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Fourth Official

Pic of the week 19/5/19

And so the season ends.

On arrival at Cheddar FC it soon became apparent that my role for the night was to reduce the average age and waistline of the officiating team.

I’ve never been a Fourth Official before and my extensive briefing on my appointment mainly centered around the use of the electronic board for subs and time keeping, and I was advised to arrive in plenty of time to familiarise myself with this magical bit of kit. However, it transpired that the board broke the night before and it looked like I would simply be a glorified ball boy, with little else to do than roll on a new ball when, inevitably, the one in use was fired high, wide and ugly into the Cheddar night.

And that was how it was, until after about 20 mins the ref missed an obvious stamp on a Huish player in their area. Player on the ground in pain, ball rolls to a Hutton attacker who scores to make it 1-0.

Cue the explosion from the Huish bench, so I don my blue UN Peackeeper beret and head over to calm them down.

Two minutes later, a crunching tackle on a Hutton defender has the other bench in high dudgeon and so the tone is set for the rest of my evening: scurrying and shuttling between two benches, calming & cajoling increasingly irate managers and subs. I did find some success when I pointed out that the ref couldn’t be biased as both sides were equally upset with him. Imagine, if you will, being a supply teacher looking after a class of angry year 11’s at one end of the corridor, and a class of belligerent year 9’s at the other.

As for the game, Jack’s best friend (the tattooed monster of Huish) was not playing and, to be fair, Huish were, on the whole, a good bunch.  Hutton had one player sent off (x 2 yellow cards for dissent) but emerged as 1-0 winners.

I’d like to say football was the winner, but I’d probably be lying.

Nevertheless, and I can’t explain why, I rather enjoyed the experience.

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Legend v Huish Tigers (H)

I blame the ref. 

Over the last few years running the Legends football team, I have become used to receiving a text or email on a Sunday morning from one of our brave brethren withdrawing from the fixture in the face of broken toe nail (McEwan) or other similar ailments that afflict we men of a certain age. 

But yesterday was a new one on me, with the ref contacting me to cry off. I tried several possible replacements, but for some reason no-one I knew wanted to take up the offer of policing 24 old blokes at 9 in the morning (old time). No ref equals no game, so the only solution was for yours truly to take the whistle and, no doubt, responsibility for the four goals we conceded.  (I have a theory (excuse?) that football doesn’t really want perfect referees as, if every decision was correct, and known to be correct, players and managers would have to take responsibility for their own faults, failings and shortcomings.) 

But I digress.  

The tale of today’s game begins last Wednesday, following the Staff v Leavers game when our very own Prince Charming – aka Michael Gorman – was seen trying to reunite a single boot with its owner but, alas, his Cinderella was to allude him and this morning Jack Jarvis elected to play with his one good boot and another that had seen better days. But it did not hamper his twinkle toes as he danced his way across the pitch (until being brutally, and unceremoniously felled by one of the ugly sisters on the edge of the box.) 

Three young (all terms are relative) men attained legend status by making their debuts: early doors, wide on the left flank, Ben Percival shimmied past his opposite number, and drove infield. He saw the path to goal clear in front of him, he saw glory as he unleashed his shot, he saw the ball sail … harmlessly past the goal. Tempted by the promises of watching some tigers on the prowl, our answer to Gareth Bale made his first (and, sadly, last?) appearance in a Millfield shirt, yellow boots bright against the green, green grass of home. And rocking a rather fetching combo of white boots teamed with purple socks, Steve DuPlessis proved himself a valuable utility player – playing in pretty much every position on the pitch, including two successful spells in goal. 

And we mustn’t forget our faithful fans – it was great to see the Legend’s Legend Geoff Cottell once again turning up to watch and support us. 

As the final whistle blows on the season, one is reminded of Jigme Singye Wangchuck, the fourth King of Bhutan. 

In the seventies he (wisely) declared that national happiness is more important than GDP. We may not have finished top of the table, we may have conceded more than we scored, we may have not won a match.  I haven’t kept count, but I reckon circa 25 veterans have enjoyed a game or few of football this season, and if you have enjoyed it, then job done. Thank you for your time and support this season – it has been a journey made wonderful by the companions who have travelled it with me. 

