Winchmore Hill Vets Tournament

I love tournament football.

It takes me back to when I was a kid of about nine or ten and was playing for my very first 'proper' team, Centurion Colts and then later on, Gosport Raiders. I remember playing in various 5-a-side tournaments and loving the atmosphere generated by the sheer amount of different teams (sometimes as many as twenty) and all the mixed colours of team kits and over-eager parents cheering (and jeering!) the kids on.

Those first days in playing organised football are as fresh in the mind as if they were yesterday. Although in my teenage years and early twenties I was more of a centre-back/midfielder, I did begin as a goalkeeper. I have no idea why I ended up in goal except that I genuinely loved it between the sticks and was actually pretty good. It started in the playground at junior school where we used to play something like 18-a-side, kicking a tennis ball around (we weren't allowed proper balls - they broke windows and were deemed too dangerous!) with me between a school jumper and the netball post and diving around scraping my knees trying to make saves. Not bad training really - if you can save a tennis ball then a proper football should be no problem...

I ended up playing for Colts because the word circulated that there was to be an under 9's team and so me and pal, Andrew Simpson rocked up and signed up! I only thought to ask my parents after joining the club. Luckily my Dad was happy for me to play and in truth I think I remember him saying that he was once a goalkeeper when he was young too. Dad is my hero so I think that the decision was made there and then. The very first game I ever played was a cold, wet Sunday morning and we were playing Seagulls, the top local club that had a billion teams and won everything. Damien, who would later become my best pal of 25 years was actually on the bench for Seagulls that day and we got stuffed 14-0. The best bit was that I had an absolute corker of a game and was given the bloody man-of-the-match award by our manager!! I even remember his words: "in spite of the score-line, the award goes to Greg." I almost began to cry with pride - it didn't matter that I'd actually let in fourteen fucking goals - but managed to stop myself and ran in to my Dad's arm who wasn't, it seemed, as successful as me at holding back the odd tear.

Nostalgia is a wonderful, funny thing. I bet we all can conjure up memories of yester-year and the ghosts of a footballing past that we all wish we could have again, even if just for 90 minutes.

My time with Colts took a turn for the worse when Bryan Timmins' Dad, also called Bryan, took over the running of the team. Bryan Senior was a bit of a fat, gobby bastard who just rubbed people up the wrong way. You know how it goes, a change of Manager means a change of regime, he brings in his own staff and team and new players and noses are put out of joint. And this was bloody kids football! And so a plot was conceived and a splinter group formed meaning a new team, Gosport Raiders, was born and bastardized under the expert management of Andrew Simpson's chuffing Mum!!

Gloria. Oh Gloria! You knew absolutely fuck all about football but bless you, you tried. In fairness, she only agreed to set up the club because of Andrew but my God we were shit. I played for them for two years before going off to boarding school (lots of stories in later posts I'm sure) and we only ever won one game. We got hammered every week and I developed a bad back from bending down to pick the ball out of the net! But it was at one of those 5-a-side tournaments that we actually ended up surprising everyone and getting to the final. Of course, we lost, but that didn't matter. We had been a decent outfit that day and come really close to glory.

So expectations were high in anticipation of the Winchmore Hill Tournament, featuring eight teams split in to two groups of four. 9-a-side, ten minutes each way, rolling subs and no offsides!! Lev set the tone in his email with the immortal words in his email on Thursday:

'With this youthfull looking side mixed with a blend of experience we are looking for glory in a tournament in which twice we have graced the final.'

Final? Fuck me a chance for a medal! I have to say I was more than a little excited by this carrot that was being dangled and the chance to exorcise the demons of a lost final aged ten was firmly in my sights. I was intrigued by the format too. 9-a-side and on a full-size pitch too! Surely this would mean an open style of game with lots of goals? It would also mean all the poor sods out on the pitch would be well and truly shagged. Yet again, I was more than a little bit chuffed that I was in goal.

Of course one thing that nobody factored for was the weather.

Ewelina opted not to come along but made me rolls and flasks of tea and coffee etc and off I went thinking I might get a bit of a tan.

Never in all my years can I ever remember a start of October like it. Ewelina and I enjoyed a lovely Saturday afternoon walking Jasper in the blistering sun that broke all records as the hottest October day in something like a hundred years. Sunday, the day of the tournament, of course just happened to hotter still.

Our squad was looking pretty decent but a real spanner was thrown into the works when news broke that Jonesy was going to be arriving late and might miss our first group match. Now I'm still getting to know everyone but I have sort of gathered that Jonesy is a bit of a die-hard Latymer chap and is a proper club man. So I thought it must be something pretty serious such as a dying Grandma etc for him to be arriving late... Er, No.

Jonesy had apparently forgotten about his other half's birthday which was the day after the tournament (Monday) and hadn't organised a birthday present!! Of course, the shops close early on a Sunday so in a panic he was flying around Enfield Town waiting for the doors to open so he could secure a gift and then race over to the rest of the team. Needless to say he came in for a bit of stick when he did finally arrive - just moments after our first game had indeed finished. I'm not sure if the sat nav that he got was for her or for him...As it turned out I think the team could have used it because we were well and truly lost for most of the day.

