March 20th – Southend 2 Andy Woolmer 2 – Position: 22nd

It’s almost traditional that teams fighting for their lives towards the end of March witness a complete absence of luck. The wood work is hit an unimaginable number of times, key players develop brittle bone disease and a flock of questionable officials descend onto games like vultures. It won’t surprise you to hear that, at Southend, we’ve had it all.

Subtracting the enormous off-the-field woes we’ve had to surpass and the fragile, precarious state of the club financially, Southend haven’t had the best of seasons.

Fresh from a first clean sheet in what seemed like an eternity, a renewed vigour appeared to wash over a back line that welcomed cult figure and peanut-headed Johnny Herd back into the squad. The vigour lasted all of six minutes. Scott Dobie pouncing on a glaring defensive error to head past Mildenhall. Heads sunk even further, Ben Marshall doubling the advantage a handful of minutes later as an apparent tear in the time space continuum rendered the defence immobile, like a scene straight out of FlashForward, and incapable of dealing with professional footballers who have the gaul to run.

Then, a key moment in the game that ultimately swung the game in our favour and decided the result. A ball broke away from Johnny Herd, leaving Adam Barrett to clear the ball into touch. No contact was made with the man; Barrett’s eyes never left the ball and all involved parties simply got on with the game.

Quite what Mr Woolmer saw in the incident I don’t know. It was a two footed lunge for the ball that was never malicious nor dangerous, purely because there was never a chance of contact. When Barrett received his first yellow card of the day, the incredulous expression cast over his face said it all.

The overall shock of the decision, and incited venom of the crowd, inspired an eleven who were in grave danger of being cast aside in the opening stages. Momentum is everything in football, and when an incident such as this changes the momentum, the ramifications can be extreme. Enter, stage right, Damien Scannell. Fresh and fit, he tore down the right wing, playing a neat one-two with Simon Francis before crossing over to Franck Moussa who dispatched the ball with a neat, if scuffed, finish into the corner.

Minutes later, the impetus was fully in Southend’s court as Barrett steamed into the box to claim a header and an equaliser which raised the crowd to it’s feet. The rest of the first half consisted of continued pressure and, had it continued for a further five minutes, the game could have been won there and then.

My initial impression of Woolmer, officiating in spite of his dwarfism and receding hair line, was that he was a jobs worth official keen on demonstrating his power from the off. In sending Adam Barrett off for a second meaningless yellow card following a scramble in the Carlisle box, he did nothing to rectify my impression.

A lot has been made of the “Dying Art of the Tackle”, and it is easy to see how this is happening with officials like Woolmer rife in the lower leagues. In the event of a goal mouth scramble, a player has every right to challenge a loose ball for the good of his team. By booking Barrett for such a “challenge”, it runs the risk of setting a dangerous precedent in making the game non-contact. If I wanted a non-contact sport, I’d stay at home and watch Netball or take up Chess.

The rest of the game was ruined by awful decision after awful decision, and no word of exaggeration escapes me when I say Woolmer was one of, if not the, worst official I’ve seen at Roots Hall in the past decade. And we’ve seen Trevor Kettle here on multiple occasions.

Barrett’s now the victim of a one-game ban, missing the crucial game against Walsall on Tuesday, and a ridiculous and out-dated law that means we cannot challenge the decision because of it being comprised of two decisions, equally as poor as each other.

Woolmer, even if there was an accessor in the audience, will escape with a mildly-toned letter urging him to review his decision making, but the repercussions for the club could be disastrous. We stood no chance of beating Carlisle with a man down and will now miss our captain for a game that could decide our stature come May.

Woolmer, and Richard Keogh who found it wildly amusing to prance and joke with the aforementioned wanker in the black after Barrett’s dismissal, join Nicky Bailey and Phil Parkinson in “Stop this season’s book of Awful, Awful Bastards”, published in full come May 8^th. As for us, it was an improved performance and the green shoots of recovery are starting to sprout. Continue that style of performance and there’s still hope… the elusive three points continues to avoid us, and they’ll have to show their beautiful face here soon.

March 13th – Southend 0 Exeter 0 – Position: 22nd

As tempestuous a week with the Blues as I’ve ever seen one. Sacking the assistant on the Monday, almost being wound up on the Wednesday and a relegation scrap with some country bumpkins on the Saturday. A win here was absolutely vital and, with what is quickly becoming a recurring theme this season, the team disappointed with a tentative-at-best display of football.

Exeter are a side with not much about them. They attack solely down the left flank using Golbourne and Friend, hoping to feed the ball towards Haber, who is clearly Peter Crouch and Harry Redknapp’s offspring. It’s a game plan that might well work against half of this league, but it’s something we’ve all seen before. They never pressed themselves to attack in great swathes and they rarely showed the desire to win the game.

