Monday, 23 February 2015

++++Coram Field scene++++Field scene Coram++++scene Coram Field++++etc. and so forth++++



First of all, many apologies for the failure to post last week’s blog – I did write something up last week, but a combination of fatigue and an extraordinarily trying week at work conspired to prevent me from finishing the post. Consider this week’s post something of a magazine style round –up of recent events. 

For posterity’s sake, here is what I did manage to write about the events of Friday 13th February….

“Six played seven on Friday night, as Harkins, Simon Gas’s trusted butler, fielded a slew of late sick notes from the great and not-so-great of the Coram Fields football establishment. The Muswell Hillbilly selected the following two teams to do battle in miserable February weather:

Yellows: Ian Gooner, Nick, Daniel, Tony, Liam, me

Blues: Simon Ink, Mark, Mick, Paul, Simon Gas, specialist goalkeeper Phil, Danny

Predictably, this proved to be a hard going situation for a group of men on the wrong side of 30, but Simon Gas ushered on two young lads who added some considerable pace and skill into the game and changed the make-up of proceedings somewhat.

There was plenty of space and that room, combined with a slippy surface and the addition of two young lads with pace to burn made for ideal goal conditions. I’ll have a go at recalling a few of them.

Simon Ink got a late one off his instep that I could have sworn he missed altogether; the young lad smashed one in at my near post following some decent build-up from the Blues’ right; Mark managed to get on the scoresheet after he went in for a challenge with Liam and the ball pinged in, wrong-footing the ‘keeper; 

For the Yellows Daniel grabbed a couple, one a dipping shot with his right. Liam and their other young lad got the other.

Final score: Blues 6 Yellows 4”

[In my defence I spent most of the game in goal owing a hamstring twinge that meant I couldn’t run and kick the ball. As such, my view of most of the Yellow’ goals was poor, owing to the fact I was about fifty yards away and in pain. That the last man was Ian Gooner, who had a bad foot, may explain why the Blues triumphed].

My chief memory of the Skinners from last week was Ian’s 18 year old passport photo, i.e. a passport taken at the age of eighteen years, which was snapped when he spent two weeks eschewing his then usual post-punk garb for a look best described as Wham!-lite on a Club 18-30 holiday in Majorca in the early ‘80s. As this was part of a preternaturally sly strategy to attract as many young ladies as possible in a fortnight it can only be recorded for posterity as a roaring success judging by Ian’s testimony. 




versus



And so onto the more recent match.


Plenty of goals this week but not so many players, as Simon Gas was forced to issue an urgent call to arms to the Coram Fields faithful in an attempt to recruit enough people to make a game of things.

His Tuesday night SMS missive did the trick, as three new chaps turned up; Nick recruited a fellow six-footer (with beard) called Mike and Steve, gamely in attendance despite being hamstrung, (there’s a lot of it about) brought along a bloke named Alan*. Also in attendance was one of the young whippersnappers who Simon presumably gives a game so that we can all tweak our hamstrings vainly trying to keep up with them. Someone not in attendance was Mario, who from all accounts was set for a sensational comeback but for… yet another pinged hamstring. 

With habitual late turner-uppers Mick and Yev eventually joining the throng we had the following two sides:

Blues: Ian Gooner, Simon Gas, Alan, Tony, young lad, Mick, me

Yellows: Nick, Mike, Daniel, Steve (in nets) Paul, Yev and Alan*
(* I checked that his name was Alan, with, err, Alan).

 As you can see, seven aside there. There followed a veritable cornucopia of goals, with the Blues being reliant on the young feller alongside Alan up front, while the Yellows arguably had a better balance in their team, with Nick, Mike and Daniel seeking to break from midfield in order to utilise Yev’s searing pace. 

No side got more than two ahead of the other all evening, I believe – the Blues scored first, taking a two goal lead (including a rare score from myself; a left footed volley which trundled in between Steve’s legs after Alan’s initial shot had come back off the post), before the Yellows struck back with Yev firing in from an acute angle. I took a spell in goal to avoid inflaming the niggly hamstring that would appear to be all the rage and during this sojourn Nick flicked in a cheeky goal from a corner that I couldn’t quite get enough glove on to force over the bar, while Yev brilliantly rolled Mick and stuck the ball away in the far corner. Mike also capped a fine debut at Coram Fields with a curved effort that bent in into the far post, past an unsighted ‘keeper.

