Back in Town: Boys These Days by Sports Team album review

Oh! It's been a while.  I have not penned an album review on this blog since Sports Team's first album - Deep Down Happy back in 2020. Gulp! In the intervening time I missed reviewing the second one, so I'm back third time lucky with a meditation on new longer player Boys These Days.  

Once again, the same disclaimers apply.  My day job is, well, let's just say somewhat different.  Think of this as a passion project (I'm a fan) not professional critique. It was largely written on a train! I wanted to get this out during album launch week in the hope that maybe I get one or two readers, and the band an extra listener intrigued enough to try something new. I've only had a few days of listening so think first impressions rather than a more settled and subtle appreciation. 

The album's opening is a marked departure from previous outings.  Debut album Deep Down Happy opened with the sonic boom of Lander, The second Gulp! the howling feedback of rock anthem The Game. Third time out the gates, after an extended hiatus in a world with the attention span of a gnat, and we slide straight in with luxurious sax soaked love song: Subaru. 

The opener plants the flag in a distinctly new groove. It's not just Subaru, things really have moved on musically. The sound goes large but not in the "amp to eleven" way. This is a larger orchestral sound brimming with layers and musical flourishes. The instrumentation and arrangement nodding more to Karl Wallinger than comtemporay post punk peers. It feels like fun was had with producer Matias Tellez. 

Lyrically we are on more familiar territory, the barbed humour and sand paper dry commentary. The title track Boys These Days has echoes of album one's The Races, not musically, but by the inclusion of an odious character, this one lamenting the youth of today. Whilst Moving Together muses on modern love.  

As side one progresses there's increased pace and intensity Singles Condensation and Sensible inject some familiar live energy, both still popping with crisp flourishes on keys and guitars.  These tracks will scratch the itch for exisiting fans still adjusting to the band's new direction. 

Side two opener Planned Obsolescence brings whistling back into fashion, and lyrisist Rob Knaggs gets his turn on lead vocals. Imagine if Johnny Cash came from the home counties railing against a world were you've been set up to fail and spitting a string of one liners where being the joke isn't funny. 

For Bang Bang Bang the sound channels an Ennio Morricone spaghetti western score whilst the lyrics pillory US gun culture.  We stay with a stateside theme and country and western rounds and reels for Head to Space. Here the contemporary escapist fantasy of the ultra wealthy to leave earth and it's problems behind are in the band's sights, delivered in with a repeating worksong intensity.  

Penultimate track Bonnie maintains the intensity but slows the pace and transports us to a  completely different genre.  Sports Team content to mix it right up again. This one's a grower. Maybe when we're thirty,  already a personal favourite, is a fitting album closer, a meditation on growing older both idolysing and sneering at an out of reach mundane surburban middle class dream. 

Summing up, Boys these days is a joyful paradox. The album again arrives late but it's songs are right on time with contemporary topics. It's very different but at its core the same: the music has moved on to new turf but the observations carry the band's trademark humour and swipes at the absurd along with a longing for finding meaning in the modern world. It leans a little further state-side but remains quintessentially British in outlook.  It's has a chaotic quality but is deliberate and finessed, overflowing with ideas some might find dischordant, others refreshing. 

What more can be said? Sports Team are so back and I'm glad. I'm hoping the world is ready for them and we don't have as long to wait until the band's next musical adventure. 

If you can, buy the album, buy the merch and go see them on tour..

 

 

Face to cheekface

This isn't a review of America's local band Cheekface's debut UK gig at MOTH club in London, but it is inspired by it. 

I was looking forward to seeing Cheekface. It didn't fall well for me, landing the day after returning from eight days at Glastonbury Festival.  A long drive home. Unpacking. Then a train down to London. A hotel needed. Going to Cheekface was going to hurt, physically and financially, so why go?

With spoke sung vocals with often absurd, dry witty lyrics, heavy on American cultural references, Cheekface offer sometimes surreal, short power pop/ indie punk tracks. They are hard to pin down (grasping for reference points think DEVO meets Talking Heads via They Might be Giants, with the delivery of Colorblind James, perhaps a pinch of Pavement and a slice of CAKE). 

They are a band that will not be everyone's cup of tea.  A love hate 'Marmite' band.  I love them, and perhaps because I've played them too much, my wife doesnt.  If you fall in the Marmite 'love' camp, you'll go out of your way for savoury salty hit. So if Cheekface are finally heading over to this side of the pond, being in the Cheekface 'love' camp I was always going to be drawn. 

