There is a block buster movie out at the moment starring the world famous Shakespearean actor Jason Statham about a fucking great big prehistoric monster shark with a fucking big mouth called "Meg" At Tooting and Mitcham we have our own big mouthed prehistoric monster Meg... Sir Timothy Megone. If ever there was a man who should be starring in block buster movies fighting monsters it really should be "Our Timmy" as his stunning good looks and manly body would drive the public wild with desire and lust. Forget Idris Elba, Tim should be the next James Bond.
I am not a religious man but when ever I see Tim's words of wisdom I can not help but wonder about reincarnation and if that William Shakespeare has come back a bit like Dr Who into the body of Tim Megone
Here's Tim's take on Friday Night Football and the FA Cup.
Up until recently, I had always associated Friday nights with falling over in discos or silent vigils in forest clearings as druids burn effigies of pink and blue omelettes. But just over a fortnight ago, Friday became a by word for cup fever, in truth yet more humiliating recognition of our relegation to second class status at the Fields (Dulwich playing at ‘home’ the following day in the league), but an opportunity nonetheless for revival of the sacred cause.
As kick off approached, the bar was crowded but that horny sense of late summer anticipation was a million miles away. Instead, the stench of depression wafted amongst the hordes, shaking heads and bitterness the new currency on a scale not known for a good two decades.
The scars of last season had not healed: the complacency (only one team from 24 would go down, was the oft repeated refrain, surely it won’t be us?) that had set in so early during last season’s doomed relegation fight and been allowed to prevail unchecked almost to the end was not forgotten, nor forgiven. Just to rub salt in the wound, the popular but discarded player of the season, keeper Matt Pierson had left the club.
It’s worth recalling last season’s player of the year award, when Imperial Fields’ answer to the Oscars was held shortly after the gut-wrenching final home league defeat against Harlow, a near fatal wound that sent us sprawling in agony to the edge of the abyss (Met Police finishing the job with a couple of baton blows to the bollocks the following week).
With most of the fans that stayed desperate to be almost anywhere else, Golden Goal seller and Supporters’ club supremo Dave Irons gleefully announced the winner, only to find that Matt had already buggered off home. Undeterred, Dave - previously best known for bin chucking and moccasin tossing heroics - held the trophy aloft to bemused silence, while the remnants of the Bog End drank themselves into oblivion.
Back to this season and the preliminary round FA Cup tie against Gatwick wannabes Horley Town from the Combined Counties League, a tier below the Mighty Stripes. Surely now was the time to get behind the young team, rather than castigate them for crimes not of their making. In theory, yes, but it was all a bit shit to begin with, the upstart baggage fondlers resisting with ease our faltering attempts to get forward. Horley grew in confidence and began to build a couple of attacks of their own: a dodgily awarded free kick ensued, followed by a speculative cross that drifted beyond young keeper Liam Sallis and into the net and yet another disaster loomed large.
Tooting looked stricken and more bitterness rent the air, but towards half time the tie was dramatically transformed, the ever-dangerous Isaiah Jones the catalyst for revival and riotous celebration. Shredding the defence with a trademark foray into the box, he was clipped from behind and the ref pointed to the spot to angry protests from the South Surrey runway squatters. Returning hero Billy Dunn strode up and netted with aplomb.
It was Billy again who found the net with a deft header from a Wedgeworth free kick to send the masses into ecstasy, the mood of the Bog End fervent once again, depression dispersed – at least for the time being. With Sallis growing in confidence and Nexus Beeden, built like a floodlight and dominant at the back, we took control in the second half, Isaiah continuing to torment the defence before eventually being scythed down once too often – ending his contribution for the night - by an ever more desperate defence. Fingernails were nibbled and bowels ripped open as injury time continued into the early morning for a nerve shredding climax, but we hung on and for the first time in months, tasted victory, and cast our gaze at the prospect of more cup frolics.
As kick off approached, the bar was crowded but that horny sense of late summer anticipation was a million miles away. Instead, the stench of depression wafted amongst the hordes, shaking heads and bitterness the new currency on a scale not known for a good two decades.
The scars of last season had not healed: the complacency (only one team from 24 would go down, was the oft repeated refrain, surely it won’t be us?) that had set in so early during last season’s doomed relegation fight and been allowed to prevail unchecked almost to the end was not forgotten, nor forgiven. Just to rub salt in the wound, the popular but discarded player of the season, keeper Matt Pierson had left the club.
It’s worth recalling last season’s player of the year award, when Imperial Fields’ answer to the Oscars was held shortly after the gut-wrenching final home league defeat against Harlow, a near fatal wound that sent us sprawling in agony to the edge of the abyss (Met Police finishing the job with a couple of baton blows to the bollocks the following week).
With most of the fans that stayed desperate to be almost anywhere else, Golden Goal seller and Supporters’ club supremo Dave Irons gleefully announced the winner, only to find that Matt had already buggered off home. Undeterred, Dave - previously best known for bin chucking and moccasin tossing heroics - held the trophy aloft to bemused silence, while the remnants of the Bog End drank themselves into oblivion.
Back to this season and the preliminary round FA Cup tie against Gatwick wannabes Horley Town from the Combined Counties League, a tier below the Mighty Stripes. Surely now was the time to get behind the young team, rather than castigate them for crimes not of their making. In theory, yes, but it was all a bit shit to begin with, the upstart baggage fondlers resisting with ease our faltering attempts to get forward. Horley grew in confidence and began to build a couple of attacks of their own: a dodgily awarded free kick ensued, followed by a speculative cross that drifted beyond young keeper Liam Sallis and into the net and yet another disaster loomed large.
Tooting looked stricken and more bitterness rent the air, but towards half time the tie was dramatically transformed, the ever-dangerous Isaiah Jones the catalyst for revival and riotous celebration. Shredding the defence with a trademark foray into the box, he was clipped from behind and the ref pointed to the spot to angry protests from the South Surrey runway squatters. Returning hero Billy Dunn strode up and netted with aplomb.
It was Billy again who found the net with a deft header from a Wedgeworth free kick to send the masses into ecstasy, the mood of the Bog End fervent once again, depression dispersed – at least for the time being. With Sallis growing in confidence and Nexus Beeden, built like a floodlight and dominant at the back, we took control in the second half, Isaiah continuing to torment the defence before eventually being scythed down once too often – ending his contribution for the night - by an ever more desperate defence. Fingernails were nibbled and bowels ripped open as injury time continued into the early morning for a nerve shredding climax, but we hung on and for the first time in months, tasted victory, and cast our gaze at the prospect of more cup frolics.
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