Dulwich Hamlet 2 Chalfont St. Peter 1

30sep07
FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round
Champion Hill Stadium, Dulwich
att. 215

Hobo in my pocket #10

Previously, from Champion Hill
28apr07: Fisher Athletic 3 Havant & Waterlooville 3

Road to Wembley
F: Portsmouth 1 Cardiff City 0 (att. 89,874)
SF: Barnsley 0 Cardiff City 1 (att. 82,752)
QF: Middlesbrough 0 Cardiff City 2 (att. 32,896)
5R: Cardiff City 2 Wolverhampton Wanderers 0 (att. 15,339)
4R: Hereford United 1 Cardiff City 2 (att. 6,855)
3R: Chasetown 1 Cardiff City 3 (att. 2,420)
2Rr: Chasetown 1 Port Vale 0 (att. 1,986)
2R: Port Vale 1 Chasetown 1 (att. 5,875)
1R: Team Bath 0 Chasetown 2 (att. 2,067)
4QR: AFC Hornchurch 0 Team Bath 1 (att. 641)
3QR: AFC Hornchurch 2 Dulwich Hamlet 1 (att. 610)
2QR: Dulwich Hamlet 2 Chalfont St. Peter 1
1QRr: Deal Town 1 Dulwich Hamlet 3 aet (att. 186)
1QR: Dulwich Hamlet 2 Deal Town 2 (att. 209)
1QR: Sandhurst Town 1 Chalfont St. Peter 6 (att. 65)
PR: Dulwich Hamlet 2 Three Bridges 0 (att. 206)
PR: Chalfont St. Peter 1 Hamble ASSC 0 (att. 53)
EPR: Buckingham Town 1 Chalfont St. Peter 3 (att. 94)

the Hobo off-Road 2007/08
click here for links to all 2007/2008 FA Cup pieces

York City 0 Havant & Waterlooville 1

10nov07
FA Cup 1st Round
Bootham Crescent, York
att. 2,001

Well, what to tell you. Frankly, we’re only used to reaching a certain point. Like a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses actually invited beyond a threshold for a lengthy discussion on the wonder of Jesus WITH both tea and biscuits thrown in, we’re really not quite sure how to handle this. These waters are certainly uncharted, so much so I thought I should ask an experienced maritime cartographer what he thought about it, and his response was to snap his pencil in two, burst into tears and then throw himself through a fifth floor window.

As the piece last week suggested, the first round of the FA Cup is the early season focus of pretty much every non-league club in the land that stumps up the fee to enter. There are, as I mentioned, a number of criteria for what constitutes a good draw should you get there, but frankly that’s as far as our thought process goes. We’ve never really thought about what happens should you get to the FA Cup 1st Round and actually win. Well, not outside of pie-in-the-sky conversations, your student-common-room-esque theoreticals, you know like 'what would you rather do, eat dog food or lick a Koala’s armpit?' That kind of bollocks. The focus has always been the first round.

For many, the game is the end in and of itself. Others, like me, view it as an opportunity for something bigger, something longer, to really pull all the pleasure out of it as is possible: the big weekend away. As the Spanish call it: el Bĩno. Thus, during the week after the draw, we poked into the dustier cupboards of the internet, to find a B&B for six of us. ‘Twas an ultimately successful gambit given that our guesthouse turned out to be just around the corner from their ground, which I shall refer to as Bootham Crescent, thumbing my nose at the marketing team at Nestlé Rowntree as I do so.

The majority of our support did the trip in a day, utilising the dirt cheap subsidised Supporters’ Club coach, or making their own ways from around the country. Both the St Neots and Bristol branches were in attendance, Hull and Newcastle had been starting points for some, while one of our lot apparently woke at 3am to start their journey, the first leg of which ended in Falkirk. I was part of the Hawks London Branch who came mobbed up, booking out the 10:30 football special out of Kings Cross. Well, Coach E of the 10:30 timetabled service out of Kings Cross anyway. Coach E seats 51 and 52. Ahem.

For those of us making a weekend of it, our aims were fairly modest. See the game; hit the town for a few drinks; curry; then back to the gaff to watch ourselves on Match of the Day. Indeed, prior to the match there was no bravado, no cheeky whippersnapper over-confidence. Excitement certainly, but mixed with the kind of humour you’d usually find trying to drown out the clack of knitting needles down by the gallows there. I think the 3-0 home defeat the previous week will have helped with that.

