Confessions Of A Neutral Supporter Part Four

With our FA Cup game against Wealdstone having been moved to Sunday because there’s a function already booked for today in their social club, Ted has persuaded me to go see Darlo play Barnet. I shall be swelling what is likely to be a fairly small Darlo contingent, partly because of the impossibility of getting cheap tickets so close to the day of the game and partly because they were at Barnet only a fortnight ago. Indeed, Ted’s only arranged to meet up with John and Bev and Geoff the Plymouth fan for pre-match socialising.
We fortify ourselves with breakfast in the People’s Choice in Barbican. It’s one of Ted’s preferred haunts, even if he’s not over-keen on the French fry-style chips which accompany his egg, bacon and all the trimmings, across the road from a dance school, so you can look out and see tiny would-be ballerinas wandering past with their yummy mummies and always, but always, a brace of mounted policeman trotting along the road. From there, we walk to Old Street to get the tube as it’s such a beautiful morning, one of those glorious crisp November days.
Over the years, with London Miller and Darlo sorties to Underhill, I’ve been drinking in most of the decent pubs in Barnet, but today I’m going to the Lord Nelson for the first time. It’s in the old part of Barnet, which means a walk past a row of almshouses and various other historic buildings, plus a few houses which cost the number you first thought of plus a couple of noughts on the end.
The Lord Nelson is very much a local pub for local people, with not another obvious football fan to be seen. In fact, I’m probably the youngest drinker in the place, which is a very strange feeling. The music – the Shadows, Daniel O’Donnell and the like – is also a bit of a giveaway as to the average age of the clientele, but it’s a nice place to go drinking and there’s a pub dog for Ted to bond with. John arrives minus Bev, who’s had to get someone in to repair their boiler, with Geoff following shortly afterwards. We peruse John’s Daily Mirror, which has as one of its regulation heartwarming/quirky FA Cup minnow stories the tale of how the entire Wealdstone team will be wearing their lucky Superman undies tomorrow, complete with photograph. Must remember to take some Kryptonite with me...
As predicted, the Darlo turnout is on the low side, although we do join Martin and Pete, who only lives a short walk away and therefore has no excuse, and I have a quick chat with Gavin of legendarily bad jokes fame.
The minute’s silence for Remembrance Day is beautifully observed, and then it’s on with the game.
This is the first time I’ve seen Darlo since a night match at the same ground towards the end of the season before last, and in that time they’ve gone through administration and seen the team change out of all recognition, with only two senior squad members not exercising their right to go elsewhere over the summer. The result is a squad made of other people’s leftovers and loanees, patched together first by Colin Todd and then Steve Staunton, who made it to the last three on the shortlist for the Rotherham manager’s job, and it quickly becomes obvious that they aren’t really playing as a team. It also doesn’t help that there’s something about the Underhill slope which always makes for frantic, rushed football. Rotherham took Barnet apart without too much effort a few weeks ago, and yet today it’s the Bees who look composed and assured. Albert Adomah, who did nothing against us that day, causes Darlo’s defence more problems than he really should. Barnet’s first goal comes when Darlo don’t clear a ball properly and it’s laid back into John O’Flynn’s path for a fairly simple finish. Darlo are playing well up to the edge of the Barnet box, but they don’t seem to have the confidence to shoot – if they did, they’d probably go in level at half-time.
As an aside, visiting the ladies’ at half-time, I’m struck again by how Barnet is the only ground I’ve been to where there’s alcohol handrub rather than water. Given that it doesn’t take much for the average lower league toilet to resemble the one Ewan McGregor dives into in Trainspotting, it’s an idea I’m surprised more clubs don’t adopt.
Barnet quickly double their lead after the break, having played the old psychological game of keeping the opposition waiting for ages before they decide to come out. Paul Furlong, 75, fluffs his shot and Micah Hyde slots in the loose ball. That bloke who always insists on leading the fans in a chorus of ‘Twist And Shout’ goes through his routine. I bet he hogs the mike at karaoke nights, too. Their third is a header from O’Flynn, who performs the world’s most ostentatious handstand by way of celebration. Clearly, he fancies himself just a little bit...
Given the way in which Darlo are kicking, they really do have an uphill task now. However, Staunton makes a couple of changes, taking off Mark Convery and Jeff Smith and replacing them with Josh Gray and Mor Diop, winner of this season’s ‘player who sounds most like a character from Star Wars’ award. Darlo show more fight and force Barnet keeper Jake Cole, whose peroxide mop suggests he’s channelling Manuel Almunia, into making three or four great saves. Eventually, their persistence pays off and Diop’s trundling shot beats Cole, but although they keep pressing, that’s the final scoreline. Darlo are now officially concentrating on the league. Even the news that the Monkey Hangers have lost to Kettering can’t really lift the mood.
Back in town, we head to the Betjeman at St Pancras because Ted is hoping to sample the new Sambrook beer. Unfortunately, it isn’t on, so after a swift pint (and a nice, reviving cup of tea for me) we go to the King Charles, rapidly becoming Ted’s pub of choice. John rings Bev; the boiler is fixed but she declines to join us as that would involve a trek out in the cold. Sensible girl. The King Charles is quiet, and Ted and John monopolise the juke box. Geoff bids us adieu - maybe it’s the music? The barman offers us some excellent home-made crackling one of the regulars has brought in, and it’s still relatively early when Ted and I pick up a curry from a place just round the corner and go home, Ted to nod off in front of Match Of The Day, me to check and re-check I’ve got all the tickets in my bag for the game tomorrow.