Monday, 4 February 2013

Seven Eleven

From Burnden Park to the Reebok. From Aryesome Park to the Riverside. The Dell to St Mary’s. Victoria Park to the Brittania Stadium. Highbury to the Emirates. And now from Finsbury Leisure Centre to Coram Fields. Our happy band may have moved location, but the football stays the same: quite rubbish, with lots of arguing.

I missed the first game of the new era a few weeks back before the snow-enforced hiatus, so last Friday’s game was a novel experience for me. I’m told that the first match at Coram Fields was around nine aside, but owing to an attack of the vapours from Andy, a fit of pique from Yev and a nasty cheese allergy from Ross our promised numbers dwindled from a promising 11 or 12 in the afternoon to a disappointing ten by eight ‘o’clock. The more numerical among you will have worked that this meant five aside on a pitch that, to my eyes at least looked, as a long as a par 5 hole on a golf course. 

The teams lined up as follows:

Bibs – Simon Gas, Danny, Paul The Guvnor, Joe and Phil

Colours – Boro Dave, me, Ian Arsenal, Ian West Brom and Steve A

Most of the Bibs had played in the inaugural game a few weeks back and seemed to settle into a rhythmic, slow passing pattern which exploited Joe’s pace and trickery in tandem with Danny and Simon’s tenacity at the back and Paul and Phil’s touch in midfield. They duly raced into a 5-1 lead, with Joe and Phil tucking in like holidaying Americans at an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

Fellow Coram debutant Boro Dave soon re-discovered the kind of golden scoring form which marked his tenure over in Old Street and he rattled in around four goals, most of which came from his learned left foot to lend proceedings a modicum of respectability as 5-1 became 6-3 and then 8-4. As well as Boro Dave’s goal scoring exploits he also brought across his unparalleled ability to ‘encourage’ his team-mates, with Ian West Brom being the chief recipient of his inimitable Teesside hair-dryer treatment. Mind you, I fared little better and ended up on the wrong end of some hyper-critical on-field analysis from Ian, my fellow Gooner. The comparison to Andre Santos was particularly hurtful, (but probably deserved). 

The final score was 11-7 to the Bibs, or Colours: 7 11: Bibs, if you prefer. Goal of the night was undoubtedly Steve’s, with one of his three efforts being a pearl of a finish into Simon Gas’s top left- hand corner. This raises an interesting philosophical question, as the ball was technically over head height; only the churlish or the miserable would seek to chalk off such a fine effort, however.

After more Spartan showers, (i.e. fucking freezing) it was off to the Friend at Hand public house around the corner from Russell Square tube. No Freya or Jim there sadly, and very few chairs either – there may well be a different destination this Friday.

Until then! 

No comments: