The miracle of Old Street

It’s been a while since Paul has asked me to write the post match blog, but I am always happy to wax lyrical about Friday night football. I see that since the end of last season there have been two posted blogs: one ranting about my beloved Arsenal and one commenting on last week’s 4-2 encounter which heralded the return of the prodigal Paul.

Last week’s encounter saw Simon again struggle for numbers – Wherefore art, thou, footballers? – so in addition to myself, Spizz, Simon Gas, Andy, Paul, Joe (who has turned into Team Selector par excellence), Alex, Big Dave, Danny, Alex’s Welsh mate Dan we also had guest appearances from young Sam and Yusuf. The team in bibs roared into a handsome lead as Alex gave his customary Man Of The Match performance, running the show from back to front and scoring four (I think) of the goals. His team-mates included Andy, who selflessly took no less than three turns between the sticks, myself, Spizz – who was uncharacteristically profligate in front of goal – Joe and Yusuf. At 5-1 ahead the team in colours, comprising Simon Gas, Sam, Big Dave, Danny and Dan and Paul managed to pull one back to make it 5-2, at which point Danny later admitted he was hoping they could make the score look a bit more respectable. Chances continued to come thick and fast for the team in bibs with Spizz unable to hit a cow’s arse with a microphone stand, Joe lifting one over from the edge of the D and myself hitting post and bar and drawing a great save from Simon Gas.

At the other end the side in colours managed to pull another back to make 5-3, before either Yusuf or Alex made it 6-3. Surely game over? Somewhere in the midst of all this came one of those world-stops-turning moments where Paul pounced on a loose ball in front of goal and drove the ball toward the far post. Time slowed down; continents stopped drifting; London pigeons paused in midflight; Big Dave screamed ‘It’s in!’. It wasn’t. The ball span back off the post, clipped Andy’s heels in goal and came to rest tantalising close to the goal-line. But not close enough. Time sped back up; continents groaned back into action; the pigeons shat on the roofs of Old Street; Big Dave turned around and fouled someone.

With around five minutes left Alex, selflessly, nobly, tragically, offered to relieve Andy from his latest stint in goal. The score at that stage stood at 6-4 to the time in bibs. Five minutes later the team in colours had conceded three goals in a festival of negligent defending, appalling tracking and incisive passing and finishing from Sam and Dan which cut the bibs into smithereens. Alex came out of goal in a desperate attempt to equalise before the rattle, but to no avail.The miracle of Old Street was complete, even without Paul's near miss.

Paul had written a blog on the 24^th August moaning about Arsenal’s inability to sign new players who weren’t French; he might have written an anti-Arsenal piece about our unrivalled ability to implode and there was something positively Wengeresque about the bibs’ late capitulation. Having said that, if someone other than me and Andy had offered to go in goal (hello, Spizz!) we would have won.

Until next week...