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.
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