Conquering… Eastleigh

Here we go again then. Doesn’t feel like I was gone at all. Some six weeks since my last game and I’m finally back up and out for the beginning of the 2018/19 campaign. I’ve promised myself that this will be the season I start to take my blogs seriously again, get my thoughts out there, give me something to clog up your news feeds on social media sites. I say that now, but feel free to quote me on this in October when it’s all gone tits up and you’ve not heard a peep from me in three months.

I’m in no position to be particularly adventurous with my football at the moment, leaving me low on options to start the season. In fact, the Hampshire FA decided they weren’t going to sanction any games in June, leaving me even lower on options. There was only one option in fact. Eastleigh v Reading. No idea why they got special dispensation to play the game when other local games were moved or cancelled, but football was happening. Here we go again ladies and gents.

I made the executive decision early on that I didn’t need to wear shorts on one of the hottest days of the year, nor did I apparently require any sunscreen. I lived to regret both of those decisions as the day wore on, the sun having its way with me for hours on end. I don’t mind the heat necessarily, but I’ll take mild October evenings with a jacket over 25 degree heat every day of the week.

Eastleigh’s Silverlake Stadium home is located halfway between Southampton Airport Parkway and Eastleigh stations, some 25 minute walk from each of them respectively. I arrived at Parkway at about 11:45, and made my walk over to the ground with local hopper Harry (Twitter: @harryjhhopping) alongside me. The walk takes you through the local wooded area, which includes a mini gauge railway line. It’s always great to see the kids smiling, the mums enjoying a day out with the family, and the dads wondering where in life it was that they managed to get it so terribly wrong.

I really need to work on my photography skills.

Eastleigh were founded in 1946 as Swaythling Athletic, playing much of their early history in the local leagues around the Southampton area. They became a founding member of the Wessex League during the mid 1980’s, but it’s only in the past couple of decades that they’ve risen through the leagues, holding their place in the National League (5th tier) going into the new season. They achieved promotion to what was then known as the Conference Premier at the end of the 2013/14 season, and have maintained their position in the premier division of non-league football ever since.

Eastleigh’s ground really has developed over the years, and the new unit behind the goal is very smart. Housing the ticket office and club shop, it’s pretty professional. So much so, the club shop actually has automatic doors. Very swish indeed. I coughed up a fiver for my entry before making my way into the bar, meeting a couple of other groundhoppers in the process. I feared the worst as the bloke behind the bar poured my drink. Two bouncers on the doors, a marble bar and a pinny-wearing barman. I had to double check I was in the clubhouse at a non-league football club and hadn’t accidentally stumbled into the local Hilton hotel.

Match action.

The game was played at no real pace, but we never expected much more than a training session. The hosts took an early lead through a deft Paul McCallum finish, breaking up a 45 minutes of football where nothing else of note actually happened. The younger, more vocal contingent of Reading’s following took to cheering every time their heroes played a successful pass, and you couldn’t really blame them. At one stage during a water break, Eastleigh keeper Graham Stack pinged a ball into the empty net, causing the visiting support to dance about in joy. I would have celebrated finishing my GCSE’s in the same way.

The second half wasn’t a great deal better, despite Leandro Bacuna striking the bottom of the post some 60 seconds before he found the equaliser. The visitors looked as though they might go on to win the training session, but for Stuart Wlliamson scrambling the ball home at the other end ten minutes later to seal a famous* victory for Southampton’s premier non-league side (*famous to somebody, somewhere, presumably).

Could have at least changed the angle.

What with the earlier kick-off time and the blazing heat, it would have been somewhat rude not to spend the afternoon journeying through a couple of the local pub gardens, so Skinner and I made sure we did exactly that. First stop was a pint in Southampton airport to kill time before the train. With the pressure on, I ended up plumping for a Becks Vier and really wish I hadn’t. Pisswasser. I did manage to forget however that we were waiting on a train and not simply hiding in a pub, so the 30 second walk back to the station platform proved to be something of a life saviour. I wasn’t having another Becks whilst waiting an hour for the next service to St Deny’s. I’d have sooner walked.