Which makes it all the more depressing when I say exactly the same about Southend.

We attacked solely down the right, predominantly because Scott Malone forgot how to play football and Francis Laurent was busy day dreaming about the time he skinned John Nutter, in the hope of hoofing the ball towards Paterson and Vernon so that they might be sent clean on goal. It happened once, but Vernon is too much of a “nice guy” to strike a ball harder than what would warrant a pass and duly obliged in handing the ball back to their goalkeeper when presented with a golden opportunity. It’s either that, or he’s a Colchester spy.

Special mention for Scott Malone, he’s only been here a few months but has successively forgotten everything he’s ever been taught about football and has blended in well with Laurent to forge the thickest left-sided partnership in our history. If Mitchell Cole was still here, I’m pretty sure we’d be meeting out “equal opportunities” entitlement with those three special cases alone.

A complete lack of action off the pitch led me to notice other things occuring, such as Tisdale’s metrosexual hat/scarfe/trenchcoat/cravate combination. If any Exeter fans are reading, I’d very much like to know where Tisdale shops if only for next Halowe’en when I want to go to a party dressed as Jose Mourinho/a twat. Stuart Fleetwood being completely spooked when a stray balloon hit him on the head also caught my attention, as did a spontaneous shout of “Martin Out!” by a guy who looked completely soul-destroyed upon finding out a) nobody had joined in with him and b) Ron Martin didn’t appear to be there to hear him.

Back to the football, todays result isn’t one to be disheartened by. We’ve effectively stopped the rot of consecutive losses and showed a great ethic to the game… Whenever we were pegged back, we looked to dig ourselves in and push through it. I’d like to say this is a result that, with two successive home games after this, could help us turn a corner, unfortunately spirals down have corners.

Ron Martin with the Hail Mary…

After Saturday’s dismal display away to Hartlepool (O-Fucking-Donovan indeed), once the initial murderous thoughts had subsided, A calmness washed over me as I realised that things couldn’t possibly get much worse. What could possibly happen that could cast more doubt over the perillous situation we find ourselves in?

Sack the assistant, that’s what.

Paul Brush was dismissed from his position as Tilson’s assistant this morning as the club look to remove the negativity from the camp for the upcoming struggle against relegation. Brush, alongside Tilson, has been at the centrefold of our success. He’s the bad cop to Tilson’s good cop and is frequently seen as the voice on the touchline while Tilson likes to play a more reserved character. The exact reasons for his dismissal haven’t exactly been revealed, nor do I expect them to, but it’s a move that will go one of two ways. Success, or ultimate failure.

A statement from the club claims that, while Brush’s efforts are welcomed and appreciated, something has to be done to “stop the rot” and while Tilson has qualities that the chairman wishes to keep hold of, Brush does not.  Tilson will, undoubtedly, be dismayed to lose his right hand man and I suspect it’s only the love for this club that will keep him in the hot seat, rather than salvaging his reputation and walking away.

The move has rightfully infuriated sections of the support and demonstrations are in the midst, targetting Saturday’s crunch game against relegation bound Exeter. Demonstrating is a dangerous game to play, as it will only cast more doubt over a club facing impending doom and by grouping such a large number of disgruntled fans in one place, it’s a situation that is begging  to be made worse.

Even by flirting with administration and the state of the playing squad this season, I’ve thought that the chairman, Ron Martin, has perhaps recieved a degree of unfair criticism. He’s fell victim the credit crunch and has not been helped by a number of disastrous signings. All that said and done, he’ll have a hard job convincing me that this is a move forward or even the only option available.

In American Football terms, this is a Hail Mary play. A desperate attempt at the last to give the side the impetus to push forward and away from the relegation zone. I just hope it works, because it’s my club that’ll suffer if it doesn’t.

6th March – Hartlepool vs Southend – Position: 22nd

I like Jeff Stelling, I really do. I think he’s the pinnacle of Soccer Saturday and he does an almighty job keeping blabbering idiots like Paul Merson and Dean Windass entertaining. However, when I see his smug fucking face celebrating Southend’s downfall, I’d want nothing more than to punch him. It’s completely contradictory, I know, because I’d be doing the same… That said, his cheery demeanour doesn’t give any sense of consolation to my team conceding defeat with nothing more than whimper.

Earlier on in the season, Hartlepool found themselves 2-0 up at half time at Roots Hall by what can only be explained by a rip in the time space continuum. 2 shots, 2 goals, but Southend had dominated the game entirely. So, when we scored 3 goals in the second half and took the 3 points home, I wasn’t exactly shocked.

