Monday, 23 July 2018


Apologies for the dearth - [I originally typed the word ‘death’ here, which would be more accurate] -of reports recently, but as has become commonplace this season I aim to redress the paucity of Friday night football news with a round-up of the last few weeks of the season, including the valedictory evening for Ross Bicknell.

Here are my field notes from the final game in Ross’s long and illustrious Friday night career:

Ha det bra, Ross!
Two teams as follows:

Blues – Paul, Johnny, Steve, Antonio, Peter, Stan, Tony, Geoff, James

Yellows – me, David, Danny, Simon, Joe, Patrick, Mick, Ian Baggies… and Ross

Goals: Ross came on and got a late one, Patrick snaffled up at least three,

… and that’s as far as I got before the evil world of work took over the time I’d allocated to that particular report.

What I do recall is that I took the highly unusual, nay unprecedented, step of fixing the teams so that the side that Ross was on would prevail; sadly, what I could not predict was the fact that the fey indie shyster would only arrive with about twenty minutes to go. As such, the teams were fairly even for about 60% of the game. However, following his late arrival Ross did manage to get on the scoresheet, although the eventual victory for the Yellow team has to be slightly mitigated by the fact Tony was forced into goal following a groin injury that rendered him, in effect, useless.

This highly partial team selection, coupled with Tony’s chronic man-knack, meant a comfortable win for the Yellows, much to Tony’s (perhaps understandable) chagrin.

Far more memorable were the post-game drinks – see photos below – and the warmly drunken bonhomie with which we wished Ross all the very best for him and his young family. Well played, Ross. We hope to see you again.

Now, over to the Coram Fields jazz correspondent – Big ‘Chuff’ Gennaro – for one of his inimitable match reports:

Dear Simon, content for the blog. Our favourite ersatz Irishman did not confirm or deny that his children were born out of wedlock. If you want a real belly laugh ring up Mick's voicemail at the FT. He comes over all public school ya and he is on holiday until April 9th.

Why were you dancing and making loads of noise?

And when I snare a Spanish bint [Ed’s note – there was no ‘snaring’ that I could remember, just moderate bothering], could the lads stop saying I am married to a senora. Her name is Selva (Jungle), the senorita I introduced to the whole gang. A good translation is "Wild Thing". I kept humming the Jimi Hendrix version from Electric Ladyland.

Un embrazo, Pablo

PS I need to do more work on my Flamenco dancing

So there you have it. To defend Mick, he said that he’d received a plaintive message on his work phone that week from a Spanish speaking gentleman with a treasure trove of sporting and musical memories.

Onto last Friday’s game now, the grand finale of the current campaign. Despite the fact we have played so deep into the Summer that our professional idols are already back in pre-season, we had a highly respectable turn out on Friday 20th July, with no fewer than seventeen players reporting for duty, most of them the dashing young blades based in the glamorous world of corporate finance. Here are your two teams -

Blues: Michele, Peter, Simon Gas, me, Joe, Mick, Bristol Paul, Andrew

Yellows: Adolpho, Alessandro, Antonio, Will, Danny, Paul, Nick, Stu, Patrick C

A couple of late line-up changes: Josh’s non-appearance meant that the Blues ended up with Joe while the ever-so-slightly-late Antonio turned from Blue to Yellow. This gave the Yellows a one-man advantage and that numerical weighting, combined with their side boasting the not inconsiderable ball playing talents of Will and Antonio (and Adolpho), meant that they dominated possession in a manner reminiscent of recent Spanish national teams.

Essentially, think of this game as one of those statistical oddities that Opta occasionally put out with one team enjoying three quarters of the possession but not managing any more shots on target than the team without the ball, (Jose Mourinho would have been proud of the Blue team).

As for the goals, Peter got us off the mark by smashing home a free kick for the Blues that almost took the net off, while Michele bagged the other two for the Blue team: one a deft flick from the outside of his right boot and the other following some fine counter attacking from Peter.
Not to be outdone, the Yellows also drilled home a free kick with Antonio being the recipient of some loose defending, while Will claimed the final goal of the 2018/19 season following a cross from Stu and a glancing effort that he or may not have meant which just eluded the otherwise immaculate Simon Gas in goals. A word for a player I’d not met before, Patrick C (one of the young financiers who generously find time to play with all the old duffers), who managed to smother one of Peter’s trademark howitzers from all of about eighteen inches during his stint in goal. Impressive.  

