Shins, chins and a dreadful din

Very quick blog round up from me this week, as I’m heading off for a week’s bobbing around the Adriatic tomorrow morning.

Following last week’s expansive match, in which people had time to address the ball, collect their thoughts, smoke a pipe, select either their left or right plate before pushing the leathery sphere into space, last night’s fandango was more like a riot in a match box, with players pushed to have more than one touch before clattered into submission by a concussive symphony of clashing shins, chins and elbows.

Ten played nine*, with the two teams as follows:

Blues: Steve (not Simon Ink, as planned), Simon Gas, Alex, Ian Cortina, Tony, Danny, David, John M, Jaime Lannister (another of Simon’s Morgan Stanley colleagues), Yev, Mark

Yellows: James, Nick, Ian Baggies, me, Peter, Liam, Bristol Paul, Alan

(* Unless I’m having an absolute shocker I make that eleven plays eight – apologies if I’ve put anyone on the wrong team there).

The Yellows took the lead through Alan following a rare goalkeeping howler from Danny before the Blues equalised and then went into the lead through Yev; his scuffed shot managed to wrong foot me and slip into the goal. I understand that Alan then scored again following another defensive blunder from the Blues, this time from Ian, although I was talking to Paul at the time so missed what happened. Two all. The Yellows then extended their lead first to 3-2 and then 4-2 with Alan completing his somewhat spawny hat-trick and Peter getting in on the act. Again, I’m a bit hazy on some of the details. 

Thus, at eight ’o’ clock the score was Yellows 4 – Blues 2

As no-one was coming on at eight, we were given the green light to play for an undetermined amount of time and in the next ten minutes Yev scored twice, the first a fizzing effort following a goalmouth melee and the second a crashing volley which pinged in off the far post. 

Four apiece. 

It should be said at this stage that the Blues had contrived to miss a number of highly presentable chances in normal time, with first David and then John spooning over the bar from about four yards out and with Ian blasting the ball directly at the Banks-like Bristol Paul in goal.

At four all – which I think we should agree was the final score – Ian Baggies had to leave and at this point Ian crossed the Rubicon to replace his namesake. Unbeknownst to most people, Simon Gas - who’d earlier made Coram Fields history by calling a foul throw, much to Tony’s ire - had said ‘next goal wins’ and as Ian Cortina found himself in the position of the last defender he threw up his arms in exasperation as an overrun Yellows defence conceded a final ‘goal’.

And so to the pub, for more al fresco drinking. Things we learnt at the Skinners this week: golf is one of the many, many things that Ian objects to at a visceral level; John and Peter have four other siblings; plenty of other people have gone to Croatia, so I am in good company.

Next week brings something of a break from the norm, as Tony is bringing a coterie of stags to play a Simon Gas Select XI, which will be different, if nothing else. See you in two weeks and enjoy the incoming heatwave.