Watford 0 v 1 Nottingham Forest

So no game for me this weekend but I did manage to get to see Forest play at Watford so I thought I'd offer some thoughts on the game instead.

I have always managed to get to a few games a season but last year was the first season where I didn't make a single match so I resolved to fix that and buck my ideas up for this term and arranged as usual to meet my cousin, Mick Oram, who is probably Forest's number one fan! You see, Mick simply never misses a game. In fact I think the last game he missed was something like the first game of the season 1982! Mick also runs the official travel club for Forest and has been heavily involved with the football club for most of his life, including a few fanzines. So if ever I need a ticket he's the man to sort it for me and I'll meet him in the closest 'away' pub before the game for a few liveners. Living in Hertfordshire, there was no excuse for not making the Watford game this time so we hooked up in the Wetherspoons at around 3pm as it was a 5.15pm kick off as it was live on BBC.

It's always a bit funny for me when I'm surrounded by other Forest fans because I'm so used to being the only one. Everyone I know seems to support Spurs, Arsenal or Man Utd - or another Premier League side. I sometimes get quizzical looks when I'm walking around Cheshunt in my Forest shirt and I always get asked why do I support them. Well, the answer is I was born that way! It's that simple. All my Dad's family are from Nottingham and Forest are the family team. My Dad grew up following Forest and I inherited this as much as I did all his mannerisms and the way he looks. I can't help it, I wouldn't change it and I'm bloody proud of it.

Of course, being a Forest fan for me between the ages of 0 and 18 were magnificent days. League titles and European Glory with regular trips to Wembley were par for the course for all Forest fans. We were the team to follow and of course we were spoilt with a diet of exquisite football from some of the best players to ever play in the top flight (Robertson, O'Neill, Gemmill, McGovern - I could go on....Psycho etc) and we had the best manager the game has ever seen in Brian Clough.

Everybody knows about the relegation's and subsequent years in the wilderness so for me life as a Forest fan in the last 18 years has been a bit 'hellish.' Sure, we enjoyed finally getting out of League One but there have been a catalogue of embarrasing players who have pulled on the Garibaldi red shirt in recent times as well as some appalling performances on the pitch. The David Platt episode nearly saw us go out of business with stupid, terrible siginings coming in on silly wages, and a board who didn't have a clue how to add two and two together let alone run a football club. Ridiculous appointments in the form of Joe "it's just another game that doesn't mean anything" Kinnear (referring to Forest v Derby!) and Gary "twat" Megson, left us all reeling as if we'd been punched in the mouth and I must admit, I struggled to see any light at the end of any tunnel.

My own belief is that we did well out of Colin Calderwood who eventually got us out of League One before probably taking us as far as he could before the fantastic Billy Davies came in and got us playing the best football since Cloughie walked accross the Trent. Finally it seemed we were back in business and the promised land of the Premier League was just a heartbeat away but play-off heartache has become something of a regular end of season feeling although that doesn't make the pill any easier to swallow. Billy's constant out-spoken rants at the board and their lack of decisiveness in the transfer markert became a weekly event on the telly and in the newspapers as well as his usual lines about "this young team" and "lack of players." From a fans point of view, I was chuffed with signings like Earnshaw, Moussi and Majewski and no-one works harder than Chris Cohen, but had to genuinly question the ambition of the club when the reinforcements that we so desperately needed (and everyone could see we needed) to get us over the finish line just never transpired. The stupid bloody 'aquisitions panel' seems such a long, useless drawn out affair that simply doesn't make any sense. I'm all in favour of the board being careful but the way they operate is so amateur-ish that I think it puts players off from wanting to join us. Why employ a manager in Billy Davies, who clearly knows what he's doing and what he needs in terms of playing staff , only to not listen to what he's telling you? I just don't get it. None of us do.

Poor Billy would have stuck with Forest had they not sacked him and his settled team would have been added to in the summer with the right players to allow us to progress. I firmly believe that he was treated harshly and I would always thank him for his services to the football club because he wore his heart on his sleeve and gave it everything.

Having said all that I must admit I was excited with the (immediate!) appointment of Steve McClaren. I was thinking, right he's got contacts in Europe, he's won the Dutch title, and apart from the England saga he is a decent coach! Finally we had promising signings coming in such as Greening & Andy Reid & Boateng. 

Then all of a sudden it felt like I was in a time warp. All of Billy's lamenting was now coming out of the mouth of McClaren! The club hadn't learned anything and the dreaded aquisitions panel were once again slowing everything down and the signing of Wayne Routledge (a nailed on certainty according to all the papers) went tits-up. He'd got bored of waiting and joined Swansea. Ishmael Miller and Matt Derbyshire eventually were solid signings but I'm convinced that Wesley Verhoek, after agreeing to join us, took one look at the Micky Mouse way the club is run and cancelled his medical and left Nottingham without even looking back. Why-oh-why can't anything be simple? No further signings before deadline day. Not a left-back. Not a sausage.

The biggest laugh of all was getting a text from Damien: "Steve McClaren is considering his future at Nottingham Forest." Sky News confirmed this for me and I shook my head in disbelief. Our club was a joke. I mean come on!! I thought all the embarrasing days were behind us. A shitty start to the season, nine or ten players out and only five coming in and a squad that was even more depleted than last season. I actually wouldn't have blamed Steve if he had walked but he must have had an inkling about the way Doughty operated when he took the job?!

