I am not a fully-trained football coach.
I am not in charge of a small squad of reasonably decent players.
I am not, week in week out, in fear that I will lose my job if the people under my charge aren't at their best for 90 minutes.
And it is with great humility and respect that I get down on bended knee and say: "Sorry, and well done, Paul Trollope".
From previous posts my reader will realise that I am not the greatest fan of the manager of my beloved Gas.
To be honest, I have been particularly underwhelmed by some of his achievements this year.
Our 3-0 home defeat to Orient was the lowest of plenty of low points, and I must admit I actually posted on the Gas website that I feared for our fate at the Valley.
But, when Rovers had their backs to the wall with a growing injury and suspension crisis, I can do nothing but praise the person in charge to get us a point from each of our tough away games against league leaders Brighton and second-placed Charlton.
After listening to the game at the Valley on the radio all I can say is, "Respect, PT, for a job well done".
It seems our team was impeccably organised and, though we had goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen and our back four to thank for keeping out the opposition, perhaps we earned our luck.
Final score: South London club with a Premier League pedigree, good stadium and pretty decent budget 1,
Paupers of the West Country 1.
To be honest, the way Trolls has had to shuffle things around after suspensions to defenders Carl Regan and Byron Anthony, and injuries to Will Hoskins and Charlie Reece, would make even Tony Hancock shrink.
The deceased comedian once did a sketch where he decided to make some changes to a winning team at half time, put the smallest player in goal and switched the goalkeeper up front. The result was catastrophic.
And I honestly feared, and voiced my fears, that the idea of our left back going to right back, our left winger going to left back and a central midfielder being utilised on the right wing had "recipe for disaster" written all over it.
Though it sounds like we had some lucky breaks, it also sounds like our manager got his tactics pretty much spot on and was able to raise our team for the challenge.
Good work Trolls.
Mind you, we are still only 16th in the league and three points away from the relegation zone, so it is no time for backslapping.
And my big fear is that though Trolls is obviously a pretty decent coach tactically, particularly when it means playing on the break, most Gasheads are worried that our home performances don't match up.
We've got Bournemouth - promoted last season, flying high this, with no money at their disposal and having sold their top scorer to our nasty neighbours - at home in our next game, followed by an away trip to in-form Sheffield Wednesday and another home game against impressive Colchester.
It is going to take a lot more than backs-to-the-wall performances to get us what we need from those games - I would say five points at the very least.
Still, credit where credit is due. I still think Trolls is more coach than manager, but to get his players to rise to the occasion in their last two games suggests he certainly possesses some powers of motivation.
Thursday 25 November 2010
Saturday 20 November 2010
Taking one for the team
South Coast town with running track for a stadium 2
Massive West Country Metropolis 2
FORGET the coaching skills of Paul Trollope, the never-say-die attitude of the players, and the enormous presence of goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen arriving in the penalty area to help us grab a point in the dying embers of our clash with league leaders Brighton.
Today's result was down to one thing, and one thing only. Me.
That's right.
Yes, I know I wasn't there, shouting my lungs out.
Yes, it's true, I didn't do a cloak-and-dagger scouting trip and pass on my finding to Trolls.
No, I didn't slip some sleeping drug into the Brighton players tea.
What I did was far worse than that... an absolute crime to many.
But I did it for the best of reasons.
I took one for the team.
As my regular reader will know, we have a game in the office that is called Saturday Survivor.
We put a tenner in the pot and then each Saturday have to pick a team that MUST win for you to survive.
And I was down to the final three with a nice bundle sitting in the pot for the winner.
So who did I pick today? Brighton.
And why did I pick them? Because I was sure if I had money riding on it they wouldn't win.
How right it proved.
My office cohorts couldn't believe me.
"Rippers, you bet against your own team? That's low," shouted the boss man, a West Ham fan, from across the room.
There followed a mixture of jeers, which grew as the afternoon progressed.
We went 1-0 up through Byron Anthony and people started ribbing me about losing my cash.
I couldn't care a jot. I was just hoping my ploy would work and the Gas would hang on.
Then the second half and Brighton hit back. It was 1-1, then 2-1 to them and, inevitably, our transfer target of last season Chris Wood grabbed the second from the penalty spot.
"Yah, disgusting," people were shouting... "Betting against your own team, pah."
I was ostricised, alienated...
Then laughter erupted around the room. With seconds to go we equalised through an own goal.
"Serves you right," the hordes were saying.
But what they couldn't see was the big grin spreading across my face.
A tenner? A possible £120 jackpot? Pah.
I gave it all up to get the Rovers a result.
Paul Trollope, I hope that cheques in the post!
Massive West Country Metropolis 2
FORGET the coaching skills of Paul Trollope, the never-say-die attitude of the players, and the enormous presence of goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen arriving in the penalty area to help us grab a point in the dying embers of our clash with league leaders Brighton.
Today's result was down to one thing, and one thing only. Me.
That's right.
Yes, I know I wasn't there, shouting my lungs out.
Yes, it's true, I didn't do a cloak-and-dagger scouting trip and pass on my finding to Trolls.
No, I didn't slip some sleeping drug into the Brighton players tea.
What I did was far worse than that... an absolute crime to many.
But I did it for the best of reasons.
I took one for the team.
As my regular reader will know, we have a game in the office that is called Saturday Survivor.
