At The Edge

London yesterday for Fisher's FA Cup tie at Tooting and Mitcham. Arrived at Portsmouth Harbour station with over 15 minutes before the train went, but the queue at the Costa in the Wightlink ferry terminal was so long and slow moving that it was clear that waiting for a coffee would mean missing the train. I turned back, glowering with envy at the Isle of Wight ferry passengers clutching their already purchased drinks, my spirits sinking at the prospect of a one-and-three-quarter hour train ride with my thirst unquenched.

I passed the journey gloomily reading the paper. Outside East Croydon station I found a coffee stall called Sweetbean where an effusive Canadian lady was being served and talking to the barista about her homeland. Hearing her mention Toronto I asked if she was from Ontario. She was actually from Alberta. She asked where in Canada I'd been, I replied Moncton and Montreal. She loved Montreal and was delighted I'd been there for the 2015 Women's World Cup. I told her I have a dear friend in Ontario and that we're intending to meet when the 2026 World Cup comes to Toronto. She loved that. Meanwhile, I thought I heard the other barista tell the lady's husband/boyfriend that they were out of decaf coffee. I checked with the first barista and sadly that was the case so I went on to Costa about 25 yards away. I ordered a decaf mocha with coconut milk (they were out of oat), settled in the seating area outside and felt human again.

From there it was out onto the main road, and some excellent street fries from a stall called Poptata before catching the tram to Mitcham.

Jim and Tracey were sitting at one of the tables outside the bar. They confirmed that we were in for more Tuesday night games, as the league want to make hay while the sun shines and get as many games played as possible in case there's another coronavirus-induced stoppage. Heaven forbid. I headed into the bar, sat reading the paper with a Kopparberg and watched more Fisher fans arrive.

Eventually a steward asked me to go and queue as they were trying to get fans into the ground in time for kick-off. I looked at my watch. 2.45. Panicking, I headed outside and joined a queue of fans spaced out waiting to get in. Happily a lady steward told us that kick-off was delayed until 3.10 to allow us all to get in.

The Fisher fans gathered on the big terrace behind one of the goals. A lot of Tooting fans were on the section of terrace to the left of us, and it has to be said they had an impressive repertoire of chants. Their ultras, it turned out, call themselves the Tooting Popular Front, after Wolfie Smith's band of urban guerrillas. We matched them with plenty of songs of our own.

Tooting took the lead on 30 minutes, from a corner they should not have been awarded as the ball went over the side line. Jim ran down after the goal to remonstrate with the linesman. The Bloke Behind Me, a Yorkshireman who turned out to be a groundhopper, said to me "Can't even fuckin' run, that linesman. You watch him!" The official was indeed on the portly side.

On 38 minutes Jamie Yila tapped home an equaliser from a cross, sending us into a deafening roar of "You're not singing anymore."

At half time, the lumbering linesman had to pass in front of our terrace and Jim reminded him "That wasn't a corner, didn't even cross the white line. You owe us, lino." Another of our fans exchanged witticisms with the Tooting goalie as he trotted into the net in front of us. The Tooting fans alongside us decamped to the other end, leaving us the terrace to ourselves.

Late in the second half, Tooting scored from a goalmouth scramble. Fisher brought on Josh Biddlecombe. Jamie Yila streaked forward into the area and was brought down. The ref pointed to the spot, to a massive cheer from our end. Their keeper left his goal and followed the ref almost to the halfway line, presumably arguing as he was booked. When the custodian finally took up his position in goal, he got a hand to Josh Biddlecombe's penalty but the ball still flew into the net.

There was still time for a late Tooting free kick to be held up by a prolonged episode of argy-bargy in the penalty area involving half the players on both sides, resolved after what seemed an eternity by the ref booking one player from each side. The kick was cleared. Penalties it was.

Josh fired our first kick over the bar, but Dan Carpanini levelled terms saving Tooting's first. Fisher's and Tooting's second kicks were both scored; Fisher scored our next two and Tooting's next two went over the bar. We were through.

The Fisher players danced in celebration in front of our knot of fans. They applauded us, then one of the coaches actually led us in a rendition of 'Oh when the Fish go swimming in,' and Donna, the physio who's been involved with the club in a variety of roles for many years - a true Fisher legend - joined in the singing. We began to disperse and speculate on which clubs would be in our section of the 1st Qualifying Round Draw.

I noticed the tea bar still open; it was called The Shak and dispensed Caribbean food. Alas, I had a train to catch so wasn't able to wait around for a jerk chicken or curried goat. I settled for a large bottle of grapeade and strolled back to the tram stop.

On the tram a Tooting fan asked me about my time supporting Fisher, he remembered us being in the Conference from 1987 to 1991. Impressed with our performance today, he was surprised when he asked how we were doing in the league and I said we'd got a solitary point from two games.

Back at East Croydon Poptata was still open; time for some Southern fried chicken strips.

Then it was the long train ride, and home to watch the West Ham Women v Arsenal game I'd recorded. Arguably, a match ruined by rogue refereeing, although perhaps Gilly Flaherty should have known better than to argue with the linesman while on a yellow. But 9-1, ouch. Please, let Katerina Svitkovà unleash her fierce soon.