FKA Ten Worthing Bombers // Issue 14 – Free Almost worth what you pay for it.

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End of season event

2007 Owned by Martin Elliott, money awash, successfully climbing

divisions

2010 Owned by Martin Elliot but

club in financial crisis. Team saved by heroic Ibbo.

2015 Five years after club be-

comes a community-owned enterprise and still we get…

PARTY ON THE PITCH PANDEMONIUM DINNER GALA Description: Big marquee on The Dripping Pan fields, the paid drinks subsidising the food. All invited, fans and

Board mingling alike.

Description: Festival at The Dripping Pan, headlined

by Mark Chadwick of Lev-ellers fame. Bar open, fans and Board mingling alike.

Description: Posh fund-raiser at Pelham House

Hotel in Lewes, costing £40 per head, including auc-tion. Hosted by Tom Watt.

A COMMUNITY CLUB?

EDITORIAL Both sets of supporters today will be watch-ing with a common goal. Hanging on to that feint glimmer of hope this season will surpass the previous. Both seasons ended on a down-ward spiral and for both relegation loomed. Pre-season always brings a fresh breath of hope. Last season was fairly despicable in that the only thing we won was the worst disci-pline league. Disgraceful. Even worse and unforgivable was that we played some half decent football but by players who just didn’t look like they cared. I trust now our interim manager is our proper manager, he will eradicate those incapable of behaving on the pitch or who have a propensity for drooping their shoulders. The team ethics and culture needs not a spring clean but bull dozing into shape.

This season must see a vast improvement, with gates haemorrhaging and morale low the brilliant progress off the pitch must now be matched on it. Project community club has hit the rails. Criticise this view but near relegation and dwindling attendances are proof that there is trouble in community club paradise. What’s gone wrong? In a nutshell, our interim manager says he does not feel under pressure despite the fact we are headed for relegation. That is what is wrong. Welcome to Steve Brown. Despite our misgivings over the managerial appoint-ments we are 100% behind Brown and want to unequivocally end up with egg on our faces.

Written, edited and generally piddled about with by the Christians…

Chris Harris and Chris Mason _______________________________________________________________________________________

C L A S S I C B O M B E R S In honour of our guests today and to kick start our rummage through the ‘Ten Worthing

Bombers’ archives, we revisit Issue 4 back in 2009 for a classic article by David Arscott

Peter Ward Signs for the Rooks The Goldstone Legend puts pen to paper for The Rooks, with breaking news courtesy of our Falmer Correspondent, Sir Dick Perry.

n a typically brilliant coup, manager Kevin Keehan has signed former Goldstone goal scoring sensation Peter Ward, and hopes to have the 53-year-old’s paperwork completed in time for him to star in the game

against Histon on Tuesday. Says Keehan: “I think he can do ever so well for us. I’ve told him that if he can beat his man and knock the ball past the keeper he’ll probably score. He’s very pleased to take that kind of coaching advice from me, just like several other players who’ve come to The Dripping Pan this season and quickly moved on to better things”. Keehan says the centre forward’s age should prove no barrier. “We’ve got a few old-

timers in the squad but they’re not the hell-raising George Best, Paul Gascoine types. They take their supplements and have their embrocations rubbed in, and as long as they don’t run up too many stairs in the morning we can sometimes get them out on the pitch on a Saturday afternoon. “But most are former Brighton players – that’s the main thing”. Keehan’s policy this season has been to complement the mass of players on subsist-ence levels of pay with two (his nephew Mi-chael Standing and the veteran Danny Cullip) on inflated salaries which have pushed the club to the brink of insolvency. “I’ve been in touch with the BBC’s ‘Who Do You Think You Are?’ programme” he reveals,

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“to discover whether the Keehan and Cullip families are by any chance related. I’m quite hopeful actually, but at the end of the day it’s not important, Danny played for Brighton, that’s the main thing”. The manager, until this season the com-mercial manager at Brighton & Hove Al-bion, is dismissive of suggestions that his slow-footed son Joe is a regular in the team only because of the family connection. “That’s a little bit unkind” he protests. “Joe’s not there because he’s my son but be-cause he comes from Brighton”. As part of his plan to hand control of Lewes to what his critics call the Brighton Mafia (he’s related to the Albion Chairman Dick Knight), Keehan has begun to feed out-of-form players to Whitehawk FC in the Badger Ales Sussex County League Division 1. “I found this former Brighton youth player Sam Fisk somewhere up north called Has-socks”, he says. “I told him that if he didn’t fit in with us I’d ship him off to Whitehawk, but the Hassocks manager Dave John actually told me he’d rather keep him there if that happened. Can you imagine anyone prefer-ring Hassocks to Whitehawk? I’d be doing the lad a favour”. With the club’s finances in meltdown, Keehan has introduced the Board to the Brighton skip-hire firm Kingspan in the hope that they’ll ring cash to The Pan. “That’s Sam Gargan’s family” he explains, “so it’s the ideal double – a Brighton company and a Brighton-registered player, who just happens to have left us for Eastbourne Bor-ough”. In the meantime, Keehan is organising an-other of his fund-raising golf events, with Gareth Barry as the main attraction. “You know, people look a bit surprised and say to me, you’ve got this Aston Villa and England star along, Kevin. You can’t be doing everything wrong, whatever people say about you. And I tell them that the Villa and Eng-land stuff is just icing on the cake. They seem to forget that Gareth used to play for the Al-bion”. Director Martin Elliott has warned that the club could go in to administration if new in-vestors fail to emerge within the next few days. If that happened, Keehan might lose his job, but he insists that this isn’t his main con-cern. “The big worry” he says, “is that the admin-istrator might not be a Brighton man. Just

imagine what might happen then. The club could be sold to someone without the inter-ests of Brighton at heart. This mustn’t be al-lowed to happen”. Keehan, who aims to complete a second season at Lewes, says the club is already go-ing in the direction he always wanted, and he is totally unfazed by what he calls the “boo boys”. “So many of these so-called fans are living in the past” he says. “Some of them live in Lewes, and I sympathise with them a little bit about that, but they have to realise that a tin pot club like this can’t hope to survive inde-pendently. “Even the name of the ground is ridicu-lously quaint. Visiting supporters often com-ment about it, you know. Call me an old nos-talgia merchant, but I’m planning to have it renamed The Goldstone for next season”. Could he get such a drastic change through? “Believe me, they’re a spineless lot here – not like the big city boys I mix with. If some of the fans chant at me, I can be sure that a whole lot more will immediately attack them for being anti-club. That’s great for me, you know. “I’ve got a terrific crowd of yes-men behind me called The Member’s Club. The directors could tip buckets of cold sick over them and they’d still jump to attention and do what they’re told”. This loyalty could yet be put to the test. Keehan has plans to change the name of the club, too. “Plain Lewes is a bit boring, isn’t it? I’m thinking of re-styling it Lewes FalmerView. That would be ever so nice”.

SIMPLY NOT GOOD ENOUGH

Chris Harris looks in depth at the reasons why Lewes FC keep misfiring. It can all be traced back to the way the Board are elected, and how they run the club.

he drolly named ‘seagullhater’ made a very wise comment on the forum close season, namely that with great things off the pitch and the continued malaise off it, we are missing out on

dragging floating supporters into the club. With Brighton misfiring last season and supporters vot-ing with their feet, we had a perfect opportunity to pick up new support. Except we had no product worth watching. Crudely you can break the work of the Board into two areas, on and off the pitch. Off the pitch the work, in particular of Charlie Dobres, Stuart Fuller and Eddie Ramsden is there for all to see. Not just chat but action. We are a shining example of how to build a football club and the building of the infrastructure is inspiring and will make us the envy of non-league football; the 3G pitch, the in-come stream from that and the plans for the mas-sive redevelopment of The Dripping Pan will leave us with the structure and income to compete in the Conference. Sadly, like Brighton down the road, our positive changes off the pitch have been run in conjunction with a fudge on the pitch. Hitting top gear off the pitch has been counteracted by slam-ming the reverse gear into place on the pitch partic-ularly regarding managerial appointments I remember when we signed our Conference South exit terms… getting the seemingly clueless Tim O’Shea. I spoke to former owner Martin El-liott, who was bemused that no due process ap-peared to have been undertaken in his appoint-ment. By that I mean an interview process. As Mar-tin said, Lewes is one of the most prestigious jobs in non-league football and a large number of high grade applicants would be guaranteed. Anyway I’d like to say we live and learn, but not at Lewes FC. Don’t say, “Yeah well Martin had a massive budget”. He didn’t when he appointed Ibbo yet he was a blinding success. You have the luxury of picking your own bloke in your own per-sonal fief-dom, but this is a community club and as a community club, a managerial appointment

