Monday, 31st May, 2021. Lockdown and “Working From Home” was starting to become a little more of a relaxed term, the meaning being stretched in all directions. Even on a day when nothing was happening work wise, I still carried my laptop and the work phone, and chose a more open-air office than my usual spot on the end of the sofa. I popped my headphones in, put my ruck-sack over my shoulder, and walked the several miles to the Shawfield Stadium, home of Ash United FC. There I would work / watch the [deep breath] Esoteric Recordings Combined Counties League Division One Cup Final (those are the words, I cannot guarantee they are all in the correct order) bewteen Godalming Town and Merstham Under 23s. Because, well, I could.

The game was the final part of a Combined Counties League footballing trilogy. To reintroduce football back to the masses (the entire 2020-21 season abandoned due to government restrictions in place at the time), and I had attended all three. Sandhurst Town had travelled to Farnham Town’s ground to beat Spelthorne Sports 1-0 the previous week, to proudly add the Fripp-Smith Trophy to their honours board. Then two days prior to by solo visit to Ash, my daughter, a friend and myself had made the relatively short journey to Cobham FC to watch Redhill and Ascot United play out an entertaining 0-0 draw. Redhill claimed the Cherry Red Records Premier Challenge Cup in a penalty shoot-out. Which led to the final act. Godalming v Merstham’s Reserves (essentially).

Both teams had routes to the final very much of the time we were living in. Godalming had a bye in the first round, beat Farnham in their first outing, then received a bye to the semi final, where they beat Chessington & Hook. Merstham U23s beat their fellow aged teams from Molesey, Guildford City and Kensington & Ealing, before defeating AFC Hayes on penalties to set up their date with destiny on Bank Holiday Monday. The competition suffered heavily from withdrawls, as did the other previously completed competitions. The game itself was rather uneventful. I can find no match reports on the game, beyond those submitted by a few groundhoppers who were also there, and these are scant on details. From my own memory, it ended 0-0 in sweltering conditions, with the Merstham fan celebrating at the end, following an 8-7 shoot-out victory. I don’t remember even hanging round for the tiny trophy presentation. It was an unremarkable game except for one small point.

It was the last 0-0 draw I attended. 213 games ago. Nearly six years.

Those first games back after lockdown ended took place after the traditional end of the football season, and were just ways of clubs filling in the gaps, leagues deciding to complete competitions launched the previous year before lockdown 2.0 kicked in. Noteworthy in those three games, only one goal was scored, and even that was a penalty. It appears that everyone forgot how to play football in those months sat at home watching telly. It didn’t even register at the time that I had seen a 0-0 draw any different to all the others I had been bored witless in front of. Only with the passing of time did I come to recognise the significance of the game.

Now, I won’t pretend that I have attended so many games to make it such a statistical anomaly. 213 games is a fair amount, but that has taken over five years – I have seen some people clock up that many games in just over a year. There is no doubt that since my daugther was born, I have attended so many more games that I used to. Before she was born, I went to about twenty games in the previous eight years. Once she was old enough to attend games with me – five months, excellent parenting – her own little match count is up over 125, which isn’t that bad for an eight year old.

There has been a certain amount of stat-padding, I won’t lie. One of the local teams to our house, Fleet Spurs, have had a torrid time over in the post-Covid era. Before this season, their recent record was four straight last place finishes; more losses than goals scored in that time; they have won twelves games in four full seasons. The average number of players used each season was 83. AVERAGE. So, throwing myself behind lost causes and being an absolute glutton for self-loathing, going to watch them ship goals at an almost heroic rate scratches a lot of footballing itches. I’ve seen them beaten 7-1 twice, 10-2, 9-2,and 7-0 amongst other hammerings. My daughter’s first ever football match was to watch them lose 9-1 (I say watch. She was five months old…). I was at a different match the weekend they lost 16-0.

There have been a few close games that nearly ended the streak. Ironically it was Fleet Spurs that nearly ended it around the 100 game mark. A final game of the season fixture at home to Fleetlands entered injury time without anything of interest having happened, before the visitors scored with almost the last kick. Other games I’ve attended have been so dire that I have messaged friends during the game saying “lads, I think it’s gonna end today…” before some level of collective incompetance usually grants me a goa – it’s never an other-worldly piece of skill. No, it’s generally some horrific piece of defending or goal-keeping. Grateful though, cheers folks.

I think I am at the stage where my own levels of anxiety are now raised once the first whistle at a game is blown, knowing that the longer the game remains goalless, the twitchier I become. Last Saturday, I went to watch Thatcham versus Fleet Town (the other team from Hampshire’s premier footballing hotspot). I felt myself concisously relax the moment Kye Williams gave Thatcham the lead around twenty minutes into the game – it wasn’t that the goallessness of the game was forefront in my mind, but the moment the goal went in, my first thought was of the streak rumbling on for another ninety-minutes somewhere else, and I could enjoy the game I was watching more (though the weather and the general rubbishness on display made enjoyment a fairly distant emotion by full-time).

There have also been games where I feel I have DESERVED not to see any goals, games that I went to having had a bad working day, or just wanting the game to sink to MY level. To meet with some friends, I went to Dorking Wanderers v Torquay United last year. I spent the previous evening, and deep into the early hours, violently and colourfully throwing up at home. If it hadn’t been for the presence of my friends at the game, I would have stayed at home nursing the toilet (look, they are really good friends). It was cold – not the coldest I have ever been at a match (Bishop Stortford v Hendon, 1999), but it was bitter. I didn’t take my hands out of my pockets for most of the game. The game was described by Dorking’s manager, professional self-publicist Marc White as “so shit it was unbelievable – if it is possibe for neither to team to get it point, it should happen”. He wasn’t wrong (for once). I almost wanted the game to end goalless. Seven minutes from time, Torquay took the lead, a goal that drew nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement from me. And, eventually, some part of me was grateful that the run lived on.

It will come to an end, of course it will. I will likely be sad when a referee blows the final whistle on the streak. But then I will dust myself down, and in the words of every defeated professional footballer on social media when trying to make it seem like they actually care, “we go again”.