There were yet another couple of new faces for me to meet in our team as Gaz, Barnsey and Shamsey hadn't made it to either of the previous Vets fixtures. All really lovely fellers and really easy to get along with. Barnsey was definitely another proper staunch Latymer stalwart and was kind enough to declare a genuine interest and appreciation for this blog as he actually lives in Sweden and as he is only really ever back in the UK once a month, my write-up each week keeps him in touch with the games and what is going on. This was music to my ears of course because it is for these very reasons that I do the blog. Barnsey was very much a hands-on sort of chap and a definite leader. He reminded me of Hannibal from The A Team because he's got a super head of grey hair and seemed to be the one who had the plan. All that was missing was the leather gloves and the big fat cigar!

I totally missed the actual names of the other teams in our group but can tell you that we had a team in Yellow, a team in Blue and a team wearing the full West Ham kit! We watched a decent enough game that saw Yellows beat West Ham 1-0 and then it was our turn against the Blues in our first game.

This was a match that in hindsight should have gone a whole lot better than it did. The good thing was that we didn't lose - but then, we didn't win either. The best we could manage was 0-0 in an encounter where we actually played some decent passing football. Sadly, we lost Phibsey after only two minutes when his thigh muscle popped when taking a corner. A really decent player with lots of energy and good pace too! We tried to keep the ball as much as possible and the heat was by this time scorching. Scottish John even went on a mazy wee run towards their box only to brought down just outside the area. The chance to do something from the free kick was wasted when the ball hit the wall and all of a sudden the first ten mins were up and it was half time. Our second half performance saw us have the lions share of the ball and we really should have scored on more than one occasion. I think Paul will hold his hands up because he scuffed a couple of decent chances and we were nearly undone when they almost nicked it in the dying seconds. I'd had a fairly quiet game, having only really touched the ball a couple of time in the whole match. I dealt with one rasping shot straight at me with no problems and then right at the end we were carved open from pushing a little too high up the pitch. Luckily the ball that was put through was just a tad heavy and Codsey, playing superbly in the heart of the back three, got back and hassled the opposing striker just enough as the ball sprang through to me. It was at a funny sort of height and I had visions of me fumbling it forward back into the path of their man. As it was I went to ground and decided to let it rebound off my my knee and fortunately it flew off to my left and was cleared to safety.

Nil-fucking-nil. Not the end of the world at all. I mean England always draw their first group game in any championship and then progress through don't they...?

So Jonesy arrived and we had a break while West Ham beat the Blues and then we were on for our second game against the Yellows. We all knew that whilst we had just played the weakest team in the group we were now probably coming up against the strongest.

This was definitely a tougher encounter and all of a sudden we just stopped playing. Balls shanked off knees, passes went astray and nothing seemed to run our way. We lost our passing game and just couldn't seem to get into the match. The Yellows dominated the play and we were literally chasing shadows. The heat was making us all fucked and in truth the break after our first game didn't help. It would have been much easier maybe if we been able to play straight through. We got to half time at 0-0 but my moment of the day did actually come in that first half. They attacked down our right and the ball ended up at the feet of one of them just inside my box. The shot that was unleashed was powerful and was flying over my head but I did manage to somehow get enough of a flick from my left hand to send it over the bar. Phew!

In spite of not actually threatening their goal I actually thought we were going to make it two 0-0 draws in a row but alas it wasn't to be. Yellows broke down our right and it was played across my six yard line where Mr. Attacker easily slipped the ball past me. I was pissed off because I wished I had scrambled over quicker and closed the angle better. The game finished 1-0 and with that it meant we had to beat West Ham to stand any chance of finishing second and going into the semi's.

Our lot were a bit jaded really going into the last match and the pace was somewhat slower from the off. Maybe they were fucked too?! Again, we were sloppy and again we just couldn't organise much of a threat on their goal. Nick and Jonesy were trying to run things from the midfield and Mark was doing well getting up and down our left but our final ball just never seemed to come off. Yet again though we got to half time at 0-0. Nick, absolutely went bonkers as we were giving the ball away loads and we knew we needed a goal from somewhere. Frustratingly, within two minutes of the restart there was a goal - from them. Their pressure on our goal paid off as a low shot from the edge of the area found its way low and hard just inside my left post. Could I have done better? I don't know. I saw it in plenty of time and if I was a few inches taller or had longer arms then maybe.

2-0 came a couple of minutes later when the ball flew was lashed in from my right and richoched of Nick's knee and literally flew in between my legs grazing my nuts on its way into the net.

And so that was it. Three games, one point, zero goals scored and three against. There had been talk of the losing sides going into a knockout for the 'plate' but the heat and dejected spirit of all the four teams that were 'out' meant that we didn't bother so instead we headed for the bar and free lasagna & chips.

There's nothing quite like an ice cold Magners on a scorching hot day. Some of us stayed and watched the Yellows get beaten in the final 2-1 by Winchmore Hill but most intriguing was the news that they had a bloke playing for them up front who had genuinely played for fucking Marseilles in the flaming Champions League!! No offence but that just takes the piss.

No Lev either this week which was a shame because I was hoping I could borrow his talc!

And so to a bit of housekeeping...

This weeks look-a-like must go to Alex 'Hannibal' Barnes.

I love it when a plan comes together.

And finally, I've put a poll up which I'd appreciate you selecting from. It's for which squad number you think should go on to the back of my goalkeeper shirt. Do make a selection please as well as popping yourself down as a follower of this blog. You can also write your email address into the strip on on the top right corner and you'll receive an alert whenever there is a new post.