We put a tenner in the pot and then each Saturday have to pick a team that MUST win for you to survive.
And I was down to the final three with a nice bundle sitting in the pot for the winner.
So who did I pick today? Brighton.
And why did I pick them? Because I was sure if I had money riding on it they wouldn't win.
How right it proved.
My office cohorts couldn't believe me.
"Rippers, you bet against your own team? That's low," shouted the boss man, a West Ham fan, from across the room.
There followed a mixture of jeers, which grew as the afternoon progressed.
We went 1-0 up through Byron Anthony and people started ribbing me about losing my cash.
I couldn't care a jot. I was just hoping my ploy would work and the Gas would hang on.
Then the second half and Brighton hit back. It was 1-1, then 2-1 to them and, inevitably, our transfer target of last season Chris Wood grabbed the second from the penalty spot.
"Yah, disgusting," people were shouting... "Betting against your own team, pah."
I was ostricised, alienated...
Then laughter erupted around the room. With seconds to go we equalised through an own goal.
"Serves you right," the hordes were saying.
But what they couldn't see was the big grin spreading across my face.
A tenner? A possible £120 jackpot? Pah.
I gave it all up to get the Rovers a result.
Paul Trollope, I hope that cheques in the post!
Friday 19 November 2010
Do me a favour!
YOU have to love football manager-speak but must take it with a very large pinch of salt.
Our coach at the Gas is an absolute expert at it - I reckon he must have had a few lessons during those famous coaching courses he went on to get his badges.
Now Paul Trollope is a very likeable guy and this is not intended as a slight on his person.
But, like estate agents, managers have to be incredibly creative when talking to the media, particularly when their fortunes have taken a pretty dismal turn for the worse. They have to do it for the fans, and also for their own players.
Tomorrow my beloved Gas travel to Brighton, a team who have taken the division by storm this season, are storming umpteen points clear, scoring goals for fun and have a high-profile manager in Gus Poyet.
Not only that but they have just signed a New Zealand international striker called Chris Wood, who we chased for a year but failed to get on board.
Meanwhile, we are down to three defenders, with Carl Regan suspended and James Tunnicliffe unable to play because parent-club Brighton have barred him as a condition of his loan.
Then we are missing our best player Will Hoskins through injury, while another striker is doubtful through injury. Actually, we only have three senior strikers as it is so that leaves us with one.
So what does Mr Trollope think of this? Obviously, he can't come out and say we are up sewage alley without any oars, but I never expected his latest assertion.
If he has a spin doctor working behind the scenes that person makes the work of Alastair Campbell pale into insignificance.
"The goals that we have conceded over the last few games means that a reshuffle and a freshen up might do us a favour," he says.
"Some of our players are capable of playing in a number of positions and we know we have to do better defensively. We have to do better - maybe a reshuffle will spark that."
Wow, really? You mean chucking a load of kids in who have had barely any game time - and when they have they've managed to lose 4-0 to the likes of Wycombe Reserves - are going to help us overturn the league leaders?
Well, I think I'll rush down the bookies now and put some money on a Rovers win then.
Don't you just love it when your manager has some aces up his sleeve?
Our coach at the Gas is an absolute expert at it - I reckon he must have had a few lessons during those famous coaching courses he went on to get his badges.
Now Paul Trollope is a very likeable guy and this is not intended as a slight on his person.
But, like estate agents, managers have to be incredibly creative when talking to the media, particularly when their fortunes have taken a pretty dismal turn for the worse. They have to do it for the fans, and also for their own players.
Tomorrow my beloved Gas travel to Brighton, a team who have taken the division by storm this season, are storming umpteen points clear, scoring goals for fun and have a high-profile manager in Gus Poyet.
Not only that but they have just signed a New Zealand international striker called Chris Wood, who we chased for a year but failed to get on board.
Meanwhile, we are down to three defenders, with Carl Regan suspended and James Tunnicliffe unable to play because parent-club Brighton have barred him as a condition of his loan.
Then we are missing our best player Will Hoskins through injury, while another striker is doubtful through injury. Actually, we only have three senior strikers as it is so that leaves us with one.
So what does Mr Trollope think of this? Obviously, he can't come out and say we are up sewage alley without any oars, but I never expected his latest assertion.
If he has a spin doctor working behind the scenes that person makes the work of Alastair Campbell pale into insignificance.
"The goals that we have conceded over the last few games means that a reshuffle and a freshen up might do us a favour," he says.
"Some of our players are capable of playing in a number of positions and we know we have to do better defensively. We have to do better - maybe a reshuffle will spark that."
Wow, really? You mean chucking a load of kids in who have had barely any game time - and when they have they've managed to lose 4-0 to the likes of Wycombe Reserves - are going to help us overturn the league leaders?
Well, I think I'll rush down the bookies now and put some money on a Rovers win then.
Don't you just love it when your manager has some aces up his sleeve?
Monday 15 November 2010
Welcome to the Nut House
YOU'RE 3-0 down at home to a team who shouldn't be fit to lace your boots and there is five minutes to go.
Your fans start to stream away from the ground, muttering under their breath about how abysmal you are.
Yet two weeks ago that same group of fans were braying about the good run of form they were on and that an end-of-season celebration was looking extremely likely.
But that's enough about Chelsea...
