SPORTS NEWS

Football
British Gas Business League

Bath City 2 – 2 Gloucester City

TUPNews returned last night from a wonderful weekend in the West, where I watched Bath City FC draw 2-2 with Gloucester City in a West Country derby.

My beloved City are currently sitting pretty at the top of the British Gas Business League, three points clear but with three games in hand over second-placed rivals Team Bath, a taxpayer-funded farce that has no business occupying space in the football pyramid. Crowds have swelled in response to this strong run; this, combined with fine spring weather, made for a perfect footballing day out.

We arrived five minutes after kick-off, thanks to a laggard lunching companion. Before I’d even had time to get the teas in, City were 1-0 up from an own goal in the ninth minute – cracking! But straight from the restart, Gloucester equalised with a hopeful punt from forty yards: one-all. Five minutes later, City were back ahead courtesy of a headed goal (pictured) from Craig “the Whippet” Davidge, a promising young super-sub now apparently given a first-team break due to a mysterious neck injury suffered by star striker “Super” Scotty Partidge.

After this flurry of goals I was reluctant to turn my back on the action, so my laggard friend was dispatched to the tea bar. A sensible move on my part, as a defensive howler saw Gloucester equalise on 25 minutes. The rest of the half was up-tempo, with several City chances.

Despite shipping two fairly weak goals, my City-supporting companions were bullish at the break. My mate John predicted a final result of 5-2, I stuck with a more conservative 4-2. News from elsewhere was also positive: Team Taxpayer were 2-0 down at Yate Town (they would eventually lose 3-0). The neutrals among us predicted a closer affair, a view that proved justified.

The second half was a nerve-shredding (for me at least) series of missed opportunities for the City boys. The build-up play was composed, the width was used well, but the shots simply weren’t on target. Worst of all, for every three City forays forward, there would be one terrifying Gloucester counterattack.

I was a mess; I had simply forgotten what it is like to watch a tense game of football in the flesh. During my maiden season as a City fan we were locked in a relegation dogfight from about November onwards, narrowly avoiding the drop thanks to a 1-0 away win on the last day of the season. I attended every home game, averaging around twenty B&H per match, the majority of which were smoked in the last ten minutes as City desperately tried to claw back a goal, or two, or three. It was absolute torture.

Since moving to London I only get down to about five or six matches a season – this was my fourth of this year’s campaign. The first was an August Bank Holiday 2-1 victory over the students; we were one-nil down at half-time, which provided a modicum of worry, but was too early in the season to have more than symbolic import. The second was a jolly day out to Sittingbourne to watch an entertaining, if goalless draw in the basically meaningless FA Trophy. The third was a 5-0 Boxing Day pasting of the students that was pretty much sewn up by the 20th minute, so no drama there either. But now, top of the league in mid-March and deadlocked at two goals apiece, each cross into the box brought sharp intakes of breath and hurried deals with the divine. By injury time, I was quite happy to take the draw, and I was onto my third post-match bottle of Westons Organic before the nerves finally faded.

EUROPE NEWS

TUPNews recently visited Brussels, in Belgium. It is my pleasure to report that Brussels is banging.

Travelling by Eurostar had already put me in a good mood, despite the overbearing Aussie property developers on the other side of the aisle. There is something so incredibly unnatural about air travel.

I arrived in Bruxelles-Midi to find that I’d been put up in the rather fabulous Hotel Metropole, seemingly modelled on some vaulted gothic train terminus, which further improved my mood. The Metropole was also housing the conference I was there to attend.

At the close of the first day’s proceedings we made our way to La Manufacture, a red brick ex-factory now decked out in stainless steel and mahogany. Brussels food is good. There I ate ostrich (like a beefsteak but sweeter and more tender); talked Scandinavian political party formation with a Dane; discussed football economics with a German, and bonded with a Finn over our shared love of Talisker single malt whisky. It was a lovely night, even if they were a little slow with the wine.

Earlier, en route to the restaurant, I had got a little lost and wound up circling the St. Gery area of Brussels. This is a little enclave of trendy-looking bars and cafes on the side streets that surround the St. Gery church. At the end of the meal, I decided to go back and hit a few bars.

I was utterly exhausted, reader, but I did this for you.

The first bar I found was a corner bar, but a long and thin corner with plate glass on both sides. Dimly-lit and with a Caribbean vibe, it attracted a crowd of trendy twentysomethings, half of them black and half of them white. I sat at the mosaic counter in my black suit, trying to figure out what the deal was with the ten-foot tree sprouting from behind the bar. I highly recommend this place.

The second was a bit more of a eurobar, brightly lit and marbled, like a Pizza Express, but in a good way. It may have been called Roi de Belges. It was packed, and had a huge selection of local beers. I chose one at random; it was perfectly fine. Feeling a little exposed at the bar, I walked up the spiral staircase to the little Austin Powers cocktail bar on the second floor to find a little privacy. This place is worth a stop.

The third and final place was possibly my favourite. The décor was lazily eclectic: black and white prints of NYC on brick walls, a vintage arcade machine, flowers on the tables. But even more eclectic were the clientele. On one side, a family gathering of ten; on the other, a group of Belgian goths doing shots; some impoverished-looking grad students hunched over a table nursing espressos, prim middle-aged women drinking wine. It was quite bizarre, and well worth a look if you’re ever over there, which you ought to be, because Brussels is ace.

Just watch out for the taxi drivers. They’re a bunch of fucking crooks.