Match reports

Report notes temporarily lost by El Capitano. Will update when/if found.

Latest update: The news is bad. The booklet containing the notes is now either nestled in landfill or being read by a bunch of builders. The latter scenario is slighty concerning as they

a: may try to pass of my doodles off as their own works of art

b: may well be sniggering at various personal writings that I’ve committed to paper over the years (it’s an old pad)

c: may discover the source of England’s grassroots problems and publish my description of our game in the comedy section of some Polish newspaper.

I had temporarily forgotten where I’d written the notes, breathed a sigh of relief when I found them, took the opportunity to read what I’d written and then used the pad for a shopping list whereupon it was discarded with the wrapping of the subsequent purchases. So the only information I recall from that brief reading is that Tufan went on a very long dribble all around the Red defence and all the while Reds getting more and more concerned that he would score at the end of it like one of those speeded up videos of Spain completing 57 passes in a row and rolling the ball into the net at the end, only with Tufan as the only participant. But he didn’t score. Red did, a lot. Colin, JP and Daniel combined well in a speedy attack for Red and I recall Ahmet firing from halfway into the empty net after Yellow had advanced en masse in the hope of restoring some parity.  Luckily I’m prompt with inputting the basic details into my spreadsheet so I at least have the teams and final score. The result isn’t a fair reflection of the game, it was much less one sided than the score suggests. I’m sorry that most of our efforts have been confined to the annals of history. However, this report could arguably be more riveting than the game itself….we’ll never know.

Red: Colin, JP, Ahmet, Daniel, Gerald
Yellow: John, Kevin, Martin, Toby, Tufan

Final score: Red 12 – 5 Yellow

Match abandoned. Only two people signed up (Daniel, Martin).

Match abandoned. Only three people signed up (Matt, Colin, Kevin).

Red: Keith, Colin, Daniel
Yellow: Kevin, Gerald, Steve, Martin

Believe! No, not in Bonnie. Us. And it worked too. Not a classic by any stretch of the imagination but lots of polite and relaxed conversation during the game amongst and between the teams, generally discussing the merits of male Romanian sopranos.
Low numbers so in comes the one touch rule and no scoring from your own half.
Both teams had a lead early on but Yellow began to pull away with the extra man. They recinded the rules for Red as the gap widened; firstly the half way scoring and then later on the one touch rule which helped a little bit. And then with an identical handball that had Red conceeded shortly before, Yellow conceeded a free kick in exactly the same position up the other end. Keith gently rolled the ball to Daniel whose shot hit the bar and bounced down and out to safety. Massive debate about whether it had crossed the line which it had but Yellow disagreed and offered a patronising half-goal.
Kevin got a tasty pile driver. The biggest margin was five goal advantage.

Final score: Yellow 13 – 11(½) Red

Match abandoned. Only three people signed up (Colin, JP, Daniel).

Match abandoned. Only two people signed up (JP, Daniel).

Red: Tufan, Oz, Daniel, Kevin, Richard, Toby
Yellow: Martin, Ahmet, Colin, Keith, Gerald

A great turnout after only one had confirmed by Thursday night. Yellow started with a man down.
There was only one goal in the first half, can’t recall who got it, sorry, bit out of sorts today, hangover etc etc. Yellow almost equalised when Gerald dribbled forward after a pass released both him and Colin beyond any defenders, two-on-one against the keeper. He timed his pass to perfection to Colin three yards out, leaving the keeper stranded…easy-peasy tap-in. Well that’s what should have happened only he scooped it over. He’ll have nightmares tonight.
A brief discussion about sides at half time resulted in nothing being changed. Yellow were quicker out the blocks, and Colin made no mistake, again a quick counter-attack releasing him down the middle and calmly dinking over the keeper, nice. He threatened another as well, eluding tackles to strike only for the ball to hit the post and roll across the goal to safety. Daniel saw Richard escape down the left wing and sprinted forward in support but Martin, alert to the threat, marked him yard for yard to meet the cross with perfect precision to chest it into his own net, 2-1.
Nervy stuff from both teams for a little while and then Daniel strode down the right wing and nutmegged the keeper with a tight-angled toe-poke. 3-1 and calm restored with ten minutes to go. But alas, it then became basketball. Yellow immediately replied with Ahmet getting on the scoresheet. Red restored the two goal lead, Ahmet banked another, Red again restored the gap and once again Ahmet fired in, a five minute hatrick. Too little too late though. And there was some right dodgy passing in there today, last week’s farce was better than this!

