New Recruits

And so it came to pass that with the changing of the kick off time from 8.00 pm to 7.00 pm a cavalry charge of young knights galloped in from across the nation’s capital to rescue the Coram Field Collective from endless games of five or six aside that ended up hopelessly one-sided with players purple-faced from the lung-bursting effort required to cover the wide expanses of the far pitch.

Simon Gas’s clarion call for New Recruits was met with an eager scampering of young men, slick with excitement and joie de vivre like footballing foals covered in equine afterbirth, only with beards and leather boots. Some, like Alex and Dan, were Old Street Originals - albeit players who had been out of circulation since the switch to Russell Square. Others had not played with us before: there was a Kiwi gentleman named Nick, a friend of mine called David, (or ‘Dave’, in the easy camaraderie of the football pitch) and a serious young man named Phil, who is apparently a friend of Ross’s.

With Wing Commander Will, Joe and Ross all absent with knee injuries the New Recruits were particularly welcome and ensured that we enjoyed what was comfortably the best match I’ve been involved with at Coram Fields.

The two teams lined us thusly:

Bibs: Ian West Brom, Ian Arsenal, me, Dave, Dan, Danny, Yev

Colours: Nick, Kiwi Nick, Simon Gas, Simon Ink, Phil, Alex, Steve A

Playing on the unfamiliar and disconcertingly visible middle pitch, the game kicked off and was dominated by the Colours in the early exchanges. While the new players tentatively probed and prodded, the Bibs’ key man – Alex - demonstrated that his mid-season sojourn had done nothing to blunt either his fitness or skill levels and the man from the Potteries duly set about running the Bibs’ back line ragged, with both Nicks benefitting from his expert through balls and all round vim. The Colours roared into a 5-0 lead, with the Bibs struggling to commit enough men forward and to win the ball in midfield. I took a spell in nets and promptly let in a couple; on both occasions my inner spirit level left something to be desired as I tried to make myself big in goal only to leave waste swathes of the goal unguarded. Alex and Nick tucked in.

Gradually, however, Dan and Yev started to forage further and further forward into the Colours half and with the aid of Danny started to test the opposition defence. Unfortunately for the Bibs young Phil turned out to be that rarest of beasts: a specialist goalkeeper (certainly, he demonstrated no intention of coming out of nets) and time and time again he repelled what looked like goalbound shots with a display reminiscent of Viz’s Billy the Fish. Dan and Yev managed to get a couple of goals back, but keeping the Bibs out at the other end was proving trickier, as the mobility and speed of the Alex - Kiwi Nick - Nick axis found the gaps, despite increasingly desperate efforts to prevent further mayhem.

The final score was 8-4 to the Colours, although the second half of the game felt far more competitive and at one stage the Bibs got two or three in succession to provoke hopes/fears of an almighty comeback, only for the Colours to engineer a move down the right which culminated in Kiwi Nick coming in at the back post to seal the win. I managed to score with the final kick of the game after the previously excellent Phil had miskicked and given me the chance to pass the ball home from all of 12 yards.

There were good debuts from all of the new players; Dave was guilty of a cheeky handball which most of the opposition seemed to miss and which augurs well for future arguments. On a similar note, it was nice to see that Steve’s chutzpah hasn’t waned – he called for a kick-in for his team after unceremoniously hoofing the ball off the pitch as I attempted to get it under control.

Pints of Trelawny all round at the Skinners Arms this week, at least for me, Ian and Simon Ink. Discussion veered between the merits of the earlier kick off time, how differing police tactics between the UK and Russia might explain the renaissance in football violence in recent weeks (Yev cheerfully opined that the Millwall hooligans at Wembley the other week would have been shot had they pulled that stunt in the former Soviet Union) and onto the emerging Teutonic dominance of the continent’s leading club football competition.

Until Friday, New Recruits: at ease.

My ball, my game and my rules

As we kicked off for the final time this season at 8.00 pm thoughts inevitably began to turn toward the Summer: barbeques, lovely cricket, cold beer outside the pub and for Arsenal fans, a tense wait to see which key players will move to Manchester. For Simon Gas however, a Ferguson-like captain of advance planning, thoughts did not move further ahead than picking the teams for last Friday’s match.

Interestingly, having missed a week owing to a dearth of players, Simon had picked not one but two sets of teams to play thirty minutes each. Alan, on being told of this news, momentarily looked as if someone had told him that the Earth was made of Toblerone, but put aside his shock to point out that Simon had picked virtually the same four teams, with just him and Steve A swapping positions.  This idea was duly abandoned. 

With the playing staff decimated with injury – Geoff was absent owing to a horological condition which meant that he’d arrived in a different time zone, Wing Commander Will was out with a fractured moustache and Joe missed the game due to a rare bout of Porphyria – the teams lined us thusly:

Bibs: Ian West Brom, Alan, Paul, Mick, Steve 

Colours: Ian Arsenal, Simon Gas, Ross, Danny, me

For the first time since I have been playing at Coram Fields the game finished with just one goal in it; the odd goal in seventeen, as it happened. At half-time the Bibs were ahead by two goals and looked set to go on and win comfortably, with Alan getting in amongst them (annoyingly, one was scored by nutmegging me as I rushed out of goal in an attempt to close down angles). At this stage in proceedings the Colours lacked a bit of shape and kept giving away possession while struggling to make enough chances. Just before the break the Colours pulled two back, one from Ross via a through ball from myself and another which was the other way around. 