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Legends v Castle Cary (a) 17/2/19

 

You can’t win anything with kids … 

… but you might win with Trevis in goal. 

Those who made the journey to Castle Cary were treated to a one man masterclass in the art of goalkeeping. Clearly channeling the spirit of the late, lamented, Gordon Banks, DJT threw himself around the goalmouth with the abandon of a man released from silent shackles of the library.  

Low shots, high shots, in-swinging corners and whipped in crosses: our man was a match for them all. It was a sight to behold, for unless you had seen it with your own eyes, you would not believe the brilliance we witnessed today. The Libraryman truly ascended to Legend status today. 

So, with such a performance we must surely have won? Sadly, no. Despite the heroic efforts of our number 1, we still lost 4-1. To coin a cliché, it was a game of two halves.  

The first few minutes saw some keystone cop comedy football at both ends, with the ball bouncing here, there and everywhere, except into the goal – true Sunday morning football. However, the game settled down and we found our composure, sometimes surprising ourselves with the time we had, and we began to play our brand of calm, collected, sophisticated football, building from the back. Our pressure was rewarded when a Whatling cross from the right was rifled home. Again, in true Sunday morning fashion, it was not one of our players who struck the ball so sweetly into the onion bag, but a Cary defender who lashed it past his helpless keeper. Half time saw us lead one-nil. 

The start of the second half, and it soon became apparent we had a mountain to climb. Literally. The pitch slopped significantly down towards our goal, the right corner flag being, perhaps, some six feet lower than the centre circle. Unable to effectively clear and gain any respite, the opposition launched wave upon wave of attacks, peppering our goal with vicious, swirling shots. But time and again our hero of the hour was more than a match, leaping to his left, racing to his right, diving at the feet of an oncoming striker to thwart their every effort. 

We began to hope, the opposition to despair. Perhaps this was to be our, to be Dave’s, day. But alas, no. Eventually the unstoppable force overcame the immovable object and the home side headed home to level the scores. And as the cracks in the damn began to widen, DJT could not keep plugging all the holes and eventually the trickle became a surge and three more times the master was beaten. 

It was a fantastic, and thoroughly enjoyable, game of football. Many thanks to all who played, and particular thanks to those youngsters: – Joe, Robin & Dan – who answered the call to swell our numbers in our hour of need. 

And, on a final note, I feel vindicated. In the run up to today’s game my keeper selection had been questioned: “why don’t you play Len Bond?” was a question asked more than once. Jake “The Cat” Mawford was asking to once again play between the sticks. But one man’s magnificent performance today will live long in the memory of all who took to that south Somerset pitch today.

 

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Legends v Ashcott 6/1/19

Pic of the week 6/1/19

Every Day’s A School Day

A new year, a new term and two new faces gracing the pitch and achieving Legend status.

A new year, a new term but the same old perennial question of would we have eleven, come 11 am?

McEwan had mis-read the memo – a vague recollection about committing to the vets on Sunday saw him in Wellington getting treatment for his dog Charlie rather than lining up alongside his brothers in arms on the 4G pitch at Strode. No problem, the last minute arrival of new signing Tom Churchill saw us kick off with eleven men.

Playing on a 4G pitch is wonderful. The ball runs true, the bounce is always even, the weather no barrier to play. They are the future of football. Unfortunately, we are the (pre) History of football and lacking the leveler of an un-level pitch we were soon found out by an opposition who play week in, week out, knew where each other was, knew how to string passes together and knew the route to our goal.

Débutante Dave was magnificent in goal, frustrating the opposition on many an occasion but even he could not keep out a thunderous volley and hammered header. We found ourselves four nil down at half time, having been comprehensive schooled in the art of football.

The second half began in a more positive tone, as we began to find and exploit space; ironically, our defence became more fluid, making it more solid, and for some time neither side could break the deadlock. But, inevitably, our fluid solid defence ultimately led to confusion and Ashcott netted a couple more, without reply. When Peabody saw his blistering, dipping, swirling 30 yard free kick tipped athletically over the bar by the keeper at full stretch it looked as if we were destined not to trouble the scorer.

But that would be to dismiss our new signing. Following a magnificent goal saving block from Mo, the ball fell to Paul W deep in our half. He looked up, and pinged an inch perfect 40 yard pass to the waiting feet of Tom Churchill, who gathered calmly, ghosted past a defender, swept into the box and finished with aplomb, drilling the ball low and hard into the bottom corner.

