After the deluge

After what was pretty much a three month Summer break from football – watch and learn, Sepp Blatter – we returned to the newly refurbished Coram Field playing surface last Friday on the 13th September to a veritable monsoon. Slightly taking the edge of the freshly laid Astroturf, the colour of which I can only describe as luminescent, the hour’s play must have seen something like an inch of rain and rendered every man jack of us looking like a drowned rat.

Despite the deluge, a bumper crop of footballers young and old turned out for the first game of the 2013/2014 season. I’m not going to name every player, not so much because I can’t remember, but principally because I didn’t know everyone’s name. That’s how many people were there.

Still, tradition behoves me to make a stab at naming the two teams. Here goes:

Colours – me, Simon Gas, Danny, Alex, John (my cousin), David, the prodigal Tony, Paul, Ross

Bibs – Ian Arsenal, Matt, Dan, the last Yev, Phil, Kiwi Nick, Bearded Nick, Steve and two fellas I didn’t know, one of whom had to depart after smashing a tooth following an collision with the other

I make that 19 people – na-na-na-nineteen – which seems to tally with Simon Gas’ pre-match list, although one of the two new blokes left after a nasty collision which left him spitting blood (and quite possibly teeth) and I can’t recall seeing Phil for longer than the first twenty minutes or so.

Anyway, I believe the final score was 9-7 to the Bibs, (they won, anyway).

If some people hadn’t played since June then they certainly didn’t show it. Sadly, my rustiness was all too evident – my first attempt at a pass off to the right touchline for Danny rolled harmlessly out of play. Everyone laughed. I did exactly the same thing about three minutes later. No-one laughed.

Among the goals were Matt, who scored one excellent goal after nutmegging both me and then Simon Gas; Ross, following a short pass from myself; Yev, naturally; Alex, who scored a wonderfully entertaining effort in the manner of a dribbling wizard from the 1940’s; Tony, back from exile; my cousin John, following some mercurial footwork on the left; and Ian, who swivelled on the proverbial 6d and slammed one in from an acute angle. Given the torrid conditions there were a few efforts that slipped on a surface which was greasier than a Scottish chip-shop and skidded through fingers, hands and other sodden extremities.

All in all, great entertainment (not that anyone could have seen through all the rain).

I am pleased to report that The Skinners Arms is still open and was being patronised heavily by the various players who needed reviving. I left as Yev had bought Ian a quadruple whiskey in return for loaning him some bicycle equipment over the Summer. I hope the ride home went well, Ian.

Welcome back.