Meanwhile, 200 miles away in a little corner of the West Country known as the Mem, the 5,000 supporters who paid their £18 to stand on decrepit terraces, watching awful football served up by their team as they slumped to a 3-0 defeat against the might of Leyton Orient, probably stayed to the bitter end.
I don't know, because unfortunately I wasn't there. The Saturday job wouldn't permit it.
Yet I've stood on those same terraces and watched the same sort of turgid dross for more than 90 minutes and can rarely say I haven't stayed to the final whistle. And rarely have I seen the people around me desert their posts either, if only because they wish to stay right to the end to vent their spleen at the players and coach who have so badly let them down.
Just like many other true football fans who support clubs that don't even register on the Premier League poseurs radar.
Welcome to lower league football.
Welcome to true dedication.
Welcome to the nuthouse where we Bristol Rovers fans congregate.
Earlier on Saturday we got another chance for national recognition.
A group of Gasheads took their place on the Sky Sports comedy show Soccer AM.
They certainly made some noise, belting out Goodnight Irene after being introduced.
Unfortunately when it came to kicking a football through a hole they were as inept as . . . well, the team they support I guess you could say.
The only difference, as far as I can see it, is that they managed to score twice, while Rovers only managed one shot on target a few hours later.
A brief description of the afternoon.
Rovers went 1-0 down after 20 minutes and I was pretty miffed.
Seven minutes later it was two, but a little voice inside my head was saying, "It's early enough. We can still turn this around and grab a famous victory."
Shortly afterwards our fullback Carl Regan was sent off for what sounds like a seriously bad challenge.
And all hope died with his dismissal.
Final Score: West Country wobblers 0 Club from a poor East London suburb run by a bloke more famous for managing snooker players 3
Terrible result.
Awful.
And with the next three games against the teams in the top three positions in the League, to my mind we're officially screwed.
So who is at fault?
The board for not investing in the team and blowing millions on a new stadium dream which appears to have been just an halucination?
The players for not being good enough?
Or the manager for not getting the best out of the talent available?
I would have to say it's probably a bit of all three.
So what can we do?
Well, unfortunately, until we find some mad, billionaire sugar daddy we won't be able to oust the board.
The players? Most of them are on good contracts, many of them are now injured or suspended, and the ones we could do with in the current situation have been sent out on loan.
The manager?
Well the argument some people give in support of sticking with Trolls is that
a. We could not afford anyone better and b. Anyone better wouldn't want to manage us.
And both these arguments are, I'm afraid, complete and utter nonsense.
I know this.
I know because as part of my job I have not only covered football teams in a far worse plight than Rovers find themselves in now, but spoken to experienced managers who have made a cast-iron case for why people would be queueing around the block if a vacancy came up.
(And for those who will want names: Peter Reid and Dennis Smith for starters)
The argument goes like this...
FACT ONE: A football career is a very short one. Most players who retire would love to continue in the job they love and, quite honestly, the only job they really know.
They aren't all as intelligent, lucid and camera friendly as Gary Lineker (as we witness on Sky Soccer Saturday every week - Dean Windass, anyone?) so won't walk into a career in the media.
So what do they do? They look to move into football management.
FACT TWO: There are ONLY 92 Football League jobs available as manager. Yes, you can become a number two, or the youth team coach, or the physio or, in rare circumstances, the director of football. But where do all these other ex-pros go to find a job in football?
FACT THREE: Will they care about the money? Unlikely.
What they want to do when they take on a job at, say, Bristol Rovers, or even worse a Lincoln City or Hereford, is make a name for themselves so that EVENTUALLY someone will spot them and offer them more lucrative employment higher up the league.
And most will set their sights on the very top, the Premiership.
Some of the biggest names in football have started from very modest roots.
And at least if you come to Bristol you have a nice city with a potentially big following of supporters.
And the key word here is potential.
Because it doesn't matter WHAT stadium you play in, or which players you have currently on your books. The better you can do in the most trying of circumstances, the more noticeable you will become to the big boys at the top of the tree.
So should Trollope stay or go?
I regret to say, as one who chanted his name from the rooftops after our Play-off triumph of three long years ago, I think his time has come.
He told us to judge the team's capability after 12 or so league games.
We have reached that target and are 15th with a string of tough fixtures to come.
We could be far lower.
We have scrambled a few results, like the 2-2 draw at Hartlepool and, though harsh, the draw with Carlisle. After all, they DID miss an injury time penalty.
We may have had a couple of decent performances, but the bad ones have far outweighed them - Peterborough, Southampton, Oxford, Darlington, Orient. And when we have been bad we've been B A D.
If Trolls does stay on I will continue to back the club, and hope and pray I am wrong about him.
But the one argument I will NEVER entertain is that Paul Trollope should stay as manager because we won't be able to attract anyone better.
Your fans start to stream away from the ground, muttering under their breath about how abysmal you are.
Yet two weeks ago that same group of fans were braying about the good run of form they were on and that an end-of-season celebration was looking extremely likely.
But that's enough about Chelsea...
Meanwhile, 200 miles away in a little corner of the West Country known as the Mem, the 5,000 supporters who paid their £18 to stand on decrepit terraces, watching awful football served up by their team as they slumped to a 3-0 defeat against the might of Leyton Orient, probably stayed to the bitter end.
