Cup Final Tickets

This time I will be on......means your team is fucked of course I'm afraid.

We were on the #OrdinaryToPrestatyn yesterday.  My daughter, my brother and me, my son only absent because of a prior engagement at Goodison...

Evening kick off and there are engineering works on Merseyrail so we were:
bus to town
bus replacement to Birkenhead
Birkenhead to Chester on Miseryrail (an oldie but a goodie...)
Chester to Prestatyn on real trains...

We were there for 3.30pm for a 5.15pm kick off, they'd regravelled the car park just in time for the heavy OB trucks with Sgorio to come bearing cameras, windbreaks and the Welsh Cup itself.  Nice to see it back in the bar, tbh.  After the game, with the other three ties settled (TNS, as I'd said, were ridiculously short at 2/13 and ended up needing extra time to see off Bangor; Bala and Caernarfon got through no worries).  We had a potter through town before the game, stopped at Costa where my daughter drank a hot chocolate that was roughly half her bodyweight, and then went the ground where for the first time I ever recall, we had to queue to get in (granted it was only four people, but a queue is a queue).  I have been on fucking pins all week, my nerves are shot and I genuinely don't know what to do with myself.  We get chips (no curry, gravy we gave a miss, Oxo only), get in the stand where we'd normally be, after noting the media presence and the cup on the pitch roughly where my daughter "invaded" the other week, and wait for kick off.
We lost the toss and had to kick to Pontins first half.  So we had to move.  Bollocks.  There was a stiffish wind which I'd said on the way would be a leveller and we had it behind us first half.  Myles is still out, Hayesy isn't in kit again and there's no Jack Kenny so Michael Parker and Ross Weaver share the brunt of the back four work and holding role that Michael had excelled in this year and Alec Williams is reshuffled into the front three.  We're not long in and Alec finds himself in a position to let fly and we're one up.  GCQ are fighting a rearguard and finding themselves offside too often when they get loose although they did look like they'd scored ("scorer" all but wheeling away, arms aloft) but it cannoned back out off the post - not sure whether the wind was involved in flight.  The half went on, we were pushing hard but not getting the rub - GCQ could have had a man sent off and although I didn't think he would, Sgorio reckoned otherwise - and with the wind I felt one wasn't enough.  Noah had had a moment of genius right in front of us where he'd look like he was going to cross but tried to do the keeper off his line from the touchline and I swear it fucking went in.  Haven't seen the footage but I reckon it does there too.  At the end of the half, we hit the bar, the rebound couldn't be put away but it then fell to Ben Maher and in it went - 2-0.  We went in with something to work with because they were going to come out fighting and with the wind and they aren't third and fighting for automatic Europe after a European campaign by being shit.  I can remember the last time I saw them two years ago.  They're a team of footballers now rather than a squad who look like D Wing Section 28 prisoners.
Sure enough they came out second half and scored in the first minute or two.  It was roles reversed for the second half and we had a few half chances but couldn't make one stick - if we'd got a third we'd have killed the game stone dead right then.  However, we were fighting a solid rearguard and riding a few scares and the clock was running down.  We found ourselves in the position of a chance to break through the middle and settle it but it went slightly awry, the clearance went out over the middle and yes, six seconds later, we were 2-2.  Back behind the goal for the last five, right at the death GCQ have it in the net but it's ruled out for offside.  No-one complains on either side.  And it's extra time.
My daughter went into the clubhouse with my brother.  They were both feeling the cold and the game was on the box.  I was staying behind the goal, though - if I'd been watching this at home it would have been so much worse.  I was all but in tears at half time - the fans were in full voice, the atmosphere was tense and you don't get this at any other level.  I haven't really eaten, refused a pint (I don't drink during or before as a rule) and have a full hit of Costa running around me - it would have been a good time to show me a video of Bambi and then ask me for donation to the Save the Deer fund.
Anyway, extra time.  GCQ stay as they are and kick to Pontins for fifteen.  They brought two subs on after 45 minutes and another with fifteen to go so if anything, we should strip fitter in the last fifteen so it looks like they're trying to go for the knockout.  We hold out, a couple of fair chances but nothing glaring.  Fifteen to play and we're the only side who can win it, surely.  Charge!  Jordan almost settles it, GCQ defender throws himself full length, it grazes his shoulder and skips over the bar and that's it.  Penalties.  We've taken on one of the top three in Wales and we've put the fear of fucking God up them, and now it's a flip of a coin to see who stays in the bag for the semi-final draw which takes place in the bar live on Sgorio after the game.  Magic.