Rewind a couple of years. Lock down limits much human interaction. The online world provides respite, connection and community (not just military grade psyc-ops induced outrage, hate and apathy).  Through fan culture community connections around UK band Sports Team, I'm introduced via an American fan to Cheekface. A passing Spotify story post share, that I'll add to a 'recommended via instagram' playlist and go back to listen to and like. 

I'm instantly hooked and go on to, perhaps single handedly through streaming, get my home town Chester to register as a  hotspot of cheekface listening .  The vinyl is soon ordered.  A second, then eventually a third album follows. I'm in for a t-shirt too. Add social follows. 

So it started with lock down love at first listen. Meaningful connection in a world of separation, fear and anxiety. A musical prop supporting me when the weight of the world is heavy. Now I've become a fully fledged Cheekface fan some say Cheek Freak. 

Back to the present, I've never met a Cheekface fan face to face.  I've found other bands via online Cheekface banter (Fresh, and through Fresh Cheerbleederz, who now provide support at the opening night show). I've followed a UK fan account @TourForCheek  that spent around a year tweeting answers to their bio question 'Have Cheekface announced a UK Tour today? with variations on the theme of' no' and 'not yet' . But actually meeting an in the flesh real person who has heard of and likes Cheekface, not one.

I bought the ticket months ago. It sold out quick - with a second date added also selling out. The band was quick to point out this is  not a tour (A point not lost on @TourForCheek) The unwritten message "we're coming to the UK but not touring, its London, London or nothing".

In the absence of a UK tour, the UK must go on tour to see Cheekface so I'm heading off, excited, but with some trepidation.  Who else will be there? Will it meet my overblown hopes and expectations? Will I be alone in a room of strangers? 

I need not have worried. Going to Cheekface's debut UK show is like going  home.  There's a buzz in the air. Smiles on faces. People at a gig in London talking to each other. We are not too cool for school. People wearing Cheekface Ts smiling knowingly at others doing likewise. Many more queuing to buy same said Ts so we'll never feel quite so lonely again. Old and young and between.

Cheerbleederz start proceedings. They come across excited as  the rest of us, not faux excitement to win converts but the real deal. They're having fun, it's infectious, and their poppy punk set is deservedly well received.  They didn't need to win us over because were already on side. 

By the time Cheekface follow, MOTH club is filled up and it's hot. What follows is a blur, a set packed with short power pop 'classics' from across their three albums. 

Audience participation is invited and when not, joyfully given regardless.   Let's not confine our exhuburance to the call and response responses of Listen to Your Heart (no!) or Next To Me, yo! (shut the f**** up). Sure we can chacha slide with the best of them too.  Our phone lights are primed for waving around to Featured Singer.  We'll sing along and dance and jump and scream with a carefree abandon.  When the words aren't enough we'll hum the riffs  because we can and it's a joy to do so. We've waited for this. Boom! Cheekface have landed, we are not not alone. This is real. 

Over the course of the evening I speak to at least 13 people (including the person behind @TourForCheek account). 12 of whom have travelled from beyond London (Edinburgh, Sheffield, Manchester, Merseyside, Suffolk, Essex, Watford amongst others). America's local band  has drawn people from many localities across the UK and beyond together.  Tonight the cheekfreaks have gathered, and MOTH club is ours.  

Online technology though often used for terrible purposes can be a wonderful thing. I often despair of its a abuse as we are crushed and divided by the algorithms of profit.  But the same technology can create real community. It helped me find Cheekface. A single human driven share, spotted and listened to. People adding sharing connecting interacting around a fringe musical interest all adding up to a wonderful night in London. 

 

London's Calling: Sports Team's "Deep Down Happy" album review

Having written a ode to Sports Team in anticipation of this album, I feel duty bound to follow-up with a review. Was the "Anticipation. Anticipation. Anticipation." worth it?

Disclosure:  I'm a lover not a writer.  My objective faculties are compromised by passion. My hearing isn't as good as it used to be so lyrical references may be flawed too.

Deep Down Happy has been a long time coming. It has arrived both later than planned - and then earlier than first delayed - amidst the maelstrom of seismic world events.  That it arrives in a world so changed by events paradoxically makes this debut feel in part like a retrospective collection rather than a debut.  

