Lewes 2-0 Dorchester Town

There's something not quite right about going to the football on your own, but it was a late decision to visit The Dripping Pan on Saturday afternoon. As things stand, though, it's too good an offer to turn up. A nervy midweek 1-0 win against Fisher Athletic has pushed Lewes to within touching distance of a place in the Conference, and the good news was doubled by the confirmation received last week that their home ground had reached the required grading for Conference football. They need just one more win from their three remaining Conference South matches to win the title and even if they don't manage that, Eastbourne Borough need to win their two remaining matches. The match also has a double significance - a defeat would relegate Dorchester Town into the Southern League. This season has been an unmitigated disaster for Dorchester, who started the season as one of the favourites for the championship, but face relegation to the Southern League if they lose today.

There have been some concerns that the might not even take place. In Brighton, at least, it has been raining solidly all morning, and the forecast is for it to continue all day. Thank God, then, for the internet. A quick look at the Lewes supporters messageboard confirms that one of their supporters has received a telephone call from the club, confirming that the game is definitely on. The atmosphere at The Dripping Pan is one of of relaxed, easy confidence. One gets the feeling that the nerves came on Wednesday night, and were allayed by that late goal against Fisher. On the short journey over to Lewes, I have time to ponder the nature of going to matches on my own. I make a resolution to keep very quiet this afternoon. There is every chance that, should I open my mouth, I will end up looking like a Lone Lunatic At A Football Match. Far better that I keep quiet. The flaw with this plan is that, when combined with turning up at the ground just after 2.00, drinking is more or less the only option. So, I stand and watch the players warm up with a pint of beer. When the teams come out at five to three, it's to the strains of Queen's "We Will Rock You", rather than the more traditional "Sussex By The Sea", and I'm starting to go off Lewes a bit.

As it turns out, the first half is a bit of let down. Dorchester look enthusiastic but limited but, even so, Lewes seem impatient and after ten minutes of trying to play the ball through them with no success, they start launching long, high balls towards the target men up front. Dorchester are having the better of the opening exchanges, but the defensive disorganisation that has cost them so dearly this season is on display, when their goalkeeper flaps at a corner, but there are no Lewes strikers on hand to push the ball over the line. At the other end, Dorchester have a less than convincing appeal for a penalty turned down, but it's news from elsewhere that provides the highlight of the first half - second placed Eastbourne Borough have gone a goal down at Newport County, meaning that when half time comes with the score tied at 0-0, no-one at The Dripping Pan is too downhearted. As things stand, it doesn't matter what happens there. They'll be the champions by 4.50 unless Eastbourne can come from a goal behind and win.

The second half begins very much as the the first half ends, with what looks like being the biggest cheer of the afternoon coming with the announcement of a crowd of 1,665 - their second highest of the season. The key moment of the half comes just after the hour mark, when Lewes are forced to make a change after an injury forced them to replace Lewis Hamilton with Anthony Barness. Seven minutes later, Barness gets a little space on the left wing, and crosses for Paul Booth to head into the bottom corner and finally give them the lead. Dorchester haven't really got much to offer, and Lewes are now just running down the clock. They do have time to add a second goal, though, with a couple of minutes to play. The news has, by this time, filtered through that Eastbourne Borough have levelled things up at Newport, so it is with a degree of relief that Jean-Michel Sigere heads in from close range to make the final score 2-0 and sew things up. At full-time, the crowd, somewhat surprisingly, stays on the terrace, as the team dance around on the pitch, drinking from over-sized champagne bottles and waving corporate-sponsored flags.

The jury is, for the time being, out on Lewes' chances of staying in the Conference. It is somewhat ironic that they haven't played terribly well on any of the three occasions that I have seen them play this season (yesterday, and against St Albans City and Bath City earlier on in the season). Their results, however, speak for themselves, and wining the league with two matches to spare is a considerable achievement, for which they should be congratulated. One can't help but suspect, however, that promotion will cost The Dripping Pan some of its considerable charm. One can't help but think that the Conference will not stand for people being allowed to take alcohol onto the terraces in plastic glasses, and it remains likely that the famous grass banks will also have to go at some point. There are also concerns within the town of the effect that Brighton & Hove Albion in moving to nearby Falmer. Those issues, however, are for another day. For now, it's party time in Lewes. A club that was in the Ryman League Premier Division just seven years ago is approaching the summit of non-league football. All they have to do now is keep their place there.

Lewes 0-2 St Albans City

Thank you again, Southern Rail. I don't know how important their engineering works are at the moment, but they have, for the last couple of months, made a complete hash of more or less every journey that I have made over the weekend. It's no different today - no trains between Brighton and Lewes means that what should be a ten minute long train journey becomes forty minutes on a rail replacement bus service, meaning that I turn up at the ground with barely thirty seconds to spare before kick-off. It's a good job that The Dripping Pan is so close to Lewes railway station.

On paper, there is an element of foregone conclusion about this match. Lewes are top of the Conference South, whilst St Albans City have been in the relegation places since the opening day of the season. The truth of the matter, however, is that the picture is a little more cloudy than the league table suggests. Lewes lost 3-0 at Braintree Town in the week, and there have been rumours of unrest in the squad as altogether more tangible injury problems. St Albans, by contrast, are proof that one man can make a difference. Former Boston United goalkeeper Paul Bastock left Clarence Park at the end of last season, but now he's back and his influence has been immediate. The Saints have won their last two matches and, from being the absolute certainties for relegation that they were when I last wrote about them, they have put themselves in with a fighting chance of staying up.

It's my first visit to The Dripping Pan in the rain, and it's fair to say that the roof behind the goal doesn't work. Within five minutes we're drenched, and moving three or four steps back doesn't seem to make any difference. On the pitch, The Saints have begun surprisingly energetically, with the home side looking more like relegation candidates than the visitors. Paul Hakim shoots across the face of goal and wide, and then Paul Bruce curls a corner directly in, only for the referee to imagine some sort of foul and cancel the goal out. After twenty-five minutes, though St Albans do break through and it's an outstanding goal. Hakim slips the ball inside to Lee Clarke, and the striker fires a dipping shot into the top corner of the net. Lewes try to assert themselves, but it is already clear that they are not firing on all cylinders this afternoon. Bastock almost seriously injures himself in clearing a cross, but his recovery is complete, and City finish the half with Paul Bruce shooting against the Lewes post.

The second half starts with Bastock again making a mockery of his thirty-seven years by leaping athletically to tip an attempted lob over the crossbar. St Albans, however, are still the better of the two teams, creating chances to tie the game up, but failure to take them looks as if it might prove to be costly. City even have the ball in the net again, only for it to be disallowed for offside. In the closing minutes, City finally get the ball in the net again. Bruce's shot is spilled by the Lewes goalkeeper, and Sunday flicks the ball back across the face of goal for Hakim to double the lead.

Minutes later, it's all over, and City claim a priceless three points in their battle against relegation. Back in the clubhouse, the importance of the result filters through with the other results. City's main relegation rivals, Welling United, have won as well, so failure to win would have left them well adrift again at the bottom of the table. As it stands, they're one point adrift with eight matches left to play. It's likely to go to the wire at the bottom of the table. At the top of the table, this result might have scuppered Lewes' championship ambitions - second placed Eastbourne Borough have won 5-1 at Sutton United, putting them top of the table with a game in hand. Lewes have picked a bad time of the season to hit rocky form. These two clubs might yet be playing each other in the league again next season.

Tottenham Hotspur 4-0 West Ham United

We emerge from the bowels of London's expansive underground system at Seven Sisters tube station into pouring rain. Where the hell did this come from? It wasn't doing it in Brighton, where it was fine and bright, and it wasn't doing it at Elephant & Castle, where we switched from the train to the tube. Maybe the Gods where angry with me for selling my soul for the day to the Premier League. They don't appear to have been terribly happy with Tottenham or West Ham recently. Since their League Cup win against Chelsea, Spurs have been thrashed by, of all people, Birmingham City and beaten at home in the UEFA Cup by PSV Eindhoven. The consolation for Spurs is that West Ham are playing just as badly at the moment. A couple of weeks ago it looked as if they might have an outside chance of getting fifth place in the Premier League, but two successive 4-0 defeats against Liverpool and Chelsea appear to have put paid to that pipe dream for another season. In spite of this, their supporters have made the trip across from East London and Essex in good voice. Rather too good for the liking of the police, in fact - as we arrive at White Hart Lane, two lines of policemen are separating the opposing supporters. Between the stony faces of the yellow-jacketed officers, I can just about make out some of West Ham's finest, their faces strained from singing, "We hate Tottenham and we hate Tottenham" at the tops of their voices. They are, indeed, the Tottenham haters. I wander through the police cordon and get separated from my companions. It briefly crosses my mind that I might get punched in the face, but I've had a couple of pints and, in any case, I'm a smallish thirtysomething bloke with glasses and a beard. Avoiding eye contact seems to be enough to deliver me to the East Stand and my seat.

