Conquering… Newcastle United

Once upon a case of Newcastle Brown Ale, the Toon Army had a football team that they could be truly proud of. Certainly during my early years, there was a lot of success around the club. St James’ Park hosted fairly consistent European football during the early 2000’s, they had a crack at the Champions League and the UEFA Cup, an achievement that seems well beyond the current outfit.

The Premier League’s greatest ever goalscorer graced the city for so many years, Alan Shearer scoring goals that young lads didn’t dare to dream were possible as they feasted their eyes on their first taste of live football. Shay Given was an immovable rock between the sticks on numerous occasions, and Nolberto Solano could ping a ball onto a five pence piece from the opposite bank of the Tyne. Blindfolded. I’m sure Laurent Robert could have done the same, but he’ll always be best remembered for picking out the face of Olivier Bernard (an achievement no less deserved of applause, might I add).

Nowadays, it’s an altogether different story. Mike Ashley bought the club, and promptly killed it. The footballing home of the North became just another marketing exercise, and I’m almost certain I saw a ‘Buy one mug, get Lee Bowyer half price’ advertisement in my match programme. Let this be quoted by pundits and your mate Steve down the local, Newcastle United are a fallen giant.

Following my exploits in Greece the weekend before, I was very much looking forward to getting back into the swing of the domestic game back home. Having been through school in Bournemouth, a few of my mates support the Cherries, some through loyalty in the darker days, some for, well… their own reasons. As it so happened, an invite to Newcastle away wasn’t an opportunity I was ever going to turn away, and so up North we went, via a night in Coventry to split the journey. Grim.

​My weekend on the continent had left me somewhat poorer, so there wasn’t a night out to be enjoyed for our Coventry pit stop. I’ll let you guys decide if that’s a good or a bad thing. Instead, we sank a few beers whilst enjoying the lack of Wi-Fi that our hotel could provide, before settling down ready for the early departure further north.

We arrived in a drizzly Newcastle just gone midday the next day, and, as I’m told is custom for Premier League away days, Jamie quickly wandered off in search of an away pub. We weren’t to find one sadly, but that wasn’t to stop us sampling some of the local drinking holes anyway. I forget what the pub was called, karma for me writing these blogs so long after, but our first stop of the day included some of the best food I’ve had on my travels this season. A grilled sandwich and some soup. Vague, but like I say, specific details are eluding me here. If you’re a culinary expert, have a look at my photo and get back to me. It was incredible.

Having announced my location via Twitter, I was quickly inundated with messages exclaiming their love for the city, and I have to say, you lot weren’t wrong. Despite my mere few hours within its boundaries, Newcastle was a good laugh. There’s a buzz around the city that you don’t get elsewhere, and despite being evidently out of place and at the other end of the country, everyone we met was friendly, which is always nice in an unfamiliar city. It’s certainly a place I want to return to sooner rather than later, for a chance to explore some more. Instead, we had more pressing matters, Newcastle United vs AFC Bournemouth being our principal priority.

St James’ Park can be seen from almost wherever you stand, it really is a fantastic megastructure within the town centre. Holding more than 50,000 spectators, it was one of the many grounds I had on ‘to-do’ list when I was growing up. In all honesty though, my presence had one main reason, other than of course the football. I was going to be in THAT away stand. You know the one I mean, the away stand that means climbing what feels like the stairs to heaven, before taking in the game from a vantage point at a higher altitude than most commercial flights. It’s fantastic.

On the pitch however, United are a lot less impressive. Two relegations in the last ten seasons, albeit split with a brief return to European competition, is a far shadow of where the club were just over a decade ago, and truthfully, there’s no surprise in that. There’s an ill feeling at St James’ Park. A feeling of injustice, of horror that the club has been turned into a laughing stock.

Just over a decade ago, AFC Bournemouth were on the brink of extinction. If you could have put money on them falling out of the Football League and into the abyss of non-league, or just folding altogether, you would have done. Those were dark times for the club from the South Coast. On this drizzly afternoon in early March however, you wouldn’t have known that. You wouldn’t have even entertained that piece of footballing history as being anything other than fairy tale.

Little Bournemouth played the former giants off the park, and for a good 90 minutes as well. The 3,000 travelling fans certainly enjoyed their day, and who can blame them. Writing this now, we know that Newcastle United will be playing second tier football in 2016/17, and that is genuinely no surprise. They were awful. The booing began early, and it continued. It was a joke of a performance, lightened only when Ayoze Perez gave them a glimmer of hope, but Charlie Daniels made no mistake in dashing those dreams with the final kick of the game. The ground quickly began emptying when his left-footed strike nestled in the bottom corner.

