Fitba Special: No one got lucky: Arbroath vs Inverness Caledonian Thistle

The end of any holiday is sad, especially when it's been a beautiful week of serene coastline, wilderness, the sound of waves breaking on the shoreline interrupted only by occasional visits to a tiny pub run by (somewhat unexpectedly) an unbelievably knowledgeable Werder Bremen supporter to talk about football.

There's only one thing that can soothe the sadness of coming home to reality and that thing is Fitba. I love Fitba. I love how, aye, you've got the Old Firm but outside of that, the game is low on money and high on thumping tackles. Pretend they don't exist and it's a brilliant league, unpredictable and passionate. Scotland is most Fitba mad country in Europe per head of population and as I've mooched around a far-flung corner of it this week, every half town and more like a village really worth its salted herring has something that resembles a proper Fitba ground.

Last year Fraserburgh stole my heart in a midweek game but this year it's the Red Lichties who I'm lending my tangerine love to as it's on the way home (sort of) and Arbroath is one of those grounds I've always wanted to go to as it stands as a reminder that you don't need all the millions spent on shite when you've got some concrete steps with the relative luxury a bit of a roof over some of it.

"Sorry hen, ma wife has decided she will go on the dodgems after all" says a man trying to gain reentry to Pleasureland behind one of the goals. His wife is nowhere to be seen. Wonderwall blares out of the arcade, mixing with the tinny pop being blown from the stadium's PA. Little kids bounce on those big elastic things, flung up high above the away end and plummeting back down to earth with delight.

Inside, it's a bit like a miniature cold war era eastern European bowl with authentic (much less biting than it will be in a few months) wind whipping round it. As the Caley players warm up, a ball is belted on to the roof of the stand, it rolls off. I get a touch to it to tip it on to the man next to me. It's years since I've touched the ball at a game.

Caley make noise even though they've only got about 60 fans here by the look of it. They do that running through of the same songs everyone sings one after the other thing. Arbroath pay absolutely no attention to them at all. The real Dick Campbell appears. He's more interested in chatting to the lady in the smart clothes who seems to run hospitality than anything else. It's the fucking real Dick Campbell. It's actually him!!!

Caley very much appear to have the actual real Ben Stokes masquerading under a false name playing right back for them - it would explain why he's ditched ODI's I guess. Arbroath make the first chance, a ball from left nodded wide by the rangy but skillful Daniel Fosu. I look him up. He was playing for *checks notes* Thatcham last year. Thatcham? No, me neither... For a while it feels like the whole game is one long tackle contested by both sides snapping at each other's ankles relentlessly with the ball a bit of an afterthought till Caley break the offside trap and a lofted effort from the edge of the box beats the keeper and is cleared off the line.

Arbroath respond with a spell of neat play that peaks with the legendary Bobby Linn slipping in McKenna whose curling effort is stylish but saved easily enough. A corner is won by hard pressing which brings a rousing applause. Even more rousing is the applause for the defensive. back header that follows the poor corner and long kick forward in the wind.

Bobby Linn bedevils and nearly picks the lock. McKenna is through and and for no reason at all chips it at the keeper. "What the fuck was that?" enquires the man behind me. It's a fair point. Caley have an intelligent effort from the edge of the box that looks as though it might catch out the keeper and a great move featuring a vaulting run and some quick passing that ends in a low shot wide.

The game hits a lull but Arbroath come on strong as half time approaches. The man behind me implores them to "get lucky" as swirling balls are put in the box. I'm shouting "get lucky" from now on whenever we have a cross. Linn drifts inside and aims at the top corner it's one of those where as soon as his foot's cocked, you know it's on target but it gets charged down. Linn drifts outside then cleverly stuns a beautiful curling ball to the near post. Someone gets a touch, there's a save and Fosu smacks the rebound, it's saved again somehow... Hands on head... it was offside anyway...

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It's been hard fought, with few chances but I can see why Arbroath are a team who've done well. They give nothing away and are quick to pounce on any opportunity to break.

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For the second half, I move behind the goal. It seems the right thing to do. I watched the first half from close to the half way line and, as I always do, I thought 'you can read the game better from here' but I like being behind the goal when my team are attacking and today, I'm all about Arbroath. Bobby Linn has a wee bit of the Paul Simpson vibe about him. He's old, aye, but he's fucking class. I like Fosu who is billed as an attacking midfielder but seems to be leading the line and I really like the no6, Nicky Low, who has been here there and everywhere but is a bullish presence in midfield, a little lad who is always looking for a tackle and a chance to move the ball forward.