For me, Nigel Doughty doen't know his elbow from his arsehole. He's hiding behind Financial Fair Play because he hasn't got the bollocks to go all in. If you're going to invest 65 million quid into a football club then wouldn't you want to be in the Premier League? Wouldn't you want to take a chance or two? I'm not saying be frivilous and sign shit, but for fuck's sake Billy was saying it, the new gaffer, McClaren is saying it and so are all the fans - WE HAVEN'T GOT THE FUCKING SQUAD FIT ENOUGH TO COMPETE! Doughty sprouts on about FFP and being financially viable etc but I believe he's settled for Championship football. He hasn't got the minerals to take this great club forward and thinks we all owe him something because he's put his hand in his pocket occassionaly. I'm sorry but it's not good enough. I look at Leicester and West Ham and and all the other top sides in our division and the players they have brought in to strengthen their sides and I think it makes us look a laughing stock. Promotion favourites at the start of the season? You're having a fucking laugh. Doughty's mouth-piece, Mark Arthur, is just doing his bidding so I don't actually direct my anger at him. He's just a waste of space who is a spineless yes-man who should resign out of respect to all the Forest fans who have paid his wages for the last God-knows how long. We're not proud of the owner of our club - in fact we're pretty bloody ashamed.

Last week's suicidal performance at home to 'the sheep' drove the dagger deeper in to our hearts (especially losing Cohen for a year with a ruptured cruciate) and so it came as no surprise when Mick told me we'd only brought about 800 fans with us to Watford. I've been there before and we always sell out our allocation so it seemed the fans were voicing their thoughts by staying away. OK, the match was on TV so most probably thought it was sensible to save a few quid - especially whilst we were playing shit. But, it hurts a bit to see the fantastic Forest fans turning their back on the team.

A brighter performance at home to Newcastle in the Carling Cup in mid-week gave us all optimistic hopes and the emergency loan sigining of Clint Hill from QPR on Friday finally saw us land a proper left-back - albeit for 90-odd days....

I sat in the pub before-hand and chewed the fat with Mick and a couple of his mates and then made our way to Vicarage Road for the game.

Unfortunately, there isn't an awful lot to write about the match because it was one of the most boring games I've ever been to. We were perplexed to see Joel Lynch playing left midfield and it didn't actually click till later that in-fact McClaren had gone with a back three of Hill, Chambers & Morgan with Lynch and Gunter as wing-backs! Greening, McGugan & Moussi operated as a midfield three with Findley and Miller up top.

It was a messy game with no real fluidity and I don't remember us testing the Watford goal at all in the first half. Lee Camp, in the Forest goal was pretty quiet too but when called in to action dealt with any threat with ease. I think there was one good save from former Forest striker, Joel Garner's head that he had to make but there were hardly any shots on goal from either side. The game was pretty much taking place in the midfield with missed passes aplenty and the lack of penetration from Forest was frustrating to say the least. We just wanted them to put something together but it just seemed to much to ask for. Half time couldn't come quickly enough and when it finally did the most positive thing was that at least we weren't losing!

The second have wasn't much better and Mick's friend, Steve, was in the middle of jokingly blaming me for a lack of goals when we went and bloody scored! It came out of nowhere really - a long boot up field by Camp, bounced once and over their centre-back and Miller pooped in to slip it past the on-rushing Watford 'keeper, Loach. We were all a bit stunned really but took the goal gladly and celebrated accordingly.

I had visions of us shooting ourselves in the foot (a traditional Forest trait) but Watford weren't up to much at all and apart from the odd flurry at either end, the game sort of petered out and ended with a much needed victory. I'm usually full of words and love to write detailed reports but the game just lacked any real spirit.

It was a scrappy win and I'm praying will be a platform for us to go on a decent winning run of games - only time will tell...

Latymer Old Boys Vets away @ Garston Vets (lost 5-1)

I asked Lev after our game for the 5's who the Vets were playing next week.

"We're away to Garston at the Met Police ground in Bushey. They finished top last season so it could be a busy day for you..."

Hmm. Ok, so what Lev was really saying was we could get stuffed. Well, I was feeling pretty good after my performance that day so thought bring it on...

I was a bit concerned when Lev sent an email out on the Wednesday before the game on Sunday saying that we were short of players! Surely not - I mean last time out we had bloody 20 players! My heart sank as I remembered that Garston were supposed to be shit-hot and it was going to be difficult enough. We were encouraged to source some players so I spoke to Damien but he was unavailable and couldn't play but I thought if there was one bloke I could call on it would be the legendary Scottish John.

Scottish John and I have been best friends for about fourteen years having first met at University and then never losing touch. We shared a flat straight after Uni but rather than go our separate ways and drift apart, our friendship was too solid and we always made sure that we catch up regularly and have enjoyed some right laughs over the years. John is a true blue-blooded Scotsman and is a real Braveheart type of bloke. It's funny though because although he was born in Scotland and is a die hard member of the 'Tartan Army,' he actually supports the only English team to play in the Scottish league - Berwick Rangers! Basically, John is from just over the border and Berwick, whilst on the English side, was John's local team growing up. When we were at Uni, John even organised the football team onto a wee trip up to Berwick (via a memorable night out in Newcastle) to watch the mighty Black & Gold Rangers on the Saturday and then into a football tournament on the Sunday. There were even three or four more similar trips in the years that followed and one of my greatest football memories was playing in goal on Shielfield Park, the home of Berwick Rangers. Funniest though was in a tournament in Manchester when I managed to pull off an unbelievable save that was flying into my top right hand corner. I got up off the floor and turned around to see Scottish John literally crying with laughter - he couldn't believe the save and was rolling around on the floor pissing himself!! John and I also played for a team in Watford called The Boys Home at the end of the nineties so we had good history together, and more recently I had roped John in to play for ALC FC in the last couple of years when I was the player/manager. John has always been a very solid player but in fairness at the age of 44 has probably lost a yard or four in pace. Nevertheless, still a very good Vets player and I didn't hesitate in giving him a call to see if he wanted to step in and help out.

Sure enough, the Scotsman was well up for it and I informed Lev that we had an extra player.