With the 1st Round kind of considered as the pinnacle of achievement, particularly when drawn away at opposition from a higher level, you come to enjoy the day, and hope there’s no humiliation. So, when a Jamie Slabber shot gets pushed [see pic above] straight into the path of an unmarked Maurice Presley Harkin, it starts to become quite different. Our Mo (you can call him Mo. Everyone does. We do. “Suuuuuper, Super Mo…” in fact) swept it beautifully into the top of the net. He then celebrated by giving we fans the kind of wave you would only usually offer to someone who’s smiling excitedly and shouting your name across a busy high street, but who’s identity you can’t…quite…put your finger on. Somebody from Boys Brigade? Somebody from Boys Brigade’s younger brother? That weird kid from middle school who once shat himself in assembly? Who knows?

While Mo might be taking it easy on the euphoria, the away terrace is a scene of jubilation that easily matches the previous GREATEST! MOMENT! EVER! – our equaliser against Millwall this time last year – and sees my recently purchased and unsipped PG Tips tumble off a crash barrier, spilling its fluid like a felled soldier. £1.50 that cost me! Worth it though. At a million times the price.

Then it’s just a matter of watching the minutes tick down, the belief gradually rising like a Blue Peter appeal totaliser during a busy Bring & Buy season. First we made it to half time. We felt a bit sick, but happy, like after a debut puff on a Silk Cut. Then we have to undergo that particular torture that only segregation can bring. Having to watch us defend. However, with that we get to see Charlie Oatway knee the ball off the line, Brett Poate get his ‘ead in the way of a goal-bound shot after Kevin Scriven misses a punch, then Scrivs jumping on a ball late on that threatens to squeeze beneath him and in. The latter save is celebrated, by me at least, like it’s a second goal.

The four minutes of injury time held up on the idiot board by the fourth official was met with a brief tantrum but, by this stage, although the nerves were still there, the collective belief was enough to suck the team home. Upon the final whistle there was, of course, pandemonium, with the players coming to the fence to get some cuddling, to throw their shirts into the throng (that’s coming out of your wages, fellas) and to engage in a lengthy demonstration of mutual applause with us. We were still at it when York started to get a bit hacked off with all our post-match singing and began to dim the floodlights. It’s the opposite, yet the same as the lights-up at a gig that’s gone well past curfew. We’ll have to have our encore elsewhere. Watching the highlights on YouTube is certainly one way.

You can’t argue with York city centre for some instant extras though. Six jolly Hawks working their way down Micklegate. Let me provide a snapshot. There’s Mark, still brimming with excitement like a cub scout getting close to the top of the Tuck Shop queue; there’s Shaun, who’s starting to worry about a wedding he’s going to that coincides with FA Cup THIRD round day. That might seem fanciful but, well, now we’ve gone past the edge of the universe, who’s to say what’s possible? As if to emphasise that point, there’s Chris singing “Wem-ber-lee, Wem-ber-lee” each hour, possibly even on the hour, like a giddy alarm clock.

We’ve got Barry, who’s taking it easy having volunteered to drive the party of five all the way up from the grim south to the glorious north (100% record for H&W north of Grantham doncha know!) and back down tomorrow, particularly as he was asked, possibly at gunpoint, to begin his chauffeur duties at 5:30 in the morning. Finally there’s Adrian, known to regular Hobo Tread readers as watcher of muchos footballos in Central and South America, today, merely the toddler of our group. He’s a man with a healthy appetite for the booze, despite a body frame that resembles a collapsed ironing board stood upright in the corner of a utility room. Not, as a man of fluctuating weight, that I’m bitter towards thin people, you understand. However, he copes fairly well, being not so much pissed up to his eyeballs, but actually just pissed in and around his eyeballs. Speech? Fine. Not a hint of a slur. Strollin’ gait along the banks of the Ouse? Fine. He could traverse a balance beam with both a click of the heels and a gassy burp at the end. The eyes though? The eyes have it, one spinning clockwise, the other anti-clockwise, like breadmaker whisks pulling at fresh dough.