The album launch we would have had with a string of intimate record store gigs and home-grown publicity stunts will never be. Instead the album has to stand by itself and compete in a world where our attention is elsewhere.

“Oh, you’ve been waiting for a while" is the fitting opening cry. In Lander, we have a abrupt start. Rather than the accessible indie pop tune that we may have expected, we are instead dealt a sonic assault par excellence. 

Casting aside the rule book, Sports Team's lead singer Alex Rice does not even voice the opening track.  Instead song writer and guitarist Robert Knaggs delivers more than sings a monologue atop rising and falling waves of sound.  His biting words a lament on the banality and hollowness of small town existence. Life and expectations in hollowed out satellite towns in the orbit and shadow of the capital. "There's no club in this town any more. But if you want to do drugs you could always go to London" 

 

By the last 30 seconds of Lander when Knagg's barbed rant is spent we are left with the fabulous Wedding Present-esque wall of guitar, underpinned with Ben Mack's keyboards,  thumping bass from Oli Dewdney and swirling drum patterns from Al Greenwood. It finishes as it starts abruptly leaving this listener hungry. 

Singer Alex Rice is now into the fray with a string of more familiar uptempo tunes. Dazed only momentarily by Lander, we are swept along at pace. Game on. 

Here it Comes Again works up a sweat,  Going Soft in its wake.  With some signature smart word play, likened already to Brit Pop royalty Blur and Pulp, the band poke fun at the world and themselves.  Their ability to craft compact indie anthems must now be unquestioned.  

The side swipes continue in re-recorded fan favourite Camel Crew. The album's frenetic tempo is easing by now, but the choruses still rousing.  Fans may be divided as which version of is best.  I like both but am sold on reworking for this album as it helps push back against familiarity of the tracks for those of us already invested.  The fresh recording has a sharpness. Lead guitarist Henry Young's brief solo is simple but bites like the lyrics.  Brings a tear to my eye too...

Taking the tempo down. The mood changes for Long Hot Summer. Robert Knaggs is back on vocals. Sports Team again content to mix things up.  Gravelly vocals muse on a ill matched relationship (with person or place it's not immediately clear) "I'd rather be dead than caught in your web".  The side one closer (remember when LPs had sides) picks up the pace and sees Rice back with the vocal distortion turned up. Railing against the suit and tie.  "You know it feels like fun" repeats the ranting outro. 

Wrapped with a lyrical twist Sports Team's observations on the mundane of middle england, with neat character based narrative, often include some political bite.  Their politics may be wrapped in silk glove and delivered in an upbeat pop tune but the lyrical pen cuts and jabs like a blade. For side two this politics bubbles up. In much radio played Here's the Thing, a Rice and Knaggs double act call out accepted injustices and self righteous simplistic fixes to the world's problems, they're  all just "Lies, Lies, Lies".  Next The Races, a caricature of your least favourite flag waving uncle.   

Fresh song Born Sugar "The Golden Watch Brigade don't ever watch the game" is followed by singles recent -Fishing - and past -Kutcher. Both live favourites and each worth the entrance fee.  Again the number of tracks that have already seen the light of day may leave those already familiar feeling hungry for more, but why not share these treats more widely...

If Lander is the opening call, then final track Stations of the Cross provides the ending response. Companion book ends to this debut collection.  The religious ritual-like progression of the twenty-something leaving education and heading inexorably to the rat race. The closing rant sees Alex Rice's angst a reverberation of Robert Knaggs' opening diatribe. London's Calling. "If you want to find love you could always go to London" 

Is this a number one album?  If Sports Team can unite those of us old enough to have enjoyed the first wave of indie with those young enough for all this to feel entirely new, then why not? It would be a remarkable achievement (and in the mid week charts it is already leading the pack propelled by pre-order bundles an invested fan base and decent radio play). 

"Album of the decade"?  I hope not. This is a good debut. No question. But albums two or four must surely be contenders, we just need to ensure they are still around to make them.  

To sum up, buy it and try it, it'll be worth it (at time of writing it's on offer on iTunes and only £4.99 on Amazon for a CD). If enough people invest in this album we'll hopefully get a second helping soon. 

More please Sports Team. 

The state we are in: on Cummings not going.

I have been incensed, like many, by the recent Dominic Cummings debacle.  I write these words in part to "vent" at the troubling state we are in. 