The opposition managed another goal, before the final whistle blew. Every day’s a school day – we had learned our lesson from a well skilled, well drilled opposition. We lost the first half 4-0, the second 3-1: definite, measurable progress has been made.

Ashcott 7 Millfield 1

*The pic is a shot I took in November(?) at Abbey More Stadium, Glastonbury, not Strode Astro, where we played today.

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Geoff Cottell needs a dog

Pic of the week 11/11/18

Geoff Cottell needs a dog.

As a young man, say 35 or 45, I dreamt of playing in front of packed stadium. As one mellows and matures into more advanced years, as I edge (stumble, limp, hobble) towards my half century I am more realistic in my aspirations and now I am happy to play the beautiful game in front of one man and his dog. It was great to see the Legend’s legend that is Geoff Cottell come and support us today – if only he’d had a dog, my day would have been complete.

We call ourselves “Legends” and play in the “Veterans” league but today, of all days, it was humbling to share a minute of remembrance and reflect that it is only because of the sacrifice of so many true legends who never made it to veteran status that we enjoy all that we do.

It was a beautiful, sunny Sunday morning and we welcomed Middlezoy Rovers to our green, green grass of home at Kingweston. The game began with both sides playing cagey, controlled football, probing, seeking weakness that were not there, both defences proving solid and assured, our back four snuffing out danger at its first hint. At the other end, we looked threatening, but couldn’t quite put together that final precision pass to unlock a well drilled opposition defence. Perhaps against the run of play, a communication cock up at the back let the opposition in to steal a goal. Heads didn’t drop, we continued to pass and play, giving a display of cultured, considered football and we dominated the remainder of the first half, but without bagging an equaliser.

The second half continued in similar vein until, 10 minutes in, we won a free kick ten yards outside the box. The big men stepped up, players jostled for position, runs and feints were made. Not interested in these antics, Andrew C-D simply stepped up and struck the ball sweetly, oh so sweetly, into the top right hand corner. 1-1.

At this point AJW demonstrated why he is SLT material. With the hoi polloi of both sides gasping what they feared may be their last having run around for the best part of an hour, up rocked Whatling, fresh as a daisy, to join us for the last 25 minutes, to show us how its done. But despite the introduction of our impact sub, we still couldn’t convert possession into goals.

And then the unthinkable happened, the opposition snatched another with five minutes to go. 1-2.

Spurred into (even more) action, we pressed, and pressed again. Andrew C-D broke down the right and neared the bye-line. Peabody was hammering into the box, six yards from the goal line. A simple sideways pass and even your aging author couldn’t miss. Andrew looked up, shaped to pass but then he saw, he realised. He knew. Pass it to Peabody and even he couldn’t fail to score. He would then gather the ball from the net, quit whilst he was ahead and retire from football forever, closing down the Legends XI as he left the field of play. So, prioritising the long term over short term gains, Andrew took the shot himself, only to see the ball gathered by the grateful keeper.

And so it looked destined that we would be denied any points. But no. A late free kick swung into the box – white strikers took turns to shoot but fail to score, blue defenders took turns, but failed to clear. After watching this comedy, keystone cops football for what seemed an age, a calm, collected Richard Bradshaw decided enough was enough and stepped up to prod the ball home from 8 yards to secure a deserved draw. 2-2

A great morning’s football, witnessed by one man (minus his dog) (My only concern about getting Geoff a dog is that it would savage our debutante keeper – Jake “The Cat” Mawford.)

First point of the season (which means I can now successfully tick off my PDR target for the year) – next game an away fixture v Aschott, a team still licking their wounds following a 4-0 mauling at the hands (paws?) of Huish Tigers, Sunday 9th December.

Millfield Legends 2 Middlezoy Rovers 2

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Match Report – Legends v South Cheriton (a)

Pic of the week 21/10/18

Match report (nothing to do with the pic above!)

You could have chosen to spend your Sunday morning in bed, surrounded by the morning papers, toast and marmalade. You could have chosen to listen to Marr try and wheedle out a half-truth from a lying politician. Or, as fourteen brave, brilliant souls chose to do, you could have witnessed the bright dawn of a new season of Legends football.