We won the toss for pens and they were at the Pontins end.  Skipper Parker steps up.  1-0.  GCQ steps up, a few verbals, psychology shit and all that, yeah, fuck off Zaza, puts it left, Carlo goes left and saves.  Jordan steps up.  2-0.  GCQ stay in it, .  Noah steps up, sends the keeper the wrong way and hits the post.  It goes along the line and hits the other fucking post and comes out.  2-1.  GCQ square it.  2-2.  Steady steps up, 3-2.  GCQ hit the bar.  3-2 and we have a shot to win it.  Ben Maher steps up and I have a theory that I hope gets shot to fucking pieces.  Ipswich once went to pens in Europe in the 70s and Allan Hunter had had the game of his life then missed a pen in the shootout.  Graham Rix had the same story against Valencia in the CWC.  Now Ben Maher had been a constant nuisance, chased down, harried and made his presence felt as the first line of defence and looked nothing but dangerous going forward.
Yeah, the keeper went right and it was at saving height.  Carlo can still save the next and we win but an excellent pen in the circumstances gets us to sudden death.  Jacko steps up, goes wide and they don't.  And we're out.  Carried out on our shields at roughly 8pm, but we're out.  My daughter came out with my brother for the pens, stood in front of me and went through the highs and the lows and at the end of it all, broke down into tears, inconsolable.  Naturally, she took me with her but this season is about the league; the cup was a bonus but it is a twat of a way to go out.
The players came off to a suitable round and appreciation for GCQ and our boys came off to the heroes salute they deserved.  It's easy to applaud a winning side but they were fucking huge yesterday, as they have been all season, and they'll shake it off for Denbigh on Tuesday.  They owe us nothing.  If we win there, the title can be settled at Penrhyncoch on Saturday (Caernarfon were losing 2-1 at Conwy in the week but won 3-2 or we could have done it on Tuesday).
We were on the train back on a carriage to ourselves with two of the stewards (everyone knows everyone else, especially my brother, hence the frequent threats of car park fight) and they come in from Wigan and Warrington.  I fucking love this club.  Back into Liverpool at 11pm after getting progressively drunken transport and a Chinese to see the night out around midnight when we got home.  My daughter "bought" (i.e. she asked me for it) a shirt at the ground and changed into it to wear.  It was a fiver in the table sale (ongoing).  It's like buying on bid-up tv - if you hang on long enough, you'll get what's left for a pound.  They did the draw for the Welsh Cup semis about a penalty kick away from that...

Your very best write up yet......I felt like I was with you reading that. Your vocation in life was journalism my friend.

Sorry I backed you, you'd have won if I hadn't

Tone, despite all that, I'm in and out of Welsh footy as you know and when we got there yesterday, having had the outward times to the second, my brother asked if I had sorted out the return journey times*.  I told him no, because we have no idea what time we'll be leaving because of extra time and possible penalties.  If you had to guess at the slip in my pocket, you'd think it said "draw" but, as you know, it didn't.  I had the game as a three-way coin flip and we were bigger than the twos we should have been.  Of course, so was the draw but whereas head should back the draw, heart is what this side is all about and I couldn't betray it.

One song yesterday was typically tongue in cheek as the final is played at a ground selected after the finalists are known
"We're in the march with Gibbo's army
We don't know where the final is
but we're going to shake 'em up..." etc

I slept well last night.  I emptied out of my last scraps of nervous energy at around 1am. Full game is on BBC iPlayer. Fourteen minutes short of 3 hours

*Essentially just after a quarter past and a quarter to

As a postscript to the above postscript...

