Molesey (Away) FA Trophy - January 1991

A decent Martyrs team (actually the team was crap, as always). For three intrepid explorers, who travelled up over ye old Severn Bridge to that sad and rather smelly country, the day was more memorable for an event which took place in the toilets at half time (ooooooo) than the game itself.
It was myself, Bungle & Will who lumbered down to the law courts during the depths of the harsh Glamorganshire winter, to experience the delights of a Trevor Meyrick away trip to London. These were the days when you were actively encouraged to carry alcohol on away trips. The more the better. In fact it was common place for fans to be turned away from one of Trevor's busses for not carrying the required quota of eighteen cans of elephant beer and a kilo of whizz. This almost caused the first mishap of the day as Will, upon inspection, only had seventeen cans in his possession. Things were looking ropey for a few moments until the great man produced a two litre bottle of the demon voddy which, in my book more than made up for his initial error.
The bus (which seemed to be the case on all of Trevor's trips) did resembled as Bungle put it, "a fucking swimming bus", However we were assured that there would be no problems in making it to the game. Bungle's initial fears seemed to have some content as the driver de-toured down the Merthyr Valley, and the possibility of a couple of lengths in Aberfan baths was on the cards. Will, who had by now polished off the vodka complained because he didn't have a towel.
The journey up was pretty uneventful apart from the fact that the three of us were totally blotto. The first stop was Reading services (I think.) Only a quick stop for breky and as soon as the fruit machines and spacey's were strapped to the roof it was away to go. Will was due to meet up with his new girlfriend from London whom he had met a couple of months back in Crete. Due to his totally drunken stupor he was refusing to pay full fare on the bus as he seemed convinced that he only required a single ticket as he'd be going back to her place to, "crack the case so to speak." To say that the rest of the bus had their doubts was an understatement to say the least.
On arrival in Mosley, we hit the nearest pub - The Green Dragon! Still a dragon's a dragon in my book. A couple of pints and it's decided to head for the clubhouse. Bungle moans as he thinks he's pulled. No chance. On to the clubhouse which is surprisingly ok. Will has by now disappeared to meet the "beautiful Debbie" (His words not mine) in some other local pub. Dai Ted starts taking bets whether (a) She'll turn up and (b) She's smart. Still, Will is very keen. After a few more fizzy jar's (served in the floppy pint glasses like they have at Glamorgan games), it's onto the match.
A comfortable victory is predicted by all, but it is a cup game so who knows. Still no sign of Will. The game starts well with the mighty Martyrs forcing the early pace. Steve Williams finally puts us one up on the stroke of half time giving us the psychological advantage. Still no sign of Will.
It was during this half time interval that a rather unusual incident occurred. Due to the large number of pints that had been consumed, visits to the bog were numerous. During one visit I was having a routine slash, discussing the chances of the Martyrs progressing to the next stage of the competition as you do, when all hell broke loose. Suddenly, up went the scream " GGF~EEELLLLLLL" In all the commotion it suddenly became apparent that one particularly drunk Merthyr fan was discharging a strange black substance. In fact he was so blotto that he was totally oblivious to the fact that he was pissing black! When this slight medical problem was brought to his attention he seemed quite amused and started to sing the theme tune from Dallas. The rest of the bog however did not share his enthusiasm for this amazing spectacle and instead of trying to erect an oil rig on his head thereby inciting an Iraqi invasion there was a massive stampede for the exit. With shouts of "Leper, Leper & Unclean, Unclean" Realising the panic he had caused, doctor death tried to calm the fears of the Martyrs hordes back on the terraces, who by now were chanting "bring out the dead" (a popular Wank Bank chant during the Aplin days) and with a cheeky grin explained "it's alright lads I've been drinking Guinness!!!!
Back to the game though and there is still no sign of Will. Dai Ted is starting to look worried fearing a large pay-out if Will is successful with the beautiful Debbie. The game itself is heading for a boring but deserved 1-0 win for the Martyrs when suddenly Moseley are awarded a penalty. Bollocks. 1-1. I can't believe it. Same old Merthyr. The faces in the team change but the outlook still remains gloomy. Still the final whistle goes and a replay back at PP on Tuesday. For us it's back to the club house for more ale, a quick stop off for more supplies and back on the bus for the journey west. DT is looking very glum as Will, as promised, did only required a single ticket. Jammy git.
Back in South Wales, a couple more pints and home to bed dreaming of Wembley. By the way we stuffed them in the reply 1-0.
Dai Cunny

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