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Chip sauce


Having suitably thawed out sufficiently enough due to weather now currently dumping itself forcefully on SW19 Towers, I can now write that our two game unbeaten run continued with Chips 1 Steak 3 (AET) pushing us forward in yet another crappy cup competition that I didn’t even bother noting the name of. Oh well, we won’t win it. Naturally enough we went behind due to Carroll’s ball skills letting the Chip player round him to score. Not so much Van Basten as Van Morrison. Hoping for Fearing an exit, the team went up a lot more in the second half (or was that to keep warm?), and a KC penalty made it 1-1. Unfortunately, we had to endure extra time, but Scotty and a sublime dribble/shot by Dobo warmed us all up.

Do I need to say any more on the game? No? Good. Here’s….

Plus points: We won. Away. Good comeback. Only one winner from 45 mins onwards.

Minus points: Shit game wasn’t it?

The referee’s a……..: Did you notice him? I didn’t. Let the game flow and gave us the penalty certainly, though it was so obvious even Lord Hutton considered mentioned it in his report.

Them: Looked like Glasgow Celtic, played like West Allotment Celtic. Gained brownie points for some seriously nice BBQed grub, lost as many marks for not allowing your humble and esteemed editor – twice – into their half-empty club bar. Something to do with “compliementary” tickets or something. Now, that’s not a very good way of getting a nice write up in here, is it? And don’t give me this bollocks of “over-crowding” either. The nearby pub got my sheckles, and a guy who I believe was Chip’s vice president (could be wrong) said that he would “have a word”.

Weather with you: As I’m forever being accused of writing how cold I am at games (which is usually true), I won’t mention it. Others were complaining of feeling chilly though…..

Point to ponder: One for those who actually bother to watch the game. Don’t we look different (ie more shite) without Joe Sheerin?

Truth is stranger than fiction: (1) Meeting and greeting the cheapskates photographed at Farnham (see below) and not receiving abuse, cigarette burns or ABH. (2) The walk from the pub to Chipstead. Very dark, very middle of nowhere. And more than a little bit un-nerving. Had to be the most isolated place we have ever played, no wonder they prefer to play our games at Whyteleafe. (3) Hearing the story of the local who writes a letter to Chips every time the floodlights aren’t turned off by 10pm. That’s every time. And they accuse the Plough Lane residents of pettiness.

Anything else? Yes, Chip’s #11, called Jack. He probably has a surname, but everyone called him Jack. Long, Limahl-esque hair, everything that happened was blamed on this poor hapless Jack. Misplaced pass? Jack’s fault. Conceded corner? Blame Jack. The penalty? Jack. Middle East conflict? Jack. The guy who writes snotty letters to Chips? You guessed it. So much so that the mother of an SW19 reader started yelling “Jack, we love you” loudly. Very loudly. And poor old underappreciated Jack applauded us. How nice. I was going to suggest we sign Jack up, at least we’ll have somebody to blame for all our ills apart from Sully now.

So, was it worth it? Well, I got to see the happening pulsating metropolis the world calls Chipstead Village.

In a nutshell: Forget who we are playing next, but I trust they’re crap