Seasonal felicitations, football friends!
It has been a quite the eventful few months since we
returned to action in the Summer.
Way back in September we saw Ian Geary hang up his boots
once and for all, presumably to give his lungs a rest from the invasive plane
spores that might otherwise have done for him. We miss him and wish him well.
More recently, we have seen James depart for pastures
French, along with his (very) heavily pregnant wife, for a new life away from
teaching oiks in Grays.
And I think it was this season that saw Tony take a lengthy
hiatus away from the fray, presumably to help the Brexit negotiations, with the
pressure now very much on to Get It Done.
We also had the memorable bonfire night game, which saw the
‘orrible little scotes who often loiter around Coram Fields aim at fireworks at
us... from the opposite pitch. The
hopeless and hapless Security guard that evening was as much use as the
proverbial ashtray on a motorbike and ended up copping us much abuse off Mick
and Ian as the little sods who were aiming rockets at our goalkeepers. It was
like being at the Bosporus derby.
In terms of match reports, obviously they’ve been a bit thin
on the ground of late, and by ‘of late’ I mean all season. Sorry about that. I
won’t make excuses.
Last Friday saw an eight aside pre-Christmas match in which our
ranks were swollen by not one, not two, but three interlopers / invitation
players from an otherwise very sparse looking Coram Fields. Given that we only
had 13 players of our own – as on the 6th December, when we ended up
with two ringers, one a decent player in his mid-twenties, the other a child
who left halfway through to come in for his tea – we are very grateful for
their efforts, although as ever with ringers you never have much of an idea as
to their relative ability bar reductive assumptions based on age and girth.
The Yellows ran out 8-3 winners: their playing staff
comprised myself, Parminder, Mick, Johnnie, Stan and Peter, as well what proved
to be two very decent players from the earlier game. The Blues were made up of
David, Andy, Steve, Danny, Johannes (JoJo), who was struggling with a hamstring
twang, Patrick (NB: all three Kavanaghs present) and a fella called (I think),
Roy. Among the goals were Peter, who smashed home into the top near post with
characteristic violence, Stan, who also scored from a tight angle, and me,
courtesy of an ugly toe-poke. On target for the Blues were Patrick (twice; one
beating the keeper* on his near post and once bungling the ball under the
falling goalie*) and Steve, via a post-corner melee.
*(Me).
And from there onto the New Delis restaurant for a
pre-Christmas curry and a belated celebration of Simon’s sixtieth.
As we lurch towards Christmas and another heart-stopping
pork extravaganza at the Skinners let us be grateful of another year of health,
happiness and football. Lord knows there’s enough other shit going on the
world. I’ll leave you with a photo-story of the first few months of 2019/2020.
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