I don't know, because unfortunately I wasn't there. The Saturday job wouldn't permit it.
Yet I've stood on those same terraces and watched the same sort of turgid dross for more than 90 minutes and can rarely say I haven't stayed to the final whistle. And rarely have I seen the people around me desert their posts either, if only because they wish to stay right to the end to vent their spleen at the players and coach who have so badly let them down.
Just like many other true football fans who support clubs that don't even register on the Premier League poseurs radar.
Welcome to lower league football.
Welcome to true dedication.
Welcome to the nuthouse where we Bristol Rovers fans congregate.
Earlier on Saturday we got another chance for national recognition.
A group of Gasheads took their place on the Sky Sports comedy show Soccer AM.
They certainly made some noise, belting out Goodnight Irene after being introduced.
Unfortunately when it came to kicking a football through a hole they were as inept as . . . well, the team they support I guess you could say.
The only difference, as far as I can see it, is that they managed to score twice, while Rovers only managed one shot on target a few hours later.
A brief description of the afternoon.
Rovers went 1-0 down after 20 minutes and I was pretty miffed.
Seven minutes later it was two, but a little voice inside my head was saying, "It's early enough. We can still turn this around and grab a famous victory."
Shortly afterwards our fullback Carl Regan was sent off for what sounds like a seriously bad challenge.
And all hope died with his dismissal.
Final Score: West Country wobblers 0 Club from a poor East London suburb run by a bloke more famous for managing snooker players 3
Terrible result.
Awful.
And with the next three games against the teams in the top three positions in the League, to my mind we're officially screwed.
So who is at fault?
The board for not investing in the team and blowing millions on a new stadium dream which appears to have been just an halucination?
The players for not being good enough?
Or the manager for not getting the best out of the talent available?
I would have to say it's probably a bit of all three.
So what can we do?
Well, unfortunately, until we find some mad, billionaire sugar daddy we won't be able to oust the board.
The players? Most of them are on good contracts, many of them are now injured or suspended, and the ones we could do with in the current situation have been sent out on loan.
The manager?
Well the argument some people give in support of sticking with Trolls is that
a. We could not afford anyone better and b. Anyone better wouldn't want to manage us.
And both these arguments are, I'm afraid, complete and utter nonsense.
I know this.
I know because as part of my job I have not only covered football teams in a far worse plight than Rovers find themselves in now, but spoken to experienced managers who have made a cast-iron case for why people would be queueing around the block if a vacancy came up.
(And for those who will want names: Peter Reid and Dennis Smith for starters)
The argument goes like this...
FACT ONE: A football career is a very short one. Most players who retire would love to continue in the job they love and, quite honestly, the only job they really know.
They aren't all as intelligent, lucid and camera friendly as Gary Lineker (as we witness on Sky Soccer Saturday every week - Dean Windass, anyone?) so won't walk into a career in the media.
So what do they do? They look to move into football management.
FACT TWO: There are ONLY 92 Football League jobs available as manager. Yes, you can become a number two, or the youth team coach, or the physio or, in rare circumstances, the director of football. But where do all these other ex-pros go to find a job in football?
FACT THREE: Will they care about the money? Unlikely.
What they want to do when they take on a job at, say, Bristol Rovers, or even worse a Lincoln City or Hereford, is make a name for themselves so that EVENTUALLY someone will spot them and offer them more lucrative employment higher up the league.
And most will set their sights on the very top, the Premiership.
Some of the biggest names in football have started from very modest roots.
And at least if you come to Bristol you have a nice city with a potentially big following of supporters.
And the key word here is potential.
Because it doesn't matter WHAT stadium you play in, or which players you have currently on your books. The better you can do in the most trying of circumstances, the more noticeable you will become to the big boys at the top of the tree.
So should Trollope stay or go?
I regret to say, as one who chanted his name from the rooftops after our Play-off triumph of three long years ago, I think his time has come.
He told us to judge the team's capability after 12 or so league games.
We have reached that target and are 15th with a string of tough fixtures to come.
We could be far lower.
We have scrambled a few results, like the 2-2 draw at Hartlepool and, though harsh, the draw with Carlisle. After all, they DID miss an injury time penalty.
We may have had a couple of decent performances, but the bad ones have far outweighed them - Peterborough, Southampton, Oxford, Darlington, Orient. And when we have been bad we've been B A D.
If Trolls does stay on I will continue to back the club, and hope and pray I am wrong about him.
But the one argument I will NEVER entertain is that Paul Trollope should stay as manager because we won't be able to attract anyone better.
Friday 12 November 2010
Wycombe high!
WHERE did that come from?
Just when we Gasheads were ready to lock ourselves in a dark room and not come out until the end of the season our beloved football team go and do something extraordinary.
Town in leafy Buckinghamshire 3 West Country wonders 6
No sooner have we been knocked out of the FA Cup by mighty non-league Darlington, losing our star striker Good Will Hoskins in the process, but we produce a goalfest of an away performance that had me checking and double checking the TV channels to make sure I had read it right.
Jo Kuffour who, until recently, looked like a dog chasing his tail rather than a prolific striker, suddenly found his shooting boots with his first-ever hat-trick, the much maligned Chris Lines scored an immaculate solo effort, Jeff Hughes smashed in a penalty and at the very end our young winger Ben Swallow came on to strike a screamer from 25 yards.