We expected it to be good, but thanks to Mo Harkin and a fantastic team performance all round, it was unforgettable. The best yet and, who knows there may be more to come. After a quick Sunday morning scoot round the National Railway Museum, it was time to head home to London, and time for another FA Cup draw. So soon? Oh sir. My, my. Excuse me while I put the back of my hand to my cheek and flutter my eyelashes coquettishly.

It is a forgiving draw too, not being cruel with a tie against, say, Weymouth or having to deal with the Millwall again, but handing us another great trip, to Notts County, not only a founder member of the Football League but one of the oldest clubs in the flippin’ world (and north of Grantham I believe). Ambassador, with these beanos you are really spoiling us. I mean, we’ve not only had our cake and eaten it, but our licked clean plate has suddenly filled from nowhere with another big, buttercream-laden sponge, fresh servings constantly appearing like ping-pong balls from a magician’s mouth.

It’ll be marvellous but, like I say, we really will be entering new waters in three weeks time. This is the Bermuda triangle, folks. I should say my goodbyes now as, after that, you may not hear from me again.

Road to Wembley
F: Portsmouth 1 Cardiff City 0 (att. 89,874)
SF: Barnsley 0 Cardiff City 1 (att. 82,752)
QF: Barnsley 1 Chelsea 0 (att. 22,410)
5R: Liverpool 1 Barnsley 2 (att. 42,449)
4R: Liverpool 5 Havant & Waterlooville 2 (att. 42,566) [HOBO]
3Rr: Havant & Waterlooville 4 Swansea City 2 (att. 4,400) [HOBO]
3R: Swansea City 1 Havant & Waterlooville 1 (att. 8,761) [HOBO]
2R: Notts County 0 Havant & Waterlooville 1 (att. 3,810) [HOBO]
1R: York City 0 Havant & Waterlooville 1
4QR: York City 6 Rushall Olympic 0 (att. 1,630)
4QR: Havant & Waterlooville 3 Leighton Town 0 (att. 378) [HOBO]
3QR: Havant & Waterlooville 2 Fleet Town 1 (att. 386)
2QR: Bognor Regis Town 1 Havant & Waterlooville 2 (att. 426) [HOBO]

the Hobo off-Road 2007/08
click here for links to all 2007/2008 FA Cup pieces

Links
York City vs H&W YouTube highlights
Final whistle celebrations on YouTube
Mainly Fax match photographs
York City website
Havant & Waterlooville website

Latest Hobo music review.
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Experiencing the First Round draw

[follows on from last week]

So, we’d done the hard part. Or at least the part which might have been hard, but we didn’t really expect it to be so, and it wasn’t. Therefore we could happily do the bit we’d really been looking forward to. Experiencing the draw. Eyes up, look in.

Now, over the years I have experienced the FA Cup 1st Round draw in a number of different ways. The years that we weren’t in it? Well, I mean, who cares about them. They, after all, don’t count. If you want to know which years the FA Cup genuinely lost its sparkle, well, just pick a year we didn’t make the ‘propers’. *Cough*whenwegotknockedoutbylowerdivisionteams*Cough* When football lost its way.

Let’s gloss over the wilderness years though. The first time we (as in Havant & Waterlooville, the latter half of that union having got to the first round four times in their bachelorhood, playing Kettering in 1968, Wycombe in 1976, Aylesbury in 1988 and also, most notably, taking Northampton Town to two replays in 1983) made it, in the 2000/2001 campaign, I can’t really remember where I was, as our 4th qualifying round home game against Gloucester City had been postponed, but the impertinent FA went ahead and emptied their sack into the tombola anyhow. Southport at home awaiting the winners. Disappointing.

The second time (2002/03) our 4th qualie home tie went ahead as planned, and victory comfortably achieved over Billericay Town. However, as I was promoting a gig that evening, I was unable to stick around to watch the draw. This time: Dagenham & Redbridge away. Another Conference side. Once again our Christmas stocking contained nothing but a waxy Granny Smith and a bag of chocolate coins the dog had clearly had a good gnaw on during the night.

Last season we had to overcome a tricky away tie at Brackley, but needing to catch a train from Banbury back to Liverpool, I spent the duration of the first round draw trying to get a Radio Five signal on a bus. A moot effort considering they didn’t actually broadcast it. Instead, I had to rely on a text sent through from Brackley’s clubhouse. Millwall it read. Finally, a league side, but my excitement was tempered somewhat by a neutral experience of being in a New Den away crowd, more specifically the raining glass bottles experience of the walk back to the station. Never good enough for your curmudgeonly Skiffoid eh, always grumbling into his warm milk over in the corner. Prick.

