TT PREVIEW

Matty Hayward – @MattyHayward96

Matty discusses the away win

INTRODUCTION

When Nye Bevan established the NHS, to much opposition, in the 1940s, he did so with the aim of providing care, free at the point of use, to anyone in need.

Almost a century on, despite a decade and a half of underfunding, I believe we still have a health system of which we can be very proud.

Something that Bevan and his more contemporary science boffins never considered was this: there’s actually a naturally occuring, easily accessible cure to almost every ailment and malfunction of health known to man. That’s where I come in.

I intend to stand for parliament at the next election on a one-issue ticket. I’ll keep my beak closed about Putin and Trump, and I’ll go nowhere near the education sector or student loans in spite of myself, because I believe there’s only one, singular public health measure that will revolutionise this country and possibly the world.

It is this: if anyone feels down, or is struggling with their wellbeing, simply inject them with the feeling of winning three points away from home. Regardless of their malady, I can absolutely guarantee that from Prince to former prince to pauper we will revolutionise our health service and our national mood with this simple remedy. Show me someone who is not immediately cured of their melancholy thanks to this injection, and I will show you someone whose nurse missed the vein.

Let’s have it right: three away points is absolutely class. Nay, it’s the best thing in the whole world. I will objectively have a really good week as a result of the last two Saturdays. There’s simply no way heroin can feel as good, or morphine can numb pain as effectively.

GNASHER

If we had Munashe Sundire all season we’d have won the league in November.

Ok, I’ll stop being silly. Hyperbole gets us nowhere.

We’d have won it by Christmas. Claude Makelele has Munashe Sundire pyjamas. The bloke will be playing for Real Madrid by the end of this year, and it’ll be six months too late. I just hope they don’t break too many PSR rules to pay for him.

If I may be serious for a second: he’s really really good. You have to be quite good to get into our midfield at the moment, with Hayfield doing nothing wrong, former-skipper Worthington re-establishing himself, Sonny-Lo proving his versatility, and yet, Sundire started as soon as he was fit enough.

He won my trust at Enfield, with twenty minutes of match-changing bombast, but his performance at Hornchurch locked him in as an undroppable-if-fit pick for the run-in. He’s tidy on the ball, but off it is where he excels. There was one moment all afternoon, in a game full of dominance, where he slipped up and lost control of the ball. Who recovered it? He did.

Maybe I’ve got a tendency for exaggeration or over enthusiasm, in fact I definitely have, but I must stress that he’s ace.

I TOLD YOU SO!

Nobody likes a prick who says “I told you so.”

But sometimes, round the pre-match pub table, you just get it right, and if you don’t cash in when you do then nobody else will do it for you.

I spent quite a lot of time before the game yesterday saying that Cody should start and Wilson should play on the left, as he had done successfully at Enfield and Chelmsford.

We started in a different way. Kieran Wilson, Scotland’s greatest gift to the world since they started mincing sheep bladder, was picked up front. He’s a player who is destined to play in the football league, without doubt, but he isn’t a centre forward in his current guise. I felt he looked uncomfortable with his back to goal, and far more dangerous when he had space to run into.

Paul Wotton, as he has done multiple times this season, made the crucial change early enough to make it count. In-form Dylan Morgan was hooked in favour of the bunny-parent, Wilson was shunted out left, and we got ourselves up the pitch to make space for brace-scoring Jordan Young.

The gaffer insists that we’ve had no enquiries about our players from clubs up the pyramid during the transfer window. He’s probably telling the truth, but even if he’s not, Jordan Young doubled his asking price this afternoon.

GETTING TO THE BALL, AND OTHER TOUCHES OF TACTICAL GENIUS

One consequence of playing a league where the atmosphere is often quieter than a mime convention in a monastery is that you can usually hear everything the manager shouts. This was even more the case yesterday: the away bench was a modest putt of a shot from the corner we were all shunted into, and Wotton’s voice boomed throughout proceedings.

Paul has taken light-hearted mockery for his touchline shouts in the past. He’s responded with similar good humour, saying that he feels his players need simple reminders. I sense there’s also a part of him who shouts in a desperate attempt to regain control of men who – no matter how much time you spend on the training ground – are unique individuals, flawed footballers, and cannot be telepathically manoeuvred around the pitch.