The full game is on BBC iPlayer, as I said. Should have been a straight red at 25 (which I called wrong as a yellow in real time - I said "no studs" and clearly that's wrong but I was behind and right) and a penalty at 35 (clear handball on the floor). The flick on for GCQ's first I reckon puts Kai Edwards (Noah's big brother) clearly offside by a good half yard. And there's a good shot of our party at 38:49.

Yesterday was the visit of Denbigh, who, had Caernarfon lost against Conwy last week (and they were a goal down at 2-1 until very late), would have been the side who we could have beaten for the title.  My plans would have involved leaving work early or not going at all and sleeping on the floor of the Prestatyn Nova Centre disabled toilet after the game if they could have won the title...

Well, amazingly, the unbeaten record finally went.  It appears that even with a few changes, Town still had plenty of chances and could have scored a hatful from reports but they were 0-3 down on the hour and only pulled a penalty back with a quarter to go.  Who was responsible for stopping us?  That would be Dunty, the Denbigh keeper and man of the match in the 2013 Welsh Cup Final.  For Town.  He is a club legend, left a couple of years back after his testimonial season when he went to Gresford and moved to Denbigh this season.  He has been at Town practically every game this season as a fan as he has been suspended, transferred and without a game because Denbigh have form for Friday games (they drew against Caernarfon in one). He was there Saturday, having a gab with my brother among the many others. A very familiar face and much loved at Bastion Gardens.

Cyril Sidlow, '46 championship last game at his old club, Wolves.  The omens...

The immediate impact?  Whereas winning at Penrhyncoch on Saturday would have won the title, it's now conditional at best on Caernarfon losing.  The day of sealing it may be the week after, at home, in front of us with a fully stacked bar.  I would not complain at that...

NotBert wrote: My plans would have involved leaving work early or not going at all and sleeping on the floor of the Prestatyn Nova Centre disabled toilet after the game if they could have won the title.

It would have been fine, Tone: I have a sleeping bag and a RADAR key...

Penrhyncoch today and everything from urgent errands to lack of sleep and unlikelihood of winning the pot today before TNS did (the late game) meant we didn't go. We could win the league if we won and Caernarfon lost at a very-difficult-to-knock-over Guilsfield on a heavy pitch that barely passed the doctor. Penrhyncoch was the game we should have had about eight in the first eighty minutes but got three and then let two soft goals in and had three minutes of "get it in the fucking corner" and should have been the almost ideal sort of opponent to get over last week. Paulo got a start (Hayesy clearly still not fit) so Parker could go back into midfield and Alec came in for Ben this week, Ben dropping to the bench. But for Myles/Hayesy, we had the option of our "first" eleven.

Reports suggest we were more than in charge in the first half but couldn't score: Noah hit the bar, Jordan missed a pen and half a dozen other very good chances still had us 0-0 at halfway. News from Guilsfield was the same - 0-0 and as it stood we'd be thirteen clear with five to play.

Five minutes into the second half and Jack Kenny calmed the nerves by one-twoing with Noah and slotting. Ben came on with just under twenty to go and scored right off and unlike the home game, settled it. The faithful at the ground (players and fans had gone on the same coach, put together by the club for a maximum a score a head, less if they filled it. I will assume the "less") turned their antennae towards Guilsfield where there was surprisingly little coming by way of word and so we were assuming 0-0 and still playing. If Guilsfield nicked one, of course, it would mean the coach would get back faster as it would fly rather than drive knowing the title was sealed.

Guilsfield were still playing. They'd just got a penalty in the 88th. Stepped up and... saved. The game played out for a nil-nil and we're lying dormie fifteen, 15 clear, 5 to play and Gresford at home next week knowing a point is enough. #OrdinaryToPrestatyn next week. Has to be.

My daughter, aged ten, is swimming on Saturday.

She has found out her race times and has put in place a plan to swim, dress, leave and catch the #Ordinary with me and still have ample time to tab around the High Street before.