To me, the "one rule for us another for them" Cummings affair shows that  when push comes to shove that Boris Johnson cares more about his own political interests than our sacrifices for wider public health. The embarrassing sight of his ministers sent out to argue that driving 40 miles to test your eyesight is in anyway normal (and not a piss poor excuse for a day trip during "lockdown") was painful. To suggest that leaving home and travelling the length of the country whilst ill with symptoms was not in any way at odds with with clear messaging at the time to stay at home, protect the NHS and save lives, is an insult to our intelligence.   

At a time when we should be united to get through this crisis, the Prime Minister's response to this affair has served to undermine the public effort.  Instead of doing the obvious thing to draw a line under the matter so the focus can return to the things that  matter (not even an apology or sign of contrition), we get the "truth twisters" playing with our minds. Government cheerleaders in the press are now going after the journalists and sources who brought the matter to our attention to question motives and cast doubt on what is clear.    

That the Government are trying to reframe the story into one where Cummings is a victim tells you much about how this administration works.  It's a 'full on' physcological propaganda battle to this lot -an approach that I find deeply disturbing. What's right and wrong no longer appear to matter. Remember the past warnings from senior conservatives casting doubt on Johnson's suitability for high office?  I think they have been borne out through his actions on this.  A new ugly politics played to different rules is evident.

As the "cheerleader" press and social media rearguard now fight to cloud and obfuscate, one thing is clear to me, the government are not giving 100% of their effort to dealing with this pandemic. There has always seemed to be more effort focused on controlling the story than the virus. The consequences have been predictably appalling.  We deserve better.

What can we do?   Call it out.  Write to your MP.  If we expect better we need to make that clear. Whether that's enough remains to be seen. But if we don't act, what a sorry state we'll be left in.

For the record

This post is about an old feeling rekindled.  Anticipation for the release of a new album.  Anticipation which, to be honest, I thought I'd never feel again; that is, until I was introduced to the music of Sports Team.  

The best music provokes a reaction.  Not everyone enjoys the same musical style, but when a tune gets you, you are possessed. Some are slow burners that seep in. Some instant hits that grab you straight away. It's magic.

Music is also a glue that binds us.  As the soundtrack to our lives is laid, music helps cement our memories to people, places and times.  The moments it can create can be truly special.  Finding common ground in a sweaty room full of strangers as a band wins you over.  Being carried to a collective high in a festival field.  No words. Boom! 

Growing up, music was fiercely tribal - a shared passion meant joining the gang, embracing the subculture.  It involved collecting records, making and sharing tapes, listening to particular radio shows, following the dress code and going to shows. Anticipation and excitement for the next record release was a big part of this. 

In my school days I was carried by the NWOBHM - one of an army of  teenage metal outcasts queing on a rainy night to see Motorhead.  In my university days it was indie - a beer swilling student following The Wedding Present from gig to gig: one minute "pay on the door" the next, trying to blag your way on to the guest list to a show that sold out weeks back.  

I can vividly remember the anticipation of waiting to hear AC/DC's 1980 album Back in Black. The impact of the stark black album cover a tribute to the death of the band's previous singer Bon Scott.  The tolling bell of the opening track Hell's Bells.  It could have been the end of AC/DC but, no; from tragedy came triumph.  Anticipation turned to exhilaration.

Nothing lasts forever.  As life moves on, the way I have connected with music and bands has moved on too.  It's been a while since I have felt any anticipation for an album at all. 

Enter Sports Team, and an old school introduction from my brother: "You've got to see this band.  There's something about them."  He'd seen them at a gig in Liverpool and was in no doubt.  Through the magic of streaming, seconds in to the first song I heard - M5- I was already sold. 

Fast forward to present - three live shows seen - yes, they've got something; several singles purchased -real vinyl ones; and I am caught hook line and sinker.  Anticipation.  Anticipation.  Anticipation.

It's been a while since I've felt like a fan as in fanatical about a band.  It's a good feeling to have again - rejuvinating.  Instead of writing a letter to the music press or the DJ you got this blog.  Thanks Sports Team.  Yours in anticipation for the record. 

A Christmas story

This blog is about hope, kindness, decency and truth. And politics. And Christmas. 

Anyone who is still with me, thanks. That's kindness covered. 