A mere few months later and the same rip had befallen us, except this time against a team that looks completely beaten.

Adding insult to injury, enter Roy O-Fucking-Donovan. A striker that we once courted before he found himself at Sunderland, he previously looked disastrous for us… disastrous enough for me to say he was the only striker to look more dangerous running away from goal. Well, karma’s a bitch.

O-Fucking-Donovan notched a clean hat trick as Hartlepool won what is a crucial six-pointer against us. Defensive errors continue to cost us dearly, and it’s becoming increasingly apparent that Jean Yves M’voto, a defender that I won’t be alone in thinking could have been pivotal to our survival, is nothing more than an error-prone false saviour. The French defender immediately gifted O-Fucking-Donovan the first and the entire back four froze for the second.

By the time O-Fucking-Donovan had finished, the result was just a foregone conclusion. Alan McCormack had seen to that, finding it absolutely necessary to lunge in late on a Hartlepool player despite being on a yellow card. He’ll now miss the home game next week, as well Christophe through suspension and Grant through injury, severely limiting the options in midfield. Not all footballers are as intelligence-challenged as the press would have you believe, but it’s a stereotype only made more accurate when you consider the mind-numbing stupidity exhibited by McCormack.

McCormack’s stupidity is one thing to take, but the complete lack of fight is something that I cannot abide. It’s why defeats against Charlton and Norwich were made ever-so-slightly bearable. The thought that, in the grand scheme of things, the players couldn’t have given anything else is something which comforts any football fan… Not only because it’s all you can realistically ask for, but because it’s all the fan, himself, could produce. Footballers are paid an awful lot of money and to watch them saunter around the pitch without a care in the world is offensive.

In a league perspective, this result puts us slap bang into the relegation dogfight, sent into the relegation zone for the first time of the season, at the worst time of the season to do so. With three consecutive home games in two weeks, it’s a position the team can amend by producing solid performances of a level every fan knows they’re capable of.

Unfortunately, I think the blow of this defeat will be something more akin to a knockout than a body blow… Something we just won’t recover from. Roy O-Fucking-Donovan…

Pathetic Tosser in Newspaper Interview

In my previous post, I think I made my opinions on Nicky Bailey quite clear. I actually thought it impossible for a man of such dubious morals to stoop any lower than how he cheated a fellow professional and 9,400 fans. But, such is the sheer ignorance of Bailey, he’s somehow managed to do so.

Tucked away inside various football supplements, little has been said in the press of the controversial incident, probably attributed to a lack of footage and the fact that, outside of the Premier League, noone at the red-tops gives two shits about what happens in a game of football contested by two third tier clubs. Imagine my amazement when this article: http://www.mirrorfootball.co.uk/news/Charlton-star-Nicky-Bailey-brands-Southend-boss-Steve-Tilson-a-total-disgrace-in-red-card-cheat-row-article338465.html popped up on the Mirror Football website.

In an “exclusive” interview, Bailey labels Tilson a total disgrace in a pathetic attempt to clear his name of any cheating, even having the remarkable gaul to claim that, “Cheating is not a word that I have ever been associated with.”

Tell that to Carl Baker, who actually punched Nicky Bailey after being goaded in the final minute of Charlton’s game against Stockport. Alternatively, you could ask any Carlisle fan whose side were provoked by this ignoramus of biblical proportions, resulting in getting another professional sent off… Bailey undergoing a miraculous recovery just in time to chase him off the pitch. Unfortunately, in that game, Bailey was wearing a blue shirt in a prolific spell now soured by this incident and the remarks made after it.

Clearly determined to soil the honest reputation of Steve Tilson, Bailey goes as far as attempting to ridicule his managerial manner, claiming that Tilson has tried to negotiate contracts by scribbling numbers down on a piece of paper. Regardless or not if this is true, it has absolutely no bearing whatsoever on the content of the piece and strikes me as a desperate move to garner a cheap laugh. It’s, quite frankly, ridiculous that the paper went to print with such a throw away comment.

Bailey also comments that he still has friends at Southend, but it’s not uncommon for a tabloid newspaper to publish such blatant lies…



26th February – Southend 1 Charlton 2 – 20th Position

I know that hate is a strong word, so when I say that I despise Nicky Bailey with every fibre of my being, know that this is not an exaggeration.

The atmosphere and animosity surrounding the man with the dream was potentially explosive before he even set his dirty little feet on the hallowed Roots Hall pitch, so when he deliberately cheated in order to get Jean-Francois Christophe sent off I’m sure you can understand that it got “a little fiery.”