I'll have her carrying out strategic hits before long...

Where to begin...

The swimming involved a warm-up from 8.00 to 8.13 and the first event began at 9.00. In event 7, she swam at... roughly 11.50. There were seventeen heats in one event. Even with this, there was latitude for us to get there, just not with any leisuredly roll around town beforehand. 12.00 meant we could comfortably get over for the 12.43 to Chester in Birkenhead and give us a half hour window.

We forgot Mayor Anderson, though. BigFatJoe (say it as one word, no spaces) has dug up every fucking road in Liverpool and consequently, not only did we not get the 12.43 but we were still in fucking Liverpool at the time. We managed to be the last two people on the last bus (having taken 50 minutes to go five or six miles) that would have got us to Birkenhead in time to get the 1.13 - Merseyrail, in their infinite fucking genius, are running bus replacements at the weekend while they fuck about in the river tunnels putting new lines in. This is phase 2 of 3 and will have disrupted a whole 7 months when it goes on to the next. The bus replacements are designed to arrive at Birkenhead one minute after a train leaves and leave you waiting a full fifteen and turn a 45 minute journey into an hour and a quarter. Another big stack of chips in the bank of North West twattery.

At Birkenhead, plenty of time for the 13 that gets in at 49, links to the 55 which gets into Prestatyn with just on ten to spare, amble to the ground for kick off. Arrive at Chester, go to get Prestatyn tickets, only two booths open and Britain's slowest cunts operating. A blind man and his wife are served in front of me and directed to the same train as me. Tickets at 11.52, time then decides to leap a minute or two and we get on the platform at 12.54 where the platform guard, who looks like Owen Smith, the Labour cock, sees us run up, shuts the fucking door and then tells me we can't get on because hes shut the door. The train is static, I can actually touch it from where I stand but no. We have to wait twenty minutes for the next one, platform 4b. Except the next one is in 39 minutes because I can read a fucking timetable and know this. The blind man and his wife then roll up at the sight of the receding train and say "but the man at the counter said we could just saunter over, it wouldn't be leaving for another couple of minutes". Arriva Trains Wales and Owen Smithalike join the Twattery set.

So our arrival is now put back to 40 minutes in, I have been on the go since 7am, have not eaten nor drank as much as a stick, it is 3pm gone and I'm a diabetic who spent four hours earlier in a warm swimming pool environment in a packed crowd - essentially a fucking sauna. My daughter had a hot chocolate at Chester in the delay but I was quite simply too fucking furious and cranky with it to drink coffee.

We got the ground on a now-certain-to-be-packed train at the 40 minute mark. The game had been Town on top but not asserting, title nerves obviously although Ross Weaver had started at centre back and gone off so Parker had moved into his position and Connor had come on. Fair switch but Parker has been a colossus all season, even more so than normal, and although substitutable, is irreplaceable. They had curry, no gravy, and for once, I disavowed it - I was fucking starving and so had a burger with the chips which were back to exacting standards.

Second half was much the same - best actual chance was to Gresford where they should have scored but the bloke in front of goal couldn't get over it and Rosenthaled it over the bar, but it was against the flow of the game. However, the 0-0 wins the title, we'd just like to settle it. We get a throw in Jacko territory, he launches it, Parker at the near post (making a mockery of his song to Don't You Want Me Baby - "Who's that on the back post") and Reece Fairhurst at the far and there's a one goal cushion. We never looked like conceding after and the game petered out, the ground slightly subdued on and off the park out of expectation more than anything else. Champions. Fucking get in.

They got the medals and cup on the pitch, Hayesy was in kit throughout unlike John fucking Terry, and is injured, not suspended, and he and Parker lifted the trophy. May not see him again, time catches up with us all and he, like Parker, has carried this side on many an occasion and the irony is that Fez's goal would have been him on another day. I hope he has at least another year at the WPL, though, even if he is looking at a peg for his boots.

