Dulwich Hamlet 4, Wingate & Finchley 2
To Transpontine del Curva! …on Saturday afternoon. With trouser issues!
Whoops.
A lack of planning led to a wardrobe malfunction around my waist. My britches [steady] were left without a belt. Braces were the supposed saviour. But the clip-ons wouldn’t clip, leading to a pair of strides slipping halfway down my arse for most of the match.
Some might describe this look at cutting edge urbanism. I was more concerned about the possible brown pants implication of watching a team that is increasingly close to the prize, yet still capable of a slip up.
The pink ‘n’ blue nerves were soon clamed down with a spot of dog patting. Giving Doris the Greyhound [?] a good old stroke is the new growth sport at Champion Hill. A steady stream of dog-patters greeted Doris. Never underestimate the healing power of a Greyhound to get rid of Brown Pant Syndrome.
Doris would be in demand though as the first half progressed. Wingate and Finchley (or was it Finchley and Wingate?) took an early lead with a classic breakaway goal.
I was too busy photo hunting, assessing the composition and dichotomy that a team of pink ‘n’ blue pitched up against a bright orange kit presented.
It meant that I also missed the Dulwich equaliser, as my fingers and thumbs fumbled around the seven-inch lens shaft. I got lucky with the second Dulwich goal, and then decided to cut my photographic losses and concentrate on the game.
A warm hug from yer man Wolfie was a welcome highlight of the first half.
“I’m incredibly pissed”
…confessed the coolest man in non-league football.
No need to apologise, Comrade. I was sky-high myself on the sheer exuberance of the occasion. You should see what I’m like when I’m fully belted and braced up.
“You’ve got a flag for every fan!”
…observed my football companion. It was fine work though from the boys and girls of Wingate and Finchley. A 13-mile walk from North London had led them to Champion Hill, raising money for Noah’s Ark Children’s Hospice in Barnet.
Buckets were shaken, The Rabble obliged.
The BEST moment of the match was the beer tray I saw being carried around the ground at half time. Six pints of something super strong was being transported from the bar down to behind the goal.
Fine work fella - we’ll be demanding a waiter service once we reach the Conference South.
All of this liquid refreshment led to a toilet stop.
“It’s bang out of order!”
…explained a helpful young kid in the gents.
“No Charlie, it’s just out of order“
…explained the father figure to the ankle biter, just as the hopes and aspirations of a generation were left stuck somewhere down the u-bend of East Dulwich.
The third Dulwich goal sealed the three points / pints, as the *possible* promotion party continued. The more affluent members of The Rabble celebrated with a packet of M & S prawn cocktail crisps (pink packet, natch.)
“You’re worse than Tooting and Mitcham”
…came the chant as Dulwich grabbed a fourth. The best way to celebrate was with a conga all around the back of the Car Wash End. My trousers just about stayed up, and so will Dulwich this season.
I’ll be wearing my pink ‘n’ blue ‘n’ brown Y-fronts on my head if we get promoted.