Dealing with a semi
- Tom Bowen
- Apr 30
- 8 min read
How’s this for the last blog of the season then? It’s been a while, once again, since the last one and the Easter ‘break’ saw my fatigue levels go through the roof, somehow managing to drag myself to six games in nine days. None of them, however, featured a blog, for various reasons. Likely because by the time I would have got round to writing it, there would be another game on. I wasn’t exactly the most punctual with these blogs in the first place, but instead of the feeble attempt at drumming up some words every Sunday afternoon, you will instead be blessed with quality over quantity (hopefully) as this site will now be updated monthly for the foreseeable.
Anyway, you’re not here for my logistical arrangements, you’re here to see why the bloody hell the title is worded the way it is. It’s a semi-final, get your mind out the gutter. I always word the titles to infer what might be coming up, just like the last blog from Walsall where me and Robbo gambled our lives away. Slight exaggeration, but we were reunited again this week as Chasetown ended up away to Congleton Town in the playoff semi-final, so naturally a free Tuesday meant I would be filling it watching the Scholars. Local side and all that.
I didn’t go to the last Chase game away at Avro, but a 1-1 draw saw them finish fourth, ending the game with a centre-back pairing totalling the age of 82. It’s all youthful at Chasetown, probably trying to reflect the average age of most groundhoppers. Naturally, Chase had faced off against Congleton twice already this season, and two tightly-contested games saw a 3-3 draw at home before a 1-0 loss in the reverse fixture. I’m guessing it was tightly contested. I don’t know, I wasn’t there, but I’m not going to lie to you.
Robbo had decided to make the journey but it was just us as the rest of the stalwarts had let us down. Foz declined on the basis that he didn’t know how Uber worked, which is a new one, but I suppose someone has to make a new excuse. Then came the news that Prov, despite making sure to book his shift off deliberately for the semi-final, was scheduled to work and the bloke couldn’t be bothered to rearrange. Brilliant.
I was booked on the coach from The Scholars Ground, but having to get there in the first place was the ballache that it normally is. Nothing wrong with the journey itself as you’ll see, it just feels like a trek. Somehow, though, as I made it to Derby station, the train arrived ahead of schedule, included with air conditioning and actual spare seats. What is this nonsense? Trains in this country are supposed be delayed, overcrowded sweatboxes. We’ll take it. As I settled down, there was a swarm of about 20 people as they piled onto the train, dashing towards it out of breath after the previous train was delayed. Fair enough, it’s back to normal then.
I had to change trains myself in just two stops before getting a bus to the ground, but I was hoping that I wouldn’t arrive in a mess as I did in the last blog. Both journeys were relatively uneventful, although walking to the Scholars Ground with that big flaming ball of gas in the sky, known as the sun, did make me get a bit of a sweat on. I was meeting Robbo and a few others at the ground, but as I reached the clubhouse, I caught up with the other gaggle travelling on the coach as they were finishing their pints and I parted ways with ten Great British Pounds to pay my way to Cheshire.
Once we had all been taken back to memories of our school days, having answered to our names on the coach register, we swiftly left the ground at precisely 5:37pm. Once again I had to make my own entertainment, but that wasn’t necessary as I eavesdropped on a conversation going on behind me about general football shenanigans in the Premier League as well as the situation at Walsall. That’s when I stopped listening. The final ten minutes were filled with the beautiful aroma of manure as we reached Congleton before the coach driver seemingly managed to go for a world record attempt trying to get the world’s widest coach down the world’s narrowest road, holding up traffic in three different directions in the process. It was reminiscent of the holidays you’d have in Southern Europe where the coach goes to your hotel and somehow up those weird and rocky mountains.
I was in at the tap of a card as I made it through the unique turnstiles that were more like a shed and made an immediate beeline for the food shack, of which there was plenty. While waiting for a cheeseburger, I clocked Robbo in the distance, slightly overdressed for the weather out of his hatred for shorts, for whatever reason. He was also waiting for food, so I thought I’d also be greedy and get a pie as well. I imagine I kept Congleton in business last night with the amount I spent.
We headed round the corner with full stomachs and a can of coke in my hand. Then it, sort of, all went wrong. As we casually made conversation with the Chase stalwarts, a ball came flying towards us and I turned at last second, only for it to directly hit my drink, spilling it everywhere and wasting a (quarter of a) good can. Oh well. No much more trouble. Until Robbo promptly pointed out I was bleeding in the top part of my chin and we quickly summised that the ring pull pierced the skin. Brilliant. By some random bit of luck the former Chase manager Charlie Blakemore was passing at the time and happened to have a packet of tissues to hand which he lent, and we were stood around with absolutely no clue where the first aid station was to get a plaster or the like. Thankfully, the medic was on hand with some sterile strips and stuck them to my chin to stitch it together. Panic averted, although his suggestion of me going to A&E did not entirely fill me with joy. It turned out it wasn’t really that bad. Giving my all for the badge and all that.