Had one pint after the game, felt a bit shit, all the day finally turning sour on me as I wound down and the griefs of earlier resurfaced as the tension left, and left an hour or so after it was all over. The players were bouncing, they were just beginning to filter out into the bar from the still-bumping dressing room and it was as good a time to leave as any. They were clearly going to enjoy the evening.

The trophy will be in the cabinet when we're at home to Guilsfield, April 1st. Group photos... Couldn't be happier, they have been phenomenal this season and it's been earned. Flint on Wednesday in the semi of the Huws Gray Cup for a place in the final and a tilt at the Huws Gray double against Holyhead. Can't go but itching to

Great news!..Great write up....But fuck me Bert, where do you get your energy?

A lot of the time I run on fumes, Tone, and I am a stubborn cunt who has long since recognised that the British public is as thick as fuck and so am ready for just about any disappointment. I might moan like fuck as well but the undercurrent is my cogs are whirring and always looking for a solution - the years of hospital has honed that and I'm a good patient - if I'm sick, I can compensate but I behave and because of how later in life I was diagnosed, I don't suffer as badly as others as I have a fully-grown system to work with. It's like if I do DIY - I swear, curse and roar but it gets the job done. I remember when booking a holiday a couple of years back and we were badly let down by the operator and they basically ate my window of opportunity and I was offered (and took) a refund. The kids had a look on their face like I'd just stabbed Christmas but I was already moving on a different avenue which got us to fly from home, rather than Birmingham, and with less tidy flight times, and was a fraction dearer for which I would take the hit. My other half knows how this pans out and simply turned to the kids and said "don't worry about it, your Dad will sort it out." Stubborn fucker, raves a bit but gets the job done.

I also sleep on public transport like a vagrant. Any nap is a win. Although it was my boy's birthday yesterday, I did a running buffet for the family over a couple of hours, cleaned as I went and drove Mum home afterwards having only slept for three hours the night before. All but fell asleep at the wheel twice (where you go "mnmnmnm FUCKING HELL I'M ASLEEP AND DRIVING" and then open your eyes in a momentary panic that is only superseded by that instant when you get your head stuck in something) and slept for an hour or so at Mum's or I'd never have got home. There is a limit...

Hayesy and Parker

I am just going to leave this here.

Flint on Tuesday, Huws Gray Cup semi.  Drew 1-1, went out on penalties (Roy of the Rovers rang and told us to stop taking the piss, the script is not credible - three penalty shootout losses in each of the cups and a rampant league campaign?  Fuck off).  Hayesy made a comeback, though. Played 70 and hit a post with a typical set-piece foray

Holyhead Saturday, lost 4-2, were 3-0 down and scored the second, last kick of the game.  Jack Kenny saw red.

Logistical nightmares to go so went to neither.  However, and here's the big thing, my old man used to always "kit up" when Liverpool were playing, even if he was sat on the couch telling everyone to fuck off out when it wasn't going well, you jinxy bastards (the person who historically scored the most goals against Liverpool over the last 25 years of his life was apparently Mum).

Now, for these two games, neither saw me wearing the blue hoodie.  Just saying.

(Roy of the Rovers rang and told us to stop taking the piss, the script is not credible - three penalty shootout losses in each of the cups and a rampant league campaign? Fuck off)

Flint away today and the sun cracked the flags, it was a great day to be stuck on the fucking Welsh road (A550) which is still being dug up and will be for another month.  However, I had the option of taking it or going around the fucking houses and taking the same amount of time.  Needless to say, in competition for the nearest fixture of the season we've attended with Hawarden and we were fucking late for this as well.

Missed about ten minutes, losing 1-0 when we arrived.  Bollocks.  Conceded a second within five minutes of being there, scored by an ex-Rhyl bloke who was sacked for disciplinary reasons, which given Rhyl were demoted for financial irregularities around the same time, I can only assume he fucked the manager's/chairman's wife, daughter, and son who was looking to experiment and wiped his cock on the curtains afterwards.  During a game at Airbus.  Double bollocks.  We weren't having the best of it and we were playing a different formation which although a shift, was a strong side still - Hayesy, Fez and Paulo as three centre backs, the usual attacking full backs TK and Jacko, Parker, Steady and Noah in the middle with Ben and Jack Higgins up front.  A bit of a forced change up front but still...

