Confessions Of A Baffled Armchair Viewer

Having decided to forego the lengthy trip to Morecambe (I'll save those delights for the Manchester branch and Joy, who's able to combine the game with a weekend in Blackpool...), I'm left with the usual dilemma of how to pass the afternoon without fretting too much about what might be happening on the pitch. Sitting in front of Sky's Soccer Saturday with a cup of tea should be the default position, but that's way too stressful. I've learned from experience that however hard you concentrate on the list of current scores, willing the number by 'Roth' to flick from a zero to a one (or whatever we need to get us back in a game), it almost never happens. Add to that Jeff Stelling's habit of trying to tease you into guessing which team has scored a vital goal, and it plays havoc with your blood pressure. The year we were vying with Millwall to get promoted to what was then called Division One, we played them at Millmoor just before Christmas and I didn't go. We sneaked the win right at the end of the match, but as Stelling announced, 'There's been a goal at Millmoor... but which way has it gone, Alan McInally?' I was literally down on my knees yelling at the TV set, 'Just tell me!' Dignity, always dignity...
So Plan B (actually, Plan A, because it predates our having satellite TV), is to do some baking with Five Live's commentary game on in the background. There's somethng very therapeutic about rubbing butter into flour for scones while listening to Blackpool fans get the hell patronised out of them by some touchline reporter. (This being the modern media, which assumes we can't last five minutes' discussion of any subject without hearing the opinion of some ordinary members of the public...) The game rapidly turns into a cakewalk for Blackpool, largely thanks to Roberto Martinez' preference for picking the other Chris Kirkland ahead of Rotherham legend Sir Michael Pollitt, and anyway, my scones are done, so I risk a quick check of the League Two scores. 'Morecambe 0-0 Rotherham'. Fair enough; I'll take that as a result now, given Morecambe's old ground hasn't been particularly lucky for us (three visits, one win, two defeats) and they'll be on a high after their midweek victory in the Carling Cup.
Flicking channels (athletics, old film, old film, Gok Wan, old film - you get the general picture), I discover that S4C are showing action from the League of Wales, Carmarthen against Aberystwyth. I wouldn't normally pay it much attention, but in goal for Aberystwyth is former Rotherham keeper, Steve Cann. We might have dubbed him the Preening Lovely, because of the way he came and flicked his hair in front of us during a half-time kickaround at Hereford, but he seemed like a nice boy. He was certainly thankful to me and Gwenn for saving him from teeny tiny Stephen Brogan's stalker, who used to hang round after games at Millmoor chasing the younger and prettier members of the squad. And he also got the team through to the Northern Final of the Johnstone's Paints Trophy a couple of seasons ago, by making a save in the penalty shoot-out against Darlington with a rather delicate part of his anatomy... Sucked in by the sight of a familiar face in a strange environment, I stick around and watch most of the second half.
If I have learned nothing else today, it's that John Hartson is a fluent Welsh speaker (he's summarising during the game). Fortunately for those of us who aren't, you can pick up the English commentary via the red button. They also have the latest scores scrolling up the screen, but this is more fascinating than nerve-wracking, because they use the Welsh spellings of a lot of team names. It enables me to toast Darlington's opening victory in the Conference, against Casnewydd (Newport County, since you ask). Morecambe and Rotherham are simply Morecambe and Rotherham (I thought they might have a Welsh version, even if we didn't), and have remained goalless. So I've not really missed anything, thankfully.
Meanwhile, the Carmarthen/Aberystwyth game develops into a five-goal thriller, with Cann making a really good save with his feet that prevents Carmarthen grabbing an equaliser. We taught him everything he knows, you know....
Next week, it's back to normal (or as normal as a home trip ever gets). But this odd Welsh interlude has been strangely entertaining.