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...
No comments:
Post a Comment