Beer, cider, sunburn, wasp attacks and goals. The key words to sum up our day in the overpriced town of Havant.
Firstly if this blog doesn’t make sense blame H.P Bulmer the founder of Strongbow, whom without would then never have created the oh so easily consumed Strongbow Dark Fruits currently flowing through my veins as I type. Also, don’t expect me to summarise the match, I haven’t got a clue what happened.
Myself and a mate set off from Fratton train station just before midday before making the lengthy stroll from the station up to Westleigh Park. One walk which this time I decidedly incorrectly to bring a jacket.
The sun was pretty hot even at this time so we debated whether we should be pathetic enough to request that our friends from afar who were meeting us at the ground later should bring us sun cream. We stupidly thought we’d be all good without it.
Once we arrived at the ground the nice air conditioned Westleigh pub brought us minutes of relief as we queued up for our drinks. Since it was quiet we were outside pints in hands only a few minutes later.
Which soon attracted mankind’s nemesis, the wasp. One had us dancing around like ballerinas for a good minute before I decided to man up and promised myself I would thunder***k the buggar to Rowlands Castle if it came near me again. It didn’t. This was about 2 and a half hours before kick off.
Pints numbers un and deux went down nicely and quickly before we were joined by matey number trois. Who had arrived on the promise that I’d give him a score to get a drink and his entry to the game.
Unfortunately for him I neglected to get some money out at the train station, which then prompted me to transfer money to matey number quatre who could then withdraw the cash, to be all of our groups saviours with the dough when he arrived.
The only moan I’ve got about the day at Havant is this – and it will continue to be so until parents have the courage to force their kids to support their local team – kids wearing other teams football tops.
I nearly lost my shit when I saw an AFC Wimbledon fan at the game today but then I remembered that the ‘even more tinpot Scummers’ match was called off due to Scummers getting busy with the farm life*.
That’s understandable, however kids wearing Barcelona and Madrid tops to a Pompey/Hawks game is wrong. Make them wear H&W gear or the blue Sondinlo stuff to these games, if not normal clothes! I might be pedantic but it just winds me up. The upper leagues of football is killing the lower tiers, a discussion for another time.
I suppose I better speak about the game, Pompey player passes to another Pompey player, pass pass repeat, Chaplin scores, repeat x3. We were all puzzled as to who scored the first goal as the tannoy system at Havant definitely needs a new wire or two as we couldn’t work out what the poor bloke was saying as it kept cutting in and out, kind of like Carl Baker when he beats one player and then decides to beat him again.
Hopefully with the amount of money the Hawks fleeced the fans they’d be able to get a new system in place for their return season to the Conference South. Also, I hope for future reference they decide to turn down the volume of their half-time music as I can still hear the music even now, and I suspect I will until I fall asleep.
Jackett is likely to be disappointed again that his goalkeeper was never tested during the 90 minutes, however Bass did claim the ball at the oppositions feet once which did draw a fairly substantial round of applause. I think due to the fact that the past 180 minutes worth of football we’ve yet to face a worthy attack at our goal.
Again for me, May looked good. It was pleasing to see his name bounded around in The News articles a few days before regarding starting places. Main looked the sharpest I’ve seen in a while and Chaplin was always in the right place at the right time. I can’t wait to see us up against a worth opposition so we can get a true gauge of where we are at as a squad.
We also caught a glimpse as well of the Pompey reserve drummers, who this time were Havant stewards rather than nobs with sticks. If they start acting like dicks again we now know where they work… just saying, don’t be dicks.
Blah blah something something sunburn blah blah. We stayed for a pint after at the game before moving onto ‘The Curlew’ which, my god were we lucky to survive. It’s actually a better pub than it looks but we did zip up our pockets as we went in.
I’ve probably forgotten loads that I meant to write but I’m about to go on a shant down Old Portsmouth. What I will say is this. I finally caught up with Bae, got a picture, and he whispered his unconditional love into my ear as we parted from our photo exchange. I’ve already had the photo printed onto a wall size canvas which will be placed onto my ceiling.
Peace out Pompey fans.