The hills were smoking as the men withdrew

AFC Wimbledon 1 Wycombe 4
Stevedore from Tyneside

“It’s going to be like playing on a paddy field”. “My mascara will run”. “I haven’t owned an umbrella since 1986”. “Are tracksuit trousers waterproof?” The melodramatic outpouring from all corners of South Bucks and beyond on Monday afternoon was washed away come the end of the evening, not by the intermittent cloudburst, but by a sleek and slick Wycombe performance which harked back to the O’Neill era.

Whereas the 1994 FA Cup outing to Hitchin was never going to end in mascara-laden tears (despite the BBC’s wishes), the thought of a trip to the commuter hell that is Norbiton did leave a few Petey Taylor doubters showing signs of nerves. And who can blame them? The South West Trains bourgeois (non) express from Waterloo was rammed with suits tooled up with golfing umbrellas and number-locked briefcases – the corners of those things are well sharp.

Some members of backroom staff seemed fairly relaxed before kick-off, with the sweat-fuelled live entertainment of the Sir Robert Peel helping half a bitter go down in record time.

You just walk right in, walk, walk, walk right in

The Adams Park stewards have received some praise of late and even left with OBEs from a recent customer service awards ceremony. But those in the fluorescent jackets at Kingsmeadow also deserve a special mention. Not only did they ask which team we supported when asked where the away end was, they also let us stroll into the ground without even asking to see a ticket; a waste of £10. A cash only turnstile is one thing, but no turnstiles at all is another league - er, quite literally.

Right, time to all cram under this roof. There’s a gap. In we go. Nice and cosy. Should I just piss in the pocket of the bloke stood in front of me? Nah, there’s no queue for the toilet here. There’s no queue for anything. This is more like it. A couple of minutes’ silence for our fallen comrades, followed by a minute of arse scratching whilst the camera crew yomped across the pitch, and then the game was at full throttle.

Making good use of the things that we find

Well, Uncle Bulgaria and co were running about a lot and winning corners. The chair brigade were soaking it all up though: drizzle, harder drizzle, balls into the box, wayward passes, sloppy defensive passes… oh, a goal. My, that was easy. And it’s Matthew “Matty Harry” Harrold who’s scored. That’s nice.

“ Come on Wycombe, they’re rubbish”, cried the small child behind me. Well, had he been able to see the pitch, he’d have realise we were just a bit too good. But point taken, kiddo. The Dons centre halves were about to team up for a spit roast on Zebroski, but he flicked it on to The Prince, who mugged the keeper and slotted home. That kid was right after all; they’re not that good really. And there’s a first half hat-trick for Matthew! A lovely slot home. What? Oh, off the post was it? Sorry, didn’t see that one. The message on my phone revealed the keeper made a good save. Well done him.

Hot chip

Half-time came and went in a haze of steamy chips. It was the most comfortable I’ve been at a game for years. If I could have kicked back with a spicy cocktail, I would have. But those wet conditions could always cause a few issues, you know. Just one slip and they could be in. And then it was. Looked like it shot off a shin pad/knee/ankle/clavicle and their bloke tapped it in. Their fans were pumped, that’s for sure – one bloke actually took his scarf off and swung it AROUND HIS HEAD.

A local player, for local people

Thankfully Local Hero John Mousinho decided to take control. A Keith Ryan-esque charge into the box created a gap in their defence bigger than Dr Challoner’s School gym, leaving it to Matty Phillips to park the ball in the net and become the third, or possibly fourth, or maybe fifth youngest player to score a first team goal.

Chants of “easy, easy” emanated from a part of the away terrace covered with a halitosis and smegma-scented cloud. But the fourth goal was just that. The Challoner’s High School choir hit another octave as Mousinho stroked a ball to The Player Formerly Known As Average to jog on to, get down on his knees and hump the ball over the line.

All credit to the plucky non-leaguers for giving us such a pleasant evening. But Petey and the players deserve most of the plaudits for a truly convincing and “professional” performance.

12.11.2008. 14:05

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