Men's 3rd XI: He Will Always Be Appreciated

Thirty-seven years ago a mate at school told me to make sure to listen to John Peel tonight, because he would be playing a session from a band called The Fall, who he thought I might like. The session opened up with a song called The Container Drivers, and a few bars in my 17-year-old head was reeling. An absolute cacophonous din like nothing I had ever heard before, it wasn’t in tune, it wasn’t in time, and the vocalist couldn’t sing to save his life. So, naturally, today my shelf groans under the weight of 43 albums and a dozen or so singles, and I’ve notched up around fifteen gigs, I forget how many exactly. They’ve been producing the most outrageous, brilliantly original music I have ever heard, they have been doing so continuously throughout literally my entire adult life, and just 7 days ago I was idly wondering when they were going to rearrange that cancelled concert from November that I still had a ticket for.

I grew to love that band with an obsession that I find almost impossible to communicate to anyone who simply sees a band who cannot play, fronted by a singer who cannot sing, and whose lyrics make no conceivable sense to anyone. Or, as such people might be more succinctly described, the overwhelming majority of the human race. So, along with the other 49,999 Fall fans on the planet, it’s fair to say that this week has been a real bummer with the death of singer, driving force and inspiration Mark E Smith on Wednesday. Still trying to get to grips with the notion that I will never again buy a new Fall album and spend weeks and months working out exactly where in the pantheon it belongs, and that never again will I travel to a Fall gig, nervously but excitedly wondering what the bloody hell they are going to serve up for us this time.

I don't expect anyone else to care about any of this, but the point is that I really, really needed a quality fix from my other life-long addiction on Saturday. And boy oh boy did I get one. There is really nothing finer for a skipper than to see his team put in a really poor performance in the first half, to tell them what they need to do about it in the second, and to then see them go out and do exactly that and win the game. And that is pretty much what we did this week.

Maybe it was because it was already getting dark when we started playing. Maybe it was because we were mentally in The Brook wondering whether we could squeeze in that 15th sausage. Maybe the start time had played havoc with our meticulous nutritional preparation, or maybe we just didn't warm up properly. But whatever it was we were sluggish, sloppy and simply not good enough throughout the first half. I blame the forwards actually. Less than 5 minutes in, and Garth had the ball out on the right of the goal, pinged it across the face and there was Will bundling it home at the far post, far too early into the game. So we beat these guys at our place, we're 1-0 up already at theirs, so obviously we brought out the chaises longues, reclined langorously with the cigars and a particularly fine Armagnac, and simply waited for the points to fall into our expectant laps.

Obviously, this failed to happen. The points that is, not the cigars. We seemed to forget that we had won the home match by playing a high tempo game rather than waiting for it to happen, and Saints climbed back into this match pretty quickly. Their junior players in particular were noticeably stronger than when we last met, and we were suddenly second to the ball all over the park and going nowhere in particular. So it was no big surprise when midway through the half Saints pulled it back level by rounding off a fluid move with a very decent turn and shot. 1-1 and looking like we would do well to hang on for a point.

Thankfully the forwards redeemed themselves for having scored too early, and managed to repeat pretty much the same move and the same result in the last 5 minutes of the half. So it stayed for a rather undeserved lead at half time.

The gist of the half-time team talk was a good old-fashioned buck your ideas up and let's at least look like we are trying to win. Maybe for example we could treat free hits as an opportunity to launch an attack rather than a chance to take a break and get our breath back. And rather pleasingly, we did exactly that straight from the restart. The tempo was duly upped, we started setting the pace instead of responding to it, and before too long Matthew was notching a trademark goal, going in where it hurts against the keeper and knocking a pass from Garth past him and into the net for 3-1.

We continued to have most of the possession for the rest of the half, before setting up a "You Are The Umpire" session late on. We won a PC, and one of the defenders broke early. Off he trotted to the halfway line, so far so straightforward. We re-injected, Rob trapped, and Garth flicked it into the on-rushing defender and hit him above the knee. So, reader, what's your call? Yes indeed, a free hit to the defence for dangerous play. But hold on, that only applies if the defender was within 5m of the striker at the time. A lively debate therefore ensued as to what the actual distance was, but in my totally objective opinion the umpire was correct that it had been slightly more than 5m and he awarded us another PC.

Saints now lined up with the full 4 defenders plus the keeper on the line. So, reader, happy with that? Actually, this is where the skipper made his second most valuable contribution of the afternoon, by pointing out that the ball had not left the D so it was a re-taken corner and so the defence were still allowed only 3 defenders. Man, we do have some good talking points down in the 3's. So we lined up again, Garth injecting this time. I was expecting us to exploit the 5 v 3 overload to work a shot from close in, but Mike Jnr totally ruined the planned routine by dragging it straight into the bottom right corner for 4-1.

The game was now done, but we did have time for one more. Garth showed his sniffer instincts by pressing a square pass from a 16, and managed to intercept and accelerate into a wide open gap between the two remaining defenders. The famous Hanlon wobble was now in full flow, though these days the term does not refer to hand speed or stick movement. The keeper in front of him, Will to his left, the crowd on their feet with bated breath, and time seemingly standing still. With commendable aplomb, Garth drew in the keeper, slipped it square to his left, and Will may have made it look a bit more spectacular than he needed to, sliding it home with an acrobatic somersault with two twists at the far post. But an excellent hat-trick there Will, all of them thanks to being in the right place at the right time and showing a cool head to finish. Great striker's instinct, and you have convinced me never again to ask if you fancy a go at right midfield.

Those of you who have been reading closely (actually I am impressed if you are still reading at all by this point) will have noticed that Garth can claim a full 5 assists for our 5 goals this week. There was no way I was going to fail to get that into the report, it is seared into my brain thanks to repeated mention, but well played mate, no goals this week but you certainly kept us moving going forward and the 5th was a poacher's masterpiece.

I also cannot let it pass without comment that the skipper got a stern talking to from the umpire for letting slip a rude word for the male anatomy in response to firing a shot wide of the post. The umpire was not impressed by my defence that I was seeking an adjective for the match report which would perfectly describe the shot, and that my chosen epithet was pretty much on the money. Sorry everyone.

So, my all-time rock and roll hero is dead, and hockey keeps on rocking along. Neither has ever failed to deliver when I need them. See you next week.