my life as a artist
football again
Sunday 19th August 2007 10:02 PM
Over the summer, every Thursday night, I've been playing five-a-side football in the university sports hall, with my Corinthians over thirty-five team mates. (that is to say we're all over thirty-five years of age, not that there's over thirty-five of us playing. When that happens, we go into Heslington village and challenge the locals to 'chasing half a goat up and down the main street')
This coming Sunday sees the first fixture of our new season, against Hardly Everton over 35's, and I'm a bit worried I've got too used to a smooth playing surface, and might struggle on the bumpy unpredictability of a grass pitch, so yesterday morning I had a kick-around in the field, with Jimmy the donkey and Molly the Shetland pony, and some of the chickens.
Jimmy, Molly and two Old English bantams took on me and three silkies. (the geese wanted to play, but under a joint FIFA and MAAF ruling, they're all serving six month bans for violent conduct and hissing) A silky is a breed of chicken that appears to be a cross between an exotic French dancer and a poodle called 'Fifi', and by just looking at my new team mates, I knew they weren't going to play with any of the fierce determination or physicality of a Roy Keane or a Patrick Viera. They didn't have the attention span to stick to a 1-1-1-1 formation, nor did they have the technical skills to play in the free-form, fluid as jazz style, known as 'total football', as exemplified by the Brazilians and Jimmy.
I expected Jimmy, as a donkey, to play at centre half and adopt a long ball game, but he surprised us all by playing up front, sometimes as a maverick lone striker, and sometimes in the hole just behind the front chicken, and with good hooves for a big animal, allied to pace and power, he was quite a handful for the silkies.
It was a clean, fast-flowing game, and at the end of the day, Gary, the score was immaterial because a) it's the beauty of the game and the spirit in which it's played that's most important, and b) we lost 4-2. Some of the goals, in my opinion, and probably Alan Green's, were inconclusive, mainly due to a badly delineated touchline and the fact that we were using cow-pats for goalposts.
THREE DAYS LATER
This morning we ( meaning The Corinthians over 35's, and any readers of this blog, who without present affiliation to any football team, might like to dip their cyber-toe into the semi-divine folly of football sectarianism), managed to beat Almost Neverton, 5-0. We hired a football pitch from the university that was as flat and moist as the fens, thus rendering my pre-match training on the muddy Pennine ridges of a farmers field, as irrelevant. All the goals were scored by our centre-forward, Bustling Brian, half amiable teddy bear and half assassin.
Except for a shot off the post and a goal assist, my own performance was fairly undistinguished. A few times in the second half, our industrious midfielder, Sergeant Vic, shouted at me, partly for not moving into space and demanding the ball, but mainly for being a vegetarian.
'Who's Alan Green?' an overseas reader might ask, at once curious, and at the same time disappointed that I'm writing about football again. Alan Green commentates on the football on Radio 5 live, which every weekend goes out on the world service, and his voice is thus heard in Alaska, Albania and Algeria, Chad, China and Chunisia, Bali, Mali, Malawi, and so many other places, that I'm sure 'overseas reader' could hear him if they wanted. I listened to him commentating on the Liverpool Chelsea match, this afternoon, while I was painting.
Alan Green was so scornful and cruel to the referee, who in his humanity had erred, that my heart welled with compassion for him. (the beleaguered official that is, not Alan Green)
The referees need to be dispassionate and unaffiliated can sometimes lead to feelings of alienation and isolation, and if unchecked, to a terrible, soul-crushing loneliness. They are at their most vulnerable just after a bad decision, and instead of berating them, players would contribute more to the sum of world happiness, by hugging them and forgiving them. Sometimes, referees just wants to be held.
Comments
I know who Alan Green is! though often I can't understand what his broad brogue. But more to the point, where are you, Rory? Your devoted readers need you. And some of your other readers do too.
Posted by overseas reader , on Monday 27th August 2007, 6:12 PM
No Rory, you're wrong about referees. Who in their right mind opts to be a ref rather than a player. They are not normal and should be treated as such.
Posted by Lesw Miserable , on Monday 20th August 2007, 7:42 PM
Isn't Alan Green a Reverend now? I used to have some of his records.
Posted by Steve , on Monday 20th August 2007, 7:34 AM
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