The purpose of me writing this blog was just to take a light-hearted look at the highs and lows of a Sunday morning goalkeeper, and in truth I had to do a bit of catching up with the first few posts because I'd only thought about doing it once the season was underway. Even so, I realized this week that it was probably a bit pointless if no-one was going to read it. Apart from a few of the lads in my office, the blog was off people's radar - because no-one knew about it. I think in the back of my head that I had always intended to put the word out once there were three or four posts done so on Friday I sent out the link to everyone who had been listed on Lev's email list. I must admit I was a little tentatvive because I didn't want it to be taken the wrong way - I mean I'm the new kid and no-one realy knows me. But, in the spirit of getting the blog read I knew I had to at least put it in front of my team mates.

I got a few replies from some of the guys who had had a read and I must say the response was exactly what I had hoped for. I take playing football and for Latymer really seriously as do all the boys, but a bit of light relief does nobody any harm. Of course now it's being read I guess I'll have to pick my words carefully.....

The only other thing that happened in the week was my decision to get a new goalkeeper shirt. I'd been wearing my grey ALC FC shirt since the season opened and to be honest there was nothing wrong with it. It had no rips or tears and had been the only shirt I'd worn for two years. I think that was part of it - but now I was playing for a new team I wanted to get a new shirt. The heroics of my last game for the 5's had probably had an effect as well because I probably felt I could step up the stakes in the 'flashness' department. I'd had a look on ebay where there were loads of goalkeeper shirts of varying bright illuminous colours and while I was looking for something better than the dull grey I already had I didn't want to look a twat. So I'd left it thinking I'd sort it later - but then ended up in Tilly's sports shop on Friday because I was picking up a football kit for one of the schools that my company were sponsoring. Tilly's is an Aladdin's cave of football and sporting goods and kit and I know Stuart, the owner, well.

"Got any Keeper shirts Stuart?" I asked

"Um, yeah we just had a new lot come in - wanna take a look?" (of course I did)

The last time I'd looked a couple of years ago all he'd had were these horrible garish shirts that reminded me of Peter Schmichael's disgusting Man Utd top of the mid-nineties. When he pulled down his cardboard box I felt like a 5 year old waiting to unwrap his birthday present. I mean come on - it's a fucking goalkeeper shirt!! I tried to remain cool but then he revealed what he had...I had a choice of Pro Star or Nike. There was only one Nike which was the same colour as my current shirt so that was out (it was also £30 and while I was in the market to look snazy etc I was going to pay that). He had three in the Pro Star with a choice of Lime Green, Lemon Yellow or Deep Purple. I was immediately drawn to the Deep Purple shirt (a) because the Lime or the Lemon would have made me look like a great big piece of fruit and (b) because the purple, I felt, hit the right tone  - not too much so I looked a complete cock, but just enough to stand out a bit... Stuart always gives discount so sliced the price down from £22 to £20, which I was more than happy with, then did a funny thing when I was paying by slicing it down further to £18 because be "hadn't given me enough off!" Result.

Ewelina rolled her eyes when I got home and produced my new prize but I was a little disappointed when I opened it because there was no number one on the back!! Dispair!! I quickly recovered and decided that I would get a number printed on as soon as possible - but then had a moment of inspiration. Why not have a different number than the usual, standard 'number 1'??? Better still, why not let the readers of this blog decide on what my squad number should be? So that's what I've decided to do. I want to hear from you with your thoughts on what my squad number should be and more importantly - why? I have ruled out numbers 2-11 as they are standard traditional outfield numbers but other than that anything goes. Rememeber to add yourself as a follower and leave a comment at the foot of this post with your verdict.

I met Scottish John in the car park and we made our way to the changing rooms. Lev mentioned the blog staright away saying he had't had a chance to see it yet as he's been away but was going to view it as soon as he could. A few others mentioned they'd read it and they seemed really positive so I was pretty pleased but knew I was under real pressure now to firstly stick to writing it and secondly to at least remain interesting!

The purple 'keeper top was on and with the brand new white socks that Nick-the Skipper had brought, I was at least looking the part.

We had eleven men to start (with two more on their way) and I must say I felt pretty relaxed. It's amazing how quickly I had started to feel at home with these boys. I even remembered some names from our first game two weeks earlier and quickly got up to speed with the rest. Mark, Wrexy & Nick were joined in the back four by Scottish John with Adam, Lev, Jonesey & Richie in midfield with Matt & Paul up front. I thought we seemed quite solid and wasn't too concerned as the game started that Garston retained and passed the ball between themselves for the first few minutes. Nick led the cry to keep our back four tight and the midfield formed a good front wall of protection. Things were going OK and then got even better because we bloody scored!!

Adam picked the ball up on right midfield and hit it up towards Matt who was in the centre forward position. Their defender let it bounce and it sliced past him to Matt who did really well to slide a pass in behind their right back which Paul ran on to. Paul was powerful and held off the tackle brilliantly to smash it accross the keeper into his bottom right corner. A super finish.

I'd been warned before the match about their centre forward and this guy was fucking huge. He was about 6ft 3" but was just a bulky, fat, solid wall of a man. To quote one of the lads (Wrexy, I think) later on "He belonged in the WWE." He must have been no younger than 45 and he looked like Sam Allardyce. So we'll call him Big Sam. Big Sam's game was built around his aerial prescence and he knew exactly where he needed to be for any crosses. They drew level when Scottish John clattered into the back of one of them on the right corner of my box giving away a free kick. Our defence tried to hold their line just outside my six yard box as the ball was whipped in to Big Sam who seemed to have been left all alone. He had all the time in the world and nodded past me to make it 1-1. I had no chance to get near it but was still pissed off. I hate conceding soft goals and this one was softer than shite.

Sadly, we didn't learn from the glaring fact that any cross into our box was going to be met by Big Sam's bonce. We went 2-1 down ten minutes later when a cross from their right was floated over only to find Big Sam all alone (again!) to nod home his and his teams second - into an open net. I'd tried to scramble accross but had no chance.

