Moody, who had begun his career at Waterlooville, promising for years that he would finish his career back with H&W, only to volte-face at the 11th hour and join Aldershot Town. However as his girth and injury problems grew rapidly, we didn’t have cause to regret it, and it could well be the case this time that Deano doesn’t cut the mustard with our increasingly bitter rivals. Mind you, 33 goals for us at this level last season suggests this may be a forlorn hope of mine and you can understand the ‘why them, of all people?’ complaints among our ranks.

It’s probably fair to say, though, that he didn’t sign for us in 2004 because he had fond childhood memories of golden summers spent on Hayling Island, so it seems farcical to expect any loyalty from hired hands, particularly those in their twilight period, who are suddenly offered several times more elsewhere. Gutting though and, should the ruling laid down by the Conference that we need to replay our fixture against Weymouth not be overturned by our appeal to the FA, you can just see Deano scoring their winner in that game, can’t you? Back to today, though…

For large parts of this afternoons game, the Hawks looked lethargic, disinterested, as though entry into Maidenhead’s club car park, housed underneath a gigantic concrete shelter and displaying the ostentation of a Roman bus depot, was enough to guarantee us 3 points. We assumed, with worrying arrogance, that Maidenhead, bottom prior to today, would be easily brushed aside. Perhaps we should have made our players aware that this was a club that reached the FA Cup quarter-finals three years on the trot. Between 1872 and 1875 I grant you, but what is football without irrelevant historical parallels?

From very early on the modern day Maidenhead imposed themselves, bringing two impeccable airborne saves from Gareth Howells, and they eventually took the lead on 35 minutes, as the Hawks defence were caught leaden-footed by a quickly taken free-kick that allowed Stephen Hughes to slide the ball under our keeper and into the net.

In the face of such a lack of lustre on the part of our players, our support entertained themselves bantering with Maidenhead’s very friendly and conversational keeper Scott Tarr, who took all the comments about his weight in good stride, even adding some of his own self-deprecation to the tried and tested material. Meanwhile an attempt was made at a “give us an ‘H’” style epic, throats drying quickly as even the ‘and’ began to be spelt out, although the ‘Water’ was lopped off the second bit of our name to speed things up. Tut tut. In for a penny in for a pound I say.

The half-time break brought a move to the far end for our behind-the-goal support, where previous visitors had clearly left their mark. A small unobtrusive piece of biro-work relayed a lovely pre-St. Valentines message, “[Maidenhead] Relegated by 1st March 2006, love Slough xx”. I’m sure the York Road regulars appreciate the kisses.

The start of the second half saw no resurgence from the away side and the Magpies increased their lead 4 minutes in, Dean Bradshaw walloping home a rebound causing increased frustration amongst the Hawks. Indeed, assistant boss Shaun Gale was making the most of his touchline ban to have a stand-up row with a Maidenhead steward heckling the play from behind the dugouts. Our man Galey seemed to be suggesting that a club official should conduct themselves with more decorum, his own use of the phrase “stop talking shit” lending a certain irony to his point.

A double substitution around the hour mark put a bit more of the lively into the Hawks stride, our veteran fullbacks being brought off in favour of much sprightlier legs. Indeed, as the season goes on, Robbie Pethick looks increasingly in need of a rocking chair and a blanket for his knees, while Fitzroy Simpson (lest we forget a man who has played at a World Cup) is showing so little class that I’d half expect to find a faded sticker from Londis price-gunned to his leg.

This certainly gave the Hawks a jolt as they pulled one back almost immediately. Rocky Baptiste guided the ball towards goal with his in-step, Ryan Parson’s attempted clearance merely allowing it to the hit the back of the net with greater force. Pushing forward with greater intensity, the Rock almost scored again a few minutes later, a firm back heel locking in Scott Tarr’s chunky paws just in front of the goal line.


As the game wound down, the atmosphere behind the goal was becoming a little frustrated, to the point of combating time-wasting by lifting one of our younger (and considerably lighter) supporters onto the field to kick the ball out of Tarr’s deliberately lethargic reach and toward those waiting to take a free-kick. The Hawks made their third substitution, replacing centre-back and skipper Tom Jordan (for the first time in 84 games – he actually played every single minute of last season for us, fact fans) with young forward Byron Harrison, but this merely made us more susceptible to a break, and Maidenhead capitalised on this to wrap up the game in the final minute, Hughes meeting a nod-down from Yashwa Romeo to complete a brace with a crisp-strike into the bottom-corner.

