Musings of a trainee mental health nurse

Courtesy of James

Made in Dagenham

Continuing apologies for the absence of a blog last week, Friday’s token update notwithstanding. For the records, the game on Friday 17^th April featured the following players:

Blues: Bristol Paul, Simon Ink, Ian Gooner, Peter M, Mario, Tony, Mick, James, Liam

Yellows: Simon Gas, Andy, me, Patrick, Dan, Alan, Mark, David, Yev, Paul

…but to misquote the late Eric Morecambe, it didn’t necessarily have all of those players in the right order. A combination of late arrivals and some hectoring from Tony meant that one team ended up with Mario, Yev and Peter and carnage duly ensued, with the Blue team winning by something like 12-2. Bleugh.

Onto last Friday….

Despite the poor game the previous week I was retained by Simon Gas as team-picker in residence and this time I resolutely and steadfastly stuck to my guns.  As such, the two line-ups I scribbled down on Friday morning were the ones that took to the field on Friday night, viz:

Blues: Bristol Paul, Simon Gas, Steve, Peter M, me, James, Mario, Ross, Patrick, Ian Gooner

Yellows: Danny, Joseph, Simon Ink, Charlie, Mark, Sam, Max, Mick, Liam, Yev

The eagle-eyed among you will notice that Mario and Ross took to the field together for the first time since the quasi-legendary stramash back in November and there was a nice FIFA-lead fair play moment before kick off as the two men shook hands in front of the world’s media (or me, at any rate). And it was a warm welcome back to everyone’s favourite south London artist, Sam. With everyone arriving almost on time, (Yev ended up getting changed in the goal), a busy ten aside encounter ensued.

Liam opened the scoring for the Yellows from the penalty spot after Steve was penalised for handling in the area. Liam’s spot-kick trundled down the middle and under my feet to make it one nil, (I was in goal, sadly). Mark scored the second, capping a fine individual performance, following some good work from the Yellows inside the area. The third yellow goal was a shot which emerged from behind a crowd of players - again, Mark was the scorer, I believe.

The Blues then rallied, with Ross getting two goals after ether Patrick or Mario got the first. Ross' first saw him sneak in at the far post to volley home from around three yards, while his second was a glorious header which flew off of his luxuriant mane and in to the top corner. Three all and game on. 

Simon Gas sustained what we’ll call a bad winding following a robust challenge from Liam and after taking a few minutes to recover his breath play resumed. The next shot careered off of Simon’s wheezy torso and the jinky Scotsman hungrily pounced on the rebound to make it 4-3. (In other injury news Danny took a nasty ball to the face, again stopping play for a couple of moments). The Yellows then got another goal through Yev, before Patrick scored with a chip over Simon Ink from about five yards. No mean feat, that.

What would have been a memorable equaliser from Mario was narrowly denied by the woodwork, but what a strike. With an effort reminiscent of Tony Yeboah's goal against Liverpool all those years ago, he spanked a volley from about twenty yards that flew from his right boot and thundered down off the crossbar and possibly over the line. It would have been a deserved equaliser and had we goal-line technology it may well have counted. His follow up effort was scuffed wide of the post by his compatriot Max in goal. The next crew of players ushered us off at what looked like eight ‘o’ clock, but the whistle actually went a couple of minutes later as we entered the changing rooms. Robbed.

(A quick word on Max, one of Mario’s mates, who in a season of firsts at Coram Fields became the first player that I’ve seen don a bath robe after emerging from the showers. Classy).

Final score: Blues 4 - Yellows 5

And so to the pub, where proceedings were dominated by Ian’s e-Bay bid for a Mark Three Cortina. The previous weekend Ian had celebrated Arsenal’s slightly stuffy 2-1 FA Cup Semi-Final win over Reading at Wembley by placing an alcohol-fuelled £3,000 plus bid for a Mark Three Cortina on e-Bay. The reserve price was £2,700.

As the week went on it became clear that other bids were not forthcoming - the online auction drew to a close on Friday night. With precious little phone battery left, Ian kept turning his phone on to check the progress of said bid, hoping-but-not-hoping that someone had trumped his original bid. To no avail – the deal was done and Ian is now the proud owner of a 1972 Mark Three Cortina, with rust coloured go-faster stripes. The good news is that he got it for the reserve price; the bad news is that it is 571 miles away in a god-forsaken place called Huntly, midway between Inverness and Aberdeen. If it is to return to its spiritual home in east London it faces a road-trip of epic proportions.

