Friday 26th December 2008 CCL2. Dagenham & Redbridge 2 Gills 0.

Well we all expected this to be tough what with all the goals Dagenham have been scoring at home this season but if the Gills are to be serious about making the play-offs, let alone the automatic places then “performances” like this are simply unacceptable. Why we can go from looking half decent one week to a wretched, shambolic mess is a mystery to us the fans, perhaps the management and players have a ready explanation because it really is a bit of a conundrum – so come on chaps, let‘s have some feasible answers please!.

Christmas in Dagenham never promised to be much fun, the place is a bleak, flat, ugly, desolate and forlorn combination of post-war blitz-assisted slum-clearance housing estates, giant car factories, wasteland, electricity pylons, dual carriageways to oblivion and rubbish-strewn dereliction. You couldn’t question the friendly welcome in the boozer round the corner before the game, but with a Frankenstein club cobbled together from the remnants of half a dozen old non-league teams slap bang in the middle of West Ham’s hinterland where the fringes of the East End merge with the grubby badlands of Essex, you get a weird dislocation whereby the inhabitants of Dagenham appear oblivious to the fact they have a League club all of their own in their midst.

Credit to Dagenham for getting in the League and making a challenge for promotion despite modest attendances and even more modest wages. The self styled self-depreciation “we’re just a pub team from Essex!” suggests the fans that they do have haven’t let consistent success go to their heads, the non-league ethos still pervades the place and that goes for their Victoria Road stadium too with two small open terraces at either end, a low main stand with adjoining modern extension and an old fashioned rusty cowshed down one side.

The Gills fans turned out in force, over 1,100 in total despite match day sales being publicly “stopped” on police orders because not many were left except of course they weren’t and in actual fact you could pay cash on the day. Clearly Dagenham aren’t used to loads of away fans coming to town, they sheepishly made their club house home only and the queues once inside the away end terrace for food and drinks were horrendous stretching virtually back out the ground by half-time.

The official attendance was also a mystery, with 1,100 plus Gills in a packed out away end and with virtually every seat sold and the side terrace well populated the final figure of 2844 would mean the stadium less than half full – poppycock! Either the attendance was 4,000 plus or the capacity is nowhere near 6,000…

As to the game, well it should be quickly and quietly filed under the category “whoops!” and left in a draw somewhere away from prying eyes. Suffice to say it was an unmitigated disaster from first minute to last. Julian came in for Royce and had a wretched afternoon of flat-footed indecision, but the whole team should hang their heads in shame after a humiliating display in a game of such poor quality it made your ears bleed. Not one moment got close to being even humdrum, well done to the Daggers for trying but between the two teams the end result was the worst game many of us had seen since the early 90’s. The ball was master, nobody seemed capable of passing, controlling or dribbling with it. Time and again it sailed out of play or bobbled away from careless feet. It was painful to watch. This wasn’t League Football, it wasn’t even Conference standard, it was shoddy, muddled drivel. We hardly got off to a flier either, with a decent away turn out there was scope for the Gills to enjoy some dominant vocal backing but we were only half way through the opening chorus of the afternoon when it got stuck and died in our throats. Eighteen seconds from kick off and the ball was nestling in our net, a straight forward move, a routine hopeful long ball over the top, we were sluggish to respond and before you could shout “oh bugger!” Richards had been left flat footed, Julian exposed and Strevens nipped in to poke a slightly lucky first time effort onto the far corner. We were stunned and so too were the team who never really recovered their composure. The passing was nervy and unravelled painfully, each sliced hack and scuffed shank drew more and more groans of resignation from a sullen, solemn away end. Dagenham weren’t that much better technically but had more confidence, tempo and passion. Miller did have a goal chalked off (28) but the flag had long gone up before his header from a Southall cross had found the net. Barcham also smashed one other chance over but to be honest our moments of anything other than shambolic had been sporadic.

Any hope of a revival were gone five minutes into the second half, again Julian was culpable getting his angles all wrong and being slow to react to an early cross shot but credit too to the Daggers striker Benson for being direct and placing his effort into the only available space albeit via the post. The temperature dropped and so did our chins. There were no leaders out there in a Gills shirt, nobody grabbing his team mates literally and metaphorically by the scruff of the neck and demanding a reaction. We had the odd flurry of promise in their half but the final ball was often woefully careless Southall‘s free-kick a rare moment of quality. The Daggers then had a goal of their own ruled out for offside but the mood wasn’t lightened as the Gills contrived to spurn two late chances which rather summed up the day – Mulligan (meekly into the side netting) and Lewis (rashly wide) being the culprits. Gills fans were streaming out long before the final whistle the remainder remaining only to boo them off and quite right too. Gutless, toothless and ultimately pointless.

Champagne Moment:- Getting home again to the warmth of Christmas with the family and pretending this didn‘t just happen.

The Frozen Binman.

Saturday 20th December 2008 CCL2. Gills 1 Brentford 1.

This was always going to be a tricky game. Brentford looked to be the best of the rest chasing Wycombe’s coat tails and given the quirky imbalance of the fixture list with the Gills playing mostly teams from the top half away and bottom half at home before Christmas this was by some distance our toughest assignment at Priestfield thus far. It was never going to be easy although with a bit of a promotion band-wagon gathering momentum at Griffin Park it was amazing to see less than 600 make the trip down from West London – albeit just before Christmas.

The first half was tight, highly competitive, a little scrappy and perhaps Brentford edged it but the manner in which we fell behind on 28 minutes was galling in the extreme. The Bees weren’t a bad side, we knew it would be tough, so to gift them the opening goal after 28 minutes of only sporadic goalmouth action was mental. It all stemmed from the ever willing but not overly gifted Richards, his routine defensive back header was misjudged with the ball destined for either a sloppy corner or even a through-ball for the lurking Brentford player, Royce erred too, racing out to clear the ball only to get there a distant second, the Bees player collected and with Royce stranded out by the touchline (not for the first time this season it has to be said) squared it. Help was at hand in the form of Simon King but having done well to get back on his line he then got his knickers in a twist contriving to wrong foot himself and with our star defender bizarrely rooted to the spot with lead in his boots, Charlie MacDonald had the easiest task of the day to roll the loose ball into the Rainham End net. What a bloody shambles!

To be honest I was relieved we suffered no further damage before the break, a second goal would have killed it against well organised opponents. The referee, Langford wasn’t exactly helping with a series of bafflingly inconsistent and petty decisions against us. Nevertheless a late flurry of activity before half-time saw one Barcham effort cleared of the line and Hamer save from Weston.