Oh happy days.
Wycombe beaten and we march on.
Of course, it's only in the Paint Pot trophy.
But a win is a win . . . and in our promotion season it was this same competition that launched us on a triumphant march all the way to two big finals.
That year we were the only team other than Chelsea to play at both Cardiff's Millennium Stadium and the new Wembley in the same year.
And though we lost a thrilling Paint Pot final 3-2 to Doncaster in front of 25,000 of our fans in Cardiff it gave us the belief to go on and secure a League Two play-off final day out and, ultimately, promotion to our current level.
So, all hail the Paint Pot.
I don't want to sound like a cliched football manager, but to be honest I would trade that result for three points in the league this weekend.
We certainly owe Orient one.
In the crest of our slump last season we were beaten 5-0 by them at Brisbane Road and it was, by all accounts, a completely abject performance.
Despite that, they went on to sack their manager - it seems to be a familiar theme. Rovers get beaten heavily, opposition give THEIR boss the boot.
Still, I will keep faith with our man in charge, Paul Trollope, for the moment.
And hope that he can inspire my beloved Gas to another fine win tomorrow.
Just when we Gasheads were ready to lock ourselves in a dark room and not come out until the end of the season our beloved football team go and do something extraordinary.
Town in leafy Buckinghamshire 3 West Country wonders 6
No sooner have we been knocked out of the FA Cup by mighty non-league Darlington, losing our star striker Good Will Hoskins in the process, but we produce a goalfest of an away performance that had me checking and double checking the TV channels to make sure I had read it right.
Jo Kuffour who, until recently, looked like a dog chasing his tail rather than a prolific striker, suddenly found his shooting boots with his first-ever hat-trick, the much maligned Chris Lines scored an immaculate solo effort, Jeff Hughes smashed in a penalty and at the very end our young winger Ben Swallow came on to strike a screamer from 25 yards.
Oh happy days.
Wycombe beaten and we march on.
Of course, it's only in the Paint Pot trophy.
But a win is a win . . . and in our promotion season it was this same competition that launched us on a triumphant march all the way to two big finals.
That year we were the only team other than Chelsea to play at both Cardiff's Millennium Stadium and the new Wembley in the same year.
And though we lost a thrilling Paint Pot final 3-2 to Doncaster in front of 25,000 of our fans in Cardiff it gave us the belief to go on and secure a League Two play-off final day out and, ultimately, promotion to our current level.
So, all hail the Paint Pot.
I don't want to sound like a cliched football manager, but to be honest I would trade that result for three points in the league this weekend.
We certainly owe Orient one.
In the crest of our slump last season we were beaten 5-0 by them at Brisbane Road and it was, by all accounts, a completely abject performance.
Despite that, they went on to sack their manager - it seems to be a familiar theme. Rovers get beaten heavily, opposition give THEIR boss the boot.
Still, I will keep faith with our man in charge, Paul Trollope, for the moment.
And hope that he can inspire my beloved Gas to another fine win tomorrow.
Monday 8 November 2010
Football, Bloody Hell!
The worst thing about being a supporter of a lowly, cash-strapped Football League side is that a kick in the unmentionables is always just around the corner.
As a Bristol Rovers fan they come fast and often.
Less than a month ago I was on a real high. Bristol City were rock bottom of the Championship and we were up to the lofty position of ninth in League One.
It actually seemed we were getting things right.
But at the time I wrote:
"As a Gashead you KNOW it can't last.
At some stage, you know, City will start winning games.
And at some stage, you fear, Rovers will start slipping backwards."
Slip backwards? At the moment we resemble an Italian tank on the Cresta Run.
Being beaten 3-1 by Plymouth Reserves in the League was bad enough, but on Saturday came another low.
Non-League club from the north east who used to have a bank robber as chairman 2,
Southern softies 1
We know all about giant killings. In fact, we have enjoyed quite a few ourselves in the past.
Only three seasons ago we went all the way to the quarter final of the world's most famous cup competition, beating Fulham and Southampton on the way.
But this abysmal reverse, on top of our 6-1 Carling Cup humiliation at League Two Oxford earlier in the season, has left me in the depths of despair.
It wasn't just a first round cup exit.
It was the fact that our most skillful player by a mile, Will Hoskins, picked up a ligament injury (which are pretty damn difficult to shake off) and won't be available for some time.
This weekend has left me with an awful feeling.
I can't see past Rovers slipping down the table alarmingly.
We have got a tough run of games coming up.
Today it's Wycombe away in the second round of the Paint Pot Cup - another team in a league below us but a team with a very good recent record against us - and on Saturday it is home to an improving Leyton Orient.
After that? High flying Brighton and Charlton away, Goal machines Bournemouth at home, the giants of Sheffield Wednesday away and Colchester, who've lost only once this season, at home. The pessimist in me - in the style of a European song contest judge - predicts Nil points from any of those games.
Our manager Paul Trollope's words have an empty ring about them today.
"We must bounce back," he says.
It reminds me of the bloke in Monty Python and the Holy Grail who is barring the way to one of the Knights.
They fight and every time the bloke loses a limb he tells the knight he isn't beaten and he's still going to battle on.
Eventually he has no arms and legs left and the knight passes him.
"Come back," shouts the limbless man, "I can still bite ya."
