Sat 3 May - Leeds United 2 - 1 Gills

The Gills have been relegated. There, finally said it, typed it, seen it happen in all it’s Technicolor gory glory too… It feels weird really, not like the seething bitter heartbreak and injustice of the City Ground in 2005 nor the “resigned to it at Christmas” tragic-comedy horror show of 1989, we went into the game expecting to go down but mathematically still alive. The equation was simple, anything less than a win for the Gills and we’d have no chance, but we also needed Bournemouth not to win at Carlisle (who were still in the hunt for automatic promotion) and Cheltenham to lose to Doncaster (which would have seen Donny promoted into the bargain). Well as you all no doubt know a heroic Bournemouth did fail to win, but even when we led at no stage did Cheltenham go behind. It was out of our hands, the damage already done which meant for a curious ninety minutes of resignation, hope, joy, fear, defiance, acceptance, humour and ultimately pride… well I did say it was a peculiar afternoon!

After the draw with Swindon the previous week many fans had come round to the idea that the Gills would be playing League Two football next season. Back to where we started then under Scally in 1995 except either £13 million in debt or £4 million in debt, minus our only significant asset, our ground - tenants at Priestfield with an absentee landlord. Oldham’s late winner over Cheltenham on the Saturday had left us with a tiny window of opportunity but most supporters were set to travel more in hope than expectation. The waters were further muddied in the week with the possibility that Leeds could get their 15 points back which would suddenly turn the game at Elland Road into a promotion party, with the Championship still at stake and with Doncaster and Carlisle no longer chasing automatic promotion. This would not have been helpful to the cause and so when the news on the Thursday came through that Leeds had not received any points back whatsoever and that as a result they were left in the not disastrous limbo of already being in the play-offs and our little chink of hope remained unscathed.

With United earlier poised to conceivably go up, even pick up the title the game sold out for home fans days before the final appeal decision meaning a crowd of 38,256, the highest ever crowd to watch Gillingham in a League game (beating 34,551 at West Ham in 2004), the second highest outside Wembley (42,045 at Liverpool in 1914 in the FA Cup since you ask) even beating the 38,003 at Arsenal in 2002, the fourth highest in our history, the highest in the Third Division since 1980 (45,156 Sheffield United vs. Sheffield Wednesday) and the highest League attendance outside the Premiership this season including the Championship.

Between 1,000 and 1,200 Gills made the trip. We’d booked our train tickets three months back not exactly expecting us to be on the cusp of demotion. To get the cheapest seats meant catching the 09.05 from King’s Cross which given engineering works in Kent meant those of us living in Canterbury were up bright eyed and bushy tailed for the 05.52 from the East station. Two hours later we were in London having trundled up via Strood. By 11.35 we were strolling out of Leeds station in search of a decent pub. On the way up I’d tried to put what was likely to happen out of my mind. Strange things do occasionally happen in football, but hey, this is the Gills we’re talking about… I started to get quite twitchy once in Leeds, my stomach churning with nerves. We arrived at the pub to find it closed. It finally opened at 12.00, but not before the Gills fans queuing outside had been yapped at very enthusiastically by a very small dog wearing the sort of elaborate muzzle usually reserved to pit bulls that chew small children for a hobby.

The pre-match atmosphere was weird, neither total resignation nor anything more than the odd bit of optimistic banter. Perhaps it was our away record over the last five years (even Fulham can now look down on us and piss themselves laughing), perhaps because we’d seen it all before, perhaps because unlike 2005 the Gills didn’t have their destiny in their own hands or that crucial commodity at this stage of the season, momentum. Performances had improved away from home but results hadn’t really. We all knew the hardest piece of the equation would be the Gills’ - actually beating Leeds United at Elland Road, albeit now with them relaxed, in the play-offs and happy to rest a couple of players would be a very tall order indeed - arguably calling for one of the greatest results in our entire history.

The other element contributing to the febrile atmosphere was dear old Paul Scally. Never one to keep his fucking gob shut, he went public about voting for Leeds to be deducted fifteen points (the other sixty-odd chairman had the good sense to keep their heads down and their opinions to themselves) - even giving a couple of juicy quotes to the fecking Yorkshire Evening Post (the Leeds local paper). Genius! Ken Bates, the lovable old rogue, and one of Scally’s “mates” back in the day when the Gills were lauding it in the Championship then stirred up local resentment further (and it would be true to say the locals don’t need much to feel resentful at the best of times) by stating it would be “poetic justice” if they sent us down. The two seethed - they’d probably fight like a couple of ferrets in a bag given half a chance and a big enough bag!