There’s no two ways about this. Nicky Bailey goaded Christophe and, when it failed, He pretended he had been punched in order to cheat a fellow professional and the watching 9,400 fans. I’d like to take this time to speak of Phil Parkinson, a man who is probably simple-minded with a history of incest and inbreeding from his Colchester days, who came out with this little gem in his post-match bleat-a-thon: “When you run 20 yards and punched an opponent, you’re off the pitch and when someone that size punches you, you’re going to go down.”

I saw the incident; Christophe ran 20 yards to be involved with the free kick that the referee had given. He never punched Bailey, if anything he shoved him out of the way so that we could take the free kick… Jean-Francois Christophe is a mountain of a man, if he hits you, you don’t fall down dramatically before performing enough pirouettes for a Strictly Come Dancing audition… If Christophe hits you in the face, you’re lucky to still remember your name by the time you’ve come around.

Footballers, as brain dead as they might seem, are usually a well-mannered bunch and are fully aware that what happens on the pitch isn’t necessarily an indictment of someone’s character. Players will kick lumps out of each other and then, 90 minutes later, be sharing a bath… This is the third time Nicky Bailey has “been punched” on the field this season and even the Charlton fans are ashamed to call him their own at times, which should be all you need to draw your own conclusion about the vile, wretched excuse of a human being.

Away from the despicable ginger shitehawk, another spirited performance from Southend ends at the hands of two late opposition goals so, yet again, we have nothing to show for our collective efforts. It’s beginning to feel like we’re doomed and that it’s written on some ancient piece of papyrus in an Egyptian pharaoh’s burial chamber that: “In the year of 2010, the Shrimpers will fall.”

Either that or we’re just not very lucky.

Unfortunately luck is a considerable factor in football and it’s what decides an incredible number of games. One solitary inch lower and Simon Francis would’ve scored a free kick instead of rattling the crossbar, a second earlier and Alan McCormack would’ve intercepted a pass, 24 years ago a single ginger sperm won it’s race against millions of it’s counterparts and the World has to deal with a vile piece of shit that isn’t fit to lace James Lawson’s boots and, in the interests of fairness, an instance of better goalkeeping and Matt Patterson’s stinging first half effort wouldn’t have squirmed it’s way into the goal.

I really cannot commend the Southend squad more for last nights efforts, every single player gave their all into the cause and from an analytical perspective if they can reproduce the performances and commitment of the last two games then survival should be a technicality.

Well, that’s what I’m clinging onto anyway…

23rd February – Norwich 2 Southend 1

After leading the League leaders for 78 minutes, even the most apathetic of football fan could be forgiven for showing the least smidgeon of excitement.

You see, this has been the single most tumultuous season I can remember and, as a Southend United fan, that’s saying something. When we haven’t been caught out on the field, we’ve been caught up in court, courtesy of Her Majesty Revenue and Customs like a handful of other clubs this season.

Unfortunately for us, both the events are intrinsically linked to our downfall. We started the season with a squad woefully short of numbers and, because of our problems with the tax man, were handicapped in our approaches to boost our numbers at the hands of a transfer embargo. Forced to beg and borrow, our squad hasn’t had the chance to gel and it’s definitely showed… Adam Barrett having more defensive partners than Ashley Cole’s had hairdresser hotel rendezvous’.

The tax problems came and were seemingly dealt with, but we were left to sift through the debris, trying to find something salvageable to prop us up. Loans were used to swell the ranks, some good (A fully fit Jean Yves M’voto is capable of destruction), some more than capable at this level like reformed Colchester scumbag Pat Baldwin and some just downright awful: Roy O’Donovan the only striker to look more useful running away from goal.

Never the less, after two seasons of reasonable success against the odds, to find ourselves in the midst of a relegation scrap despite having a capable squad of players on paper was a shock to the system. The signs had been ominous, with only one centre back present in August and a squad thinner than John Terry’s grasp on humility, it was clear that this season was going to be a long, unforgiving slog.

That all pales into insignificance, though, when Scott Vernon prods home a Damien Scannell cross to give you a half time lead. Suddenly, you can stay up… such is the eternal optimism of the supporters mind, Hell, with a winning streak we could reach the play-offs.

So, when Oli fucking Johnson rose from the bench to score twice in twelve minutes, condemning us to an eighth consecutive game without a win, forgive me if I never want to see another wretched Delia Smith cookbook as long as I live.

That’s the life of a football fan, though. A constant, degrading battle with emotion that will either leave you exacerbated in the throes of ecstasy that is a last minute winner, or longing the sweet, sweet mercy of death as you’re side throw away what could prove to be an all-important three points against the league leaders in a futile attempt to stave off relegation.

That aside, it’s Charlton on Friday and a chance to make an insufferable ginger tosser’s 90 minutes as hellish and torturous as possible. That should make me feel better…