should come from rigorous cross examination of possible candidates. Not because a bloke did a good job somewhere else or has history and an af-filiation with Lewes FC. Is the thinking behind the current appointment on the same basis as Wilson doing a good job at Eastbourne? Sorry, it stinks of ineptness. Consider-ing how often the Board changes, I trust one year contracts are handed to our managers. Okay, so who thought towards the end of Wil-son’s tenure we would be relegated? Hardly any-one. Yes the season disappointed but the moans and groans were not anticipating relegation. They were for a squad massively underachieving with the budget available. Getting Brown in on a temporary basis was sensible and we could see how he got on. Apparently he did great, we were told from the top – all he was asked to do was keep us up and get to the Sussex Cup final, which we had already as good as achieved. We were nearly relegated and the football didn’t improve. 3/10 at best but hey, let’s give him the job as they are not his players so it’s not his fault. Balderdash. The players were perfectly adequate. Like Wilson he couldn’t get anything out of them. Some say with his own players it would be differ-ent. Why? That is such a cop out. One of the most intriguing moments of his tenure, which highlights the poor way the manager is managed at Lewes FC was when Steve Brown publically stated he didn’t feel under any pressure. Why the hell not! He’s fire-fighting for his future on a sinking ship and he doesn’t feel under pressure? What the hell is going on! He hardly cut the mustard and now has a re-duced budget. I entirely agree with the thinking be-hind the reduced budget and diverting resources to a more sensible development strategy but his work is cut out anyway. His CV doesn't fit. All managers have to be under pressure as it comes with the ter-ritory. The impact of Brown has been the same as that of Hughton at Brighton. On North Stand Chat they all want him out. Apparently mediocrity and

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failing is accepted here in the heart of Sussex. It is why we are where we are and not in the Confer-ence South, our rightful place. I get sick of hearing budget, budget, budget. Ibbo kept us in the Conference South on a budget of £60k and this season we failed on a reported £150k. Blaming budget is the ultimate rhetoric of failure. I believe part of the problem is the ‘com-munity’ set up of the Board. Excepting a short-lived blip under Steve King, the football has been grim. We have been effectively slipping 4 or 5 places down the non-league pyramid with every passing season. This is down to the Board. We have simply not appointed a management set up capable of doing the job. Whether this is lack of talent, the process for appointments or the fact the Board have limited football experience is a matter for opinion. Mine is that every manager, no matter how good, should be under constant pressure. Dis-missal should be a constant threat. In some ways it’s unfortunate but this is modern football. There have been five managerial appointments under the current Board. The interview process bar one strictly amateur, the appointment process appears to be consisting of convenience over guile. Club Chairman Stuart Fuller responded to some points we raised. His help very much appreciated and forthcoming. From what I can make out, Tim O’Shea was appointed with zero fuss, three other candidates were interviewed during the King ap-pointment run-in, but I cannot remember the job being advertised so a sort of half cock process there, although of course King was the manager in waiting. Wormull and the current incumbent were appointed as interim managers and despite doing no better than their predecessors, got the gig full time with scant regard for alternatives. It would ap-pear the only manager to be appointed through due process was Garry Wilson. Of five appointments you should be looking at a short list of 6 APPLI-CANTS not persons considered possible for the job. Say what you want but the inadequacies on the

pitch have reflected inadequacies in the person at the helm. Stuart added that other possibilities ap-proached us and other people interviewed but the whole thing smacks of amateurishness. We seem to have a weird anomaly in that the de facto club owner Charlie Dobres and Eddie Rams-den are the constants on the Board and the rest come and go. Talk to lay people who do not under-stand the set up at Lewes and they assume it is run by Dobres, hence de facto. He fronts the initiatives so is at least seen as club spokesman, but effec-tively he has not stood for election. The Board is elected annually. My understand-ing is that under the guidelines two Board members remain at the time of the annual elections, agreed by the Board and the rest either stand down or seek re-election. It makes me uneasy that the most high profile Board member, Dobres has only ever stood once for election in 2013 and he was unopposed. Whilst I would always want him on our Board as a heavyweight driving the club forward, how does not seeking a mandate square with a community owned club? Someone carrying so much weight should not be seen to play the system and stay une-lected as long as possible but should stand every year. With so much influence a democratic settle-ment has to be a clear mandate. If re-elected unop-posed it is surely undemocratic. Yes it’s in the rules, but undemocratic nonetheless. He should have stood the next year when there were other candi-dates in order to gain approval. It is in my opinion an incredibly unhealthy state of affairs. I came across an article on FC United, the team created by disillusioned Manchester United sup-porters. Six of their Board remained at the last an-nual election and a new one was voted on – kind of like the House of Representatives in America, where a third of Congressman seek re-election every two years. That is how it should be – con-sistency. Our Board election seems to be a beauty contest of egos, the set up drastically changing so there is a palpable sense of things not being quite what they should. I read the manifesto of each candidate at previ-ous elections. There was plenty of gushing and per-sonal puffing while the candidate who actually ‘got it’ and understood the challenges we face and was prepared to be a bit of a bulldog, failed to be voted on. Of course this is democracy. But remember, this flippant sort of voting has led us to all kinds of misery… A procession of crap football, a direct result of poor managerial appointments by the lack of proper due process and consideration.

A catering set up effectively un-changed in five years and whilst adequate for gates of 350 will clearly buckle when the pressure is on. If the cater-ing is not being kept in house, why has it not been put it out to ten-der? A hot day today? Getting served nice drinks? Really hope so but doubt it. When not at games many of us used the online fans’ forum for our enjoyment. It was fun, maybe vicious at times. Now members of the Board past and present, two in particular, use their standing at the club to hold sway on the goings on. A forum is for fans and works on the basis of each member’s opinion carrying equal weight. Sorry but if you are a Board member your opinion carries more weight and the debate is ruined and sanitised, again incred-ibly unhealthy. A town like Lewes, with its history should have a vibrant football forum. Who can for-get the rucking and vicious swapping of opinions in the Elliott years on the forum? Now it is used by a handful and is dull. A day can go by without even a single post. As we have alluded to before why bother having an anti-opinion of something going on at the club when you get shot down in flames by our own club Chairman. The gentrification of the club has seen numer-ous supporters leave, feeling smoked out by the middle class owners and the middle class Board. This is not hubris on our part as we have been ac-cused of some class war agenda, but just people telling us how they feel. Sorry if it isn’t what you want to hear.

Martin Elliott and the previous owners would be round the pubs talking to fans at weekends. Doubtless listening to half-cut fans wasn’t ideal but they would listen patiently. Our current Board seem too aloof to know what is going on under their noises as support drifts away. Allowing ‘Boobs Are Not News’ to advertise at The Pan was a disgrace. Allowing a group’s political campaign about breasts to adorn a hoarding was ill thought out and is a shining example of why people are thinking twice about where they spend their week-ends. So next time there are Board elections please don’t vote for the person who has a degree in foot-ball blah blah blah. Go for the one who won’t take no from other Board members and may start to es-tablish some consistency at the top and in the case of a manager, some common sense. A background in business would be helpful but most importantly they must not be in it for the short term. Lofty am-bitions of making long term changes are good. The other problem with constantly chopping and changing our set up is that the Board members gain little experience and if they are only there for a year, have no responsibility for the ramifications of bad decisions taken when in office. We need an FC United set up where a place on the Board is not seen as a birth right with a clev-erly worded CV but has to be fought for. We need good people to stand for the long term. And Char-lie and Eddie need a mandate.

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If you like poncing about at county fairs, going to antiques centres and not buying anything, or have a close relative called ‘Tabitha’, then congratulations on being middle class! However, due to careful displays of lady-like or gentlemanly behaviour, you are statistically less likely to sing at The Dripping Pan, which can at least explain why there’s no at-mosphere any more. Helpfully, ‘Knickers To ‘Em’ is once again providing a valuable service by demystifying the chants sung by a tiny minority at the back of the Philcox. Top notch!

Middle Class Hymn

Sheet Part 94

Give us an ‘L’

Give us an ‘E’

Give us a ‘W’

Give us an ‘E’

Give us an ‘S’

What have you got?

Lewes!