So finally the scene was set for the epic denouement. I was nervous, our cabs dropped us off outside Elland Road opposite the Billy Bremner statue amid the hordes of Leeds fans swarming around in party mood. We got the odd comment about going down but ignored them, the hostility was not directed at us but at Scally quite rightly so… Scally’s ears would have been burning before the kick-off under the stand in the away corner as the majority of fans sang numerous anti-Scally anthems with great gusto, those that didn’t join in laughed along, smiled and nodded in agreement. Not one person looked aggrieved let alone tried to shout them down. We flicked though our bumper free programme to see whether the rumours were true, no, page fifteen wasn’t missing but yes, Leeds did indeed continue to print the table as if they had never been docked the fifteen points… so in “Leeds world” they were second behind Swansea and going up…

Finally it was kick-off time. We assembled in the corner, we had back-row seats, the thousands-plus Gills making plenty of racket (great acoustics) in defiance of the overwhelming odds and the roar the locals could generate. Initially I felt a little disconnected from proceedings, probably because of the need for other scores to go our way, perhaps partly because this date had loomed large since the fixtures came out last summer and most definitely because I just couldn’t see us winning.

The lively Jackson did fashion one early chance, a shot across the bows of a slightly sluggish United side but little else of note happened at either end as the two sides cancelled out each other in a keen midfield battle. Certainly the Gills looked anything but ritual lambs to the slaughter, but without the elusive goal 0-0 would be not enough on Judgement Day. Then out of nothing we scored after twenty minutes. Some shoddy defensive hesitancy by the Leeds defence after a long hopefully ball down the left wing into their box saw Jackson get a toe to a short back-pass, he then intercepted the stray ball, danced round United keeper Ankergren, eluded another defender’s lunge and drilled the ball low into the right hand corner with one Leeds player on the line. We went mad. We screamed and waved, gesticulated and danced, we all knew the scores elsewhere (both 0-0), but we had given ourselves a very real sniff of a chance. There were still seventy minutes to go and we needed Donny to score, but at least we were going to go down fighting.

To be honest most of the pressure in the first half was mental, United hardly created anything of real consequence, they looked a bit jaded and out of sorts, we didn’t care, but could have done with Mulligan doing better with a tame header. Johnson did belt one into the crowd for United, but to be honest many of us weren’t paying full attention… news that Cheltenham had taken the lead four minutes after us meant that just before the break we were all straining for any more (better) news from Whaddon Road and Brunton Park. Half time brought rapturous applause and cheers from our corner but also the cold clammy realisation that stuttering Donny weren’t looking like saving us.

The second half saw United predictably up their performance several gears, the massive crowd stirred into voice and we girded our loins for a difficult forty five minutes. Douglas went close at the far end whilst the superb Jackson rifled just over from a tight angle. The momentum was certainly with United, the Gills were happy to defend their lead and frustrate our more illustrious hosts, then news filtered though that Carlisle had taken the lead against Bournemouth. “Come on Doncaster, come on Doncaster you bastards” I thought. Time was ticking by and back at Elland Road things were getting hairier for the Gills.

The Gills fans carried on with their magnificent vocal backing but on the pitch it began to look dodgy. Stillie competently dealt with a few half chances, showing no sign of the nerves that had afflicted him in the run-in. He saved a decent Sweeny free-kick from twenty-five yards and was able to watch a Douglas drive go wide but we could all sense a goal was coming… it duly arrived at Carlisle where Bournemouth equalised. We were still ruminating about this unfortunate turn of events in Cumbria when our attention was demanded in West Yorkshire. United scored. The defining moment and a belter of a goal. With twenty minutes to go we knew we now needed a miracle. A slick Leeds move down the wing saw Douglas win the ball, dance down the line, feed Carole who put over a cute cross to the edge of the box which was met by an absolutely unstoppable volley from Johnson that nearly broke the net. Elland Road erupted, our three year stay in League One ebbing away and out of our control. Some of the once a season mob in the Leeds end tried to get a Mexican wave going for fecks sake, we just took the piss…

Substitutes Oli and Griffiths joined Miller (on earlier for the woefully inept Mulligan) to give the Gills more attacking options and they did fashion one, but Crofts shot was saved and you could see the quiet desperation was getting to us all. We prayed for an update or two by text but nothing until… FUCKING COME ON! Doncaster had equalised at Whaddon Road - game back on! Unfortunately it was United that largely dominated and nearly made it 2-1 from a corner but the close range effort was poked into the side netting. Less than ten minutes to go and “all” we needed to do was score and Donny score… improbable but not impossible