The thing was, we were doing all right. Our defence was holding its line really well and the midfield pressed when needed but also knew when to back off and hold their line too. Jonesey, in the centre of the park was bossing the midfield and was everywhere - dropping deep to collect the ball as well as setting up our attacking play.

I was happy to collect a couple of shots straight at me but almost had a 'moment' when another cross came into my box and found Big Sam. He headed (obviously) the ball but it lacked real power this time and it went accross my right. It was a bit of an easy take really but I didn't read it properly and rather flapped at it. Yes, I stopped it - but it was a parried effort that fell out of my hands and had there been an attacker running in, he'd have had a tap in. As it was I was able to get up quickly and then dive on it.

We got to half time and I probably got a bit carried away with a rant at everyone for not getting organised at free kicks. Basically, we weren't getting a decent wall set up and there seemed to be no-one listening to me shouting for a bigger wall etc. I won't apologise for making the point but Paul was right when he told me to calm down.

The opening fifteen minutes of the second half and we would have found ourselves ahead again had lady luck smiled on us. Paul had a speculative long range effort which shaved the post and Matt had a thunderbolt of a shot literally just go over. We were playing well and making a real game of it when they scored again. And it was another header again. And by Big Sam- AGAIN! Another cross from their right that looped to the back post to find Big Sam climbing all over Scottish John to power home. I'd got back accross and it even skimmed accross the top of my head. Had the ball come in two inches lower I'd have save it with my nose!

Five minutes later it was 4-1 and yes you've guessed it... A cross from the left this time and Big-fucking-wanky-fat-bastard-Sam headed it in. I got half a hand on it this time but never enough to divert it over.

To be fair our heads never dropped for an second and we could have scored again after Adam launched a goal kick (I've never played with anyone who can kick the ball further from a dead ball by the way) and it caught their defence off guard. Matt ran on to it into the box but saw his shot just go wide. Their Keeper pulled off a decent stop too from one of our lads (couldn't see who from where I was) who turned and shot neatly but saw it pushed wide.

I was calling and shouting much more today and was pleased with a good grab out of the air from a corner after screaming "KEEEPPEEERSSS!!" and then my best moment came when they split our defence open for their striker (not Big Sam) to be through on goal in a one-on-one with me. I stood tall and didn't go down early at all and as he fired I managed to get something on it - my hip I think - and put it over. I was pleased to at least managed one decent stop!

There was time for them to score a fifth - a shot from the edge of the box that flew in to my bottom right corner which I could do nothing about - before a rather nasty moment involving me and Big Twat. I came out to get a hand on a ball that had dropped into my box. I could see Fat Bastard out of the corner of my eye coming in too and I just knew I was going to get clattered. I could tell (from the angle he was coming in that he actually didn't need to make contact) that what happpend next was deliberate. I felt an elbow crash into the back of my neck/head and I went down like I'd been shot. I thought there'd be a bit of a demonstration from our lot and some kind of dressing down from the Ref. I can only assume it had hadn't been seen because no one said a word. My neck and the back of head fucking killed and Big Fat Sam had gotten away with it. Rather than make a song and dance about it I just kept quiet. Looking back, I find myself getting angry because there was no need for it and had he connected any harder I could have been in serious trouble! The twat had scored four headers but it seemed had decided he wanted my head as some sort of trophey!

The game ended and it was only then that Richie said he'd seen the elbow and was equally disgusted.

We were positive and optimistic after the game because in spite of the score line we had actually played well, created chances and stood up and got counted. Nick was immense in the second half - always talkng and looking for every ball, but I think the team should be pleased with good progress from our first disappointing fixture. In the changing rooms it transpired that Nick had apparently done a spot of look-a-like work in the past - we all quickly tried to guess who but were baffled when it was revealed to be Jurgan Klinsmann! Admittedly, we all pisssed ourselves laughing especially when Nick agreed he looked more like Worzel Gummidge! I think from now on a feature will have to be look-a-likes. This week we have to start with Jurgan Gummidge AKA - Nick-the-Skipper...

The attitude of the Vets is quite refreshing actually. In the bar afterwards, Lev asked Wrexy how he was getting on with playing Centre Back. Wrexy replied that whilst if he was given the choice he would prefer not to play there, that he would play there whenever he was asked to. I thought this was a great attitude and he'd actually had a good game at the back for us today.

Scottish John had lasted about 65 minutes, coming off after over-stretching and nearly doing the splits. John's such an easy guy to have a natter with and the lads took to him quickly but I was really pleased that Lev wanted to keep him involved with the team from now on. We are back playing again for what is now our fourth team together so it'll be brilliant to have him around.

So no gaffs today but an extremely sore head after Fat Twat's appalling elbow.

No Vets game next Sunday and I'm off to watch Forest at Watford on Saturday so no football at all for me next weekend. I think I'll just spend the next two weeks throwing darts into a picture of Sam Allardyce and hope that Fat Twat breaks his head on the cross bar the next time he plays...

Latymer 5's away @ Old Grammarians (lost 3-0)

So the week after my Vet's debut and we have no game on the usual Sunday morning. The opportunity to play for the 5's on Saturday afternoon was offered and in the spirit of wanting to get as much game-time in as possible I accepted the offer. I even persuaded Phil to make an appearance as well. Phil was the one who introduced me to Latymer in the first place as this was his 'Saturday' team, but he had taken a bit of a step away from Saturday football to focus on playing for his Sunday team. Phil has become a good pal over the past year through working in our day job together and it's always more fun when you play football with those who are your mates. Damien, my best mate, has gone a bit towards golf these days and even suggested I take it up!I think a one armed midget with blurred vision could swing a golf club better than me and get round a course in half the shots it would take me so I politely declined and decided to stick to putting myself through potential hell. Having said that, Damien recently played in a charity match (no he's not a celebrity) and reassured me that he still 'bossed the midfield'. He scored too so I think he's got the bug to play again. He's 36 too so is on standby to play for the Vets if we get stuck so watch this space.