I didn’t know how to feel on the drive back down south (via another night in Coventry, which, trust me, was equally as grim the second time round). I almost feel sorry for the club, it’s died a death and is still being kicked. Necastle United will never be what they were unless something changes at the top, soon. The Toon Army love a boo, but they have a lot to complain about. 50,000 people sang ‘you’re getting sacked in the morning’ that Saturday, aimed in the direction of Steve McLaren, but in the end, even Rafa Benitez couldn’t keep them up. For now, the glory days are long gone.

Cheers

​Sheridan

Conquering… Brighton & Hove Albion

I’m not ‘against modern football’. I watch a great deal more non-league than I do anything higher up the pyramid, but that comes with the task of supporting a non-league side. My upbringing through football has been in that environment, and I’m more comfortable with it, that’s just the way things have panned out for me.

That being said, I’m not adverse to a bit of football in the higher echelons of our beautiful game. My tagline claims that I’m ‘conquering the world’ (albeit at a steady pace), and that must surely mean I’ll have to entertain the larger stadia of the world with my presence every now and again. New Year’s Day 2016 provided me with an ideal opportunity as the English pyramid seemed to like the idea of playing on a Saturday, and so the majority of fixtures were scheduled to play on the second day of this new year. Good, lovely. Where to go though?

As you’ve probably attained from the title, the seaside resort of Brighton was to be my destination, a place in which I hope to be living and studying come September. A quick peruse of the fixture list on the Monday showed a 3pm kick-off, and with Notts County fan James in tow for the day, we headed across the South Coast and towards the American Express Community Stadium (or the AMEX from here as I can’t be done typing that 27 times).

The journey to the Amex is as simple as you like. Train from anywhere to Brighton, and then it’s a simple change and a ten minute ride over to Falmer. You can see the ground to the right hand side as you step off the train.

Might I start by saying, what a beauty of a stadium. It’s not a soulless bowl that seem to be cropping up everywhere (I’m looking at you Reading), but it still has the look of a modern spaceship.

The thing that struck me immediately were the arches stretching over the roof, a sort of Wembley-esque appearance that meant I was nodding agreeably for long periods whilst we approached the ground with thousands of others. We found programmes on the walk over, and a quick search of the club superstore added a pin badge to my growing collection. I decided against some Brighton & Hove Albion dog treats for my labrador back home, he’s a Bashley fan anyway.

With tickets in hand allowing us to watch the game from the West Stand upper (a reasonable £24 for U21’s in truth), we climbed the stairs towards our seat, and Nottingham born James told anybody listening that he doesn’t like exercise. He didn’t enjoy the 2,744* stairs that we had to climb (* – that number may be a slight exaggeration, I lost count at 1,696).

With a pint in hand and a good 45 minutes to spare before kick-off, the only option was to stand at the windows and enjoy the views across Sussex (and the grounds of the University of Sussex, I think that’s what it was. It looked educationy). As seen above, the views aren’t bad, but the camera on my phone has done the usual job of doing it no justice whatsover.

Inside the ground, it’s a different game. In the West Stand, we were sheltered under a roof that looked like it stretched for miles, and I’d somehow plucked for the best seats in the ground arguably. Situated right at the top of the stand, we were afforded an incredible view of the action, and could witness a really drab atmosphere from a safe distance. Brighton fans were notably quiet until the end, and the travelling Wolves support were nursing hangovers from the night before.

Both stands behind the goal are smaller, with education rooms and so forth seeming to form the upper tiers of these areas. I think I would have far preferred GCSE Maths had I been able to watch the football at the same time in fairness. Along both touchlines, the West and East stands are similar, and are generally reminiscent of many modern grounds.

Brighton have hit a slump recently after such a wonderful start to the season, and it was obvious that they were low on confidence, despite controlling possession for much of the game without fashioning anything of real note. The deadlock was broken by the most innocuous of sources, as home defender Connor Goldson inadvertently steered a cross beyond his own ‘keeper and into the net, sending the Wolves fans into raptures and a quick rendition of ‘Barmy Army’, before falling silent again.

Carl Ikeme made a few comfortable enough saves to keep the Black Country side in front, including a flying save to tip a header over the bar in the dying seconds when it looked destined for the top corner. Brighton’s right-back Bruno ultimately came closest for the home side, as the Spaniard, who was excellent throughout and was rightly awarded man of the match, crashed a thunderous effort back off the crossbar.