The second half was a significant improvement from the Gills’ point of view, Priestfield got going a bit and the players responded, we should have equalised when Richards fired across the face of the goal but it was neither one thing nor the other. Thankfully with an hour gone and the tempo and intensity rising we deservedly scored. Nutter’s cross was headed on by Bentley, a routine save for Hamer was on the cards until Jackson reacted quickly to deflect the ball deftly into the net with a flick of his noggin from close range. Game on.

Well it was rumbustious and increasingly bad tempered, the erratic officiating didn’t help, but with momentum and confidence the Gills looked the more likely winners. They were inches away from the lead in bizarre circumstances when one attack appeared to fizzle out only for indecision between a Bees defender and Hamer allow Barcham to nip in, Hamer had no option but to smash the loose ball away but he did so against the onrushing Barcham only to see it rebound, screaming just wide of the unguarded goal. It all then got a bit silly on 69 minutes with a clumsy challenge by Bentley on the half-way line. Before you could shout “bundle!” the two teams came together in a melee of pushing, shoving, finger wagging and forehead touching. Amid the resultant twenty-man mass-brawl Elder was picked out for an initial push on King and was sent off, Fuller booked and Richards who’d got involved himself escaped “Scott free” until the post-match recriminations began to fly and Bees manager Andy Scott went whining to the authorities and got him suspended too the fucking little scrote.

The last twenty minutes were played out to a baying mob, each challenge got meatier and meatier, it was perhaps a bit too much thud and blunder for the purists but the rest of us dined on some red blooded football fare, all high tempo, niggly, nasty, passionate stuff, biff bash bosh. We could and really should have won, credit to the Bees who defended resolutely but as is too often the case this season our final ball let us down at the crucial moment – nevertheless Weston nodded a great chance wide and Hamer did well to save a Bentley header. With two minutes remaining Fuller received a red card for an innocuous but clumsy challenge down by the Gordon Road stand. A bit rash given his earlier booking, he did risk a second caution and a red card (one match ban) but the entire ground were utterly bemused and stunned when the referee pulled out a straight red card. A disgusting decision symptomatic of a weak and stupid referee out of his depth and unable to control the game or officiate with any feel for the game. After a day of really rather random decisions this last one would cost Captain Fuller his chance to play against The Villa… sad, but in keeping with the officials we’ve seen at Priestfield over the last couple of months.

We could have still won it but spurned two late chances for glory, Richards headed a Southall corner wide when it looked easier to stick it in the bloody net and the with seconds remaining Hamer denied us once more, parrying Oli’s thunderbolt to save a point for the Londoners. The final whistle brought initial anger at the officials and frustration with the result but having gone behind and had a few wobbles in the first half it wasn’t the end of the world and our unbeaten home record in the League since August remained unscathed.

Champagne Moment:- The mass brawl, haven’t had many of those recently, it got the adrenalin going if nothing else.

The Frustrated Binman.

Saturday 13th December 2008 CCL2. Barnet 2 Gills 2.

The BMH Christmas party is never dull and so it proved on a day that left most Gills fans with mixed feelings… two points casually tossed away or one stolen with the last kick of the game? Only the end of season tally will tell although if you’d asked most Gills fans pre-match, they were demanding nothing less than victory (probably due to Barnet’s home League record of one win, two draws, six defeats) whilst we‘d just beaten Stockport and had lost just twice in thirteen; ask them again in the 91st minute though with us losing they‘d have gleefully taken a point… which we did. Any regular Gills fan though would be quick to remind anyone listening that the Gills don’t often win away when everyone half expects/demands it.

The trip up the Northern Line was supposed to be a fuck-you Boris party involving copious amounts of spirits disguised as soft drinks in a seasonal two fingers to the bumbling wiff-waff aficionado London mayor and his draconian alcohol ban but it was a bit of a damp squib and we had to settle for careful sips from one measly bottle and some M&S nibbles. The grey skies and teeming rain didn’t exactly lend itself to a party atmosphere, our pre-match pub was perhaps too warm and cosy, the mood upbeat as we contemplated the Villa game but I can’t say we were that confident, perhaps memories of the humiliation the year before in the FA Cup was still fresh in the minds of many. We finally joined the other 1,000 travelling fans, 150 of which were sat rather absurdly in a temporary erection by the corner flag more usually found at county cricket festivals in July than League Two in December. We admired the new home end stand for all of thirty seconds, mentally filed it under “functional” and took our place at the front of the old school covered side terrace.

As to the game, well a curate’s egg really, good in parts, a bit more composure, a little more guile and less complication with the ever crucial final ball and our first half dominance would have yielded an opening goal or two and a rowdy romp in the deluge would have been on the cards but it didn’t and it left us vulnerable to “events dear boy, events”…

Unfortunately it was to be a day of spurned chances and decidedly dubious off-side decisions. “No change there!” I hear you cry but the Gills did begin the game brightly, Barcham, Miller and featured regularly but Jackson didn’t have his finest afternoon, failing to make the most of some juicy chances. Barnet were ordinary, one of the clump of teams that had it not been for the points deductions for financial shenanigans handed out to Luton and Bournemouth would be sweating on their League status. However when they realised that we were trying to play tippy-tappy football in the midst of a tropical downpour and that we’d left our shooting boots at home they sensed an opportunity and got stuck in. It wasn’t pretty or sophisticated but given the conditions not illogical. They made the most of their talents whilst we squandered ours.

It was mostly one-way traffic in the first period, Jackson had one effort ruled out for offside, saw a Barcham cross cleared before it got to him, headed wide, saw a smart shot saved and then as half-time approached muffed two glorious chances to open the floodgates. Simeon first hit the woodwork from close range before missing a routine one-on-one with just the keeper to beat. Barnet had sporadically threatened themselves, heading wide with our defence asleep on the job but then with the game into added time before the break we stumbled badly, enduring a mad two minutes at the back where panicky defending, sliced passes and daft decisions took the shine off what had been a more than acceptable half.

We were still ruminating about whether Jackson’s litany of missed chances would come back to bite us on the bum when it did just that. Twelve seconds. Twelve fucking seconds? How the feck did we manage that? Well Twelve seconds into the second half and mentally the team were still sucking on an orange because they rather dozily allowed Leary to run forward with the ball from half way before unleashing a speculative drive than stunningly only slowed down once buried in the back of our net. The locals were nearly as bemused as we were, a real bolt from the blue (grey) – from complacent expectation to dour indignation in twenty five yards. The mood darkened, expletives flew and as the night drew in and the rain got wetter.