This being the Premier League, this afternoon's match matters, even though neither side has got that much to play for in the league this season. The truth of the matter is that, although both Spurs and West Ham would consider that their biggest rivalries lie elsewhere (Spurs with Arsenal and West Ham with Chelsea), they've got more in common than either would like to admit - a "tradition" of attractive football, and lofty ambitions that are seldom met whilst their rivals disappear into the distance chasing the Champions League and global domination. White Hart Lane has the significant advantage of being, by some distance, the best ground in the Premier League for atmosphere. The stands are tall and narrow (a seat in the Upper East Stand isn't for those that are prone to bouts of vertigo), and the match kicks off to a cacophony of noise. Spurs initially look nervy, with Paul Robinson spilling a shot and having dive at Ashton's feet to grab the ball, but the game turns early on with two identical goals from Dimitar Berbatov, who rises easily above the static West Ham defence to head the ball home from Tom Huddlestone crosses. It all looks rather too easy for Berbatov, a picture of whom could easily be put into the Oxford English Dictionary to replace the definition for the word "languid". Compared to him, Aaron Lennon is a constant flurry of activity, who takes on the appearance of the Tasmanian Devil whenever he gets the ball. West Ham, by comparison, look strangely disinterested, and the game effectively ends as a contest just before half-time, when Luis Boa Morte picks up a second yellow card for a clumsy late tackle on Lennon. I manage too miss this - the bars in the stand at White Hart Lane are notoriously difficult to get served at, and the area is already filling up when I get there. The distinctive cheer that accompanies any sending off notifies us of what has happened, and it only takes ten seconds' worth of Chinese whispers to establish who the miscreant was.

The second half turns out to be a fairly straightforward affair for Spurs. West Ham's biggest danger comes in the form of Dean Ashton, who at least looks like he is putting in an effort, but the visitors seem to have settled for an exercise in damage limitation, even though Spurs, whose defence is so brittle that a 2-0 lead with twenty minutes to play is no cause for the supporters to start relaxing, aren't pressing them too hard. A flurry of substitutions breathes more life into proceedings, and both of Spurs' substitutes have got something to prove - Darren Bent is rapidly gaining a reputation as a flop since his transfer from Charlton Athletic last summer, whilst Gilberto shouldered much of the blame for Spurs' UEFA Cup defeat. Both players manage some degree of rehabilitation in the closing stages. First up, Chimbonda's low diagonal cross is dummied by Lennon for Gilberto to add the third, and in the closing minutes, Bent throws himself at a deep cross from Alan Hutton (who looks like an excellent acquisition) and heads the ball past an again exposed Robert Green to complete the rout. Seconds later, it's full time. Chas & Dave belt out "Glory, Glory Tottenham Hotspur" and the majority can go home happy.

After the high excitement of last season, West Ham United have made significant progress this season, and they've already accumulated enough points to be safe from being dragged into a relegation battle. One suspects, however, that their summer has started three months early, and Alan Curbishley has got his work cut out if he's going to keep them in the top half of the table. Rumour has it that the pressure is growing on him, too, and the humiliation of a 4-0 thrashing in a derby match might just make his position at Upton Park untenable. This afternoon, West Ham looked like they couldn't really be bothered, and this was a match that they could have taken something from. Meanwhile, Spurs remind me of the proverbial little girl - when they are good, they are very, very good, and when they are bad they are horrid. The difference, I suspect, is the management. One could scarcely countenance Juande Ramos tolerating another performance like the ones against Birmingham City and PSV Eindhoven, and it is likely that the players were told several home truths on Friday morning. With next season's UEFA Cup place already guaranteed, they also have a lot of work to do to keep the concentration up until the end of the season, and on this evidence I would be less than surprised if they end the season in the top half of the table. Whether they can challenge for a Champions League place next season, however, may depend on how restless a certain Bulgarian striker starts to feel in the summer.

You can see the goals from yesterday's match here.

Brighton & Hove Albion 1-1 Leyton Orient

Such is the nature of this season's League One table that this afternoon's match between Brighton & Leyton Orient matters. Albion have had a most peculiar season. After a reasonable start, they fell away alarmingly at the start of the winter and it looked for a while as if they might even get sucked into a fight against relegation. The January transfer window, however, proved to be the salvation that they needed. It says something for the financial state that the club has been in for much of the last three decades that the £300,000 that they spent in Glen Murray is the most that they have spent on a player since 1983, but Murray has proved to be the missing piece in manager Dean Wilkins' jigsaw. They have won their last two games and, with games in hand on the clubs above them, are still in with a shout of a play-off place. Leyton Orient were many people's pre-season favourites for relegation, but have surpassed all expectations and, in spite of a recent dip in their form, they remain in ninth place in the table. Two clubs that many would have picked before the start of the season for the drop are still in with half a chance of getting promoted.

The weather this afternoon is more forgiving than the last time I ventured up to the Withdean, but this can't mask the fact that it is one of the worst places in England to watch football at. There are no pubs within a mile of the place, and the onerous conditions of their tenancy mean that they're not even allowed to serve booze in the ground or even switch the PA on until fifteen minutes before kick-off. There is, however, something of a buzz around the place this afternoon. The club recently made public their plans for the new stadium at Falmer, and there is an eight page pull-out in the middle of today's programme outlining them all. It all looks, I have to say, very impressive. The added frisson in the air is brought about by something of a rivalry with Orient. Both clubs' traditional rivals (Crystal Palace for Brighton, Spurs and West Ham) play at a higher level than they do, and the two clubs have built up a healthy rivalry which seems to prove that there is something in the old saying that familiarity breeds contempt. The truth of the matter is that all of these factors have combined to bring in a decent crowd of over 6,000.

The pre-match is hurriedly shooed into the fifteen minutes that the lease allows. The blasting out of a Fatboy Slim original in which DJ shouts "Let's hear it for Brighton!" several times and in a rather too urgent a voice for my liking, which then stops for the teams to come out onto the pitch to the altogether jauntier and more calming "Sussex By The Sea". The first half is a tale of considerable energy being expended with very little net result. Brighton look calmer and more assured on the ball, but Murray, who is already taking on talismanic proportions for them, is having an off day. Three times he gets round the goalkeeper with the ball, but each time manages to over-run and finds himself halfway between the goal post and the corner flag and with his back to everyone else. The layout of the Withdean doesn't exactly encourage a big match atmosphere, and the crowd (even the several hundred Leyton Orient supporters, tucked away in the corner of the ground and so far away from the pitch that they might even be in a different county to it) goes very quiet, very quickly. Half-time comes around rather too quickly, with the score still goalless and the crowd subdued.

Unable to get so much as a glass of shandy at half-time, the crowd lacks its normal start of the second half raucousness as things get back under way. Brighton still look the stronger of the two teams, but are failing to capitalise appreciably on the possession that they are having. It feels as if the game is starting to peter out, when things suddenly come to life. Orient, having not really threatened for much of the second half, are suddenly and out the blue handed a golden opportunity when the ball falls to Jabo Ibehre, six yards out. His shot over the crossbar when he should have scored to hoots of amusement from the crowd, but their laughter is short-lived. A few minutes later, a long, deep cross finds him completely unmarked and his header loops wide of the Brighton goalkeeper Michel Kuipers and into into the corner of the net. Such is the distance between them and the pitch that there is a groan from the home supporters, a couple of seconds of silence, and then a roar the far corner of the pitch. The goal seems to wake the Albion up, but they still seem to lack the incisive movement from midfield required to dig out an equaliser. In the last seconds of the ninety minutes and with the fourth official programming four minutes of stoppage time into the LED board that they show to the crowd, Brighton are handed a ridiculous lifeline, when Adam Chambers needlessly handles an aimless throughball that would have been comfortably gathered by the goalkeeper. After an extensive delay, Nicky Forster shows the value of experience by stepping up and stroking the ball in to level things up.