I'm not a fan of Christmas.  Rather I'm not a fan of the fake Christmas. The pre Christmas consumer festival. The one that starts earlier each year. Sneaking in before Halloween these days.  "Show them that you love them by buying them [this]".  Help please. No. 

I am a fan of the real Christmas. The full twelve days of it. I like the immediate run in too.  The bit called Advent.  I will -and do- wonder at the nativity story, sing carols, and hope for peace on earth.  I won't be throwing out a worn out Christmas tree on Boxing day. I hope to be full of good cheer throughout - even if my football team lets me down (again). Spending time with family and friends, even the in-laws. I can't wait - and I'm not being sarcastic. 

I am definitely not a fan of Christmas elections. Not this one. At. All. 

Unfortunately this is now my third blog about general elections in less than what would normally be a single five year parliamentary term. Blogging about putting up vote labour signs during the 2015 campaign now seems from a more innocent age. 

Back in 2015, Cameron's Conservatives won a reasonable working majority against Ed Miliband. Sadly for them after the Brexit vote, May now in charge and Corbyn leading the opposition, they got greedy. They called an early election in 2017 expecting a landslide but then lost their majority.  So much for the "strong and stable" government we were promised.   So much for "getting Brexit done" when they couldn't even agree or support their own version of it. 

And now we have The Johnson Conservatives.  I deliberately call them The Johnson Conservatives because this isn't the Conservative Party we have known.   There's been a takeover. Behind cultivated cuddly brand "Boris", there's been a ruthless clear out. New faces but old interests are pulling the strings, however familiar the blue rosette.  It's everything and anything to get power now.  Clue: it's not your or my interests they're looking after.  

Don't believe me? Follow the money. Read the Russian interference report.  Oh no, you can't! Johnson's mob have blocked it. 

Think I'm a conspiracy theorist?  How about the voting recommendation of a former Conservative Prime Minister and past senior cabinet members? They are actually supporting  independent conservatives  and other parties rather than the Johnson lot. A real conservative commentator and journalist has taken to rebutting Johnson's lies on a website.  Some conservatives are pushing back against these extremists cloaked in a familiar brand.  Good on them. It's time for all good decent folk to make a stand. 

In my first blog, I was optimistic but concerned about mounting negativity in campaigns.  Afterwards our local Labour candidate won the seat against the national trend but the Conservatives won a majority in parliament.  In my second blog, after the brexit vote and  a personal retreat into despair, I was engaged and back fighting but concerned about May's vacuous slogans and negativity. Our local Labour Candidate - in one of the most marginal seats in the country- went on to win by over 9000. We wrote the script locally and the Conservatives lost their majority nationally. This time, my third blog, I am numb from relentless lies. I have never felt like this before. But there's never been a more important time to pay attention. 

I'm really alarmed. This is serious - not your typical party political choice.   We are on a dangerous path.  Truth is out the window with the Johnson Conservatives. Lies are its currency.  We are not talking about stretching the truth - a slippery answer, an avoided question. It's not "All politicians lie"(untrue). It's not "They're all as bad as each other" (they're not).  We are talking about an industrial scale lying machine. Barefaced lies. Lies debunked but repeated regardless. A deliberate bombardment on the senses.  Falsehood repeated to cut through into your consciousness.  This is right out of Putin's playbook.  Trumpian scale alternative reality.  Reason and objective facts are now out of the window. Deception and manipulation is the Johnson Conservative way . We are heading down a dangerous rabbit hole where nothing seems real, but where the consequences will be real enough.  I fear we are passing a line in the sand. If these tactics win then kiss goodbye to common decency. Forget any sense of fairplay. Trust broken is not easy to repair. 

I'm not here to make party politcal points. But how many policies could you actually cite from the Johnson Conservatives campaign? Honest question.  Beyond the mind numbing "Get Brexit Done" and some robot like repeated but discredited  numbers of double counted nurses and hospitals.  Anything? In contrast, how many labour policies could you cite in the face of an everything-including-the-kitchen-sink shovelful of shit heaped on Jeremy Corbyn every day?

Are we going to let them get away with it? How far down the slippery slope do we have to slide?  Will you stand up to this or are you happy to sink further?  I'm not. 

