Time gentlemen, please

The final Friday before the Easter break, the first Friday after the clocks went forward. Time, it seems, waits for no man and another football season lurches into its final, convulsive death throes. Still, mustn’t grumble.

Following last week’s na-na-na-na nineteen goal thriller, Simon Gas and Joe returned to action to provide pastoral care and team selection respectively. Joe selected the following two teams –

Bibs – Dan, Simon Gas, Steve A, Andy, Sam, Mick, Danny

Colours – me, Alex, Joe, Ian West Brom, Boro Dave, ringer Hugh (from the Seven ‘O’ Clock collective), Simon Inkpen

Boro Dave, despite looking as if he’d been beamed in from the early 50’s (having forgotten his kit he played with rolled up trousers, although he was sporting appropriate footwear) and Alex formed a potent partnership for the colours and helped the side sans luminous yellow apparel take a seemingly unassailable 4-1 lead, despite the attentions of defensive giants like Danny and Simon Gas. The team in Bibs got back into things after an absolute howler from myself in goals – a speculative centre was prodded toward goal by Dan, whereupon I experienced some sort of goalkeeping neurological meltdown and failed to either stop it with my hands or my body. Terrible stuff. Emboldened, the Bibs got another back a few minutes later after some slack defending. But despite a series of presentable chances falling to Andy and Mick the Bibs couldn’t find an equaliser, while at the other end wave after wave of attacks from the Boro Dave-Alex axis crashed harmlessly onto some resolute defending.

The game started to peter out with play reduced to hopeful balls forward into space and poor passing. Joe sustained a nasty knee injury after clacking patellas with Steve, who seemed largely unaffected. Hopefully nothing serious there.

Final score: Colours 4 Bibs 3

Eschewing the youthful hubbub of the Old Fountain’s Head, the hardy few who made it to the pub instead imbibed at the White Hart, where things seem altogether more old-fashioned, down to the mid-period Springsteen videos on the TV and the fact that they appear to have employed Carol Decker behind the bar. Will they be grateful of the custom? What effect will the new roof terrace at the Fountain have in the future?

Our old friend Time will reveal all....

Holy Toe

After a two week lay off owing to extensive toe-knack I resumed footballing action last Friday evening and was duly asked not only to select the sides, but was also given the responsibility – and what a responsibility – of writing the post-match blog.

With Simon Gas was away watching some Russian theatrics, (my feelings on Russian playwrights are consistent with Withnail’s – old women moaning about ducks going to Moscow), we were shorn of our spiritual leader, but nevertheless enough chaps showed up to make for an enthralling six aside game.

Lining up for the Bibs were me, Dan, Alan, Simon Inkpen, Wing-Commander Will and Ian the exiled Gooner

Playing for the Colours were Boro Dave, Alex, Paul The Guvnor, the late Geoff who was early, Sam and Danny.

There then followed a nineteen goal extravaganza containing great finishing, appalling defending and some very tired legs by the time the rattle went at twenty to eight. The final score was 11-8 to the Colours, although the Bibs had taken an early lead and lead again at 2-1 after Alex had equalised. The scores were reasonably close for the first third of the game, before Boro Dave embarked on an orgy of merciless finishing, the majority of his strikes fizzing off his left foot and nestled snugly in the bottom right hand corner. I think the disparity between the two teams was at least five goals at one stage, with Alex and Boro Dave running riot and various Bibs players failing to track back. One goal Dave scored felt particularly galling, as he nutmegged me around the halfway line and then tore through on goal and slammed the ball past the last vestiges of the Bibs’ defence, leaving the keeper with little chance. I asked Dave how many he’d scored after the game and he said he’d lost count, which tells its own story.

Other notable incidents were a goal Dan scored direct from the restart to make it, I think, 2-2, and a fine poacher’s goal from Alan after I’d robbed Geoff and saw my shot come back off the post via Sam’s fingers.

I managed to bag a late hat-trick to restore a modicum of respectability to proceedings – the first was the best, Dan tapping a free kick sideways whereupon I pushed it high into the top right hand corner. The second was a speculative toe-poke and the third a scruffy finish, but what proved remarkable was that all three goals came from right foot, which was still feeling somewhat tender. Before the game I’d bought a toe protector, labelled ‘Toe Foam’, from Superdrug for the princely sum of £1.99.

