Quantum Football

Following a four week hiatus as a result of Royal Weddings, religious holidays and visits to Cornish in-laws I returned to the Friday night football fray last week to see the newly svelte(ish) form of Spizz for the first time since September; the Prodigal Punk returns. Spizz took up his customary position of goalhanger centre forward par excellence alongside myself, Steve, Ross, Joe, a denim-clad Mick (looking even more like a Top Gear presenter than usual), Hugh and Keir. Collectively, we made up what is arguably the worst team ever to take the field at Finsbury Leisure Centre.

The final score may have been 11-1; it may also have been anything from 13-1 to 16-1. As you can imagine, it was difficult to pick out one goal in particular, or even one goal scorer. Boro Dave bagged at least two, as, I think, did big Ian. I certainly remember one first time finish from Ian that flew in. I am reliably informed that Alan got four goals, while Danny had to make do with a hat-trick. Frankly, Stephen Hawking would have fancied his chances of getting on the score sheet by the end – there were two goals, one from Danny, which appeared to have defied the laws of physics. Come to think of it, perhaps Stephen Hawking was involved. I tried to tackle Boro Dave as he shaped to shoot only to divert the ball past whichever schmuck happened to be charged with keeping goal for us at the time - I'm not still not sure how. By the end of the game the team in colours had reached a higher state of footballing consciousness; the players had only to conceptualise the notion of a goal using some form of collective mental synchronicity and the ball would zip effortlessly across the pitch and ping off a low flying pigeon, or a defender’s elbow and nestle happily in the corner of the net. Sheer quantum football.

Against this brand of soccer alchemy there was little the team in bibs could do. The one goal we did manage came courtesy of a trademark daisy cutter from, inevitably, Spizz which at least gave the quantum footballers pause for thought, however brief. As the rattle sounded Simon Gas opined that the sides weren’t that unbalanced – perhaps not in terms of the known three dimensions, but given the awesome cognitive power at their disposal it was like trying to down a fighter jet with a spud gun.

Was this a one-off, a once in a generation occurrence akin to the passing of Halley’s comet, or will next Friday see a new array of physic weaponry? Only time, such as it exists, will tell.