Don't Go!

Hello and a very warm welcome back to your weekly (usually) match report and general round-up from Friday night’s goings on in Coram Fields. Owing to overrunning building work on my house I was freed up to play this week, which was a pleasant surprise. Here are your two teams:

Yellows: the prodigal Liam, me, Tony, Ed, Joe, Nick (sans beard), Mario, Nick (the bearded variety), Steve

Blues: Ross, Ian Baggies, Danny, Peter, Patrick, chirpy Tom, Alessandro (one of Mario’s mates), Mick and Simon Gas

As you can read, nine aside there. Obviously, not everyone turned up at 7.00 pm with Mick running late, as was Peter, who seems to have a touch of the Yevs about him insofar as timekeeping goes.

In fact Mick’s tardiness was arguably to blame for the first goal – argued by Simon Gas in the pub, that is – as Liam marked his first game back after his mid-season Aiton-induced break with the first of four goals. The jinky Scotsman, put on the same team as Steve to safeguard team spirit, enjoyed a highly fruitful partnership with Joe’s mate Nick, who is one of the more gifted players we’ve seen grace the astro turf in recent times. Despite the Blue team having two colossi in Peter and Patrick, it was the diminutive triumvirate of Mario, Liam and Nick that did most of the damage for the Yellows as the soared into a four goal lead, with Liam bagging all of them.

That’s not to say that the Yellows were dominating play – far from it - but they struggled to get past Joe and Steve at the back who were providing cover for sometime specialist goalkeeper Ed. However, hope was at hand for the Blues as I took over in nets and the Yellows’ first goal soon followed – Patrick managed to get the better of Joe in an aerial tussle and gently slipped the ball past me and inside the near post. 4-1.

Then came the moment that the game will be remembered for. Nick was adjudged to have handled inside the area, as the ball was blasted at him from a distance of about three yards and he instinctively shielded his face with his upstretched arms. I wasn’t convinced that he was inside the area, but Nick himself called the penalty and there was little dispute – little that is apart from Tony, who, I think it’s fair to say, went ballistic. 

Tony wasn’t in the best of moods, having earlier accused the Blues of deploying unashamedly agricultural tactics in order to take advantage of their twin towers, i.e. Peter and Patrick, who have a collective height of just under 654 foot. But the award of the penalty pushed the working man’s champion into apoplexy. 

Exclaiming that he ‘didn’t play with cheats’ at least three times, Tony flung down his Yellow bib and stormed off. Despite the plaintive cries of “don’t go!”, “we need you!” and, from Liam, “get back on the fucking pitch now!”, he loped off to the changing rooms with an air of melancholy hanging around his hunched shoulders.

Peter duly dispatched the ensuring penalty (happily, he placed it into the corner rather than kicking it as hard as he could at the keeper, as I feared). 4-2. Could the Blues hold out having gone down to eight men?

When Peter hammered the ball into the far corner from an acute angle shortly afterwards the smart money was on a comeback of Barcelonaesque proportions, (dodgy penalties and all). But Nick scored what turned out to be the winning goal with a deft, calm and composed finish inside the post to make it 5-3. Bearded Nick also thundered the crossbar with a tremendous effort from around twenty yards and Ed had a great chance to put the game completely out of reach but went for the wrong side of the post when one on one with the ‘keeper. The Blues did get one more goal via Ross, who outpaced me and Steve to run onto a through ball and poke the ball past Liam, but that was the end of the scoring for the evening. 

Final score: Yellows 5 – Blues 4

A relatively puny turn-out at the pub this week, although we were gifted the presence of Danny for all of one ascetic lime and soda. Myself, Ross, Simon and the Kavanaghs discussed late 80’s / early 90’s indie greats the House of Love and comeback gigs in general, the mysterious rules of Rugby Union and maudlin Celtic folk songs. 

That’s all folks – see you Friday. 

Any of you muesli munching, sandal-wearing north London ponces who read The Guardian may have already seen this, but for those of you who take other national titles, here’s a great piece from former Loaded editor James Brown about the glories of five aside football.