WHITEHAWK 5-0 LEWES Chris Harris travels to the Amex more in hope than expectation. Mean-while, his love life tries to get in the way of the Rooks’ date with destiny.

round Christmas time, a ‘would like to meet’ you re-quest came in on the dating site I was infrequently fre-quenting. It was from a beautiful woman a decade

my junior. Chris and I laughed it off as some sort of spam or marketing gimmick which are prevalent on these sites. But she kept popping up and a week before the final, naturally, I thought I’d investigate. It was no gimmick and she seemed happy enough that with a week be-fore the Sussex Senior Cup final, she sug-gested we meet. Sadly, the suggested date of 6pm on the day of the final threw up a conundrum. My god, what to do? Priorities and all that. I’d already arranged to meet friends and realised I would be half cut, before, during and considerably af-ter the main event. I could forego the drinks but it has been such a crap season I deserved a decent day out. So I said I couldn’t do it and explained my predicament. I might not even like her, I reasoned with myself, somewhat half-heartedly. After 24 hours, there came no reply. I’d blown it. This beautiful non-hoax had given me the heave-ho before it ever really began. Forlornly, I hoped the game would be worth it. Pre-match build ups are not what they used to be. All you older people will remember when the FA Cup meant something and the pre-match anticipation added to the exciting denouement of a fascinating competition. With no pulse evident in the town I ventured onto the forum. Somebody had the temerity to sug-gest we would lose 0-4, blasted as negative talk by Chairman Stuart Fuller. I suggested 0-5 to wind him up. Unerringly we lost 0-5. I took into account three key factors. We can’t score goals. Whitehawk are much better. And they were still match fit from their play-offs. Not negative, just an educated guess. It is said that

customary terrace humour isn’t rated by the current set up. I met Jason Fenner, Steve Watts and Kev Wells in the Kings Head. The years never take away the enjoyment of sitting in the sun with your mates, getting sloshed, talking footy and footy politics. Everything just seems possible. Sadly a good performance was not. Even as a Palace fan I have to concede what a magnifi-cent stadium the Amex is. The last time I was there, Palace were 1-0 down but FFS Murray scored three and bragging rights were re-sumed. Mind you sitting in the Brighton end was a bit harrowing. My brother won the tick-ets in a pub raffle for the Brighton end. Ironi-cally the landlord was a Millwall fan. Coinci-dence or possible accessory to manslaughter? By the time the enemy had worked out we were Palace they were humiliated and past caring. Lewes made a pretty good fist of it despite the result. Most importantly, it was a great day out. Chris FM missed the game through work but confirmed the next day on my return to Lewes I was slaughtered, tucked up on the downstairs sofa, mumbling incoherently. Avoiding that date was prudent.

A

Kevin McCloud: Good evening and welcome to our new show of dull ideas of no ar-chitectural importance or merit. What better place to start than at the his-toric Dripping Pan, home of the once-good Lewes FC in the stunning town of Lewes. [Kevin starts to walk around the perim-eter of the pitch to camera] This ground has held sporting events for over 200 years. Look at these two new stands, very nouveau for a non-league ground, the large Philcox stand supposedly an inspiration for the de-signers of the new Wembley. [Kevin enters the clubhouse] I love the kitschness of it. So Seven-ties! To cap it all what a view to the Downs. It truly is a magnificent little ground. Why are we here though? Well, look at these stupid beach huts. [Camera faces the beach huts, the mood music darkens and the scene darkly be-gins to vignette] Let me introduce you to de facto owner Charlie Dobres. Hopefully he can ex-plain. Charlie Dobres: Well Kevin, as a commu-nity club we are always looking for new income streams. The problem is Lewes is quite a left-wing town and it would go against the grain to introduce corpo-rate boxes, and those nitwits who write the fanzine would take the piss out of it.

[A shot of anger flashes across his face before he instantly regains compo-sure] So we cunningly thought we could get around the problem with beach huts. Make it quirky and we’d get away with it. KM: Yes but essentially they are execu-tive boxes. CD: No, beach huts. KM: Not an easy route through planning? CD: No Kevin, the planning department rejected the idea originally as they said they were just executive boxes. We reapplied and said if global warming got bad the sea would come this far in-land. Farfetched they said. We nearly gave up but then I had the cunning idea of dragging up the past. [Kevin looks on forlornly, clearly hu-mouring the man in front of him]

Rumour has it the Dripping Pan was once used for mock sea battles. Where there is a sea, there is a beach, so we got it through on a technicality. KM: That’s ingenious. So where did you source the materials for the venture? CD: we put a plea for help on the forum and a group of us duly hot footed it down to Covers in Cooksbridge and bought some garden sheds. A local car-pentry firm then upcycled them into the huts you see now in deluxe Farrow and Ball Wimborne White.

KM: And you’ve had them sponsored too I understand? CD: Yes, they are now called the Phil-cox Beach Huts

KM: But my brief was that the main stand was called the Philcox stand? CD: No Kevin that is a misunderstanding in our press release. The main stand has been renamed the DFL stand. We’ve got rid of the pesky Lewes Ultras and now the DFL’s can stand around with their carrot and coriander soups in peace and stony silence. [Kevin walks across the pitch for his denouement as the camera does that swishing thing done at the end] KM: So there you go folks, a quirky idea tenaciously followed through to the ‘conclusion’, or confusion more like. They of course look absolutely stupid and pseudish. [Kevin gestures to the rest of the ground] With the forward looking modernity of the other stands they are out of keep-ing too. But I guess if you don’t get it and have money to waste it is surely one of the most ridiculous places to spend a Saturday. [Cue music… the flute marking the intro to Beatles classic ‘The Fool on the Hill’]

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Popular fictitious figures from 20th Century entertainment culture meet in a beach hut at the Dripping Pan to chew the fat.

Our first characters are Pinkie Brown, teen-age sociopath and up-and-coming gangster from the legendary Brighton Rock and Flor-ence from the Magic Roundabout; Big hands, big feet, bad hair-do - what more can a shaggy dog ask for? Often mistakenly re-ferred to as Dougal's girlfriend.

Pinkie: Nice to meet you Florence, I’d shake your hand but I’m dead. Florence: Yes I know, Pinkie, a tragic death, but ultimately do you feel under the law of karma it was thoroughly de-served? Pinkie: If that was the case Florence, then surely mass murderers Blair and Bush would be 10ft under? This is ‘Hard Talk’ after all. Florence: That is warfare, Pinkie, we need oil. How do you think Mr Rusty would keep the Magic Roundabout go-ing without a river of oil from Iraq? Pinkie: Fair point [forgetting his dis-mally screwed up principles]. I under-stand you were a famous television character from the Seventies? Florence: [blushing] Gosh Pinkie, yes, we were very popular. [Florence was feeling slightly uncomfortable… she quite fancied this ghost of a thug] Many moons ago I was a TV icon with my sidekick Dougal. Pinkie: Oh that stupid dog. Florence: Don’t you f**king dare call him stupid. He’s my soulmate, you monkey hanger. [Oh dear. Not only did Pinkie not un-derstand the heritage of the monkey hanger and the good people of Hartle-pool, he was feeling strangely jealous of Dougal. Clearly, being an apparition was playing havoc on his hormones] Pinkie: Sorry Florence, are you enjoy-ing the game? Florence: Well, it is Lewes FC so clearly not. I wish I Was at the Amex, or at the races. [Oh dear again. Pinkie slipped out of his imagination and back to Brighton

Races. Here, from a cloud, he wit-nessed his own death. He could feel the psychosis creeping up on him] Pinkie: Hey Florence, I wish I wasn’t dead but this is Hard Talk… you got a bit tetchy when I mentioned Dougal? Florence: Yes, he’s outside getting a half time burger with Zebedee. I love him, when he’s not hallucinating on sugar he’s great fun. He’ll pop in soon, I just texted him. Pinkie: Oh it would be lovely to meet him. [“Or meet his death” Pinkie thought. The stupid mutt gobshite had irritated him. He may be just a harmless thick dog but nonetheless Pinkie was not good at rejection and he had fallen big time for Florence] Florence: My Pinkie, I like these half time refreshments but gosh isn’t the cutlery sharp?! Pinkie: Hadn’t noticed. What’s that noise? [Dougal enters] Dougal: Hello all, Dougal here. [The blood pumped out of Dougal’s neck as Pinkie Brown officially cur-tailed the existence of this kind and friendly dog. In hell he had spent nearly a century sharpening ‘that’ ra-zor] [The funeral came round in due course] Dylan: He used to help me in the gar-den. [Producer steps in, having manifestly missed the ongoing problem] Next time, pop princess Madonna will be Hard Talking with Kevin Keehan!

Tim O’Shea’s A-Z of

MODERN FOOTBALL

Former Lewes manager Tim O’Shea gives us his guide to the beautiful game A is for Alloa. Common greet-ing in Hawaii. B is for Bicycle. I am often asked to get on one of these. C is for Cross. 1) When a player fires a ball from a wide area into the penalty box. 2) What your fans get when you haven’t got a clue about manag-ing a football team.