So Phil managed to get a game with me in the 5's and off we went for what was to be a memorable afternoon for yours truly.

We eventually found the right entrance and met up with the rest of the team. The contrast between my first experience with the Vet's and this team was massive because the 5's were full of kids. Lev was there, as ever, and a few other older lads such as Neal and Andy, but I was looking at a bunch of 16 year olds. I was just about old enough to be their Dad which was a shocking revelation. I was a bit worried about the lack of experience - made worse because we had to start with ten men because two were 'running late.'

Right from the off we invited pressure. I was actually feeling pretty confident and managed to get Jamie, our young Centre Back to take goal kicks. There were even a couple of nine year olds behind my goal who became ball-boys so I happily avoided getting shagged chasing the ball. Result!

Phil was playing up front but we couldn't really get the ball up to him so he cut a frustrated figure and by the time our two missing players arrived we were ten minutes in and not an awful lot had happened...And then it became the best game I've had in a long time.

Now, readers of my fledgling posts will have noticed that I am more than willing to be brutally honest about any errors and gaffs I have made in the line of goalkeeping duty. So you must forgive me if this post becomes a bit of a boast fest but I had an absolute corker of a game.

Their main striker was, to put it bluntly, built like the side of a shit brick-house. He was about  6ft 4" and was ripped to pieces. I'll call him Steroid Steve. Or SS for short. This boy was clearly good in the air and at any opportunity they chucked it up for him to get his head on it. My first stop saw a header from SS that came in low to my right. A firm hand popped it round the post. We were off and running. My confidence and stature grew and when a shot came curling in I flew through the air to my left and put the ball wide. OK, so that particular shot was probably going wide anyway - but I wasn't to know that!! Another couple of high, looping cross/shots came at me and I did enough to get finger tips to put these wide too! I was even coming out for crosses and getting some punches to clear the ball.

A ball was played over my back four and as it came down just inside my box I could see I wasn't going to get to it before it bounced. Bounce it did - and bounce high. Out of the corner of my eye Steroid Steve was charging towards the ball and we were on a head on collision course which would only have one winner and that certainly wasn't going to be me. I hung back a stride and as he went up to head it past me, somehow I managed to get a proper strong slap on the ball - almost a volley ball move - and clear the ball away. Steroid Steve wasn't a dirty player but he clattered in to me and I felt like I'd been hit by a train. I landed like I'd been dropped from about twenty feet and  I thought I was dead. The adrenaline got me up - just - and I did the old rub of the knee, making out I was alright. He'd hit me hard but I'd decided that nothing was going to go past me today!! That feeling lasted until just before half time when in one foul swoop I undid all of my hard work with the standard, predictable and unavoidable error that I just can't seem to get away from - even on such an 'on' day! I had dealt with a cross by getting a good fist on it, to get it away and thought to myself that the next time a similar ball came in that I should catch it. I mean why not? I was in superb form and could do no wrong today...

Two minutes later and we were 1-0 down. The ball came in from my left and was at such a good height and it was coming in at eye level. I thought right, this is it - Catch it. I even managed to scream "KEEPERS!!" and popped both hands up. The ball flew straight into my gloved hands - and then straight out again. It passed through like a hot knife thorough butter and went through the crowded six yard box to their player who prodded home. I couldn't believe it. It felt like the goalkeeping Gods were determined not to let me get carried away and had given me a gentle reminder that even though I was saving certain goals with flying saves, I was always going to make shocking errors.

I had time to recover by getting my body and hands behind a stinging free kick which re-instilled some confidence and then it was half time.

I was fired up and made a bit of an apology to the team. Phil was his usual positive self with much appreciated praise at the saves I'd made but I was gutted at that stupid error.

The second half got under way and I just hoped that I wouldn't cock up again. As it turned out, it was quite the opposite.

The match was barely back underway when our defence was carved right open with a pass that put their striker through one-on-one. He had red hair so we'll call him Ginge. Ginge had time. I mean he had plenty of time. He came forward into the box and rather than rush out I thought I'd stand my ground just pasy my six yard line and see what happened. Ginge unleashed a rocket of a shot which was flying well past my right and was quite low. Before I knew it I had launched myself sideways and got a full clean palm on it to put it wide. Talk about bloody reactions! My old nickname 'The Cat' gave itself a dusting off and planted itself firmly onto the back of my shirt - cos I was back!! It was an unbelievable save. In fact that was Lev's cry as the ball went round the post, and I was duly set upon by a mass of disbelieving team mates. Ginge was gutted but he was a good lad and offered a firm handshake in recognition of the stop.

But there was more...

Another lad was clean through into the box from our left and fired at my near post - strong hand put it wide.

Steroid Steve had another header which was popped clear away.

We went 2-0 down whan a long, looping speculative cross/shot that I genuinly couldn't get near, smacked against my left post and rebounded straight onto Ginge's head. He couldn't miss, and didn't.

3-0 was a cutback from our by-line to the edge of the six yard box that they couldn't miss from. The amount of chances that they had (and were denied from!) could have seen a cricket score so I could live with 3-0.

We struggled to create much really and apart from a couple of free kicks on goal we did't really trouble them.

There was time at the end to put in two more superb stops that are well worth a mention.

Another break on our goal led to a cross cominn in from my right. It found its way over to Ginge who powered a head on to the ball. I had watched the ball all the way and once it was goal bound it was going top left. It was nearly point blank - and yet The Cat got his finger tips on it to put it over. Ginge couldn't believe it. He was ready to go home I think.

And finally (and by this time it was just an onslaught) three of them lined up to have a shot. Their number 7 had been desperate to get a shot in all game and he fired in a similar way to Ginge's earlier effort that I'd saved. This time a I flew to my left a managed to parry the ball. It went back and another on of them had a go - I closed the angle and he fire over.

