Draw and order

The game: Dulwich Hamlet v. Metropolitan Police.
The ground: Champion Hill.
The conditions: sunny and temperate; even more like Tuscany than usual.

I awoke, and the day had finally arrived. This was the day of my pilgrimage, my philosophical journey, my spiritual awakening. This was the day that I voyaged to The Vale, to the home of Wealdstone Football Club, to the temple of the man who brought the joy of non-league football to so many. Indeed, this was the day I walked the same hallowed terraces as that very man. This was the day I encountered the Wealdstone Raider.

Or that’s what I thought, at least. As I rattled down the Metropolitan Line, I just so happened to check my ageing smartphone for match updates; there, on my clunking Twitter app, was some information that panicked me to the core – the match at The Vale was postponed! The referee had declared a lack of bounce in the pitch, apparently. Digging the end of his pogo stick out of the damp earth, he had then called the game off.

Leaping out of the train doors at Finchley Road station, I did the only thing I could do; I jogged over to the Jubilee Line platform and, one tube ride and an overground jaunt later, I arrived at East Dulwich. It was the first time I had seen Champion Hill by daylight, and it looked quite resplendent in the sun. With free entry for LGBT fans and an itinerant group of Clapton Ultras also in attendance, I certainly wasn’t the only one enjoying the unseasonal weather in south-east London; an eventual crowd of 1,459 inspired a (strictly independent, anti-corporate) festival vibe.

After a few adverse results for both, this was a league fixture that neither Hamlet nor the visiting Met Police could afford to lose; despite the thirteen-point gap in third-placed Hamlet’s favour, the Met had four games in hand on the Pink & Blues. It was no surprise that the start of the match was a little cagey, then; though the away side were quite obliging in terms of possession, the opening twenty minutes were unusually disjointed from the home side; no tangible chances were created by either team.

In the twenty-third minute, the visitors carved out the first opportunity. From a free kick on the left, the Met’s Charlie Collins sent a gorgeous, curving delivery into the box; forward Joe Turner got his head to this, but nodded just wide of the post. Three minutes later, another Met free kick was allowed to bobble around in the area, only to be cleared wildly at the last moment; the away side clearly fancied themselves from the set piece, while Hamlet needed to improve at defending the aerial ball.

In the thirtieth minute, great running from Luke Wanadio gave Pink & Blues’ striker Tom Derry a chance; receiving the ball in the Met box with his back to goal, he pivoted and smashed a shot over the crossbar. Then, in the thirty-third, Hamlet won a free kick of their own. Twenty-five yards from goal, this was sized up by Ashley Carew; he struck his shot well, but it was saved and held by stand-in away keeper Craig King.

The Met soon had a couple more set-piece opportunities, defender Steve Sutherland and attacker Elliot Taylor heading narrowly over in quick succession. In the meantime, Hamlet gradually began to take control of open play; Wanadio and overlapping full back Michael Abnett terrorised the right wing on several occasions, not least in the forty-first minute when the former set up Jack Dixon to lash a strike toward the left side of the net – this was kept out by King at full stretch.

After a couple of half chances for Wanadio and Hamlet midfielder Jordan Hibbert, the first half came to a close at nil-nil. Hamlet had found their rhythm somewhat but, with the Met a perpetual threat from dead ball situations, the game was still very much in the balance; fifteen minutes and one trip to the Champion Hill burger stand sped by, then it was time to see whether either team could tip the scales in their favour.

Wanadio started the second half by straightaway tormenting the opposition; in the fifty-first minute, an agile run on the right and a couple of mesmeric step overs saw him come close to assisting Harry Ottaway, only for the final ball to be cut out. In addition to his attacking flair, the Pink & Blues’ number seven pinched the ball back from the Met’s midfield at every given opportunity. He was certainly giving it everything.

All the same, a patchy period of play ensued. Clearly looking to up his side’s tempo, Hamlet manager Gavin Rose completely changed his front line; Xavier Vidal, Dean McDonald and Albert Jarrett came on, while Ottaway, Derry and Wanadio went off. If I was disappointed to see the last of those leave the field, I certainly wasn’t let down by his replacement. Jarrett’s first act was to scamper away on the left before teeing up Vidal just outside the box; though the latter’s shot was saved by Craig King, Rose’s substitutions were already paying attacking dividends.

In the seventy-third minute, a cross from Charlie Collins was nearly turned into the home goal; Hamlet keeper Phil Wilson did well to save this low to his left. After this, the Pink & Blues went all out. Ten minutes of possession and half chances saw the pressure build on the Met. Then, in the eighty-fifth minute, Jarrett won a central free kick in an ideal position twenty yards out. Once more, Ashley Carew sized the ball up. Once more, he failed to score; this time his fizzing strike went just wide.

Three minutes later, Carew found himself in space on the left. Slashing the ball across the area, he found Vidal at the back post; the striker’s point-blank header was stopped by a reflex save from King, who then frenziedly scrabbled the ball out to safety. A flurry of corners ensued, several of which went equally close to winning it for the home side. In the end, however, none of them found the back of the Met net.

