First of all, many apologies for not posting anything for
last week’s game, (I had an awfully busy week). For the record, it finished 5-1
to the team in Colours, although the Bibs did take the lead through a rare-as-hen’s-teeth
goal from Bristol’s Mr Dependable, Simon Gas. In greasy conditions, Simon’s
fierce shot from wide on the left slipped under Danny’s feet in goal. That was
as good as it got for the team in Bibs, however – despite Yev being joined by
his compadre and fellow Ukrainian, Olympic guest Vitali, he could not find the
net, (while Vitali was upended by Alex in a typically English challenge:
welcome to Old Street). Alex generally ran riot and bagged a thoroughly deserved
hat-trick, aided and abetted by two goals from Steve A.
This Friday’s game was a seven aside affair, with the teams
lining up as follows:
Bibs: me, Dan, Spizz, Yev, Simon Inkpen, Geoff, Sam
Colours: Joe, Alex, Danny, Simon
Gas, Andy, Wing-Commander Will, Steve A
The game remained goalless for the first fifteen minutes,
but the team in Bibs took the lead following a slightly speculative long-range
effort from Yev. Much of the danger from the team in Colours came from an effervescent
Joe and a characteristically domineering midfield performance from Alex and it
was those two players who linked up most effectively. The Colours equaliser
came somewhat fortuitously, with a desperate tackle from myself squirting
across the area, past Dan and to an unmarked Joe at the far post who finished
unerringly into the corner. The goal which proved to be the winner came from
some delightful one-twos between Alex and Joe, with the Joe slipping his marker
and fizzing the ball into the far corner.
Despite the attentions of Yev and gout-ridden punk rocker Spizz,
the Bibs could not fashion an equaliser, although I managed to miss a chance
that a tetraplegic tortoise could have put away, somehow contriving to miss an
open goal from about six yards. A day that began with me spilling coffee over
my trousers and all over the floor ended just as disappointingly. My misery was
compounded by being heckled by the eight ‘o’ clock crew. Bastards.
And so to the pub. We have returned to the Old Fountain’s
Head in the past fortnight, although last week’s trip was not one I was overly
keen to repeat having been outrageously ignored by Jim at the bar. (This week’s
blog is making me sound like a right loser). Last night’s sojourn was an
altogether happier experience, chiefly as Yev regaled us with his tales of
drunken lechery from the previous weekend when he and the aforementioned Vitali
hit the avenues and alleyways of London Town. They ended the weekend in Tiger,
Tiger in the Haymarket where both Yev and Vitali were much taken with a
waitress named Colin, from Kant. At least that’s what it sounded like on Yev’s
telling of the story. On repetition, her name could have been Holly, although
whether she deserved the sobriquet of the Duchess of Kant it is impossible to
say.
