Popcorn for the eyes

Morning all, from a snowy East London. Another match report for you here, as I returned to the fray after a one-week absence during which Simon Gas resumed team selection duties for the first time in a few months, (and made an absolute Horlicks of it, by the sounds of things).

Here are your two teams…

Yellows: me, Stu, Paul, Bristol Paul, Simon Gas, Danny, Charlie, Joe and Liam

Blues: Ian Baggies, Ian Gooner, Geoff, Andrew, Steve, Mick, David, Michele and Ross

Pretty much everyone arrived on time and we enjoyed a decent game, fairly evenly contested with six goals. Michele very nearly scored in the opening exchanges but his first time shot from a decent cross from the right rattled the crossbar, possibly via a touch from Danny in goals. 

Liam snaffled the opening goal of the contest, but the Blues were soon on terms (Michele doing the damage?), before Liam once again outwitted the Blue defence and shuffled the ball home from an acute angle. At this stage the Yellow team were good value for their lead despite surrendering much of the possession to the Blues, who had monopolised midfield in the sort of sterile possession-style beloved of recent Spain teams. However, with Danny’s tenure in goal ending around the quarter hour mark the Yellow team gradually found their way out of defence and Stu and Charlie started to find the space for Liam’s merciless attacking.

The Blues equalised after I got caught trying to dribble out of defence and the ball got nudged through to Geoff, who demonstrated some admirable panache by wrong-footing Stu in goal and rolling the ball into the back of the net with aplomb. Two all.

The game could have then gone either way, but it is now my solemn duty to report on the next goal. A splendid move down the Yellows’ left, starting with some deft work from Liam to set Bristol Paul scampering down the touchline culminated in the ball being pinged across the byline where I had the task of tapping home from all of about two feet having burst through from midfield. 3-2 shortly became 4-2 as Charlie lolloped forward and gently guided the ball home to complete the evening’s scoring.

Not too much else to report; Charlie also managed to lose one of the balls over the Coram Fields side of the pitch and everyone else conformed to their usual playing styles, whether that be competitive, combative, skilful, cajoling or stoic. (Or just plain rubbish). 

Final score: Yellows 4 – Blues 2

And so onto the pub, where we managed to squeeze around one table and away from the Artic draught coming in from the doors. Topics under discussion included Ross’s recent stag do and upcoming nuptials, PPI payments (upsetting “financial Darwinism” was Ian’s memorable description) and the grapefruit beer on sale at the Skinners, which was surprisingly palatable.

I think we also briefly previewed yesterday’s League Cup Final. Incredibly, out of 45,000 other Arsenal fans I had managed to buy a ticket seated next to Ian Gooner, which we only realised when we compared tickets in the pub before leaving for Wembley. As for the match itself, the less said the better. My highlight was Ian bequeathing a giant bag of popcorn to me as he left the ground following David Silva’s goal.

Until next time…  

Mr Busy

(Author’s note: I’ve been reading lots of Mr Men books recently).

This is a story about a man called Mr Busy. Mr Busy was very busy. He had to get on a train every day, which was so busy that some people had to stand up, and sit in an office where other people asked him questions all day long. ‘What time is it, Mr Busy?’ they asked. 

‘Half past ten’, Mr Busy would reply.

‘What should I put in this email’? another person would, ask and Mr Busy would tell them.

‘Is it alright if I eat my lunch by the canal’, said another and Mr Busy said that he didn’t mind one way or the other. 

But it wasn’t just at work that Mr Busy was busy. 

At home Mr Busy had to wash up, busily, run a bath for Little Miss Busy, busily, stroke his (busy) cat and wash his clothes, as well as Mrs Busy’s and Little Miss Busy’s.

And then he’d go to bed and dream about being busy, before waking up the next morning, making two cups of tea, busily, feed his cat, go busily to the bathroom where he would brush his teeth, have a shower and then get dressed. The he would have to get back on the train again for another busy day.

Once a week Mr Busy would get on a different train, one that went underground, and play football with Mr Angry, who supported a team called Tottenham Hotspur, Mr Elbows, who was originally from Scotland, Mr Loud, who was a big man that supported the same team as Mr Busy, Mr Polite, who collected everyone’s money and Mister Mister, who sold lots of records in the 1980’s. (Some other people also played, including Mr Tall, who worked in a bank, Mr Writer, who worked for a pink newspaper, and Mr Competitive, who got very cross if he didn’t win).

Mr Busy busily picked two teams to play each week and if Mr Polite was away he sometimes collected the money from the other Mr Men and told some of the men to wash the bibs and carry home the balls they kicked around. This also made him very busy. 

And sometimes, Mr Busy had time to write a report on what had happened in the game and put it on the internet. But often Mr Busy was too busy to get this done, so he made up a story about how busy he was and used that instead.

In any case, the report was often very similar: Mr Tall had usually kicked the ball so hard that it had disappeared over the fence; Mr Angry had left before the game finished; Mr Scotland scored some goals, as did Mr Likesthechicks, (although he had hurt his legs recently) and Mr Competitive and Mr Angry were very angry with one another. 

The one time of the week when Mr Busy didn’t feel too busy was when he went to the pub after the game of football. In the pub Mr Busy would drink a pint of beer and talk about the game he’d just played, then drink another pint of beer and talk and about his busy job and his busy wife, as well as Little Miss Busy and the busy cat. 

And then he didn’t feel busy anymore, (until he went back home on the train).

So the moral of this story is that if you feel busy, drink some beer and try not to worry too much.

The End.

Friday 9^th February, the Year of our Lord Two Thousand and Eighteen

 

Yellow team: Ed, Paul, Steve, Andy, Charlie, Simon Gas, Michele and Joe

I hope you enjoyed that little story. Despite being Very Busy, I thought I’d try and post a match report from last week; the two teams were as above and the final score was something like 7-2 to the Yellows, chiefly because Peter – prizes if anyone could identify him in the Roger Hargreaves homage above – had to leave the field of play owing to his long-term ankle knack.

That said, Peter performed valiantly in goal, and the score only got out of hand once he’d had to retire hurt. For all that, the Blues put in a very honourable effort, with Danny being on hand to bag both goals, courtesy of some muscular Number Nine play and could have had a hat-trick had his heading been on song.

A warm welcome to Danny’s mate Stuart, or ‘Stu’, or “Stockport” if you’re Ian – he’s played three games in a row now and scored a very fine goal in last weeks’ match, the report of which may be lost to the mists of time, I am sad to say.

As for the Yellows, with plenty of young legs in Ed, Charlie, Joe and err, Andy, they were always going to be a tough proposition but the last word should go to Michele, who capped a characteristically impressive performance with some wonderfully understated finishing.

I may or may not be available for selection tomorrow as I’m on domestic duty, but hopefully this post will whet the appetite for future match reports.