Final score: Red 5 – 4 Yellow

Us: Tufan, Martin, Kevin, Daniel, John, Richard, Keith, Joel, Chris
Them: Pete, Liam, James, Xavier, Alan, Prit, Gareth,

Yellow: Jeremy, JP, Jim, Richard N, Finbar, Jack, Paul, John, Gerald, Kevin
Red: James, Tufan, Julius, Keith, Rich, Ahmet, Daniel, Richard P, Toby, Martin

1. Basic confusion. The idea of costumes was for a PCFC Harlem Shuffle that never happened. Not for the game. This resulted in three people on the pitch with wigs. Jack with a mullet looks quite amusing. Even more so when the spectators who’d never met him thought it was real. James with two-foot long scarlet locks looked like Jane Goldman and then Tufan as Elvis.
2. What a turnout! 10-a-side!! Numbers not seen since the great cull of the mid 2000’s.

Final score: Red 2 – 2 Yellow

A large, dark metaphorical cloud hung over El Capitano as he lay in the B&B bed.
The wedding had been good, curry! The B&B was a little odd and the lady owner, though perfectly nice, certainly had the persona of someone with a stash of gin in every cupboard in the house. His kind of proprietor. Romsey was such a nice little town too.
No, the towering cumulonimbus was because she had promised to drive. Leave at 8am? No problem. The alarm had rung. They’d both woken. He’d packed his kit and was ready to endure two hours in the passenger seat listening to C90’s get even more warped in her cassette player whilst figuring out how to play in such a hungover state, such was his love for the team. But no, the love wasn’t shared. Two liquid sounding burps from the other side of the bed aroused his suspicion, the signs weren’t good. He wasn’t impressed.
But there was no humility. He would have let it go – she’d been very understanding of his Sunday absence on a regular basis – but when they eventually did get up and readied to leave, she came out of the bathroom with the immortal words….”I’d give it five minutes if I were you.”

Meanwhile, back at the ranch……

Report by Gerald.

Red:  Gerald, Oz, Ahmet, Keith, Kevin, Richard, Tufan, Stuart, Jim
Yellow:  The Others plus John

River run past Peckham and Rye, from green of common to park of cars brings us circuitously via cafe and playground to the Triangle and its environs.

The Others, turfed on homesoil with numberswelled, were still short a man, although no short men, and John of Greenwood redtop dispersed to don yellowtop and evens make the numbers whilst Reds felt only sunshine and warmth from a day of spring as beautiful as that day on the Howth peninsula when you said yes, and first you put your arms around me, yes, yes.

Richard in goal saves, saves, Ahmet and Richard (yes the same) and Kevin in defence toils, toils – none shall pass these three knights of the Nun’s Head, Except the tall others shot, piyannggpyannggg, and ball scurtling net bulging, yellows heads high, 1-0 the Others now lined in yellow lines waiting for match restart.

The longball from back to front, over the heads of waiting midfielders spurned by the flighting ball from Ahmet’s foot to Tufan’s knee.   Stuart, returned from absence long and heartfelt, turns and drifts from left to centre, Tufan collects and delivers the loving ball with sidefooting love into Yellow’s goal.  1-1.

The time of halves, drinking gluglguglguglguglgug, lungs emptying and refilling aching limbs eaoughapuffpuffeagluglguglgpehaowwhooauuhsouddgluglgug, Time Gentlemen Please.  Luncheons are to be had (did Jim enjoy his morning croissant?), and the Elite mix with the Precariat as at the last supper, the end of days and Ragnarok.

Elbows jab in second half, arms and palms in ribs and face, yellow’s joy is lost through red’s longball heaven. 2-1.  Heads go down amongst yellows, blame is lain, humours are lost, tempers are frain, stakes are raised. They attack in waves, heldback by the redoubtable Kevin, Richard, Ahmet. But resolute red stand, short of skill, greying at temples, perhaps, yes, but teamwork, fellowship and love of the cause make smilers of us all.  Tufan skips and scampers, Gerald, me, blisters in the chase, Keith and Oz spoil and harry in the centre and Ahmet’s longballs ping over heads and onto feet and into net. 3-1.

How do you do it? Yellows ask, as goals unravel and unwind, bags packed, goodbyes had.  Three shots, three goals – not a fair summary methinks, but the jist is made.  The difference is in the happiness of playing together, not whining and moaning at others, not snarling and scowling when mistakes are made, but enjoying the green the blue, the sky, the trees, the jokes and hangovers.  Love is the difference, that’s all.

Final score: Red 3 – 1 Yellow