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.