For the remainder of injury time the traffic is completely one way and Albion manage to have a header cleared through the line and a shot through a crowd of players that brings a decent save from the Orient goalkeeper Morris. When it comes, the final whistle is five or ten minutes early for most Brighton fans - a little more time and the Seagulls would surely have won. It has been a most curious afternoon. On the one hand, Albion should probably have won had they taken one or two of the chances that they created earlier on in the match. On the other hand, though, they were rescued by an unnecessarily conceded penalty and, as such, a draw was a reasonably fair result. So, they contrived to deserve to win, lose and draw this match. On this evidence, either of these two sides could yet scramble into the play-offs, though whether they would be equipped to stay in the Championship should they get there is a different question altogether. Their continuing success at this level is, however, proof that, at least at this level, money isn't quite everything. Yet.

The plans for Falmer Stadium

Eastbourne Borough 4-0 St Albans City

It had, I have to say, been a long time. Since moving to Brighton two years ago, I had neglected St Albans City, but in the meantime they have done a pretty good job of neglecting themselves, too. Two years ago, the story couldn't have been much more different. Under the tutelage of Colin Lippiatt, they chased full-time Weymouth all the way in the Conference South, eventually losing out after a bad tempered match in Dorset, but comfortably won their play-off final match at Stevenage against Histon to gain promotion to English football's fifth division. To say that their brief stay there was unsuccessful would be something of an understatement. There were brief highlights - an opening day win at Kidderminster and a 4-2 win against York City, for example - but mostly it was thrashing after thrashing, and instant relegation back to the footballing hinterlands.

Last summer, the wheels came spectacularly off the wagon. With Lippiatt retiring and the players (who evidently felt that the forty points that they amassed in the Conference were ample evidence if their talents) leaving in droves, the club took the breathtaking decision to appoint Ritchie Hanlon, an untried twenty-nine year old, as manager. The result was fairly predictable. The club slumped to second from bottom in the Conference South amid rumours of being close to bankruptcy and were knocked out of all available cups (apart from the, erm, Setanta Shield, in which they would inexplicably beat Torquay United on the way to a quarter-final beat by Aldershot Town) at the first attempt. Hanlon's reign lasted until the end of September, when he was replaced by the former AFC Wimbledon manager Dave Anderson. Given that Anderson had been replaced by Wimbledon because they felt that he had taken them as far as he could in not getting them promoted from the division below The Saints, it seemed a peculiar decision, and he couldn't arrest the slide. By the time that he in turn was replaced by Steve Castle (a bete noire for the supporters from days of old), the rot appeared terminal.

I had been undecided about where to go this Saturday, but my fate was sealed by a dream that I had on Friday night in which Eastbourne won the match by a 6-1 scoreline. Our arrival in Eastbourne required us to make a trip to the sea front (St Albans' travelling support likes to make the most of it's trips to the seaside), which resulted in me beating a fellow travelling supporter at "Dance Dance Revolution" on the end of the pier. Nice to know that I've still got it. In the bar prior to the match, the atmosphere was funereal. The club is, I was told, in a bad way. The leadership seems rudderless, with players seemingly being signed on the off-chance that they might just be good enough to play at Conference South level. More or less everybody that I spoke to said the same thing - if (or when) they do go down this season, it will be a step too far to get back. For supporters that hoped amongst hopes that they might even be able to launch a challenge for a place in the Football League a couple of years ago (no matter how unrealistic that may have been), it was a lot to have to live with. Eastbourne, by contrast, are living the high life, tied at the top of the table with local rivals Lewes and optimistic that they can go on to win the title. The air of confidence around Priory Lane was tangible.

The less said about the first half, the better. It was (as it always seems to be at Eastbourne) a bitterly cold afternoon, and with our place behind the goal looking straight into the sun, it was not far short of a blessed relief that, for long periods, we couldn't even see what was going on. For one travelling supporter it was all too much, and he clambered onto a barrier on the back of the terrace to shield his eyes from the sun from the sun, only to get a sound telling off from a steward (their exchange, which ended in said supporter inadvertently calling said steward's father a paedophile, was one of the few highlights of the afternoon). We were in the bar by the time that the news filtered through that St Albans had lost a player just before half-time, sent off for use of the elbows. Considering that the club had, just last week, very publicly and somewhat huffily introduced a players' disciplinary code, the irony was not lost on those of us nursing our pints. Still - half-time and goal-less. Quite an achievement.

It couldn't, and indeed didn't, last. Eastbourne had a goal disallowed barely three minutes into the second half. This was Th Saints' final warning, though, and a couple of minutes later the home time did take the lead. Watching a team like St Albans playing the sort of football that they're playing at the moment was (and this is especially true when not having seen them for a long time), a bit like seeing a former girlfriend now trapped in an abusive relationship. The players didn't seem to know who each other were, and it became very clear that, as soon as the goal had been breached, it was a matter of damage limitation for St Albans. They may as well not have bothered. The second and third goals were almost perfunctory, so easily did Eastbourne carve their way through the brittle visiting defence, before the fourth goal came from the penalty spot. Another glorious victory for the players disciplinary code. The crowd behind the goal, however, had long since given up on what was going on the pitch, venting their frustration at the chairman ("Gibson Out!") and the manager ("Castle Out!"). Just four points adrift of safety and with thirteen matches still to play, they're not down yet, but there is a rotten stench coming from the place - a team that doesn't know how to come back from a goal down and sense of impending civil war both on and off the pitch. Eastbourne, meanwhile, still have considerably loftier ambitions. Only a late goal for Lewes at home to Bishops Stortford kept them off the top of the table, and they are still only a point behind with a game in hand.

I was never, I have to say, a "home and away every week" type. Life has a tendency to get in the way of football, and I hadn't managed anything like a full season of St Albans matches home and away in well over a decade. I'll never be a regular at Clarence Park again, and Saturday's experience demonstrated to me that there is a gulf between me and the club that may never be fully broached. At Eastbourne on Saturday, there was a football team playing that I didn't understand, and that I had no great feelings for. A 4-0 defeat and the feeling of impending relegation should hurt, shouldn't it? There is still a hardcore of fans that still make every match, though, and their club, which celebrates its hundredth anniversary in April, is sick. There are tentative plans to convert the supporters club into a supporters trust, so at least there will be someone there to pick up the pieces if (or when) The Saints finally come apart at the seams. For the time being, though, the prognosis at Clarence Park seems bleak, with the most worrying aspect of it being that a second successive relegation will only worsen matters rather than giving them the critical breathing space that they appear to need at the moment.

Manchester United 1-2 Manchester City

In many ways, it was the best tribute that Manchester City could have paid to The Busby Babes. A minute of perfectly-observed silence, followed by an immense performance against a United team that looked strangely out of sorts after returning from international duty. Richard Dunne was immense at the back, a true captain's performance, and City seemed to have got the knack of silencing Cristiano Ronaldo, who played as if he was wearing a ball and chain. They raised their game several times over, and proved again just how wrong the tabloids got it when they started criticising Sven Goran Eriksson over his tactical acumen whilst he was in charge of England. Eriksson has now coached eleven times at Old Trafford, and has only ever lost there once. Today, he out-thought Alex Ferguson on the bench whilst his team out-fought them on the pitch.

The pre-match was a mixed bag. The two teams were led out onto the pitch by a bagpipe player, playing "The Red Flag". Two wreaths were laid by the managers, and then the minute's silence, which was immaculately observed within the stadium, but still disrupted by some subhuman letting off fireworks outside the ground (I wouldn't be so confident in stating this if I wasn't so certain that this is what had happened). There are no blaming games going on here, by the way - the rumour mill is saying as about it having been Liverpool supporters as anyone else. The sad truth is that there is no shortage of suspects. There is really no accounting for how moronic some people can be, is there? Once they kicked off, there was only really one team in the game, and it wasn't the home team. Vassell's goal seemed to sum up his career fairly tidily - he required two chances to put the ball past Van Der Saar (and really should have scored with the first attempt). United tried to put players forward, but they stuttered and stalled when they got to about thirty-five yards out. The second City goal silenced Old Trafford - Benjani's glancing header marking an exceptional debut after his transfer from Portsmouth - and effectively killed the game stone dead on the cusp of half-time. There was no way that this United team were going to get back into this match.



