Terrace humour

As Spring resolutely refuses to turn into Summer Friday nights remain steadfastly chilly, but for the hardy souls who spend the end of each working week running around trying to play football it makes no odds: came sun, hail, rain or snow we turn up, pick sides, relive our youth and then go the pub.

Which is a roundabout way of introducing the latest match report. Last Friday saw a seven aside affair with the teams picked (once again) by yours truly with the following line ups:

Bibs: Simon Gas, Dan, Dan’s mate Matt, Parisian Ian (henceforth known as ParisIan), Joe, Andy, Ian West Brom 

Colours: yours truly, Simon Inkpen, Mick, Yev, Danny, Paul, Alan

Despite taking the lead through an opportunist’s strike from ParisIan (from near the halfway line), the Colours clawed their way back into the game via a brace from Yev and eventually pulled away to win 5-2, (although the scores were briefly 3-1). As Simon is often heard saying if his team lose, ‘it wasn’t a 5-2 kind of game’, but to be fair the Bibs had the lion’s share of possession with Dan and his buddy Matt pinging the ball around with a metronomic quality, only to be let down by some wasteful finishing, (although they twice struck the posts). The Colours prevailed chiefly as a result of some ruthless finishing from Yev, although Simon Inkpen took up some nice positions only to be denied by a combination of good goalkeeping and a couple of shanked shots. 

Thankfully there were no nasty injuries or major differences of opinion this week, although I thought I’d unfairly brought down Joe from behind when he was poised to pull the trigger – had it been under Premier league rules I would seen red. 

Other than that, there was precious little else to report on a night when a fine drizzle left many of the players with a first touch like a baby elephant, (to the extent that Mick opined that we should stay behind for extra training). 

Last Friday saw the debut for most (all?) of us on the Old Fountain’s Head roof terrace, with the combination of chill winds and rain clearing most of the top deck of Hoxtonites and the IT crowds. With the patio heaters on it was toasty up there and I ended staying much longer than planned, as time seemed to take on a different quality. Maybe it was the altitude – drinking at a height of 25 feet can affect you in strange ways. Sadly, still no sign of Spizz, although following a nostalgic conversation between Mick, Ian and Alan about the relative merits of The Dead Kennedy’s and The Damned talk turned to everyone’s favourite pint sized punk icon. It may have been Mick (it may have been someone else) that labelled Spizz the Michael Owen of punk. At that, my friends, is the very apogee of (beer) terrace humour.