Your average Bartlett Stand Fan is pretty easily satisfied. All he demands of YTFC players
is perfection, sublime skills and the ability to shoot - and score - from anywhere on the
It's hardly the Bartlett Stand Fan's (BSF for short) fault that the club insists on
recruiting players that don't as a rule measure up to the BSF's idea of what a Yeovil Town
footballer should look like. It's the boards fault, of course, and if it isn't them then
it's all down to the manager, who (naturally) the BSF wouldn't have hired in the first
place, so it all comes back to the board in the end.
The trouble is - as the BSF will tell each other, at length - is that no-one listens to
what the fans are saying. They are the ones who turn up week in, week out, to watch what
passes for entertainment at Huish Park, so they are the ones who know just exactly what
is going wrong on the pitch. But does anyone from the club ever consult them? Hell, no!
This causes some resentment and, dare I say it, a little impatience with the team at times.
Your average BSF is male, middle-aged, balding (Oi, watch it! -Ed.) and angry.
Actually 'angry' is a completely inadequate description of the average BSF's mood during
a game. He generally starts the game in a bad temper, anger comes next as surely as night follows
day. By half-time he's usually furious and by the end of the game he's been reduced to
complete apoplexy. Being a BSF is a stressful business...
What causes the BSF to spend the game with his blood pressure raised to such a dangerous
state? Well, as mentioned before, the general inability of the Yeovil team to play every game
to the same standard as the great Brazilian international teams of the past doesn't help.
Opposition players tend to get on the BSF's nerves as well, especially if they're good. But
if there's one thing that is guaranteed to raise the BSF's collective hackles, it's the sight
of the referee and his hapless assistants trying to do their job; a job that - naturally - every
BSF could do far better with their eyes closed, as the men in black are continually informed
throughout the game.
Lately the BSF has discovered the joys of communal singing, or re-discovered them I should say,
as it seems to me a lot of the faces I see in the Bartlett Stand did their share of singing
in the 70's on the terraces at Huish, but I digress... Of course, being the BSF their repetoire
is fairly limited. They usually confine themselves to a few simple songs mainly consisting
of a few "da-da-da's" followed by a mighty shout of "Yeovil!"... Well, a muted shout of "Yeovil!"
anyway, followed by some furtively guilty looks in case anyone should have seen them actually
supporting their team ...
The other obvious characteristic of the BSF is the drift to the exits with ten minutes
to go. This is a highly ritualised affair which practitioners have got down to a fine art.
Firstly the BSF should look at his watch and sigh loudly, shake his head and suck his teeth
(a few tut-tuts at this point are not considered OTT, but neither are they obligatory). The BSF then starts
to make his way to the exit, telling everybody around him that (a) he's never seen such a
poor performance, (b) they're not going to score if they played for another 2 weeks, (c) it's
a complete waste of money coming these days, and (d) yes, he'll be back for more punishment
at the next match (best done with a self-deprecating laugh at the sheer folly of exposing
oneself to more of the same)... The BSF will then stand at the exit for the rest of the
game blocking everyone else's view before sprinting to the car park when the final whistle