Train station pub.

Pub two, the South Western Arms, is located basically on St Deny’s platform. Decorated inside by beer mats and other memorabilia, it’s a great place to enjoy a drink. We took shade in the garden under an umbrella, as my arms were starting to fall apart from the sun. A beer with your mates isn’t quite as enjoyable when suffering from second degree burns, or so I’ve been told anyway. The pub garden contained a fountain and a pub dog that took to roaming the local area. From that point on, conversation with Skinner was minimal, as he spent much of the time trying to play with the dog. This became a recurring event for the rest of the afternoon.

Yes mush!

I might bleat on about being a bit skint at the moment, but the opportunity for a mini pub crawl isn’t something I’ll turn down easily. With that in mind, we headed up the road for pub number three of the afternoon: The Junction Inn. Here, we caught the end of the enthralling France v Argentina Round of 16 tie, whilst enjoying a pint of Belgian IPA each (that was actually its name, I’m not just being lazy).

It wasn’t long before we realised that the jukebox wasn’t seeing any action, and that needed amending. Of course, the first song Skinner decided needed playing wasn’t something befitting of your usual quiet, leafy village pub. He instead decided to fire up Sonne – Rammstein, leaving me wondering which of the locals was going to beat us up first for tormenting them with ‘forrun music. A mix of Maxïmo Park and Venga Boys followed, not that anybody was actually paying any attention to our repeat purchase of Belgian IPA and similarly terrible dancing in the corner.

Boys on tour (in a suburb of Southampton).

We decided it best to soak up the rest of the days sunshine by moving the festivities outside. Here we found a spacious pub garden, full of locals enjoying some rare English sun. The bouncy castle laid out for the kids seemed only in operation when Skinner decided to launch an acrobatic back flip onto it, much to the delight of onlookers. I must say, Skinner took the applause very humbly and didn’t show off his evident gymnastic capabilities. Lot of respect for that.

Bouncy castle ft. pub dog.

When he wasn’t dicking about on children’s play equipment, Skinner spent the rest of his time chatting up other dogs in the local area. This time he even managed something of an artistic selfie, though it seemed to take a lot of belly rubs to get the dog’s consent. I don’t mean to put a downer on things, but 2018/19 is going to be something of a long haul if I have to contend with Skinner interfering with dogs on a weekly basis.

Skinner makes friends with the local wildlife.

There we have it, then. Game 1 of 2018/19: Tick. Pub crawl of 2018/19: Tick. Blog 1 of 2018/19: Tick. I’m going to try and stick to chucking random musings on here for the season and we’ll see how far we get.

It was good to get back to Eastleigh again and I look forward to seeing how they get on across the course of the coming campaign. As for me, I don’t know where my next game will be, so it remains a mystery to us all.

Until next time, cheers!

Sheridan

Conquering… Reading

Nothing compares to competitive football, I’d rather watch a league/cup game over a friendly any day of the week, but pre-season does have its merits. The main compliment I can afford it are the cheap ticket prices (See what I did there…?). My visit to Reading was no different, as I picked up tickets to Sky Bet Championship side Reading vs my newly found friends over at Swansea City for a measly £7. I’ve been meaning to visit The Madejski for a while, and if I’m honest, it was too good an offer to turn away.

Notts County fan James (I know, weird decision, but each to their own) joined me for today’s trip as he too liked the sound of the cheap, good quality football. I met him on the train at New Milton (proudly bearing his County shirt in anticipation for their visit to Preston North End on the opening day of the season) and we headed for Reading. A quick change over at Southampton Central, and we were soon where we needed to be. Stood outside Reading station without a real idea of where we needed to be going. Typical me, really. I made the executive decision of checking online how to get to the ground, and on finding out that there was a shuttle bus from where we were stood, we had a chance to have a stroll around the town centre with a good hour or so to kill.