Credit to the Gills, they kept their composure, didn’t panic and set about chasing an equaliser, Barcham, Miller and Jackson ran Barnet ragged but it just wouldn‘t fall for them. It felt like a cup tie – and not in a good way, Jarrett (not his finest hour!) and Miller went close before Barcham appeared to have saved the day and set up a rousing finale (67). He ran in typical fashion into the Barnet box, his initial effort was blocked by a sliding Barnet defender, “handball!” we all roared given he’d done just that, I was still in mid-apoplexy at the dozy linesman in front of us when Barcham coolly collected the rebound before dinking it over the keeper – 1-1. You’d have though the Gills would roar on towards glorious victory but instead they went to sleep at the back, four minutes later Deverdics crossed to the unmarked O’Flynn at the near post to head home – a classical sucker-punch (71). We were mortified and the team went flat. The whole afternoon looked to be unfolding, from high hopes of a jolly win on the road and a piss up in Old London Town to humiliation at the end of the Northern Line was a little too much to stomach. The travelling fans got frustrated and angry, the atmosphere got a tad ugly, we were exasperated, playing a clearly inferior team both on paper and grass and yet again it looked like we’d go home miserable once again…

With time running out the Gills did manage to rouse themselves for one last big push, Southall showed a bit of nouse, winning the ball, chasing lost causes, getting the away fans going again, we were still screaming our frustration after the comically inept Mulligan had blazed the ball wide with the goal at his mercy – our last chance gone. Thankfully Southall hadn’t given up the ghost, he chased down anther lost cause winning a throw just in front of us level with the edge of the penalty area. Richards launched it, Mulligan nodded the ball on and Jackson nipped in to deftly flick the ball over the keeper’s shoulder and into the net. Well we were pretty chuffed I can tell you, the players ran over to where we were cavorting to be engulfed by pissed, drenched but delirious away fans. Jackson had saved the day, not a classic performance by any stretch of the imagination but we’d contrived a “get out of jail” card to keep the bandwagon (charabanc) chugging towards the top seven spots in League Two.

We celebrated back in central London, first stop the Salisbury Public House. Not my favourite because they discriminate against football fans (It’s not the fecking 1980’s you wankers!) but near our curry house destination. I dutifully covered up my Gills shirt and joined our BMH mob only to catch in the corner of my eye one of our number waving frantically. Alan, a well known and respectable forty something thespian had been refused entry… was he pissed? No. Was he wearing football colours? Nope. A pikey cap? Nah. His crime? Tracksuit bottoms (as a drama teacher always ready to get down with the kids at his school his regular garb) – well the pub might be pretty but the service is slow and their attitude stinks, most of all their doorman who was arrogant, goby and smug, one by one we extricated ourselves from the scrum at the bar, told the shit in the suit what we thought of his establishment (there are 100 equally attractive pubs within a five minute stumble) crossed the road and spent our dosh where we were more than welcome. To top the night off we finished with a BMH curry, and amid the “silly hats” theme and shards of chutney-smeared popadoms we handed out the Secret Santa presents (maximum spend £5) and I was chuffed to receive possibly the only homemade Gillingham snowglobe in the entire universe. With Simeon Jackson and Simon King featuring I gleefully shook my prize and dreamt of a second half of a season that might bring a genuine push for promotion after five long years of stagnation.

Champagne Moment:- If I can’t nominate my splendid new Simeon Jackson/Simon King Gills snowglobe then I suppose Jackson’s late intervention right in front of us to save the day is worthy of getting the nod. The Curried Binman.

Tuesday 9th December 2008 FAC2R. Stockport County 1 Gills 2.

On the face of it this trip to Greater Manchester was “futile” – we had only beaten a higher division club away from home in the FA Cup once since the First World War – Bristol City (2-1) in 1946-47 when we were on our brief sojourn in the Southern League! Our previous away game had seen a wretched 4-0 thumping at Bury and with the team having perhaps missed their big chance having dominated the first half of the game at Priestfield any hope appeared to evaporate with the Cup draw – at home to Aston Villa… well County were bound to be up for that weren’t they… no resting of players or complacency when a date with the team of the moment not to mention a live appearance on ITV was up for grabs…

Still we left Canterbury with a modicum of hope, otherwise we wouldn’t have bothered with such a slog up north on a Tuesday night in December, but the consensus was that we were all quite “utterly mad” for even contemplating the trip. Mention must go to Big Lee who was suffering badly from the flu-like bug that was decimating East Kent pre-Christmas but still jumped aboard the Gemma-express for Edgeley Park.

The trip north was pretty smooth except for hitting the start of the Manchester rush-hour, the pre-match drink saw Lee fall asleep sitting bolt upright in his seat, pint of soft drink untouched on the table, as the adjacent locals confidently chatted about their chances albeit aware that their home record was decidedly patchy compared with their away one. You’d think the lure of Aston Villa coming to town in the next round would have tempted the locals out in force, you could understand only 149 Gills fans heading north at short notice on a seemingly suicidal mission, but the inhabitants of Stockport couldn’t be tempted, perhaps it was the freezing cold, perhaps we aren’t the most glamorous of opposition, perhaps the moderately reduced prices were still too high and people were choosing to spend their pre-Christmas dosh on presents, grub and booze, perhaps the FA Cup has lost some of it’s lustre but it did mean with only just over 3,000 home fans in the stands (half their usual average) the atmosphere was less than hostile.

Well what happened next was potentially very significant indeed. No, not the win, not the getting through to play Aston Villa and pocket £260,000 plus of unexpected income, but purely and simply the performance was outstanding. Every player contributed to a superb team display, undoubtedly the best of the season, the best of 2008 and a terrific confidence boost to a team including several young players and those a little older still keen to grab a second chance of League football having dropped into the non-league soup. I think the most telling revelation was the style of play, confident yes, committed, yup, but we kept the ball, on the ground, we monopolized possession, when we had it we were calm, unhurried to reduce any panicky errors but pacy on the break, when they had it we look organised, defended as a unit and with both bravery and tenacity from front to back. The plaudits went to Barcham but so too Miller who having been on the receiving end from the noisy ignorant minority of mong-like boo-boys and girls at Priestfield received excellent support from the away fans who perhaps are more likely to back their players, foibles and all, especially on a Tuesday night far from home.

