Je m'appelle Ian

And so for the final time in 2015-2016 we have our Friday night match report. Rather a lot to get through; Simon greenlit no fewer than twenty one of us for the climax of the season. Here are what the two teams looked like:

Blues: Andy, Bristol Paul, Steve, Mick, Mark, Joe, Michele, Simon Gas, Peter, Paul El Tannero and Yev

Yellows: me, Ian, David, Danny, Nick, Charlie, Andrew, Callum, John (Peter’s brother) and Liam

For the second time in as many weeks the game ended up being fairly one-sided, which is never ideal. The Blues ran away with this one, although this was probably due to some extent by good performances and not so good performances as much as some duff team selection. Mick got things underway with a smartly taken finish after Danny in goal had parried the original shot – Mick calmly killed the ball and slotted home from close range. Mick was adamant (not Adam Ant) that he got a brace on the night, but you’ll need to ask him about goal number two when we reconvene in September as I can’t remember it.

Mark was also in amongst the goals with two fine finishes, the first the culmination of a good move from a Blue attack that saw Mark fire home with what has become trademark aplomb. The second of his goals saw him control a half-clearance from a corner and deftly lob the ball just inside of the left hand post.

The other goal – or the other goal I can recall, which for the purposes of this blog is all that matters – was another impressive piece of football with Peter applying the coup de grace to a sweeping move down the Blue left (props to Yev there), which left Andrew in goal with no chance.

All in all, I should put my hands up to loading the Blues with too many defensive titans, as the Yellows struggled to break down a back line containing Steve, Bristol Paul, Simon Gas and Joe, despite the assorted talents of Charlie, Callum and Yev. A word also for Andy, who appeared to be channelling some hybrid of France Baresi and Bobby Moore by thwarting wave after wave of Yellow attacks – Liam particularly seemed to come unstuck against the Sheffield colossus, although the quality of balls into him only deteriorated as the game continued. Nick was honest enough to admit he had a poor game, but accurately pointed out that he wasn’t the only one to have a bit of a shocker as the Yellow team struggled to clear their lines, struggled to get out from the goalkeeper and struggled to fashion anything more than the odd half chance.

Final score: Blues 5 – Yellows 0

And onto the pub for an end of season finale. As befits the middle of July, it was a warm and enjoyable evening, made more enjoyable by Simon Gas’s largesse as he bought not one but two bottles of sparkling Italian refreshment to toast Bristol Rovers’ promotion and, very generously, the arrival of my daughter Betty. He truly is a prince amongst men. Other recipients of a toast were Andy, as most improved player following his defensive tour de force and Simon himself for another year of selfless and patient co-ordination.

As the evening wore on, conversation turned to what Private Eye used to term ‘Ugandan affairs’ and some truly eye-watering accounts of various members of the team’s relations with the fairer sex over the years. No names will be mentioned, but the story about the haemorrhoids will stay with me for some time. When there’s talk of the ladies Yev is never far away, and he was on classic form, luring two French tourists into a conversation about who-knows-what, with Steve and Mick providing the wing support.

Never one to be left out of a late night pubchat, even when there’s a language barrier, the self-styled “cunt’s Cunt”, Ian of Arsenal fame, decided to get in on the action. With the assistance of myself, Liam and Mark (as well as Google translate), Ian bowled over to the aforementioned coterie of French madames, Yev and Mick and announced “Je m’appelle Ian. Malhereusement, je viens de me chie”. Which, for you Anglo-Saxon monoglots, means ‘My name is Ian. Unfortunately, I’ve just shit myself”.

See you in September.