With the game finished and Albion fans understandably disgruntled their side hadn’t secured at least a point out of the afternoon’s football, it was time to head for home and that’s when the fun really began. Leaving Falmer station with 26,500 people is hard enough as you squeeze through the hoards of people all to get on the same train, but that’s just part and parcel of attending a game that will attract a large crowd.

I’ll give you a couple of James’ tweets to outline the situation simply;

If it wasn’t obvious enough already, I’ll let you into a little secret. James was far from buzzing with our Sussex adventure that unfolded that night. We left Brighton on time with a direct train through to Southampton at 6pm sharp. Easy to get back to New Milton and Weymouth, surely? Wrong.

What followed was arguably the biggest load of nonsense I’ve ever been through on the trains in this country. Having left Brighton on time, we raced through the Sussex countryside until we reached Worthing, and were halted due to an incident between Arundel and Horsham. No matter, we’d be ten minutes late, I certainly wasn’t in a hurry to get home. Unfortunately, our train was quickly cancelled and we were suddenly stranded in Worthing.

James was almost in tears by this point, so it was time to conjure plan B. The next train rolled into the station, and suddenly the entirety of Worthing, most of Lancing and anybody who fancied a jolly were climbing aboard this train, with the intention of changing at Littlehampton and going from there. All it would take would be a change at Littlehampton, then a change at Fratton to get us back to Southampton. Easy to get back to New Milton and Weymouth, surely? Wrong.

Having de-trained at Littlehampton, we were quickly advised that a train wasn’t coming to take us to Fratton, and that we’d instead have to get a coach across to Barnham, and then get to Fratton from there. I turned to my left to see James remove his cap and wipe the sweat from his brow. I was tempted to sedate him and carry him home before his emotions turned to rage.

45 minutes in the cold and wet at Littlehampton did little to lighten his mood, and my repeated comments outlining my plan to get home before June only added to his annoyance. The half hour’s coach journey to Barnham helped, and we soon rolled into the station, much to the excitement of an elderly lady at the front. Personally, there’s places in this world that get me more excited than Barnham, but that’s a subjective matter.

James didn’t say a great deal from there on in, he had a snooze on the train back to Fratton before threatening to punch out one of the timetables realising our connection back to Southampton was also delayed. He wasn’t enjoying himself.

We both eventually went our separate ways at Brockenhurst and got home far later than we really should have done. Myself via a lift from my Dad, James via another bus and a taxi. What a night.

Overall, I can’t fault the day. The game itself was poor, but it was spent in good company in what is a cracking ground. I do really like the place. What a way to start 2016, here’s to another 362 days of silliness. Happy new year everybody.

​Sheridan

Conquering… Southampton

If you know me reasonably well, or have had at any time a footballing conversation of any length with me, you’ll know that the FA Cup is my favourite competition. I might even go as far to say it’s my favourite competition in world football. The ideas that the famous old cup has lost its magic simply aren’t true, but I must say it is teetering on destruction if the television companies continue to get their filthy hands on it.

With a Sunday afternoon of freedom after work, I was off again to enjoy a game in this great cup competition, this time with Weymouth fan James (He’s starting to feature heavily on this site…) at Southampton’s St Mary’s Stadium. St Mary’s is a weird one for me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, it’s right on my doorstep (sort of). Only 25 minutes or so away by train, it’s odd to think that I haven’t previously visited. I think the mix of more tempting offers in the local non-league scene have put me off, combined with some of the almost extortionate ticket prices in England’s top tier nowadays.

Secondly, and this is more of a minor confession, I’ve already been to St Mary’s. It’s like a half tick this one. My last visit came when I was just a kid, and I watched the South Coast side play out a drab 0-0 draw with Hull City back when they were playing in the Championship. Talk about memory lane, although I barely remember anything that happened, save my young ears being exposed to swearing for the first time on a school trip. Oh, how we laughed in the minibus on the way home. So, yes, you got me, but it was my first visit under this persona so I’m going to count it nonetheless. Try stopping me.

 
Just as my journey to Lymington yesterday afternoon had been uneventful, this one was almost as easy. 25 minutes on the train and I arrived at Southampton Central in one piece, before meeting up with James at the designated rendezvous and heading on with the throb of football fans towards the ground. St Mary’s is easy enough to find as it is, but if you honestly have no idea, do what we do and follow the crowd. Can’t go wrong there.