And props to Mick for one of the funnier moments of the season, after he accused Bristol Paul of virtue signalling after he dribbled the ball up the halfway line before passing the ball back to the opposition following a disputed handball call, thereby wasting about two minutes of the game.

Final score: Blues 3 – Yellows 3

All in all a good game to end the season, with everyone benefitting from a thorough work out in the wilting heat. And thus to the pub for a wonderful evening of Summer ale, chat and al fresco vertical drinking. Topics under discussion included the World Cup, Kylian Mbappe, holiday plans (including Simon’s journalistic trips to Seoul and Montreal), plastic recycling, flies and the merits of younger men enjoying time with older ladies. The usual, in other words.

Have a good Summer and see you all in September.

Monday, 25 June 2018

You can go your Norway….

Good morning all! And what a morning – drink in the warmth of an English Summer and the hazy afterglow of England’s smiting of the mighty Panamanians, many of whom would appear to have learnt how to play football by watching scratchy VHS cassettes of Steve in his mid-90s pomp.
I’m acutely aware how long it’s been since the last batch of match reports, so this is part catch-up and part preview to Friday night’s game. As we all know, Ross departs on his Viking longboat for the fjords and inlets of Norway this week in what feels like the culmination of a farewell tour of Elton John-like proportions.

I believe that Ross has been playing for at least ten years and there have been many high points: 2010’s World Cup song with Spizz, the tear-up with Mario and many, many goals. Ross may look like a fey indie shyster, but beneath that art school stubble and Britpop bob lies a steely determination and competitiveness that has always resulted in a reliable and consistent level of performance which belies his slim stature.

Anyway, more of that anon.

The last few weeks has seen a host of new and old faces: Johnny, who has apparently been beamed in from 1988 and looks like a lost member of Pop Will Eat Itself, an older chap called Bert – a spry sixty something years old and who was given a formal Coram Fields inauguration from Steve – and last but not least, the prodigal Tony, Hammer of the Remainers.

Before I try and report on Friday’s game, here are a couple of reports from Paul in his usual inimitable ‘beat’ style:

30th May: I can't remember the result or the teams except the Blues won; Yev was not allowed to come on the pitch of play for being late. [Ian confirmed that Yev arrived at around 7.40 pm and was told not to enter the field of play]. Man-of-the match was James, for providing a substitute in Johnny. The new player got two goals for the Blues. Ian Gooner got two goals for the Blues and hit the crossbar with a dipping shot.

Mick played with the Yellows with his son Patch. He tried to get Joe out of goal and up front. Stan and I did a rarely seen one-two for the Blues. The FCO duo of Danny and Stuart covered the Yellow Antonio, who blasted a great crossfield pass. While Andy nodded a header for the Yellows when the zonal defence broke down. Ask Simon George for more detail of the game…

More Blues [players] were Mark in goal, Liam up front and Simon Gas in defence, while the Yellows were Bristol Paul and Ross; the latter had a very strong box-to-box game.

In the pub afterwards, Keith the barman, Tony the Dubliner and I did a rousing version of Chantilly Lace, while the lads exchanged in pub banter with two birds. I went all Geopolitical and discussed Han Chinese and one thought I was talking about Ham Chinese!

Pick the bones out of that.

While I’m grateful to Paul for the updates (I missed a couple of games owing to All Points East and a holiday, of all things), you’ll have to ask the great man himself if any of that sounded confusing.

Onto more recent events.

Friday 15th June saw the following two teams compete in the unfamiliar environs of the middle pitch:

Yellows: Steve, me, Tony, Nick (smooth face), Ian Gooner, Stu, Ross, Yev and Joe

Blues: Simon Gas, Bristol Paul, Shez, Andy, Bert, Alan and Mario

My principal memory of this game, besides Tony’s ceaseless chiding and hectoring, was an entertaining contretemps between Bert and Steve. After I’d spent the first few minutes of the game blasting the ball at Bert’s head in the manner of a tipsy Dad trying to impress his kids at the coconut shy, Steve then unceremoniously upended the sexagenarian from behind – earning himself a good cunting off in the process – and then refused to retreat the requisite five yards from the ensuing free kick.