Right, the game. The actually important stuff. Never mind my battle scars, this is the important bit. In all honesty, I missed the first few minutes of the half, but there was no need to worry as nothing really happened throughout. I went back and stood next to Robbo for the rest of half as he sent out the Chasetown tweets from his phone, of them reading “Many thanks to Congleton paramedic for quickly attending to a fan that took a ball to the face.” Slightly incorrect as it was actually the ring pull off a can of coke, but I’ll let him off. No one needs the detail, do they? The first half was quite tightly-contested with a few chances either way, with the slope going against Chase first half. It was actually a similar feel to the Alvechurch ground when I went there in November, too.
As half time dragged on, it was getting slightly chillier, but it was still enough of a manageable temperature to go without wearing a hoodie. Good job, because I hadn’t got one. It was much of the same in the second half, but the teams were shooting towards their own fans, this time. It wasn’t segregated, but it had just naturally happened that one particular group of fans had gathered behind one goal. It had the feel of a one-goal game that would decide the outcome for the final (which was increasingly looking like an away day at Hednesford again), and up came Jack Langston as the Chase legend netted the ball once again, sending us all into bedlam behind the goal, apart from one random bloke who prodded me and gave me a look while I was celebrating. Can only presume he was a Congleton fan, rather than just some miserable bugger that had nothing to do other than become celebration police.
It was almost decided in the 90, until they pulled off an equaliser of their own in the 90th minute to send the tie to extra time. It was pure drama that only the playoffs can provide. As that happened, one of the Congleton fans was taken out of the ground for giving it the biggun before the sides swapped ends again for extra time and this time it was Congleton shooting downhill. One of the Chasetown directors walked back to us with a drink in hand and said “this is going to penalties” and as Congleton went on the attack, about three of us claimed “It’s not”, watching on as a ball was struck across goal and into the corner? 2-1 to them. Bugger. Drama? Plenty. Nerves? Shot. Crowd? Trouble. It got a bit heated between fans behind the goal as Congleton fans came round to the same end, and everyone was getting pissed off with everyone.
On the pitch, there was still chance. 15 minutes to keep pushing on this sandpit, and they did just that. A good period of play saw the ball fall to Luke Yates and he sweetly struck an effort into the corner of the net to bring it back to 2-2. Bedlam again. This time thankfully no one glared at me to tell me stop celebrating. Then, in the 118th minute, Chasetown were awarded a penalty. Usual taker Langston was off the pitch, so it fell to Danny Glover to send Chasetown through (most likely) to the final. His effort, though, was low to the keeper’s left and easily saved and we were heading to penalties.
Kris Taylor took first for Chasetown, but sent his shot wide, and Congleton took the lead after the first round of penalties. Both teams scored their next penalty before Curtis Pond, the Chasetown goalkeeper, stepped up for the spot kick afterwards. It seems like a regular thing now with how many times Chase have been involved in a shootout this season. Both he and Congleton scored theirs. It was close to sudden death, and the last round of penalties read as 4-3 to Congleton before the final spot kick. Chasetown score, and it carries on. A miss sees Congleton through to the final to face Hednesford. Danny O’Callaghan stepped up, but his effort was saved and Congleton headed through in dramatic style.
Football, eh?
The players gave it all, and fell just short. No reason to be annoyed, as I can take losing when playing well. We hovered around for a while as all of the 1,501 people in attendance attempted to make their way out of the ground, and once it quietened down, me and Robbo sauntered back to the coach before one obsessed Congleton fan tried to get on the coach. Bore off, you’ve just got to a playoff final and still obsessed with the team you beat. Prat.
We were off quite quickly after the final whistle as the coach driver once again traversed down the narrow streets of Cheshire before pelting back down towards Chasetown. Looking back on some of the other playoff games from tonight, including the crazy game between Boreham Wood and Dorking, where Dorking went ahead through two own goals, only for the player who scored both of the own goals to grab the winner for Boreham Wood to make it 4-3 in the 96th minute. Just sums up the National League South this season. Still, at least the words of Marc White in August weren’t too cocky, saying he was going to piss the league or something. Not like him at all. Elsewhere on the coach, for some reason, we also passed the time by telling each other our life stories on the way home, interspersed with random updates about the condition of my chin.
All in all, pretty busy day when I write all down. Just a narrow defeat on penalties which I can’t be too frustrated about. Oh well. There’s always next season.
Tom.
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