D is for Diego Costa. Founder of coffee company found on most high streets. E is for England. Specialists in defeat. F is for Faroe Islands. Hapless international team off the cost of Egypt who have one star player in the nifty Tutankha-mun. G is for Grapes. Sour ones are my favourite.

H is for Hills. 1) Setting of the beautiful Dripping Pan. 2) What you have to climb when your team can’t win a game. I is for Inter Milan. Routes can be found on Google Maps. J is for “Jesus Christ, put the ball in the f**king net!” Blas-phemous phrase often heard in the Philcox Stand. K is for Kit. Vital piece of equipment for mathday – two fingers of chocolate. L is for Lateral thinking. Thinking about football. Later-ally. M is for Misery. Permanent state of emotion suffered by Lewes FC followers. N is for Nautical nightmare. Losing to Guernsey. O is for Optical illusion. When you see Fernando Torres score. P is for Pitch. Big green thing that my teams can’t play on.

Q is for Queens Park Rang-ers: Job available to look af-ter security in the royal gar-dens.

R is for Relegation battle. I know nothing else. S is for Sky Sports. Sky-diving, parachuting etc. T is for Tuesday. Third best Sheffield team. U is for Ugandan discussions. Had by Leicester plays on tour in Thailand. V is for Vanarama. Popular hit machine from the 1980s, who are now sponsoring the confer-ence. W is for Waterfalls. As TLC once said, don’t go chasing them. X is for X-ray. Because it al-ways is. Y is for Yo-Yo. The last dec-ade at Lewes FC. Z is for Zidane. Pronounced with an ‘S’. A war-torn country in Africa.

Recollections of a reprobate

TO THE END OF THE EARTH… WELL, ALRIGHT, CUMBRIA

Chris Mason

A classic away day in 2009 –

the furthest Lewes have ever

had to travel for a match. We

were bottom of the league and

hopeless but a minibus of

diehards went anyway.

ack in 1994, I sold a kid-ney just to ensure the Chairman could put fifty pence in the light meter” says a man with a reced-

ing hairline, Levellers t-shirt and standing next to The Chuck Wagon awaiting a portion of chips, practically rocking back and forth with anticipation like a child with ADHD. He says this with pride and stature, swelling his (already enormous) chest and wallowing in self-congratulatory smugness. “Ah yes, but I went to Barrow” I reply, and instantly win Top Football Lewes FC Trumps, leaving our kidney-lite fan to admit defeat (and keep a watchful eye on his potas-sium intake). Because travelling the breadth of Britain to watch a team rooted to the bottom of the Conference, with barely two first-team play-ers fit and available, knowing that even get-ting a point will rank amongst the larger shocks this side of the electric chair, is to gain a lifelong badge of honour. Steve Ibbitson had taken over after Kevin Keehan resigned ignominiously a few weeks beforehand after fourteen consecutive de-feats. Previously a youth coach with the club, the likeable pint-sized northern hero had reignited the passion that had been

“B

missing all season. At last we had someone to get behind. Minibuses are painful at the best of times. You’re jolted out of your seat so often you leave head-shaped dents on the roof. You daren’t stick your hand down the side of a seat to retrieve a seat belt in case you come across a decades-old boiled sweet or a bullied schoolchild. You can’t even listen to the soothing tones of some snotty punks like Pulled Apart By Horses because of the con-stant drone of the engine. To travel on a minibus for seven hours in one go, with only a paltry McDonalds pit stop to relieve one’s sore buttocks (there’s no Sudocrem in a motorway services WHSmith, and I asked!) you genuinely wonder whether the inner sanctum of the Underworld is just a clapped out LDV whizzing around, with Russell Brand’s Ed Milliband interview as the in-transit entertainment. My Helly Welly! Gareth, bless him, was supposed to come, but he had one too many Kopparberg ciders the night before and with a 6am start from The Driping Pan, he was never likely to make it. “Get out of bed you useless female reproductive body part” I yelled down the phone to his voicemail but to no avail. We set off with fourteen patrons, Roger, esteemed ex-groundsman, with his hand on the joy-stick… no, I wasn’t sitting next to him! Part of the reason I was desperate to visit Barrow was the fans, who were a bonkers bunch. They visited The Pan earlier in the 2008/9 season and were responsible for the first “Keehan Out!” of that miserable cam-paign. Such was the mutual bonding and good humour of our northern friends, we clapped each other at the end, rather than the shower on the pitch.

I knew a couple of them having gone to watch Barrow play Eastbourne. Young Jon T was supposed to kip round my house before the Boro’ game, allowing a mighty drinking session on the Saturday. Unfortunately he did not get off the last train at the station. It transpired he got smuggled in to a friends’ Travelodge and slept in a cupboard, spilling a can of Guinness down his fleece. Northern-ers scare me. We arrived shortly after 1pm at Holker Street and should have spent the first half an hour doing yoga to relieve our stiff joints (steady on, I know the thrum of an engine can get a man going but still…) Instead we piled into the bar and began our own relaxa-tion therapy which involved necking as much weak lager as possible. Unfortunately, early doors, we were harshly down to ten men and the player sent off was the only experienced player in Steve Ibbitson’s hastily reassembled squad. Did the referee not know we had risked life and limb pelting up the motorway? Luckily, we were only 1-0 down at half time and I halted the drinking, if only to avoid the ignominy of peeing into a Lucozade bottle in the back seat every five minutes on the journey home. Jon T took a break from leading the Blue-birds’ choir to join us for a chat in the comfy bar about life in Barrow, which seemed to comprise painful shifts in Morrison’s, two festivals in the summer to relieve the misery and rain. Lots and lots of rain. As he said this, the patchy spitting had turned into a downpour and he let out a sigh as he looked out of the window and said “Well at least we got a few hours of sun last Thursday”. By some miracle, Lewes only conceded one more goal. Football’s a strange game – we lose 2-0, barely register a shot on target and

yet us Rooks fans were as pleased as punch. Our young team, most of whom were only just out of diapers, acquitted themselves marvellously and the Barrow fans even gave them a standing ovation as they entered the bar for a post-match meal. Jon T came bounding over and congratu-lated us. For travelling so far, for supporting the lads, for singing a few songs and for sup-ping their beer. Ibbo graciously offered every travelling fan a pint, the kind of gesture which made him such an icon of our club.

In an interview a few years ago, Ibbo de-clared the Barrow game as his favourite mo-ment managing the Rooks, citing the dedi-cated supporters and the extremely gracious Barrow fans as reasons for making the day quite emotional and a perfect picture of what non-league football can mean. We refused Ibbo’s offer of a drink, citing the seven hour return leg as a reason for hit-ting the road once more.

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SPOT THE HAM AT THE DRIPPING PAN Exclusive competition!

Take a look at this picture, taken during the Rooks’ clash with Leatherhead last sea-son. If you can spot the ham, you will get an exclusive shin pad signed by one of the players! (Not one of the good ones though)

COMING SOON TO A RECORD STORE NEAR YOU…

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Featuring all the classics: Opportunities (Let’s Waste Loads of Money // Being Boring // It’s A Sin To Play Like This //

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Wouldn’t Normally Spend Eleven Quid On This Kind of Thing // Paninono // Lewes FC Is A Bourgeois Construct and many more…

Lewes FC Community

Funeral Parlour

“One less thing to worry about…”

ur Funeral Plans are

a unique reflection of

your amazing life.

When the time comes you can

trust us to make sure every-

thing will be just the way you

want it to be with no added

worries. As a community club

we can offer you a variety of

services, to make your day a

fitting farewell and financial

boon to the football club.

Price list…

£50 Have your ashes spread in the penalty area.

£100 Have your ashes spread in the centre circle.

£500 A guard of honour for your coffin from the playing staff at selected home match. (Please note lo-cal derbies and FA Cup games cost an additional £250)

£1000 Lie in state in one of our tastefully decorated mourner’s beach huts, draped in delicate black silk hangings. You were the ‘special one’… let them know it.

£1500 A gold standard cremation service. Have your body toasted on the Chuck Wagon’s Flame Grill. Let the town smell your pathway to heaven.

£10,000 Admittedly an option for the well-healed individual, but you can secure a strictly limited plot of land on the Mountfield Road grassy bank.

£25,000 Have your name embla-zoned on the first team shirt and be-come the shirt sponsor. Special offer includes a minute’s silence before every home game.

