Big game this, Alan Dev's beleaguered Magpies travelling to deepest, darkest Essex – our most favourable midweek away fixture in the league this season from a distance perspective, 'just' the 178 miles there and back, which is ridiculous – for a match-up with one of his former clubs, three points and two places above us in the table, and looking to stymie another all-too-familiar dismal run (one win in 11 [all comps]; no win in nine [all comps]; four consecutive league defeats by a combined score of 13-2) with trips to York (division leaders, as I write) and Sl*ugh (for the first SL Clásico at their place since April 2001) looming large on the horizon; five years to the day since a memorable 4-3 midweek win at Dover, which was #goodjuju, and two years to the day since a lamentable 3-2 defeat at Maidstone, which wasn't
Rush hour traffic on the M25 wasn't as bad as the trip to the Kent coast in 2019, but still not great: it was approximately 2.5 hours after leaving Cox Green that Macleod (M) and I made it to King William IV – Good Beer Guide staple – to discuss favourite REM songs (prompted by Nightswimming playing on the jukebox), Nic-Cage Against The Machine (whom Macleod [M] had seen, the Saturday before last, supporting Elvana at The Hexagon; "Bognor Regis Town used to run out to Wake Up"), and attempt to calculate how many National League starting appearances there were between the six MUFC substitutes (13 is the answer, with Bradley Keetch accounting for eight of them)
A second round of Tring Brewery's eminently quaffable Liberator meant that by the time we had parked and made it onto the terrace behind the goal – with the last remaining tasty double cheeseburgers to hand – United were two-nil up ("thanks to some Maidenhead-esque defending"); "I'll be happy enough if we've missed tonight's only goals," said Macleod (M), who, like me, had no regrets
I had half-joked on social media before the game that the Braintree keeper would follow up his viral howler at Boston on Saturday with a world-class performance against us, but that prediction was far from accurate: his jitteriness was symptomatic of arguably the worst NL opposition we've faced since Oxford City last December, with the Magpies looking likely to score every time we attacked – surprising, bearing in mind the Iron had only conceded 23 goals in the 19 league games before this (missing players, perhaps – they had fewer subs than us)
No Good (Start the Dance) is one of my favourite songs, and I love The Prodigy, so I was pleased to get a photo in front of Keith Flint – R.I.P. – at half-time; the mural of him is perhaps the only improvement to the ground since I first visited the Rare Breed Meat Co. Stadium Cressing Road, travelling by train with Willie T and my sister (!) to the final league game of the 1998/99 campaign (a 2-2 draw in glorious sunshine, with Mickey 'Vialli' Creighton and Tim Cook goalscorers for the away side) – this place is ramshackle to the extent it makes York Road look like the Emirates Stadium
Three-nil – game over! – should've been the score early in the second half, but Shawn McCoulsky, one-on-one with their otherwise hapless keeper, saw his shot saved; if the former Newport County striker were a more reliable finisher, then he'd be playing his football higher up the pyramid (but he isn't so he's not)
Rally from the home side (John Akinde – "If he falls over, I fear the worst for those living close to the San Andreas Fault" – came on at half-time, and two more subs appeared before the hour mark), halving the deficit with a scrappy and poorly defended goal and prompting knowing looks and utterances from the away fans ("We've seen this movie before); previously, the atmosphere had been carefree, with a lengthy chorus of "he left cos you're shit" – referencing numerous ex-Braintree players who went on to represent the Magpies – starting with Alan Massey and ending with Nick Hamann (guffaws all around)
Effiong, Inih had collapsed at York Road whilst representing Dagenham & Redbridge in August 2023, so it was good to see him back playing again, especially as (1) he didn't score and (2) he came out with a couple of memorable one-liners, calling one of his teammates (number 7) "a pussy" right in front of the travelling contingent (you can imagine our reaction) and then asking "where ya gonna put it, bro?" just before Sam Barratt smashed a 74th-minute penalty into the top corner; the award, which had resulted in a second yellow and a red card for the wonderfully-named Marley Marshall-Miranda ("Mmm Bop"), seemed soft ... despite the appeals of me and several Maidenhead players when you watch the video – I think the away fans coerced the referee into it, having harangued him moments earlier for inexplicably failing to caution some fella for pulling back McCoulsky
Even though it rained and I initially missed the M25 turnoff on the M11 (meaning a 20-minute detour to the next junction and back, narrowly avoiding the ULEZ), the drive home was better than expected, in keeping with the evening overall; David Essex was playing on Spotify – much to Macleod (M)'s bemusement – as we left the A404 just before midnight, which, bearing in mind from where we'd journeyed, was rather apt ("Hold me close, Maidenhead United, don't let me go")
No surprise there, lost the dressing room. Correct call 👏🏼
— London Shrimper (@londonshrimper) November 27, 2024
• Not paying wages.
• Fines for going to family funerals.
• Forcing players to train on their own.
• Fines for cars breaking down.
• Cancels injured players’ gym memberships.
Beyond shocking handling of players 😡 https://t.co/69wPtn7EXM
