For the first and only time in my life I missed the goal.
What a way to end the day.
The train from Victoria completely un-relaxing. I got a seat not facing the way I am travelling which makes me feel sick and after a while hurts my neck.
As the train rolled into darkness last night I found myself questioning the whole premise of life. Houses. Cars. Lights. Trains. Everything. Was this really what the earth was intended for? The commuter train was depressing me. Commuter hell. 18.04 packed to the rafters with buzzing mobiles. My seat was not facing the direction we were travelling and this makes me feel a bit sick and after a while hurts my neck. Staring out the window I spot the moon. And a large cloud moving slowly across the city. The red of sunset frames the cloud. The red. The deep grey cloud. More contrasts for my day. Beyond the cloud clear sky and the moon and aircraft lights heading into the gloomy cloud and destined for Heathrow. Usually a train to Medway fills me with a sense of purpose and calm. But not this evening. Monday I had been angry for much of the day. Invisible. Today. Frayed.
Now as the train snaked towards the east I realised that Pops would not be there and if I was honest I would rather be at home watching Enders, Holby, Mistresses and Mad Men. Sad huh!
So I arrive at Gillingham and it is colder than forecast - glad I put my thermal vest on. I purchase a match day lottery ticket, first time ever, and then a cup of hot chocolate. No point waiting I take to my seat. Arfur arrives and says hello. Colin arrives and doesn't. As the whistle blows the twins and Chris turn up. I am unfazed. I am cold and a rather portly gentleman is taking up the two seats to my left. The teams have swapped ends. Unusual.
And there then follows 45mins of utter dirge.
15mins when I do not win the match day lottery. Where I eat my WW wafer bar. Where portly man stands so close to me his elbow nearly has my eye out.
Gillingham have forgotten how to pass. To each other. At all. It's in the air and uncontrolled. The game is not improving second half. Madness descends and Stimson takes Oli off ahead of McCammon, for cup hero Barcham. I cannot believe we appear to be playing 4-2-4. What the bloomin hell has happened to our midfield? McCammon then scores. Except the ref is being a pedant and wants to give us a free kick for a foul on Weston. Cheers mate. We score and you decide we deserve something for a much earlier foul. The game continues. I say game. It is more like torture by a thousand missed headers and deliberate give aways. 3 minutes added time is signalled. I have lost interest. Faith. My train beckons and I want to warm my feet up. I descend. I need the loo so against all my experience and better judgement I go. Usually I stand in the tunnel and see out the final minutes. Well as I am relieving myself we are awarded a penalty and go on to score and the final whistle blows. I miss the whole bloody lot. Station. Over excited bunch of lads (who I have never seen on the train before) treat me as if I am once again invisible. I get shirty. I find a seat and hide in 6-0-6.
So with our team unable to string any passes together or defend or push forwards I wonder how on earth we just got 3 points and pushed ourselves into 5th. Miracle. IS this play off form?
Erm. See other match reports I need still to post.
UTG.
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