Bert did get some degree of revenge with a bullet header from a corner that left the keeper with no chance, but the Yellow team prevailed, mainly due to an opening salvo of goalkeeping blunders that almost saw Stu bag an unlikely hat-trick. The game was also notable for a series of extraordinary misses: Steve managed to skew wide from about three yards out with the ball apologetically dribbling out for a throw on the far side, while Yev managed to balloon the ball over the bar despite making contact in the middle of the goal with just the goalie to beat. Most glaring of all was Nick’s effort in the final few seconds; he turned the last defender and then lashed the ball over the crossbar from about two feet.

Also among the goals were Ross, Mario and Alan, although Ian couldn’t continue his recent goal scoring form, despite some gilt-edged changes. I think that the Yellow team ran out winners by something like six goals to four.

It was then onto the pub to catch the final twenty minutes of the Spain v Portugal extravaganza, during which we established that Gerard Pique is, in fact, married to Stoke’s Xherdan Shaqiri, and that Joe loves Cristiano Ronaldo, who supplied the one goal that we managed to catch on the Skinners’ telly in the six goal thriller.  

Friday 22nd June

Almost up to date now; here are your two teams from Friday just gone -

Yellows: Steve, Stu, James, Nick (bearded), Nick (not bearded), Yev, Josh, me
Blues: Joe, Simon Gas, Andy, Bristol Paul, David, Johnny, Michele and Mick

Josh was a surprise but nevertheless welcome addition to the starting line-ups, having apparently wondered in off the beach where he was giving away flyers for a two for one cocktail promotion in the resort’s main nightclub.

Joe’s recent wisdom tooth extraction saw him play virtually all of the game in goal, with the idea being that he’d be free from errant elbows or other mandible contact. But he was powerless to prevent a Yellow win, with Josh lashing in from a tight angle after combining expertly with Yev, myself getting a (left) foot to the ball in an unseemly scramble and Nick stroking home a fine volley with his left foot to see the Yellows roar ahead.

The Blues did score three times: some slack defending saw Michele and Johnny steal in to grab two goals, while a late foray out of nets from Joe resulted in the languid finance man prod home from all of about six yards, but by this stage the assorted talents of Yev, Josh and the two Nicks ensured that the final score was Yellows 6 Blues 3.

No pub for me this week, but I think that Simon is expecting a bumper turnout on Friday for Ross’ valedictory match and drinks reception. I suggest that we all bring an old football shirt to set aflame and toss into his longship as he makes the journey back across the silver sea to Friday Night Valhalla.

Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Back again!

Greetings one and all, as we have something of a magazine style round-up of all things Coram Fields from the past two weeks. The first match report, from Friday 4th May, comes from myself and my reliable (honest) middle-aged memory and the second section will be the far more freeform jazz style beloved of Paul.

First things first, here are your two teams from Friday 4th May, including an unscheduled and unheralded appearance from Yev:

Yellows: Simon Ink, Simon Gas, James, Ian Baggies, Danny, Josh, Mario, Joe, David… and Yev

Blues: Bristol Paul, Paul, Steve, Charlie, me, Mick, Michele, Liam, Shez and Ross

My two carefully chosen teams looked well balanced before Yev’s arrival, but any concerns that the Yellows would be too strong with the augmentation of the prodigal Ukrainian proved ill-founded, despite Yev coming back from a lengthy sabbatical having lost little of his pace or proficiency in front of goal. I believe that it was Yev who opened the scoring, or at the very least opening the scoring for the Yellows, by galloping onto a through ball poked through from Josh or Danny and catching it on the volley as it dropped over this shoulder and dispatching it unerringlingly beyond the started goalie.

I understand that Liam had a rare night off from troubling the scorer – although I’d never describe a virile young man like Liam as having a barren night – but there was enough other attacking prowess in the Blue ranks and I think that Ross bagged a brace.

The final goal of the evening came from Ross, albeit with an assist from myself. In one of those all too rare moments, rarer with each passing year, I was able to translate an idea, a notion, a twig of creativity into something tangible, something real, a branch, no tree of genuine sporting performance: a cross-field pass that sailed through the air, cleared the despairing lunge of the last defender and bounced perfectly into Ross’ path so that he did not even have to break stride to fire home.

A word here for Shez, who may well have been man of the match, going box-to-box, doing the ugly stuff well and making life difficult for his opponents.

I think that the final score was Yellows 3 – Blues 1

And now over to the Theolonious Monk of sports reporting, Paul ‘Gennaro’ Tanner:

You are going to have to collate a mass of information and just put it out there like dos Passos. For instance, Ross has given the green light for the Oslo trip and I am going to the Nationwide for emergency finance. Mick will be captain.