It is perhaps bitterly ironic then that the Hawks performance today could have used the kind of talismanic aura that a Holdsworth could bring to the side, but hopefully we will learn from two defeats to relegation haunted sides in the last fortnight. After Tarr wished us a warm and heartfelt “good journey home”, and we applauded his tremendous attitude, we sloped off toward the station without recreational pause, hoping that we won’t allow the plethora of recent off-the-field disappointments to affect our promotion push.

Links:
Maidenhead United website
Havant & Waterlooville website

Prestatyn Town 1 Carmarthen Town 2

04feb06
Welsh Cup 4th Round
Bastion Road, Prestatyn
att. 280

While being a Welsh coastal town right next door to Rhyl, Prestatyn keep their seaside treats a little more understated than their near neighbours. Today’s misty sea is greeted ashore by an ascetic concrete terrace up to the promenade. Fair enough I hit Rhyl in July, and February waterfronts aren’t known for warm forearm-cradling handshakes or brotherly hugs (the “No wading above knee height” sign is a touch redundant at this temperature), but this Saturday afternoon scene is eerily similar to that balmy summer evening, there being a parallel in the small amount of strollers allowing their dogs to patter about the clear sands.

Perhaps it does get busier than this at the height of summer weekending, but during winter with the Tourist Info Centre closed, along with the mini golf which is certainly light on the ‘crazy’, it is unsurprising that there are footpath signs directing one to Chepstow. 182 miles away. There is logic to this though as there and here represent the poles of the Offa’s Dyke path, and it is apparently quite an achievement to complete it. However the sign in the abandoned tourist office directs the winter-time successful to sign the triumph register in the next-door Nova Centre leisure complex, home this morning only to a few straggly souls in its bar. A path to glory.

Having walked 182 miles, you can celebrate along the adjacent 3 beaches, the Barkby with the largest natural dunes in Denbighshire, or have a stop at the Pontins, behind which lie the neighbouring homes of town’s football and cricket sides, both of which are separated from the Bastion Road, from the station to the sea, by open fencing which will allow the enterprising to witness this afternoon’s Welsh Cup action gratis, if 4 quid is a little beyond their means. One chap does just this, having to peer over the small boys kicking about on a half-size training pitch running cross ways behind the open-end goal. Clearly this is the important action as the training pitch has 4 floodlights trained on it, while the main facility has none, hence an early (2pm) kick-off.

Our blagger who art in flat-cap (as well as the two lads perched on a garage attached to the flats at the Pontins end) also miss out on the inclusive programme, which alerts one to several sponsoring local businesses such as Ideal carpets (who appear a little presumptuous), Ffrith Post Office (“gives Prestatyn Town F.C. its stamp of approval”) and Karl’s Fish and Chips. Karl says to visit him “for the best fish and chips in town”, adding in slightly smaller lettering “there is NO other choice”, this either being fascistic verisimilitude or, given the lack of bustle around their town, quite literally the case.

Prestatyn are clearly ambitious, and dreaming of the Welsh Premier League, but currently they are 2 levels, plus between 4 and 6 floodlight pylons, away from making this so. They are in a good position to gain promotion from the Pentraeth Honda Welsh Alliance to the Cymru Alliance at the minute, currently unbeaten and lying just behind Rhyl reserves, but with a game in hand and the possibly more encouraging knowledge that reserve sides cannot be promoted. They are also making the first strides off the pitch, adding hard standing in one corner, and building on the other side so that their stroppily separated covered seating and standing areas can finally be kids united.

Today’s Welsh Cup tie also allows them to see how much progress they are making on the field, as their opposition, Carmarthen Town, currently lie 6th in the Welsh top-flight having been part of it since 1996, making excellent progress ever since. Indeed, earlier this season Carmarthen found themselves in the UEFA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round, having dispatched with Eircom league side Longford Town, up against FC København in front of 11,000 at Parken, also home to the Danish national side. 6 months later, it’s Bastion Road and a different kind of challenge. Just like the English version, with 2 flights difference, they will be expected to win, and comfortably. Here in Wales though, the gap between levels is a touch slighter, in terms of on-field capability anyway.

A swelled crowd of 280 is in attendance today, many with the hope that an upset will occur, and it is clear that this is a prestigious occasion for Prestatyn, the chairman getting giddily excited about the presence of S4C’s cameras for their Saturday evening football show. Even the mayor is here, weighed down into a slight hunch by a massive insignia on the end of his ceremonial chain. He’s doing his best to contain his excitement in his hangdog jowls which, if a 10-photo morph was undertaken between Droopy and Mark from Peepshow, would be about the 8th picture along.