The display was pretty relentless, post-match the Stockport management were honest and gracious enough to admit the better side had won on the night rather than hide behind the usual sour grapes, we could and should have won by three of four but missed chances, a theme that would dominate the game and our thoughts after we’d gifted County the lead with a little help from the officials… So we began brightly, Barcham saw his first chance saved, Jackson flashed his first across the face of the goal, we could sense the Gills were up for it, but after 17 minutes County rather stole the lead. King was left poleaxed in midfield after a messy clash, he was clearly fouled (hint of elbow?) and received a head injury, the linesman prevaricated, the referee casually waved play on as the distracted Gills defence momentarily hesitated, County made the most of the man over and the space left by the prostrate King, Gleeson took advantage as the defence backed off and beat Royce at his near post with a low shot that the Gills keeper would have not been happy about. We’d seen this happen before, after a bright start give away a soft goal, Shrewsbury sprang to mind, but the perceived injustice served only to fire up the Gillingham players and within another 17 minutes we were rather unbelievably in the lead…

Barcham scored the all-important equaliser in the 25th minute, a King long ball from a free kick on the halfway line was headed down by Bentley into the County box to Jackson, with his back to goal he tried to turn but the ball bobbled away from him into the path of Barcham who confidently fired the ball into the corner of the net despite the close attention of several County defenders. We were still jubilantly texting mates when Barcham did it again (34), although this time it was one of the team goals of the season with a brilliant counter attack slicing right through the heart of County. It began with a Stockport cross into the box, it was headed clear decisively and then turned smartly into the path of Miller who ran and ran and ran from midway in our half deep into County territory before, with home defenders converging rapidly, slipping a clever diagonal ball left into the path of Barcham who took it on before cleverly guiding it back across the keeper and into the far corner of the net. Cue bedlam in the away end, well as mad as you can go in a sparse uncovered terrace converted to seats…

Suddenly we felt the Gills really could do it, it just felt like destiny, with County out of sorts and the home fans grumbling we cheered them on in search of a killer third which should have come three minutes before the break but having done the hard part out-muscling and then eluding two big defenders Jackson found his angle too tight and fired straight at the keeper. The half-time Bovril tasted great on an increasingly chilly evening despite the long queue. Would we be able to sustain the performance for the second period? Well thankfully the answer was a resounding yes! With the Gills leading the game opened up as Stockport pushed for an equaliser which enabled us to hit them repeatedly on the break with some slick and imaginative moves. It was pretty exciting stuff really, with County huffing and puffing and causing occasional moments of total panic in the away end but in reality Royce, King et al looked solid and determined although Royce did have to come off his line pretty smartish to smother one effort. At our end the chances continued to come and go, one low Jackson cross was sliced across the face of his own goal by a defender and then even more tantalizingly Jackson blocked a goal bound effort six yards out, Weston smashed the ball through a ruck of players, it would have screamed into the net after a awesome move but for the blameless Jackson who did his best to take avoiding action leaping out of the way but the ball caught the heel of his trailing leg and went wide. Fuck, fuck, fuck-ety fuck. That would have been game over, we could have relaxed and cruised into round three but having muffed one too many golden opportunities to clinch a famous win we had to endure the inevitable late rally from County.

In reality they didn’t create much in the way of genuine chances but every time the ball was lobbed in the general direction of our penalty area we collectively had kittens. Mullins headed over with the goal at his mercy, Nutter dived in to block one shot and in the last minute Royce had to be alert and block and then cling onto a dangerous loose ball, but he did and the final whistle brought euphoric scenes as the players came over to salute the delirious away fans. We couldn’t quite believe it, arguably our most enjoyable win away in the Cup since the extra-time drama at Fulham back in 94-95 which earned us a visit from Sheffield Wednesday.

We’d deserved to win despite the sporadic alarms, some of the counter-attacking play had been sublime and throughout defensively everybody had harried and chased and closed down and flung themselves in the way of any danger. To win and earn a visit from The Villa was one thing, to “click” as a team something else with potentially very significant ramifications of a positive sort for the rest of the campaign… Having negotiated some gobby local urchins the car trip back was understandably buoyant, at long, long last something rather wonderful had happened to our slightly battered and beleaguered football club… splendid stuff.

Champagne Moment:- The final whistle, having missed so many chances to put the result beyond doubt and having had to repel a late flurry of pressure, clinching that date with Villa was fantastic.
The Elated Binman.

Saturday 6th December 2008 CCL2. Gills 2 Chesterfield 1.

Gills fans just love to get into a proper foaming at the mouth strop. Nothing gets them going faster than a piqued sense of injustice and the antics of the visitors contrived to turn a run of the mill fixture into a bad tempered affair with the Rainham End bellowing their rage at opponents whose sole aim appeared to be running through the entire gamut of gamesmanship options available to the modern day player…

The day began well when some of the old school Gills myself included met up with the Spireites we’ve known for twenty years (fucking hell – twenty years!). Once the pleasantries had been got out of the way “Do you remember ten-nil?” “Yes you bastards! Do you remember all our lucky 1-0 wins that followed? Ha ha ha!” we got down to some serious drinking and reminiscing… Were the “good old days” really better? Nah, not really, just cheaper and more drunken and we were younger, the football was invariably quite shit between the two teams but we didn’t let that get in the way of having a grand day out did we?

Back to the chilly reality of 2008 and both sides were floating around in mid-table with half an eye on the play-off spots but lacking in consistency. Our problem being away from home whilst curiously theirs being at Saltergate. The game kicked off in typical lower division fashion, a bit of niggle, some robust tackles, but it soon became apparent that two things were happening, we were on top and they, well they didn’t like it and responded with a full range of moaning, bitching at the officials, play-acting, time wasting and if all that failed, kicking six lumps of shit out of us!

The deadlock was broken on eighteen minutes, Barcham the creator after some fine wing play, he cut inside and coolly laid the ball back for Miller to slam home – One-Nil to the footballing purists! This if anything upped the ante for the visitors as their campaign of malicious aggravation gained momentum, if there was a foot to be left in on any 50/50 ball they’d leave it in, if there was some ridiculous rolling about to do after a simple tackle down and over they went, if there was an obvious foul given by the poor old referee they’d surround him mob handed and harangue him…

Jackson scored the second crucial goal just before the break, our dominance had deserved nothing less, but it was still a sublime piece of finishing amid the bad-tempered shenanigans. A simple straight long ball was nodded on by Miller, Jackson latched onto the ball, held off a defender and deftly lobbed it over the keeper from the edge of the box. A simple home win beckoned but the second half ended up being highly “competitive” and not lacking in controversy.

There were three defining moments in the half. The first saw the visitors pull a goal back on 60 minutes due to a rush of blood to the head from Royce he went haring after a ball he was never going to make close to the corner flag, Currie got there first and with Royce floundering, stranded in no mans land, coolly steered it back into the six yard box for Lester to calmly slot it home. Suddenly it was game on again the Gills had been cruising but for whatever reason, nerves, losing control in midfield, sitting too deep, they were suddenly under pressure. The crowd were getting restless and agitated but then Chesterfield came to our rescue, Ward went down theatrically clutching his head, we had the ball and kicked it out, as if by magic Ward was fine, leapt to his feet ready to go and the visitors rather shamefully refused to return the ball to us in the time honoured fashion but sneakily threw it to themselves and nearly scored. Well as you can imagine this somewhat transformed to atmosphere from one of jittery irritation with some of our own players into a fucking rabid bear pit of hatred. “Cheat, cheat, cheat!” – the home fans were roused into an angry gurning mob of seething  righteous indignation. Splendid, from that moment on there was to be but one winner. The Gills players were reenergized and with tackles flying and the referee struggling to maintain even a semblance of control we battled hard enough to secure victory.

