OK, so they didn’t win, and today’s match against Grimsby Town will hardly have been the highlight of the Cherries’ supporters’ calendars as once more they played like spanners, but it was fun.
The Cherries and Grimsby Town warm up
It's obligatory, but the referee was indeed a ____er, a ____er and a ____er of dubious parentage who didn’t know what he was doing. I never realised you could be a ____er and a ____er at the same time – my knowledge of anatomy had indicated that you would have to be either one or the other, but according to the fans I’m wrong about that.
However, the ref did miss some blatant fouls that even I could spot, so he really can’t have been that brilliant. He displeased the home crowd greatly after a foul early on which saw a player from each team sent off. Ooh, should have heard the fans erupt over that one.
The fans provide their own form of entertainment at these events and it’s nothing short of educational. North/south relations were greatly enhanced by the chant of ‘You’re shit and you stink of fish’, although considering that there are only three clubs actually further south than Bournemouth, everyone is apparently at risk of stinking of fish due to being a scabby northerner.
(Technically, of course, I live at the wrong end of the Spur Road to comment on this, being a scabby northerner myself by default. I’d have to live virtually in the damn sea to be a southerner round these parts.)
I was also perplexed by the pro-Bournemouth chant ‘Up the Cherries – in all departments!’. You know, I really do not want to know what they mean by that.
The match, whilst not necessarily the best example of ‘The Beautiful Game’ was at least enjoyable. We had enough attempts at goal to keep us on our toes, enough fouls to keep us screaming at the ref, and enough jumping up and down to stave off hypothermia.
The match in full swing
It was also amusing to watch my own brother in this situation. He’s a pretty reserved fan, choosing not to join in with the chanting and jingoism, but saving his energies for obvious ref incompetence and genuine chances to score. Where others were jeering at the players when they screwed up, the cry of ‘Unlucky!’ would come from my brother. Rarely did he leap to his feet and gesticulate, although when he did, it was worth the effort.
I quite enjoyed myself this afternoon, not just the game, but all the people-watching opportunities it afforded. I’m not hugely into football, as anyone who knows me can attest, but I had a really good afternoon.
Roll on Boxing Day, I say.
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