I got back to the car yesterday’s 4-2 win over Ebbsfleet to find all hell had broken loose on the radio. It seems there’s quite a lot of fuss over a short corner. Like someone being stabbed for questioning whether the shot putt is part of the...

War is a primal and pure expression of man, yet it is waged as a quest for justice, logic and truth. In a distant time a war is being waged. It is a war for which the prize is the greatest of them all: one of hope. The citadel of Stevenage is rampaging...

True story: back in 1964, my dad and his mates were playing with an ouija board. Having connected with the all-seeing otherworld, they asked a question of global import: the score of the forthcoming league game against Barrow. ‘6-0’ replied God,...

The season seems to be having one of its periodic shakedowns. The bronco bucked for the first time in August. This is where at least half the league is condemned to a season of drudgery. The teams who have come down also tend to get slung out, shocked...

In the Dog Days of August and September the mood was buoyant. In part it was the sheer bloody relief that the season had promise. Confidence was growing, everyone was supping their fancy-Dan European lagers, wearing their shirtsleeves and going on...