With five minutes left we knew the gig was up. News filtered through that Cheltenham had regained the lead and the emotional mood in the Gillingham section turned from one of passionate defiance to the blackest of humour. With Elland Road reverberating to “Marching All Together” we started our own song for the day “Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, we’re going to Shrewsbury, que sera, sera!” - It was reminiscent of the famous time at Wrexham in 2000 when having agonizingly missed out on automatic promotion the 5,500 travelling fans responded by serenading the distraught players with “We’re going to Wembley” and verbally dragging them up off their knees mentally and physically. The bravado at Leeds in the face of our imminent demise was also reminiscent of us singing “Two-nil and we fucked it up” post-Wembley ’99 before the opposition could. The Leeds fans responded by applauding our dignified boisterous vocal humour… it got worse.

With two minutes to go and the Gills committed to all-out attack up field Leeds caught us cold on the counter attack, the offside trap failed due to Bentley playing everyone on, Kandol roared towards our goal and from the edge of the box slammed the ball into the top corner. We were down. Then came another louder, more vibrant, defiant chorus of “We’re going to Shrewsbury” from the entire Gills support, all standing, all singing their hearts out for the lads as the saying goes. It brought a tear to the eye, it showed passion, commitment, class and humour, characteristics that thankfully make watching Gillingham Football Club a pleasure even in the darkest of hours. As the game ticked into the final minute two things happened. One summed up our season, the other meant we’d accepted the inevitable, both got a laugh from the Leeds massive. Firstly we contrived miss on the season, with virtually the last kick of the season and it rather summed our season up. One last Gills attack saw Miller combine nicely with Crofts and then cross the ball to Southall at the far post, he was unmarked, five yards out, onside and with the goal at his mercy slid in only to thump the ball against the base of the post, across the face of the goal and into the arms of the previously prostrate Leeds keeper. The really galling thing was that it would have secured us a point and the draw we most clearly deserved. We hadn’t deserved to lose and a 2-2 draw at Leeds would have at least seen us go down with a modicum of pride intact. The second thing that had the notoriously prickly locals applauding us and smiling was with a minute to go we all started singing “We’re going down in a minute” - okay so a bit defeatist but the subtext obviously was that we were all sticking with the team and the players and would be back for more next season in League Two.

The final whistle brought an end to our suffering. At no point had we been out of the relegation zone and United’s late goal and the fact that Cheltenham won made it easier to accept. Four point clear of 20th meant we had to admit that in the end we deserved to go down. 46 points, 44 goals, sorry chaps not good enough. 17 away defeats, leading in all our last five games but not wining any - not good enough. However that was not the time for recriminations. We stood our ground and gave the team a warm and lasting ovation, crazy really, we’d just been relegated and next stop might be Accrington Stanley but we were damned if we were going to show any weakness in the face of 37,000 locals.

To be fair to the vast majority of Leeds fans after the game, they showed a bit of class. Unlike the nasty goading, smirking, snide gloating of the Forest fans in 2005, what we got was sympathetic nods, smiles, decent conversations from people who’d seen their own team go through the mill recently. Some of their “fans” on the various message boards might be keyboard warriors of the most cuntish sort but as we queued in the sunshine for the shuttle bus back to the town centre with Leeds fans young and old there was respect, even from young scamps who might have not known better. Full marks to the Leeds fans I met, having first established we didn’t like Scally either, ice broken, the good wishes were genuine. Later reports suggest a few other Gills fans were less fortunate, encountering the stereotypical gormless morons with a chip on their shoulder, but the trip back to the station wasn’t the ordeal I was expecting in my Gills shirt. The whole bus (sans Gills) did do a lusty and totally cringeworthy rendition of the “Munich song” amid all the usual “Marching All Together” anthems on the way back which drew gasps at the utter tastelessness of it all from fellow Gills, and their overwhelming optimism and confidence of beating Carlisle only comes from being a “big club” - but their attitude and philosophy was fascinating to observe at such close quarters.

Back at the station we joined many of the Leeds fans and a few Gills at the adjoining pub. We stood outside in the sunshine, supping our pints and fielding phone calls from those that had stayed at home. It was all a bit surreal really, I don’t know what I felt, relief it was all over? It was all very different from the agony of 2005. The train journey home was weird too, muted but not totally miserable. Lots of the old faces were there, they will be next season too - the “brotherhood” of Gills. There were a few rueful smiles and on a personal note my 99 year old Gran had died at seven o’clock the night before, so I wasn’t feeling like dancing a jig, but the black humour and sense of belonging meant it wasn’t the nightmare you might have imagined.