Still, I was determined to find some slither of hope in the grey that surrounds us, and I guess it is this.
Twice in recent years I have felt that all hope is gone, and a few days later I've had a pleasant surprise.
The first came on Boxing Day a few years ago when we drew 0-0 at home to Luton Town.
This is Luton Town who not only hadn't paid their players for months, were bottom of the league, and had been reduced to EIGHT men at the Mem. We couldn't beat eight men.
"That's it then, no hope for us this season, we're on our way down," I said.
Two days later we beat promotion chasing Carlisle 3-0 and I couldn't believe my eyes.
Fast forward to last season and I was about to go and see a Rovers team who had been revitalised after signing the experienced striker Paul Heffernan on loan from Doncaster.
Before Heff joined we had been absolutely abysmal.
I was just about to leave the house for our home game against a decent MK Dons side when I heard that Heff had been recalled and that we had cut short the ineffectual Darryl Duffy's loan to Carlisle to cover for him.
Oh rats. That's it then. We won't win another game this season and relegation is still a very real possibility, I thought.
What happened? We really got stuck in, won 1-0 and it was one of the best, fighting Rovers performances I've seen in a long time.
Oh how we need two of them right now.
A gutsy performance in the Paint Pot and a valuable win in the League.
If not, I'm afraid, it's going to be a long, cold winter ahead.
As a Bristol Rovers fan they come fast and often.
Less than a month ago I was on a real high. Bristol City were rock bottom of the Championship and we were up to the lofty position of ninth in League One.
It actually seemed we were getting things right.
But at the time I wrote:
"As a Gashead you KNOW it can't last.
At some stage, you know, City will start winning games.
And at some stage, you fear, Rovers will start slipping backwards."
Slip backwards? At the moment we resemble an Italian tank on the Cresta Run.
Being beaten 3-1 by Plymouth Reserves in the League was bad enough, but on Saturday came another low.
Non-League club from the north east who used to have a bank robber as chairman 2,
Southern softies 1
We know all about giant killings. In fact, we have enjoyed quite a few ourselves in the past.
Only three seasons ago we went all the way to the quarter final of the world's most famous cup competition, beating Fulham and Southampton on the way.
But this abysmal reverse, on top of our 6-1 Carling Cup humiliation at League Two Oxford earlier in the season, has left me in the depths of despair.
It wasn't just a first round cup exit.
It was the fact that our most skillful player by a mile, Will Hoskins, picked up a ligament injury (which are pretty damn difficult to shake off) and won't be available for some time.
This weekend has left me with an awful feeling.
I can't see past Rovers slipping down the table alarmingly.
We have got a tough run of games coming up.
Today it's Wycombe away in the second round of the Paint Pot Cup - another team in a league below us but a team with a very good recent record against us - and on Saturday it is home to an improving Leyton Orient.
After that? High flying Brighton and Charlton away, Goal machines Bournemouth at home, the giants of Sheffield Wednesday away and Colchester, who've lost only once this season, at home. The pessimist in me - in the style of a European song contest judge - predicts Nil points from any of those games.
Our manager Paul Trollope's words have an empty ring about them today.
"We must bounce back," he says.
It reminds me of the bloke in Monty Python and the Holy Grail who is barring the way to one of the Knights.
They fight and every time the bloke loses a limb he tells the knight he isn't beaten and he's still going to battle on.
Eventually he has no arms and legs left and the knight passes him.
"Come back," shouts the limbless man, "I can still bite ya."
Still, I was determined to find some slither of hope in the grey that surrounds us, and I guess it is this.
Twice in recent years I have felt that all hope is gone, and a few days later I've had a pleasant surprise.
The first came on Boxing Day a few years ago when we drew 0-0 at home to Luton Town.
This is Luton Town who not only hadn't paid their players for months, were bottom of the league, and had been reduced to EIGHT men at the Mem. We couldn't beat eight men.
"That's it then, no hope for us this season, we're on our way down," I said.
Two days later we beat promotion chasing Carlisle 3-0 and I couldn't believe my eyes.
Fast forward to last season and I was about to go and see a Rovers team who had been revitalised after signing the experienced striker Paul Heffernan on loan from Doncaster.
Before Heff joined we had been absolutely abysmal.
I was just about to leave the house for our home game against a decent MK Dons side when I heard that Heff had been recalled and that we had cut short the ineffectual Darryl Duffy's loan to Carlisle to cover for him.
Oh rats. That's it then. We won't win another game this season and relegation is still a very real possibility, I thought.
What happened? We really got stuck in, won 1-0 and it was one of the best, fighting Rovers performances I've seen in a long time.
Oh how we need two of them right now.
A gutsy performance in the Paint Pot and a valuable win in the League.
If not, I'm afraid, it's going to be a long, cold winter ahead.
Friday 5 November 2010
Cornish pasting
I COULDN'T believe it.
For one, strange, unfathomable, reason I actually FORGOT the Gas were playing on Tuesday.
Not all of Tuesday, mind.
It was possibly the first thing I thought of when I got up in the morning.
Rovers.
Away to Plymouth.
Desperately need something from the game after throwing away a couple of points at home to Carlisle on Saturday.
But throughout the day somehow it got pushed out of my thoughts.
There are mitigating circumstances, though, m'lud and members of the Gashead Jury.
