A PLACE IN OUR HARTS
IT’S AN AFTERNOON TO SAVOUR
We hadn’t seen each other – or, at least, I hadn’t seen them – for the best part of 15-odd years. A reunion with a couple of old college pals was the main course on the weekend menu. But, an insurance policy was needed. Just in case we ran out of conversation and the whole experience was defined by a series of awkward, Pinter-esque pauses, a failsafe social lubricant was required. Curry and carbonated beer would be the glue for the evening, but the daylight hours needed taking care of. It was down to me to reassume my old college role of social secretary, to provide the entertainment. It didn’t take much imagination. Non-League football it would be. Both pals had a limited knowledge of the semi-pro world. They are creatures of the Championship. One is a Reading season-ticket-holder of ten years’ standing, the other a Leeds fan who, a victim of geography, was just as likely to take his kids or clients to Nottingham Forest. I would be their guide on their foray further down the pyramid. With our host based in Reading, and with the fixture pages of this very publication to hand, we had plenty to pick from. If it was National League action we wanted, Maidenhead and Aldershot, both comparative stones’ throw from base camp, were at home. If we fancied feeling the sprinkles of cup magic, there were FA Vase ties happening in nearby Thatcham and Bracknell. But there was one fixture that leapt out – an FA Trophy clash in golden, autumnal northern Hampshire. Hartley Wintney were entertaining the one-division-higher Gosport Borough. The fact that the visitors were representing the original hometown of our host made it a slam-dunk.
Cabaret
Lips were smacking at the prospect of a giant-killing, even though this was barely a reconstruction of diminutive David’s felling of gargantuan Goliath. Hartley Wintney, riding high in the Evo-Stik South East, had banged in seven the previous week. At that point, Gosport had recorded just a single point in their last 16 league games. Purring at the price of admission that gave each of us change from a tenner, my companions were purring even more contentedly when, once through the turnstile, they gazed upon the compact, atmospheric ground in front of them. The pair’s contentment improved still further once pints of foaming ale were thrust in their hands. And still further when, used to not moving a muscle in the tight seating at Championship grounds, they could select the vantage point of their choice. Across the other side of the pitch in the visitors’ stand, a dozen Gosport fans were offering the cabaret, singing songs at a volume that suggested they were actually top of the league. There’s nothing like gallows humour. A sweepstake was swiftly set up based around how many times we thought the ball would disappear over the fence and into the darkness beyond. Another insurance policy, just in case the match was something of a damp squib.
Dynamo
No fear there, though. The game, despite the home team’s easy dominance, was a humdinger. Crossbars were clattered, goals were ruled offside and some of the neatest football I’ve seen at this level was on display, most of it from the home side who coasted to a comfortable 3-0 victory. The neutral’s enjoyment is always enhanced if there’s a notable player to study at close quarters. And so it was that we paid particular attention to shinpads-free Rowan Vine, the former Portsmouth and QPR striker leading the line for Hartley Wintney. But it was their midfield dynamo, the young captain Paul Hodges, who stole the show for us – a tricky, energetic ball-player who thoroughly deserved his immaculately taken goal. As we headed back to the car, my pals gave thanks for picking a game that served up such high-quality fare. It hadn’t been the game of longball hoofing and agricultural tackling they might have feared. Instead, Hartley Wintney – with their neat triangles and pinpoint finishing – had been excellent ambassadors for the Non-League ranks. They made two converts that afternoon. Indeed, the success of the whole endeavour was easily quantified at breakfast the following morning. “Evie,” our host announced to his bleary-eyed, football fanatic youngest. “You can rip up your Reading season ticket. We’re Hartley Wintney now…” Nige Tassell’s book, //The Bottom Corner: Hope, Glory And Non-League Football//, is out now in paperback, published by Yellow Jersey Press