(Enough about England (for now)).
Somewhat unusually last Friday saw Ian pick the teams, and
they lined up as follows:
Colours: Spizz, Dan, Steve A, Paul, Simon Ink, Hugh, Simon
Gas,
Bibs: Boro Dave, Danny, me (following a late change), Matt,
Alan, Ian
The game finished 5-2 to the Bibs. Goals came from Boro
Dave, Alan (I think; if he scored and I didn’t credit him they’d be hell to
pay) and Danny, who got on the end of a long, raking pass from Simon Gas which
rolled back the years to tuck the ball home. Simon Gas almost repeated the
trick for me, but Steve A in goals got out well to smother my left footed
attempt to pass the ball into the net. The final goal was a late pile driver
from Matt that dipped in the air and sailed past Paul to call time on the whole
affair; with no 7.40ers in attendance and hence no one following us, we played
on until around quarter to eight, when a combination of the three goal cushion
for the Bibs and the looming kick off in Kiev called time on proceedings.
Other notable incidents a bizarre penalty from punk icon
Spizz - a camp two-footed hop over the ball followed by an off target shot - and
a testy verbal exchange between Steve A and Paul. Perhaps the most notable
incident of all came before we took to the field, when Paul let loose a
rallying cry of ‘Come on England!’ in the changing rooms prior to launching
into the St Crispin’s day speech from Henry V, much to the confusion and,
indeed, fear of everyone else in the vicinity.
And so to the pub. With the Old Fountain’s Head now a
distant and fading memory, the White Lion played host to the Sweden v England
game. Given that the first time I went in there after playing football there
were three men and a dog (and the saucy redhead behind the bar), I am starting
to wonder whether, in fact, we are the avant-garde, as last Friday saw plenty
of what can only be described as hipsters in there. They’ve clearly spotted
something missing from the Old Fountain and have struck out to find that elusive
Next Big Thing, the authentic London boozer complete with wheezy old geezers
pink and vital from running around a five aside pitch. Then again, it could be
the barmaid. As John Lennon said, avant-garde is French for bullshit.
And what about the England game? The best tournament game
England have played, in terms of drama if nothing else, since the Argentina
game in the 1998 World Cup. Bring on Italy. Come on football!
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