We have got no pitch or opposition so that needs to be arranged. Simon [Gas] you will need to interview people and ask why they play so badly and yet Mick and Yev turned it round for the Blues. Charlie pointed out I was breaking the code of conduct for my stream of bad language. Charlie seemed to go through a phase of passing the ball ten yards past the post… but he is my choice of man-of-the match.

He did an incredible right-wing cross and all Ian Gooner had to do was stand still and let the ball hit the side of his head and he would have looked like Frank Stapleton. Instead, he headed the ball over.

The Blues won four-two and for the Yellows good performances came from Ross and Bristol Paul, who did a great cross with his knee. 

In the Skinners Ian and me hugged for the first of several 60th birthday celebrations and Ian read a Dizzy Rascal poem about being bonkers.

PS. My sour mood was due to being picked as a referee and then Danny decided I would have a very limited term of reference. I also lost a ten quid betting slip on Man Utd for the FA Cup at 11/10. I tried to tell the Skinners guys that I was a Spurs fan. That conceit came crashing down when two Spurs fans on the tube refused to talk me. I just asked when we were going to sell Ali and Kane.

Final words from me; I keep meaning to share with you all possibly the least flattering thing anyone has ever said to me. About a month ago Ian and I were sharing the final pint of the evening outside the Skinners when a gaggle of very drunk northerners approached and exclaimed that I was the spitting image of an acclaimed northern soul DJ called Arthur Fenn who looks like this

After I dragged up an image on my phone they did at least concede that I look like his younger brother. Northern scum.

Tuesday, 1 May 2018

A hard rain's gonna fall

Roll up, roll up, for another weekly round-up of all things Coram Fields. Two teams of nine this week, with Simon Ink’s unheralded appearance causing a late team selection headache. Here are your two line-ups

Yellows: Steve, Ian Gooner, Simon Gas, Nick, Danny, Ross, Paul, Peter and Patrick

Blues: me, Ian Baggies, Bristol Paul, Nick (bearded), Mick, James, Liam, Joe and Simon Ink

Liam got the scoring underway with a fine finish in treacherously greasy conditions – a fine rain fell throughout the majority of the game - and stabbed the ball home from an acute angle. The Yellows equalised when Patrick’s shot took an unwitting deflection off my ankle and deceived Nick in goal, which was to become something of a theme. I think that Liam pushed the Blues further ahead in what was a relatively low scoring game, before Joe looked to have applied the coup de grace by calmly prodding the ball high into the roof of the net from close range. He could, and perhaps should, have made it four when he found himself virtually unmarked in front of the Yellow team’s keeper, but over-elaborated and the Yellows managed to rally enough defenders and the chance was gone. Bristol Paul similarly had a tremendous chance to score having been adroitly set up by a deft header from Mick, but the tall Gashead struggled to keep his shot down.  

Then, with about three minutes to go, calamity struck, at least for the Blue team. First, a fiercely driven effort from Peter cannoned off of Nick’s heel and completely wrong-footed the goalie (me) and flew into the near post. 3-2.

Soon after, virtually from the kick off, a hoicked effort from the back sailed high into the early evening sky, met Nick’s attempted clearance and promptly pinged over my head and into the goal. I did get my index finger to the ball – a taller man may have done better – but all this achieved was to propel the ball downwards into the net and to cause my left index digit to swell up like a sausage.
Three all, and the final whistle sounded seconds later.

And onto the pub. A decent turnout this week, with Simon Gas, Steve, Ian, Mick, Paul ‘The Guvnor’ and Bristol Paul all making an appearance. Topics under discussion included: the top of the Championship, middle age health concerns, bicycle rides to the south coast and the match we’d just played.

Tuesday, 24 April 2018

Retrospective myopia

Good day, compadres. Another exciting game to report on this week, with eight goals to try and recall. Simon Gas obviously had a memorable time in Las Vegas as he not only told me that were two Liams playing – there’s only one Liam (as they often sing in Scotland) – but he completely forgot to mention that Ross was in the starting line-ups. Along with a brace of Marios (a volley of Marios?) and some late call-ups for both the mercurial Geoff and Peter’s mate Josh, we ended up with two teams of ten, which given the oppressive heat and miasmic tree pollen was probably not such a bad thing.

