Anthony McIntyre ⚽ It starts on the way over in the car. It always does.
J rings the doorbell about an hour before kickoff. Even though I have it in a Liverpool cardholder attached to a loop around my neck, I still rummage just to make sure I have my season ticket. That is the most important item on the checklist now that the hipflask has been put in cold storage until November's cup final in the Aviva, whoever makes it through.
Once belted up, the pre-match discussion begins. J sits behind us while myself and Paddy turn over all the possibilities and work out the permutations, from time to time inviting a view from the back seat. We both agreed that a real game changer would be for Drogheda to beat Bohs and for Dundalk to lose at home to Galway. We felt the Bohs were there for the taking - the season had not yet been kind to them - while Dundalk would do Drogheda no favours. The worst outcome would be one where Drogheda lost and Dundalk won. Both Bohemians and Dundalk, positioned above the Weavers men, would then pull even further away. Another must win, then. Anything less would be making eyes to lower division football.
Our third visit in eight days to Weavers Park, on our way in a guy with the same name as myself approached and said he had enjoyed the last couple of pieces about the games. I thanked Anthony for that, shook hands with him and made my way through a throng of excitable supporters to different seats this time. Slightly higher up and closer to the entrance - almost at mid point between the halfway line and the goalposts. Fewer young fans congregate at the front of the pitch there, preferring to be closer to the Ultras, so our view of proceedings would not be thwarted by the waving of flags and banners. At my age I don't want to be jumping up and down to follow the action. That's a young man's game. These days, I'm a a sedentary spectator.
There was an air of expectancy undulating through the Drogheda supporters. This was the night where, against the odds, a bad season could start to look good. We were seated directly across from the Bohs supporters, who were applauded by their team just prior to departing the warm-up session. Paddy suggested the Bohs were lucky to have the applause reciprocated. Their form hadn't exactly been good.
In the second minute the Drogheda keeper made a comfortable save but it indicated that the Bohs hadn't turned up just to defend. They wanted all three points. In the fifth minute a great effort from Frantz Pierrot was well blocked by the Bohs man between the sticks. When the big Haitian striker was bundled off the ball in the fifteenth minute, up stepped Shane Farrell to strike home an exquisite dead ball. Trent Alexander Arnold, the Drogs don't need you. That goal alone was worth the price of a season ticket. Unadulterated soccer brilliance.
Our joy was short lived. The Bohs won a penalty which saw the Drogs keeper booked for dissent. The more he continued to mutter the more nervous we got, our attitude - FFS shut up and at least stay on the pitch and try to save the spot kick. He half succeeded: he didn't get a red but we were left seeing red once the Bohs pulled level.
Worse was to come. Seven minutes after joyously celebrating a bit of Farrell finesse, our side were trailing 2-1. From where we sat it looked as if the keeper had fumbled the cross, although it was officially recorded as a James Bolger own goal. We winced as he again came out to protest to the ref. By now the aroma of chips and tomato sauce were wafting into my nostrils, prompting the worrisome thought that the chips were down and the Drogs were going to follow them into the lower soccer strata.
When the referee began to flash the yellow to the claret and blue, the team colours began to take on the hue of purple bruising. The Drogs were being battered from all sides, not getting the rub of the green - a repeat attempt of his earlier brilliance saw Shane Farrell's dead ball effort sail harmlessly over the bar. Backs were against the wall. The sonorous beat of the Ultra drum took on the tone of a funeral dirge beckoning the Drogs to the grave of lower division football. Even the night's sky darkened as the clouds converged above the stadium.
When the teams returned to the pitch after the halftime break, Bohemians immediately went on the attack trying to press home their advantage, forcing a save from the Drogheda keeper. I commented to Paddy that if the Drogs could survive the first twenty minutes they might manage to win this game. The clouds moved on, the sky brightened and the Drogs picked themselves up. None more so than the industrious Conor Kane whose surges down the left flank troubled the Bohs back line. His endeavours paid off when he managed to force a score from what seemed like a cross but driven in with sufficient power to get to where it needed to go.
It was a pulsating finish that had us on the edge of our seats, an anticipation heightened by Paddy following events at Oriel Park where Dundalk had since gone two behind. Suddenly a draw didn't look so bad but Weavers wanted more than that, players and fans alike. The Drogs pressed and pushed, the Bohs' tackles grew more frantic, leading to a red card.
In the end there can be few complaints. The fans got value for money and the side never gave up. A point better off than they were before the game, the Drogs, despite not winning, secured two key objectives. They closed the gap on Dundalk to a brace of points and prevented the Bohs surging ahead out of the danger zone. Three weeks ago our season looked over. Not so now. The Drogs are still in it, and in it to win.
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