Back in London a few of us went for a quiet beer before heading for Kent, the mood was understandably subdued, we were really knackered, but Gills fans are nothing if not resilient, plans were hatched for weekends in Morecambe and Tuesday nights in Accrington. “Plastic” fans of the big four who “support” their teams via Sky might have Champions League Finals to look forward to and things could well get even worse before they get better at Priestfield but they will never, ever know the camaraderie, the solidarity, the stoical loyalty or the darkest of black humour that the 1,000 plus Gills fans showed the day we got relegated at Leeds.

Champagne Moment:- Without a doubt my proudest moment being a Gills fan since relegation to League One three years ago. The Gills fans were absolutely brilliant singing none-stop in the face of overwhelming adversity and odds showing grace, class and humour. A privilege guys and girls, a privilege to be there. Well done and see you all at Aldershot…

The Relegated Binman

So, after 13 years of swashbuckling around in England’s 2nd and 3rd tiers and upsetting the like of West Ham, Wolves, Ipswich, Blackburn (to name a few) in the process, we now find ourselves back in the basement league with the likes of Morecombe and Aldershot for company on Saturday afternoons and Tuesday nights.

In some ways relegation at Leeds didn’t hurt as much as it did at Nottingham Forest - I think that’s because I have known for most of the season we have been rubbish and deserve to go down, whereas in 2004 at Forest I thought we actually deserved to stay up and with a little bit more luck in our relegation run in we would have achieved the great escape.

That’s not to say it was nice seeing us go down at Elland Road and the fact that we went 1-0 up for the 5h time in a row and failed to hold a lead is frustrating and down right laughable - I thought we only threw away 2-0 score lines. Fair play to the supporters who made the trip to Leeds on Saturday, every one of them did themselves proud, and for 75 minutes out sang 37,000 Leeds fans.

One of the Leeds fans I spoke to after the games happened to have been sitting in the press box for the match and said we were one of most noisy fans to visit this season. But sadly supporters don’t win football matches, players do, and at the end of the day the club were deservedly relegated. Over the next three months Stimson has a job on his hands to turn around a club that has been in decline since 2003/2004.

Looking at League Two now compared to 1995 it’s littered with a few more former non-league clubs than it was when we were last there, and it’s going to be a shock to the system to some fans going to places like Morecombe, Aldershot and Dagenham.

For the younger supporters reading this our last known season in the basement division was the club’s successful promotion campaign of 1995/1996 when, under the guidance of Tony Pulis and Lindsay Parsons (remember him) we swept though the league on the back 1-0 score lines, clean sheets , John Gayle headers and Dave Putnam late winners.

The team that Pulis built that season were a no nonsense eleven which didn’t care who they kicked and punched to get results - they just did it because they knew that’s how you won the points to escape the clutches of Rochdale, Scarborough and Darlington. Simon Ratcliffe Leo Fortune-West, Neil Smith and Dave Martin all saw red during that season.

Now as far as I can see the nearest we have to a player like that at the club now is Danny Cullip and I don’t think he could get us promoted on his own could he? That’s not to say we were a complete team of thugs, the likes of Mark O’Connor and Dennis Bailey provided the flair needed to open up defences with passing and movement the likes of Dennis Oli and Stuart Lewis can only dream about. Up front boom boom Leo Fortune- West and Steve Butler were providing the goals, a rare ability amongst the current crop of Ba, Mulligan and Griffiths.

Now I might have sounded a bit doom and gloom so far but actually in a way I think relegation might turn out to be a blessing in disguise, as sometimes your need to go back to go forward, as has been shown by Leeds United success this season. Mark Stimson now has a full summer of Pre-Season to get the players he wants and get rid of the players he doesn’t - something he has been trying to do since his arrival but was restricted somewhat by trying to work with wasters like Armstrong, Brown, Lomas and co in his early days, who had already been given enough time under Jepson.

My biggest fear for us as a club is the trap door to the conference and non-league football (now the Blue Square Premier) which is just too close for comfort. If Stimson doesn’t get the right players because of lack of funds or because brings in one too many Barry Fullers, we could be in a relegation scrap and end up dropping out of the football league altogether. Don’t think it can’t happen to us? just look at where Oxford are now. Then again maybe that’s what Scally wanted when he produced that Pathway to the Premier league brochure some years ago, he just failed to mention which Premier League.

