Away vs Home Form

Why are our away results better than those at BP?

Luck?
Raucous away support?
Tactics?

I played at a reasonable standard and 3 or 4 hour journeys back from an away defeat weren’t much fun.

But imagine getting back on the Town team bus after a rubbish, half arśed performance. If you make a mistake, you make a mistake. We all make mistakes.

It’s the wânkers who don’t put any effort on who do the damage. Luckily (or more likely, skilfully thanks to Hurst’s recruitment policy) we don’t have any of those at the moment.  

However, just parachute the clown boots of a Sweeney or Conlon into this current team and having to shuffle back on to the team bus after taking the pïss with a cowardly cowpat display.

You climb the bus steps.

In the distance, Crocombe’s sprawled in a hammock at the back of the coach. So near yet so far.

Hursty’s at the front of the bus; ‘Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt, Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt‘. Like Brando in Apocalypse Now.

You edge past.

It’s Doig. He’s caught a stray cat and is picking off it’s whiskers with some rusty pliers.

You’re shaking, wobbling forward like Neil Webb.

Row 3 baddie. Shaun Pearson. Shaun’s got a sawn off BIC biro in his hands and he’s carving your name into his forearm to remember the pain you’ve caused by your token effort spûnkery.

You press on.

It’s the first double occupied row.

Niall Maher and Luke Waterfall are taking turns to headbutt the the seat in front to see who can draw blood first. The whole row stinks of cranial matter. Ironically Maher’s forehead is bleeding like a waterfall but neither combatant will accept defeat. Huuuuurgghhh. Hoooofff.  Huuuuurgghhh.  The sound of Waterfall’s skull striking titanium tray table like a well timed drive through the covers.

You feel sick.

Your club tracksuit loose at the crotch having shät yourself at Row 3. Club Crocombe is only 7 aisles to go. You think you’re safe…

…then you find the three rows that Kieran Green (T-1000) has occupied. Green’s surrounded by candles and rudimentary, childlike drawings of Debbie McGee - like some sinister prehistoric cave scrawling but with less artistry.

You are now properly scared. Like that time when you told Darren Mansaram you thought you had the measure of him in Baton Rouge.

Your time at GTFC is done.

You run off the coach at twice the speed you managed on the pitch.

You get a cab to Scunthorpe.

You don’t try again.
Fail again
Fail worse

These people are part of the reason we won’t be getting relegated from League 2. If we don’t go up this season we have a solid, scary, savage base to build upon.

Quoted from Knut Anders Fosters Voles

Why are our away results better than those at BP?

Luck?
Raucous away support?
Tactics?

I played at a reasonable standard and 3 or 4 hour journeys back from an away defeat weren’t much fun.

But imagine getting back on the Town team bus after a rubbish, half arśed performance. If you make a mistake, you make a mistake. We all make mistakes.

It’s the wânkers who don’t put any effort on who do the damage. Luckily (or more likely, skilfully thanks to Hurst’s recruitment policy) we don’t have any of those at the moment.  

However, just parachute the clown boots of a Sweeney or Conlon into this current team and having to shuffle back on to the team bus after taking the pïss with a cowardly cowpat display.

You climb the bus steps.

In the distance, Crocombe’s sprawled in a hammock at the back of the coach. So near yet so far.

Hursty’s at the front of the bus; ‘Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt, Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt‘. Like Brando in Apocalypse Now.

You edge past.

It’s Doig. He’s caught a stray cat and is picking off it’s whiskers with some rusty pliers.

You’re shaking, wobbling forward like Neil Webb.

Row 3 baddie. Shaun Pearson. Shaun’s got a sawn off BIC biro in his hands and he’s carving your name into his forearm to remember the pain you’ve caused by your token effort spûnkery.

You press on.

It’s the first double occupied row.

Niall Maher and Luke Waterfall are taking turns to headbutt the the seat in front to see who can draw blood first. The whole row stinks of cranial matter. Ironically Maher’s forehead is bleeding like a waterfall but neither combatant will accept defeat. Huuuuurgghhh. Hoooofff.  Huuuuurgghhh.  The sound of Waterfall’s skull striking titanium tray table like a well timed drive through the covers.