With a squad – yes, a squad – of fourteen, there were selection headaches to go with any self-inflicted headaches from the night before. But the first five minutes suggested the lineup was good. With the last, lingering strands of mist still swirling across the dew-laden grass, new man Simon C drifted into the box like a willow-the-wisp to put us a goal up. A goal that was straight out of the Mawford coaching manual.

Reacting first to the danger, Paul Sequin nicked in from right back to steal the ball from a Cheriton attacker. Having won the ball, it was zipped across the back four before being unleashed to the waiting Whatling down the left hand side. The ball was worked well with crisp, neat passing before Simon was found in the box and he finished with aplomb. 1-0.

From the restart the greens made their strategy clear: lump it up to the big man up front. “Deano” (the big man up front) had a good first touch, acting as a pivot to bring his team mates into to play, but Steve P marshalled the back line with a calm efficiency, reducing the opposition to taking pot shots  at Shane Potts in goal, who coped with all that was thrown at us.

A few dodgy offside decisions and a strong penalty shout denied saw us fail to extend the margin before half time, but we went it deserving of our one goal lead.  Half time saw some tactical changes to accommodate tiring legs; “Clean Sheet” Potts swapped the keeper’s jersey with “Leaky Sieve” Peabody, and the second half kicked off.

For a while we struggled to gel into new positions, but we weathered a stream of green attacks, and always looked dangerous when we exploited the width of the pitch.  However, midway through the half, we failed to effectively clear, the ball breaking to a Cheriton player who struck it sweetly, the ball moving away from the keeper’s flailing hands and into the net. 1-1.

But not for long. From the kick off, Andrew C-D collected the ball, beat five men, beat another seven, then went back round the first five just for good measure before calmly slotting home to restore our advantage. 2-1.

As legs tired on both sides, space opened it up and either team could have added to their tally. Greens won a free kick just outside the box on the right hand side. The taker nicked a couple of yards, seen only by himself & the keeper, giving himself a better angle and he whipped in a curling attempt at goal. Between the posts, Peabody flapped and could only tip the ball onto the bar. A green head nodded the rebound goalwards, Peabody again tipped the ball onto the bar, but here his luck ran out as it fell kindly for a green tap in. 2-2.

We pressed on, the better footballing side, trying to once again take the lead. But the opposition broke, and broke at pace. Together Peabody, Pockett & Potts were able to withstand the attack, combining to send the ball off the side for a throw. But like a green tsunami, Cheriton continued to surge forward whilst tired white legs drifted back like the mornings mist.  A quick throw in, and our defence was outnumbered, overwhelmed and unable to prevent the Greens taking the lead for the first time. 2-3

We didn’t give up: Andrew auditioned for an Oscar and Whatling practised his judo moves, but it was all to no avail and, as the final whistle blew, we trudged off feeling hard done by to have lost.

But the score matters not a jot. It was a beautiful day for the beautiful game. The simple pleasures of chasing a lump of leather around a pitch is not a joy shared – or understood – by all, but all those present today understand and shared in a magnificent morning.

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Legends v Wells City 30/9/18

A game of two halves 

After the long, hot summer the 2018-19 Legends season kicked off with a nine goal thriller at Wells City. 

A new season, but sadly the same old story. 10:45 am (for an 11am kick off) and we had enough – just – for a five-a-side team. The “squad” of 14 that had been penciled in at Thursday lunchtime had thinned considerably. By kick off time we had reached double figures, borrowed a player from the opposition and kicked off the eleven a-side season. 

Wells probed early, testing our newly constituted back four, who quickly gelled into an effective unit, Paul S and Geoff C at full back funneling the opposition strikers to be broken against the center back pairing of Steve P and Paul W.  As team mates learned each other’s names and positions established, it started to become apparent that we are not a bad side. 

With the solid foundation of a sound back four, new boys Simon C and Dean M orchestrated the midfield, utilising the width provided by Shane P and Richard B, and AJW floated freely up top. Before long, crisp, precise passing unlocked the home side’s defence and we went one up. It wasn’t all one-way traffic, but storms were weathered and sabres blunted before we netted for a second time, and our dominance began to grow. Half time approached and we looked good to be going in to the break two up, but no, Shane P shimmied and sashayed into the box only to be pulled back by a desperate blues back. Penalty! Dispatched with calm aplomb, half time whistle, 3-0 up. 