Dan Storey

We have a limited number of the one-off special available by mail order. These can be purchased via Paypal - price £2.20 UK, £3.00 Europe or £3.60 Rest of the World. If you are unable to grasp new fangled ideas like Paypal you can send us one of them there old fashioned paper cheque thingies (made out to S.Baker) for the same amounts.

For further information, or to supply your details, email our.. ahem… mail order department, at bmhgills@yahoo.com.

And remember, we are all scumbags together (or is it morons now? I’ve been on holiday so I have rather lost track of the latest Scally terminology).

It is ironic that the guy who originally built the team that took the Gills out of our current division is about to enter the league of millionaire teams whilst we are still poor and standing over the abyss. Yes the nucleus of the Gills team that won promotion from the old division two was built by Tony Pulis.

Peter Taylor may have attempted to enhance it with his band of cheap imports but by the end of the season it was extensively the Tony Pulis team that got us up and managed to maintain a foothold in division of big clubs (sleeping giants as they would have you believe). It was only when the team finally started to spilt up/retire/move out/give up did things go wrong and we were on the slippery slope that could take us out of league football for the first time since 1950. Another irony of the situation can be seen if we look 50 miles down the road at Dover, another ex-manager Andy Hessenthaler has also achieved promotion (with non league style).

Look at some of our ex-players, Marlon King and Nyron Nosworthy are regulars in the Premier League, the Championship and Division one is littered with other who have actually graced the Gills shirt. Not disgraced it as some of the current bunch has. With only Leeds to go and only a slim mathematical chance of staying up the future looks bleak. Lets face it the only reasons two of the teams are in the same position as us is they are in receivership and 10 points have been deducted. At least one of them Bournemouth must take some credit for at least trying to stop the slide.

I think if Stimson gets his way and the rest of the hangers on get ejected AND he manages to build a quality team that has a fighting chance of doing something (other than slide downwards). We may enjoy next season.

Wildwebman

The exit is just over there. Try not to make too much noise on your way out, as it upsets the neighbours.

Awayday preview : Leeds, Saturday 3 May

How to get there

Bank Holiday weekend so get those caravans out. We want to see a snake of the bloody things all the way up the M1. If you’re going by train remember that the ground is a fair hike from the station - the railway line deceptively bends right round it but I seem to remember being rather breathless to make our train after our last visit in 2005.

The Ground

Elland Road. A bit ramshackle and not my favourite by a long way, but a bit bigger than Priestfield. The one new stand holds nearly double our capacity, though our visit will see the top tier open for the first time in yonks after it was recently re-granted a safety certificate. Packed to the rafters I suspect it’s quite an intimidating venue. We’ll be crammed out of the way in the corner - I seem to remember the acoustics being good but the seats being encrusted in pigeon crap.

Nickname

Dirty Leeds. Incorrectly thought to originate from their uncompromising playing style during the Revie years, in fact it is much more literal - Leeds fans don’t wash. Ken Bates played along with tradition when he took over the club, vowing never to take a bath until Leeds reclaim their rightful place in the Premier League. It is rumoured that on a warm day you can detect the reek from his arse crack as far away as Harrogate.

Local Attractions

Thackray Medical Museum - learn about the history of medicine and the best prescription drugs to get you high, browse the unique medical library and help out the NHS by giving a helping hand in real operations.

Tropical World nature centre - located in Roundhay Park, it’s home to the many weird and wonderful creatures that flourish in Leeds’ sub-tropical climate, including the world famous masturbating peacocks

Where to Drink

We don’t advise going into the Old Peacock pub opposite the ground and singing Glory Glory Man Utd. A couple of decent pubs near the station are The Prince of Wales and the Scarborough Hotel, fab selection of real ale though both are likely to be pretty packed. A quieter bet is The Grove Inn in Back Row, Holbeck, a listed building just a few hundred yards from the station serving up to 8 local brews…

The Supporters

A bit miffed at slumming it at our level they have the typical tendancy to look down on the likes of Gillingham. They got somewhat hot under the collar as their side’s discipline collapsed at Priestfield earlier in the season, and marked the occasion by lobbing metal objects at the referee. Though there have been few reports of trouble involving Leeds fans this season as far as I’m aware, and they’re very loud and proud. Once renowned for a skinhead culture, most now have long hair held in place with Alice bands, and they have the largest average man boobs of any club in the country according to recent surveys. Favourite songs include “We are the Champions - Champions of Europe” (a tribute to the glory years when Leeds were feared across the continent and routinely won the European Cup) and “Marching on together”. Celebrity fans include The Kaiser Chiefs and Chumbawamba, Ken Hom, Jeremy Paxman and Chris Moyles.