And they go like this...
On Tuesday I had to take my wife to her mums, along with my baby daughter.
The mother-in-law just happens to live in Lavenham, a small historic town in the darkest recesses of Suffolk.
The car was a heaving mass of buggies, pillows, toys, quilt covers, suitcases and the like.
We are talking Nissan Micra, not stretch limo.
We were on the road in reasonable time, just after 1pm.
Hitting the M4, everything was going pretty well, apart from a short traffic snarl up just outside Bath because of an accident.
Still, we got through that relatively unscathed and were making good progress when my wife came up with an idea.
"I know, why don't we take a more scenic route and try to get there without using the motorway?" she said.
And that's when it all went a bit Pete Tong.
We came off at Swindon and ambled through picturesque country lanes towards Oxford. So far so good.
Then on to Abingdon and, after a couple of false turns, we seemed to be making decent time.
My wife, via google maps on her I-phone, had found what she believed to be the most direct, simple, route imagineable.
As it got darker we hit Dunstable and suddenly the traffic increased.
For the next two hours we experienced solid London rush-hour traffic.
We had to drive through Luton. Gridlock. Hitchen. More gridlock.
The baby started crying.
We had to stop to feed her and pulled off in the dark at a place called Royston.
Um, perhaps this was the place on which the League of Gentlemen based Royston Veysey.
It was dark, full of strange characters, hoody clad youths smoking mysterious substances, a strange man following us in a car... "You're not from around ere..."
And the five toilets at the local car park were all shut.
So we drove on, a little bit perturbed by our experience.
And on... and on... and on....
It usually takes me four and a half hours at most to drive to Lavenham.
This took over seven hours!
I had no radio to keep me in touch. It was like we have disappeared into a vortex of the space-time continuum.
And it was only when I googled the BBC website on arrival at Lavenham, having changed the baby, put her to bed, unpacked the car and had a desperately needed cup of tea that the message came up...
Pasty-munchers made famous by a car insurance advert 3, Bristol's finest 1.
A perfectly miserable end to a perfectly miserable day.
By all accounts, though, we played pretty well and it was an end-to-end attacking encounter.
And it leaves us in a familiar position.
Not at the top, not at the bottom. Sat right in the middle.
In fact if we had conceded four less goals we would have a claim to possessing the most perfectly boring record in the entire football league.
Won 5, drawn 5, lost 5.
Still, onwards and upwards this weekend. Darlington away in the first-round of the FA Cup.
Wonder how easy it is to get there without using the motorway?
For one, strange, unfathomable, reason I actually FORGOT the Gas were playing on Tuesday.
Not all of Tuesday, mind.
It was possibly the first thing I thought of when I got up in the morning.
Rovers.
Away to Plymouth.
Desperately need something from the game after throwing away a couple of points at home to Carlisle on Saturday.
But throughout the day somehow it got pushed out of my thoughts.
There are mitigating circumstances, though, m'lud and members of the Gashead Jury.
And they go like this...
On Tuesday I had to take my wife to her mums, along with my baby daughter.
The mother-in-law just happens to live in Lavenham, a small historic town in the darkest recesses of Suffolk.
The car was a heaving mass of buggies, pillows, toys, quilt covers, suitcases and the like.
We are talking Nissan Micra, not stretch limo.
We were on the road in reasonable time, just after 1pm.
Hitting the M4, everything was going pretty well, apart from a short traffic snarl up just outside Bath because of an accident.
Still, we got through that relatively unscathed and were making good progress when my wife came up with an idea.
"I know, why don't we take a more scenic route and try to get there without using the motorway?" she said.
And that's when it all went a bit Pete Tong.
We came off at Swindon and ambled through picturesque country lanes towards Oxford. So far so good.
Then on to Abingdon and, after a couple of false turns, we seemed to be making decent time.
My wife, via google maps on her I-phone, had found what she believed to be the most direct, simple, route imagineable.
As it got darker we hit Dunstable and suddenly the traffic increased.
For the next two hours we experienced solid London rush-hour traffic.
We had to drive through Luton. Gridlock. Hitchen. More gridlock.
The baby started crying.
We had to stop to feed her and pulled off in the dark at a place called Royston.
Um, perhaps this was the place on which the League of Gentlemen based Royston Veysey.
It was dark, full of strange characters, hoody clad youths smoking mysterious substances, a strange man following us in a car... "You're not from around ere..."
And the five toilets at the local car park were all shut.
So we drove on, a little bit perturbed by our experience.
And on... and on... and on....
It usually takes me four and a half hours at most to drive to Lavenham.
This took over seven hours!
I had no radio to keep me in touch. It was like we have disappeared into a vortex of the space-time continuum.
And it was only when I googled the BBC website on arrival at Lavenham, having changed the baby, put her to bed, unpacked the car and had a desperately needed cup of tea that the message came up...
Pasty-munchers made famous by a car insurance advert 3, Bristol's finest 1.
A perfectly miserable end to a perfectly miserable day.
By all accounts, though, we played pretty well and it was an end-to-end attacking encounter.
And it leaves us in a familiar position.
Not at the top, not at the bottom. Sat right in the middle.
In fact if we had conceded four less goals we would have a claim to possessing the most perfectly boring record in the entire football league.
Won 5, drawn 5, lost 5.
