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Oct. 7th, 2008 11:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eiffel_71
Tonight was the big derby - E*******h away in the Setanta Shield. I wasn't optimistic about Hawks' prospects the way we've been playing lately, but the form book goes out of the window when it comes to local derbies - especially given the recent history between our two clubs.
Malc had hired a van from Southern Self Drive tonight and was driving himself; they picked me up on Fareham's Quay Street roundabout. We arrived at the ground with almost an hour to kick-off, but though it was a cold evening we spent the whole time before the game standing around at pitchside; several of our party refused to give money to E*******h FC by drinking in their clubhouse. While I wouldn't have minded a pint, I didn't fancy being the only Hawk in a bar full of Spitefires fans so stayed with the group. Spud bought a carton of chips from the tea hut and immediately got a ribbing from Malc and Pete for 'helping pay Tom Jordan's wages'.
Before kickoff the PA announcer rambled about how nice the weather was compared to how foul it had been this afternoon, leading into a boast about their club's £40,000 drainage system. Throughout the first half the Hawk army were in full voice and the team put up a spirited performance; meanwhile, early on E*******h's captain was sent off for a two-footed tackle on Brett Poate. A bunch of little kids gave us some lip as they strolled along behind us; one of them tried to gob on the Scotch Egg Boys' flag. Charming. Jay Gasson sent us into raptures with a beautiful goal on 37 minutes - right then, that was the best feeling in the world - but almost immediately afterwards the Beasts equalised from a corner.
At half-time the chips from the tea hut smelled damn good, but again no-one was buying any of their food and I didn't fancy standing alone in a queue full of E*******h fans. As we walked round to the other end at half-time, a couple of E*******h fans said "I smell shit" as we walked by. The comedy was provided by a young boy who was smoking a fag, posturing and doing his best to look hard, giving us abuse just after we passed rather than to our faces.
Alas, early in the second half they scored again from a corner. Several of the Hawk hardcore spent most of the next 20 minutes engaged in a war of words with a bunch of lippy E*******h kids sitting just along from us - Matt just happened to have brought along his "Little Book of Chav Speak" and used it to general Hawk fan amusement - until Simon brought us all down to earth with "Our team are getting embarrassed out there and we're concentrating on eight-year-olds". These lads were a bit older than eight but he had a point.
Although Hawks attacked, we lacked that crucial final touch and looked to be sliding to defeat. When Matt attempted to lift the gloom by pointing out that the Setanta Shield didn't matter all that much, Malc spoke for us all with his reply "If you're going to get knocked out, you don't want it to be by these bastards". Our brand new signing Danny Webb came on as a late sub and immediately got stuck in. The announcement that six minutes of time added on would be played gave all of us the blind hope of the desperate. And then...
Hawks stormed forward in the second additional minute. We all willed Danny to score, his shot was blocked, but we got a corner. There was an agonising extended goalmouth scramble, as the ball, for what seemed an eternity, was pinged about from player to player (of both sides) and seemed to cross the line at least once before, finally, we saw the net billow. Pandemonium among the Hawks fans. When the celebrations died down we launched into "We love you Havant, Looville" and "We are the Hawks". Nobody saw who'd actually got the final touch, but right then no-one cared. So half an hour's extra time? Errr, no...
Simon shouted "We've got three minutes to win this game." In the final minute of injury time, oh joy, oh rapture, Tom Jordan brought down Danny Webb and gave away a penalty. JC made no mistake from the spot. 3-2 HAWKS!! The goal celebration among our hardcore was unlike anything seen before (even during last year's cup run). Then we were all down to pitchside for a full throated rendition of Under The Moon Of Love, and at the moment the song ended the final whistle went.
We sang "Bairdy, what's the score?" and "Jordan, what's the score?" then went round to by the main stand to applaud the players, who were on the pitch warming down. As our group walked out and across the car park, we had to scatter when a home fan driving along behind us in his posh car didn't slow down. Talk about a sore loser. Onto the bus for another rendition of Under The Moon Of Love as we pulled out along the road.
Dropped off at the Quay Street roundabout. Into a taxi, where the driver asked if I'd come from "anywhere exciting" so I told him about the match. He asked me a bit about the Hawks, and said he was a Portsmouth fan but looked out for our progress in the local papers. Then he talked about the UEFA Cup draw - he was well excited about the prospect of AC Milan coming to Fratton Park. As I was Hank Marvin due to our tea-hut avoidance, I got the cabbie to drop me by Gosport Best. Topped off a top night with chicken and chips.
