Good day, one and all. It’s been a few weeks since the last
blog, so I am trying to write something of a round-up today to bring us all up
to speed on recent comings and goings at Coram Fields. In terms of goings, our
esteemed Dear Leader has been whooping it up in South Africa, and more recently
Oman, and leaving his namesake in charge of keys, bib and balls allocation,
money collection, (in addition to team selection and match reports). I can see
why Simon is semi-retired.
In terms of comings, last Friday saw the guest appearance of
Mr Sam Dargan, who must have a diabolical portrait in the attic somewhere as
the last four years have seemingly done nothing to alter his appearance despite
the combined travails of fatherhood and his banishment to the frigid wastes of
Shrewsbury. Sam tipped up in the changing rooms with the knowing grin of a
former cast member of EastEnders returned to wreak havoc in the Queen Vic.
(‘Alright, Ma?’)
Other recent guests included two delightful young ladies
from the London School of Economics’ football team who helped swell the ranks
on Friday 1st March when we were seriously depleted. Yev, perhaps
inevitably, was the man to do the PR to get the two female players on board,
although they were joined by their coach, a chap called Tony (I think). He was
quite possibly the worst player we’ve ever had at Coram Fields; a lack of
ability is one thing, but the man could barely be bothered to move. Lord knows
what he’s coaching the ladies’ LSE team, but let’s hope his presence there has
been approved by the local safeguarding agency.
I made some field notes on the game from Friday 22nd
February, so let’s start there.
Yellows: Andy, Kanat, me, Ed, Ian Gooner, Tony, Joe and
Mario
Blues: Mick, Danny, David, Alan, Nick, Johannes (aka ‘Jay
Jay’) and Carlo
Here are said notes:
Mario scored at least twice; a couple of speculative efforts which foxed David in goals; Johannes / JJ / Jay-Jay* was in amongst it and scored for the Blues, one a first time effort that swept in from just outside the area.
Ed was man of the match with a hat-trick, most of which he created himself by either latching on to other people’s knock-ons, or else ploughing his own furrow. Joe, moved to label Ed “the white Defoe” for his impressive goal scoring (an extraordinary image to conjure, I’m sure you’ll agree), also capped a fine performance with a Pogbaesque goal having gone box to box and picked up a pass to round the keeper.
Pub chat: Alan, Mick, David and me talked beer, children and Brexit.
*This gentleman is German, I believe, rather than Nigerian, so I am unsure of the correct spelling.
No record kept of the score, sadly.
Onto the 1st March, the game which was augmented
by the LSE undergraduates. I believe these were the two teams:
Yellows: Steve, Tony, Ian Gooner, me, Kanat, Ed, Yev and
young English LSE female footballer (name of Katie, if memory serves)
Tony: Bristol Paul, Danny, Andy, Geoff, Simon Ink, Mario,
LSE Coach ‘Tony’, young French LSE female footballer (name incomprehensible to
cloddy Anglo-Saxon ears)
An absolute shellacking this one, with the Yellows
triumphing by seven or eight goals to nil. The two LSE undergraduates were both
very fleet of foot and well-versed in the arts of dribbling and close control,
but I’d say the English girl Katie was marginally more effective and she scored
the winning goal from the penalty spot after Andy had handled. Her French
counterpart was probably let down by the fact she was playing alongside her
coach, who was as much use as an ashtray on a motorbike, and her Gallic chin dropped
just a little by the end. Oh, and I scored (!), as stuffy a goal as you’re
likely to see, with me following in on Geoff in goal and scuffing home a
rebound from all of about two foot. And I think it was this game that saw Kanat
score an absolute worldy, (as the pundits say), finding the top corner from
about 25 yards out wide on the left.
Paul Gennaro joined us in the pub after watching on the from
sidelines (and heckling), and capped a memorable night by generously buying a
round of Laphroaigs.
I missed the following game on Friday 8th March, but am
reliably informed that Alan ruined the entire evening by scoring a goal in the dying minutes to
deny everyone the satisfaction of participating in a 0-0.
And onto the week that (just) was, when your two teams were
as follows:
Yellows: Shez, Sam, Nick, Patrick Chen, Danny, Charlie,
Mario and Geoff
Blues: me, Kanat, Joe, Tony, Richard, Mick, Alan, young lad
with Spanish name
Once again we were sniffing around for players, and a local
ringer with a vaguely Iberian name (starting with a ‘J’, I think) helped
replace James and Yev, who were knee-knacked and hen-pecked respectively.
Final score: Yellows 3 Blues 4
Always a bit difficult to predict the impact of a young
ringer, but the boy played well and easily picked his way through the Blue
defence on countless occasions, although for maximum effectiveness he would
have passed sooner and more often.
As for the goals, I’ll go backwards: Mario scored a great
winning goal from the edge of the area after some good work from Nick and
Charlie. Earlier the Blues had come back from 3-1 down to equalise through a
goal from a corner that was nodded in by Alan (?) and a close-range finish from
Joe (?). The third Blue goal came from Nick when I was in goal; earlier I had
equalised the Yellow opener by letting the ball hit my body from a corner, from whence
it dribbled apologetically over the line.
Given the difficult circumstances, a decent game.
Despite the return of the prodigal Dargan a relatively modest
turn out at the Skinners this week, although me, Geoff, Mick and Sam reminisced and
dissected topics as diverse as child abuse in the Catholic church, Brexit and
life in Shropshire. You know it’s been a good evening when AE Housman gets five
minutes of airtime.
I must tell the readers about the most extraordinary turn of
events when ordering a round of drinks that I can recall in 30 years of carousing. I
ordered a pint for myself and a Guinness for Sam, but before I could add
another stout to the order (for Mick) the barman went AWOL midround. Given I
was the only person at the bar and there were at least three staff on duty the
young barmaid looked at me quizzically and we eventually concluded that the
half-poured Guinness was mine, despite the fact the lad serving me was under
the impression it belonged to a table of drinkers sat about 15 feet away.
Eventually the bar manager with the hipster moustache and the Northern Irish
accent took over, completed the round and apologised while his colleagues were
in hysterics. I’ll be having words with Craig on Friday…
See you all at the end of the week when Simon Gas returns to
Take Care of Business.