There were one or two nervous moments after Michael Carrick pulled one back after ninety-one minutes (with three minutes of injury time still to play and this being Old Trafford, anything was possible), but City hung on comfortably in the end. I don't know if these rumours have been confirmed, by Alex Ferguson reportedly stormed out of Old Trafford straight after the match, leaving Carlos Quieroz to do interviews with the press. It's a pity that, on a day that was notable for the solemn dignity with which most people carried themselves, Ferguson doesn't appear to have been able to do the same thing himself when the going got tough. Much was made of the energy-sapping round of international friendlies during the week, and apparently (at the end of a week in which the Premier League announced its plans to add a match for everybody on the other side of the world) without irony.

AFC Sudbury 3-0 Tilbury

Sometimes, you just get the feeling that something bigger is going on elsewhere. Kings Marsh Stadium in Sudbury, Suffolk is a very agreeable place to watch football - it's usually football of a reasonably high quality and the beer is cheap and plentiful - but yesterday afternoon everybody's thoughts were trained elsewhere, a couple of hundred miles or so north-west. We were watching Sudbury play Tilbury, but our thoughts were primarily at Anfield, where Havant & Waterlooville were making Liverpool sweat in a way that few had foreseen.

Since our last trip to Suffolk in August, AFC Sudbury have bedded themselves into quite a comfortable position in Division Two North of the Ryman Football League. Dartford, revitalised by the completion of their new stadium last year, head the table, but with a second promotion place on offer to play-off winners, a race is on to ensure at the very least a place in these play-offs. Sudbury have tough opposition - amongst the teams doing battle with them are one of the pre-season favourites Enfield Town and Ware, who won through to the First Round Proper of the FA Cup. There are six or seven teams chasing the four play-off spots and, in spite of their superior resources, Dartford aren't out of sight in top place being just four points clear at the top of the table. Springtime is coming, and there's still all to play for.

For their visitors, Tilbury, the good times have been thin on the ground. They had a run to the Third Round of the FA Cup in 1978, losing to Stoke City, but almost collapsed financially a couple of years later and have spent much of the last three decades merely keeping their heads above water in the face of local disinterest. Nestled in amongst the docks of the Thames Estuary, they have a high level of local competition for their attention - crowds at their Chadfields stadium frequently fall into two figures - and they went into Saturday's match in four points above the relegation places and with games in hands, but doubtlessly looking nervously over their shoulders. Having dropped into the Essex Senior League once and clawed their way back once, they already know how difficult it can be to work your way back up.

Sudbury have been struggling with their pitch lately. Their last home match was postponed because it was waterlogged, and the club had taken the traditional remedy action to such a problem by covering last sections of it in sand. It didn't make for a particularly edifying spectacle for the first twenty minutes or so, but the truth was that it didn't really matter that much. News had come through that Havant had scored at Anfield, and later that they had taken a 2-1 lead. The token Liverpool supporter in the shed was, somewhat predictably, being mercilessly mocked. In addition to this, Sudbury's supporters are possibly the noisiest that you will come across anywhere, and are augmented by a World War II air raid siren, two drums, a plastic trumpet and what might have been a harmonica. It certainly didn't seem to help the Tilbury goalkeeper, who made a dog's breakfast of Stuart Boardley's weak header from six yards, spilling the ball over the line to give the home side the lead.

In the second half, Sudbury extended their advantage, despite not playing particularly well against weak opposition. Liverpool had levelled things up at 2-2 just before half-time against Havant & Waterlooville, and news that they had taken a 3-2 lead seemed to turn more people's attention to what was actually going on in front of them. Four minutes into the second half, the outstanding Clements was put through and made the score 2-0, and the race was largely on to see how many Sudbury would score. With twenty minutes to play and things starting to go a little stale, they brought on top scorer James Rowe, and the final piece of the jigsaw was complete. Having looked somewhat disjointed for much of the second half, they started to look more and more fluid, and the icing on the cake was added with just a couple of minutes left to play when Luke Hammond suddenly (and somewhat unexpectedly) skipped past three or four tackles before putting the ball in the bottom corner from the edge of the penalty area.

After the match, everything seemed to be settling down and returning to normal. The familiar five o'clock music chimed up on the radio, and "Sports Report" confirmed that Liverpool had run up five against Havant in the end whilst Derby County had taken at absolute pasting at home against Preston North End. Far away from the glare of the national media, other results in the Ryman League had gone in Sudbury's favour, leaving them in second place in the table - four points behind Dartford with an all-important home match against The Darts at Kings Marsh in a fortnight's time. All to play for in this particular corner of Suffolk, then.

Brighton & Hove Albion 0-2 Nottingham Forest

It was, I have to say, an impulse buy. Left to my own devices in Brighton and with work this morning forcing me to curtail my Friday night revelry, I opted for the Withdean Stadium for my first visit to see my home town team play since I moved here eighteen months ago. The sense of eagerness that I felt was merely exacerbated by the opposition, Nottingham Forest, a club who still at least vaguely hold some sort of fadedly glamourous connotations for some of us (you know, in the same way as you would categorize Bernie Clifton if he came to open your village fete). There didn't seem to be a lot between the two teams on paper. Forest as ever, were promotion candidates in third place whilst Brighton sat in eighth place.

I've said on here before that the biggest single reason why I don't go and watch Brighton more often than not is the facilities. I've been asked more than once why Brighton need a new ground so badly when they have an 8,500 seater stadium that they use week in week out. Asides from the issues of crippling costs, neighbours that really don't want them and restrictions on what they can and can't do there on match days, there is still the issue that the Withdean is a terrible stadium. If you want to go behind the goal, you have to sit in The Family Stand, which is about fifty yards from the pitch. The South Stand, which runs the entire length of one side of the pitch, hasn't got a cover on it. The away supporters are such a long way away that one scarcely even notices that they are there. It is an unsatisfactory experience, although the club does what it can to mitigate this. The park & ride scheme, which offers a free return bus journey to anyone with a season ticket, is excellent, and the stewards both in and around the ground are excellent. In addition to this, the small amount of music that they are allowed to play before the start of the match (in this case The Faces' misogynanthem "Stay With Me" and Squeeze's brilliant "Cool For Cats"), along with the ubiquitous "Sussex By The Sea" is a cut above the standard fare that you'd hear at a football match.

Once the match started, though, the atmosphere ran flat. It was cold last night, and Brighton can pick up some nasty, chilly breezes off the sea. Tonight they seemed to be to wracing up Preston Road and straight into the ground, catching the tongue of anyone that is about to shout. On the pitch, one could see that there was somewhat more than a few league places between these two teams. Forest are expecting promotion, whilst Albion are out-performing anyone' expectancies by sitting just outside of the play-of places. The difference between the teams, though, was notable. Brighton were very hard-working but limited and looked blunt in the final third of the pitch, and Forest seemed to know this, sitting back and easily soaking up what Albion could throw at them. Brighton were best represesnted in this respected by Bas Savage, their lumbering lummox of a centre forward. Savage tries very hard. Very hard indeed. You can see why he's popular. However, too many of his knock-downs were to the opposition, and too many of his passes seem to run to nowhere.


Forest took the lead on half an hour through a close range strike through Nathan Tyson, but the turning point came just before half-time when the referee played an advantage for a clear trip inside the penalty only for Albion to force a very good save from the Forest goalkeeper and then follow it up by hitting the post. The cost of this became apparent when, three minutes into the second half, Joel Lynch was caught in possession and Tyson made it 2-0. Not even Forest being reduced to ten men (a straight red card to Sammy Clingan for a reckless tackle on Jake Robinson) made much of a difference, as Forest sat back and comfortably saw out the last forty minutes with Albion scarcely able to create so much as a clear chance.

The biggest reason why Albion can't wait to get out of the Withdean was the effect that is has on the crowd. It was the quietest crowd that I've seen for a very long time. The cold weather can't have helped, but the sheer distance from the pitch meant that I would doubt whether the players could even hear the little singing that was going on. You could hear the Forest fans at the other send of the ground, though, singing, "2-0 to the famous team", to which my instant response was, "Well, yes. If you're over the age of thirty-five". Forest fans should mind this sort of hubris. Anyone with any knowledge of English football would be able to tell you that their era of trophy winning was the exception rather than the rule in terms of their history. Maybe they just don't care if people laugh at them as much as they did when they threw away a two goal lead in last year's play-off semi-final against Yeovil Town.