Still, onwards and upwards this weekend. Darlington away in the first-round of the FA Cup.
Wonder how easy it is to get there without using the motorway?
Monday 1 November 2010
Loyal supporters
Being a Bristol Rovers fan is a conversation stopper.
I know from experience.
In most of the environments I work in the banter surrounds the Premier League. The West Ham fans wind up the Tottenham massive, the Chelsea fans just gloat, the Arsenal fans rise above it all because they believe Lord Wenger's "pure" football cannot be faulted...
I join in sometimes, and anyone new to the conversation, a Spurs follower or a strident Gooner, will eventually ask "Who do you support?"
"Bristol Rovers."
It normally brings a look of bafflement followed by the questioner turning to his mate and asking, "anyway, who do you think will win the London derby this weekend?"
Dismissed in an instant. A conversation stopper, you see.
I think those people just cannot get it into their heads how ANYONE can support a mid-table League One side who have NEVER been in the top flight and have just dabbled with success on rare occasions in the lower divisions.
But some fans have it even worse. Supporting a team from Bristol is nothing compared to the bemusement you must encounter when you say, "Yeah, I support Carlisle United."
Carlisle? Where is that?
Isn't it in Scotland?
You can just imagine how the glory-hunting, Premier League fan would react to that.
I mean... who IS your closest rival if you follow Carlisle?
Celtic? Rejkavic? North Pole United?
It is, quite honestly, in the back of beyond.
Which is why I have to give a grudging admiration for their supporters and particularly those who travel vast distances to see their team every week.
Like Nuclear Neil.
The nickname comes from the fact he works in the local power station.
And every year he travels all over Britain to see them perform at our pretty mundane level of the football league.
I know he drove down to see the game at the Mem on Saturday.
He did last year as well, and couldn't have been too joyous on the long haul home after we overturned a 2-1 deficit to steal the game in the last seconds.
This time, too, it looked like they would be leaving empty handed.
The Gas were leading 1-0 through a goal from the much maligned Chris Lines and were three minutes away from a win which would have lifted us into the lofty position of fourth in the division.
Then, disaster struck. Their on-loan signing from Leeds Mike Grella equalised.
And even worse, the Gas gave away a penalty three minutes into injury time.
Gary Madine stepped up to take it but our Danish superhero goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen flung himself to his left to push the ball away.
Pride of Bristol 1, Capital of the Back of Beyond 1.
Phew! Relief for the Gas, but let's spare a thought for Nuclear Neil and his crew.
A long journey home to think about what might have been.
We all like to think of ourselves as loyal supporters, in fact the words of OUR song Goodnight Irene begin "We're loyal supporters, faithful and true.."
But Carlisle fans are beyond that.
The most loyal supporters in the land? Or, quite simply, nutters?
I know from experience.
In most of the environments I work in the banter surrounds the Premier League. The West Ham fans wind up the Tottenham massive, the Chelsea fans just gloat, the Arsenal fans rise above it all because they believe Lord Wenger's "pure" football cannot be faulted...
I join in sometimes, and anyone new to the conversation, a Spurs follower or a strident Gooner, will eventually ask "Who do you support?"
"Bristol Rovers."
It normally brings a look of bafflement followed by the questioner turning to his mate and asking, "anyway, who do you think will win the London derby this weekend?"
Dismissed in an instant. A conversation stopper, you see.
I think those people just cannot get it into their heads how ANYONE can support a mid-table League One side who have NEVER been in the top flight and have just dabbled with success on rare occasions in the lower divisions.
But some fans have it even worse. Supporting a team from Bristol is nothing compared to the bemusement you must encounter when you say, "Yeah, I support Carlisle United."
Carlisle? Where is that?
Isn't it in Scotland?
You can just imagine how the glory-hunting, Premier League fan would react to that.
I mean... who IS your closest rival if you follow Carlisle?
Celtic? Rejkavic? North Pole United?
It is, quite honestly, in the back of beyond.
Which is why I have to give a grudging admiration for their supporters and particularly those who travel vast distances to see their team every week.
Like Nuclear Neil.
The nickname comes from the fact he works in the local power station.
And every year he travels all over Britain to see them perform at our pretty mundane level of the football league.
I know he drove down to see the game at the Mem on Saturday.
He did last year as well, and couldn't have been too joyous on the long haul home after we overturned a 2-1 deficit to steal the game in the last seconds.
This time, too, it looked like they would be leaving empty handed.
The Gas were leading 1-0 through a goal from the much maligned Chris Lines and were three minutes away from a win which would have lifted us into the lofty position of fourth in the division.
Then, disaster struck. Their on-loan signing from Leeds Mike Grella equalised.
And even worse, the Gas gave away a penalty three minutes into injury time.
Gary Madine stepped up to take it but our Danish superhero goalkeeper Mikkel Andersen flung himself to his left to push the ball away.
Pride of Bristol 1, Capital of the Back of Beyond 1.
Phew! Relief for the Gas, but let's spare a thought for Nuclear Neil and his crew.
A long journey home to think about what might have been.
We all like to think of ourselves as loyal supporters, in fact the words of OUR song Goodnight Irene begin "We're loyal supporters, faithful and true.."
But Carlisle fans are beyond that.
The most loyal supporters in the land? Or, quite simply, nutters?
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