Away days are special, even when they are on an island with more cows than centre-backs!

An Emirates FA Cup 2nd Qualifying Round draw gifted Worthing an away trip to the Jersey Bulls on Saturday 13th September. The WhatsApp group consensus was: “I’m going to that!” Followed swiftly by the classic away-day double check: “But… can I afford it?” and “Will I be allowed?”

In the end, around 30–40 hardy/fortunate/brave souls (depending on your view) made the pilgrimage.

The day began at the unholy hour of 5:30am, a time usually reserved for bin men and foxes. By 6:15am Gatwick was gently rumbling with the sound of suitcase wheels and the faint clink of breakfast pints. Hands up if you were in ’Spoons, pretending it was “hydration?” Thought so.

Spotting familiar red-and-white scarves in departures felt reassuring — or concerning, depending how much sleep you’d had.

The 7:10am flight was so short the seatbelt sign was essentially decorative. You barely had time to open the RebelYell podcast before the plane bounced down onto the runway, and suddenly the Rebel Avengers were assembling. The 30-minute bus ride into St Helier was a cheerful affair enhanced by a rogue bottle of Berliner Luft Pfefferminzlikör, which is German for “this will taste like mouthwash and ruin your day.”

A rare treat for an away day, arriving early enough for breakfast. The greasy spoon welcomed us foreigners, who were soon joined by others who’d sensibly arrived the day before, looking suspiciously well-rested. Suddenly 10 became 12, 12 became 16, and by the time Arsenal put three past Forest on the pub TV at lunch, the invading red-and-white army was 20-odd strong. Up the hill we marched, belting out Every Saturday We Follow and We all follow the Worthing, while locals stared like we were an unusual weather event.

Then the football happened. Jersey were buzzing like someone had promised them actual gold bullion for every shot on target. Dos Santos tore down the wing like he was late for a ferry; Worthing chased him like they were late for breakfast. We did almost open the scoring — Toby Byron forcing a fine fingertip save — but otherwise our expected dominance evaporated faster than a 1920s Jersey tax filing. By half-time we were 2–0 down (Queree 18’, Bickley 47’ pen), and the only thing we were winning was the sing-off behind the goal. Still, 1,257 people showed up — a record crowd — and we graciously accepted full responsibility. Call it community outreach.

We weren’t that good on the day, but then, as was becoming a weekly tradition, Razz Coleman De-Graft stepped up and curled a free kick into the top corner. 2–1, a mild hope restored, eyelids wearily raised. From this point my recollection becomes impressionistic: the stadium looked nice, the sun was bright, and the fan zone beer was… brave. Then came the moment of relief. Temi Babalola shinning the ball past Van Der Vliet, mid-tackle. Perfectly intentional, obviously. 2–2. Chaos. Limbs. Confusion. Encouragement. A couple of half-chances later and full time brought an underwhelming and collective response: “Replay Tuesday then? Grand.”

£300 odd. Yes, it sounds like a lot of money to spend watching two-all on an island. You might even be thinking, “Good effort, but thank goodness I stayed home.” And yet — that’s not the story. What made it special was putting names to faces we’ve sung beside for years. It was seeing the FORZA REBELS flag on the tarmac like we were invading Normandy. It was trying to book a curry for twelve at short notice and convincing the staff that yes, we really did all need naan bread.

It was the ferry goers inhaling their masala before sprinting to the port for a vomit-inducing overnight crossing to Portsmouth. It was fans from different corners of the ground affably discussing starting elevens, singing karaoke, leaving Chambers nightclub at 1am still in Worthing shirts that were growing increasingly ‘biological’. Was it worth waking at 4:30am to reach an airport that didn’t open until 6? Was it worth the exhaustion, the expense, and the herbal liqueur?

Absolutely.

Because football does what football always does when it’s at its best: it brings people together. It turns strangers into mates and long-distance trips into folklore.

It was an adventure. It was a community. It was the Rebel Army, over land and sea…and once again, on an aeroplane.