However a big part of that came in the shape of a diving Simon Royce who made up for his little “walkabout” with arguably the save of the season so far, reminiscent of Big Fat Jim’s back in 1996 at Mansfield. Again, low, hard, through a ruck of players and yet he dived full length to tip Lester’s rocket shot round the post to safety. Magnificent!

The Gills saw the game out amid near-anarchy with the home crowd on turbo-charged swearing duties – a third goal would have brought the house down but we were happy enough to take the three points. The Spireites in the pub post-match weren’t quite so chuffed, they were magnanimous in defeat, complimentary about Jackson’s finish and Royce’s save but you could see it in their eyes that after such a rumbustious afternoon defeat really hurt…

Champagne Moment:- Aside from one of the Chesterfield fans “recreating” some of the second half drama flinging himself to the floor of the Southern Belle public house and writhing about on the floor in mock agony in between sips of his pint it must be what happened to Chesterfield next in their FA Cup tie with Droylesden… with them losing the first game got fogged off, the second attempt immediately after the “battle of Priestfield” then saw Chesterfield score “by accident” from a throw intended to give possession to the opposition after an injury. The mentalist spud-faced Droylesden manager tried to deck Chesterfield manager Richardson who then wisely instructed his players to “allow” the non-leaguers to “score” at the other end unhindered (2-2). Richardson then had the brass neck to claim they’d “never” tried to take advantage of a throw in such circumstances before. It was therefore giggles all round in Kent when with Chesterfield winning 2-0 at Droylesden the lights accidentally “went out”… part four saw Chesterfield then mugged 2-1 and Karma give then a deserved kick in the goolies but the non-leaguers then rather over-egged the righteous indignation themselves and were then found to have played an ineligible player and they were booted out… a nice dose of schadenfeude all round.

The Cheery Binman.

Saturday 29th November 2008 FAC2. Gills 0 Stockport County 0.

“Futile…” whispered Chris gravely at the final whistle of this engaging FA Cup tie. He was referring to our chances in the replay and at my desperate efforts to chivvy up enough support to fill a car for a Tuesday night in Stockport at short notice. It had not been an enjoyable afternoon for me, not because we didn’t win despite dominating the first half, nor because we lost because we avoided that too, but because a draw meant a long midweek trip against a higher division club which given our wretched away record over the last five years could mean only one thing. Sadly the compulsive edge (disorder?) to my personality then kicked in with a vengeance, I had to be there, I HAD TO BE THERE come what may, crazy really… I was left ruing our missed chances in the first half and Stockport‘s inability to sneak something in the dying moments at the other end.

That’s the problem with the early rounds of the FA Cup, since it was controversially de-regionalized in 1998, odds are you end up sulking because you’ve been handed a stinker of an away game against a team in the same division two hundred plus miles away two weeks before you go there in the League a la Bury or a tricky home game against a northern team on the up that you are capable of avoiding defeat against but no more… They’d stuffed Yeovil 5-0 in the replay in the previous round, the inevitable news being greeted with a sigh of resignation from our little group of Gills in a bar in Berlin the night before England’s game. Stockport it was, I hadn’t been so convinced we’d draw an FA Cup tie since Darlington at home in 1999 (we won 3-1 but they got reinstated due to Manchester United’s withdrawal and got to go to Villa Park whilst we got to go to Bescot…). I even got Wolfie to put a whole £1 on it at the bookies. I knew if it was still level with five minutes to go I’d be left cheering both sides on to break the deadlock (anyone please, anyone) wishing my team to win or lose here and now rather than having to go through the rigmarole of making it to Edgeley Park then getting clobbered in Greater Manchester – madness really. My fellow Gills sitting around me well aware of my mental anguish just sniggered, albeit sympathetically.

Thankfully the Gills showed a bit more determination than me when it came to the crunch and battled their way to a creditable 0-0 draw. We’d looked half decent in the first half but went off the boil a little in the second but still it was a modicum of further encouragement that little by little, inch by painstaking inch the team are finally showing a few signs of genuine improvement having been on the slide for five long years. It was “only” Stockport and they were in League Two this time last year but still, nevertheless they are freshly promoted and still have a bit of the post-Wembley promotion shine and momentum that has propelled them into contention for the play-offs in League One due in the main to their superb away record.

As to the actual game, well most of my ire was aimed at the referee Mr Miller. A picky, pedantic dolt, he as much as the County defence was the main reason the game ended up being a frustrating afternoon. Bentley missed a decent chance in the first half but his free header went tamely wide (16). Six minutes later the returning Barcham saw his header saved. The signs were good but were we capable of making the break-through?

The referee caused no little consternation failing to adjudicate in our favour when Jackson was clearly clattered by Tunnicliffe having been put through, Miller saw one pot shot tipped over brilliantly and Bentley sent a second header into the side-netting when a goal looked probable. Still 0-0 at the break, not the end of the world but I could just sense it was going to end with the worst case scenario for me, a 0-0 draw and we all know what that means don’t we pop pickers…

The second half was more even, the Gills huffed and puffed gamely but some doughty County defending, some slipshod finishing and wrong decision making when delivering the final ball brought the cold clammy reality of a draw ever closer. County’s chances were few and far between and invariably off target, albeit by inches, Richards did head one corner straight at their keeper, but it was at the other end that the best chance of avoiding you know what occurred but twice Gleeson could and should have put me out of my misery, firing one just wide and seeing Royce get enough on another to send me to Edgeley… The final whistle brought decent applause from what had been a surprisingly vibrant and enthusiastic home support but tinged with resignation that whether you were planning to go to Stockport in person in ten days time, listen on the radio, stare at Ceefax, text your mates, keep half an eye on the internet or forget about it all until the final whistle down the pub and then phone home we all knew it was going to be futile…

Champagne Moment:- It happened on the Sunday afternoon, resigned to defeat in the replay I still experienced the old frisson of excitement as the third round draw was made, Villa at home, hmm, a tasty tempting carrot for the team and supporters to chew over…

The Resigned Binman.

Tuesday 25th November 2008 CCL2. Gills 1 Rochdale 1.