The Red Lichties dominate which justifies me moving. Wide left, they get going, Linn involved, the ball moved inside. It's tucked to Fosu who takes it in, tries to find space for a shot and goes down... Penalty!!! The ref says dive... My new neighbour isn't happy... "What the cunt? ye wee cunt" I look at the ref, who is strikingly diminutive and has that unhappy refereeing tendancy of holding his gestures fair longer than anyone needs him to as if to emphasise he's in charge. Sometimes referees are cunts to be fair. It's just the way it is.
A stunning shot strike the post behind the goal that holds the net up... Nicky Low is in the action again, seeing a chance on the edge of the box... he strikes it hard... Saved.

The ref holds his arm in the air for no apparent reason every time there's a goal kick "get yer arm doon, ye wee bald cunt" - I check. He is bald. Sometimes refs are.

Goal kicks are great fun. Firstly, the kids in the crowd berate the keeper with the cry of 'Paedo, Paedo' every time he (reasonably enough) comes and collects the ball from the ball boy. Secondly, whilst I'm very sure it's windier than this sometimes, and absolutely 1000% definitely colder too, there's a fresh breeze from the north sea and every time the Caley keeper puts his foot through the ball it bends out of play about 30 yards in front of him, much to everyone's joy. What with the ref with his bizarre gestures, unwarranted abuse from 12 years olds and the wind making the whole thing a charade, I'm finding myself looking forward to goal kicks more than anything else in the game.

Arbroath are just getting the ball back time and time again and coming forward like a surfing maroon wave with a storm powering it. They send on an exotic new signing, an ex Man City player, Deri Corfe, who last played for *checks notes* FC Tucson and once scored a bag full for Wright City Raiders. Nope. Me neither. He is lanky, with floppy dark hair and a bleached streak that gives him a kind of front man in a nu-metal band vibe. He does ok.

Fosu gets chopped down. Here's a chance for the magician Bobby Linn, who kisses the ball, stands, stock still, his shirt flapping in the wind like a windsock. He's sensing everything. This is it... He puts it into the stand and I nearly get a second touch of the ball.

Linn then on corner duty. "C'mon Bobby!" The first is an arrow to the near post that's headed away, the second curls gorgeously to the far post, everyone tumbles like dominoes but doesn't quite get to it. Michael McKenna gets up with a look of 'what might have been' and the crowd beat their encouragement.

There's amusement as Caley for once realise that playing into the wind, it might be an idea not to kick it high into the air and counter attack, tucking the ball home but the offside flag is raised as their fans go wild and the home end realises way before they do.

It's a temporary respite though as Arbroath show some canny play, pass, move, pass move, trying to work the angle, lovely interchange work and then, as Caley get half a foot in to deflect the ball out, Nicky Low charges from deep and hit's an absolute bullet of a 30 yard drive that even though the keeper is squarely behind it, he has to collect at the second attempt.

Another Arbroath sub (I think it's Kieron Shanks) bursts through, lifts the ball over the keeper, a Caley defender races back, it's half flicked away and looks to be falling for Shanks to nod home but the keeper is up and slaps both the ball and Shanks' head... Outrage. "What about that ya cunt? Linesman, you saw that, what are you for ya cunt?"

From the inside of the ground, the side of the kids bouncing up over the wall of the away end is tremendous. I don't think I could be bored at this ground.

Fosu has his shirt pulled as he looks to drift inside and through... "They really get on yer cunt these cunts. I could fight the cunt. Honestly." Campbell is even off the bench now. This ref really is quite wee, he's quite bald and whilst the first two things are no thing to deride him for, the fact he's seemingly a cunt makes the grief fair enough.

Time is running out. There's a late corner .. c'mon!!!! Honestly, I really want this... It comes to nothing.

"We should have beat them, they were shite"

It's hard to disagree. ---

Nothing about this game changed my view on Fitba. It's fucking great. You're missing the point if you sneer at Scottish football for not being the Premier League. Aye, Man City would beat Arbroath, but the English game is all to often bloated and self important, so get to fuck. Aye, England has got more money than Scotland in it's football but Prince Andrew has more money than you (probably) so again, get to fuck with all that shite. What more do you want from football than two sides that give their all and loads of terracing? Now it really is back to reality...

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