In the second half the Colours managed to play the ball around with greater awareness of one another and with Ross and Danny’s legs on board they gradually came back into things, with Danny getting a breakaway goal and myself scoring one past Paul. 

In the end, despite an excellent save from Paul to deny me a hat-trick, Simon Gas got the winner with a drilled right footed finish almost on full-time. This was his second goal of the match, his opening effort coming in the first half when he took aim from some around 15 yards out, saw the ball rise up in the air, (upon which he emitted a weary groan) only for the ball to fall like a leaf into the top corner. Over head, yet under the bar, a new rule was formed. By Simon. Who organises the game. And that’s just how it is.

And so to The Skinners where we got a large enough table for all of us who made it there. Ian Arsenal left a little earlier than usual owing to the fact he’d enjoyed some light refreshment in the afternoon, while discussion included some unashamed nostalgia for The Big Match complete with Brian Moore’s combover and snow-bound pitches and a discussion as to who the best players have been in The Premiership era not to play for your team. Cantona and Bergkamp both featured prominently. 

Until Friday at 7.00 pm (NB: not 8.00 pm)....

The City Gent

Last Friday’s game was the first held in the daylight at Coram Fields, although it still felt more like mid-Winter than British Summer Time. As is becoming custom, Simon Gas pre-selected his teams but they were subject to significant tinkering, chiefly as a result of the involvement of a clutch of young men, some of whom were playing with their fathers (and their fathers’ friends).

Both Phil and Mick’s sons played; Phil’s son is named Ellis, I believe, while Mick’s male progeny is named Patrick. If I’ve got that wrong please don’t blame me – this seemed to be the consensus in the dressing room afterward amongst the older players. Blame dementia for any issues with accuracy.

I am going to have a go at listing both teams as they finished the game

Colours: Simon Gas, Alan, Ian Arsenal, Simon Ink, me, (a rare sighting of the three-Simon conjunction there), Danny, Paul (much more of whom later), Wing Commander Will

Bibs: Phil, Andy, Ian West Brom, Mick, Ellis (after being transferred following two goals in the first five minutes for the Colours), Patrick (after scoring a hatful and winning the game for the Bibs), a young person who’s name I can’t recall who I believe supported Sunderland and another young gentleman who supports West Ham

My notes tell me that the final score was 8-4 to the team wearing Colours, but that doesn’t begin to tell the story of the game. The Colours roared into a 3-0 lead, Ellis’s pace and clinical finishing revealing a chasm in class and age between those charged with marking him and his colleagues, before Phil made it 3-1 after I pressured Paul, dressed for the evening as a City Gent, in goal.

Someone then made it 4-1 to the Colours, upon which I was transferred over to the Colours in an attempt to handicap their clear advantage while young Ellis donned a bib. Simon’s juggling initially drew the desired response, as the Bibs got back to 4-3 before the Colours re-established their dominance via a slew of goals, including one apiece for Alan and Ian Arsenal, and at least three for young Patrick, who’s sleight of foot and general prowess in front of goal stretched the lead toward double figures.

Simon Gas made another late alteration as Simon Ink moved over to the Colours with Patrick going to other way, leading to the team in Colours ‘boasting’ all three Simons. However, by this stage Wing Commander Will had taken up permanent residence in goal, having sustained knee-knack as he twisted to cut the ball in from the by-line. Will’s studied excellence in goal prevented the Bibs from getting back into things in any meaningful way and the game ended, as usual, with one team way ahead of the other.

Quite what the various young people involved made of it all is anyone’s guess; Ellis and Patrick in particular are clearly very good footballers and may have been embarrassed at the ease with which they could find space and the back of the net. But as the game wore on the effectiveness of all the young men seemed to wane - this may have been a consequence of indifference to the final score, or boredom, or wanting to go easy on a crew of old-timers.

An alternative explanation could be that they were bewildered and ultimately stymied by the fact that someone had elected to play the entire game wearing a pin-striped black suit. Paul had apparently been involved in a series of high-level business meetings throughout the day which were so mysterious that even his wife was not aware of their arrangement. Eschewing fripperies such as football boots and shorts, this thrusting colossus of commerce took to the pitch wearing not only the aforementioned suit, but also black shoes, a flat cap and initially at least, a fluorescent yellow puffa-jacket. The jacket was soon discarded as the serious business of repelling attacks and taking free-kicks was taken on with the aplomb of a man used to multi-tasking, although his red tie remained resolutely in place and his top button firmly fastened. Danny made the observation that the tie in particular seemed to help Paul’s balance, acting as a sort of sporting plumb line which ensured that he remained balanced and In Control. A veritable tour de force of a performance from the man who likes to be known as The Guvnor – how will he follow this up? Will his next performance be in a bear suit? Will he arrive this Friday in a deep-sea diver’s outfit? Could he come wearing a safari suit and pith helmet? Who can possibly say? From the point of view of the young men it must have been a bewitching performance from Paul, perhaps all the more so because the rest of us seemed so blasé about the fact that someone had turned up to play football dressed in formal business attire.

And so to the Skinners Arms for a couple of post-match pints and a discussion on welfare dependency, house prices, Rolf Harris and an extraordinary assertion from Paul involving the expired Python Graham Chapman and Britain’s first bachelor Prime Minister, Edward Heath. I am guessing that there will be rather more discussion of dead Prime Minsters this coming Friday. Until then…