Leeds Hate Figures

Given the lack of meetings, there has been plenty of controversy to stress everyone out - Leeds have had four players sent off in the most recent five fixtures against us. Mark Viduka, the fat Aussie bastard, is chief among them - he was wound up by cheeky Andy Hessenthaler to such an extent that the brain-dead moron elbowed Hess right under the nose of the referee. Dennis Wise is a disgrace who should be kicked out of the game and preferably off the planet. Ken Bates smells and is one of the most consistently repulsive figures in football. Of the current players, Dougie Freedman has never really endeared himself to the Gills support.  

Don’t mention

Peter Ridsdale who, with assistance from a goldfish, brought financial meltdown to the club in the early part of the millennium when he paid way over the odds chasing a dream, his biggest folly being the payment of a billion pounds for Peter Lorimer, not realising he was past his best.

Who Remembers?

• David Shearer scoring his first ever goal for the Gills in a League Cup tie at Elland Road in 1984. We lost 5-3 on aggregate
• Harry Kewell blazing over the Town End in the 2002 cup tie. Guy Ipoua missed an easier chance in the replay where Leeds fans serenaded Hess with “Short bloke, short bloke, what’s the score?” as they scrambled a 2-1 win
• Terry Venables trying to defend the indefensible after the drawn first game - Viduka might have been wound up and Hess may have made a meal of it, but he still got a clobbering. Fat bloke scored in the replay
• A cameo from Marlon King setting up a late equaliser for the home side which proved oh so costly in 2005 when we went down on goal difference
• Leeds fans hailing Mama Sidibe as an outstanding talent, on the evidence of two admittedly effective games against them in the Championship years

BMH Prediction

Bournemouth crash at Carlisle and Cheltenham sneak a point off of Donny, but Gillingham yet again pay the price of failing to defend a five goal advantage away from home, an injury time Dougie Freedman penalty reducing the arrears to 5-1 and sending the Gills to oblivion on goal difference.

The Morty Vicker

Saturday 26 April - Gills 1-1 Swindon Town

Whether they’re a bunch of disinterested interlopers ruining David Brent’s Office, or rubbing further salt into the wounds they first inflicted in 1979 and have been inflaming ever since, there really is very little to love about Swindon. Having witnessed a side clinch promotion at Priestfield a fortnight earlier, only some basic mathematics prevented us witnessing our own condemned to a second relegation in four years. But no matter how much we all hate the Wiltshire inbreds, we really only have ourselves to blame.

I was late arriving to sell the Head, thanks to it taking well over half an hour to get from the Black Lion to my usual parking spot. This was largely a result of police vans being stationed in particularly inappropriate spots, police horses lolloping with gay abandon around the streets of Gillingham and a police helicopter fully equipped with the latest air-to-ground weaponry, randomly blowing up public houses and innocent bystanders. Some have been miffed at a rather heavy handed approach shown by the local plod, but it has to be said that they were woefully underprepared the last time Swindon were in town and there were so many casually dressed mobs roaming the streets that no-one knew who was on who’s side until they opened their mouths.

“All roit my luvverrrr?”

“Fahk off you caaaahnts!”

I personally didn’t see any bother but I did rather skirt around the obvious hotspots. There were a lot of annoyed people wandering round outside the ground having discovered that there was no option to pay on the day - was this publicised anywhere? - but other than that all seemed quiet.

And so to the game. What is there to say? The fact that we led for 88 minutes says it all. Our inability to hold a lead in any of our last four games will ultimately cost us, but that just represents a chance at salvation that we weren’t good enough to grasp. We deserve to go down, and our failure to beat the largely unambitious visitors shows why. I think the side we are now putting out is the best we’ve had all season (admittedly without Royce, Dickson and Miller) and with some cohesion and stabability it would probably be good enough to finish in lower mid-table (whoopee), but it wasn’t enough.

We should have built on that early goal, and we had enough opportunities to seal the points in the first half alone. Jackson panicked attempting an overhead kick with the goal at his mercy, one header flashed narrowly wide and it looked from where I sat that we should have had a penalty. Even as the game ambled to its conclusion I wanted time to slow down so perhaps we could clinch that crucial second and third goal which could have built our hopes. The shoddiness of the equaliser was wholly predictable, and was greeted by cavorting and gloating from the top corner of the Town End and near silence everywhere else. I say near slience, as with everyone staring open-mouthed at the pitch my good friend Cliff erupted in a frothing orgy of rage, kicking his seat and using the bluest of blue language. He then calmed down, marched out, stopping only to arrange to meet in Leeds.

