Exeter City (3) 3 Logan 7, Stansfield 39, 43
Gillingham (0) 0
Att. 4,819
Entrance: £15
Programme: £2.80
Mileage: 427/2,414
Match Report
Another away day disaster from a group that call themselves Gillingham Football Club but turn into a spineless rabble not worthy of the name as soon as their coach turns onto the A2 leaving behind the shelter of their home comforts.Twelve goals have now been shipped in the last three away games, two of which came in a performance at Aldershot that belied that spineless tag with an endeavour that deserved more. The first half at Exeter was, in my humble opinion, actually worse than the first 45 at Shrewsbury, where there was at least a mitigating circumstance in Richards’ 10 minute absence during which two goals were conceded.
Slow out of the traps and down within seven minutes to a poorly defended goal, matters went from bad to worse at the back end of a dreadful first half when two goals of comedy value were conceded. If any of you have eight year olds (and more of them later!) and saw the second goal on their school playing field most Mums would spit out the dummy, let alone the Dads, but such is Gillingham Away the laughable is no longer a surprise.
As a pundit, I’m never going to grace the Match of the Day studio, but I have accumulated enough football nous over too many years to recognise that sometimes players are just not good enough and I accept that through financial constraints or just bad management they are the players that wear the shirt on the day. But a lack of ability is no excuse for bad attitude, a lack of application, concentration or a will to win. This should be in every professional footballer’s psyche and too often, for years it seems, away from home Gillingham have been unprofessional to be kind and utterly spineless to be truthful.
There was some thoroughly lamentable performances. Nutter, who I thought was going to be one of the success stories of the non league batch, had a horrible game. The midfield were poor across the line. Crofts, how does he get in the Welsh squad, are they really that bad? Weston, on the day couldn’t make a pass towards Keira Knightley yet alone a geezer in a blue shirt. Bentley, likewise and Jarrett who might be absolved by a better second half, showed that the step-up from the reserves is bigger than might be thought.
The midget strike force can be spared only through virtue of a dire service.
The second half was nothing more than an academic passing of 45 minutes. Jarrett hit a post and there were a couple of worthy efforts from Barcham, but not in our wildest dreams was a stirring comeback on the cards. This half was made memorable only by the impassioned rant of a frustrated Gillingham supporter.
The weather forecast and Exeter’s open terrace had threatened a soaking through to the undergarments and a few light showers had been encountered on the trip down. So when we were offered the opportunity of a seat under cover for a couple of quid we readily accepted. Whatever possessed Exeter’s community project to offer free seats to eight-year-old schoolboys directly adjacent to the away support beggars belief and their high-pitched voices quickly became a tad wearing. Following our side’s juvenile defending the soprano singing of “you’re not singing anymore” left most of the away support biting their tongues. One guy was the exception and initially his rant was aimed at Marcus Stewart, who had gone down under a challenge. Stewart, no longer able to command a Championship place, had pitched up at the only club willing to take him on, was a cheat, never was any good, on an on without a breath until his words on the subject began to run dry only to be replaced seamlessly with a tirade at the kids. There were a few expletives in the extended sentence and for that we should be embarrassed, except for the fact that it was so bloody funny. It earned him a ticking off and nothing more from the stewards who in turn had a word with the headmaster of the miscreant kids. It was a bit of humour to be extracted from a black afternoon.
Forewarned with 365's Eccles’ recounting of long tiresome journeys on the A303 and my own experiences, not least enroute to our honeymoon hotel a trillion years ago, we had made good mileage by the time we reached Stonehenge. We glanced across to see a fair sized gathering surveying the stones. Now I’m not a Philistine, in fact I’m always in awe of the fine Gothic cathedrals I’ve seen around the world, but Stonehenge just leaves me cold. What is it about a collection of over-sized breeze blocks that drags people from all over the world to stop and stare. But then, as I ridicule a static row of stones, I travelled over 400 miles, drove for eight hours to watch a Gillingham defence do their own portrayal of the said edifice.
Forty years ago I witnessed Manchester United winning an FA Cup tie at St James’ Park and I’ve not returned since. A couple of relatively modern stands have been erected, one giving a large terrace housing the home support. The away terrace where I stood in 1968 remains as was and its shallowness makes for a poor view. The old stand that was inhabited by the Gillingham seated support and our eight year old friends is a wooden structure which did lead to speculation that it might not be entirely legal in respect of legislation following Valley Parade, but it must have passed safety certificates.
The rain never really materialised in any great amount during the match so the uncovered terrace lads and lassies didn’t get the feared soaking and they had arrived in Devon in decent numbers, over 400 seeming a good estimate. Unfortunately it did catch up with us for a damp and depressing ride home along the tediously long A303.
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