I was absolutely shattered at the end - but elated. Lev was full of kind words - I think he was thinking about The Vets and all that and Phil really gave me a boost in the car on the way home with genuine praise. He felt it would have been double figures if not for me so I was really chuffed. He even sent me a text later telling me he thought I'd be "excellent."

Ewelina listened patiently as I replayed every moment and ran me a bath, scrubbed my back and made me a super dinner.

Life was awfully good.

Latymer Old Boys Vet's away @ Maccabi Lions Vet's (lost 6-2)

I got up quite early and must admit it felt a bit like Christmas morning. I think it had more to do with the hope and anticipation of what 'might be' than anything else. Also, the chance to impress and wipe the slate clean with a fresh start for a team that knew nothing of any previous goalkeeping errors, was just a bit too exciting!

I'd done the usual preparation with the cleaning of my boots and gloves etc and had neatly prepared my bag the day before. God, I must be a little bit sad. Does anyone else go through these kind of rituals and preparations for Sunday morning football?

Lev had contacted me in the week to take me up on my offer of using the spare kit that I had left from the ill-fated ALC FC's eventual demise. It seemed that Latymer's strip of blue & black (Inter Milan) clashed with Maccabi's all blue kit. Happy to help as ever, I duly prepared and folded the red and black shirts and loaded the kit bag into the back of the car.

I asked my wife, Ewelina, if she fancied coming along to lend a bit of support. We've only been married a few months and I'm very much of the opinion that I really am the luckiest guy alive with a wife like her. But, to be fair football isn't really her cup of tea. I probably watch too much football - any game that's on the telly really - and she is an absolute diamond because she rarely complains. I tried to get her enthused a little by harping on about the Polish boy, Radi Majewski, who plays for Forest. You see, Ewelina is from Poland so I thought If I could spark her interest a little then I could at least convert her to a follower of the 'Tricky Trees.' She wasn't buying it though. I even went a bit further by pointing out the Polish lad, Wojciech Szczesny, who plays in goal for Arsenal. All this did was make her think that Poland produced brilliant footballers rather than make her fall in love with the beautiful game. She was an absolute diamond over the summer though when I played in the Latymer 5-a-side tournament for Phil Hartley's team. Ewelina came along and brought our dog, Jasper, and we even did a whole pic-nic for the day. She was a bit puzzled why I was in goal though as she thought that that wasn't really playing! She asked, "Surely you want to run around a bit?" -  Like fuck I do!! In the end I had to persuade her that I actually wanted to be in goal and that it wasn't some kind of punishment. She was impressed with a couple of dazzling saves she saw me make but that soon evaporated because we lost every game and ended up getting knocked out early. The sandwiches and crisps went down well though with the rest of our team - we'd made enough to feed the whole of Enfield!

Ewelina did promise me that she would come and watch a Vet's game at some point but not just yet... I dropped her off at the Catholic church in Waltham Cross and she went off to practice her religion and I went off to practice mine.

I have this habit of arriving early and as I drove into the car park I started to question if I was in the right place because there were two blokes in yellow jackets on car-park duty! I was directed left and drove past the main pitch that was possibly the flattest, biggest and greenest pitch (complete with dug-outs) I'd ever seen. The goals had those thick round posts and bars that you see at Wembley with nets professionally propped up at the back. There was even a white horizontal barrier all the way around the pitches perimeter for spectators to stand behind. There were other pitches further down too but this was the one I hoped we might be playing on. I remembered what Mark had said the week before about the lovely pitches that the Vet's get to play on and boy, he wasn't exaggerating.

I was pleased to find Lev was already there and he confirmed that we were indeed playing on that pitch! Introductions as the rest of the team arrived were as pleasant as I'd expected and Lev fielded questions about where "the nice new kit" was from. I think someone said something like; "Nice one Lev, not only have you found a goal keeper, he comes with a kit as well!"

I was used to being one of the oldest players last season for ALC FC. As I met the Vet's lads it quickly became evident that I was one of the youngest. I mean these guys are real men - proper. None of these fresh-faced youths or lightning quick 17 year olds. It was extremely refreshing to be in the company of like-minded blokes who just wanted to play football. Don't get me wrong, they are as competitive as ever - more so probably - but there didn't seem to be any illusions of grandeur or mis-placed dreams that Arsene Wenger had sent a scout along to watch them play. I was desperate to do well and have to be honest the nerves were kicking in. I just hoped for a nice early save to settle myself down.

I'm good with names usually but I have to say I found it difficult to remember everyone, which didn't help. The boys (men!) who were starting at the back included Wrexy who offered to take goal kicks for me even before I'd made my standard confession (see previous post). Two minutes later, Nick, the skipper, said hello "You OK with goal kicks Greg, or do you want me to take them?"

"Er, no it's OK Wrexy's gonna take care of them..."

I smelt a bit of a conspiracy - maybe Lev had already had a word? I call that good management!

The thing that I thought was the oddest but still the best bit about Vet's football is that they operate with roll-on & roll-off subs throughout - even for non-friendly games. It gives everyone the chance to have a decent game and not be pressured into getting too shagged. There are lots of subs too - unlimited amount it seems. I think we had about 17 players! They kept arriving and at this point I wasn't aware of the rotation system so didn't have a clue how Lev was gonna let so many down. "Er sorry but we've got about 27 players today so you might not get a game. Strip up though cos you never know..." What was interesting was last year when I ran ALC, I struggled some weeks to get a bare 11 - this lot turned up by the dozen. I think it goes to show that the nippers don't realize how quickly it all goes. I could never understand it when I had people not turning up on a Sunday morning, choosing to lake in bed probably and miss our match. These young lads don't know they're born half the time. When I was their age I never wanted to miss a game.