Danny opined that said toe foam looked a) like a waste of money and b) like a hindrance. I am inclined to agree, as I had to roll it over twice to fit it onto my already swollen toe and after a few minutes of running around I could feel it unpleasantly squeezing my big toe like an elastoplasted python. Still, you can’t argue with the statistics – all three goals, including the toe-poke, came courtesy of the swaddled digit and I am now faced with the prospect of having to squeeze the tube-like object around my right foot-thumb next week, too. The holy toe foam is here, (above); behold its magnificence as it sits majestically in my back garden.

And so to the pub, for five of us at least. This week’s theme was that people in their twenties don’t know how to behave in a pub; witness two girls at the bar, paying by card (which should be a capital offence), fiddling in the purses for plastic when they should be primed with cash at the moment the barman confirms the tariff of their round; a lad braying to his phone at the bar and getting in Ian’s way, thereby causing him to spill beer; people ordering complicated drinks and not moving away from the bar quickly enough once they’d taken delivery of them.

Next week’s episode of Grumpy Old Men will come to you in association with Ronseal and a quarter of Everton mints.

Hey Porter

I was handed the poisoned chalice of team selection last Friday following the previous week’s mismatch, but it was no easy task. This was due in part to the fact that from a veritable orgy of goal-scoring talent available on the 24th February, Friday March 2^nd saw an altogether more sterile line-up, with Boro Dave being the lone gunslinger on a field of misfiring cowboys. The other factor which made selecting two even teams something of a challenge was that one of our number had prepared for the game by sinking seven pints of Porter – that’s right, Porter - in a bender which had started at around 12.30. Presumably this was 12.30 pm on the 2^nd March 1837. If I tell you that the imbiber of this vat of neo-stout was Ian Gough you will appreciate that the impact this amount of alcohol would have on his performance was difficult to gauge.

As it was, he took to the field slightly late alongside namesake Ian Geary and settled in what would I would probably describe as an outside-left position (left outside the pub, perhaps) and provided the x factor in the eternal equation if

(Beer + football) = x+ Goal

Vomit?

Laudably, Ian did not need to redecorate the side of the pitch with the contents of this stomach, but instead provided a lovely retro cameo which included two goals and a brief spell in goal. He also terrified the two young ringers who were drafted in to make up the numbers – Khaled and young Sam – to the extent that I don’t think they came within a radius of 15 feet of him. It was as if the ghosts of George Best and Garrincha were hovering on the edge of play, swaying giddily in the cold night air and bringing the mischievous spirit of football times past to bear in this brutally modern age.

What of the other goals, I hear you ask? Well, it finished 9-6 to the team that included both Boro Dave, who bagged a two minute hat-trick, part of a four goal haul, and the aforementioned Ian Gough. Making up the numbers were myself, although my contribution was stymied following a 50-50 challenge with Simon ‘Rockfeet’ Gas, who has left my big toe looking like an aubergine, in addition to young Sam, Alex and Danny.

Shamefully, neither myself nor Danny could find the net on an evening when even a man who’d got through seven pints of Porter (who drinks Porter in 2012? Was this some sort of tribute to the bicentennial of Dickens’ birth?) still managed to bag a brace, although Ian’s second was a comedic moment when he drunkenly shied at the ball and the other Ian G in goals cocked his leg up and allowed the ball to trundle underneath and into the unguarded net. Alongside Ian Geary wearing Bibs were Dan, Khaled, Simon Gas, Steve A and Joe, relieved of team selection for the week.

There were few other memorable moments, although all the goal scorers will fondly recall their own contributions. Ian Gough tottered off victorious at the end, although how much he will recall is a moot point.

Just the four chaps made it to the Old Fountain’s Head – me, Simon Gas, Danny and Steve – and once again it was packed to the rafters. I expect that it’s a sign of getting old, but the clientele seem to be getting younger every week, with lots of pretty girls with pixie haircuts and retroussé noses alongside young blades with thrilling facial hair and shoulder bags. What’s wrong with that? Nothing at all, although quite what they’d make of a man who’d quaffed seven pints of Porter and played a game of football is anyone’s guess. Amazeballs, as the young people say.

Attack versus no attackers

Joe, aided and abetted by Simon Gas, opted for an interesting team selection on Friday which featured no fewer than four out and out strikers on one team – their team – with none on the others. Conspiracy theorists, do your worst.