Got back into it a bit and might have pulled one back through Parker which involved a miscue, a trickle towards goal, Jack Higgins attempting and missing a backheel and it lolloping over the line.  The linesman had his flag up, Town were claiming a goal, Flint claiming Higgins offside as the flag was up, the ref went over to touch to see what the linesman had to say, Hayesy pulled our lads away so as not to fuck up a decision he clearly thought we were going to get and in a tremendous imitation of '66, the ref pointed back to the centre circle, Russian linesman style.  2-1, announced as Parker.  It was later revised to Higgins.  I honestly don't know what the fuck is going on (1).  My boy and I ordered bacon cheeseburgers from two old boys in the tea bar (a massive departure from the usual server gender) which were frankly awesome.  The ground is, like most of these grounds, an absolute gem - it is right on the Dee, over the bridge by the station next door to the lifeboat station and Flint Castle, a ruin set in green grounds and offering views across the Dee to West Wirral  Two fair-sized stands and a couple of smaller ones mean they're good enough to walk into the WPL on standards and I would gladly visit there again.

That was half time.  We came out second half and my boy decided that we should go behind the goal where the rest of the Prestatyn faithful had begun to migrate (well, the chairman was there; we were second and third of about twenty-five).  Jack Kenny, Alec and Damien were not kitted out (JK is suspended) but decided to watch over the far side in club regalia, catch a bit of sun.  You don't see that at Stamford fucking Bridge.

The second half starts and we take charge.  Everything is more fluid, we're looking dangerous, Hayesy looks like he's never been away and from 2-0 and shellacking, we go to 2-2 when Jack Higgins gets loose in the left back slot and approaching the byline, pulls one back at pace inside the six-yard box and the defender can do nothing other than try and turn it away anywhere but the pace and direction means it's an own goal - my boy and I both dived as it looked for all the world that it was going to hit us in the face and your natural reaction at the speed it happened, net or not, is self-preservation.  2-2, the own goal is announced as Higgins.  It is later revised to Ben Maher.  I honestly don't know what the fuck is going on (2).  We carry one moving it around, Noah looks like he's seen the script and his name is on the celebratory last box and looks ominous and when TK overlaps on the right, he pulls back to the penalty spot where Jack Higgins guides it back into the corner where I am standing and so can see it's in before it's in.  I am therefore the first to celebrate the goal and I am for some reason bizarrely proud of this.  2-3.  Announced as Higgins, result stands.  We hit the post late on, Jacko goes in for the rebound and the keeper pulls off a magical stop but it stays 2-3 and we've turned around a below-par show into a cracking show to win.  Hayesy went off with a quarter left and Warren Adam, though tiny, came on and won every first header in midfield.  Paulo came off too, Parker slipped into a regulation back four and Connor swept up in front and the points were safe.

We had a pootle around the castle after the game, went the shops over the bridge and got something to eat, marvelled at how Flint could put a fairground in a tiny space in the middle of an industrial park (last day tomorrow if you're going) and came back.  A really good day and the blue hoodie worked its magic again...

What a great write up Bert, felt like I was there.....but I have to take you to task mate. When I read "I can only assume he fucked the manager's/chairman's wife, daughter, and son who was looking to experiment and wiped his cock on the curtains afterwards" I spat tea all over my keyboard.

I recommend a splatter guard for the keyboard, Tone. If just for the pic of the redhead with the horse on the other thread.

In other news, you can watch the Anfield derby at 12.30 at Bastion Gardens in the bar, watch the champions elect finish their home season at 2.30 and then run up the road to Rhyl for 5.15 and watch Caernarfon play Bala for a spot in the Welsh Cup Final

So, the end of the home season.

