No promotion for Leatherhead, as second-place Marlow proved to be too much for us in the second half. A gutsy first half couldn't be replicated, and three quick goals finished us off.
There was something rather blasé about Marlow before the game. They were far too relaxed in the bar for a game of this importance and Leatherhead came out and , seemingly, took advantage of it. For the first time in three games, we were in control and putting them under pressure. The poor-man's Ben White certainly didn't like it and tried some "housery" of headbutting Ibz then going down himself while holding his head.
Despite the pressure no goal came and we went into the break feeling optimistic of the next 45 minutes. Little did we know disaster had just turned off the A404… due to a misunderstanding, my son was unaware today was the final and asked my wife to drive him there from Guildford (thus nullifying my environmentally friendly route of bicycle, two trains and a lift share). I did not expect my wife to join him and as she looked excitedly into my eyes, I knew in the pit of my stomach we were about to lose. After celebrating 20 years of marriage only 10 days before, I have had plenty of experiences of Southampton collapsing from far superior positions for the mere act of joining me on the sofa, so in person this effect could only be magnified.
Our hold on the game lasted barely ten minutes. Their left-hand side was already a major problem and when they got a corner on the same side, they were well drilled and capitalised. The next ten minutes was an absolute nightmare. We had no response as they smelled blood and went to add to their lead. A freekick. Boom. 2-0. Then the ref joined in, overlooking a foul on us in a dangerous position and letting Marlow tear down the other end to get a corner. Boom. 3-0.
Hayden rang the changes, bringing on Trevan, and we tried to make a game of it. On 87 minutes Trevan turned in a cross from close range, and had Ollie Cook's header not gone just wide it may have created some genuine concern but Marlow had more than enough left in the tank.
On the final whistle, their 'keeper opted to return some of the pleasantries he had received from some of our newer supporters. Why he didn't opt to run to his supporters first, I do not know. Perhaps they were too hard to find as of the 1,500 in attendance we had brought the lion's share… but the footballing gods care not for this and Marlow, finishing impressively in second place, win the final.
So, another season comes to an end and I have just realised it concludes the twentieth – twentieth! – season of The Lip! having started this back in preseason of 2003. Onto next season then…