As we approached our seats in the Chapel stand, I began scouting for programme sellers. It’s become Trotter custom to get a programme from each game (where possible of course). To James’ dismay, the booth had ‘Matchday Magazines’ printed boldly across the top of the window. We approached cautiously, and paid the £3.50 anyway, for what is actually a very good read, even if it is on A4 paper. Southampton also gained points in the official merchandise department, as I was able to pick up a pin badge for £2, an excellent price at any level I’d argue.

I won’t bore you now with the history of Southampton FC, as I’m sure there’s plenty you can find elsewhere. Chances are, it’ll be far more accurate as well. I will tell you however that St Mary’s Stadium is located right next to Southampton waters, and certainly has the feel of a Premier League ground, despite their spell lower down the divisions in the Football League over recent years. James and I perched ourselves in the Chapel Stand opposite the travelling Ipswich fans (who by the way were brilliant today) and took in the surroundings in front of us. As pictures show, it’s a complete bowl seating just over 32,500 people according to estimates. Today’s game was a near enough sell out, but the atmosphere wouldn’t have told you that. I hate to say it, but the Southampton fans were comprehensively out sung by the travelling Tractor Boys. I don’t know if it’s because the Saints fans expected victory, or because they couldn’t be bothered, what with today being a Sunday, but it was a poor effort.

The match itself was a bit of an odd affair in truth. The first half started brightly, and at times had all the ingredients to make a classic cup tie, but that never unfolded. Darren Ambrose’s looping header within the first 20 minutes gave Ipswich some real hope of an upset, but those hopes were dashed after some calamity defending allowed Morgan Schneiderlin to poke home the equaliser some 15 minutes or so later. The first 45 minutes were played at a good pace, and it looked as though either side could run up the other end and score.

The second half on the other end was quite the opposite, with the visitors sitting deep and their hosts content to stroke the ball around between themselves in front of them. It’s true that Southampton had a far greater deal of the football, but you couldn’t say they were in any way dominating their opponents. I don’t think Dean Gerken had a save of note to make after the interval.

Full time score;

Southampton 1-1 Ipswich Town (Att: 31,201)
(Schneiderlin 33′) (Ambrose 19′)

Unfortunately, Southampton lost more ‘Trotter Points’ as we left the ground. Through no fault of the football club, a young lad decided to stroll past us proudly displaying his AFC Totton/Southampton half-scarf. I have to admit, I was mortified. The thought of that scarf upsets me a little bit even now. One of Bashley’s rivals? How dare he. Any Totton fans reading this, don’t take it the wrong way, it’s just, you’re not Bashley. Sorry, we can’t all be that brilliant. (PS – take most, if not all, of those last couple of sentences with a pinch of salt, or two…).

The final problem fell to James. For the second football league ground on the trot (See what I did there), he ended up throwing at least £3.20 worth of half-decent grub in the bin. We’d found an outlet selling food after the game, and plumped on a cheeseburger each to fuel us for the short walk back to the station. Once again howver, James took dislike to his food and ended up slinging it into the nearest bin. (Refer to my Reading post if you have no idea what I’m on about). It’s becoming a common occurrence now, and the worst bit is, he doesn’t even check if I want to finish it. A right horrible human being he is.

So there it is then, St Mary’s Stadium, home of Southampton. My 31st ground since my travels began in January, and my 4th in the Premier League. It was good to finally get there and enjoy a game, but I don’t know if I’ll be returning in a hurry. £5 for a ticket at a Premier League club doesn’t come around as often as I’d perhaps like it to. God bless the FA Cup eh?

Cheers Southampton!

Sheridan

 

 

 

 

Conquering… Arsenal

Highbury was often referred to by opposition fans as ‘The Library’. Arsenal’s home ground until the culmination of the 2005/06 season had a reputation for being a bit quiet, and the same nickname continued on after the club’s move to their current home, The Emirates, although it’s perhaps not as prominent nowadays. My visit for the second day of the 2014 Emirates Cup pre-season competition confirmed that the atmosphere isn’t exactly electric, but as said, it was pre-season, so I guess I can forgive Arsenal fans on this occasion.

I have to say outright though, The Emirates is a piece of art. I love the place. I get great happiness out of most of my new visits, particularly at non-league level, but my first Premier League ‘tick’ really was brilliant. It’s far from the soulless bowl of a new-build that seemed to pop up all over the place during the early/mid 00’s, and it’s shaped seamlessly to near perfection. The pitch itself is often compared to newly-laid carpets, and so it should be. Every blade of grass is cut to within an inch of heaven’s front lawn. It really was fantastic. Having said that, a 60,000 seater stadium rises very high into the afternoon sky, and as such, the air gets a little thin up there. For the first time this season, I was forced to bring my jacket and oxygen tank.