So, there we are. Brighton & Hove Albion can be ticked off the list at last. I almost certainly will go to the Withdean again (I'm tempted by the match against Gillingham on the 21st of December), but even the best charm offensive that they can put on (the music, the helpful stewards, Gully The Seagull, who was dressed as Santa Claus for the occasion) can mask the fact that it is a hopelessly inadequate as the football venue for a club with such massive potential. Roll on Falmer.

Lewes 1-0 Bath City

It all started because I had nothing better to do. It was Saturday lunchtime and, on a whim, I had decided to go to the football. With South-West London looking like a little bit too much like hard work and the Albion playing away from home, a trip to Lewes seemed like the ideal solution. I've been there before, a couple of times. In 1986, St Albans went there on the last day of the season in the Isthmian League First Division needing to win by four goals to guarantee promotion. They were four up in less than half an hour, and ended up winning 7-1. A picture of that day still hangs in the clubhouse at Clarence Park. Two years ago, I saw there again to see The Saints win 2-0. This, however, was my first visit to Lewes since moving to Brighton. I live yards from Brighton railway station and, at the other end of the journey, Lewes' ground is but yards from Lewes railway station. The entire journey, from my front door to their turnstiles, takes a shade over twenty minutes.

Lewes' ground, the magnificently-named "Dripping Pan", is one of the more unique arenas in English football. On two sides, it is surrounded by high grass banks which are levelled off at the top so that people can stand and watch. Behind each goal there are high terraces, one open and one covered, and one corner of the ground is taken up with the clubhouse from which you can watch the game (should you not mind the metal grilles across the windows) or whatever happens to be on the television. Most pleasingly of all, they don't even mind if you take your plastic glasses of beer out onto the terraces during the match. It all makes for a most civilised atmosphere. The truth of the matter is, however, that it's not safe. The days of taking your drink out onto the terraces must surely be numbered, as must be the high grass banks that make the ground so distinctive. The potential for development at The Dripping Pan is great, and the club;s circumstances could well make development a pressing issue. Going into yesterday's fixture, Lewes were top of the Conference South, a point clear of their local rivals Eastbourne Borough. Their opposition, Bath City, have a reasonably big past - they spent most of the 1980s and 1990s in the Conference - but have fallen on tougher times recently, slipping down the divisions and into the Southern League before getting promoted back into the Conference South as champions at the end of last season. They went into yesterday's match in the play-off places.

Such matches are "must win" matches for a team hoping to win a championship, and with conditions being pretty terrible (a high swirling wind and driving rain), the atmosphere around The Dripping Pan felt somewhat nervous. Within ten minutes, most of the excitement for the afternoon had taken place, with a scuffle following a bad tackle that could quite easily have seen one or two players sent off, and the only goal of the match coming from a cross from the left which was eventually turned in by top scorer Paul Booth. The match continued with the underlying feeling that it could all go off again at any moment - Bath's Justin McKay finally picked up a second yellow card with twenty minutes left to play, leaving the match effectively over as a contest. Lewes stay top of the Conference South, though I think they still have a lot of work to do if they're to bring The Dripping Pan up Conference standard.

Reasons Why I May Adopt Lewes As My Team In Sussex

1. "The Dripping Pan" is a brilliant name for a stadium.

2. Their nickname is "The Rooks" (the chess piece rather than the big, squawking bird).

3. It is literally twenty minutes, door to door, from my house.

4. They sell sambuca and tequila behind the bar.

5. You can take your booze out onto the terraces with you.

6. You can shout, "COME ON, LEWES", in the gruff manner of Inspector Morse.

Eastbourne Borough 0-4 Weymouth

Sometimes you get the feeling before you even leave the house that it's not going to be a good day. A quick check of the internet had confirmed that "planned engineering works" were adding an unnecessary half an hour to an already tortuous journey (how can a twenty mile journey take an hour and a half in this day and age?) and, added to that, Eastbourne play in red, which is always going to temper my support for them somewhat. On paper, this was a fixture with a bit of spice behind it. Eastbourne Borough were unbeaten in all competitions this season and sit at the top of the Conference South, whilst Weymouth spent heavily to get into the Conference in the first place and almost bankrupted themselves in the process. They're still there, but in 17th place - uncomfortably close to the relegation places. A clear out in January got rid of most of their most expensive players (and a manager, Gary Hill, who curiously lost interest when it became apparent that the money had run out), along with an enforced tempering of expectations on the terraces.

Priory Lane is not an unattractive place to watch football - almost entirely covered and with two bars, one of which was pleasingly empty more or less constantly. They are also the owners of the world's best scoreboard. The people of Eastbourne had turned out in numbers, too (estimates before the match had put the expected crowd at around 1,800 to 2,000 - in the event, 2,700 turned out). In the first half, Eastbourne dominated and should really have gone in at half-time a goal up, but the crowd was strangely quiet (this happens a lot at matches like this - the majority of the crowd either don't want to sing or don't know what to sing, and the atmosphere suffers accordingly - there were periods during this match when you could have heard a pin drop during open play). Matt Crabb had two chances well saved by the Weymouth goalkeeper Stewart, but there was something ominous about all of this - Eastbourne were having the majority of the possession but looked relatively blunt going forward. Weymouth were largely pegged back in their own half, but looked more dangerous when they did manage to get forward.

The turning point came eight minutes into the second half, when Weymouth brought on Jefferson Louis. Louis (who some of you may remember from an old episode of "Match Of The Day Live when, after an FA Cup match between Oxford and Swindon, Louis was caught on the dressing room camera bounding across the screen naked in a manner that revealed a frankly prodigious appendage) ran onto the pitch for a Weymouth corner, straight into the penalty area and headed the ball home with his first touch. In all honesty, Eastbourne didn't have much to give after that. They still had just about the majority of possession, but were maddeningly bereft of the incisive pass that could cut a whole in a reasonably solid Weymouth defence. It was, I guess, the difference between being semi-professional and professional - Weymouth were that bit better organised, and their players were marginally better disciplined. The final score, however, was something of a travesty - a hat-trick in the last nine minutes from Stuart Beavon made the game safe for Weymouth, although by the time of the fourth goal I had done something that I only very, very seldom do. I'd left the ground early was already safely (and warmly) tucked up in the bar watching the results coming in from elsewhere. Brighton's last minute equalizer at Cheltenham Town, a point for St Albans and news of AFC Wimbledon's 1-0 against AFC Hornchurch were something of a consolation for what felt like a bit of a wasted afternoon.

Elsewhere, the FA Cup First Round was something of a disappointment, thanks in no small part to the draw itself, which was a very poor one. Rushden beat Macclesfield (though this hardly registers as a "surprise") and Barrow held Bournemouth to a draw and Staines Town got a draw at Stockport County. The interest to be had was in the details. Altrincham may have lost 2-1 against Millwall, but their goal (which I will definitely be posting up on here when I can find it) is a contender for "Goal Of The Season". Likewise, Nigel Brake scored from forty yards as Horsham made it two Sussex teams in the second round with a 4-1 win over Maidenhead United in front of an impressive crowd of nearly three and a half thousand. I will be be looking with interest to see how many of them are back for their next Ryman League match. All eyes will now be on the recently relegated Torquay United, who are playing out a somewhat peculiar role-reversal against the former non-league giant-killers Yeovil Town live on BBC1 at lunchtime.

AFC Wimbledon 4-0 Chelmsford City

One of the things that had been near the top of my new year's resolutions list for this season had been "go and see AFC Wimbledon play more often this season". I started reasonably well, going to see their first home pre-season friendly against FC United but had, frankly, slacked since then. It has to be said that all has not exactly been going according to plan for them this season. Inconsistency in the league had seen them slump to mid-table (though a recent improvement has seen them jump to seventh place), whilst they were knocked out of the FA Cup the other week at Horsham (a match which my dad managed to get to but I didn't, curiously enough).

