The SSC Final

Welcome to the Official

AFC Wimbledon

Supporters Club of the Americas

SoCal's trip to the SSC

Friday

Started out easily enough - a big old rush to get everything done prior to a trip to the airport which included witnessing several suicidal pieces of driving. The freeways are dangerous places to be as people drive like complete assholes. The drivers are much better in England.

Sitting at the airport having tried to get an exit seat and being told that it would be an extra $75 – told the lady that I’d rather have cramp than pay that. Settled down into a seat in the departure lounge and strung my laptop power lead across the floor. An English guy who must have been very important sat next to me – I know he was important because he had two American policemen with him to make sure that he actually left the country. I’d love to have known the full story…

Sat next to an enormous gentleman and his wife on the plane – he was given a seatbelt extension by the steward. As the flight wasn’t completely full, he sent his wife across the aisle so at least there would be half an empty seat in our three seats. His plan was to join her in the centre four seats after take off. His plans came to naught when the late arrivals filled up all the seats next to his wife.

I tell you this because then he swapped places with the thinner gentleman who was then sitting next to his wife. That left me with a completely empty seat between me and the thin guy who turned out to be a Scotsman living in nearby Pasadena who has since asked me to build him a website. This, in a couple of week’s time, will have paid for my flights.

Saturday

Arrived safely at LHR, terribly worried that I would not have enough time to get through baggage claim, immigration, customs, car rental, etc. and still make it to the game in time. Immigration was a worry – the guy of seatbelt fame had reached the desk and needed to have filled out a form or two for Mrs. Seatbelt. This they proceeded to do whilst the rest of the line started to seethe.

Off to retrieve my suitcase – couldn’t believe that the somewhat effeminate suitcase my wife had bought for me was actually mine so allowed it to do a couple of laps before plucking it off the conveyor belt to see if the label identified it as mine. It was. That completed, through the nothing to declare lane like an open topped bus driver and off to an argument with the Hertz guy.

"I’m not sure I have a car ready for you!" Good job I booked in advance! "Look pal, I don’t want to be rude but I have to be somewhere pretty soon so if you are really not sure, tell me now and I’ll sneak over to Europcar or Budget" (can’t use Avis in case they wanted paying for all the parking and speeding tickets from my last trip over) He now seemed sure that there was, in fact, a car for me and I made my way to the Hertz bus stop.

On the bus, I got my international roaming telephone out, fired it up and tried, without success to phone home. Something was dreadfully wrong! Bit high tech for me so, on arrival at the Hertz place, I threw everything into the boot and left at high speed. Got a bit lost on the perimeter road but, as all roads lead to the M25, wasn’t overly concerned. Found the M25 which was not moving - the speed limit of 40MPH seemed ridiculously high as this was nowhere near attainable due to the weight of traffic.

I soon found that, in the 8 years that I have been in the US, the drivers in England are every bit as bad as the Yanks! However, I managed to avoid incident and made it to Burgess Hill intact. After a couple of wrong turns, I found the ground but had to sail past it due to the fact that the few parking spaces nearby had long since been taken. Drove another mile or so and parked up near the station. There were blue shirts in all directions.

First hawker to hit me up was Rob who made me buy a WUP. The old ‘but I’ve got the US franchise for WUP’ line did no good and I parted with my quid. Next was $1.50 for a BH program but the most difficult to shake off was some chap offering to tarmac my drive – pointing out that I didn’t even live in England seemed to make little difference to his sales pitch and only the approach of the local constabulary saved me from an unnecessary purchase.

I was then rescued (I thought at the time) from more hawkers by Paul R and Woking Jon who were dealing with the ongoing situation created by Mrs. SoCalDon who had been unable to contact me on my International telephone and assumed that some catastrophe had befallen me. A quick call home on the WJ hi-tech mobile calmed the fevered Mrs. SCD and it was on toward the ground. I was then approached at high speed by Moke – ostensibly to shake my hand and say ‘good to meet you at last’ but followed in a fraction of a second by "Only two quid for an anti-franchising wrist-band"

Met far too many tags to mention outside the ground and was quite overwhelmed by the welcome given to me. Then a couple of double-deckers arrived with some rather noisy supporters thereon. To see the reaction of the BH club officials was quite touching – their attendance record was going to be beaten in some style this was a special day for them.

Into the ground to find that all available viewpoints had been taken so stood behind the goal (okay, outside the bar) chatting to other tags prior to the game. Into the bar which was packed to the rafters. Made my way to the back bar trying to work out a strategy for making it to the bar and was saved that particular worry by Jonesy who procured me a pint of Burgess Hills' finest lager. Was introduced to many of the other patrons and heard songs that you just don’t hear in Burbank – at least not at that volume and at those levels of sobriety.

Game started, outside for an enjoyable conversation with a fellow baseball fan. Couldn’t see a whole lot of the game due to the lack of terracing but was reluctant to move out of the shade – I was ‘reliably’ informed prior to traveling that it was going to be raining so I forgot my hat!

