Have you been on the dark, satanic pills?
MACCLESFIELD TOWN 1 MAIDSTONE UNITED 4 Match Report by "Gonorrhoea Shepway" Frank Ovard once reacted to a defeat to Dover, in the Kent Senior Cup, by punching a hole in a wooden door at the old London Road stadium. A Newcastle fan, infamously, punched a horse after watching his team get beaten 3-0 by Sunderland. And yesterday two Macclesfield fans reacted to an equally comprehensive defeat by landing a couple of right hooks on the mobile players' tunnel. As coping mechanisms go hitting a fabricated curtain probably carries less risk of injury than either a door or a horse, although whether it does anything for their underlying mental health issues remains to be seen. What reduced them to this emotionally crippled state? Maybe it was the smouldering, homoerotic tension, caused by the sight of Lee Worgan puckering his lips at one of his “admirers” and blowing him a kiss. It might have been Zavon, waving three fingers in reply to a group of fans who were slaughtering him after he'd scored the third goal. Maybe they'd been on some dark, satanic pills. Or it might just have been an overpowering feeling of impotence, in the face of the most tumescent away performance seen by a Maidstone United side in a very long time indeed. How good were we? Very, very good indeed. This handful of shitgibbons aside, the locals were almost disconcertingly friendly. They even wanted to talk to us. I wanted to protest: “Hang on mate, we're from the south of England, we don't believe in that kind of thing,” but the “when in Rome” law applied and we went along with it. They wanted to know who the main threat was. “Hines,” we replied, with what proved to be a startling level of accuracy. This triggered a long-buried memory from somewhere, about how he'd played against them for West Ham a few years ago and had dived to get a player a second yellow card just as the tie was entering a pivotal phase. Remembering that he'd been booked a couple of weeks ago for an alleged dive the thought occurred: isn't he a devout Christian? Would a Christian cheat? Ok, so it never stopped Hansie Cronje, but wouldn't it make a genuine man of God think twice before doing so and, in that case, is it possible he was actually fouled? Religion works for some people. For others it's alcohol. Social media activity as early as 6.30am yesterday suggested it was going to be a long day for some in the latter camp. It's quite a balancing act to maintain your high for that amount of time without either passing out or plunging into a devastating emotional torpor that leaves you questioning your existence. It's an even bigger achievement to maintain it when a private rail company is involved. There's only one correct response to receiving a quote of £365 for an open return to Macclesfield and that's to resort to the words of Sir Ben Kingsley. To wit: “Do you think I'm some kind of cunt?” At this point someone will inevitably cut in and say, “ah but if you book in advance you can get a super saver group rate which will only cost you ...” To which you have to interject: “yes, but what if I have a life? What if I don't know if I'll be able to go? What if I don't want to take the risk that a match held at a club which insists on having a grass pitch might fall victim to the weather? What if I'd like a grain of spontaneity in my life? What if I don't want to be made to feel like a fucking criminal by the sturmbannfuhrer at Euston who demands I produce the receipt for the tickets I have in my fucking hands and decides to charge me an extra £80 for the tickets I have actually fucking paid for in a stunt even RyanAir would baulk at?” All credit to everyone who managed to survive this with their mental equilibrium unchanged, but we took the car. And for once it wasn't that bad, although there was some mild AIDS on the M42 and the more full-blown variety on the M6. We took Google's advice, diverted via Stone and Leek and got there with an hour to spare, albeit two hours after most of the other 120 or so travelling fans, many of whom were, by then, absolutely Princess Margaret-ed. What followed was an away performance to arguably eclipse any we've seen in 25 years, perhaps since the freak 5-0 win at Cardiff on New Year's Day 1992. We've had bigger wins since then of course, but against this calibre of opponent? It was even for around ten minutes and then Rowan opened the scoring with the kind of brilliance we've almost become used to. Lester won an aerial duel, the ball fell to Rowan and he smacked the ball like an exocet into the bottom corner, giving the keeeeeepaaaaah absolutely no chance at all. From then on we were almost eerily dominant. Macclesfield like to play football, ergo the plan was to let them have the ball as much as they liked until they reached the final third, at which point they'd run into the proverbial brick wall. We'd then hit them on the counter. It sounds simple, but for it to work it needed outstanding performances across the board, not least from Seth, who made a series of perfectly timed interceptions and tackles. Lester and Hrubesch repeatedly went close before the second arrived and there was, admittedly, an element of luck about it. The latter forced a corner but scuffed his shot from the ensuing cross. It could have gone anywhere but Ted was the quickest to react and he poked it past the flailing keeeeeeepaaaaaah. Having created almost nothing at all in the first half we assumed Macclesfield would have to get better in the second. They did, but after 20 minutes during which they dominated possession they still hadn't really tested TWM, mainly because of the human shield operating in front of him. When we did break Mr Logic and Rowan combined to come within inches of making it 3-0. And then the fire drill. The Governor played in Rowan, who still had plenty to do but managed to produce a shot with enough power to ride a deflection and fly past the keeeeepaaaaah. Up until that point most of the natives had been reasonably patient but this was too much for some of them. They headed for the exits with the urgency of an intern fleeing from Rod Liddle at a News Corp Party and the ordeal wasn't over. The fourth came out of absolutely nothing. You could call it a fluke and yet Lester fully deserved it, first for chasing an apparently lost cause, second for winning the ball when the defender really should have dealt with it and finally for trying his luck from a ridiculous angle when it became obvious no one was arriving to help him. He was maybe a yard from the goal line and perhaps ten from the goal itself and from that position it's a one hundred to one shot. The keeeeeepaaaaaah should have had it covered, but the power of the shot caught him by surprise and the ball squirmed into the far corner. It might have been lucky, but when there's nothing else on, why not gamble? There was a delayed reaction as no one other then Lester seemed to realise he'd scored. And then the remaining home fans did seem to belatedly turn on first their team and then the referee, after he failed to spot what looked like an absolute Peter Tatchell. They actually started to create a few chances, one of which they took, but there were too many hopeless pot shots and overhit crosses for them to seriously threaten a revival. Two of our fans were apparently ejected following an over-enthusiastic celebration. Two dozen (already) have fallen for the forum wind-up condemning their behaviour. The final whistle blew and a handful of their shitgibbons started giving the wave of Onan to our players as they walked off. It has been noticed that TWM quite enjoys a bit of “banter” and the way he puckered his lips would have set many a heterosexual man's pulse racing. The shitgibbons dealt with this in the best way they knew how: by punching an inanimate object. Well, whatever gets you through the night, as a wise man once said. More representative was our friend from earlier, who returned to shake hands and offer congratulations. He thought it was a penalty but admitted it wouldn't have made any difference by that stage. “Hines'll be gone by Christmas,” he said, though it was more of an observation than anything ungracious. And if he keeps scoring goals of this calibre at this rate he may well be, but as if he's enjoying himself, he may hang around a little while longer. And who wouldn't enjoy himself in the 'Stone?
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