As Ian bought a bottle of fizz to celebrate the realisation of a very particular kind of midlife crisis, thoughts inevitably turned to the potential reaction of her-who-must-be-obeyed, i.e. Mrs Ian, who may not be so enthused about the prospect of pootling around Forest Hill looking like one of the cast of Made in Dagenham.

Normal service will be resumed....

... as soon as possible. I've had a busy week, what with Wembley semi-finals, nephews coming to stay and nieces being born.

Last week's game was a bit of a disaster anyway, with one team running away with it mainly as a consequence of the teams being muddled up owing to Yev being late.

I'll endeavour to round up both last week's action and this over the weekend.

To whet your appetite, here is this evening's roll-call:

• Bristol Paul 
• Simon Jarvis
  Mark
  Simon Gas 
• Simon Ink 
• Peter M (Morgan Stanley)
  Joseph (Morgan Stanley)
  Charlie (Morgan Stanley)
  James
  Sam (welcome back!)
  Ian Gough
  Mario
  Max (friend of Mario)Ross
  Liam
  Mick
  Patrick
  Yev
  Steve
  Danny

And here is a fabulous photo of Spizz

Divide and rule

Friday night football action at Coram Fields returned after a two week hiatus to mark the ancient springtime festival of egg hunting and chocolate scoffing, along with both daylight and warmth, as we played for the first time this term in British Summer Time temperatures that were nudging the balmy heights of twenty degrees.

Simon Gas’s bid to delegate the not inconsiderable responsibilities associated with organising a game of football every Friday continued with my good self being pegged for team picking duties once again. Here’s what I came up with:

Citrus bibs: James, Charlie (another Morgan Stanley recruit), Simon Gas, Patrick, Nick, Will, Mario, me

Blue bibs: Dan, Liam, Tony, Peter, Joseph, Bristol Paul, Paul Guvnor, Mark, Mick (eventually)

My overriding strategy would have been recognisable to a Stalinist at the height of the 1930’s purges – divide family and friends. As such, the Genoese duo of Mario and Dan were on opposite sides, as were the Kavanaghs. This proved less straightforward than first appeared, as Kavanagh Junior arrived around fifteen to twenty minutes before his old man, who was having a high powered editorial meeting at an august financial gazette. 

This meant that for the majority of the game we were balanced at eight aside, but it is probably fair to say that the Oranges and Lemons seemed to have the lion’s share of the ball. Mario and Peter were principle among the goal scorers for the team in Citrus bibs, although Nick did score an absolute peach, the second Citrus goal I think, which left the outside of his right foot and nestled dreamily into the top right corner. 

At the other end the team in Blue bibs sought to take advantage of the high line that the Yellows were holding, along with some shonky defending, (mainly from me). Liam, nice and relaxed following a couple of pre-match ales, was the vulture-in-chief as he sought to pounce on anything loose around the Yellows’ penalty area, but on several occasions some last second interceptions and saves from the keeper and on one occasion a goal-line clearance from James thwarted the jinky Scotsman’s efforts. 

With Tony becoming increasingly vocal in his consternation about the perceived imbalances on the field Mick eventually rocked up at what my grandparents would have called ‘five and twenty to eight’. The fact he then took a few minutes to insert his contact lenses and threatened to walk if we swapped him with his son (a fit of pique that it would be remiss of me not to refer to as ‘a paddy’) was the source of some discussion on the pub afterwards, but without wishing to get ahead of myself there was still around twenty minutes left to play.

Playing with the extra man the Blues duly came back into things, with Mick operating on the left and Dan and Peter vying with the excellent Will and Patrick in the middle of the park. That the Oranges and Lemons eventually won the game was largely a consequence of some decent shooting from distance from Mario and Peter, as the Blues were fairly solid at the back with Bristol Paul and Joseph proving difficult to get past. In contrast, the team in Citrus were somewhat more gung-ho, with Simon Gas being the sole locus of defensive nous, as he put in an imperious performance first in goal and then at left back.

Among the other talking points was the fact that no fewer than four balls careered over the fences marking either end of the pitch, Mario losing one ball at the north end, while three separate footballs flew over the fence at the park end, although two of them were a result of saves being tipped over the bar (and then over the fence). Tony also shouted for a number of handballs, one of which was against Will in the area as he chested down a ball as he faced his own goal, but nothing was doing and the strangled exhortations from the Hampstead auteur were, truth be told, speculative at best.