Spotted Dickie Guy (my boyhood hero) watching the game, waited for him to finish his burger and went to introduce myself. It’s always a worry when you actually have a chance to speak to a famous person just how they are going to react – are they going to tell you to bugger off for instance. Needn’t have worried – was chatting as friends would for 15 minutes about the team of the seventies, the players back then, the Burnley, Leeds and Middlsborough games, etc. Just awesome – top, top man. Learnt one thing though – if you are Dickie Guy and a goalkeeper makes a save, however good, someone turns round and tells you that you’d have caught it or at least somehow saved it better. And he would have saved it better of course. True legend.

Then I made three big mistakes One, I should have stayed talking to Dickie. Two I shouldn’t have gone into the bar just before we scored our goal and Three, I should have left my sunglasses on because I lost them in the melee trying to get out of the bar to see the goal celebrations. Didn’t even get a pint!

Went outside in time to see them kick off and it became obvious to the rabble outside the bar that I had come all the way from bloody California and missed the goal. I was treated to a rousing chorus of ‘where were you when Frankie scored’ Thankfully my reply was drowned out…..

Half time came and no more goals missed. Into the bar again and decided to purchase two beers this time as the place was heaving. I was one of the stalwarts that saved their plastic cup – there was obviously a shortage in Burgess Hill and the bar staff had been collecting them from around the ground and washing them up. Bless ‘em. Wandered outside with my hands full and took my place on the terracing behind the goal (outside the bar)

Met Sandy again - he was standing just below me on the terracing. Wanted to shake his hand but was unable to due to the two beers. He offered to shake something else and luckily Paul Raymond, sensing an international incident, held one of my beers whilst I shook hands with Sandy.

Into the second half, chatting to Aideen and Alyson who were commiserating with me for missing the first Dons goal. Whilst they were in mid-commiser, Burgess Hill scored their goal and I missed that one too. Alyson pointed out that their goal was just like Frankies one and I (less than cheerfully) pointed out that that statement was as much use as a chocolate tea pot since I didn’t see that f***er either!

Found myself standing next to The Black Knight at one point – what a nice chap he is too. Somehow he managed to start three pointless arguments over absolutely nothing in about 5 minutes – the man is a natural, you just can’t see them coming! A few other incidents of note were a rather odd looking bloke (apologies if you are him or related to him) in a green jacket who seemed just to be walking round the ground leering at people. The worst attempt at a conga I have ever seen – can just one person be considered a conga? Come to think of it, that was one of the discussions that TBK started……

I do remember us scoring a couple more goals to put the game beyond doubt and I seem to recall us hitting the woodwork at least four time as well. Pleased that Gavin Bolger scored again – he scored the only goal in the only other AFC game I had been to. Hopefully he’ll do the same in the final on Tuesday.

Was lucky enough to have a good long chat with DA after the game – he seemed incredulous that I had come all this way for a football match but hey, when it’s in your blood, distance is no object. Met a few players too – aren’t they young! Or am I getting older faster than I thought.

Out of the ground and into the car – headed down to Worthing to stay with my sister for a couple of nights.

Sunday

Day off. Ate too much. Went to Littlehampton which was full of Chelsea fans.

Monday

The day before the final I had done the rounds of the relatives. Went to see an elderly Uncle and Aunt in Worcester Park for a few hours – John asked if I still followed Wimbledon – ‘I mean AFC Wimbledon, not that lot up there” he asked, without prompting! Turns out that their window cleaner is called Roger who’s apparently a coach for AFC and Roy Law built their back wall.

He was very sad when I told him that Harry Stannard had passed on – he told me that Harry was a good player but when he missed a goal that he should have scored, he would always look down at his boot and then brush off the imaginary piece of mud that had caused the ball to miss the target.

Whilst there, I relieved them of my long lost football programme collection. Couldn’t believe the amount that I had there – the equivalent of a tea chest I would think. Getting them back to the US would prove a challenge!

Decided to drop in on Pete Baker for a cup of Dawns’ famous tea – oh, and to see Pete of course. Stayed a couple of hours at his mad-house got badly attacked by his hound and spent the rest of the evening at the hotel cleaning the doggy spit out of my ear. Didn’t realize this but Pete is one hell of a good guitar player and a good singer to boot. He needs to be invited to the meadow to do a bit of a gig IMO.

Left Pete’s place in search of a doner kebab. When you’ve been away from the UK for 8 years, you have yearning for things. Already in the trip I had satisfied my cravings for fish and chips, a big old roast with Yorkshire pud, a pork pie - a big old greasy kebab was the last on the list. Bought one at the chippy next to KM and can highly recommend them – very good and no ill effects.

Tuesday

The day of the final. Still can’t shake off the jet lag so didn’t get to sleep until 3 am. Luckily, the hotel room was close enough to Kingston University to enable me to ‘share’ their wireless broadband and keep myself entertained. Decent download speed too.

During the night I discovered what was wrong with my mobile phone – I got a ‘wrong number’ and it turns out that the phone was still programmed to some poor wretches telephone from San Diego. I wonder if he will get my bill, too?

Due to the recovery of my programmes, I was forced to make my way to Woolworths in Kingston to buy another suitcase and couldn’t resist the Cornish Pasty shop in the Apple Market. Steak and Stilton. Splendid.

