If you wrote a story about carving a little boy out of wood and bringing him to life so you could play with him there would be questions. Then if you gave him away to some travelling circus charlatans and allowed him to be dressed up as a farm animal and paraded about like a noncey donkey, surely we shouldn’t be celebrating exquisite writing but considering if there’s a cell free next to Rolf and Jimmy. So with that in mind whilst you read on, base your judgement on my writing prowess not against your expectations, but against the muck that has come before that people celebrate. This, by those standards is Homers Iliad.
With a squad of 401 we managed to get 14 players to turn up. Obviously Tommy Timekeeping arrived late, much like Martin to a tackle and gave Matt the excuse to ratchet up his ambient anger to 8. Richard turned up with a stinking cold, something about being up all night working out if he had a shout at the throne now Grabby Prince Andrew was out of the running. Off we go.
The first half was 2 nil I think, I wasn’t paying much attention to be honest. I’d teased their striker once or twice and maybe pulled out some disguised shank passes but really wasn’t in any bother. As center backs we just amble about aimlessly and as and when the midfield try a rabona or to dribble the length of the pitch and lose it, we sweep up the mess and this week, give it to Doug and say, go do something…..then off he pops, racking up assists and goals on demand. Before we get too excited, I realised as I wrote this he’s 15 years older than my kids and 15 years younger than me (22 years younger than Martin). At his age I was pulling off no look passes with my shins, enforcing the back line and being called a sexy unit whilst Martin patrolled the midfield like a rutting stag looking for the next person to tell about Arsenal’s latest performance. He still patrols like a stag, albeit one with half an antler and knees that sound like bubble wrap under a steam roller.
Adam opened the scoring and made it look easy, cutting inside, and slotting home with ease. The striker I was chatting to, (we had nothing else to do) summed it up with ‘Oh FFS, we’re shit’. I think that’s unfair, I’d say poor at best.
We missed a few chances but let’s be positive and say that what counts is we created them.
A bit like I nearly had sex with loads of really fit women in my youth, I had their posters on my student bedroom wall and had I been a bit luckier perhaps I could have bagged Cindy Crawford or Heidi Klum. Chances created. I always ended up with a Pat Butcher lookalike, still you take what you can get at Cinderellas on a Monday night.
Back to the football, highlights included Tommy having a meltdown like the wicked witch of the west. I think someone shouted ‘time’ and that obviously isn’t a word in his repertoire so his brain short circuited, legs gave way and he slowly folded himself into the pitch. Thankfully Dan H had regained his patience after a small angry outburst and covered his fallen comrade.
Karl acting as a goalkeeper and palming a free kick clear, just unfortunate he was near the half way line, 10 ft in front of the free kick and playing outfield. At least the ref ignored it completely.
A raking cross field drilled free kick from Mr Munday….we could all have done that if we’d wanted….10 years ago, with different legs, and perhaps a lighter ball. Finally, an honourable mention for Chris Newts…who somehow managed to pull 3 hamstrings and still go up front for the last 10 minutes.
Still, a win in the cup and onto the next round, where perhaps my writing desire will return, or perhaps I’ll have another 3 year sulk, only time will tell.
Squad :
- Ben Meak-a-boo
- Tony Simons Says ‘Too Deep’
- Martin ‘Stag’ King
- James Dyson
- Doug Clark
- Jon ‘Baby Don’t hurt me, no’ Moore
- Tommy ‘Time Bandit’ Nicolle
- Karl ‘Jazz Hands’ McCulloch
- Chris ‘Hamstrung’ Newton
- Dan ‘Hair Trigger’ Higgs
- Jonny ‘Lucky Strike’ Munday
- Adam Merritt
- Richard ‘The new Duke of York’ Etherington Smith
- James ‘Hitman’ Sharrod
Manager – Matt Thornett In My Side
Fubar@Forty 