Reading itself isn’t too bad, but it didn’t really do it for me. I can’t pinpoint why, I didn’t see anything so unbearably wrong that I was running in terror, I just don’t think I’d be able to live there. It took James five minutes however to start calculating his mortgage with the bank manager after realising Reading has a Greggs. I shall explain. Living in Weymouth, James is apparently without a Greggs. Clearly they don’t see Weymouth as a Greggs loving town. Well, if that’s the case, they need to pull their finger out because based on his reaction and picture-taking on spotting the establishment, they’ve made a grave error of judgement.

We jumped on to the number 50 bus to the ground (costing a a slightly extortionate £4 return for the 20 minute journey) and soon found ourselves at The Madejski. First impressions of the place were good as we picked up our matchday programmes, excuse me, newspapers from the toll booth outside. After taking a couple of pictures, I wandered over to the club store where I found myself a pin badge, before paying up and exiting the store to biblical rain. It really hammered down, so much so, I actually had to take my jacket out of my bag. It really was wet. James and I soon headed over to the East Stand where we’d be sat for the afternoon, and after a photo with Reading mascot ‘Queensley’, we made it onto the concourse through the electronic ticket barrier.

 It’s here that I must mention the available food on the concourse. There are burger bars outside, but inside, you don’t stand a chance. You can have a 5″ Margherita pizza if you fancy looking like an idiot though. James plumped for a £3.70 hotdog, and soon threw about £3 of that hotdog into the bin. Rubbery and disgusting were his words. Take these words as you will, but I won’t be in a rush to get my dinner there any time soon.

With about 30 minutes to go, we made the walk up the stairs and out into the stands, perching ourselves pretty much smack bang on the halfway line. I won’t lie, I was impressed. I’ve heard a lot of negativity about the place if I’m honest, and yes it is similar to a lot of new builds, but I quite liked it personally. The pitch looked immaculate, but the stairs heading up the East Stand are as steep as anything. I haven’t trained for two weeks, as all my fitness work came from me trying to crawl my way to my seat! I got my teamsheet sorted, and we were soon chatting about the players who’d be lining up.

As they had done the previous week in their visit to Plymouth Argyle, Swansea got off to a good start and immediately showed who the Premier League side were. Some quick passing, and excellent movement was originally counteracted by neat passing of their own from Reading, but that faded from the game after about 20 minutes. Swansea won a 14th minute penalty for what I can only presume was handball as a cross was whipped in from the right, but Wilfried Bony promptly slammed the spot kick against the bar, much to the amusement of the home support.

10 minutes later and the visitors found themselves in front, as Wayne Routledge rounded Alex McCarthy in the Reading goal to tap home. He soon doubled his tally just a couple of minutes later, after a quick break saw Routledge find himself in acres of space to find the net, after some good work from Gylfi Sigurdsson had created the space. Reading weren’t offering anything of real note, until on 43 minutes striker Nick Blackman picked the ball up 30 yards out. Out of completely nothing, he swiveled, set himself, and launched one into the top right hand corner of Lukasz Fabianski’s goal, much to the appreciation of everyone in the ground. If you’re reading this Nick, your goal is currently my Stadium Trotter goal of the season, so well done you. City restored their two-goal cushion in the second half as new signing Batefemi Gomis charged beyond the Reading defence, to cooly dink the ball over substitute goalkeeper Adam Federici.

Full-time score; Reading 1-3 Swansea City
(Blackman 43′) (Routledge 23′ 25′, Gomis 64′)

The only real downside to the day was some of the Reading fans in the corner, who decided they’d take the low attendance as an opportunity to try and kick off and start something with the travelling support. One muppet was ejected after walking across the corner of the pitch to try and get at just over 1,000 Swans. I have no sympathy for those kind of idiots whatsoever, it was just a bit pathetic if I’m honest, especially because it was only a friendly game.

All in all though, it was a good day and another ground ticked off my list. Cheers Reading!

– 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… Birmingham City

Almost inevitably, Bashley’s FA Cup adventure came to a stuttering halt at the very first hurdle this season, not that I expected anything less. That’s naturally heartbreaking, because regular readers will know the FA Cup is my favourite competition. It’s up there with my other favourite things, like Sauerkraut. I love Sauerkraut. Travelling to watch football ain’t half bad either.