The kids called the shots which were compounded with the impact of the sun at Flint last week - having not had a flicker from them since October when the weather turns, my joints have been playing their last hurrah for the winter as they can see the vitamin D is coming. Pain in hip and knee so I've been limping like a winger who has just dived for and got a penalty and is trying and failing to convince the crowd. Twenty seconds of mobility and I stop walking like Uncle Albert but if I've had to drive anywhere, the pain has been enough for me to have to stop and get out to stretch/walk. Fucking autoimmune bollocks.

So I wasn't driving and the kids said "are we going on the train?" which means "We are going on the train" because, well, you'll see.

I was fucked about by the bloke who was issuing my first leg tickets so I ended up having to ticket through from Liverpool rather than Chester (a slight cash differential that is fucking mine, I earned it. Twats) but this worked in our favour after getting the link bus at Lime Street, sitting on it for ten minutes without moving and so missing our ideal train by one minute when the bus gets to Birkenhead. That left us with the no-margins fuck-up of the Gresford week. Ticketed through, however, meant that we didn't have to bargain away any of our six minutes (49 to 55) in connecting.

The Birkenhead train rolled into the platform at 13.51. I foresaw me chinning that Owen Smithalike. Well stretched so no limp over the bridge, we were on the platform to watch the train roll in. And we were on. At Prestatyn a minute or so later than expected, we got to the ground just after half past and they kicked off pretty much as soon as we walked in. Fuck you, pisspoor UK transport. The pally old bloke who was oddly the last bloke I spoke to at Flint last week inside was taking the player of the season votes. I could have missed the entire game deciding, it's fucking impossible but I said it should be Parker, he has been utterly dominant in his new role but I voted Steady for the sake of recognising how, irrespective of how Noah/Parker/Steady have been generally outstanding, that whenever we get a setpiece, every side in the league shits itself because of him.

Chips, gravy and chips and curry and chips for we three. My brother had been at the ground an hour to watch the derby in the bar - he hadn't been so lucky in travelling. This is why research is so important. The kids doubled up with burgers as well in the second half. I was obviously running a tightrope of eat/not eat again because, well, you'll see.

Carlo was out, he'd hurt his neck, TK was rested on the bench to give young Toby Sylvester a start, Hayesy was given a week off, he'll play at Llanfair next week, Fez, Parker and Jacko made the back four. Parker slotted in at the back despite there being enough cover fit (Myles was also fit and on the bench) so that Connor could play in his slot. Warren Adam got a start, Steady on the bench, Noah completing the middle. Ben was in the tea bar queue in front of me as we fielded a pair of Jacks (Kenny and Higgins) up front with Alec. We started as brightly as ever and after ten minutes, they broke and the striker got to one first before the keeper and we were one-nil down, penalty. We carried on, we looked different but we were still with all the ball, some of the crossfield play was spectacular, and on 28, we had a corner. Connor, deputising for Parker, took Steady's place, confusingly put the corner on Parker's head acting as Hayesy and he nodded it back across. Jacko is still Jacko, though, and he was there to drive it home from near the penalty spot. 1-1.

Two minutes later, we crafted something deft down the right again, Noah picked it up, jinked back the way he came and he fulfilled the prophecy as he drilled it past the keeper at the near post. I now realise that the kids had the burger just before half time because they were queuing for the burgers in the time we scored two (we were kicking into Pontins, lost the toss again, so nothing missed).

They'd barely finished them when Alec found himself in the same slot as Noah and made it three. That's how it was at half time. Second half was a little bit cagier, we let them back in too much, Toby had a good game, came off and Myles got a run out for the last twenty. They scored, not unmerited, but late on, Jacko made it a brace with his feet from another set piece and spent the last five minutes shooting from Talacre trying to get a hat-trick. 4-2, thanks lads, it's been a cracking season. Got a train to catch.