Half time and forced tactical adjustments – AJW had sustained an injury and gamely agreed to carry on in the keeper’s jersey (we had no subs, remember). Wells also took the opportunity to make some changes, bringing on three 34 year olds in the longest pre-season ever, blooding them in this friendly to introduce them to legends football ready for next season. Five minutes in, and one of the youngsters launched a fierce, unstoppable, drive from the edge of the box to peg one back.  Shortly after, AJW pulled off a fantastic save, but it was clear he was struggling with injury and, after Wells’ second he was forced to retire.  

We were down to ten men, and facing a fit, fast threesome up front – this was now only ever going to end one way. And it did. At the final whistle we trooped off defeated, but unbowed, the wrong end of a 6-3 score line. We had no answer for their extra player (although, very kindly, when 6-3 up, with 5 minutes to go, our hosts did offer us another player, who was hobbling even more than the wounded Whatling.)

But the score doesn’t matter. All of us who took to the pitch had looked Old Father Time squarely in the eye and said “not yet” as he tried to scythe away our playing days. To my fellow brothers in arms who took to field of green alongside me today, I say “Thank you” and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. 

And there’s always next week. 

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Match Report – Legends v Wedmore (Home)

Match day morning, and I awoke with my normal sense of trepidation. Not because of the potential for poor performance on my part (that is, as ever, a given), no my early morning worries stem from the dreaded “beep” of technology announcing another texted cancellation.

I had gone to bed the night before on the cusp of a complete team sheet – 10 confirmed “legends” and a couple of possibles. Half term had robbed me of the opportunity to persuade one or two waverers, but I had just about hit the magic number. But as I munched my pre-match muesli & banana my phone went ping, and then ping again as players began to cancel. We are good, I was confident it was a winnable game, but with only 9 on the pitch … it was going to be a tough task …

Fast forward an hour or two and, following delicate negations that would grace the halls of the UN, we kicked off with a full 11, having borrowed two players from the opposition. We began to exert our dominance. Schooled on the billiard table like pitches of our Kingweston home, we were able to stroke the ball amongst the back line, seeking, probing, for a weakness in the Wedmore ranks, exploding forward with elan and panache when opportunity arose. Sat at the heart of the defence, I was struck by the skillful, cultured football that was being played out in front of me. It was like watching Manchester City in slow motion.

But possession is naught, if you can’t make it count, and we couldn’t.

Sadly, the opposition could. Seizing upon a ricochet, the Wedmore skipper pounced, nicking the ball and driving for goal. The day’s makeshift keeper “JC” Clements slid out to thwart the danger, but the greasy surface saw him slide out of the box and he was forced to release the ball. Reacting first, the visitors gathered, controlled and shot into the now empty net. One shot, one goal, one-nil down at half time. Football can be a cruel mistress.

An injury to a Wedmore player saw them ask for one of their loan-ees back, but not to worry, the calvary had arrived in the form of KLX and the second half got underway, still 11 v 11.

We huffed and we puffed, we outclassed the opposition, we never looked in danger, but we couldn’t break the deadlock. Whatling rattled the woodwork twice, then he danced into the box from the left, beating one, beating two, but failing to convert. “Anything he can do, I can do better” thought Andrew and, from a similar position he weaved his way into the danger zone.

A clip, a fall, (a dive?!) a shout! Penalty given! Up stepped the injured party to calmly slot the equaliser.

Still we pressed – this was a game we could win, if only we could put the ball away. A fumbled clearance from the keeper found him out of position and out of his box as the ball was whipped in from the left. An instinctive arm went out, “Hand ball” chorused the massed Millfield choir. A definite DOGSO, a red card a certainty. But no, Sam Landirgan followed that sage advice: play to the whistle and, as the ball dropped at his feet, the goal yawning in front of him, he dispatched the ball into the back of the net. A yellow card for the keeper, a golden goal for us.

We then weathered the storm as Wedmore threw all they had into attack to try and redress the balance. Frayed nerves and weary limbs nearly succumbed, but we held on. Another 3 points secured. We’d made it harder work than we should have but the win sees us sitting proud in second place in the table.

Another legendary performance.

