THE RAISING OF FLAG POLES ON PRINCE MOOMIN’S PALACE: HERE, HERE FOR THE CHAMPIONS
Photo by Lewis Mitchell [lewismitchellphoto.photoshelter.com]
Megan Feringa
For well over two months, the dominating factor had been flag poles. Some 20-foot-tall banner bearers that Llantwit Major AFC would need to stick into the soft ground around the soon-to-be-no-longer Prince Moomin’s Palace to establish, officially, their newly earned berth at the big boy’s table of the Cymru Premier.
Without those metal pipes, amongst a gaggle of other infrastructure requirements – more covered seats, floodlights, some broadcast buffing and matters concerning the fencing (notably the fact one could see right through it) – the club’s historic feat of claiming a first-ever Cymru South title was only a metaphysical achievement. A subatomic success. A cheeky tweet. One with no Tier 1 licence.
Of course, try telling those guys that.
Llantwit Major have been ready for this moment for a long time, even if their ground and their accounts and their personnel books have not. Rumour had it on Good Friday, when the Vale of Glamorgan club could have claimed the Cymru South title in front of 463 equally eager and incredulous fans – 465 if you count the two sat atop the giant windmill overlooking the ground, but a new record regardless, the second of the season –, a red backpack filled to the brim with explosives was touted around specifically in case the once unfathomable fathomed itself true.
Well, what did you expect?
The explosives would have to wait before demarcating this league as Windmill territory. Three more days to be exact. But, really, what were three days to the interminable years this club has waited to see itself at such storied heights? What was a £400 fine for launching incendiaries into the sky? At least, this time, the fine would be for more than one explosive. A bargain. Let it rain.
More subtle, then, was the banner strung up proudly on Friday afternoon behind the right-side goal. It did not ask of, or for, anything. It did not promise to blow up any grass or opposition feelings.
Rather, it stated, as it has since January, a simple truth: “No one knows us. We don’t care.”
As far as bold proclamations go, this is tame by Llantwit Major standards. They are the club who have made virtue of mirthful savagery and rib-poking, of being Twitter’s friends-are-for-chumps club.
But on first glance, the banner read inaccurately. Plenty know Llantwit Major. Especially now.
“I think that’s solidified as the Llantwit slogan,” said Thomas Walters, the team’s resident goal-scoring glutton, all fiery hair and tattooed sleeves and merciless left foot. “It’s a good thing that people are clicking onto what the club are doing now. But even though Ben [the social media manager] has managed to get thousands of followers and likes on the Twitter page, you can’t really change what the club was.”
The sentiment is not isolated. On Monday, when Llantwit officially lifted the Cymru South trophy, a different banner was splayed across the clubhouse’s outside wall. Against the plain yellow paper, it read ‘Overachievers’ in rudimentary blue block letters.
From its tied up perch, the message stares back in perfect crookedness. It is undeniably proud of itself: of its frank self-effacement as much as its truth. It is in many ways a microcosm of the club, unabashed at being the unpolished gate-crashers of the Cymru Leagues but bearing an impudent pleasure in its history, its roots, one that is difficult not to respect.
Because if you do know the club, you have to. Such is the theme. This was a club where, seven years ago, supporters were next to none. It was a chore to chalk out a team for training, a business of begging opposition teams to play them. The stench of extinction reeked around them as they stared existence in the face, trying not to blink.
“We were the worst team in Wales,” Ben said earlier this season. “All of Wales.” There was no intimation of his usual smile as he said it.
Before arriving at Llantwit, much of the squad faced the same harsh axe from their former teams – Penybont, Stoke City, Swansea City, amongst others. They were deemed not good enough and trickled down to the Major, a place they were deemed good enough together but football ambitions were never stratospheric. Not yet, at least.
Even Walters had a history to eclipse. Three years ago to the day that Llantwit sealed their Cymru South title, Walters was having a knee operation, his footballing career ostensibly over. Fast forward some. The striker is a trifling three goals away from reaching the 30 mark.
Indeed, one could argue that the club has no business being anywhere near the Cymru South trophy, let alone lifting it. It is a prize Llantwit supporters daren't have indulged in their wildest dreams, not even when the season snowballed beyond comprehension in recent months. Survival. Survival was the aim.
Who could blame them?
Perhaps the depths of those former lives are what make the surreality of Monday’s highs all the more bittersweet, after the Men’s First Instance Body refused the club a Tier 1 licence, meaning that promotion is, as of now, impossible.
The licensing situation is neither new nor exclusive. Routinely, clubs are denied on-pitch promotions due to failing off-pitch criteria. Llantwit’s appeals process is reportedly underway. The Llantwit chairman is positive. Others at the club tread a more pragmatic path. They knew the rules. They knew promotion was deeply out of the question, despite the rallying cries for a rule bend from fans. It only takes a glance around the ground to see the steep task staring back at them.
But doesn’t the reality sting? A rousing fairy tale story deserves a rousing sunset finish, not a paper-work ending. What about the players? Will they be picked off? Can the club expect them to stick around for goal and win bonuses alone? Is next year too soon to talk of successful licensing?
Ask this question to those close to the club, and they will only shake their head and ask if you want a pint (they can sell until 11pm now). See, if Llantwit Major had it their way, there would be windmills on every corner. Beer would be in constant flow. And there would be flagpoles galore.
But, for now, there is none of this, and another season in the Cymru South looks inevitable. But beware feeling pity for this club, or feeling as if you know it exactly.
On Monday, amongst the defiant prosecco showers and billowing yellow pyro, players and supporters did not have to mine some ironic source of celebration to obliterate the reality of no Tier 1 licence.
Instead, they danced on tables. Academy kids screamed for Walter’s high-five. The beer flowed and flowed. Llantwit Major AFC are Cymru South champions, a feat not even the most biased could have envisaged. They have long existed against the odds. Now, they have come to succeed against them. So, they will celebrate, licence or not, flagpoles or not. They have already raised the ones that matter, metaphorically anyway.