Liam and Peter Murdoch grabbed two late goals to make the final score something in the region of 11-5 to the Yellows / Oranges / Citrus / Lemons. Apologies if your goal didn’t get a mention, but there were an awful lot to get through.

And so to the pub, where we dined al fresco for the first time in 2015, (well, I did anyway – a lovely chargrilled burger to accompany my delicious Cornish beer) and conversation hopped around Mick’s reasons for being late and assorted issues, including Bristol Rovers’ promotion prospects and the growing coterie of Simon’s younger colleagues.

I’ll be seeing you…

Blackballed

Another Friday, another game. Simon Gas handed me the metaphorical baton of team selection this week, and I came up with the following sides, (factoring in late withdrawals from Daniel, Yev and Kavanaghs Junior and Senior). As you can see, two new players this week – Peter and John - brothers no less, recruited from the rarefied world of Simon’s Canary Wharf gentleman’s club.

Blues: David, Peter M, Spizz, Specialist Goalkeeper Phil, Tony, Bristol Paul, Paul, me

Oranges and Lemons: Simon Gas, Liam, Danny, John M, Nick, Mark, Ian Gooner

After being directed into changing room number five by the newly installed Coram Field concierge, these two teams took to the field for what we hoped would be an even encounter. As were about to kick off Simon Gas became increasingly distressed by the apparent theft of the black ballbag, which contained two pumps and not much else as he’d invested in a brand new netted ballbag, no doubt in the hope of meeting more young Scandinavian women on the bus. 

The Blues took the lead through Tony, if memory serves, and after Danny completed his stint in goal the game seemed poised for what you might call a close encounter, as Ian Gooner levelled for the Yellows (and I inadvertently flattened Liam in a desperate and ultimately forlorn attempt to get to the ball before Ian got his shot off. Sorry about that). 

Thereafter, however, the Blues took control. Tony marshalled the defence in excellent fashion, getting plenty of players around danger man Liam and tracking the rangey runs of Nick, Danny and John M. I think that it’s fair to say that Peter M had a better game than his brother (they looked identical, incidentally) and he ran in the first of at least four goals after I tapped a through ball past Ian which opened the Yellows up like a can of peaches. He bagged two more from wide on the right, smashing home into both near and far post, while mercurial post punk impresario and Star Trek fan Spizz tucked home a nice goal into the near left hand side post, before rolling back the years with a twenty yard toe punt that bent in and off the post. 

At the other end the Blues’ defence stood up well and as the game became increasingly stretched were able to take advantage of a combination of great shot-stopping from Phil, over-elaboration from Nick and Liam and sheer bad luck to keep the Yellows from scoring more than the one goal. Chance after chance went begging for the Yellows, while at the other end the Blues seemed able to score at will, (or at least Peter M, Spizz and Tony could). It had turned into one of those nights for the Yellows, as the Blues’ goal appeared to be protected by some sort of goalkeeping djinn and their rotten luck was never better exemplified than when Liam was through one on one with just Phil to beat. Unfortunately, Liam smashed the ball straight at Phil, where it ricocheted back and stung him square amongst his love box, leaving the Caledonian striker poleaxed in the foetal position. Never mind Simon’s missing black ballbag, Liam now had one of his own, (although he’d probably call it a bawbag).

As the game neared its end, I contrived to miss a number of chances, none clearer than when Spizz uncharacteristically passed the ball square to me in front of goal, from which I screwed the shot wide. For this effort I earned the epithet ‘spastic’ from the new wave front man. I did call him a ‘Joey’ a couple of minutes later (playground insult de jour in the early 1980’s), as Spizz just missed out on his hat-trick. 

The last kick of the game saw the other John M join his brother on the scoresheet with a tap-in following some selfless work from Liam.

Final score: Blues 8 – Yellows 2

As Simon was reunited with his black ballbag back in the changing room, where it had been all along, Liam had his own sac inspection to carry out before heading to the pub. 

The England v Lithuania game seemed to be the chief talking point, as England’s strikers ran amok and the Lithuanian goalkeeper had a night to forget, responsible for two own goals (one claimed by Danny Welbeck and one by Harry Kane). 

A two week hiatus now, as Coram Fields closes to mark the death of our Lord Jesus Christ and we get to spend four days off work in a fug of alcohol and chocolate. Or, if you’re Simon Gas, a Roman Holiday. 

See you in two weeks….