Cultural appropriation?

Back in the old routine this week, as we inch inexorably closer to the sixteenth Summer of the twenty-first century and this watery planet continues on its eternally spinning axis.

Here are your two teams:

Yellows: Ian Gooner, Simon Ink, Ed (NB: specialist goalkeeper not in goal), Charlie, Mick, Mario, Aland and Yev*

Blues: Andy, me, Simon Gas, Joseph, Danny, Patrick, Antonio and Ross

*(never showed up)

As you can see, the game should have been eight aside, albeit with the Blues having a distinct advantage given that it was actually eight v seven. Sadly, it never quite turned out like that. I had one of those games in defence that makes me wonder whether it would be best for all concerned to focus on the pub afterwards and eschew the actual game; an attempted pass across the goal squirted off my foot and into the path of the delighted Mario, who promptly gobbled up the chance to make it 1-0 to the Yellows.

However, Andy quickly got the Blues back on terms with the first of three vulture’s goals from all of about three yards before more defensive mayhem let the Yellows back in – I  can’t quite recall the details, although I know it was either Mario or Alan profiting from the error. At this stage Danny trotted out of nets and I took his place, eager to make amends for the earlier blunder(s). With the game poised at two-all, Charlie received the ball via a cut back from the by-line from Mario and performed a bewildering manoeuvre that completely bamboozled me in goal – the ball popped up from his foot and looped over my head as I attempted to work out what had happened, before it apologetically pitched on the line and nestled in the net. Charlie subsequently admitted it had been something of a fluke.

With the goal scoring following a kind of basketball rhythm at this stage the Blues carried on regardless, with Andy completing his hat-trick by meeting a centre and bundling home past an injured Mick. With the Blues contemplating making a switch, having played with a man advantage for the first thirty minutes, their concentration evaporated and a series of highly avoidable goals followed - Ross picked up a backpass from Danny and Mario capitalised from the ensuing (indirect) free kick, and the remainder of the Blues’ seven goals came from a promising looking Italo – Hibernian strike force of Alan and Mario. To provide just the one example, Mario found Alan with a deft cutback from the byline when the ball looked to have gone out and Alan made no mistake with his finish. The lack of belief from the Yellows was all too indicative of a below par performance.

Patrick did get another Yellows goal; a tight angle finish careering in off the post and nudging a spare ball tucked inside the post in the manner of a man freeing up a loose red midway through a large break at the Crucible. I think that Antonio got the other Yellows’ goal.

Final score: Yellows 7 – Blues 5. 

Congratulations to the Yellows.

And so to the pub, where a reasonable turn out debated the whys and wherefores of a possible Brexit, what I understand is called “cultural appropriation” via dodgy hairstyles (see above), what’s left of the Premier League “title race” and the potential for impending fatherhood to impinge on Friday night football. On this week’s performance I’d say it was more likely that a tap on the shoulder from Simon was more likely to bring down the curtain on a man’s career than a new baby. Oh, and one of the many buxom barmaids in the Skinners said that she’d got her chest all sticky in the course of that evening’s shift. Probably the highlight of my evening, at any rate.