Monday, 24 October 2016

Nailbiting finish

Morning everyone. Feels very Autumnal today, doesn’t it? I thought that I’d inadvertently got up an hour earlier than usual this morning, as it was still dark at the station. Bleugh.

Right, ten goals and much else to get through this morning.

Here are your teams from Friday:

Yellows: me, Joe, Mario, Mick, Peter, Simon Gas, Callum, Paul (The Guv’nor) and Liam

Blues: Andy, Steve, Tony, Danny, Michele, Patrick, Mark, Nick and Ross

With Ed being a late withdrawal young Patrick came in for his first game in a while – there was some confusion when he arrived with his pater familias, as without Pete – who was late – the Yellows looked a bit light, and my intention was for Patrick to play as a Yellow until Peter arrived, much to the chagrin of the Blue team. Happily, Peter rocked up about two minutes after Patrick, so all was well.

Game on!

Rather a few goals to try and recall this morning, but I’ll have a go. Patrick turned on the turbo-boosters / ran quite fast past someone twenty years older than him with much shorter legs (delete as you feel most appropriate) to blast around myself on the Blues’ right and slot home past Simon Gas in goal to get the Blues’ noses in front. Also on the scoresheet for the Blue team was Danny, who managed to drill home from just outside the area through a thicket of middle aged ankles, and Ross, who bagged a brace; in fact he would have a hat-trick had it not been for a fabulous save from Simon Gas in goal, who managed to tip over an equally stupendous volley that was dipping viciously as it fizzed toward the goal. The second goal came after I failed to track his run properly – Ross continued his run toward goal when a Blue defender got a foot to the first ball before Nick fired back a cross for the sometime pop star to slot home.

As for the Yellows, well they scored some goals, too. I must confess to being slightly confused by the progression of the scoreline, chiefly as a result of what was comfortably the most controversial moment of the game. Mick took a corner from the Yellows’ right which sailed across the goal just under the bar for Peter to gleefully nod in. Danny immediately, and incredibly loudly and s l o  w  l   y exhorted to all and sundry that Mick’s corner ball had gone out before looping back in, which sounded unlikely, but appeared to be the final decision. If anyone knows otherwise, they can let me know.

In and around this ghost goal, Peter and Liam both got on the scoresheet, although the late October fog has not lifted sufficiently to permit me to describe them in much detail. My memory is slightly less hazy when it comes to describing the Yellows’ final two goals, however; chiefly as I scored them both in a turn of events that’s as rare as hen’s teeth, or a magnanimous reaction to defeat from Jose Mourinho.

The first came after I managed to get hold of the second ball following a corner, with Mick aerially challenging for the initial ball – I volleyed home from the edge of the area into the bottom left hand corner, with the ‘keep admittedly slightly unsighted. The second was similar, although this time I hit the ball with my somewhat more conventional right foot. I believe that the second goal made it 5-4 to the Blues on the night, with Ross’s late goal making it five apiece.

After some wrangling over the initial fairness of the sides I think we all came off feeling that a (high scoring) draw was about right. And other than some consternation from Tony that someone touched him while jumping for the ball we had a remarkably rancour-free evening.

And so to the pub. With a smaller turnout than would is custom, discussions covered holidays with young children, Villa’s new manager, and the new Rye IPA on tap in the Skinners, before we moved onto two anecdotes from Mark and Liam. Mark’s story concerned tractors with three foot spikes to burst the distended stomachs of dead sheep in the Cumbrian hills during the foot and mouth outbreak, while Liam’s tale of nailbiting left quite an impression on a recruitment consultant at Green Park tube in the most literal way possible. How would you remove a crescent of finger nail from a woman’s cheek that you’ve just met? Answers on a postcard.

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