You feel sick.

Your club tracksuit loose at the crotch having shät yourself at Row 3. Club Crocombe is only 7 aisles to go. You think you’re safe…

…then you find the three rows that Kieran Green has occupied. Green’s surrounded by candles and rudimentary, childlike drawings of Debbie McGee - like some sinister prehistoric cave scrawling but with less artistry.

You are now properly scared. Like that time when you told Darren Mansaram you thought you had the measure of him in Baton Rouge.

Your time at GTFC is done.

You run off the coach at twice the speed you managed on the pitch.

You get a cab to Scunthorpe.

You don’t try again.
Fail again
Fail worse

These people are part of the reason we won’t be getting relegated from League 2. If we don’t go up this season we have a solid, scary, savage base to build upon.

I'll have a pint of whatever you're drinking!

Last season our home form was better.  We also scored about 10 excellent goals at home

Our current run of away form (including the playoffs) is absolutely outstanding.  In the playoffs we played the equivalent of 4 away games.  When extra time is included. All against teams who finished higher than us.

Excluding the defeat to Leyton Orient, who were unbeaten leaders for games after this game. A reasonable expected defeat if you like.

The last 10 away games results (as adjusted above) are then 9 wins and 1 draw out of 10 games.  Superb consistency.  

Quoted from Knut Anders Fosters Voles

Why are our away results better than those at BP?

Luck?
Raucous away support?
Tactics?

I played at a reasonable standard and 3 or 4 hour journeys back from an away defeat weren’t much fun.

But imagine getting back on the Town team bus after a rubbish, half arśed performance. If you make a mistake, you make a mistake. We all make mistakes.

It’s the wânkers who don’t put any effort on who do the damage. Luckily (or more likely, skilfully thanks to Hurst’s recruitment policy) we don’t have any of those at the moment.  

However, just parachute the clown boots of a Sweeney or Conlon into this current team and having to shuffle back on to the team bus after taking the pïss with a cowardly cowpat display.

You climb the bus steps.

In the distance, Crocombe’s sprawled in a hammock at the back of the coach. So near yet so far.

Hursty’s at the front of the bus; ‘Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt, Keep us ‘kin taaaarrrttt‘. Like Brando in Apocalypse Now.

You edge past.

It’s Doig. He’s caught a stray cat and is picking off it’s whiskers with some rusty pliers.

You’re shaking, wobbling forward like Neil Webb.

Row 3 baddie. Shaun Pearson. Shaun’s got a sawn off BIC biro in his hands and he’s carving your name into his forearm to remember the pain you’ve caused by your token effort spûnkery.

You press on.

It’s the first double occupied row.

Niall Maher and Luke Waterfall are taking turns to headbutt the the seat in front to see who can draw blood first. The whole row stinks of cranial matter. Ironically Maher’s forehead is bleeding like a waterfall but neither combatant will accept defeat. Huuuuurgghhh. Hoooofff.  Huuuuurgghhh.  The sound of Waterfall’s skull striking titanium tray table like a well timed drive through the covers.

You feel sick.

Your club tracksuit loose at the crotch having shät yourself at Row 3. Club Crocombe is only 7 aisles to go. You think you’re safe…

…then you find the three rows that Kieran Green (T-1000) has occupied. Green’s surrounded by candles and rudimentary, childlike drawings of Debbie McGee - like some sinister prehistoric cave scrawling but with less artistry.

You are now properly scared. Like that time when you told Darren Mansaram you thought you had the measure of him in Baton Rouge.

Your time at GTFC is done.

You run off the coach at twice the speed you managed on the pitch.

You get a cab to Scunthorpe.

You don’t try again.
Fail again
Fail worse

These people are part of the reason we won’t be getting relegated from League 2. If we don’t go up this season we have a solid, scary, savage base to build upon.

This ladies and gentlemen is what drinking before lunch does for you.