The Shots are back........

After 86 mins of a pulsating game Scott Davies hit a shot that had ‘winner’ stamped all over it. Aldershot Town’s third goal was indeed one that would have graced any great stage.

The home supporters stood as one, their minds exploding with the intensity of excitement. The travelling 647 from Bradford silent, their minds imploding with the pain of, ‘from Premiership to defeat by ‘tin-pot’ Aldershot in 8 years’.


And then the final whistle – the Bradford players drifted from the field of play, heads bowed, well beaten and showing their age. Aldershot – as one in the centre circle, young and ‘on fire’ ready for more.

Despite twelve months of planning and ‘training’ the next two weeks were certainly going to be a challenge.

It was May 1992, my wife, nine year old son and I stood with our toes in the Irish Sea at St Bees Head, Cumbria. Ahead of us about 200 miles of the ‘Coast to Coast’ walk.

I can still remember the feeling of unease as I looked up and beyond the coastal hills, to the mountains of the Lake District and Pennines. They would cast a long shadow over the next seven days. And then, the North York Moors…… Robin Hood’s Bay seemed a lifetime away.

Of course we had put the necessary amount of work into our preparations for the walk. The Dorset and Pembrokeshire Coastal Paths were easy and Snowdon, by three different routes, had been a breeze at Easter. And we had accommodation booked and low level escape routes planned……But this was different, and no amount of ‘pre-season training’ could have prepared us for the moment.

The first few days were tough. The weather was great but the power of the Lakes made each day such a severe challenge.

Then as we sat in triumph on top of Kidsty Pike, at 2560ft the highest point on the walk (unless you take the Helvellyn detour), the challenge came clearly into focus. It wasn’t 13 days, 200 miles and a serious test of our mental and physical ability. It was on that afternoon no more than a couple of hours and then a few pints. And the next day, 15 miles and a few more pints. The goal of Robin Hood’s Bay, clear and welcoming. A goal that was not to be suffocated by the tedium of the Vale of Mowbray or the desolation of the North York Moors.



No, it was quite simple, we would enjoy the walk in the knowledge that we were fit and prepared for the test that each day would bring.

Walking around the headland to Robin Hood’s Bay brought our goal into sight. The ribbon of little houses clinging to the steep cliffs like limpets exposed at low tide. By the time my wife and I arrived at the slipway by the side of the Bay Hotel, to dip our toes in the North Sea, Malcolm was already up to his waist……..


The feeling of satisfaction…..perhaps the same emotions as the ones we all experienced when we secured a point at Exeter, and with it promotion back to the Football League.

After 86 mins it wasn’t just the winning goal that Scott Davies scored. The moment encapsulated all of last season’s joy. It was a reprise of the power and pace. The ability to play for 90 mins and always look like scoring one goal more than the opposition. The intensity of desire and the exuberance of youth.

Aldershot beat Bradford City 3v2 because they believed that they could……

It was no good my brother telling me ‘don’t worry’ as I returned from Shrewsbury, the previous week, without any focus for the season. It was about as good as telling a child not to worry the night before the A Level results are due out, and they need 5 A’s to secure a place at Oxford.

But on Saturday I was reminded of the power, energy and enthusiasm of youth – Aldershot Town never to be beaten. The view from Kidsty Pike was great.

The Shots are back and we can go up…….

Darlington at home next Saturday.

90 mins….3pts and ignore the rest.

Firmatas, Utilitas, Venustas........

Visiting Shrewsbury Town, last Saturday, was a first for me. And no, not for the obvious reason….the first game between Shrewsbury and Aldershot to be played out at the ‘New Meadow’.

After watching Aldershot for nearly 48 years Saturday 23rd August 2008 will go down as the first time that I was required to read a comprehensive ‘Travel Plan’ before leaving home to attend a Shots game.

And how reassuring it was to read that I had such a wide range of options…..walk, cycle or motorcycle, taxi, bus, coach, park and ride, park and walk…….

But I travelled north last Saturday with a troubled mind. It was after all my first game of the season and just like going back to school after the long summer break, it was inevitable that I would feel expectantly nervous.

Shrewsbury had already been identified by the knowledgeable as ‘promotion favourites’, and who was I to dismiss such certainty about a club that had been such a rare visitor to the Rec over the years. Although the Shrews did feature in two of my ‘Shots lifetime’ memorable games.

In 1979 we were within minutes of playing Wolves in the FA Cup Quarter Final…..but Malcolm Crosby fancied a midweek replay at Gay Meadow, he gave the ball away….Shrewsbury scored and then went on to win the replay, after extra time. And in more recent times the 2004 Conference Play Off final, at Stoke, will be remembered by our travelling fans as perhaps one of the greatest defeats ever.

At this point I had intended writing a piece about the apparent stupidity of building a football ground ‘out of town’, underpinned by a Borough Plan statement that required the Club to satisfy a series of criteria including, ‘adequate parking and servicing (to) be provided within the site’, only for the requirement to be the subject of a counter balance reference to a parking standard of 1:15. No doubt this led to the problem being resolved by the ‘Shrewsbury and Atcham green transport department’ and the oh so clever creation of a match day exclusion zone around the ground. Gosh how they must have loved the ‘brainstorming’ sessions that resulted in….no private car ‘drop off’, no Taxis 'to the door', loads of BMX bikes. I have no doubt the plan is great….but I wouldn’t want to be in a 10,000 crowd on a cold and damp January evening, when more than 7000 spectators would be required to park and walk/ride…..the safe management of the decanted supporters simply a nightmare.


And as I find it so hard to consider the concrete bowl of the 'New Meadow' in context with Vitruvius, I will return to my feeling of unease.