The reason behind visiting Arsenal’s paradise came after my Gooner friend Anthony suggested a visit to the Emirates Cup, and coupling a £30 ticket for the both games with a £15 promotional train fare made my mind up for me. We left New Milton at about 10 on the Sunday morning, arriving into London Waterloo just before 12, giving us plenty of time to have a quick look round Oxford Street before heading over to the stadium.

The first Emirates Cup was played in 2007, featuring Arsenal (…duh), Internazionale, PSG and Valencia, with hosts Arsenal coming away from the two day tournament as champions. Since then, the competition has featured a further 15 teams from across the world, and is fast becoming the most popular pre-season tournament there is. With reasonably priced tickets, and good, quality football on offer, it’s not difficult to see why. This year’s offering featured Arsenal (Have you still not worked that out yet?), Portuguese side Benfica, Monaco of France and eventual champions Valencia, who of course hail from sunny Spain.

The 2014 competition also saw the reintroduction of probably the best points system to suit the two-day proceedings. As is in most league competitions, 3 points are awarded for a win, and 0 for a draw. Teams are then also awarded a bonus point for every goal they score. This counteracts the problem of each team only playing 2 of their 3 opponents. With Valencia holding Monaco to a 2-2 draw in the opening game, and Arsenal romping to a 5-1 win against Benfica, it left the Gunners in a strong position at the end of day one.

As sod’s law would have it, day two flipped things completely. Valencia came from behind to secure a 3-1 win against a lacklustre Benfica side in the day’s opening game, before hosts Arsenal, who needed only a point against Monaco to secure the coveted Emirates Cup title, fell prey to a single Falcao header, and the travelling Valencia support went bananas. I’m sure all twelve of them were partying late into the night too.

In all seriousness, the quality of football on show was very, very good. Benfica took an early lead after just two minutes through Derley as they looked to redeem themselves from their humbling the day before, but ultimately, Valencia upstaged them. Chances came like London buses for the Spanish side and they should have found themselves well in front at the break. As it so happened, they took their chances in the second half and came away with 6 points in a game that can only be described as a comfortable victory. Their Portuguese counterparts looked somewhat shell shocked, and never really grew into the game at any stage.

Soon after full-time, the stadium began to pack out as the main party piece came out to begin their pre-game warm up. The Arsenal had arrived… again. I have to say though, the game itself wasn’t fantastic. Arsenal lacked ideas, lacked any creativity, and as you now know, lost the game and the trophy in a fateful 90 minutes. Falcao’s looping header proved to be the difference, and to say it was deserved would be expert analysis. The Gunners didn’t offer a fantastic amount, and ultimately never really looked like scoring the one goal they needed. That being said, they were denied a stonewall penalty late on in the game (a free-kick was given instead), and that likely would have changed the outcome of the entire competition. Football really is fickle sometimes. The real positives came in the shapes of Alexis Sanchez, whose movement was incredible, and young defender Calum Chambers, who looked as assured and as composed as an experienced England centre-back. He really does look like a hugely promising talent, and based on what I’ve seen of him so far, an excellent buy for the Gunners.

After the game, my compulsory mooch around the ground was completed, as well as a visit to the club store to find a club badge. I found one, but was forced to buy a key ring in the same breath as badges by themselves aren’t provided. Bit sneaky that. With badge purchased, and photos with Bergkamp and King Henry snapped, we headed back into the depths of London for food, before moving south towards home that evening.

My first Premier League ‘tick’ proved to be a fantastic one, and I’m looking forward to

more in the coming seasons. I would have perhaps preferred a better atmosphere, but you can’t expect anything to give you goosebumps during friendly games. Looking back on it though, the Mexican wave that lasted a good five minutes or so and swept the entire stadium numerous times was a good laugh.

Cheers Arsenal!

