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147 part 1

Submitted by on January 4, 2012 – 7:56 pmNo Comment

Picture of Johnny Rotten of the Sex PistolsThere’s something perversely pleasurable about being one of the tiny group of people who attended the smallest crowd to date. I’d previously had that ignoble honour only a few weeks previously, then I had thought that the lowest of low records would hold at least for a session. The match at Mossley attracted 178 lonely souls. Although that despicably dismal attendance was partly accounted for by the fact that you had to traverse the north face of the Eiger to get there.

The football crowd still has to adhere to the laws of physics, even the fans of FC United of Manchester, and nothing can become infinitely small or infinitely large, so there still is some hope for Tilzey. But I had not accounted for the stupidly named Dooooodiddydodo Cup.

As it turned out it was ordained that I should attend our first match in the Dooooodiddydodo Cup. The attendance on that freeze the bollocks off a brass monkey night was 147. Which is auspicious for two reasons, firstly it’s the maximum break you can make in snooker and it was also my door number when I lived on Thatch Leach Lane in Whitefield.

The match has already fallen into the realms of the Sex Pistols playing at the Free Trade Hall, with every bugger you meet claiming they were there, but it stands to reason you all couldn’t have been there because if you were it wouldn’t have been the smallest crowd in the history of small crowds. It is quite reasonable that most people would want to be there once they hear the tale of FC United versus some club that I can’t remember but they have to play at Skem because some rich bloke owns their club and he also owns Skem, so he sold their ground and makes them play at Skem. That’s not the reason this match is memorable, it’s memorable by its lack of memorableness as a football match. It wasn’t really a football match at all, it was something that resembled a football match, a football match type game.

Travelling on the official bus, well not so much a bus as a van with seats in the back. This is what I love about non-league football, a dull, wet Wednesday night, a dozen ageing smelly men in the back of a van. It doesn’t get any better. The conversation soon turned to the inane, what would the world be like today if that meteorite hadn’t hit the earth, Tyrannosauri Regi working in Starbucks. The Tory party would have a much bigger membership, small-brained creatures clinging to the past. Arriving an hour early, such are the vagaries of the official van. An hour early on a wet Wednesday night at Skem is not to be scoffed at, it takes courage and a high degree of psychological dampening to survive such an mind-dulling experience.Picture of a t-rex

I spent the van journey dreaming of a hot pie and maybe chips, my dreams faded and died, the burger van at Skem only sold burgers, not able to fancy the pie but buy the burger, I chose a double burger. I didn’t get a double burger I got a cheese burger, this was to be a theme of the night, you didn’t quite get what you thought you were going to get. We thought we were going to watch a football match but we got a football like match.

In the Dooooodiddydodo Cup the rules of football are flexible. That’s what makes the Dooooodiddydodo Cup unique, you never know what rules apply. Viva la Dooooodiddydodo Cup tie.

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