So, in spite of having been laid low for much of this week with the double-whammy of a head cold and a chest infection, I was determined to get to a match this weekend. For once, Sussex was being unusually generous in this respect. Brighton were at home to Luton in League One, whilst Lewes were playing Sutton United in the Conference South and Worthing were at home to Walton & Hersham in the FA Trophy. I let my heart rule my head in the end, though, and decided to do the completely impractical thing and travel north to Norbiton for Wimbledon's FA Trophy Second Qualifying Round match against Chelmsford City. It was a match of considerable interest. Jeff King, the mobile home king who took Canvey Island from the Essex County League to the Nationwide Conference before pulling the plug, has pitched up at Chelmsford with a sack of cash, and his team are top of the Ryman League Premier Division. Wimbledon, after their shaky start, are starting to come find some form.

A quick word, first, about the FA Trophy. Started in 1968 as the FA competition for semi-pro clubs, this is a competition that has been kind to me over the years. My first visit to Wembley was for an FA Trophy Final (Enfield vs Altrincham in 1982, in case you were wondering), and I've been back three times for Trophy finals since then. These days, though, its appeal is on the wane, somewhat. Its show-piece status has been undone by the Conference Play-Off final coming just after it, and the fact that, after Wembley was knocked down, it was played at Villa Park until the new Wembley stadium was built. Last season, it did regain some of it's former sparkle. With the confirmation that Wembley was to be used for the final, crowds rose, and over 53,000 were there in May to see Stevenage Borough come from two goals behind before beating Kidderminster Harriers 3-2. AFC Wimbledon had an FA Trophy adventure of their own, beating Aldershot Town and Gravesend & Northfleet (both Conference clubs - two divisions above them - and away from home) before being kicked out over the Jermaine Darlington affair.

For once, I had planned ahead, and we left Brighton at 12.20 (eliminating my usual Wimbledon match day experience of turning up with a crimson face and out of breath at five past three). We watched the last twenty minutes of the Arsenal - Manchester United match in the bar, though the nearest that we could get to reasoned analysis was something along the lines of, "oh, I see - when Spurs get the ball two feet over the goal line in the last minute against Manchester United it's not a goal, but when Arsenal do it...". Little Edmund, who had been notably lacking in enthusiasm for either team, came to life over the tannoy announcement that Jeff Minton (a member of the 1996 vintage of his beloved Brighton & Hove Albion) would be captaining Chelmsford. "Jeff Bloody Minton", he exhorted, with a vein that I had never noticed before throbbing on his temple.

Having not seen either team play competitively this season, I wasn't expecting the match to be as one-sided as it was, and was more than happy to entertain myself with unjustifiably heckling Minton for no particularly good reason. Predictably, I was focusing on this when a goalkeeping error allowed the ball to squeeze over the line after four minutes (it came out something like, "Oi, Minton - you were shit in 1996 and you're shi... YESSSSSSS!". Both teams were two or three players short of being at full strength, but I was surprised at how little Chelmsford had to offer by way of retaliation. Wimbledon comfortably controlled the game in midfield, and doubled their lead just before the half hour mark, when Mark De Bolla put a thirty yard drive into the top corner of the net. I also contrived to miss the incident that resulted in the sending off of Chelmsford's Jon Keeling just before half-time, but I did see that he got a straight red having already been booked, but more on that later. So - half-time, 2-0, and time for a couple of drinks and a chuckle at the expense of eternal soap opera that is Newcastle United FC. The second half was all about consolidation. Wimbledon rarely looked threatened, so we kept ourselves entertained with shouting more abuse at Minton (who might have been booked twice in the second half without being sent off - "Pulling A Poll", I think the technical term for it might well be), until The Wombles doubled their lead with two brilliant (and near identical) goals with thirteen and nine minutes to go, from Jake Leberl and Anthony Finn.

There is a case for saying that this isn't the match between these two sides which matters. When they meet again at Kingsmeadow on the 1st of December, Wimbledon have to win, in order to narrow the ten point gap between the two sides. However, they haven't lost in the League since the 4th of September and, even if their opponents weren't at full strength, the resounding manner of their win this afternoon would suggest that the gap between the two sides is slight, to say the least, and the psychological boost of yesterday's win could prove to be invaluable. Ah, and if Jeff Minton is playing again, he might be best advised not to listen to advice that I have to offer him...

La Marseillaise

If you happen to be a Liverpool supporter, then I've got good news for you. Olympique de Marseille, who are drawn against them in the group stages of this year's European Cup, are lousy this year. Rotten. And if you want any further proof of this, consider that Toulouse, who Liverpool brushed aside in the last round of that competition without even breaking into a sweat, beat them 2-1 at the Stade Velodrome last Saturday. Not that I was in the ground, of course. A fatal miscalculation meant that I ended up watching it in a bar in the centre of the city though, given the result of the match, I was somewhat relieved that we were some way away from the stadium.

It was my own stupid fault, really. I had the order ready, my credit card out, and the mouse pointer was hovering over the button marked “purchase”. Something, however, stopped me, and by the time we actually got to Marseille, tickets for the match had sold out. Something to do with the end of summer and the Rugby World Cup, apparently. I made a couple of discreet enquiries at ticket offices in the town centre and even tried online again, but no dice. I had, somewhat simplistically, arrived at the conclusion that, because Le Velodrome holds 60,000 people and OM's average home crowd is seldom over 48,000, that there would be plenty of tickets available. Not true. They keep parts of the stadium completely shut off. Still, never mind. We would travel up there on the Metro and have a look around, and then return to watch it in one of the bars on Le Vieux Port area of the city. After the chaos surrounding last Wednesday's France-Scotland match, I'd done my homework and sounded out three bars that were showing the match live.

So, on the Saturday morning we took the Metro out Rond-Point du Prado to take a look around. Even from the outside, Le Stade Velodrome is an impressive sight, all steel and concrete, with the curves of the vast open stands that make it so distinctive framing it against a clear blue sky. The combined museum and club shop are somewhat less alluring. It is, perhaps unsurprisingly, approximately ninety per cent shop and ten percent museum. The museum part consists of a wall of foot and hand prints in concrete (and might I just add the following comment at this point – my word, but Chris Waddle's left foot is a strange shape. All those years of passing the ball with the outside of his foot appear to have left it permanently bent into that shape) and a couple of glass cases containing old shirts, newspapers and, curiously, a vase given to them by Manchester United. No mention of Bernard Tapie, who bought them Le Championnat in 1992, though. With the kick-off still five hours away it was all quiet outside, except for a young lad who offered me tickets twice. My "scam-o-meter" went off the scale, and I easily resisted the temptation to enter into conversation with him, brushing him off with a swift, "merci, non".

It has to be said that OM put on a good show. Massive flags, deafening noise (even on the TV) and a segue of Van Halen's "Jump" and Def Leppard's "Animal" as the teams came out onto the pitch. Marseille had started the season in a very mediocre fashion, however, and the nerves were there to see in a very obvious fashion. The pressure on them is massive. In that part of the world, they are the only show in town (literally - Marseille doesn't even have a professional rugby club yet), and their badge and "Droit Au But" ("Straight To Goal") cover the town centre. It's impressive marketing, if nothing else. Within five minutes, the natives were getting restless. The slightly drunk man with a crutch sitting next to me had stopped singing "Allez, OM" and had started swearing under his breath. On eleven minutes, they took the lead when Emana played a neat one-two with Elmander and put the ball away tidily. After this, Marseille got themselves on top and created a couple of decent chances, but eight minutes before half-time the Marseille midfielder Nasri passed the ball lazily straight to Johan Elmander, who ran through to score Toulouse's second, a goal that looked exactly like the sort of goal you score on the easiest level of Pro Evolution Soccer.

One might have expected Marseille to improve in the second half, but they didn't. The man next to me started taking out his frustration by cheering Toulouse every time by shouting "Dommage!" ("Shame!") every time they took a pot-shot at the OM goal. Supporters inside the stadium made their displeasure known by setting fire to some of the seats, high up behind the goal. With just over twenty minutes to go, things went from pretty bad to absolutely terrible when their captain, Rodriguez, swung an elbow and received a straight yellow card. Five minutes later, Toulouse's Ilunga joined him in the dressing rooms when he picked up a second yellow card for time-wasting from a throw in. Some might have believed there to be a pro-Marseille conspiracy levelling up the number of players on the pitch, there. Still they huffed and puffed, but it took until the ninety minutes were up for the Toulouse goalkeeper to clatter into one of his own players, spilling the ball for Ronald Zubar (one of the few Marseille players to emerge from this debacle with any credit) to pull one back. Too little, too late, though, and Toulouse went away with the points.

