Needham Market 2, Dulwich Hamlet 1
To Needham Market!
…on Saturday afternoon.
Where the chuff is Needham Market?
Oh dear.
This didn’t get off to a good start.
The plan was to see the pink ‘n’ blue boys secure at least an away point in deepest Suffolk [I think?], guarantee a play-off place, before buggering it up away at Bognor next week.
The afternoon unfolded to include train delays, bad football and BOOZE.
Whoops.
But hey - we’re still Bognor bound! (Not technically true as I can’t be arsed to leave the flat on Thursday evening, when I have quite literally a school day early on Friday morning.)
As ever, these Dulwich away days have become something of a blur.
The 1:30pm arrival in Needham Market was actually a 2:30pm arrival.
Talk about being fashionably late, etc.
Bloody Greater Anglia was as reliable as ever in ballsing up the journey.
.@greateranglia pink 'n' blue express has all the speed of Pete Garland. Stuck in deepest Suffolk. Help! #dhfc
— Jason_Cobb (@Jason_Cobb) April 23, 2016
The modern interweb is a wonderrful medium. It came into its own on Saturday afternoon as a train carrying the pink ‘n’ blue army exchanged tweets with (i) Greater Anglia, (ii) other Rabble folk delayed on a train sitting behind us and (iii) Rabble folk sitting in the same carriage.
The cut of the jib was that it was squeaky bum time, both on the train, and then later on the pitch.
Tip: You should NEVER attempt to wipe your bum in what Greater Anglia attempt to pass off as a public toilet.
Any hopes of being the most fashionable of late arrivals were scuppered with the sight of Dear old Uncle Wolfie doing the Dulwich meet ‘n’ greet in the Needham Market bar.
It looked like it had been a tired and emotional bus journey from the Transpontine fiefdom.
It was ACE to see so many faces from back in the day.
Ace Faces - all of ’em.
There was confusion however about what was needed on the pitch.
A win? A draw? Even a defeat?
Another pint of IPA should hep with the thought process.
Chin chin.
The briefest of Brixton Buzz pitch-side editorial meets (“FUCK ‘EM“), a photo shoot around the ground, and then I took up a place in the sun with the hobbling Disco Darryl.
The football was bloody awful. It wouldn’t even do justice for a Crap Match Report.
Needham were half-decent however, and were worthy of their early lead.
Some Rabble folk attempted to secure a better view of the game, mounting the roof of the away end stand.
There is a certain jouissance in making love to a shed roof in public, whilst the pink ‘n’ blue boys help to stimulate your arousal on the pitch.
Mr Chairman wasn’t too pleased, however.
“I’ll come down for Mr Chairman, but no one else.”
ARF, etc.
And what a comedown it was.
The second half was quite glorious in the Suffolk sun. Disco Darryl even got a suntan on his crocked foot.
But woh.
The football was shocking.
2-0 down and Dulwich finally attempted to make a fight for their season. A goal was pulled back, but it wasn’t really deserved.
I left the Needham Market sun terrace, and headed for the belly of the Rabble beast.
This was no time for an afternoon nap, Sir.
The modern interweb once again was the saviour of the afternoon. Enfield’s full time result meant that an away defeat for Dulwich would do.
We were celebrating our own demise.
But WHAT a glorious defeat. If losing 2-1 away in Suffolk means that a Thursday evening trip to Bognor is now needed, then I’ll drink to that.
Chin chin.
The train journey back was just ODD.
The cops were out, photographing the Rabble.
It wasn’t a pretty site to be honest.
Edgar Kail in my heart, and all over my gurgling grin as well.
CHEESE.