Well this was a pretty low key evening. With horrible weather and live Champions League on ITV it was a wonder 4029 (or 3,961) people bothered at all although Rochdale were obviously the best team to visit Priestfield thus far. Mind you given the quirky nature of the fixture list they are also the first team we’ve played at Priestfield who have nurtured any ambitions whatsoever beyond simply avoiding the drop. In the end we could have won, perhaps should have lost given the hairy second half, a hard point won I’d say and no little relief at the final whistle.

Both sides tried to play decent football in difficult conditions and it wasn’t a bad game but for whatever reason (7,500 empty seats? No stewards trying to start fights?) the atmosphere was decidedly flat. Rochdale should have taken the lead after an almighty scramble in the Gills’ box just past the quarter hour mark but we survived and seconds later man of the match Jarrett was bending over a sumptuous cross into the six yard box which Jackson dispatched with great alacrity. If only our other strikers could show such positional sense, timing and confidence… Mind you Jackson missed a one-on-one nine minutes later which the keeper smothered. Both sides could have added another goal before the break but King headed wide and Royce denied Keltie. We were chuffed to go in one up at the break.

Unfortunately Rochdale looked a different team in the second half, their neat passing had more direction and pace, we battled gamely but you could see why Dale had got to the play-off final last season (losing 3-2 to Stockport) and had recently surged up the table into contention for automatic promotion. You could sense the change in momentum, the optimism in the stands ebbed away to be replaced by tension, and after two shots across our bows Dale equalised. We were sloppy in midfield to lose the ball when on the attack but the visitors counter-attacked with verve and Le Fondre found time ands space on the edge of the box before curling a cute shot into the far right corner (61). The 100 or so visiting fans were happy enough whilst an already muted and frozen home crowd sighed with resignation. The last half an hour saw Dale largely on top, we had to battle hard to stop them but with five minutes to go we nearly snatched a lucky win. Nutter’s deadball found Mills, he headed it into the six yard box, amid the confusion Mulligan had a free header but he failed to get anything more than a powder-puff touch on the ball and it was agonizingly cleared off the line.

Still a point is a point is a point. A darn sight better than Bury on Saturday but the Gillingham strikers all had a night to forget because Jarrett peppered the danger zone with a whole series of inviting crosses only to see the opportunities spurned. If we’re serious about promotion then our forwards will have to be a whole lot sharper and ruthless in the coming games if the opposition is going to be as organised and fluid as Rochdale…

Champagne Moment:- A toss up between the Rainham End being left alone by the stewards (no shenanigans – what a surprise!) and seeing Jackson scoring again in a Gills shirt. I’ll got for Simeon’s neat finish.

The Relieved Binman.

Sat 22 Nov -  Bury 4 – 0  Gills

Well I’ve got to say I half expected us to lose at Bury in the League, having won there rather fortuitously in the FA Cup two weeks earlier for the first time (Gigg Lane) since 1985 – lightning doesn’t often strike twice but even I, the arch pessimist didn’t expect a 4-0 drubbing by a Bury side that had lost it’s last five home game and hadn’t won at home in the League since early September… still it pays never to expect anything other than disaster watching the Gills away from home.

We went into the game on the back of some decent results, level on points with a host of play-off rivals and poised to make a serious and concerted challenge for the automatic spots. Well that will teach us stupid muppets won’t it! I mean how dare we put any faith in players that are clearly so brittle away from home. After two steps forward one step back all season we’d finally made it about five steps forward only to fall flat on our faces. It was to be a deeply depressing day as well as a very long and expensive one. Some times I wonder whether the players ever give a thought to the fans in the away end, the West Coast Mainline was royally uber-fucked all weekend, hopefully come 2009 we’ll all be gallivanting up and down the line to Lancashire in less than a week but for this game it was to be mission improbable meaning a twenty hour round trip beginning with the 05.40 train from Canterbury taking the strain.

Thanks to the gallant planning and enthusiasm of some of the regular train travellers twelve of us stood somewhat dazed and confused at Marylebone for the long dull drag up to Birmingham via High Wycombe at 08.20 on Saturday morning. With a sprinkling of Manchester City exiles and Gooners taking the same convoluted route we settled down for the slog on packed shite trains that stopped at every hamlet and golf course along the way. Then a quick trot across Birmingham from Moor Street to New Street and we were on our way again, cross country to Manchester before jumping into a mini-bus for the trundle out to Bury. Aside from a desperate Wolfie having to go for a Mc-piss enroute everything went like clockwork, a couple of pre-match pints in the Staff of Life and we were back in the away end ready to witness the Gills replicate their gutsy win…

Okay, stop laughing there, I know, I know, we lost 4-0 and were lucky to get nil. Bury probably had the same amount of attacks as the FA Cup game but this time they had their shooting boots on and our defending was criminally incompetent. Our problems probably started at the other end though with no threat whatsoever up front with Barcham still concussed, Jackson jet-lagged after international bench-warming duty for Canada and the poor benighted Mulligan so anonymous up front again that I’d forgotten he was playing… again!

Nine minute in and we all knew it was going to be that sort of day, a long diagonal ball into the box should have been dealt with routinely, but the Gills defence dithered fatefully, King the biggest culprit at the far post, he should have belted the ball into next week but didn’t and Bishop nipped in on the blind side to slot the ball home. The reaction of the meagre home support in the 2,000 crowd was muted, worthy of a pleasant shot for four in the County Championship than a goal but it left the team reeling and to be honest we never really recovered.
We plodded along to no real affect whilst Bury, albeit sporadically, looked dangerous each time they attacked, partly because their passing was crisper, more incisive and generally led somewhere and partly because our defence was having a terrible collective attack of the jitters. The second killer goal came five minutes before the break, it was a splendid in-swinging corner but for fucks sake Hurst (main danger man) was standing at the near post virtually unmarked. He nodded the ball in with the minimum of fuss leaving the 208 people in the away end fuming at such serial incompetence.

The second half was little better, we looked pedestrian and unimaginative going forward and shambolic at the back. It was simply a matter of time before the Shakers put us out of our misery. Jarrett was the pick of a pretty cruddy bunch, some of his crosses just begged to be converted but such a task was beyond Mulligan. With the Gills support begging Stimson to bring on Jackson (a non-stop five minute chorus might have swung it) Bury scored a third just before the hour, a well worked move that sliced the Gills apart, Hurst finding time and space down the flank to square for the unmarked Bishop to prod home from close range. It was no more than we (rather than Bury) deserved. Four minutes later and many of the Gills fans were glumly heading for the exits and an early pint in the warmth of the pub. More calamitous defending and more arm waving from us, oh and another goal for the Shakers… Hesitant defending initially allowed Bury time and space to cross, there were two Bury players and two Gills defenders in the box and yet one was unmarked six yards out so Hurst didn’t have the hardest task to nod home Bury’s fourth goal.