The sides lined up as follows:

• Bibs: me, Alan, Paul, Sam, Andy, Mick (eventually), Simon (Guest appearance), Ian Geary, Danny
• Colours: Simon Gas, Joe, Yev, Boro Dave, Ian Gough, Spizz, Dan, Steve A, Simon Inkpen

Those teams don’t look that fair on paper do they? They were even less so on the pitch, particularly as the Bibs were a man down for the first five minutes as we awaited the arrival of the late Mick. That said, the side in colours were unable to score for the first fifteen minutes, with the bibs goal leading a somewhat charmed life in addition to Andy pulling off a string of remarkable saves – one in particular from Ian Gough was reminiscent of Gordon Banks at the 1970 Mexico World Cup. (Although that would make Ian Gough Pele, which is a bit of a stretch for even the most vivid imaginations). The breakthrough, when it did arrive, was at the other end.

The opening goal of the night came after I had skewed a shot across the area which was subsequently poked toward goal, whereupon Simon Inkpen could only nudge it gingerly toward Alan, lurking on the edge of the D. The ball was travelling at approximately the same speed as a glacier, but none of the defending team could do anything apart from mouth the syllable ‘No’, rather like the key scene in a Vietnam film where the platoon commander takes a fatal bullet from an unseen enemy. Once the ball had eventually reached the edge of the D Alan promptly smashed it back past Simon Inkpen with an élan that was almost contemptuous.

Despite loud exhortations not to lose concentration and therefore the lead, the bibs did precisely that, although to be fair Boro Dave’s finish from distance was very impressive. I forget who scored the next goal for the team in colours, (it was probably Yev), but Alan then grabbed an equaliser with a pirouette and guided finish that levelled things up at two apiece.

The next goal was always going to be crucial and it was the colours that got it; Spizz slipping his marker (Paul) from the far side of the area and arriving with a perfectly timed run to pass the ball through my legs and make it 3-2. The bibs then conceded a soft goal to make it 4-2, from a speculative effort from wide on the left. The final score was 5-3, with Alan completing an impressive hat-trick with what was by common consent the goal of the evening. Some characteristically nimble footwork was topped off by a sublime finish that found the bottom corner like a guided missile.

The other notable moment(s) that I can recall were toward the end of the game when Paul twice found himself in space in the outside right position. The first time I eschewed the opportunity to pass to him, instead opting for a flashy but instinctive left-footed pass toward the on-fire Alan. (Note to Jamie Redknapp here: not literally). However, the second time I pushed him the ball and as he collected it I could hear the legendary Louis Armstrong sing ‘We have all the time, in the world’. Sadly, Paul didn’t and someone duly closed him down and the chance went.

An honourable mention here for Andy’s mate Simon, who won my ‘Most Impressive Simon’ of the night award, fending off competition from Simon Gas, Simon Inkpen and myself.

Nothing too alarming to report from the pub, although the sooner the roof terrace is open the better, as it is becoming ever more trickier to secure seating in there. Spizz stole my chair, although old punk that he is he would probably argue that all property is theft anyway.

Ian Gough relayed that he had sold his ticket for the Arsenal v Tottenham game as he is understandably sick of hearing people give the most successful manager in the club’s history dog’s abuse. All I’d say is that following his decision to miss the Arsenal v Blackburn game – which Arsenal won 7-1 – I’d like to formally request that Ian sell his season ticket for the good of the club that we both love. We’d be European Champions in no time.

I forgot I was doing the blog this week!!

Dear Readers, with Gooner Simon not playing last Friday (I feel your pain about the collapse of
the Arsenal and the future dispersal of all those bright talents Arsene Wenger thought he had),
I forgot it was up to me to do the Spizz Blog.

The game started five minutes late due to an over-run with the league game before us and there was a slight argument with the guys, who normally play for ages after us, to give us the five minutes we lost. There was also a technical/logistical problem because the teams were seven versus six, if I remember correctly. The West Midlander Mick K. was a no-show but if he had come it might have hit the fine balance between the two teams because the game finished three-three.

It was a pulsating 3-3 draw with Spizz taking two fine goals for us but the relative newcomer Dan missed a couple of sitters when their rush goalie was nobody to be seen. Dan is a Hereford United fan and was on Aston Villa books as a kid. So unlike some of the guys, who turn up on a Friday night, he can actually play football.

The first goal for them was when Ian Gou. (another Arsenal fan) got the wrong side of me ( I prefer zonal rather than man marking) and placed it past Blades Andy. It was a pretty soft goal to be honest. Then at the end, Joe did his Ashley Young turn inside and flashed the ball past the hapless goalie, who happened to be me.
Hugh, who is a regular for the 7.45 guys, got a nice goal with a cross shot from quite a way out but luckily I was not in goal for that. I can't remember the other goals.