Promotion secured at Exeter last season satisfied a 16 year obsession….. our return to the Football League. But what next? Manchester Utd and Liverpool have won the European Cup (Champions League) and they can go on and win it again and again….it is no doubt a perpetual obsession for their supporters. But for Aldershot our return to League action restores the club to what? History would suggest decades of mediocrity, mixed up with the odd freezing trip to Liverpool for an FA Cup 3rd round fixture and a promotion to League 1 soon to be followed by relegation.

So I sat in the Brooklands Hotel and reflected….at this point I must own up and apologise to the author of the ‘Travel Plan’. Sorry, sorry, sorry….. I ignored this bit of the comprehensive document, ‘parking on this site (Brooklands Hotel) is designated for home fans only’.

The crescendo of emotions that finally lit up the Exeter sky when promotion was secured, now no more than a warm and satisfying glow. Travelling 16000 miles this season would be for what purpose…..in search of what….to achieve what?

But then I guess the team and management have the same problem. For much of Saturday’s game Aldershot were the better side. Comfortable in possession and confident in defence. But at no time did the Shots work out how to release the pace that can be sourced throughout the team. The pace and power that became the hallmark of last season.

A few long range efforts gave Nikki Bull a bit of practice in the Shots goal and then after 79 mins it was 1v0 and the game was lost.

The team and management will need to grow up very quickly if I am to establish a meaning for another long season on the road.

Bradford City on Saturday……and a new focus.

I’m working on it……

The season starts and I'm.......

So just as the new football season was about to start we found ourselves travelling down to Avignon, to stay with Martine and Jean-Jacques for a couple of weeks. Martine has been a friend for more than 33 years, in fact ever since I picked her up from Norwich Station on a very hot July evening in 1975. Now Principal of a Business School, Martine spent a year in England as an ‘exchange teacher’, the result of an introduction made by another long time friend, Didier, who now lives just outside of Montpellier.

The south of France has held a fascination with so many people for centuries. The Romans were the first to wake up to the potential of the region and invaded in the 1st century BC – clearly they weren’t daft, as Tavel and Chateauneuf-du-Pape are undoubtedly very fine wines. Then in the 14th century the Pope determined that the Papacy would be better served with a holiday home in Avignon rather than Tuscany.

And today it is the turn of the British. The extension of the Home Counties to embrace Vaucluse and the rest of Provence no more than an attempt to extend the Fulham Broadway beyond the Tube Station and Kebab Shop.

And sandwiched in between our time in Avignon…..a few days in Barcelona.

Barcelona is a vibrant city, but one in danger of being overcome by the insatiable demands of young people.

During the long hot summer months the streets and metro experience the daily crushing migration of sun worshippers from home to beach to bar. And by 8pm the many desirable and exclusive restaurants are hidden away under a sea of tattoos.

Yes, Barcelona, once famous only for its football team and a few iconic buildings designed by Gaudi, has discovered economic growth.

New apartment blocks and offices are stretching the city boundary ever outwards and upwards. The port now modern and busy, seamlessly joining the city with the Mediterranean.

And new transport links with the rest of Europe, good hotels and clean beaches underpin the rampant growth in prosperity.

Without researching the genetics of such a renaissance I would imagine that the Olympics, in 1992, can claim much of the credit for the change in urban fortune. And this despite the sporting legacy being no more than a 20th century replica of the Roman Arènes de Nîmes and the aqueduct at Pont du Gard. Yes, the Olympic Park is now forlornly stranded in Montjuic, high up above the city, with about as much chance of getting to the beach and sea as Noah, when he woke up to find himself stuck on top of Mt Ararat.


I have no doubt most of the UK danced the night away in celebration of the Team GB Gold in the Yngling Class.

Yes, probably just like all of Spain in 1992, when they finished 6th in the medal table, with 13 gold, 7 silver and 2 bronze.


But four years later Team Spain lost its funding and dropped to 13th in the table, with a return of only 4 gold medals. And today they continue to languish in 13th place, again with just 4 gold medals, helped in part by Rafa Nadal winning the tennis. So much for the Spanish Government’s commitment to the long term development of sport.

Perhaps now is a good time to say, ‘no’ to the all so common Government obsession of intervention and ‘spending’ driven by political vanity alone.

Resting beside the pool in Avignon I found it predictably frustrating trying to keep up with the score from Accrington Stanley, in our opening match of the season – Aldershot Town FC, back in the Football League.

But then I only have myself to blame. Avoiding the pain of emails and the addictive fascination of the Internet is a discipline to be upheld, if relaxation is to be total. And so with a Trappist heart but a head full of, ‘who is playing in midfield….is Morgan going to partner Grant up front?’ I lay back and waited for the ‘plaintive call of a text’.

For much of Saturday evening, August 6th it was 0v0. Then in the early hours of Sunday, the final score of, Accrington Stanley 0 Aldershot Town 1, popped up on my phone. Followed six hours later by a picture taken of the ground just before kick-off. And then a video message of Scott Donnelly’s beautiful free kick was received to complement the aperitifs, before dinner on Sunday night!

The midweek Carling Cup game at Coventry was, however, much more straightforward – my brother sent a text at full time, ‘Shots lose’.

And with the phone not quite fully acclimatised to the heat of Avignon, I received a picture of the Aldershot crowd being held back after the home game with Bournemouth, 24 hours before I received a pre-match picture, taken from our ‘new seats’ in the North Stand. And the final score of 1v1 was known long before I received the half-time message telling me it was 0v0.

Gosh, I am pleased to be home………and with four points secured from the opening two league fixtures, we can look forward to Shrewsbury Town on Saturday with an optimism well and truly founded on the exuberance of our play last season.