Your two teams look this - 

Yellows: me, Ian Baggies, Andy, Steve, James, Joe, Danny, Antonio, Liam, Josh

Blues: Michele, David, Simon Gas, Charlie, Peter, Ross, Mick, Geoff, Mario and Mario (Antonio’s mate)

By common consent, a decently contested game this. Star of the show, at least from a goal-scoring perspective, was Antonio’s pal Mario, who unleashed a number of fearsome shots, virtually all of which found the back of the net through a combination of calm placement and pace that can best be labelled as extremely violent.

So while he did not necessarily demonstrate the panache or delicacy of touch of his good friend and compatriot, he did share something with his Italian namesake in that he wasn’t shy about shooting. I think Danny was in goal for his first effort, which flew into the bottom corner, while Andy had the unenviable task of trying to get anything on the other two goals.

At the other end Liam was on form and grabbed the opener for the Yellows, who I thought put in a sterling performance and were ultimately disappointed to yield a 3-2 and 4-3 lead to draw the match. Josh, one of Peter’s friends, had a tremendous game, cutting in time and again from the left wing to trade passes with Liam, James and Danny; he also cut something of a dash in tight short-shorts, which were more akin to something you’d see on Copa Cabana beach that Coram Fields. Did he score? Quite possibly.

The Blues managed to grab a couple of time-outs in play through the somewhat agricultural method of shanking the ball high, wide and handsome (Come back, Peter! Fly away, Ball!), meaning that we had two breaks in play where all three match balls were bobbling innocently around the children’s play area having been sliced horribly high. Thankfully, the change in the seasons lent daylight to the search for said spheres.

In terms of other goals, Ross managed to arrive in the right place at the right time and nudge the ball home from all of about six inches, but as the legendary Jimmy Sirrel might have said, ‘If you dinnae buy a ticket, you willnae win a raffle’. Ross’s goal was sandwiched between Mario’s second and third goals, and Mario’s final shot, which came after I lacked the pace to match his run, ended the scoring. Apologies to my team-mates for not being able to recall more about the Yellows’ goals, but on the day that Arsene Wenger announced that he was leaving Arsenal at the end of the season I can think of no more appropriate tribute but to write that I could not see who scored.

Final score: Yellows 4 – Blues 4

And onto the pub, for a beautifully cool evening spent outdoors drinking cold beer. Lovely. After Ian Baggies and I discussed West Brom’s chances in next season’s Championship we shared some play-off chat with Mick and others, before Mick, David and I had a Late Show­ style discussion about the role of women in Britpop and the lost world of record company largesse and the not-so-lost world of record industry exploitation.

Until Friday!

Monday, 16 April 2018

Jacket required

With our Chef De Mission once again overseas, this time in Las Vegas, last Friday’s game was in danger of some extraordinary drama – previous Simon Gas sabbaticals have seen helicopters landing on the pitch, fistfights and even the end of our decades-long tenure at Old Street. Thankfully, nothing that alarming came to pass on Friday.

Before I launch into the match report, a few lines about the game on Friday 6th April.

This match saw a debut from Stu’s mate Shez, who has quickly established himself as a very solid and reliable right sided halfback, and a late withdrawal from Nick. I’m struggling to recall the precise line-up of the two teams because they required comprehensive rejigging in the wake of the late changes, but I believe that the Yellows triumphed by something like seven goals to five – the Blue team valiantly fought back from 5-1 down, but a couple of late goals saw the Yellows home (one from Liam when he turned my weary middle-aged legs inside out before slotting home). Suffice to say that with both Kavanagh men on one team, in addition to goal-poacher-in-chief Liam, they were always going to be a real handful. That evening marked the first al fresco drinking of the year (much more of that come, hopefully), as Simon Gas, Ian Gooner, the two Kavanaghs and my cousin John all shared a few pints and some travelling tales.

Onto last week’s game. Here are your two teams:

Yellows: Simon Ink, Stu, James, Ian Gooner, Bristol Paul, Michele, Mick and Antonio

Blues: me, Steve, Nick, Andy, John, Danny, Shez and Patrick

I was relatively confident that these two sides were finely balanced, with eight players each, but a second minute hamstring twang from John reduced the Blue team from eight to seven. The Blue team took the lead through an opportunist finish from myself after Patrick had harried the Yellow defence and seen his initial shot parried, but the Yellows were soon on terms after Mick got in front of me at a corner to nod home. They thereafter established a strangle-hold on the midfield with Michele, Mick and Antonio being first to most of the loose balls. But a tremendous rear-guard effort from Danny, Steve and Shez, aided and abetted by a lengthy and impressive stint in nets from Andy, kept the Yellows (largely) at bay. Antonio bagged at least one – I think he scored the third goal for the Blues which was laid off for the burly Mauricio Pochettino lookalike to stroke home from the edge of the area.