I think I am setting up a goalie time bank. As Spizz did not go in goal last week, he will have to play 11.41 minutes between the sticks next time he plays. The equation supposes seven-a-side
playing for 40 minutes, because we never start on time to get a 7pm start. On my rough calculations Stevie A. would do quite a few minutes. I know people don't like going in goal but it
is not fair on the others. Good players such as Big Dave A. and Mick K. do their stint in goal without asking.

Changing the subject me and Big Sam got talking and how about a trip to Hamburg and see
St Pauli play (click the hyperlink, it a great photo!) The team is in the second division of the Bundesliga but Sam thought there would be no problems in getting a ticket. I have only been to the Bavarian cities of Wurzburg and Munich in Germany so I would be very interested in the trip. We probably would not be able to arrange a game for us to play the locals. One problem is the lack of a candidate, who would like to go in goal, although my choice would be Blades Andy.

On a sadder note my Dad passed away last week after a massive heart attack. He was born in
Manchester and used to see Utd one week and City the next at Maine Road because the Huns, who had already taken aerial photos before WWII had started, had bombed the crap out of the Old Trafford industrial estate. And that is why I support Utd although I have got a 49 pct liking for Spurs, sorry to be so schizo.

JPT: "O Lord, let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen."

++++BREAKING NEWS+++++TONIGHT'S GAME CANCELLED DUE TO FROZEN PITCH++++BREAKING NEWS

Over to Jim White in Old Street....

"Well Natalie, its not good news for north London's part-timer footballers as
this evening's seven o clock kick off has become an early victim of
the weather.

Better news for the wives and girlfriends, who will have
their menfolk at home for a rare Friday evening".

Jim, landlord of local hostelry The Old Fountain's Head, had this to say:

"It's a real shame, as most of those lads have been coming here since the fall of communism. I've managed to buy a timeshare in Bulgaria with the profits from their raging dipsomania. On the plus side I won't need to order any more boxes of crisps this week".

Tonight's postponement leaves chief administrator Simon George with a real headache, as the fixtures mount up mercilessly.

Join us after the break when Paul Merson and Tony Gayle give their reaction to the latest news.

Six goal thriller; body parts in the chiller…

Last Friday saw Winter finally arrive in the capital as a dozen or so hardy souls braved the Arctic temperatures to play a game of football. The teams were as thus:

Bibs: me, Yev, Simon Inkpen, Spizz, Boro Dave, Ian Gough, Paul, Geoff

Colours: Alex, Simon Gas, Dave A, Steve A, Ian Geary, Joe, Danny

The game finished in a highly entertaining three-all draw, although the colours were kicking themselves after taking a handy-looking two-nil lead early on. Spizz opened the scoring before switching horses mid-stream when the perennially tardy Geoff arrived to unsettle the balance of the two teams; Alex then made it two-nil. The bibs got back on terms first from an opportunist effort from Geoff and then via a classic striker’s finish from (who else?) Yev. Alex scored a third for the colours, but Yev ensured that honours were shared with a deserved equaliser.

Aside from the fact that it was so cold that the soft tissue in your lungs was burning after forty minutes of inhaling the quasi-Siberian air, the other key talking point of the game was a disputed free kick on the edge of the colours’ penalty area. I was in goal at the time, so will have to plead the Wenger amendment, but from what was discussed during and after the game the issue seemed to be that Big Dave A had at least part of his feet on and over the line of the ‘D’, thereby preventing the Bibs from taking a quick indirect free-kick before getting a shot off. A sensible strategy, no doubt, but with the goalkeepers’ feet outside the ‘D’ was it legal? Simon Gas decreed it thus, setting a precedent that Ian Gough, inter alia, is in no danger of letting him forget. It may have been the only time Ian ventured north of the halfway line in the game, but it was a memorable contribution to his otherwise purely defensive efforts.

The ensuing brouhaha looked fairly comical from my vantage point at the other end in goal, with lots of middle aged men shouting loudly and leaning into one another in a sort of circular pattern around a static football in a manner reminiscent of a group of drunken fishwives around a PVC handbag at a Christmas dinner dance. Predictably, the free kick was squandered.

I think the sub-zero temperatures must be to blame for my inability to recall much more about the game, although I had a chance to score toward the end by making a late run and poking the ball goal-ward with the outside of my left boot. To no avail, as ever.

A reasonably uneventful evening in the pub, although we should be grateful for the continued re-emergence of the enigmatic punk icon Spizz. Mine’s a Pilnser Urquell….