My Vets's debut turned out to be fairly decent from a personal perspective although we did end up getting stuffed 6-2! I've left it more than a week to get this post written so the nature of some of the goals have become a bit of a blur but their first was a cut back from the by-line for a basic tap-in - nothing I could do about that one. Number three was a penalty after Nick, the Skipper, was judged to have pushed the striker over. Nick was far from happy and disputed and moaned and then moaned some more. Not wishing to get on the wrong side of the Captain but I thought it was a penalty. I was sent the wrong way and it looked like we were in for a drubbing.

My highlight in the first half came in the form of a 'super save' that saw me fly across to my top left corner to get my finger tips onto the ball and push it on to the posy and then clear as it fell straight down on top of me. There were another couple of basic stops which any keeper would have dealt with and no real glaring errors. I must admit it took me a while to settle and I was happy when we got to half time. Our opposition were a good outfit and out lot were completely shagged. No pre-season friendlies - just straight in to the first game of the season. Even as a newcomer, I could tell that most of the boys were still shaking the rust off and I hoped we could at least make more of a game of it in the second half...

We scored really early with a good move throughout the team and I thought, hang on, we might be back in this. Then they replied pretty quickly to restore the three goal gap and I knew it just wasn't going to happen. I think number four was another cut back and tap in job; number five came as their player attempted to lob me - I got a decent enough hand on it but I was at full stretch and didn't have the momentum to put it over. As it fell their lad ran in and headed the ball in to the net. Number six was a bit disappointing too - I saved an initial header and would have hoped to push it safe. As it was it went straight to another one of them and he headed in. Our consolation goal right at the end was well deserved because in truth we did carve out three or four decent chances through  the second half without reward.

So our tail was well and truly between our legs as we trudged off. I thoroughly enjoyed my debut in spite of the scoreline and enjoyed the beer in the bar after with some of the boys. Lev was kind enough to give me a decent mention in his post match summary email a few days later and that boosted my confidence in readiness for our next game.

Note to self: Come out and punch more....

Latymer Old Boys 4's/5's @ home to Goffs Old Boys (lost 4-2)

 I was thinking that it was a bit odd that the Vet's team weren't going to have any friendlies before the season got underway because surely we would need at least a bit of a run-out?! Apparently not. The tragic thing is that I'm more un-fit than anyone I know - basically I get absolutely shagged every time I have to run to get the ball if it goes past my goal. All of a sudden 36 is feeling like 46 and so I must admit that when the chance to get a bit of a game on a Saturday (with a mixed 4's & 5's team for Latymer) was suggested by Lev, I was really up for it.

Playing on a Saturday has never really appealed to me - I mean it falls smack bang in the middle of the day so the joys of witnessing Jeff Stelling going bonkers every time Hartlepool score goes out of the window along with the ability for me to track the Forest score every 2 mins. No, for me it's always been about Sunday mornings - although in the past couple of years that in itself was 'interesting'. But that's another blog....

The funny thing was that I'd been lined to up to make my debut for the Vet's and I had gotten a bit paranoid beacuase no one had even met me let alone seen me play! What if they changed their mind? So it was a good chance to at least meet Lev and some of the other Vet's lads. It turned out that I was to play the first half as there was another keeper down on the team sheet as well. This was more than fine by me - perfect in fact because I saw it as a bit of a 'meet and greet' and also less playing time for me to cock up!

Lev was as pleasant in person as he had been on the phone, although a flicker of unsurety glazed across his eyes when I broke the news to him in the changing room about my goal kicks...

Me: "Lev, I've got a bit of a confession..."

Lev: "Um, OK....?"

Me: "I need you to know that my goal kicks are terrible! An eight year old girl can kick it further."

Lev: "Really? Oh, OK. Don't worry, I'm sure we'll have some one who can do those for you. But, you're OK out of your hands though...?!"

Me: "Oh yeah no worries there - just dead balls. I'm a bit crap with those."

Lev seemed to breath a sigh of relief. I didn't have the heart to tell him that kicks "out of my hands" had always been a bit hit and miss too. Distance has never been a problem but let's just say my accuracy is questionable. If I rush then they banana off to the right. If I take too long to think about it then they go off to the left. It's definitely about timing and when I get them right my kicks are pretty decent. I left the changing room promising myself to stay focused and it would be OK...

I actually felt quite buoyant as we approached kick-off. Everyone made me feel really welcome so I thought I'd reciprocate with a bit of a speech in the team talk about organisation at corners and free-kicks etc. At least I sounded like I knew what I was doing! There was only one other Vet, Mark, who immediately I could tell was still a very decent player at about 45 and who also was a really nice guy. We chatted about the Vet's coming season and he told me about all the amazing pitches/grounds the Vet's get to play on. All of a sudden this seemed like it had been a really good idea indeed!

The game kicked off and for the first fifteen minutes all I seemed to do was run and fetch the bloody ball. The opposition kept firing wide or over and with nothing behind the goal I was absolutely fucked from all the running! I mean seriously, I knew I was out of shape but this was silly.

They got a free kick about 45 yards out so I confidently pulled the defensive line on to the edge of the box, assuring Lev at Centre Back that this was deep enough. Their 'danger man' was clearly the big, bald lad in the number 10 shirt, but it would have to be a hell of a ball for him or anyone to do anything with it....

The ball was powered into the box, straight over our back line in 'that area' where you know you're in trouble between the penalty spot and the edge of the six yard line. Our defence were back-pedalling and in truth I should have come out strongly to at least try and punch it clear. I opted to stay put - still sure that one of ours would get something on it and get it away. Of course none of that happened and the bald lad turned out to be a salmon cos he rose like nothing you've ever seen and literally powered a header like a bullet past me and about 5cm under my bar. All I could do was a Hollywood leap and dive offering a flailing arm that was more for show than anything else. The quality of the finish thankfully seemed to deflect away from the fact that I should never have even let me have a sniff of it by coming out but hey - I wasn't going to highlight that.

