Wednesday, 16 May 2018

Back again!

Greetings one and all, as we have something of a magazine style round-up of all things Coram Fields from the past two weeks. The first match report, from Friday 4th May, comes from myself and my reliable (honest) middle-aged memory and the second section will be the far more freeform jazz style beloved of Paul.

First things first, here are your two teams from Friday 4th May, including an unscheduled and unheralded appearance from Yev:

Yellows: Simon Ink, Simon Gas, James, Ian Baggies, Danny, Josh, Mario, Joe, David… and Yev

Blues: Bristol Paul, Paul, Steve, Charlie, me, Mick, Michele, Liam, Shez and Ross

My two carefully chosen teams looked well balanced before Yev’s arrival, but any concerns that the Yellows would be too strong with the augmentation of the prodigal Ukrainian proved ill-founded, despite Yev coming back from a lengthy sabbatical having lost little of his pace or proficiency in front of goal. I believe that it was Yev who opened the scoring, or at the very least opening the scoring for the Yellows, by galloping onto a through ball poked through from Josh or Danny and catching it on the volley as it dropped over this shoulder and dispatching it unerringlingly beyond the started goalie.

I understand that Liam had a rare night off from troubling the scorer – although I’d never describe a virile young man like Liam as having a barren night – but there was enough other attacking prowess in the Blue ranks and I think that Ross bagged a brace.

The final goal of the evening came from Ross, albeit with an assist from myself. In one of those all too rare moments, rarer with each passing year, I was able to translate an idea, a notion, a twig of creativity into something tangible, something real, a branch, no tree of genuine sporting performance: a cross-field pass that sailed through the air, cleared the despairing lunge of the last defender and bounced perfectly into Ross’ path so that he did not even have to break stride to fire home.

A word here for Shez, who may well have been man of the match, going box-to-box, doing the ugly stuff well and making life difficult for his opponents.

I think that the final score was Yellows 3 – Blues 1

And now over to the Theolonious Monk of sports reporting, Paul ‘Gennaro’ Tanner:

You are going to have to collate a mass of information and just put it out there like dos Passos. For instance, Ross has given the green light for the Oslo trip and I am going to the Nationwide for emergency finance. Mick will be captain.

We have got no pitch or opposition so that needs to be arranged. Simon [Gas] you will need to interview people and ask why they play so badly and yet Mick and Yev turned it round for the Blues. Charlie pointed out I was breaking the code of conduct for my stream of bad language. Charlie seemed to go through a phase of passing the ball ten yards past the post… but he is my choice of man-of-the match.

He did an incredible right-wing cross and all Ian Gooner had to do was stand still and let the ball hit the side of his head and he would have looked like Frank Stapleton. Instead, he headed the ball over.

The Blues won four-two and for the Yellows good performances came from Ross and Bristol Paul, who did a great cross with his knee. 

In the Skinners Ian and me hugged for the first of several 60th birthday celebrations and Ian read a Dizzy Rascal poem about being bonkers.

PS. My sour mood was due to being picked as a referee and then Danny decided I would have a very limited term of reference. I also lost a ten quid betting slip on Man Utd for the FA Cup at 11/10. I tried to tell the Skinners guys that I was a Spurs fan. That conceit came crashing down when two Spurs fans on the tube refused to talk me. I just asked when we were going to sell Ali and Kane.

Final words from me; I keep meaning to share with you all possibly the least flattering thing anyone has ever said to me. About a month ago Ian and I were sharing the final pint of the evening outside the Skinners when a gaggle of very drunk northerners approached and exclaimed that I was the spitting image of an acclaimed northern soul DJ called Arthur Fenn who looks like this

After I dragged up an image on my phone they did at least concede that I look like his younger brother. Northern scum.

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