Mind you, it all turned out well in the end, albeit a touch expensively, but if I can’t even start shrieking like a teenager in a Beatles front row when we get drawn at home to a recent finalist fer chrissakes, what will it take to rev me up; to get me so excited you could hang a painting off me?

Well, certainly being amongst your brethren helps, and finally this weekend I could watch the draw the way its meant to be watched - in your club’s social on a mute telly over a table full of away supporters drowning their sorrows in beer and a jingoistic song-sheet. Well, perhaps not those last bits, but that was our lot this time - peering at Sir Trev over a tattooed round of ‘Ten German Bombers’. No sense of occasion some people, that's John Hollins and Paul Parker up there in them celebrity squares pulling out the numbers you bastards, where’s the respectful hush?

So, we weren’t quite able to drown them out, but excitable chatter began as soon as Ray Stubbs mimed the hand-over to FA HQ. “Leeds away!” “Bradford at home!” “What would you rather, Torquay or Morecambe?” “Not Dagenham & Redbridge again!” Of course those last two highlight a key point. When you make it to the first round, you ideally want a league club, but what if it is a brand new league club like the Daggers or Morecambe? Does that have more or less prestige than a long-time league club recently relegated for the first time to the nons, like an Oxford or Torquay?

As the velvet bag expels its bingo night paraphernalia, and they quickly whirr around the giant goldfish blender, a nervousness strikes, the same kind of nervousness that hit me on the night of the Millwall game. What if it’s a team from our league? What if it IS Nottingham Forest and they hit us for double figures? Basically everything that can go wrong flashing before the eyes like a death-bed pain n' regret showreel. Perhaps that’s just my anxiety, but excitement balances on that same tight rope, fear and joy balanced on each others shoulders, together on a unicycle.



As the names of the home teams come out, it is a teetering between different forms of prayer. First, the forming of a sphincteral ‘o’ with the lips in facial genuflection to a tasty option, such as when Darlington come out first, then Bradford and Mansfield a little later. Alternatively, there is the other prayer, where you give it shaky jazz hands around your midriff and repeat a breathy, panicky “no, no” over and over, such as when Farsley Celtic or Barrow, Gainsborough Trinity and Team Bath come out. Even league sides such as Barnet and Oldham are poo-pooed. We visited the former, when they too were non-league, four years ago in a fourth qualifying round replay. The latter? Not a nice enough place. We’ve become quite choosy you know, even Peterborough gets a dismissive sniff.

Now let me lead you through the thought process of actually seeing our pre-assigned number get picked out. 80. There 'tis. What was the one before? 60? Sorry, wasn’t paying attention. Who was that? York City? Get in! Hang on, they’re not a league club anymore are they? Oh.

I guess with all the talk of Leeds and Bradford, we neglected to consider the other Yorkshire city available to us. It certainly isn’t the money-spinner the club would want (York having only attracted 1,630 to their fourth qualifier against Rushall Olympic), but screw it, they’ve still got more league cache than yer Johnny-come-lately’s like Cheltenham, having been a part of it for 75 years up to 2004. On top of that they’ve got a proper old ground and, best of all, they’re far far away.

Our previous Southern league days took us as far as Lincolnshire, but the creation of Conference’s North and South means our travelling radius has been reduced. Previously our furthest jaunt took us to Colwyn Bay in the FA Trophy, but this will establish a new record, and that’s the crux of it. No cash cow for our club to milk perhaps, but it’s winnable (actually, can I be cautious after this past weekend's 3-0 home defeat against Hampton & Richmond Borough and say 'drawable') and, perhaps even more importantly to those of us starting to weary of yet another trip to Welling, we’re in beano country up to our ferklippin’ ears.

It may be the grim north, but its cocktails-on-a-Thai-beach exotic to a club rooted to the south coast that’s not yet played in a national league. Had we made it through those play-offs last season, this would have been bread-and-butter, but for now its a wild mushroom and buffalo mozzarella panini, at the very least. Not the biggest feast perhaps, but pretty tasty nonetheless.

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