Am I being a bit harsh on myself? Probably. You see, in spite of my very honest self-criticism I aim to make no mistakes. It doesn't always happen, rarely in fact, but when a mistake happens I hate it and beat myself up about it for weeks.

There were of course a couple of moments though when I thought "Here we go" as my demons from games-gone-past seemed destined to haunt me again. An ambitious cross was launched into the box from my left and then just seemed to stay in the air and fly straight for the top right hand corner. The wind had caught it and it floated and teased me giving me time to pray to the goalkeeping Gods for quite literally a helping hand. Someone was listening because I managed to keep an eye on it and judge my jump perfectly to get a strong finger tip on it to pop it over. The dramatic fall into my own net helped make what was really a standard tip-over, look a really good save!

The next cause for concern came not long after. An ambitious looping shot from quite far out was falling straight down my throat and all of a sudden disappeared in the sun! My God - I wanted to die!! This was no more than a standard catch but I was on my line and any sort of fumble or cock up was going to be both costly and an addition to my ever growing catalogue of clangers. I even croaked forward a plea of 'Not Guilty' with a shout of "I can't see it - the Sun's in my eyes" before all of a sudden there it was. It dropped in to my hands and apart from a slight tilt forwards it stayed there as I sprang forward as If there was never any doubt!!

Their second goal, I could do nothing about. Our defence was sitting far too high and were cut open by a cross field pass that saw their winger clean through fro a one-on-one. One-on-ones actually have always been a strength of mine. I always try to judge my advance to narrow the angle as late as possible and not go to ground too early. Unfortunately, this was one of those occasions when none of that worked and the shot that was unleashed flashed past me in to the goal. Yes, I did get a flick of a glove on the ball but it wasn't enough. 2-0 and in truth it could have been more.

In between their goals I actually pulled off some decent stops. Yes, I had flapped at a couple of corners but had followed up with strong clearances and the save at my near post when Mr. Bald glanced a header goal wards from an impossible angle was my highlight.

I settled down into the game and we even managed to pull a goal back just before half time when our Centre Back, Simon, powered a header of his own in from a very well delivered corner.

So 2-1 down at half time and my game was over. No major mishaps, no embarrassing lobs from distance and a few decent stops thrown in for good measure.

I was happy to be a spectator for the second half and support the lads for the rest of the game - and also to see how my replacement, Steve got on. I'll be honest he seemed a little shaky but hey I knew how he felt so he had my full support - goalkeepers union and all that.

Goffs went 3-1 up with a decent shot that went past Steve in to his top left corner. Could he have done better? Could I have stopped it? Yes to both. If he moved his feet I think he could have given himself a chance if he'd then dived. As it was, he kind of stood and watched it go in.

We pulled a goal back with neat finish from the lad upfront who looked about twelve and we were unlucky not to draw level because we had really come into the game and had two really good chances to score.

As it was, Goffs ended up scoring a fourth and I felt really sorry for poor Steve in goal. He had an absolute carbon copy of a ball to deal with that I had managed to hold in the first half, punted at him. As it fell out of the sky in a line straight into his arms I could smell the fear from where I was sitting on the halfway line. This was his moment but I knew exactly what he was feeling and thinking and praying for. Where I had managed to hold the ball, Steve duly fumbled it forward straight into the path of a choice of two strikers. They almost got in each other's way, but in the end the ball was smashed home and the game ended seconds later with 4-2 as the final result. Poor Steve. He seemed a really nice lad and I felt for him - I had been there plenty of time myself. I said nothing, just said my goodbyes and thanks for the game etc and headed home, pleased but ready for me tea.

New Season - New Team

So a new season - and a new team! Having taken the decision to prolong my playing career I follwed some good advice from my best pal, Damien, and was put in touch with a Vets (veterans) team by another friend, Phil "JR" Hartley. I felt quite optimistic after chatting on the phone to 'Lev', the Vet's manager who assured me that all the boys (men surely(!) this is a vets team afterall!) were good chaps and I put the phone down desperate for the season to begin.

I marketed myself as "a superb shot stopper with a tendency to get lobbed from the halfway line." and this thankfully appeared to have gone under (or over) Lev's radar/bar. You see it's not easy being a Sunday morning football goalkeeper. Everyone watches the football on the telly and gets to see top quality keepers who seem to hardly ever put a foot wrong - unless you're David De Gea. And of course they all look much smaller on the TV. I think people forget that bit. Now, I'm no dwarf but at 5ft 10 I'm not exactly Petr Cech either so there have admittedly been a couple of occassions when I've been done. From distance. Ok, alright - been done from the halfway line.

I'm not making excuses - the first one was a gift as I was on my penalty spot when Mr number 10 launched a shot straight from kick-off. The sinking feeling is akin to that moment when you know you've been caught doing something you really shouldn't and it's too late to do anything about it. The vow of never being caught like that again seemed very hollow when tragedy struck for a second time two months later - to the same opposition! This time it was our kick-off  so surely it had to be ok to stand on the six yard line??!!

Um apparently not....the ball goes back to to our number nine and it shanks off his knee and goes back to one of them just inside his own half. How he struck it so sweetly I'll never know to this day - but it went very high and caught a friendly wind pocket and just sailed and sailed over my distraught hand in to the top corner. Dispair and disgrace again! I would've retired there and then given the chance. The worst part of it was that I was the bloody player/manager. Talk about losing the dressing room.

No one remembers that you go on to have a stormer of a season and pull off some truly unbelievable saves and ultimately guide the team to a respectable mid table 'first season' finish. The ribbing and banter was fun for a while but in the end I just wanted someone to say something positive! The eventual folding of ALC FC was a sad but inevitable day and I guess I thought that at the age of 36 that that was that....