By this point, the atmosphere in the bar had turned from mild anger to meek acceptance. Marseille are a massive club in France, and their enormous support deserve better than the bunch of charlatans that were wearing their shirts on Saturday. I had to wait until I got home from France to check that the Djibril Cisse playing for them was the same one that won a European Cup winners' medal for Liverpool a shade over two years ago. At full-time, they didn't even look as if they cared that they had lost another league match. This result, however, left them sixth from bottom in La Ligue 1 table, with just one win from their opening eight matches. Toulouse, meanwhile, sit two places above them, though they have two matches in hand on the rest of the league. You can see the goals from the match right here, and normal service will resume tomorrow.

Winning ugly

Southwick 4-0 Broadbridge Heath

Two clubs from the Sussex County League Second Division go to battle in the Sussex County Football Association Royal Ulster Rifles Charity Cup 2nd round. Not a glamour time, perhaps, but a match which piqued my interest. Firstly, I have traveled along the Coastway West railway line in and out of Brighton more times than I could possibly ever remember and, as such, am very familiar with the sight of Southwick’s Old Barn Way stadium. A short way west of Fishersgate Station, its south side is separated from the railway line by just a low wall and a high net to stop errant balls hitting passing trains. Further to this, I recently discovered during the course of a discussion of non-league matters (in fact, it was with your usual correspondent on these pages, namedropping fans) about the issue of Southwick's dwindling support - their average attendance last season was a gloomy 35, their lowest just 18 - a figure which, one hopes, did not include the players. I felt the time was right to finally go into the ground and make up the numbers. Thirdly and finally, I feel I should admit that what ultimately sealed the deal for me. Whilst watching the SCL Division 1 contest between Shoreham vs. Eastbourne United Association FC would have been the more convenient for me, the fact is that Broadbridge Heath’s club badge has a big ol’ bear on it.

It’s worth nothing that Southwick’s off-field problems are currently matched by difficulties on it - at the end of last season, their player-manager, the 28 year old forward Dominic Shepherd resigned, citing his both desire to continue his playing career and The Wickers lack of ambition. It's all a far cry from a team who, just 15 years ago, were in the upper reaches of the old Isthmian League and who, in 1974/75, even made the first round proper of the FA Cup. Indeed, until recently they were still a force to be reckoned with in SCL circles, but their relegation back to Division 2 in 2004/5 seems to have put them back to square one.

Broadbridge Heath's history, both distant and recent, is not quite so studded with traumatic unrealised hopes but, notably, the team share at least one of Southwick’s problems. At an average attendance of 33 last term, they were the worst-supported in the entire league. Their ground since 1987 - a Leisure Centre – suffers in terms of atmosphere thanks to both its running track and the simple fact that it was not conceived with football in mind. More of an immediate concern for The Bears should be their on-field activities – last season they finished one place above being relegated down to SCL division 3, the lowest rung of the football pyramid.

Coming into the game, Broadbridge Heath were the the clear favourites, in spite of last weekend's 4-0 loss at high-flying Littlehampton Town. Southwick have won just once at home in six league games this season and their most recent cup match saw them dumped out of the John O’Hara League Cup by exceptionally lowly division 3 side Bosham. Heath’s league position of 9th is attributable solely to a home record as shaky as Southwick's – one win in five – as away from Wickhurst Lane, they have recorded an impressive two wins from three. Southwick's away form has been even worse than their efforts at Old Barn Way, however, and they lie a precarious 16th out of 18.

Quite why this should be the case was perhaps made plain to me as I arrived at the ground. Out of the train window on the approach, I saw the Broadbridge Heath team finish their pre-match warm up, all orange bibs and jogging. As I arrived in the ground, however, I witnessed a truly terrifying Southwick warm-up. The team – including many of the first XI - were dressed as if for a park kickabout and shooting at the goal in such a way that I started to wonder if my position behind it was perhaps the best idea. Nevertheless, they all enjoyed it enough that their manager was compelled to leave the dressing room at five-to-three to call them in. Dinner’s ready!

Raining footballs and florid swearing aside, though, I was sure I was in for an entertaining afternoon. The pitch was quite extraordinary. Hard and dusty, yet with a grass covering akin to that of a Van Gogh, it made me realise that real men never mow. My joy was further heightened upon seeing the linesmen for the day. One was half my age, the other the age of my grandfather. On closer inspection, the latter seemed to have a heart-rate monitor on his wrist, and enough pencils shoved down his sock to legitimately open the batting for England. This, THIS, is why I love non-league football.

The early exchanges showed exactly why Heath were the favourites. They play an attractive, thoughtful game of one and two-touch passing with movement off the ball. All that is lacking is probably that last ounce of skill to be able to pull it off. In the first 10 minutes they very much caught Southwick on the hop, and should have been 1-0 ahead after 5 when their left wing-back Jamal Sultan – for me, the game’s outstanding attacker – burst into the box from the wing but chose to shoot instead of squaring the ball to the waiting centre forward. As the half went on, Southwick managed to get back on terms, employing a different philosophy – direct in attack, spirited and organized in defence. With the two different systems, the first 45 reached a stalemate, with perhaps Heath having created the better opportunities – two of which they really should have done better with – but without the feeling that Southwick were being outclassed.

Heath’s play was refined to the point of almost being TOO cute, considering the opposition, the competition and the conditions – this was not a pitch on which to try one-touch football. Watching the subs warm up at half-time, I saw Heath’s two diligently try out set piece delivery and execution, whilst again Southwick’s five had an all purpose schoolyard kickabout, showcasing what bloody awful shots they all are. My suspicions about the direction the match may have been headed were, in hindsight, confirmed at this point. Southwick clearly had no less an immutable force as Sod’s Law on their side.

The second half began much as the first ended, but Southwick’s relentless pressing soon bore fruit, and after 10 minutes they were ahead - a poorly defended cross turned into his own net by an unfortunate Heath defender. Heath never stopped trying to play attractive football to dig themselves out of the situation, and it was perhaps their undoing, as time and again Southwick hit them on the break. In a 15 minute spell, they had killed the game off, thanks in large part to their right-sided midfield play and a match-long series of excellent crosses. Both the second – an unstoppable header from an ideal cross – and the third (another own goal under extreme pressure from the Southwick attacker after a saved shot rebounded) goals came from textbook work on the wings. The fourth, which was perhaps cruel on Broadbridge Heath, was a drive across the keeper from just inside the box by the player – Ricky Timms – who had created such havoc on the flanks throughout the match. With every goal, The Bears heads seemed to drop a little further, but they never stopped trying to play it on the floor to get above their problems. What did suffer was their discipline. A number of players got a talking to from the referee for their astonishing swearing, and their substitute right midfielder was maybe lucky not to be sent off after he threw the ball into the face of the Southwick left-back right under the linesman’s nose. His reward was just a booking, and a cooling off achieved by his physio spraying him with a florist’s mister gun. The argument about play-acting which degenerated into threats of violence between the left-back and some Heath supporters in the meanwhile was worth the entrance fee alone.

Broadbridge Heath, without question, played the more attractive football on the day. But Southwick mastered all the elements, and played the more effective, roared on throughout by their manager – who played a libero role - roaming round the perimeter of the ground barking instructions and insults at the officials, with the impunity only a man pretending to be just another spectator could muster. Also worthy of note in the Wicker’s team was their Captain, Lee Thompson, commanding and unflappable at the back Heath offered a lot in terms of promise, but were unable to deliver when it counted. On another day, it could easily have been 6-4 and duly, their dugout was absolutely disgusted by the way things panned out. Heath played the more attractive game, Southwick the winning one, with inevitable results. For all Broadbridge Heath’s good intentions, there was no denying Southwick deserved their win and took it well.

AFC Sudbury 6-0 Wivenhoe Town

What more pleasant a way to finish a weekend in the country could there be than to spend a warm, sunny afternoon, at King's Marsh, watching the Ryman League Division One North match between AFC Sudbury and Wivenhoe Town. One of the smarter moves that the senior football leagues below the Football League have made in recent years has been to identify the end of August Bank Holiday weekend as a date when biggest clubs in the land take a breather and to fill the schedules with their own matches. They serve as a timely reminder that there is usually a match going on near you, even if your local League club isn't playing.