Malc had hired a van from Southern Self Drive tonight and was driving himself; they picked me up on Fareham's Quay Street roundabout. We arrived at the ground with almost an hour to kick-off, but though it was a cold evening we spent the whole time before the game standing around at pitchside; several of our party refused to give money to E*******h FC by drinking in their clubhouse. While I wouldn't have minded a pint, I didn't fancy being the only Hawk in a bar full of Spitefires fans so stayed with the group. Spud bought a carton of chips from the tea hut and immediately got a ribbing from Malc and Pete for 'helping pay Tom Jordan's wages'.
Before kickoff the PA announcer rambled about how nice the weather was compared to how foul it had been this afternoon, leading into a boast about their club's £40,000 drainage system. Throughout the first half the Hawk army were in full voice and the team put up a spirited performance; meanwhile, early on E*******h's captain was sent off for a two-footed tackle on Brett Poate. A bunch of little kids gave us some lip as they strolled along behind us; one of them tried to gob on the Scotch Egg Boys' flag. Charming. Jay Gasson sent us into raptures with a beautiful goal on 37 minutes - right then, that was the best feeling in the world - but almost immediately afterwards the Beasts equalised from a corner.
At half-time the chips from the tea hut smelled damn good, but again no-one was buying any of their food and I didn't fancy standing alone in a queue full of E*******h fans. As we walked round to the other end at half-time, a couple of E*******h fans said "I smell shit" as we walked by. The comedy was provided by a young boy who was smoking a fag, posturing and doing his best to look hard, giving us abuse just after we passed rather than to our faces.
Alas, early in the second half they scored again from a corner. Several of the Hawk hardcore spent most of the next 20 minutes engaged in a war of words with a bunch of lippy E*******h kids sitting just along from us - Matt just happened to have brought along his "Little Book of Chav Speak" and used it to general Hawk fan amusement - until Simon brought us all down to earth with "Our team are getting embarrassed out there and we're concentrating on eight-year-olds". These lads were a bit older than eight but he had a point.
Although Hawks attacked, we lacked that crucial final touch and looked to be sliding to defeat. When Matt attempted to lift the gloom by pointing out that the Setanta Shield didn't matter all that much, Malc spoke for us all with his reply "If you're going to get knocked out, you don't want it to be by these bastards". Our brand new signing Danny Webb came on as a late sub and immediately got stuck in. The announcement that six minutes of time added on would be played gave all of us the blind hope of the desperate. And then...
Hawks stormed forward in the second additional minute. We all willed Danny to score, his shot was blocked, but we got a corner. There was an agonising extended goalmouth scramble, as the ball, for what seemed an eternity, was pinged about from player to player (of both sides) and seemed to cross the line at least once before, finally, we saw the net billow. Pandemonium among the Hawks fans. When the celebrations died down we launched into "We love you Havant, Looville" and "We are the Hawks". Nobody saw who'd actually got the final touch, but right then no-one cared. So half an hour's extra time? Errr, no...
Simon shouted "We've got three minutes to win this game." In the final minute of injury time, oh joy, oh rapture, Tom Jordan brought down Danny Webb and gave away a penalty. JC made no mistake from the spot. 3-2 HAWKS!! The goal celebration among our hardcore was unlike anything seen before (even during last year's cup run). Then we were all down to pitchside for a full throated rendition of Under The Moon Of Love, and at the moment the song ended the final whistle went.
We sang "Bairdy, what's the score?" and "Jordan, what's the score?" then went round to by the main stand to applaud the players, who were on the pitch warming down. As our group walked out and across the car park, we had to scatter when a home fan driving along behind us in his posh car didn't slow down. Talk about a sore loser. Onto the bus for another rendition of Under The Moon Of Love as we pulled out along the road.
Dropped off at the Quay Street roundabout. Into a taxi, where the driver asked if I'd come from "anywhere exciting" so I told him about the match. He asked me a bit about the Hawks, and said he was a Portsmouth fan but looked out for our progress in the local papers. Then he talked about the UEFA Cup draw - he was well excited about the prospect of AC Milan coming to Fratton Park. As I was Hank Marvin due to our tea-hut avoidance, I got the cabbie to drop me by Gosport Best. Topped off a top night with chicken and chips.
