Dulwich Hamlet 3, Harrow Borough 2
To Curva del Transpontine! …on Saturday afternoon for the latest installment of pink ‘n’ blue liquid football being spurted through the Comradely back passage of Champion Hill.
Suck it and see, Comrades. Suck it and see.
This Indian Summer [ha!] of Dulwich Days is becoming comical. The growing Rabble of wonky left-leaning (and then some) Transpontine types aren’t going to BORE you to death with politically correct gags.
Nope, the laugh-a-minute pink ‘n’ blue puns come purely from the belief in watching a passing football team that genuinely appreciates the unique South London fandom that has emerged out of the communal experience.
Failing that then there’s always the WEIRD case of the two little kids cornering dear old Uncle Wolfie ahead of kick-off.
Situationist humour is of the highest kind - yer man Wolfie would no doubt agree. But even the pink ‘n’ blue wizard was left wondering a little when approached by the little ankle biters:
“Excuse me, are you selling your autograph?”
ARF!
Wolfie gave me a glint of WOT THE FUCK in his eye, last experienced when we tried to record a hit and miss hyperlocal video inside Jack’s of Sunny Stockwell.
“Um, um, nah. No, sorry.”
Did that really just happen as Wolfie wolfed down his ethically sourced pre-game football pasta?
We paused, and then tried to work out what had just taken place.
Were the Dulwich mini-Dultras genuinely after Wolfie’s autograph?
Possibly.
Did they mistake the man dressed in matching pink laces and a hokey pokey voodoo stick as a player?
Not really plausible.
Did they think he was a programme seller and they were simply after a team sheet?
Aha!
Mistaken comedy moments are something that use to happen on the pitch down at the Dulwich. There wasn’t enough supporters back in the day to even try and construct some anarcho Situationist comedy gold.
Back to the pasta, my good man.
Harrow Borough rolled into Edgar Kail Way determined to destroy Dulwich’s continued penetration of the Ryman Premier as we catch the so-called big boys with their jock straps down.
A midweek legendary away win for the Hamlet away at Margate, and the Rabble talk was of how three home points today could lead to a top of the table chant.
*shhh*
They’re a superstitious lot, these Transpontine types.
My conversation starter of “a win today and we’re top” was met with the same stony silence experienced with the Situationist autograph prank.
Hang on.
90 minutes. A win. The unthinkable - Dulwich KICKING it until it breaks.
Beer first, business later, as the Comrades use to say.
The first half was taken up mainly with hyperlocal conversation. We went round the back streets of Brixton with the charming Mr Buzz, whilst also watching two teams trading blows before going in 1-1 at half time.
BOOZE was needed, but the packed bar put an end to such ambitions. Every cloud, etc, and believe me - there were some bloody GREAT BIG dirty bruisers hovering over Curva del Transpontine ahead of the second half.
A healthy bar means a healthy club.
I hope.
The bar room compactness was then transferred to behind the Car Wash End for the second half. I couldn’t see a great deal to be honest, bobbing and weaving through the circus of pink ‘n’ blue celebrations as The Rabble sang Songs of Transpontine Struggle.
3-1 to the Dulwich with ten minutes remaining, and even dear old Mishi was admitting that top of the table looked likely.
*shhh* - eyes above and BLOODY HELL.
PINK lightening (seriously) was the cue for the Mother of all South London saturations. The horizontal rain matched the *ahem* horizontal anarchic leanings of some of the crowd. It spat at you in the chops, and then threw a bucket of water over you to complete the drenching.
The experience wasn’t unlike queuing up at the turnstile whilst the Car Wash boys go about their business.
The ref took the players off and The Rabble was left with the ideological choice of booze or occupation? The former would concede defeat; the latter would send a signal to THE ESTABLISHMENT that Curva del Transpontine is no pushover.
Or even piss up over.
“ON! ON! ON!”
…came the chants from the Toilets Opposite End, before receiving another physics defying wet face soaking for their solidarity.
THE ESTABLISHMENT buckled under such collective unity, and Dulwich were first out of the tunnel to play out the final ten minutes and defend the 3-1 lead.
…’cos it would be unfortunate to now lose the game 4-3, wouldn’t it?
Whoops.
Ten minutes of chanting later, and the “WE ARE TOP OF THE LEAGUE” celebrations were legitimate, albeit after a late second goal by Harrow Borough.
A crowd of 810 down at the Dulwich.
Big up Rabble Man, big up Rabble for the Dulwich, the Dulwich, the Dulwich.
Who is up for Hornchurch away?