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Match Report – Legends v Street (Away)

The opposition were in white, we were in white, the ball was white.

And then it started to snow.

A great game of football. Whites won 2-1.

History was not on our side. In the same fixture last year, we were three – nil down before our centre back (note the singular, perhaps there is a clue in that?) had touched the ball. This year, 5 minutes in, as he gained his first touch slicing the ball away for a throw, Peabody gave a silent cheer – first target met: first touch and still only nil nil. He looked to his left, he looked to his right, and smiled, flanked by two players on either side. He was at the heart of a back five. A back FIVE!

Street Veterans are a considerable foe, training weekly, reigning County champions. Thus far in this campaign they had played two, won two, for:16 against: 2. Due to an administrative cock up, we were forced to share a changing room. They kindly offered us first use, thereby giving us ample time to get acquainted with the pitch in the howling wind, arctic temperature and driving rain … We declined.

Our well organised and disciplined defence absorbed all that the opposition – and the elements – could throw at it, providing the springboard that allowed “twinkle toes” Andrew Cassin Davies to beat one man, beat another, beat the first man again, before making a slide rule* accurate pass that unleashed the waiting Whatling to collect outside the box, drive into the area and slide the ball past the keeper: one – nil. The County champions were reeling, never before had they found themselves behind. How would they respond?

(* As we are all veterans, we, of course, understand that reference. The younger generation won’t)

Street tried, and failed, to puncture our defensive line. Our confidence grew, and therein lay the seeds of our own destruction. Schooled by our Football Development Officer in the art of playing out from the back, we forgot that the wind was gusting, the pitch less than perfect, our legs aging, and a misplaced pass in the defensive third gifted the ball to retreating Street striker, puffing his way back to his own half after another failed attack. He pounced, found a new lease of life and headed for goal. Jarvis tried – and failed – to take is legs away outside the box; the referee judged (incorrectly) that Shane, our colossus of a keeper (who played a blinder all game), did bring him down in the box. Penalty! The spot kick was dispatched and the first half ended one all.

With the wind now at their backs, the second half saw Street hurl all their efforts at the famous five, who bent, but did not break, repelling wave after wave of Street attack. It took a wind assisted worldie to win the game – a strike from 30 yards that floated over everyone’s head and into the net. With ten to go, and a precious and hard won lead, Street parked the bus, desperate to cling onto the three points they had expected by right before kick off. A last second strike from Jarvis saw the Street keeper stretching to tip the ball over for a corner and secure the points for the leaders as the ref blew time on an epic winter battle.

After the game, Karlos (white) Lightning Leonard inquired about the opening of the transfer window – clearly looking for a big money move to warmer climes, Castle Cary perhaps? The rest of the squad waited for their fingers to thaw before heading off for the winter break, happy with their part in a great game of football.

Next match – a must win home game against struggling Wedmore Vets, 11th Feb.

Street Veterans 2 Millfield Legends 1

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Match Report – Legends v Oakhill (away)

Maybe we need the lows to make the highs seem so good. Maybe it was wearing an unfamiliar kit that bought us out in a matching blue mood, or maybe, just maybe, we weren’t quite good enough, disciplined enough, fit enough.

Whatever the reasons, after a stunning start to the season, today was a frustrating return to losing ways. The first twenty minutes saw us survive a few scares, but also produce a few openings of our own. It was hard to see who would break the deadlock, although perhaps the writing was on the wall when Peabody was required to head an Oakhill corner off the line to keep the scores level. Moments later a misplaced pass 10 yards outside our box was seized, and struck sweetly, oh, so sweetly, by an Oakhill midfielder into the top corner. It was a retirement goal – if I ever get close to scoring a goal like that I shall hang up my boots and retire immediately: it ain’t ever going to get better than that.

Still in the game, the second half saw us push forward to seek a score and the chances came, the woodwork rattled, but our defence was left dangerously exposed and the hosts bagged another two goals, both following crosses from (their) right, to leave the final score an unflattering, and undeserved, three nil defeat.

Time moves on, frustrations fade, our squad continues to grow. A great turn out of 13 today, despite a number of injuries. A month to prepare for the toughest test of the season – an away trip to Street on December 3rd.

 

Final Score:

Oakhill 3 Millfield Legends 0