At the other end Alan and Tony sought to capitalise on the tireless running of the young fella, who must have scored at least five times, his feet a blur of movement as Steve bravely tried to block his various efforts. Despite Ian’s exhortations to Simon Gas to get nearer the area, the Muswell Hill supremo spent most of his time occupying his customary wide berth, although he did follow up one passing movement to tap home from about two yards.

Just the one moment of controversy this week as Yev was penalised for shoving me in the chest a la Joey Barton, which he and Daniel seemed to feel was within the laws of the game, much to the Blues’ bemusement. 

In the end the young legs, quick feet and incessant movement of the young lad proved just enough to give the Blues victory by the odd goal in 17.

And so to the pub, for a few of us anyway. Topics under discussion included Steve’s ongoing national identity crisis, Yev’s wife’s prospective new set of wheels and all the usual nonsense. 
That’s your round-up. 

Wednesday, 11 February 2015

Celtic legend?



Back to the large turn-out again this week, as Simon’s butler (name of Harkins) helped file the various Monday morning replies to his master’s weekly SMS. Harkins duly came up with the following, based on the assorted digital missives:

Blues: Mick, Yev, Bristol Paul, Dave, Danny, Simon Ink, Dan, Alan, Simon Gas, Paul Guvnor, me

Yellows: Spizz, Alex, Patrick, Steve, Specialist Goalkeeper Phil, Ian Baggies, Sakho, Tony, Ian Gooner

The early team news – or late team news, in Mick and Yev’s case – was that Hampstead’s answer to Jean Luc Goddard was very much in attendance, despite last week’s contretemps, while Simon appears to have struck up a relationship with Big Sam Allardyce and managed to arrange a guest appearance by West Ham striker Diafra “Sakho”. Truth be told, the Senegalese forward is skating on thin ice having already cost his club £75,000 by appearing in the FA Cup while he was supposed to be too injured to participate in the African Cup of Nations in Africa; it’s difficult to envisage FIFA grand fromage Sepp Blatter taking a relaxed stance on the former Metz striker’s appearance at Coram Fields when he’s currently under contract at the Boleyn, but Simon has obviously got Harkins to pull a few strings.

And so we were underway. The Yellows took a two goal lead through Spizz, one a rebound off the post following a shot from either Patrick or Sakho, the next a poacher’s finish as he sought to evade the attentions of Alan. The Arthur of Daley of punk bagged his hat-trick courtesy of very cheeky chip over the outrushing goalkeeper (me) – in addition to scrambling backwards unsuccessfully to claw the ball away I had the added ignominy of hearing a passer-by chirp up “Ooh, he’s lobbed him!” from behind the goal. 

By this stage Simon had switched Ian Baggies for Paul, but the writing was already on the wall with the Blues having the youthful dynamism of not just Patrick, but also the ringer from Upton Park – oh, and they also had Alex. Combine these three with Spizz having his best sixty minutes since 1979 and it was uphill for the Blues. 

The Blues did bring some semblance of respectability to proceedings – Dan, by common consent the Blues’ man of the match – bagged one following a deepish run from midfield and Yev got another. But at the other end Ian Gooner trundled in a tap-in as the Blues pushed too many people forward and I think Monsieur Sakho finally got on the scoresheet, too. 

[Disclaimer: I did email Alan for some corroboration on this week’s scorers, but either I’ve upset him or my email has fallen foul of the government’s zealous spam filer. If I’ve made any factual blunders, I can only apologise].  

Relatively little incident off the ball this week, thank goodness, bar the usual theatrical reactions to disputed handball shouts and 50-50 challenges. 

Final score: Yellows 5- Blues 2

Having drank a liquid hectare of Shiraz the previous evening I had a mild case of the horrors and gave the pub a miss for once. However, I received an interesting phone call at 22.12 precisely, as Ian Gooner called to hand on some fairly startling news concerning Steve McAiton, he of the perpetual Scotland jersey and Rabbie Burns poems. 

Apparently, on entering the Skinners and seeing the rugby on the television, Steve clocked that England were beating Wales and ventured, “Oh, we’re winning”, swiftly followed by an “Oh, shit”.
I hereby propose that a quorum of fellow Celts, including Liam, Mark, Mick and Alan convene to adjudicate on whether Steve can continue to refer to himself as a Scotsman, or whether he is, in fact, as English as crumpets, high tea and the Long Room at Lord’s. Steve may or may not have to reveal what he wears under his kilt. 

My proposal would be to ask him to say the word “current” and see if it sounds like something you’d find in a teacake or the most explosive swearword in the English language. That’s the best way to determine a true Scotsman.