The final twenty five minutes were meaningless but still we contrived one final humiliation, with McCammon on he was put though on goal by Jackson and stumbled over keeper Brown, the referee gave a penalty and yet even as last man the keeper only received a yellow, perhaps the referee Boyeson took into consideration the likelihood of McCammon’s passing the loose ball into an empty net from ten yards a decided it wasn’t a goal scoring opportunity. Clearly it wasn’t from twelve as Miller missed out first spot-kick of the season, his tame effort easily pawed away by Brown. The locals giggled, we resorted to hollow chants about playing Stockport in the FA Cup when we all know we’d all have preferred to win the League game unless we beat County and get Manchester United in the third round…

We sloped out of Gigg Lane feeling rather punch drunk for the umpteenth time this season, the mini-bus back to Piccadilly was subdued as was the initial train journey back to New Street but the second leg back to Marylebone was enlivened by the drunken presence of three women enroute to London for a party. They were a bit of a shambles running five hours late and armed with a seemingly unlimited bag of bottles of spirits which they proceeded to offer to all and sundry (double shot of brandy anyone?) in a concerted effort to get everyone completely shitfaced. It worked too well, one of our number, only twenty years old, thought his luck was in despite them claiming to be “lesbians“, he ended up in a spirit drinking competition with Wolfie which he duly lost only to then pass out before spraying chunks over all and sundry. It took our minds of the result and passed the time in a chaotic, “oh my god they’re bonkers” sort of way until we got back to London and had to carry the poor lad in the general direction of home. I walked in my front door twenty hours after I’d left having watched my team put on a gutless and rather muddled showing. Perhaps we should have all kept our £100 and drunk ourselves into oblivion back home. We’d have been warmer and less distance to puke but the Gills just keep you coming back for more… just not in a good way.

Champagne Moment:- The train journey back from Moor Street to Marylebone, it was exceedingly messy but also anarchic fun aside from the copious amounts of vomit.

The Not Amused Binman.

Sat 15 Nov -  Gills 4 – 0 Rotherham United

If you squinted a bit this felt like a decade ago, with the night drawing in, the opposition in disarray, the Rainham End baying for blood and four goals dispatched with gusto into the net you could have been mistaken Hessenthaler, Super Bob, Asaba, Smith and Ashby were still in their pomp. Sadly this is 2008 and a division lower and rather than the norm arguably the best home game of 2008 thus far. Still it was a thoroughly enjoyable romp which makes a change from low key narrow wins against plodding opponents.

There was little to suggest before kick-off that there would be so much fun to be had, United were one of the form teams in the division and without their points deduction would be right in amongst the clutch of teams jostling for a play-off place. With four wins, two draws and just the one defeat from the previous seven game the Gills had certainly perked up results-wise even if some of the performances had been unconvincing. The best news before kick-off saw the long awaited return of Jackson up front plus Royce in goal. The strangest that the floodlight at the Town End on the Gordon Road side had gone pop and was out of action. The referee and opposition okayed the alternative with the Gordon Road lights on plus the exit lights in the Brian Moore Stand which made for a dim but acceptable corner…

The game began brightly and six minutes in the Gills had scored. A Southall free-kick was headed into the far corner by King, a bit loopy but he didn‘t care, his first at the right end in a Gills shirt. With such an early advantage the Gills could relax a little, the boost to confidence helping them to get stuck in. However Rotherham showed themselves to be one of the better teams in the Division gradually battling back into the contest and Royce had to be alert to deny Fenton’s shot with a smart tip-over. The game took another turn in favour of the Gills on 35 minutes when with the ball squirting loose in midfield Harrison and Fuller went for the ball. The United player’s challenge was late, high and dangerous and referee Beeby (usually a total twat) had little option to pull out the big red juicy one. In fact Beeby favoured the Gills with most of the fifty-fifty decisions on the afternoon, probably attempting to make up for all the times he’s stitched us up in style. However he still contrived to not give us a blatant penalty just before half-time when Miller was spectacularly brought down by keeper Warrington – bizarrely he played the “advantage” but Weston’s shot was blocked on the line…

So 1-0 up at the break and against ten men, we all hoped the Gills would finish Rotherham off but the nagging doubt was that we’d let them off the hook and fall for a sucker punch… We can thank the Rainham End stewards for that because they sparked the Rainham End into life and the atmosphere was transformed into a bear-pit. Tension had been simmering for weeks since the closure of the Town End and the migration of the stewards from the Brian Moore Stand. Their subsequent conduct was a disgrace, they were provocative in the extreme, rude, abrasive, cocky, incompetent, confrontational, belligerent and downright antagonistic. The tall steward in the red jacket with the radio clamped to his ear was the main protagonist but they contrived to enrage even the most mild mannered law abiding Gills fan to vein-bursting, foul-mouthed, arm-waving abuse. The whole end stood up and chanted “you’re just a bunch of wankers“ at them, the last vestiges of any legitimacy or authority shredded by their shameful antics. The stadium manager and safety officer need to reassess the situation and fast, it was on the verge of anarchy in the second half, which meant the ordinary stewards couldn’t even carry out their routine duties without an ear bashing and everyone standing up in defiance the moment anyone in a day glow jacket came near them.

Back on the pitch and Royce had to be quick off the mark to smother one chance whilst at the other a Southall cross just eluded Barcham. The crucial second goal arrived on 58 minutes, Miller’s cute through-ball sent substitute McCammon through on goal, his rather feeble effort was parried by the keeper but fell to Miller to run into the net before being engulfed by rather excitable Rainham Enders…
To their credit United continued to make a game of it, Barker missing when put though but at the other end the momentum was with us and the chances began to stack up. Barcham and Bentley went close before a very well worked free-kick from out by the Main Stand saw Nutter send in a peach of a cross for Richards to nod home. Game over. The Gills should have added a fourth amid a crazy scramble, Barcham was injured in the melee but most sympathy went to Warrington in the United goal, having initially made a save he was lying in a prone position with his legs akimbo, the rebound was blasted along the ground right into his groin. A super block, but not one he’d have chosen to make! Warrington had also injured his arm but with all their substitutes already used and not wishing to go down to ten men he soldiered on.

Against ten men and a broken keeper with three goals in the bank the Gills went in search of a fourth which duly arrived in the 88th minute, Warrington helpless to prevent Nutter’s low cross finding young Cumbers on the goal line to tap home. 4-0, what a super afternoon at Priestfield, the best performance-wise since we tonked Forest 3-0 back in December. It was a tonic to everyone and lifted the Gills up to 7th, level with five other teams on 27 points and just four off the top in such a topsy-turvy League.

