Last Friday saw Winter finally arrive in the capital as a dozen or so hardy souls braved the Arctic temperatures to play a game of football. The teams were as thus:
Bibs: me, Yev, Simon Inkpen, Spizz, Boro Dave, Ian Gough, Paul, Geoff
Colours: Alex, Simon Gas, Dave A, Steve A, Ian Geary, Joe, Danny
The game finished in a highly entertaining three-all draw, although the colours were kicking themselves after taking a handy-looking two-nil lead early on. Spizz opened the scoring before switching horses mid-stream when the perennially tardy Geoff arrived to unsettle the balance of the two teams; Alex then made it two-nil. The bibs got back on terms first from an opportunist effort from Geoff and then via a classic striker’s finish from (who else?) Yev. Alex scored a third for the colours, but Yev ensured that honours were shared with a deserved equaliser.
Aside from the fact that it was so cold that the soft tissue in your lungs was burning after forty minutes of inhaling the quasi-Siberian air, the other key talking point of the game was a disputed free kick on the edge of the colours’ penalty area. I was in goal at the time, so will have to plead the Wenger amendment, but from what was discussed during and after the game the issue seemed to be that Big Dave A had at least part of his feet on and over the line of the ‘D’, thereby preventing the Bibs from taking a quick indirect free-kick before getting a shot off. A sensible strategy, no doubt, but with the goalkeepers’ feet outside the ‘D’ was it legal? Simon Gas decreed it thus, setting a precedent that Ian Gough, inter alia, is in no danger of letting him forget. It may have been the only time Ian ventured north of the halfway line in the game, but it was a memorable contribution to his otherwise purely defensive efforts.
The ensuing brouhaha looked fairly comical from my vantage point at the other end in goal, with lots of middle aged men shouting loudly and leaning into one another in a sort of circular pattern around a static football in a manner reminiscent of a group of drunken fishwives around a PVC handbag at a Christmas dinner dance. Predictably, the free kick was squandered.
I think the sub-zero temperatures must be to blame for my inability to recall much more about the game, although I had a chance to score toward the end by making a late run and poking the ball goal-ward with the outside of my left boot. To no avail, as ever.
A reasonably uneventful evening in the pub, although we should be grateful for the continued re-emergence of the enigmatic punk icon Spizz. Mine’s a Pilnser Urquell….
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