A persistent pug repeatedly nudges a ball under the feet of people queuing in the clubhouse for a half-time refreshment: alcohol and soft drinks from the bar; tea, coffee and Bovril from the hatch. “We’re a very good counterattacking team,” says one of the patrons. “But we have to take it to them.”
Outside, the giant clock above the Jack Fisk Stand stands incorrectly frozen at 6pm, continuing the resolute neglect of its sole duty that it has exhibited for the past two seasons. “It’s as much of a normal Saturday as it can be,” says Wingate & Finchley vice-chair, Joe Sharpe. “But I don’t think there’s any joy.”