AFC Sudbury were formed in 1999, as a merger of Sudbury Town and Sudbury Wanderers (the "AFC" stands for "Amalgamated Football Club" rather than "Associated Football Club", as one might expect). Town had been a successful throughout the late 1980s and 1990s, reaching the FA Vase Final in 1989, beating Brighton & Hove Albion on the last ever FA Cup match at The Goldstone Ground in 1996 and making the Premier Division of the Southern League, just one step away from Conference. By the end of the 1990s, though, both clubs had run into financial problems, and took the decision to merge, playing at Wanderers' ground. They joined the Eastern Counties League in 2000, finishing in third place in their first season, and then winning it five times in a row (whilst also making three successive FA Vase Finals, losing all three) before finally being allowed into the Ryman League Division One North, where they finished in fifth place in their first season and lost in the play-offs. This is a club with lofty ambitions.

Wivenhoe Town, on the other hand, are a club that had a brief moment in the sun when they reached the dizzying heights of the Ryman League Premier Division in the 1993-94 season, but the club's financial backers couldn't afford to bankroll it, and they played out their season with a mixture of youth and reserve team players (I saw them lose their first away match of that season 9-1 at St Albans, and I don't think that even that was their worst result of the season), before narrowly avoiding bankruptcy and sliding back down the divisions to the foot of the senior non-league game. They had started this season with two straight defeats, and the omens for them weren't good when, upon opening the programme for Monday's match, it became apparent that they only had three substitutes to choose from, rather than the more usual five.

Whilst the approach to the King's Marsh Stadium, wending through a half-abandoned industrial estate and a sewage treatment plant that gives the area a singular aroma, there are plenty of reasons to love the place. For one thing, a sponsorship tie-in with a local conservatory manufacturer means that everything in the ground that could conceivably be made of uPVC (the dug-outs, the turnstiles, even a small wheelchair enclosure) is made of the stuff. For another, the team take to the field to White Stripes, a disarmingly hip choice for that part of the world. For a third thing, their supporters have a World War II siren that is (quite literally) cranked up every time they get a free-kick or a corner. An early penalty, a curling twenty-five yard free-kick and a straightforward one-on-one gave Sudbury a half-time 3-0 lead, but what was really noticeable was that they never stopped playing good football, keeping the ball on the floor, and playing a neat, short passing game. In a division in which the majority of the teams involved lump the ball as far down as the pitch as possible and hope for the best, it made for a pleasant surprise.

The second half was more of the same, although Wivenhoe did mount a spirited defence and kept the score down to 4-0 until the last few minutes, when they finally folded and allowed Sudbury's striker Jamie Rowe hit his third and fourth goals of the match, to take Sudbury's tally up to six and lift them up to second place in the table. With the club building a new clubhouse and main stand at the end of this season, they seem to be heading in the right direction. With their drums and their siren, the rest of the non-league world won't know what has hit it.

Worthing 1-2 Brighton & Hove Albion

I expressed serious concerns about the concept of the pre-season friendly on here the other day, but I was nominally excited about the match between Worthing and Brighton & Hove Albion on Saturday afternoon. It was too hot for football, I was tired (having already been at work for four hours in the morning) but, hey, it's football! It has felt like a very long summer and I was glad just to be standing on a terrace watching a match.

Not having done a friendly match for a number of years, I wasn't quite sure what to expect. The crowd (1384) was higher than I was expecting, but the atmosphere was more like a village barbecue than a football match. Whatever buzz there was surrounding the match, what with Brighton playing a full first team and everything, had melted away within ten minutes of the kick-off, and even the dozen or so hardy souls from Brighton that started the match singing appeared to quickly learn the error of their ways and fell respectfully silent. At half-time, and a goal up, Brighton not only changed their entire team selection but also changed their shirts, coming out for the second half in a worryingly Brazil-esque yellow shirt, blue shorts and white socks. The shock of the change seemed to affect Brighton, who allowed the home side (who play five divisions below them) an equalizer ten minutes into the second half, before a late equalizer from new signing Nicky Forster gave the League One side a just about merited victory. So, what did we learn, then?

1. Brighton's shorts are way too big. They're massive, flapping over their knees and making the players look like twenty-first century Stanley Matthews hybrids. They might have looked awful and they certainly increased the risk of things, well, "falling out" in the heat of the moment, but the 80s fashion for shorter and higher shorts at least had the compensation of being more streamlined. Brighton's kit, with striped shirts and big, flappy shorts looks uncomfortably like the sort of women's pyjama sets that you see in Marks & Spencers. I'm not sure how the players benefit from this.

2. Worthing are probably a better team than their league position lets on. True, it was only a friendly match, but they gave Brighton's full first team a run for their money here and looked, to my eyes, too strong for the Ryman Division Two South. I suspect that they will have a good season this year.

3. Brighton really have to improve if they're going to stay up this season. Now, I know that this was a just a friendly match, but surely Brighton's first team squad should, under any circumstances, be able to overcome a team five divisions below them, shouldn't they? They seemed apathetic, and lacked imagination going forward. There were also far more wasted passes and bad touches than I would have expected from a professional team. I fear for their well-being in League One this season, in all honesty.

4. It doesn't matter how much you work yourself up about them, pre-season friendlies aren't much good. They're football in a parallel universe - a universe in which people go to football matches but don't really care much what the outcome of them will be. Roll on the start of the league season.

AFC Wimbledon 9-0 Slough Town

Poor old Slough Town. Once residents of the Nationwide Conference, they were demoted in 1998 (the official reason was that they chose not to install 49 seats in their ground to bring it up to standard, though the rumour has persisted that it was more to do with massive financial irregularities) and crisis upon crisis has been lavished upon them since then, too. In 2003, they were evicted from their Wexham Park stadium after failing to agree on a site for a new ground (this is what it looks like now, in case you were wondering), and have played at nearby Windsor ever since. Last season they narrowly avoided relegation, but with financial problems compounded by not having a ground in their own town, the wheels have spectacularly fallen off the wagon this season. With just sixteen points this season, their relegation was confirmed last Tuesday night. It possibly wasn't the best time to be playing a club that was disbelievingly still celebrating the FA verdict that gave them back fifteen of the eighteen points that the Ryman League took from them a couple of months ago, over the Jermaine Darlington affair.

Thanks then, to Southern Trains, for delaying my train from Shoreham-By-Sea for just long enough for me to miss my connection to Norbiton. As we were walking up to the entrance to the ground, a huge cheer erupted. They'd scored inside two minutes. We needn't have worried, though, because it was fairly clear that this would be the most one-sided contest that I would get to see all season. They were, due a mixture of clinical finishing and terrible defending, four up inside twenty minutes, before taking the foot off the pedal for the rest of the first half. At half-time, we retired to the bar and met up with some people that we'd agreed to meet before the match, and I was standing outside the entrance to the it finishing our pints and discussing my irritation at having missed the kick-off when another huge cheer went up. The second-half had started, and they'd bloody scored again. The second half was much more of the same. You have to credit Slough's players for never quite giving up completely, and making Wimbledon work for every single goal. By the end, though, their defenders were largely spectators as they piled forward, exhorted by almost everyone in the ground to "shooooooot!", and playing with sufficient confidence to turn almost every attack into a clear goal-scoring opportunity.

Meanwhile, though, the Slough supporters were making the best of a bad situation. They sang for the whole ninety minutes - "The Ryman League is upside down", "10-9, we're gonna win 10-9" and "You are my Slough Town, my only Slough Town". The day had been ear-marked as a relegation party, and they weren't going to let the fact that their team was putting in a display of staggering ineptitude get in their way. To say that they deserve better than they have had to put up with over the last few years would be one of the understatements of the season. We can hope that their relegation gives them the opportunity to re-group. At the very least, isn't it about time that Slough Council buried the hatchet and made arrangements for them to move back to their home town?

At the end of the match, the celebrations continued. Other results had also gone in Wimbledon's favour, and the gap at the top of the table had been closed. They're now back up to fourth place, and are just two points off the top of the table. Other teams around them have games in hand, but they have the easiest run-in, though it's likely that if they are to have any chance of winning the championship, it'll go to the last game of the season. More importantly than that, the margin of victory yesterday could prove to be critical - they've gone from having one of the worse goal differences in the top five to having the best. It was, in that respect, a four point win for them yesterday and, even if they were to miss out on the top spot, their form seems to indicate that they might well be in the best frame of mind for the upcoming play-offs.

Video highlights are, as ever available here.