At a bit of a loose end as I was too excited to rest in the hotel so went for a bit of a drive around my old haunts in Surrey. Thought about driving by Plough Lane but decided against it. 2.30 ish and made my way to the KM. Gave Eric 50 quid for various donations to the MK Dongs site and the sponsored diet. He seemed very grateful and started rubbing his hands together and twitching. I get the feeling he enjoys his job. Or enjoys money. Bought a couple of calendars from Mags that she had put aside for me last year and I had never paid for!

Went to see the club shop but thankfully resisted the urge to buy anything due to the excess baggage – I was already heading for trouble. Met up with Pooh Bear, Gerry, Aideen and then a whole heap of tags as the time for the arrival of the bus drew near. Broke (literally) open my first beer (Budweiser’s in America have twist off caps) and joined the old farts/hardened drinkers on the downstairs of the bus.

A relatively uneventful trip (downstairs, anyway) – apart from missing the turn off and having to detour through Ripley. One unplanned stop to allow a worried womble to take a leak by the side of the road. Except that it wasn’t exactly by the side of the road, it was up against the sign of a company that sells garden sheds. The very next sign to our hero read “Free Erection” Not sure exactly how it fits in with the story but nevertheless, I hope someone got a picture. Well worthy of the caption competition.

The only other event on the bus was to witness Aideens prowess as a salesperson. “What the hell do I need with a scarf in Southern California?” I told her. My protestations made not a jot of difference and I was cajoled into parting with my nine quid. A smooth operator. Oh, another event was watching TinTin opening a bottle of Budweiser with his teeth. Damn. John the Don and myself knew that one of the chaps had a bottle opener but we kept quiet as neither of us had seen a bottle opened that way. Good on yer, Tinny.

Arrived at Woking, lots of Wombles there already. Just like the cup final in ’88 only there wasn’t quite as much red. Met up with Barnsley Dave at last – very pleased to have found him so easily before the game. He is one of the nicest guys I have ever met and I can confirm that his jokes are just as bad in person as they are on the w&ww. J

Wandered into the man stand after buying a couple of hot dogs. At least two people approached me to ask how they compared to Dodger Dogs and I can categorically state that the Woking Dogs are not only much better, they are also cheaper.

As game time approached the stand filled up with yellow and blue and the atmosphere began to build. I don’t propose to launch into a match report here – I just saw a ‘proper’ English cup tie – no quarter asked or given and the best and fittest team won in the end. Great performance by the lads, very proud of them.

After the trophy and medals had been handed out and the main stand emptied, Barnsley and I staged our own pitch invasion. After athletically vaulting over the fence (about 18 inches) we made our way towards the dugouts.

Having chatted to Dave Anderson after the Burgess Hill game and pointing out that there was no pressure but I didn’t come 6000 miles to see us lose, I thought that I had better slither over and thank the boy. He was being congratulated by all and sundry but, when he saw me approaching, he rushed over, grabbed me by the hand and said something along the lines of ‘Hey big fellah, you’re coming with me’ He led me toward the tunnel, grabbed the cup, gave half of it to me and insisted on a photograph of me and him holding the trophy. Blimey.

After one final slap on the back and thanking him profusely, I left the dugout area to a cry of ‘Only 10 quid a print, SoCal’ from some wag in the crowd. I’d happily pay 100 quid as long as no-one told Mrs. SCD.

Out of the ground at last, eventually found the bus by the leisure centre and got on board. Some weary wombles on the bus but everyone was in high spirits for the journey back to KM and Wimbledon. Back to the hotel, half an hour on the w&ww and then to bed just after 1AM. What a day.

Wednesday

Up at 6, threw everything into the suitcase and off to Heathrow in the rental car. Didn’t so much get lost on the way to the airport, just confused - all my old shortcuts and rat-runs had been either blocked off, ‘no right turned’ or generally rearranged. Made it to Hertz, dumped the car off and caught the shuttle to Terminal 3.

Not much of a queue for a change –Virgin Atlantic is normally a zoo. At the check in desk, I did my best to sweet-talk the agent as I felt there was trouble brewing! “That bag is too heavy to travel I’m afraid, bags are only allowed to be 32 Kilo’s, that one’s 38”. She saw the forlorn look on my face and told me to stick the other case on the scales. Conveniently, it was only 26 Kilo’s. She asked if I could move 6 Kilo’s of stuff from one case to the other.

This was truly a Kodak moment – me weighing out exactly 6 Kilo’s of ancient Wimbledon programs on the scales and stuffing them into the other case. At the second weigh in, one case was 32K, the other 32.1 which she bravely turned a blind eye to. Bless her cotton socks or, probably more accurately, nylon tights.

In to the airport, bought a few newspapers and turned to the sports pages to see if we got a mention. Not a one. Do you know what? It doesn’t matter – as far as I am concerned, the rest of the country is missing out on something special. Doesn’t matter if it’s the FA Cup final or the SSC, when you see players, officials and supporters so passionate about their club, you know that they are heading in the right direction.

Made it home with no further incident. Not a bad few days.