Yes, there are all sorts of alternatives on offer to celebrate your life and help your club. For more information please email maudlinendings@misery.com

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REVIEWS

SUEDE De La Warr Pavilion, Bexhill // Thursday 26th June

y relationship with Suede can be traced to a mo-ment directly in-

tertwined with the Rooks. Travelling in the car with Ja-son Fenner to Leatherhead five years ago, I asked if Suede were any good. He gave me a look which simply said “You young eejit”, stabbed his iPod a few times and played ‘Dog Man Star’ in its entirety. Suitably intrigued, I bought their first three al-bums and slowly fell for Brett Anderson’s world of dashed hopes, skyscrapers and nu-clear nights. While the Manics were proletysing, Suede were sashaying through Britpop

with uncommon grace and downright dirtiness. The good news for me is that Suede have made a proper comeback, the way it should be done. At the fag-end of 2003, with the limp ‘A New Morning’ album success-fully exiled to the ‘awful last fart of a record’ discount dustbin, they looked worn out and going through the motions. Footage of Suede at Glastonbury on their final tour highlights this. Anderson, previously chisel-cheeked and buoyant as a space hopper made of polystyrene, looked drained, gaunt and dead behind the eyes. The band couldn’t mus-ter any enthusiasm, even for

mega-hits like ‘Trash’. Their glam-pop, thigh-smacking, drugged-up anthe ms to youthful naivety in dingy coun-cil estates sounding dated and anachronis-tic. In full comeback mode for five years, and with their best al-bum since ‘Coming Up’ under their belts with 2013’s ‘Blood-sports’, and Suede are firing on all cylinders. Choosing the beauti-ful surrounds of the De La Warr Pavilion in Bexhill for their Glas-tonbury warm-up show, Brett Anderson looks pumped up from the start.

Bouncing with every chord change, swinging his micro-phone in ludicrously camp circles, like a daring rodeo clown at a liberal cowboy convention, he exhibits more passion and enthusiasm than any frontman I have ever seen. He’s just like one of the fans at the front, bouncing with every word. I was perched to the side but did my fair bit of pogoing too, somewhat helped along by seven pints of Carlsberg Ex-port, which, proving the ad-verts correct, did indeed taste better than Stella Artois. For a gig so ecstatically re-ceived, leaving a sweating, heaving mulch in the middle of the floor, Suede took a number of risks, all of which paid off. What other band, in the history of the world, could play four B-sides in the first six songs and get away with it? If Kasabian came on and ran through the flipside to ‘Shoot the Runner’, you couldn’t move for flying ob-jects aimed squarely at Tom and Serge’s ego trip. Yet all four were glorious. The punky swagger of rarity ‘Painted People’ opened the show. ‘To The Birds’ and ‘My Insatiable One’, from debut single ‘The Drowners’ re-ceived back-to-back airings as well as ‘Sound of the Streets’, a gem from the ‘Coming Up’ era, which was casually tossed off - “We ha-ven’t played this for… Twenty years”. With a sneer

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he dived into it with lyrics describing an unlucky gal walking the pavements of grotty London for whom the “cash machines are laugh-ing”. With the die-hards on board, Suede moved in to fa-miliar territory – the ripping glam-pop of ‘Filmstar’, the majestic swagger of newbie ‘It Starts And Ends With You’ and the oh-so-sleazy ‘Metal Mickey’.

And has there ever been a better three-song salute than the trio that closed the main set? ‘Animal Nitrate’, as elec-trifying as ever, ‘Trash’, which had the whole room bouncing and ‘Beautiful Ones’, Anderson’s paean to Suede’s dedicated followers. Bang, bang, bang. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such an enthusiastically received ova-tion once the musicians ex-ited stage right.

Upon their return they played a dark suite of ‘Dog Man Star’ tracks, ending with a poignant but wonderfully realised rendition of ‘Still Life’, as elegiac, sad and heart-poundingly triumphant as ever. Suede could yet be more important to the world than ever.

CHRIS MASON ____________________________________________________________________

DEAD KENNEDYS Shepherds Bush Empire // Saturday 28th June

he fanzine, a rag borne out of the punk rock era of DIY. So we thought we'd double up and put some punk rock in! To many, the Dead Kennedys

were a quirky punk band known for the minor hits ‘Holiday in Cambodia’, ‘Kill The Poor’, ‘Too Drunk To F***’. ‘Nazi Punks F*** Off’, who blasted into the post-punk late Seventies. But beneath the veneer they were some-thing special. Four albums that have not dated are filled with the wit and the wisdom of the iconic Jello Biafra and some outstanding musi-cianship set to hardcore punk rhythms. Dave Grohl cites ‘In God We Trust Inc.’ as the most influential piece of music to him. The singer of my old band once said Biafra could say in a line what everyone else needed a whole song to get across. Angry, anti-estab-lishment, intellectual with a caustic wit, they were just one of those bands that influenced your life. Having split up, Biafra has remained a politi-cal spokesman and has released many out-standing spoken word albums and now fronts Jello Biafra and the Guantanamo Bay School of Medicine. He was involved in a massive court case against Al Gore’s wife and her PMRC cen-sors which he won. The last time I had a chance to see them was Brighton Poly Cockroft Hall in 1983. Forward half a lifetime and my chance came again. Ten

things to do before you die… see the Dead Kennedys. An offer of a million pounds for the right to put ‘Holiday In Cambodia’ on a jeans commercial fairly recently ended up in litiga-tion with Biafra going nuts, calling the move a sell-out, which it was. Ultimately, h owever, the other three wrote the music and the judge awarded in their favour. Suffice to say a replacement had been drafted in to replace the irreplaceable, a thankless task and so it proved. Shepherds Bush Empire… if the Kennedys played there in their pomp it wouldn’t have changed much. The support band going no-where fast. I had low expectations having seen some recent footage on YouTube but with the performance about to start the excitement kicked in. I’d already said to Chris I was too old for the mosh pit, but come the time, fuelled

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with Henry Weston’s 8.4% cider, I felt differ-ent. The venue was rammed but eventually I joined the slipstream of a couple of diehards fighting their way to the front. The very front against the barrier is a jeal-ously guarded and privileged position. You wait your moment, normally a song when eve-ryone goes ape, and sneak in. So for half the set there was air between myself, East Bay Ray and Klaus Fluoride. I mean they were bril-liant. They did all the expected songs and were tight as anything. They weren’t going through the motions and sported cheeky grins and a mischievous de-meanour throughout. Between encores the two of them came to the front and I shook both their hands. With East Bay Ray, looking like Elvis Costello, I held on as long as I could, feeling the sweat, pulse and warmth of a man who had been a hero to me. The singer was okay. What can you do when you stand in front of a massive audience of people wishing you were not there? Factor in the difference between songs of Biafra’s acer-bic wit and this chap actually being a bit of a tit and you’d have to say he was certainly car-ried by the band. Ironic as we had seen Suede two days earlier where the singer carried the band.

So a box ticked. I wouldn’t go again without Biafra but will wait for the School of Medicine to play London and persuade Chris to come up and see the anger and energy of a real front-man of kudos and legend. I would probably not have gone when I was younger out of empathy for Biafra, but age teaches you life's too short and it was a hoot.

CHRIS HARRIS

NEWS

EXCITEMENT AS RARE SPECIES

FOUND IN ROOK INN

cologists and environ-mentalists were shocked and thrilled to discover a species

previously thought extinct in Lewes FC’s very own Rook Inn. The exciting find occurred in mid-June and has sent ripples through the local community. Club Secretary, Media Op-portunist, 37, described the finding as a “boon” to the foot-ball club and said that fans might come from as far away as Seaford to look at the crea-ture in question.

Scientists refer to the species as Liberus Democratus Supportus, but is more commonly known as a Lib Dem. Since the great wipe-out of 2015, caused by a structural deficiency of the backbone, sightings have become increasingly rare. “It is not yet known whether the creature is poisonous” said Media Opportunist. “We advise residents in the local area to be on the lookout for similar inter-lopers and immediately phone

the local council’s exotic spe-cies hotline should they find one. They are easy to spot with their sandals, idealism and a look of bewilderment”.

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MERCHANDISE STALL More useless toot for you and yours

HEAD REMOVER

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Instructions for use: unsheathe from its protective cover and slowly level off your pint. Look at barman with arms raised and bemused expression.