Sheridan

Conquering… AFC Bournemouth

On my only previous visit, I’d found myself in the opposite end (The newly built south stand) taking in a scrappy 1-1 draw with Watford in the middle of January. I noted the obvious difference in temperature, and the great big yellow thing in the sky as I perched myself down at the front of Block 13. I’m sorry to say it though Bournemouth fans, I wasn’t really a neutral for this one. Anybody that knows me, will vouch for me when I say that all I talk about is football. As and when the topic of Dutch football arises, the first person I mention is Graziano Pellè. The Italian forward has become something of a Feyenoord legend in the past couple of years, scoring 55 goals in 66 games during his two seasons in Rotterdam. He manged to catch my attention during that time, and I felt a little bit giddy as I watched him casually stroke the ball around during the pre-match warm up.

What with it only being a pre-season friendly, there wasn’t much at stake. You couldn’t tell that sitting in with the AFCB fans mind. They made for a great atmosphere during the 90 minutes, with songs such as ‘Adam Lallana’ and ‘Where have your players gone’. They were very much on the laughing at Southampton’s expense bandwagon, but I have to confess to laughing along on a couple of occasions.

One of the things I love most about groundhopping, is impulse decisions. Being a Bashley fan both home and away, I tend to have my travels pretty much arranged in advance, but on the odd occasion I find myself with some free time to visit a game, a sensation of excitement sweeps over me.

Thursday night (24th July) just so happened to be one of those nights. With no plans for the following evening, I found myself perusing my Bible (http://uk.soccerway.com/ – for anybody interested) and came across the AFC Bournemouth vs Southampton fixture, to be played at Dean Court on the night I wanted. Just 15 minutes later, and my ticket was booked. I was going to Dean Court, for my second visit I might add.

 The evening couldn’t have got off to a better start. It was pissing with rain, and the trains were delayed. No matter, a quick coffee would sort things out. It did the job, and I was soon heading over to Pokesdown for Boscombe train station, before a short 20 minute walk to the ground. Thankfully, the rain had died down during the ten minutes I was on the train, and I was able to enjoy a stroll towards the ground without having to hook my hoodie out of my bag. The walk was made even better with the comfort of my new phone (my photo-taking capabilities have been restored) and a young lad just a few metres in front of me excitedly discussing everything AFC Bournemouth with his Dad.

AFCB were originally formed in 1890 as Boscombe St. John’s Institute FC, but were re-branded in 1899 as Boscombe FC following the dissolving of the previous side. The club then became Bournemouth and Boscombe Athletic FC in 1923, and didn’t change to their modern title until 1972. The land on which Dean Court is built was granted to the football club way back in 1910, and is supposedly named after the Cooper-Dean family of Bournemouth. The ground has been through a number of names, including ‘The Fitness First Stadium’ and it’s current title ‘The Goldsands’ through sponsorship deals, but I’m never one for corporate tags and so Dean Court it shall remain.

On arrival at Dean Court – I did warn you – I picked up my programme from resident programme salesman Andrew (Incidentally, I coach for the youth football side he manages) and headed for the club store. Unbeknownst to myself, the club had released their new third kit (It’s rather lovely, I must say) and it was on general sale for the first time that night. The store was swamped. I fought my way through the crowds, a tad disgruntled as I was only after a pin badge. Locating my prize, I paid up, and went looking for my seat in the Steve Fletcher stand.

The game itself wasn’t particularly pulsating, but it was an enjoyable watch nonetheless. The only goal of the game came from a Lloyd Isgrove diving header 20 minutes in, but it was obvious on the pitch that it was only a friendly, despite a couple of rash challenges in the opening exchanges. Artur Boruc was forced to pull off an excellent stop right in front of me about midway through the first half, as the Pole found himself back-pedalling to scoop out a deflected cross from the right.

On the night, I thought Lloyd Isgrove was excellent. He looked comfortable on the ball, didn’t shy away from a challenge, and of course got his goal. There’s a lot of talk at the moment about Saints’ supposed fire sale of players, but if he continues to progress in the way he is, I fully expect Isgrove to be a crucial member of the first team in the near future. For Bournemouth, I felt Callum Wilson had a good game (He only played the first 45 minutes), as he made a real nuisance of himself in amongst the Premier League back four, and new signing Dan Gosling also made an impression in the centre of midfield.

Full-time: AFC Bournemouth 0-1 Southampton
(Isgrove 20′)

I’ve enjoyed my visits to Dean Court on both occasions, and it is a nice ground, despite it being a little small at the moment for the ambitions the club have, that’s just my opinion though. If they can pull off another top half finish in the Championship this season, then I think a 12,000 seater isn’t big enough and they may have to look at further expansion. The ground and club is nice enough mind, so much so, I will be returning in October for the league fixture against Brighton and Hove Albion.

Cheers Bournemouth!

Sheridan