The players of Prestatyn do not seem overawed by their task at hand, trying one-touch stuff from the off and testing their higher level opponents. On 10 minutes, a diagonal pass shoots across the box, the side-foot that meets the ball sending it in criss-cross with the original trajectory and just wide of the post. This rallies Carmarthen to stamp their authority with a succession of corners, testing stout, cooking-apple-cheeked Prestatyn keeper John Dunt (whose school nickname I think I can guess at). A vision in turquoise, one of the well-dinnered custodian’s first contributions is to scuff a clearance to a marauding midfielder who powers through and unleashes a shot which is blocked just too late to prevent our corpulent hero from collapsing thunderously into the newly bunkered turf. A brave keeper, he has to be on his guard as the passing between the defenders across the box is the one betrayal of their status. “SQUEEEEEZE” he yells loud and often, eventually adding “that means fucking run” by way of subtitle, concerned that his team-mates’ ignorance of his instruction may possibly be as a result of him making things a little too complicated.

It’s a game which brings out the enthusiasm in the home support, particularly the regulars. The chap in charge of the whiskey & biscuits tombola doesn’t allow his enrapture in the game to cause him to miss the commercial opportunity of this much bigger than average crowd, shouting “Well in Dave lad raffle tickets car stickers” as one perfectly formed utility sentence.

It has become clear that, on the field, Carmarthen are savvy enough to bide their time, and they refuse to panic in the face of stubborn resistance from the Seasiders. However on the half hour, they finally manage to get in front, a beautiful cross from Luke Hardy is the perfect height for Mark Dodds to head down into the ground, the ball bouncing above Dent’s dive into the far corner.

In the second half, Prestatyn again start brightly having several pot-shots, two of which require decent catches from Adrian Delve. The second, on the hour, causes Carmarthen bottoms to be kicked once again, but as they pressurise, they occasionally leave gaps. One of these, on the left flank is exploited in the 70th minute, as Prestatyn get too much time and space to enter the box, Cameron Roberts drawing the keeper before side-footing a slo-mo pass across the 6 yard box for Neil Gibson to sweep in. It is no more than their determination deserves.

Their hysteria, and that of the crowd, doesn’t last long as within 3 minutes, Carmarthen re-establish a lead. A Neil Smothers daisycutter hit from outside the box without radar, heads safely towards Dunt’s bosom, before young captain Dave Hayes sticks out a leg which diverts the ball into the bottom corner. ‘Hayesy’ slumps to the ground, an odd, embarrassed smile emerging from behind his fingers.

In an instant, there is almost a calamity at the other end, as a defensive header flicks backwards and only just wide of the post. As the end of normal time approaches, all the pressure heads toward the Carmarthen goal, and the excitement and tension gets too much for some. Ignoring the ‘please stay behind the barriers’ notices, a young cat enters the field just behind a Prestatyn attack, takes the pass and breaks down the wing shaping to curl in a cross to the Carmarthen back stick, before the visitors gaffer has the presence of mind to throw on some brightly coloured wool for the last 5 minutes.

Well, it was true all the way up to ‘…Prestatyn attack’.

With the cat now safely back through the hole in his masters’ fence, and subpoenaed to face a banning order, Prestatyn force two injury-time free kicks on the edge of the box, the first literally just in front of the line causing much protestation at the lack of a spot-kick. The curled effort requires Delve to be alert, while the next set-piece is less successful and the last action of the game.

Carmarthen move into the quarter finals then, where they could again face lower-league opposition as ‘my’ Welsh club Pontypridd Town lost 5-0 to another lower league side Goytre United, and Llangefni United pulled off a 3-1 shock away at top-flight Caersws. With TNS knocked out this weekend by the only other pro side in the Welsh pyramid, Llanelli, there will be a new name on the mug this year. Despite not being entirely convincing here at Bastion Road, Carmarthen will fancy themselves to go all the way now, with a semi-final draw against Llanelli being their only major concern.

Road to the final:
F: Bangor City 0 Rhyl 2
SF: Llanelli AFC 0 Bangor City 1
5R: Bangor City 1 Carmarthen Town 0
4R: Prestatyn Town 1 Carmarthen Town 2
3R: Mold Alexandra 0 Prestatyn Town 5
3R: Carmarthen Town 4 Briton Ferry Athletic 0
2R: Presteigne St Andrews 2 Prestatyn Town 4 (aet)
1R: Denbigh Town 1 Prestatyn Town 4

Links:
Prestatyn Town (no longer updated)
Carmarthen Town