POCKET DUSTBIN

Avoid the need for finding a refuse receptacle nearby

with this handy pocket dustbin, available only at the Lewes FC merchan-

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SILK NAPKINS

Enjoy your latest Circa treat with these lamb-wool napkins, hand-spun by blind Venetian artisans and

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LOCAL NEWS

“ROAD CLOSURE TO BLAME” FOR POOR ATTENDANCES

ewes Community Football Cub have issued a sensa-tional statement

absolving themselves of any blame for the poor at-tendances last season. Media Opportunist, Club Secretary, 37 years old, said “Due to the bridge con-necting the heart of the town with the Dripping Pan being closed for half of the season to make the bridge

sustain heavier vehicles, it is clear this had an impact on attendances. The re-cently announced continu-ation of these works will likely hinder attendances in the near future. Unless we start playing good foot-ball”. When challenged that pe-destrians could still pass easily on foot and cars only had to take a short detour to

reach the ground, Club Sec-retary said “Oh really? I only ever get off the Victoria to Lewes train and walk to the ground so I wouldn’t know”.

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3G PITCH KICKING UP A STORM AS SHOCK ANNOUNCEMENT MADE

lans at a commu-nity football club in Sussex have caused a furore in

the community. Dastardly Board members had prom-ised the new 3G all-weather pitch in the ancient Dripping Pan ground would provide yet more hopeless manag-ers more funds to fritter away yet more money on the club’s projected contin-ued slide down the football pyramid. But plans before the Lewes District Council Plan-ning Department have un-ravelled the true reason for the new pitch. “Yes”, said club spokesman, Media Op-portunist. “We have been

forthright in our decision that the new pitch will provide a new income stream for the club and the pitch is now nearing completion. “People seem to have mis-construed the general gist of what we are doing” he con-tinued. Townsfolk were aghast to learn that the club’s new in-come stream will be letting the 3G pitch out to itself, with plans before the council to convert the Dripping Pan pitch into a secondary pay-ing car park for the area and station. In addition, plans show the development of the pe-rimeter walkways into a new cycle lane for Priory School,

the college and leisure cen-tre. De facto owner Charlie Dobres hit back at the criti-cism. “What do people want? A profitable club or a club steeped in history and tradition? I say to all the op-ponents who say there are no stands around the pitch that no-one watches us any-more anyway”.

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P

Kevin Keehan

World’s worst columnist

hen all is said and done and

said, the rise of the Corn-wall nationalists certainly put paid to Labour’s chances in the general election. You have to won-der what is up with the customs of other cultures – a footballer in England takes their shirt off and they get a yellow card. A young girl does the same at the top of a sacred moun-tain in Malaysia and gets three days in jail. It was about time David Dimbleby was given the boot from Top Gear – his boorish interventions were becoming nothing short of tiring. I walked past the lo-cal greengrocers this morning and was shocked to see a UKIP leadership debate taking place – fruit-cakes and loaves were ar-guing about immigration! I’m glad to see the Lewes station bridge is closed – the town has always needed an underground network. I see that pun pa-trol has become a central issue in America once more but let’s not forget puns don’t kill people, de-ranged gunmen do. You know what they say about peanut butter – you either love it or hate it? Well, I think it’s just OK. It may seem that the threat of Ebola is receding but I’ve always said he’s a potent force up front (you’ve done that joke seven times, you’re fired Kev – Ed.).

Sad to see Bournemouth get relegated to the Confer-ence. I have always had a soft spot for them. So pleased the Royal Couple, Elton John and David Fur-nish, have taken on an-other baby, although they could have picked a more needy child than Prince George. They say Spain never rains on the plane but I’ve never quite worked that one out. I played ‘Mr Blue Sky’ by Analogue Light Or-chestra the other day in the car when it started pissing down. Irony, eh? My sympathies are with Sepp Blatter – I know what it’s like to stay at the helm of a dysfunctional regime well beyond my welcome. I see that the Home Office is preparing to outlaw legal highs – I don’t see why the South Downs or Snow-donia should be dragged into the debate around meow meow. It seems that Greece has fallen on hard times which is surprising since there is always a queue outside the theatre whenever the hit musical comes to town. I went down Oxford Street in London the other day and Monopoly was wrong – it’s definitely worth more than £320. I turned up to Lord’s for day two of the one-day in-ternational between Eng-land and New Zealand and was appalled that none of the players had bothered to turn up. Too busy drunkenly riding pedalos I suppose!

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A FIVE YEAR APPRAISAL: REACTIVATE LEWES Chris Harris looks back at the past half-decade and sees great leaps forward. Could we reactivate Active Lewes to further the club’s grand plans?

s it really five years? They say time flies by when your team are crap. Time and time again clubs have been taken to the brink of administration to be saved at the last moment, for my two clubs it has been three times in recent history. Relief all

round when Lewes Community Football Club was created and we were saved. In my belief it is un-likely something wouldn’t have happened any-way so I am not burdened in huge appreciation with the “be forever at their mercy for they saved the club” crew. Those with a memory and in the know recog-nise Kingspan who have worked wonders at Whitehawk had Lewes FC as their top priority but Elliott reputedly wouldn’t entertain their ad-vances and I am sure there were other ‘reluc-tant’ interested parties, the ones that cannily materialise before the final denouement when the asking price or conditions are rock bottom. But you just can’t help but be impressed with the positive aspects to the current set up. The 3G pitch and a reputed £80,000 a year in in-come is a masterstroke. I understand during our halcyon days in the Conference South under King we were not getting much more than that in advertising and sponsorship when Lewes FC was a highly marketable commodity so as far as new income streams go, it is genius. Of course the proposed development of the stadia will dramat-ically increase income streams too. Added to the budget and with a much better team, Lewes will become a brand local companies will pay to be associated with. It all takes time, but as the 3G pitch shows, with the current board it is not idle chat. It is quite interesting to those of you who may remember Active Lewes. Whilst bankrolling the team, Martin Elliott sensibly invested in the sta-dia to the extent we have one of the best stadi-ums in non-league football. In the mid noughties he also mooted the Active Lewes idea. It was a

plan to create a massive sporting hub, the big-gest in Sussex, stretching from the Dripping Pan to the athletics track, bowls and cricket fields, Southdown Sports Club, Priory Cricket and the Stanley Turner. It was an idea, the general reasoning being that Elliott could not be expected to single hand-edly fund a successful football team and the pro-posal was to unite these differing sports clubs and amenities into a hub to help develop com-munity sports. Elliott wasn’t just a pot of money, he had a genuine vision of a community club and the financial possibilities such a venture could create. As history has shown it never mate-rialised. The worldwide crash (or as the Tories will tell you the worldwide crash caused by Gor-don Brown) halted the plans. I wouldn’t know how to even begin to pull something like this off, even whether it is possi-ble, but it always struck me as a good idea and it is bang on with the principles of a community club. It would surely be the most ambitious ven-ture anyone has ever taken on in this town and I forward the principle to the powers that be. I wouldn’t bother other than if anyone in non-league football can, they probably can. Thinking out allowed surely some benefits would be:

• Adding to the community ethos of the club which fits in so well with the town

• As a separate entity as an umbrella or-ganisation it would be eligible for fresh advertising and sponsorship

• It may be eligible for separate funding in different sports and from different institu-tions

• More membership income • Sharing of facilities • Pooling of resources and knowledge • Would blow the fortunes and aspirations

of catering income wide open

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• Would attract better class of sportsper-son

• The added constant media attention and profile would have the effect of lifting at-tendances and revenue streams

In five years the club has been turned around from the black sheep of the Lewes community to near crown jewels status. Having a marketing genius at the top helps and the good will of so many talented people. There are forever men-tions of us in the national press and we are a buzzword for non-league football. Sulking in our lowly position is such a hindrance to the club’s profile after all the efforts being put in. It would be like a Hollywood movie if we were to be steaming up the tables too. Christ, imagine where this baby would be with success on the pitch. Enormous gates, high press profile, players wanting to come here, higher budgets for players. But Rome wasn’t built in a day and clearly the plans for the club as a community one are possibly the most ambi-tious ever for a club such as ours and it is of pri-mary importance we lay the foundations for a properly funded future rather than short term greed.

That does not bar the current set up from criti-cism. The managerial appointments have been substandard, the managers in my opinion not managed and should we be blessed with higher attendances our inadequate catering facilities would collapse. I can understand the fans’ frustration when the playing budget was cut in exchange for fund-ing to go into youth development, but this is the right thing to do. Bringing three or four young-sters through it frees up the budget to get that elusive 20 goal a season striker - the one that wins games and gets you promoted. As is, we will never be able to afford such luxuries and in the ethos of self-sufficiency, I think it was a brave and correct thing to do. Yes things have been frustrating on the pitch, very frustrating and things could have been done better but the foundations are in progress and all in very good time. It needs more than a little tweaking, but the plans here are enormous and beyond anything that can be tweaked. A brilliant season would see us take off but realistically we have a while to wait, patience being an un-wanted virtue.