Champagne Moment:- The vibrant atmosphere, winning 4-0 helps and the stewarding sparked off the initial bout of singing, but it was just great to hear Priestfield rocking again.

The Happy Binman.

Saturday November 8 FAC 1 – Bury 0-1 Gills

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck-ety-fuck. You could say I was not happy about the Cup draw. We’d speculated about who we might get the day before the draw and the common consensus was simple; the worst possible draws we could get were all in the North West, either distance wise (Barrow), for difficulty on the pitch mixed with travelling there (Oldham) and then oh boy oh boy it became glaringly obvious, a trip to Gigg Lane.

With a League game scheduled there a fortnight later, with Virgin’s train set in bits, with Kent’s railways in bits, and our record there since our last win (my first visit) in 85-86 reading played nine, won none, drawn one (a shitty midweek 0-0), lost nine! Back in the day when Mehmet and Cochrane were whacking goals in from all angles for fun in a Gills shirt it was just another new obscure northern ground to tick off for me (an entertaining 2-1 win), but all the subsequent visits have been utterly wretched, a series of dire games on crap pitches where we lose by the odd goal… it didn’t matter whether we were top of the League or Bury bottom, it would always be a shite game with no atmosphere and we’d lose. If it got close then a flurry of red cards and dubious penalties would seal the deal, but usually it didn’t need that, just a rumble of inevitability as some clod-hopping Bury player would mangle one into the net via his left buttock and his elbow and we’d return home pointless.

Now I still love the FA Cup and I understand the randomness of the draw but my love was sorely tested when Ossie “you stupid cunt draw it again you mong!” Ardilles plucked out this plum. Most of the away regulars laughed heartily and wished us well, keen to distance themselves from any possibility that they might get dragged into actually going. Even those that would think nothing at going to Burscough at the drop of a hat or pluck of a ball blanched at the thought of Gigg Lane twice in a fortnight which meant that just the four of the usual gang of us ended up going by train from Kent to be part of a sparse away end numbering just 180 for a dour afternoon in greater Manchester.

Having left Kent at stupid o’clock (for me the 6.14 from Canterbury West, a couple of our lot from planet Thanet were an hour ahead of me leaving at very stupid indeed o’clock just to negotiate umpteen engineering works and rail replacement bus services just to get to Victoria) we were happy enough to trundle into Manchester by half twelve having meandered through much of the Black Country at walking speed having paid top dollar at short notice to Virgin for the privilege. We weren’t amused to find even the fecking trams to Bury were subject to engineering works. Finally we made it to Bury Interchange and with time getting on and taxis available for a couple of quid we were soon walking into the rather austere surroundings of Bury social club. The Gills fans were ushered into one part which was prison grey, we watched the second half of the Arsenal vs. Manchester United game in rapped wonderment at the skill, intensity and beauty of the encounter which didn’t really enliven a rather sombre mood. Perhaps it was the knowledge of our scheduled return two weeks hence, perhaps it was memories of what had gone before since 1985 at Gigg Lane. Perhaps it was simply the fact that none of us expected anything else other than yet another rather depressing defeat… I was most certainly anticipating the worst…

It wasn’t much livelier inside Gigg Lane either, with around 9,000 empty blue seats staring back at us and the only real noise made by a couple of hundred young spotty Shakers in the Main Stand to our right (plus drum) it was hard to envisage the game being anything other than a slog. With Southall cup-tied(!?!) and Jackson, McCammon and Royce out we had to make do and mend but the cobbled-together team looked quite solid and organised if nothing else. Sodje showed there were no hard feelings on his side making a point of applauding the travelling fans, an act that wasn’t wholly reciprocated on our part…

The game might have been devoid of any atmosphere but the two teams did attempt to play some decent enough stuff on an excellent playing surface. Miller went close for us whilst Bury had the ball in the net but the referee had long since signalled an infringement. Stand-in Jarrett had his moments, sending one cross invitingly across the face of the goal. The final six minutes of the half were the liveliest with both sides going close, a storming run by Bury’s Bennett thankfully culminated in a wild finish, Julian was then called into urgent action saving a Sodje header and the subsequent rebound. With us hanging on somewhat precariously we actually missed the best chance to score, a long diagonal pass being nodded intelligently back by Mulligan to Barcham but he couldn’t get enough beef on his rather tame header. There was still time for Bury to test Julian again, but Bishop’s snap shot was straight at him so we went in at the break lucky to be level.

The second half wasn’t very different, Bury looked dangerous and won a series of corners but their finishing was all too hurried and shots were of the high, wide and ugly variety. We didn’t object, but as the game wore on and we still weren’t losing my earlier devil may care attitude began to change and I began to care that we didn’t lose. The defence did their bit with Nutter and Fuller energetic if nothing else, but gradually the Gills began to counter-attack with a bit more coordination. The defining moment of the afternoon arrived on 71 minutes, a slick move out of keeping with the rather messy reality of what had gone before, Jarrett cleverly freed Weston down the wing, he took the ball on and sprinted into the Bury half, he arrived into the penalty box at full pelt, reached virtually the goal line and then clipped back a clever cross for Barcham to nod home from six yards. Cue surprise more than anything in the away end – leading? At Bury? Blimey! Now we really had something to hang on to.

Bury responded with far greater urgency and we were under the cosh for much of the remainder of the game. Another flurry of corners were wasted but man of the match Julian did well to deny both Jones and Bennett. Bishop then scuffed a late chance and the sparse travelling army began to sense it really would be our day. To be honest we were lucky, the final whistle brought jolly celebrations but tempered by the knowledge that we’d be back in a fortnight for a crucial League game that most fans would see as a priority. Winning in the Cup is nice but unless it leads to a juicy draw in the 3^rd round the likes of Gillingham are just bit part players in that competition whilst we harbour genuine play-off ambitions in League Two. Still better than going there twice and losing twice!

The trip home was fairly cheery, but with only four of us on the train and such a long day it wasn’t really party time and the Thanet mob passed the time by relieving me of all my spare change – card sharps the lot of them! It had hardly been a classic but after managing six clean sheets away from home between May 2004 and the previous week at Moss Rose it was great to witness two away wins and two clean sheets in eight days. We haven’t done that too often in recent years, so at least a modicum of reward for the long suffering away fans at last.

Champagne Moment

The splendidly worked goal, after twenty three years of failure we finally ended the Gigg Lane jinx, albeit perhaps only for a fortnight… well done Gills.

The Cup Tied Binman