Tuesday, 3 March 2015

Springing in the bath

The final Friday of February and as Spring prepares to be sprung, Simon Gas and his crew found themselves in the compact and bijou surrounds of changing room number one, which I had previously presumed to be the Coram Fields staff room. (Or possibly, judging by the fact the shower facilities were inches deep in tepid water, the staff swimming pool). 

The Chief Executive selected the following two teams to do battle: 

Yellows: Ian Gooner, Simon ‘The Cat’ Gas, Liam, Ross, Paul, Bristol Paul, Danny, Simon Ink

Blues: Mick, Tony, Yev, Dave, Ian Baggies, Mark, Andy, me

Once Tony and Yev had arrived that makes eight aside.

The game was locked at nil-nil for the first fifteen or twenty minutes, but despite having the assorted talents of Tony, Mick and Yev, the Yellows took the game by the scruff of the neck once Danny had completed his stint in goal and seized the lead through Liam, who was proving to be a real menace despite the various niggles and strains he appeared to be battling with. (It could well be that he was malingering to put the Blues into a false sense of security). At the back for the Blues were Dave, who I thought put in such a strong performance that he didn’t deserve to be on the losing side, myself (on occasion) and Ian Baggies, who was his usual honest, vocal and selfless, err, self. 

I was caught in possession in the right back position for one of the Yellows’ goals, as Liam mugged me and slotted home past Ian Baggies. I also managed to let in three whilst in goal, meaning I was directly or indirectly culpable for four of their five goals, with Danny (I think) shooting from distance, Liam snaffling another after I’d tried to smother his initial attempt and Ross and Liam combining for the former to score as I was confronted with both of Yellows’ strikers in front of me and no covering defenders.

At the other end Simon was in imperious form in goal, capping a display reminiscent of Viz’s legendary Billy the Fish with some unbelievable saves from Yev, Mick and myself. That the Blues got on the scoresheet at all was down to Yev – his first was a fiercely driven shot into the top left hand corner that not even the Muswell Hill maestro could repel, the other a hotly disputed penalty after Danny was somewhat harshly adjudged to have handled. The Yellows were 5-1 up at the time, and there was more than a sniff of tokenism about the penalty award, but beggars can’t be choosers and all that.

As for notable incidents, there was another handball decision that Yev screamed for and lead to Ian Gooner requesting that Yev stop being such a twat, (to which the Ukrainian hitman replied something about being a ‘pooosie’ rather than a twat), while the other memorable flare-up came after Ross had the temerity to foul Tony from behind with a little nip at this ankles, which saw the combustible cineaste explode in a fit of short-lived and somewhat comical rage.

Final score: Yellows 5 – Blues 2

A relatively quiet evening at the pub, as a fair few players decided to have an early night. After Mick had taken at least half an hour decrying the quality of play on offer in a very Eeyoreish manner indeed, I spent much of the evening talking to Coram Fields social media correspondent Simon Ink, who had been rebuffed on popular dating application Tinder by a would-be Portuguese paramour because a) he had reproduced and b) had an insufficient presence on Twitter.  Twenty first century problems indeed. The verdict was that the more gigs Ross and the Sprockets, or whatever the band are currently called, the better in terms of Simon’s romantic aspirations. 

Until Friday…

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