Crap Match Report

Wingate and Finchely 3, Dulwich Hamlet 0

To Wingate! And Finchley! …early on Saturday afternoon.

Or was it both?

Either way, it was BOBBINS.

Never trust bloody 1pm kick offs; never trust the Dulwich Hamlet Oyster card away days either, especially so when Jinx Jase is in town.

I keep on hearing about this beautiful pink ‘n’ blue liquid football all over the modern interweb. EVERY time I have managed to make it to a Hamlet match this season and they have lost.

Looking forward to Witham away next weekend, fellas.

Wingate and Finchley should have been an easy journey for me. Sunny Stockwell all the way up to West Finchley on the Northern Line. It’s not even in Zone 5. What could go wrong?

I arrived up in Thatcher Land at 12:45pm, fired up the iPhone and then almost walked back down to Camden.

Whoops.

The mean streets of Wingate (and Finchley) aren’t exactly the bright lights where a boy about town would willingly choose to spend a Saturday afternoon if he can’t even find the football ground.

I finally managed to get my best navigational head on, only to be kidnapped by a friendly man in a car.

Hamlet Andy from back in the day spotted me and invited me on board. We drove around for around five minutes, only then realising that he has abducted me right outside the main gate.

COMMUNITY DAY at Wingate and Finchley meant that it was pay what you like. I had pre-planned this.

My £20 note was cashed in for three grubby fivers and a packet of dobbers (actually it was a flapjack bar) at a nearby newsagents.

A fiver to get in, a fiver for beer.

WIN.

Unlike the Dulwich…

I did manage to do the traditional photo walk around the ground. I didn’t miss much on the pitch.

I wasn’t alone in being ever so slightly obsessed with the beautiful art deco stand that was positioned half a mile away from the pitch.

The flags of Wingate and Finchley were half decent – a bit like their team.

I finally made it round to where the Rabble were positioned. It was a little tight in there.

A well known Dulwich character who may *or may not* have Dulwich in his name was standing on a steep step. My face came into contact with his crotch as I squeezed past and uttered some pleasantries.

While you’re down there, etc.

And then it was all about Brixton Buzz.

Ha!

The first half had a usual hit and miss BBuzz editorial meeting. I then pulled a greenie on the terracing when @Darryl1974 reminded me of the Thatcher connections with the club.

The football was bloody awful.

Dulwich hardly had an attempt at goal. Each time Wingate and Finchley went on attack they seemed to score.

Fingers were pointed.

Jinx Jase almost got a banning order.

The Rabble took over the bar at half time. You don’t say.

I became trapped in the corner of the urinals, trying to escape past some old bloke who could piss for England.

Having already been kidknpaped and coming close to giving head, I didn’t fancy chumming up any closer to the Piss King.

He finally finished and I headed back behind the other goal with the Rabble. The songs were on fine form, but sadly Dulwich weren’t.

Sabotage took place when the home team keeper’s water bottle received the DHFC stickering treatment. I did think that some tabs were being dropped in the water at first. That would have at least livened up the festivities.

And so beware the Ides of March, Dulwich.

We say the same thing every bloody season it seems.

Fuck the football. Finchley was there for the taking.

There is no finer place to soak up any post-football sorrow than a North London boozer that serves up pints of Strongbow for £1.99.

Six hours later and we headed back south of the river.

Oh dear.

Witham away next week. Which is kinda a home fixture for me.

The jinx will be jilted.

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