The 16.38 was just possible, but Branson's finest made it certain by being delayed six minutes. Which might sound great but our margins were already fine if we were going to be in Rhyl for the 5.15 kick off, Bala v Caernarfon, Welsh Cup semi. Told you you'd see. The station is suitably handy for Belle Vue but as my brother wanted to make specific bank transactions and started to walk to Pensarn - which to those not in the know is of course west when you're going east - we told him to catch us up and off we went. We got the ground, a steward asked if we had tickets. Hadn't considered it being all ticket, but he just guided us to the cash gate. Semi final, £5 entry and £2 for each of the kids. Amazing. We got in, walked past the toilet block and the ref said "they're here" and whistled for kick off.

We were sat on the halfway line all bar the shouting, behind the Caernarfon dugout, and the gate of 827 seemed low because the Cofis were everywhere. The clubhouse end was like a living thing and went berserk when they opened the scoring right in front of them fairly early. My brother was trying to wind up absolutely no-one in particular when he arrived by pointing out his Prestatyn shirt and how we were champions. He sat next to a woman who he then talked to for half an hour before going the toilet with my son, and then I sat beside her while waiting for them to come back and I apologised for him and we sympathised with each other because we got to hear it all. 1-0 half time and I like both sides but the Welsh FA owe the Cofis, IMO, and I was more than happy to sit among them. In a Prestatyn hoodie. With my daughter in a Prestatyn shirt. Don't think you can do that in England.

Bala reshuffled at half time, brought on Hunty, ex-Prestatyn and co-worker with my brother (he's a brickie) and an old-fashioned Malcolm MacDonald-style centre forward who is a fucking handful for anyone. Sure enough, he puts in a MoM performance, scores one with ten minutes to go when he gets loose and Bala follow it up with a second a couple of minutes later with a well-wrked free kick down the left. The Cofis have fought like, well, us against Connahs Quay, but that's seen them off. They were carried out on their shields but not before Hunty got a second. 3-1.

KFC when I could finally let myself eat something substantial, the loperamide lasted me home and we rattled in, no incident, at just gone eleven. The kids declared it a "good day"...

Good day?.........Sounds like a fantastic day to me Bert.....I envy you. I wish my kids were still young.
Great write up mate.

Was a bit strange, Tone, to think that it would be the equivalent (not on a numerical scale, obviously) of watching Sheffield United seal their place in the Premiership and then after the game, nipping up to Hillsborough to watch a cup semi between Man City and Newcastle.

Licensing committee meets Thursday. We could be a WPL side again this week.

Caernarfon got a licence. We, however, got a licence as well so it's WPL football for us next year

The Cofis should be there on justice and merit, tbh. Next year might well be their year. Barry got a licence from the south and just need to fall over the line - they're 7 clear of Haverfordwest in third with five to play, and of course top 2 does them. Flint got one from the north as well but interestingly, three sides only have provisional licences for now as they're missing an essential qualified coach - they have to find and appoint one within sixty days.

The WPL is pretty tight as it stands. Airbus are lighting candles and singing to plaster saints, only a miracle saves them. Rhyl are in the second relegation spot, two points of Aber and with three to play. Cefn are next up and are a further four points on - the dull fuckers have drawn 0-0 seven times this season in a league where goals are like drunks at Aintree today. Everyfuckingwhere. It is down to Rhyl and Aber for the second spot. Airbus, although not down, need a slide rule as they are a further 5 points adrift.

Rhyl are at home twice and against lower sides - Airbus this weekend, Llandudno in two weeks
Aber are away twice at playoff-seeking sides - the same Llandudno and in two weeks, Newtown
The game in between, Rhyl go to Aber

I'd not be too happy as an Aber supporter right now

4-1 at Llanfair sees the season off in style, Ben got a couple, Jacko and Jack H the other two. Lots of changes, we've strength in depth, a fitting end to a cracking season.

The WPL gets knottier. With twelve minutes to go, Cefn were safe and Rhyl were in Shit Street losing to potential miracle workers Airbus. Twelve mnutes later, Cefn could still go down, Airbus are down and Rhyl's turnaround victory takes them out of the bottom two. Aber at Llandudno tomorrow need something or the Rhyl game next week could be fatal