Some think Stimson has let us down, bringing in a crock of shite and getting the tactics wrong. I can understand why people hold that view but I disagree. Before Stimson, relegation was inevitable. He had too much to change and couldn’t pull it off. He’s made plenty of mistakes (persevering with Facey being one, chopping and changing things rather too often, and misjudging the capability of some of his signings) but to call for his head is crazy in my opinion. I actually think we’ll do fine next year with a fit and motivated squad on the back of a creditable pre-season. It’s still bloody pants though, one of the worst and joyless campaigns I can remember.

Champagne Moment

Scally’s end of season address to the masses from the pitch? Scally’s triumphant post-match lap of honour, “Walking in a Scally wonderland” ringing out from his adoring admirers? Oh I forget, he doesn’t do that anymore. Bit worried all those anonymous cybergeeks might let him know exactly what they think.

The Morty Vicker (aka Chris Lynham when not clouded in cowardly anonymity)

Saturday 19 April - Bristol Rovers 1-1 Gills

We had to win this game, we could have won it, perhaps should have won it and did more than enough to win it but didn’t. When the final reckoning is done for this most crappy of seasons this won’t be the sort of game that got us relegated, the damage was done by all the gutless, shambolic, cruddy away defeats we‘ve endured since August. The shoddy nine-man debacle at Cheltenham on the opening day set the tone somewhat and only an inspired Royce prevented total annihilation at Luton (1-3), Southend (0-3), Forest (0-4) and Swindon (0-5). We got our act together a bit better under Stimson performance-wise away but still lost eight on the trot, the 4-0 tonkings at Northampton and Hartlepool showing that our team sometimes has all the backbone of a chocolate teapot.

The trip to Bristol was always felt to be a crucial opportunity. Rovers were safe but not on great form, especially on their own (cabbage) patch. We needed a win, anything less and we’d be left grasping at straws and dreaming of beating Swindon AND avoiding defeat at Leeds just to give us a mathematical chance. There was certainly a frisson of anticipation mixed with nervous energy as our train pulled into Temple Meads. With time running out on the Gills we all knew the score… We jumped a cab and spent a pleasant enough pre-match session in the Robin Hood’s Retreat, a tad poncy perhaps but Leffe on tap and many of the usual suspects made for a welcome preamble to the main event.

The Memorial Ground is set for a total makeover sometime soon, Rovers are due to move out to Cheltenham for eighteen months whilst an all singing all dancing 18,500 stadium is constructed (with student accommodation in the corners to help finance the ambitious scheme a la Orient) but at the moment it remains a quirky rag-tag assortment of stands and terraces. The Gills were given a couple of blocks of the temporary stand behind one goal (think garden party tented structure) plus some open terracing down one side in the corner. I much prefer terracing and standing at football and all that goes with it, but the timing wasn’t great for such a treat (not many terraces left in League One for away fans) the South West weather got rather damp. Okay, it fecking pissed down and we got drenched. My programme ended up an illegible papier mache lump and to add to the general gloom at the final whistle we didn’t win.

Fair play to Stimson and the players, they played quite well at times given the weather and the pressure they were under. It wasn’t always pretty and passes went astray, shots were muffed and tackles missed but in terms of effort, commitment and the fundamental task of looking like a proper football team it was mission accomplished. It wasn’t enough though and well all knew it.

For the first half an hour we looked nervous and Rovers got on top, we didn‘t look capable to getting anything from the game during a ragged period which saw Rovers create several half chances. We really started to worry when they began to contrive proper whole chances but the much maligned Stillie made partial amends for his Swansea debacle with two saves, one was absolutely brilliant, denying Lambert from close range, parrying the volley when a goal looked certain. On the half hour he was at it again tipping a Lambert header onto the bar. At that point the Gills looked a little forlorn and we felt it, having given the team plenty of vocal backing our reward was hardly an attack, let alone a shot worthy of the name. They did know we needed to win this game didn’t they? To cap it all we were getting an absolute soaking on the terrace.

Jackson raised the spirit’s a little with our first meaningful effort but his finish was lacking in oomph. It did usher in a change in momentum and the Gills then enjoyed their best (and most creative) spell of the game. Some measured play saw a splendid cross into the box, Ba connected well enough but his header crashed against the bar and the rebound was smuggled off the line. Southall also pulled an effort wide but suddenly the Gills were lively and Rovers on the back foot. On 38 minutes Southall found space on the wing and curled over another sublime cross for John Nutter lurking at the far post. He duly, (ahem), nutted it into the net before setting off on an understandably excited old school glory run taking in the seats before curving round to us on the terracing. He really rather looked like he wanted to be in with us as we moshed about, clattering into each other with gay abandon.

