Red (8): Oz, James, Jeremy, Colin, Richard P, James C, Jim M, Jim N
Yellow (7): JP, Jack, Daniel, Steve, Ed, Darren, Joe
I say BE, you say LIEVE.
Me: “Be”
You: “Lieve”
Me: “Be”
You: “Lieve”
Conditions: Brrrrr. Cold, wintery, icey, frosty. Hard ground with three or four inches of snow. But have we ever called a game off for climactic reasons? No siree.
DING DONG! 15 men, strong and true, (apart from a small minority who got hammered the night before who shall remain nameless) did believe and turned up on Peckham Common to play the stupidest crazy game of football. You could feel the love – if there had been mistletoe, it may have got offensive.
The equal highest turnout this year (the 11 a-side attracting the same number) and it’s a surprise we only lost one to injury on the snowy ground. The other team are clearly a bunch of pansies and didn’t show up so we took Joe, the only upright and hardy man amongst them clearly, under our wing. It wasn’t a surface for deft touches, nor was it right for stringing together more passes than fingers on your hand, with one or two amputated. The teams were chosen on the assumption that the numbers were even. They weren’t. Poor mathematics, must do better. So if Yellow started at a disadvantage, it was a further crime against team selection to include all of the aforementioned hammered minority in their team (slightly less nameless).
So after Daniel had marked out the pitched with his graffiti spray, the uneven line reflecting his hungover state, the scrappy game began. A non-descript first few minutes was broken by Red putting in the first goal and then slowly pulling away to a four goal lead without reply. An astonishing passage (given the conditions) of interlinking one touch stuff between James, Jim N and maybe one other player ending in a goal was the best of the bunch. James C (get well soon sir) walked off mid-way through the half with back strain. Yellow didn’t crumble and started knocking on the door with Darren running onto a cross and letting fly with a rocket but sadly off target. They did reply though with one just before then break.
They were more resolute too in the second half and got to within one goal with Steve getting the third, receiving a lose ball, settling himself with one touch and driving into the low far corner with composure. JP was frustrated in his dragbacks on the slippy surface or maybe his inebriated eyes couldn’t determine where his white leggings ended and the snow began. Richard P managed to achieve the hitherto unseen skill (in the whole world of footballing hisotory I proffer) of conceeding a corner from a goal kick. Yes, that means he inadvertently kicked the ball behind his own goal line directly from a goal kick. Amazing. I salute you sir! Jim N skied a shot from 3 yards out, it was bound for the moon. Oz tried to copy him shortly afterwards but his effort was slightly less impressive. The game, if at all possible, became even scrappier as both teams went for the win. Jack (who has clearly decided that he wants more than just one poppadum and a teaspoon of chutney) got a neat volley on target but Richard P dived down to palm the shot away for a tasty save. Maybe if Jack had gone home earlier the night before he might have been successful. A series of repetitive Yellow corners and throw ins from Steve were defended resolutely with Jeremy heading the ball back from whence it came at least 4 times. Finally yet another pass didn’t make it’s target and Red broke away with four men and James duly popped in the fifth goal five minutes before the whistle to kill off hope of a Yellow comeback.
Red almost rubbed salt in the wounds but as Oz pulled back his leg to shoot, Richard P called time so the ball rolled in too late.
Final score: Red 5 – 3 Yellow
A very HAPPY CHRISTMAS to you all.
A prize to the first who can name the 3 members of the drunk minority……?