At the other end Patrick was ploughing a relatively lonely furrow, with Danny and Shez storming forward to join the attacks wherever possible and Nick sniffing out any loose balls. I think that the Yellows lead 3-2 at one stage, but the Blue team were nothing if not tenacious and managed to equalise through Danny (?) before I bagged a stuffy fourth goal for the Blues after James dropped Patrick’s shot in front of me leaving the simplest of chances.

Thereafter the Blues just about managed to cling on, albeit by assigning Steve to ‘mark’ the irrepressible Antonio, which he did by wrestling, pushing and gently needling. Simon Ink had a one final chance to level things up, but despite getting his head to the ball from a corner he couldn’t get over it and his header went just over the bar. I spurned about three different chances to bag a rare hat-trick, but given that Mick opined it would have been the worst hat-trick “ever”, perhaps it’s as well I did.

The dogs of war-style effort from the Blues aside, it wasn’t the greatest game of football the world has ever known and one can only hope that this week’s warm weather will see something slightly more aesthetically pleasing.

Final score: Yellows 3 – Blues 4

No pub for me this week, but it sounds like there’s a story to tell as Simon Ink left his jacket in the Skinners whereupon Steve apparently seized on it and embarked on a drunken odyssey with Yev which ended up with him dancing with transvestites and spending the night at Yev’s place. 

The mind boggles.

Monday, 26 March 2018

This is football 'eritage

(Full match report to follow)....

From Generalissimo Tanner himself:

After the November 1917 revolution, White Russians would sell their clothes to raise funds in street markets. What Simon Jarvis caught there was not a Chas and Dave picture but a hard-edged commercial transaction of me trying to sell Mick my trainers. He has already taken a deer stalker hat and a Viet Nam cap and he has promised to pay me soon.

On the testimonial front, Ross is going to play a musical interlude like Superbowl. Petula is looking forward to wearing her Jamaica shirt. Sam Darg, who amazingly is living up North somewhere, says he will try and come.

The theme for the testimonial is "this is eritage" and I am scouting for a ref. Paul Colston? Me and Mick spent a good half hour talking about tracking back and the art of the block. We decided not to discuss passing but because that seems to be beyond redemption.

Please put May 25th in your diaries. I am going to ask La Senora Fernandez Rodriguez de la Parroquia de Xuances if I can put a thousand pounds behind the bar.

Following from Paul’s marvellous stream of consciousness post earlier this week, I’ve found some time to write a belated match report from last Friday’s game.

It was very much a case what might have been, as my two carefully selected teams, artfully poised to counter balance one another, were rendered useless by the fact that Antonio never turned up.

As such, we ended up with something of a mismatch that even the tardy addition of a ringer couldn’t compensate for. Here are your two teams:

Yellows: Danny, Patrick, Mario, Paul, Liam, Mick, Stu, Michele

Blues: me, David, Simon Gas, Joe, Nick, Ross, James, ringer (not Antonio)

The Yellow team steamed into a three goal lead before the ten minute mark was up – it was at this point Simon Gas invited on a ringer, who in all fairness did quite well. But the dye was already cast and with the Yellow team enjoying the fillip of Danny ending his spell in goal, the game got harder and harder for the Blues to stay in. By the end of the match there were passes going astray and people leaving the ball for one another in true ‘After you, Claude’ style  - the Yellows could have had more than their seven goals had they got their finishing right.

I’ll have a go at recalling some of the goals – Liam was in potent form and snaffled one by hanging off David’s shoulder; Mario also scored and I think Michele capped a typically impressive performance with at least one goal. James got one of the two Blues’ goals, for what it’s worth. 

Final score: Yellows 7 – Blues 2

Perhaps more memorable then what was ultimately a disappointing game of football was some of the conversation from the pub, where Ross, David and myself ignored the England game on the box for some wistful chat about girls we once knew (or more accurately, their chests). 

I hope you all had a good Easter weekend… see you next Friday for a calorie burning session.