I've worked in supermarkets in the run up to Christmas. "Merry Christmas Everyone". "All I want for Christmas is you". Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.  Eventually it gets you. It's not Christmas but you're humming along. Better start buying stuff.  It's not real, but it gets you anyway. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

The good thing about the fake Christmas is it ends eventually and the real one remains. We can remember the story of a baby in a stable.  We can open our hearts to hope. 

After a Christmas election like this, if we let the Johnson Conservatives get away with this, will our faith ever be restored in democracy?  It doesn't have to be like this. The shit is getting real. I choose hope. Whatever you do choose carefully. 

A football love letter

I’m a life long fan of Chester Football Club.  This short blog, written on St. Valentine’s Day (aka St. Milner’s Day) is in part a love letter to my club.  I wanted to write something in order to encourage participation in efforts keep Chester alive in the face of some financial difficulties.  I write it in the hope that football fans of whatever team, followers from afar, occasional supporters or neutrals might empathize.  If you can lend some support, that would be great too. 

I also write this in part as a thank you to all those involved in fund raising efforts – including whoever bid against me and won the signed Michael Wilde away shirt auctioned on Ebay recently.  I write looking ahead to a fund raising match to help keep Chester alive that takes place tomorrow evening (Thursday 15^th February 2018, tickets available on the door £10/£5). 

I first saw Chester in the early 70s  - which ironically was perhaps the zenith of our success in my watching career, at least when measured in conventional terms.   I can remember the excitement in school as Chester - the giant slayers - progressed through the league cup eventually being knocked out in the semi-final.  Imagine a class full of children shouting and banging desk lids in unison- ‘Chester’ Bang! Bang! Bang!  ‘Chester’  Bang! Bang! Bang!  It was a shame most if us were too young to be taken to night matches. 

The years from then to now have been a roller coaster, too often on the downward trajectory.  But the downs have certainly made the ups sweeter.  Successes may have been few and far between, but have been enjoyed none the less.  Following Chester has taken me to games around the country, some famous ground on route.  There’s been magic, pain, ecstasy, despair, fierce rivalries - the whole range of football watching emotions. ‘What if?' 'Surely that was in’. ‘Referee!’ 

During my time I’ve seen players on the up escalator to wider fame and fortune and seasoned pros seeing out their playing days on route down through the divisions.  There have been many ‘legends’ that many will never have heard of beyond our club –but players who made an impact in our story.

Relegation? Check. Promotion? Check.  Relegation out of the league?  Check.  Promotion back to the league?  Check.  Relegation out again? Check. Going bust? Check.

Yes. going bust.  Off the field we’ve faced going under on several occasions only to escape from the brink, until the last time.

We are now a phoenix fan-owned enterprise – a co-operative model (somewhere I have a paper confirming my contribution to the original loan note society).  I, along with fellow supporters, now own the club and we have a say in how its run.

Being reborn in the face of oblivion has led to some of the most enjoyable times in my ‘career’ supporting Chester. On the climb back up we won three promotions on the trot.  Moreover, I now have a healthy respect of the non league pillars in the football pyramid – hidden grounds, un-segregated supporters, pies a plenty, and a beer or two. 

I have little useful to say on our current financial predicament. It seems the top flight of non-league football - the National league - is keenly fought and the clubs in it hungry for promotion to the league.  There is perhaps a fair amount of money being thrown about to try and gain access to the exclusive club that is the football league.  When much of your income comes through gate receipts, a dip in form and then crowds may soon turn potentially catastrophic on the cash flow. Numbers turning up matters. 

 Whilst the present predicament is unwelcome I feel more optimistic that we can make a difference about it, in a way we couldn’t when others owned the club   We are now facing these difficulties as a fan owned club.  In the few short weeks since the difficulties became apparent the response has been amazing.  People are clearly working their socks off - and auctioning the shirts off their backs to put things on a more steady footing.    

Tomorrow’s game is going to be an emotional affair for me.  Colin Murray’s all stars versus a Chester select XI.  It’s going to be a whole lot of fun for sure.  With some of the names on the team sheets, it will be a real trip down memory lane too.  I’m not going to mention any Chester players in particular here;  it’s a roll call of stars to me  (that said I am  looking forward to seeing a legend wearing  blue and white who became famous to Chester fans by scoring for another team in another match so ensuring our promotion!)

Tomorrow two sides will face each other but both will be playing for Chester FC.  A football family will gather for the love of a game and in hope of securing the future for a club that I love.  I look forward to standing with you as part of that family.