With Bashley’s dream crushed in August, my dream of watching Bashley as the big boys entered in January was already out of the window. We had a league game lined up against promotion chasing Swindon Supermarine though, which I suppose would have to do.

The football world had different plans for me though, as a message from former school colleague Jamie decided that I would instead be heading to the Midlands, all the way to Birmingham infact with his beloved AFC Bournemouth. £10 a ticket is something I’m not going to turn away, and with Jamie driving us up in Tyrone (his Seat Ibiza with the coolest name in Seat Ibiza history), I didn’t have to worry about planning my day according to train timetables. Bashley’s game was postponed as well, meaning I’d have a chance to watch us get beat 7-0 again on a Tuesday night.

We arrived in Brum with plenty of time left to spare, and collected Anthony from New Street before heading off to park up somewhere near the ground. We found some free parking within sight of St Andrews, and a friendly woman advised us that we’d have to go out through the McDonald’s car park after the game as the road would be closed to filter away the football fans. Her parking left much to be desired, but at least she did it with a smile.

A quick McDonald’s lunch nearly turned sour, but thankfully a friendly employee was on hand to make sure we felt safe in our new surroundings. I don’t know if we were looking worried, or whether she needs some serious help with her pick-up techniques, but her line; ‘Don’t worry lads, this McDonald’s is perfectly safe for away supporters, you’ll be alright in here’ unnerved me. If anything, she’d made me more wary of the people around me. I didn’t walk in expecting to get bottled whilst chomping on my Chicken Legend meal, but I guess she was making sure I was completely aware that it wouldn’t happen.

Suitably fed, we headed over to the ground with a good hour before kick off, enough time for a beer and to take in some of the atmosphere on the concourse before the game. Typical, shitty Fosters on offer here, nothing of any special note, but we drank it anyway. Away days after all.

​Concourses tend to house weird events for me, and Birmingham was no different. With pints in hand, I got a nudge on my shoulder that I simply brushed off as somebody bumping into me. When an eerily familiar Welsh accent piped up, the three of us stood frozen. An old geography teacher of mine walked out in front of us, and offered his hand to shake whilst excitedly discussing the game ahead. As far as I was aware, his assemblies at school had mainly consisted of religion and his love for his dear Swansea City, so I can’t say I was much less than confused. He soon waddled off, and the three of us laughed in our bemusement. I thought I’d got away from you for good.

Sadly, it seems that City struggle to get crowds in their post-Premier League days, and that was noted by all very quickly as an attendance of just over 13,000 meant the stand to my left hand side was closed completely, save some plusher seats on the halfway line for the bigwigs. It’s a simple enough ground, with the away end and closed stand both self-standing, whilst the main stand to my right and behind the far goal are filled in to form one.

City’s inability to attract a crowd was forgotten as they took to the game to their top tier opponents, and truthfully, probably deserved to win the game, or at least force a replay. AFCB fielded a much weakened side, and that showed as the hosts almost led within a minute. As it went, they did break the deadlock some 40 minutes in, as Michael Morison rose highest to nod home a set-piece. The sides were level at the break however, as Bournemouth’s Lee Tomlin smashed his penalty straight down the middle for the equaliser.

The second half wasn’t too different as a combination of a missed Birmingham penalty that was blazed into orbit and some poor finishing, paved the way for AFCB’s Glenn Murray to come on and slam home a scrappy finish with five minutes left on the watch, taking the South Coast outfit into the Fourth Round in the process.

Bournemouth’s fans weren’t at their usual best, but they didn’t really have a need to. I did note a few comments from the people around me suggesting that they missed away days at places like this though, but seriously, who wouldn’t? Last time you wandered out of St Andrews, you’d just witnessed your side win 8-0!
​
We were straight out of the ground and heading for home on the final whistle, with a further pitstop at our third fast food chain of the day en route, who ever said that watching football was good for your health.

Cheers Birmingham!

​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