I had two favourite shouts yesterday. My second favourite came in the dying minutes: Hornchurch’s lightning winger, Darren McQueen, floated a ball into the area. Wotton’s shout? “Head it!” Jordan Dyer executed his coach’s excellent advice and we clung on.

But my favourite came just before the hour. He felt we were sitting a bit deep and allowing the home defenders a bit too much time in possession. So, as hs his custom and as is audible on the highlights, he wailed “GET TO THE BALL!”. Again, this was good advice. Sonny Blu Lo-Everton applied some pressure, causing a loose pass for Jordan Young to intercept and send him through on goal.

We’ve no idea if the two forwards heard Wotton, but it doesn’t matter, it just looked and sounded brilliant. Well in. Get to the ball.

HOSTILECHURCH, MORE LIKE!

Torquay fans are often accused of ‘Football League Syndrome’, whereby we see ourselves as a big fish in a small pond and expect experiences way beyond our station.

I think this is somewhat unfair. We probably have a right to swagger around places better known for school sports days than football, but my experience is that we often don’t. The vast majority of Torquay fans I know are humble, grateful that we still have a club, and deeply reasonable.

Clearly Hornchurch expected the former from us. We had, unlike last year, Hard Seggs. The away fans were deprived not only of beer, but of access to the 50/50 draw, and access to a decent view of the pitch. We were afforded two portaloos, both positioned on rocky ground to the extent that – if you didn’t know any better – you really would’ve assumed someone was shaking it to make you piss on your shoes.

Part of me enjoyed it. Not the bogs, they were awful, but the segregation. It was like being back in a proper league. I’ve got used to the comforts of going for a beer every time the game gets boring, and walking past losers in the home side’s tracksuit top, but it was nice to be reminded of the ‘home end’, of singing ‘who the fucking hell are you?’ and meaning it, of laughing at ‘no one likes us, we don’t care’ being sung by fans of a club that no one has heard of. It felt like a real football match. It should be oppositional. We’re not there to make friends. The part I loved the most was the “away fans only” signs that they’d clearly bought specially for the occasion, and would never again use. They penned us in, and the unintended result was that we sang louder and more cohesively, than if we’d have been disparately spaced out on all four sides.

But part of me hated it too. We’re hardly Galatasaray. The underlying assumption that Yellows fans equals aggro was unfair. The awful view didn’t help, not that it would’ve been much better from behind the discus net, but it would’ve been nice to have tried. I suppose if a club wants to turn 300 fans’ worth of beer revenue away then that’s their perogative, just as they’re welcome to shun the very fans who helped them to their record attendance. But if they want to take it all very seriously, don’t be surprised when a much more serious football club spoils your big day.

Picture: the aforementioned ‘away fans’ sign being taken to the tip in a trolley. Snapped by the great AwayDaysman Josh Hutt.

WE ARE ACTUALLY, LITERALLY, TOP OF THE LEAGUE

A few weeks ago, Paul Wotton retorted that we are “a trillion percent” in the title race. At the time, that seemed bullish. He was probably mathematically right to say we were in the race, but I don’t think anyone felt we were favourites.

We’re probably still not. But as I write this, we lead the National League South. Dorking are in good nick after a stinking start. Worthing are winless in six. We’ve just beaten third-place Hornchurch in what has to be described as an eight-pointer, with Weston drawing in Sussex. It’s not statistically in our hands, and we must keep our heads, but you’d have to have a heart of stone not to feel a flicker of excitement, even if the gaffer pretends to insist that he’s not looked at the table or even noticed.

February will be tough. Dover away isn’t easy, even if they are shit. Dorking will be a serious test. Wotton is right, though it pains me as a big sufferer of Football League Syndrome to come to terms with it, that no games on the road are easy in this league: Chippenham won’t roll over and Eastbourne have spent a fortune. Maidenhead were pre-season favourites for the title. You’d probably take a point from Worthing (a) if offered now. But still. But. Still.

The temptation to get carried away is tantalising. We’ve just beaten the league leaders and, as a result, gone top. Football has to be, at least in part, about believing the hype. About hope. About letting yourself get carried away with the vibe. About riding the wave of excitement that consecutive away wins can instil in you. We can let Paul Wotton worry about keeping people’s feet on the ground, guarding against complacency, and so on. But I’m going to start believing. Why not?

None of it matters anyway, we might as well enjoy it while we can. COME ON!