Hamlet had probably played the better football, but the visitors were good for the draw; nobody seemed too displeased with the result. Personally, I was just happy to watch a game. On a suitably bouncy pitch, of course.

Result: Dulwich Hamlet 0 Metropolitan Police 0.
My MoM: Luke Wanadio. Stick a step over in your pipe and smoke it, Ryman League!
Best fans: Hamlet (and Clapton) fans. Turned up in numbers. Brought rainbow flags. Chanted at the police. A few Welsh miners and it could have been the final scene of Pride.

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Draw and order

Police on my back

The game: Enfield Town v. Metropolitan Police.
The ground: the Queen Elizabeth II Stadium.
The conditions: drizzlier than a delicious lemon cake.

With a bitter gale whipping the terraces and rain slanting down from the flat, granite sky, Saturday’s fixture between Enfield Town and Metropolitan Police was – much like Luther, Broadchurch or any other good drama involving the force – set to a pretty bleak backdrop. The weather didn’t exactly bode well for smooth, stylish football yet, with the Met occupying a coveted play-off spot only nine points ahead of Town, both sides needed to produce some strong stuff; munching on my homemade spelt bap prior to kick off, I foresaw a tough and gritty game.

For the first twenty minutes or so, the home side actually managed to defy the elements and play with familiar panache; as a result, they were well on top. Tyler Campbell instantly set about the opposition’s defence, running, passing and jinking his way around the away box; in the third minute he set up Nathan Livings twelve yards out, but the young midfielder’s sweet volley was kept out by Met stopper Stuart Searle. In the sixth minute, a good cross from Town defender Ricky Gabriel dropped right to Campbell’s feet; the gifted number seven then drilled wide from close range – a rare lapse from him.

Though Town’s star man Corey Whitely was unusually quiet, the team continued to menace Searle’s net. Bar a few attempted (but largely unsupported) breaks from Met winger Bradley Hudson-Odoi, Enfield held onto the ball unopposed; with Bobby Devyne, Livings and Campbell all full of early energy, the away back four struggled. This was exemplified in the fifteenth minute when, having been turned by some tricky skill, Met defender Will Salmon tugged down Town’s Joe Stevens in the box; no penalty was given, but this was a very risky approach indeed. However, a few wayward shots later, Town’s initial élan began to fade. The game soon became about grinding the opposition down; only by working hard in the gruelling conditions might either team prosper.

The Met’s first real chance came from a twentieth minute free kick out on the right; this was headed well over the crossbar. In the twenty-third minute, Met midfielder Ryan James won the ball high up the pitch and, bursting into the home box from the left, fired low at Town keeper Nathan McDonald; this was confidently saved. The away side were definitely getting better, though the game was not; constant fouls and free kicks for both teams broke up the majority of play. Half chances were exchanged, but neither keeper was called upon to make a save; the real action was in the crunching slide tackles slicing through the middle third of the pitch, most of which elicited deafening siren noises from the home crowd.

In the thirty-fifth minute, there was another penalty shout for Enfield. After a decent passing move initiated by Campbell, Whitely nicked the ball past Will Salmon and into the box. As he went to cut the ball back from the by-line, Salmon seemed to clip his heels from behind. Though Whitely, Campbell and the Town fans all appealed vociferously, the referee laughed this incident off. Again, this was a risky approach from the Met defender, one that might well have seen a spot kick granted.

The next ten minutes were devoid of chances; the Town fans sang some inventive police-related chants, and a hard-fought half came to an end. It would have taken an optimistic supporter to predict a goal fest to come but, conversely, there was a sense that a single moment of genius – or luck – could win it; there was still drama in the game.

After a few minutes of second half scrapping, Enfield had the best chance yet. A Met corner was cleared to Campbell, who went racing away down the right wing. Searle stormed off his line and was promptly rounded, leaving the net wide open; Campbell then pinged a perfect pass to Nathan Livings on the edge of the box, only for Livings to pump his shot high over the bar. Heads fell into hands on and off the pitch. That might well have been the crucial chance.

It certainly looked that way for the next forty-odd minutes. There were some threatening set pieces, quite a few bookings and many more half chances, but hardly any clear-cut opportunities; the Met went closest in the seventy-fourth minute from a stinging Joe Turner effort, but McDonald was equal to it. Campbell worked tirelessly for Enfield, but a scoreless draw seemed inevitable. A goal just would not come.

Then, in the eighty-eighth minute, Town won a free kick out on the left. The initial delivery was cleared by the Met’s massed defence, but the ball fell to substitute Darnell Wynter fifteen yards out; from there, he hooked an inch-perfect volley past the static Searle and in. Bradley Quinton’s Barmy Army went, well, barmy. That moment of genius had been coming after all; a few more minutes battling, and an unforgiving game ended with an agreeable result for the home side.

Result: Enfield Town 1 Metropolitan Police 0.
My MoM: Tyler Campbell. Hardest worker on the pitch, and always full of intent.
Best fans: the Town fans. ‘Nee-naw, nee-naw!’

Police on my back