The Gills nearly made it 2-0 before the break but Lewis and Crofts were both denied. Unfortunately the Gills opted to shoot when they had men over and pass when a pot shot would have been potentially successful. Nevertheless having battled back into the game and taken the lead they all received a rousing reception before we all scuttled off in search of shelter or hot drinks.

The second half was not nearly as open, it was scruffy and messy and scrappy but whilst we were winning we didn’t really care. A single goal lead is always vulnerable and we began to twitch and worry on the away terrace but Rovers failed to really create much. Lambert did get one great chance out of the blue but the ball got stuck under his feet delaying his effort enough for Stillie to save. We breathed a huge collective sigh of relief whilst eagerly keeping in touch with the other scores on the doors.

We huffed and puffed, slogging our way towards potential salvation, no question the players cared and were committed but once again Lady Luck was not on Gillingham’s side because six minutes from the end Rovers scored from nothing. In keeping with the cliché of things not going for you when you’re scrapping about down the bottom, a midfield tussle saw the ball squirt free twenty five yards out into the path of Elliott who took one step and then slammed the ball hard and high into the top right corner. Stillie didn’t even smell it. We were shattered.

The Gills tried to find a second goal, piling forward but to no avail, the spark of inspiration was extinguished by the rain, the muddy strength-sapping pitch and the simple panic-inducing pressure of needing a goal immediately. Subs Mulligan and Griffiths tried but failed to produce something as the seconds ticked down. We urged them forward but without conviction, we knew our chance had gone.

The final whistle brought resignation that relegation was virtually certain, even four points against Swindon and at Leeds would leave us grasping at straws and relying on Cheltenham losing their last two games. Not impossible but if we were really destined to accomplish the “Great Escape” we’d have won one of the last three games we’d taken the lead in rather than taking just two points.

I’m still willing to back Stimson and what he is trying to do in a short space of time on a meagre budget and had we played like this away from home all season we’d already be safe but we haven’t. In the thirteen games the Gills played before Stimson took over they won fourteen points. In the subsequent thirty one games they have taken thirty one points. A virtually identical record. We might have reduced the games conceded per game by 50% but the bottom line is bleak - three wins in twenty games is relegation form and if we lose to Swindon on Saturday that will indeed be all but confirmed.

Champagne Moment:

Nutter’s goal. It caught one of our number mid-piss in the temporary toilet block just behind the terrace, the roar caused our friend who shall remain nameless to dart across from the back wall to the front trough so as to be able to peer through the convenient head-height window at all the palaver whilst continuing to relieve himself… it had been a very convivial pre-match session after all!

….despite having to get up at dawn with hangovers, we’ll be outside Priestfield selling BMH 106 before the game with the Somerset charmers. So if you missed out last time, don’t fret, we’ve printed another 400 so come and say hello….

£1.50, no it’s not the programme, no we can’t change a twenty quid note…

The Morty Vicker

We vowed we wouldn’t do a printed version again unless someone stamped on our tail. Well, the increasing disgruntlement with the state of the club prompted us to get writing, printing and selling once more. The exercise reminded us of why we gave up in the first place (chaotic flapping around print deadlines, getting soaked and bedraggled selling outside the ground instead of sitting in the Blues Rock) but the genuine good wishes of so many made it worthwhile. The media interest has been heartening as well, and thanks to Meridian and some of the local press for that. ITV interviewed me at my sodden best pre-match for The Championship - they didn’t use any of my words of wisdom but they didn’t exactly paint Scally in a golden light either.

Some muttered darkly that “I thought you’d given up that nonsense”, obviously oblivious to anything of any concern going on at Priestfield, while one refused to buy it because he thought the back cover was “impartial” and at odds with what the fanzine was all about. Erm….

For those who missed out - we rather under-egged the print run and sold out half an hour before kick off - don’t fret :

1) It was crap anyway

and

2) We’re getting a quote for a reprint, so all being well we’ll have some more for the Swindon game. Maybe we’ll do a wrap-around

As this issue was somewhat critical of the leader, we’ll no doubt read and hear his views on the matter in due course. There are no plans to resurrect the printed version on a regular basis and who knows, we may all get banned or sued, but never say never. Though it was bloody miserable fumbling for change of a tenner in the barfing rain as Gabriel Clark asked whether I trusted Paul Scally….

The Morty Vicker