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The return by unpopular demand of…

nd a calm had broken out in the land of Dripannus. The long

war between the Elliotites and the Kingites of quarter of a score ago had ended in a stale-mate. General Keehan had been as-sassinated and The Elliotites had been overthrown in a putsch by the army from the capital, the

Dee’Efellers. The Dee’Efellers sought peace and equality and calm broke out. They spread the word of their goodness and democracy and everyone was happy. “Fan ownership good… cor-porate ownership bad” was em-blazoned on hemp sheets around the town and surround-ing villages.

“All Dee’Efellers are equal”. The Dee’Efellers could do no wrong and began rebuilding the land of Dripannus. Full of arty people and minor celebrities, the new government surfed on a wave of goodwill as everyone joined the revolutionary party and a chance to get 20% off spectacles at Ye Olde Specsav-ers.

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ith scribes and journo types it was all good news.

Such was the down-to-earth ap-proach of the new hierarchy they even joined the masses for debates at the Town Hall. General Ibbo, who had single handedly revitalised the country, stepped down. It was the first challenge to the new Govern-ment. With an enormous bank of top military officers queuing for the job, the Government fluffed it and appointed the mea-gre Tinpot O’ Shea. He grappled hard but within the first year, the country of Dripannus had succumbed to another famine of success. Sadly the dearth of success in the economy still continues to-day, although our foot soldiers have recently won the accolade of being the dirtiest army in the league, thirteen players seeing the fine red mist when out on manoeuvres last season. But the shifting sands of rev-olution in Dripannus were throwing up some questions. Under the old regime, the an-nual Ball that all could attend had been replaced by a charity gala attended by those with many beans to play with and a dickie tie. At the Ball some of the more intrigued mere mortals stood at the windows of the banqueting hall gawping at the bow-tied revellers eating, drinking and making merry. Nobody said it but they all thought “All Dee’Efellers equal”?

iny Tim wept and ex-claimed “Why does everything turn to shit?”

Keith Talent put his arm around the bawling youth. “Let’s go and play some darts, Tim, innit?” Keith was hacked off too as he looked forward to his hoof burger on a Saturday and couldn’t stretch to the over-priced sirloin en caviar contrap-tion now on offer as an elite ca-tering firm had taken over The Ministry of Food. “Dee’Efellers innit” mused Keith. The ball was held in the Town Hall, home of the forum, where under the Elliotites the rulers may not have liked your opinion, but save for the clan-destine rat Howard 3, a mischief maker incognito, realised the importance of free speech and were happy for you to have it. In a sinister way the forum though had been infiltrated by many of the Dee’Efellers who would frown on dissent. only the lovers of the new Govern-ment contributed to the de-bates. In the case of one overzeal-ous officer of the state, he pos-itively trounced on any word of negativity, his enormous ego getting the better of him as he failed to realise he was to serve the people of Dripannus, not his own pathetic vain ambition as the power foolishly surged through his veins.

he new government were a bit aloof and only spent time in

Mountfield, their stronghold. With their feet firmly under the table they were noncha-lantly unaware of the growing discontent in the ale houses and parlour rooms the other side of the station, the true stronghold of the masses. Last year’s battles had been defeat after defeat, ending with slaughter against the Whitehawkians in the Battle of the Amex. The peasants were getting mightily hacked off. Ill-discipline was beginning to settle in the hearts and minds of the population. They knew the state was in safe hands and the building of the country’s infra-structure was heading in the right direction, but a feeling of discontent was a result of the population seeing their stand-ards of living in real terms fall.

any in the ale houses would drink and sink into a rev-

erie of the days under the El-liotites. Things may have been insecure, but everyone was rich and well fed, happy even. Our army strong under Gen-eral King, the days before eve-ryone migrated away from Dripannus, a trend which was very much continuing. It was clear a crisis was around the corner. Will the Government begin to concen-trate on keeping the masses happy or will the new project fall to pieces?

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Previously… While there have been some spec-tacular falls from grace over the years, few could match Barry Manikin’s ig-nominious descent into tabloid chat-fodder and humiliation. A once cher-ished pop star was thwarted at every oppor-tunity. By unthinking tour managers, by a lack of goodwill from his previ-ously adoring public and most of all, by his lack of charisma and expression.

ew Botox injec-tions had raised Barry’s cheeks to his eyebrows

and he could barely see through The Chuck Wagon’s hatch as he re-turned to the day job of dis-pensing posh nosh to the masses at The Dripping Pan. Kevin Rowland, who he had been working with over the past few months, had taken on a new project (said to be an exhibition of Kevin in a room with mir-rors on all surfaces looking

at himself) so Barry’s resur-rection was looking rather limp. Packing up the cooking oil and counting his meagre takings, Barry leapt back as a mobile telecommunica-tion devise buzzed in his pocket. He had an ominous feeling about the call and swiped to receive it with nervous anticipation. “Hello there, is that Barry Manikin?” came an offi-cious voice. “Y-Y-Yes” Barry stam-mered his heart leaping to his mouth. Was it another booking coming through? Was he about to finally be given the ‘Golden Oldies’ slot on Sunday afternoon at Glastonbury? But he didn’t have a band, or backing singers! “I’m calling from the Se-rious Fraud Office regard-ing an investigation into the price-fixing of burgers in the Lewes and District Council area”. Barry’s heart settled somewhere around his left leg. Unbidden, flashbacks swarmed through Barry’s mind. He tried pushing

rogue thoughts out but they just kept flooding in. The hushed meetings, the hast-ily despatched emails, the carrier pigeons containing the pricing structure for the exclusive red camembert and piccalilli burger. “I have no idea what you mean” Barry said, before thinking quickly and mak-ing a crackling sound. “I… ckkckk… going… tunnel…. Ckckck”. Barry put the phone down and wiped the sweat from his brow, a pointless act considering there was no way for his sweat glands to power through the two solid inches of plastic that was resting above his head like a mantelpiece. The next day the media reported that an inquiry had been announced into the scandal and Barry Man-ikin received a summons to appear in court charged with conspiracy to fast food fraud. Next time: Will Barry sur-vive the enquiry or will his burger business be another failed revival attempt?

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UNHINGED DICTATOR OR A CRY FOR HELP?

Josh Staniforth thinks we may have all got the wrong end of the stick when it comes to Sepp Blatter. Could he be the hero we’ve been searching for?

think we’ve got this Blatter bloke all wrong. The whole western world is convinced he is a criminal; rotten to the core and more greasy that an Italian-American’s hair style. More slippery than a dolphin lathered in butter. As corrupt as Putin’s…well, just Putin.

To be honest, I’m running out of similes and meta-phors to describe Sepp Blatter. Is he a weed? One that you rip out from your garden only to find 3 weeks later that he’s taken root under the patio? Or he is a cock-roach? One that you meet in the dead of night when barefoot and snack-bound in the kitchen, looking suspi-ciously similar to the cockroach you thought you squashed last Tuesday with a copy of The Argus? Or is he a blockbuster movie villain? Like Azog the Defiler from The Hobbit; Battle of the Five Armies, who is sup-posedly drowned underneath a sheet of Ice, only to burst through in a cloud of water and CGI to land a mortal blow on Thorin? He’s given us enough evidence and reason for this; google ‘Blatter’ and get ready to be smothered in 20 years of controversy, tabloid headlines and the odd story about him being a wedding singer in his younger days (seriously). But what if all this controversy is just a cry for help? Let’s look at it in a different light, let’s take a step back from ‘Blattergate’. When he joined FIFA, all those years ago, it consisted of twelve people. Over the years it’s grown around Sepp, getting bigger and more pow-erful and more unstoppable, with him stuck in the mid-dle of it, unable to halt its rise or get out of the way. Like a runaway train, with Blatter desperately trying to apply the brakes as it hurtles down a large hill to-wards a convention of schools for children who have medical conditions, for this day only handing out com-plementary pet rabbits. Like the great fire of London in 1666, when huge flames consumed all in front of it, with only Blatter, armed with a bucket and sponge, there to stop it. What does a man do in this situation? He cannot just leave; no one worth their salt would just up Swiss cheese and go, and let the behemoth that is FIFA con-tinue on its journey of money-lust. Does he go public and tell the world what’s going on? Again, he cannot, for the monster is now too big and would do even more harm. So this leaves him one last option, and it’s one he’s been trying to do for years: fall on his sword.

