Did He Really Mean It?

Incredible game Jeff! They’ve done it! Unbelievable stuff!

Jeff: Indeed they have, thanks Chris. The plucky part-timers of Chasetown have put out League One side Port Vale, and now face a home tie against former winners Cardiff City. The players, by day postmen, electricians, van drivers and lawyers, will be up against Jimmy-Floyd Hasselbaink, Robbie Fowler et al in the first week of January!

That’s enough of that. I’m sitting here in my bedroom, warm and cosy, with a cup of tea in one hand and a Camel Light in the other (OK, not right now, but you get the picture. Typing with my nose is a skill I’ve not yet fully mastered), having just ‘watched’ the game via the BBC Sport website ticker. This is like the day I watched news of David Busst being injured at Old Trafford via teletext updates. I want to know more, but…at the same time, I don’t.

I’m gutted. Not for Chasetown - no way. I’m in love with the team, the fans, the atmosphere they created at both Bath and Vale Park, the fantastic entertainment they’ve provided. I’m gutted that I’m not there. This is the first game of the run that I’ve been forced to miss, and it doesn’t feel good. From humble beginnings at Dulwich Hamlet at the end of my road, to the Tuesday night jaunt to Deal Town, to Hornchurch and Bath and Burslem. But we couldn’t make this evening, because (through no fault of their own, I hasten to add!) we couldn’t get tickets.

We’ve missed two Luke Rodgers penalties not hitting the back of the net. We’ve missed a last-minute winner. We’ve missed the passion, the banter, the journey, the pie and a pint. We’ve missed it all. And it hurts. I just got a text from my Liverpool supporting mate, asking if I was there. When I replied in the negative, he simply said ‘I didn’t have tickets for the European Cup Final - but I went anyway. You part timer!’

He may only have been slightly jesting, but I can’t help feeling that he was right. I should have done more to get tickets. I should be in a pub somewhere near Walsall, ecstatic, sampling the atmosphere. I should have bought a sodding ladder to shin up over the top of the temporarily-erected stand. I should have sold a vital organ and offered a Vale fan £200 for his ticket, just to get in. But I didn’t.

Why do I feel like this? I can’t say. I feel so strongly about this run though - it’s part of me, it’s started to define my life, my conversations, my thoughts. I can’t go through a week without examining every possible permutation of opponents, results, train times, how I’m going to feel on the Sunday/Monday after a game. I need this in my life. I don’t want it to end. Ultimately, I know it will - realistically, the thought of watching Chelsea at Stamford Bridge for three rounds, bludgeoning their way to another final, doesn’t entice me - leaving aside ticket issues. But that’s not the option at the moment.

The option is Chasetown at home to Cardiff. It’s a game I HAVE to be at - but it’s a game that I know I’m not going to be able to go to. Getting a home ticket is an impossibility - we’ve found that. And if Vale, a team struggling at the wrong end of League One, can sell out their allocation so easily Cardiff, a team with an equally passionate (if not more so) fanbase, will get rid of theirs equally quickly.

And that’s where the crux lies. I’m so, so happy that Chasetown made it through. Genuinely - this massive grin on my face isn’t being caused by anything other than the result (although I will admit that I have made a damned fine cuppa, and the choice of music on the radio - the Inspiral Carpets right now - is pretty darned grin inducing). I’m ecstatic for them. This sort of result is WHY I wanted to do this in the first place. But it’s also why it looks like we’re going to have to miss the Third Round in it’s entirety. And that, frankly, is gutting.

The Chasetown fans (and players - the photo of two members of this intrepid team bouncing around on the pitch and hugging assorted defenders will live with me for a long time) made us so welcome. It was a privelege to be sitting with them at Vale, and listening to them sing their hearts out against Team Bath. I don’t want to not be a part of the next round - I really don’t. I need to be with them.

But the chances of that happening are beyond slim. Unless someone knows something I don’t, or can arrange for seven or eight (admittedly stupid, but ultimately passionate) football fans, all dedicated to one competition, to be at this one game - the importance of which will be lost on almost all but those so closely involved.

I’m smiling still. But inside, I am utterly, completely, drained. I don’t want this to end.