After an unplanned sabbatical, we're back on the road. Tonight, with something akin to midweek planning, there's a pub stop en route. The Beehive in Harthill may not be a bustling joint, at least not at 6pm on an autumn Tuesday evening, but I've been in worse pubs. Much worse.



The ubiquitous pint of Strongbow with a deceptively spicy chicken curry with home made naan, puts the lie to this being an sort of CAMRA-affiliated blog, but rest assured, it set your belov'd author up for the night. I can still feel the "benefits" as I write this.

Chances are my time in the pub cost me the opportunity to wave cheerily to Mrs Oops, as she journied back from Bluebell Wood Children's Hospice (other hospices are available, but let's be honest, their shops are not a patch on BW's), but it did allow me the time to catch up on some light reading. This season's book, for it takes me that long to work my through a tome with all the blasted interuptions from rubbish football, is Fat Land, and as we get to know each other through the pages of this blog, I will keep you abreast of goings on between its pages.

But enough. To the football. I've visited Phoenix Park in the days Before Oops (BO??), and it has always struck me as somewhere that could do better for itself.


Welcome to the jungle

The bits that other clubs forget seem to be in place (he says as he ruefully gazes over at the covered seating behind one of the goals), but as with all of us, there is much else that could be improved, and a great many things that need to be improved. The natives are friendly enough however, and nowhere is this more keenly demonstrated that in those self same seats, where Dinno and Brid fans sit, stand, and sing, side by side throughout. Leaving the ground, names and numbers are being exchanged, invites uttered for the return leg, and I even saw "Grandad" indulging in brotherly hugs. How'd you like them apples, Moscow peeps?

With Brid battling for early season bragging rights with their tennants Scarborough, and Dinnington ambling about comfortably in mid table, a workmanlike away victory was on the cards. And so it started out. As regular readers (ha!) will no doubt have learned, this is not the place for in depth match reports. Such beasts can doubtless be found elsewhere (once he's off he's back from work), but two things stood out from the first half. Firstly, whilst imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, somethings do not need to repeated. The difference being that in this case the ball rolled the right side of the posts, Brid did a bit of cheering, and everyone dusted themselves and got on with the game. Secondly, players at this level, actually any level, should not, under any circumstances, be heard screaming at one their rivals "shamon motherfucker" simply because they won a tackle. That the offender was shortly shown a red card for inciting one of those all-too-rare full team brawls shows that his head was nowhere near the game tonight. Brid went in two up, but were it not for the home keeper, they could, and should, have been out of sight.

Dinnington came out for the second half believeing they could get something, and the introduction of a diminutive left back (called Danny?) gave them renewed potency. Soon after the restart, they got a  penalty, and were denied a fairly stone wall second a few minutes later.


I'm unlikely to win any awards, I know

The equaliser came from a moment of individual brilliance as a 25 yard screamer wrong footed the visiting keeper. This after me imploring the guy not to shoot, cos we all know those efforts serve only to scare motorists innocently passing behind a goal after all.

A draw was a fair result, although Brid will quite rightly be fuming that they let a two goal slip. Dinno on the other hand should be able to take solace from their fightback, and look to have enough about them that they will be looking up the league, rather than over their shoulder. The news that John Barnes' Tranmere (c) had won a game, and that Barnet had held on at home to the Daggers told me that this was a good night for football. The self flagellation of Liverpool fans on the drive home merely sweetened the pie.

It's good to be back.