All these acts of seeming sexism, corruption and worse are Blatter’s way of trying to take out FIFA’s knees. ‘Cut off the head and the body will fall’ goes the saying, so Blatter is there frantically hacking at his own neck to bring FIFA down around him. He sees the cor-ruption, the dictatorship, the ingrained inequality of the status quo but can do nothing about it – except bring it down from the top. His comments about how women footballers would be better off wearing tighter clothes to improve popu-larity? That’s him taking one in the balls in an effort for the world to see what FIFA truly is. Telling gay people to refrain from showing affection while in Qatar? This translates roughly as (sorry my Swiss isn’t great) “KILL IT, KILL IT WITH FIRE”. And placing the 2022 World Cup in Qatar in the first place? This is Blatter thinking that surely someone must ask questions if I say we’re hosting the World Cup in a desert, and will be built by slave labour. The latest story in the news on goes even further to prove that Sepp is soldiering on in his one man mission to rid the world of the semi-state/religion that is FIFA. A few weeks ago, he thought he had done enough, had shown enough of the world that FIFA was a cor-rupt, dogmatic, sexist, antiquated organisation that had to be completely disbanded and a new organisation made in its place to safeguard the world of football. He said he was standing down, in an effort to kick-start change and be the spark to the mountain of gun-powder that would be needed to change the football world for the better. But no such change came. The same men who stole, thieved and schemed their way to millions, conniving behind Sepp’s back, stayed in their roles, confident that one of them could continue as the face of the charity. Blatter knew that he if didn’t make another sacrifice, didn’t stand up and take one for the team, didn’t let his testicle-cherrys to continue to be the chew toy for the West’s media, than FIFA would regain its strength and come back worse than ever before. So he looks now to stay on in the role, to continue to slash at the ham-strings of football’s governing body, to save the world from doom. So there you are. That’s why he’s still there. He’s the hero the world deserves, but not the one it can ever know it needs. And if this isn’t true, then he’s quite obviously just a c***.

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Whatever Happened To… The Behind the Goal Boys? Chris Harris says the gentrification of the club has seen less vocal support behind The Mighty Rooks. Even those who remain and chant have been criticised.

s Lewes FC began the now inf amous meteoric rise from the lower Rymans to near extinction via the National Conference, one constant has also survived extinction: the Behind the

Goal Boys. Press coverage of this strange phenomenon seeped out during the halcyon days of Jimmy Quinn, Billy Nixon and the team of ‘total’ fighters. This was when the players were paid bugger all but no quarter was ever given to the opposition, some-what the opposite to our players today. Their inde-fatigable spirit on the pitch suddenly manifested it-self in some of the supporters who then started singing football chants. Lewes has a history of passion and fight all so of-ten forgotten at the club these days. I remember an article in the Sussex Express at the time of our FA Cup run to the third round about TBTGB saying ap-parently they were largely made out of employees of the Post Office. True or not the ring leader was iconic Lewes fan Cliff Hart, non-league’s 12th man, the loudest gob in Sussex. He just got Lewes sing-ing. As the club grew so did the faction known as TBTGB. The completion of the Philcox Stand saw Lewes on the up and with a cover over the stand, the chanting and profanities grew in decibels. The rest is history. By the time we reached the Confer-ence our roar could beat all comers. I guess hav-ing the bonfire in this town meant we got camara-derie, the spirit and could sing. Come the end of the dream, the dismal season under Keehan and the Conference not allowing alcohol on the terrace, and this chapter drew to a close. The alcohol is a strong ingredient in singing as with a small group self-consciousness plays a part. Nobody cared anymore and ringleader Cliff walked out on the club. But the voice came back the next season. Steve Ibbotson brought the pas-sion back as we defied the odds to retain Confer-ence South status and boy did we sing for it. Five years of insipid football as a community club has hit the spirits somewhat and basically everyone seems to be drifting off. The traditional switching of ends can often leave the Philcox de-void of a chant. Spooky has become the main cheerleader and when we make an appearance, a handful of us still sing our hearts out. Despite our sweet intention of adding support to the players

and a bit of at-mosphere, we now get occa-sionally lam-basted on the fo-rum for doing what football fans have done from time immemorial - use swear words in songs. Gosh, not at a footie match?! I suppose it’s the continued gentrification of the club and a sad indictment of the way things are going that a lot of the friends I rubbed shoulder to shoulder with do not feel part of the club anymore, replaced by people happy to lambast the cus-toms of our national sport. What remains of TBTGB are a mix of chaps. Firstly, we are all eccentric and slightly bonkers. Someone who used to work for me said eccentric was a Lewes interpretation of being mad. Fair comment. Yes, it is practically all male. Look at us and listen to our banal conversation and you’ll know why most of us have problems attracting the opposite sex. Our make-up totally classless, as indeed is our rep-ertoire. All divides of the social spectrum are cov-ered. We are down to probably a dozen stalwarts. We have reinvented ourselves a bit and intro-duced Palace favourite ‘You Love Us’ which has gone down extremely well. The hardcore will always remain but if we can get a half decent team again, history suggests Lewes FC will not be wanting through lack of vocal support. To me it is just one of life’s nice things. No matter how awful your week, have a few beers and go and stand behind the goal with a bunch of ec-centric mavericks. Everyone is always pleased to see each other, a band of dysfunctional brothers, always low grade camaraderie but camaraderie nonetheless. Some of them read the fanzine and don’t like what we say, will tell us and move on – just how it should be. There has been a lot of shenanigans but what happens behind the goal stays behind the goal and if you want to join us in our secret world of silli-ness then you don’t need a CV or even a voice… you are all welcome. Even the idiot on the forum who moans about the swearing can come and join us, come and join us, come and join us over here.

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A letter to London

Darling Mummy, The heat is not as searing as a London heat-wave. I’ve found a little café called Jolly Hocks in town that dispenses tap water at £4 a glass so don’t worry about me Mummy, I’m keeping well hydrated. Another shop has this wonderful sun block made of elephant tusk. Very expensive but keeping my pasty lily white skin just that. I’ve settled nicely in the apartment. My flat mate, Tarquin, is nice and friendly, maybe a little bit over friendly come shower time! He has a cat called Jazz Pancake - can you believe it, how silly! Sometimes I have to tell him “You’re supposed to be stroking Jazz Pancake, not me!” The garden is small. How is that rascal Carruthers? Keeping on top of the bind weed I hope. Eusebia wrote last week and said it wasn’t the only thing he’d been on top of. Discovering Lewes takes up my days. So much to see and learn. The population are a bit mis-erable and they moan a lot. Tarquin and I ventured into a pub and all they seem to say is “bloody DFLs”. Strange lot. As the doctor suggested I am seeing a man about the ‘problem.’ “I have no problem”, I told her. “The problem is my despicable father going off with Deirdre at number 57”. Okay, maybe we did get a bit close after that Mummy but we were both very, very upset. I will never forget his pathetic excuse of blam-ing a football club. Those silly words are etched in my mind, what was it? “Well what about Stephen, Gary, Ian, Mark, Eddie, Geoff, Nigel, Gary, Pathios, Nick the Flying Brick, David, Oliver, and the rest?” This is infidelity father, not Match of the Day. Which bathroom suite did you go for in the end? Gosh, I say that Carruthers is worth his weight in gold. Eusebia said he’s been sorting out your plumbing too, wow!

The ethical basket weaving and rug making course is just fab, I have become quite chummy with the tutor Rufus. He comes to the football with us. Bet you never thought I’d get into round ball and yes I was determined not be like that waster of a father but mum-mykins, it is such fun. Don’t worry, we don’t mix with the oi polloi. Four of us - Tarquin, Rufus and Horace (whom Tarquin met at his African drum en-semble classes) have hired an executive beach hut! So quaint and it’s just by the entrance so we don’t have to walk past too many other at-tendees. At half time we get some lovely food and lash-ings of organic elderflower. A chap called Barry Manikin who used to be in music but his career went flat, does all sorts of nasty looking stuff so we get Circa, an outside cater-ing firm, to serve up some splendid nosh, all silver service of course. Pretty apt as the nick-name of the club is The Cooks. Not a bad crowd though, there are many oth-ers down from Londoners… I don’t speak to them, you can just tell as they have the carrot and coriander soup at half time and sport rep-lica kits and duffle coats, looking intensely smug at the same time. Remember the problem at school with Ted-dington and Speight? Well there’s a couple of nasty bullies here too. They are too scared to do it to your face and write a nasty magazine being horrible to everyone who do so much for the club. They are both called Chris. We nick-name them the Christians as they are so self-righteous. Talking of which I will have a little pray and retire. Hopefully Jazz Pancake will sneak in for a stroke, not one of Tarquin’s!

Your adoring son, Lysander xx