Blackballed

Another Friday, another game. Simon Gas handed me the metaphorical baton of team selection this week, and I came up with the following sides, (factoring in late withdrawals from Daniel, Yev and Kavanaghs Junior and Senior). As you can see, two new players this week – Peter and John - brothers no less, recruited from the rarefied world of Simon’s Canary Wharf gentleman’s club.

Blues: David, Peter M, Spizz, Specialist Goalkeeper Phil, Tony, Bristol Paul, Paul, me

Oranges and Lemons: Simon Gas, Liam, Danny, John M, Nick, Mark, Ian Gooner

After being directed into changing room number five by the newly installed Coram Field concierge, these two teams took to the field for what we hoped would be an even encounter. As were about to kick off Simon Gas became increasingly distressed by the apparent theft of the black ballbag, which contained two pumps and not much else as he’d invested in a brand new netted ballbag, no doubt in the hope of meeting more young Scandinavian women on the bus. 

The Blues took the lead through Tony, if memory serves, and after Danny completed his stint in goal the game seemed poised for what you might call a close encounter, as Ian Gooner levelled for the Yellows (and I inadvertently flattened Liam in a desperate and ultimately forlorn attempt to get to the ball before Ian got his shot off. Sorry about that). 

Thereafter, however, the Blues took control. Tony marshalled the defence in excellent fashion, getting plenty of players around danger man Liam and tracking the rangey runs of Nick, Danny and John M. I think that it’s fair to say that Peter M had a better game than his brother (they looked identical, incidentally) and he ran in the first of at least four goals after I tapped a through ball past Ian which opened the Yellows up like a can of peaches. He bagged two more from wide on the right, smashing home into both near and far post, while mercurial post punk impresario and Star Trek fan Spizz tucked home a nice goal into the near left hand side post, before rolling back the years with a twenty yard toe punt that bent in and off the post. 

At the other end the Blues’ defence stood up well and as the game became increasingly stretched were able to take advantage of a combination of great shot-stopping from Phil, over-elaboration from Nick and Liam and sheer bad luck to keep the Yellows from scoring more than the one goal. Chance after chance went begging for the Yellows, while at the other end the Blues seemed able to score at will, (or at least Peter M, Spizz and Tony could). It had turned into one of those nights for the Yellows, as the Blues’ goal appeared to be protected by some sort of goalkeeping djinn and their rotten luck was never better exemplified than when Liam was through one on one with just Phil to beat. Unfortunately, Liam smashed the ball straight at Phil, where it ricocheted back and stung him square amongst his love box, leaving the Caledonian striker poleaxed in the foetal position. Never mind Simon’s missing black ballbag, Liam now had one of his own, (although he’d probably call it a bawbag).

As the game neared its end, I contrived to miss a number of chances, none clearer than when Spizz uncharacteristically passed the ball square to me in front of goal, from which I screwed the shot wide. For this effort I earned the epithet ‘spastic’ from the new wave front man. I did call him a ‘Joey’ a couple of minutes later (playground insult de jour in the early 1980’s), as Spizz just missed out on his hat-trick. 

The last kick of the game saw the other John M join his brother on the scoresheet with a tap-in following some selfless work from Liam.

Final score: Blues 8 – Yellows 2

As Simon was reunited with his black ballbag back in the changing room, where it had been all along, Liam had his own sac inspection to carry out before heading to the pub. 

The England v Lithuania game seemed to be the chief talking point, as England’s strikers ran amok and the Lithuanian goalkeeper had a night to forget, responsible for two own goals (one claimed by Danny Welbeck and one by Harry Kane). 

A two week hiatus now, as Coram Fields closes to mark the death of our Lord Jesus Christ and we get to spend four days off work in a fug of alcohol and chocolate. Or, if you’re Simon Gas, a Roman Holiday. 

See you in two weeks….

The Winner Takes It All...

Not such a great game this week, sadly. Following last week’s landmark victory for sporting equality, which was played in a great spirit with plenty of decent stuff, we predictably descended into the petty rancour that can all too often mar Friday nights at Coram Fields.

Simon Gas, electing to keep the Mademoiselle from Malmo on his side, picked the following two teams:

Blues: Ian Gooner, Mick, Patrick, Andy, Nick, Daniel, me, James, Paul

Yellows: Veronica, Tom (Veronica’s boyfriend), Yev, Alan, Simon Gas, Danny, Mark, Tony

With Yev not being present at the start there was some consternation that the Yellows were way too strong, with good reason as events proved. However, to defend Simon, Yev’s arrival was not completely assured and following his impressive debut, there were big hopes for James to make a continuing impact.

However, the Liverpool man’s sophomore performance lasted all of around five minutes before a leg injury consigned him into goal and eventually off the pitch all together. That made it eight aside, but some jiggery pokery saw Paul switch sides, as did Alan, eventually. More of that anon.

With Tom proving to be a very effective player and the Blues reluctance to mark Veronica too tightly, no doubt due to some misplaced notions of chivalry, the Yellows found tons of space to run at the Blues defence, and Yev, Veronica (twice) and Tony all cashed in. Veronica took up a cute position wide on the Yellows left and from there twice fired home from a sharp angle; I played a square back pass to Ian that saw my fellow Gooner pressured into yielding possession from where Yev (I think) scored; Yev span around me and blasted home for yet another. All told the Yellows scored six times, the first three or four goals causing the real damage to the Blues morale.

For all of Patrick’s tireless energy up front and his father’s understandable decision to pass to him at every opportunity, the Blues did lack something of a cutting edge, despite the admirable possession they had from Mick, Daniel and Nick. Once the scores reached four nil to the Yellows a rough consensus seemed to emerge that we should probably tweak the sides for fear of a farce, but Nick and Tony managed to irritate one another even more than usual – Nick accusing Tony of being patronising and Tony presumably taking umbrage at feeling unappreciated – while Ian felt that the dye was cast and that there was little point in changing things around. Happily Alan took matters into his own hands and removed his citrus coloured bib to play out the remainder of the match in Chelsea blue. All of this debate was carried out in an eldritch din of indignation and righteous foment, before Veronica’s impassioned call to stop wasting time seemed to focus people’s minds. 

Change made, thereafter the Blues did recover to score twice, (although not before conceding again); once from the penalty spot as I called for a handball against Tom which I smashed past Simon Gas and once from Patrick, after Alan had apparently fouled Yev yet left himself poleaxed and the ball broke upfield. Bizarrely, neither Yev nor Tony complained too much and the goal stood.

Final score: Blues 2 - Yellows 6

And so the pub for Veronica’s valedictory winning celebration. She may have only played with us for two weeks, but she seemed to have got the measure of us pretty quickly: as we left the field, she said that the game wasn’t bad, considering that we played “like little boys”. To be fair, she could have said little girls.

A decent turn out in the pub, as Ian managed to upset Simon by labelling Bristol Rovers ‘chokers’ for losing top spot in the Conference, while Veronica and Tom outlined their future together well away from the disharmony and chaos of Coram Fields in the altogether more relaxed environs of Stockholm. We pass on our very best wishes with their Scandinavian odyssey.

Like a solar eclipse, or the ephemeral Mayfly*, Veronica’s presence was short-lived but memorable and she leaves us the poorer, but for some photographic mementos courtesy of Andy – and on her part, she leaves London with a policeman’s helmet and a London mug, courtesy of Ian. (No, not me). 

Until next Friday, when I’ll be picking the teams. 

(* Kudos to Simon Gas for that particular riff).