Today's opponents are a pub team from Ponferrada called Acuario (aquarium in english). The name comes from the bar that sponsors them but the fishy connection is lost on me. Match report to follow.
Understand that training diaries and football diaries do not necessarily tally but then if walking is just another form of running then football is too. Im sure the Church of England would say the same about God these days . And talking about God, Mingoya senior was smoking a huge cigar when I entered the changing rooms 15 minutes before kick off. He always smokes a cigar before a game. Must be one of those football superstitions.
Played the whole game this time. Only avoided substitution because people kept on limping off injured. I was marked by ex-team-mate Oscar the undertaker who I sometimes come across when Im running by the river. Hes the antithesis of the serious, dour sort of figure youd normally associate with his profession. The funeral firm he works for is called, wait for it, Fun-Bierzo (fun being short for funeraria). I promise that Im not joking.
The game was one of two halves. In the first we put some good moves together and had the Aquarium lads on the ropes. Went into the break drawing 1-1. The second half was a different kettle of fish (sorry). We conceded 6 more goals (3 of them penalties). Our best player was a midget who came on for the last 20 minutes. Hes the smallest player Ive ever seen on a football pitch (excluding under-12 games) but his low centre
Of gravity proved disconcerting for our brawny opponents. They were actually shouting mark the dwarf, mark the dwarf. Political correctness has not reached these parts yet and it was the sort of scene that youd only ever see in the Bierzo League of Friends or in some wacky film by Fellini. The wee man hit the post. The rest of us were a disgrace.
The L & N Don't Stop Here Anymore. (Its the 1980s Michelle Shocked version that I remember).
When I was a curly-headed baby
My daddy set me down upon his knee
Said, son, you go to school and learn your letters
Don't you be no dusty miner, boy, like me
I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more
I used to think my daddy was a black man
With scrip enough to buy the company store
But now he goes to town with empty pockets
And, lord, his face was white as the February snow
I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more
I never thought I'd live to love the coal dust
Never thought I'd pray to hear those temples roar
But, God, I wish the grass would turn to money
And then them greenbacks would fill my pockets once more
I was born and raised at the mouth of the Hazard Holler
Where the coal cars rolled and rumbled past my door
But now they stand in a rusty row of all empties
Because the L & N don't stop here any more
Last night I dreamt I went down to the office
To get my payday like I done before
But them old kudzu vines was covering the doorway
And there was leaves and grass growing right up thru the floor
Hadnt heard this song for years. It tells the tale of mining communities almost anywhere. My dad remembers seeing the last Black Country collieries close and Ill no doubt see the last ones in Bierzo follow suit sooner rather than later. Folgoso belongs to one of these communities in the upland region of Bierzo Alto, an area which consists of dozens of grimy little mining towns permanently stained by coal-dust. Today the industry is supported by government subsidies but these wont last forever. The town of Bembibre is the main centre of operations and of radicalism too (or self-preservation, depending on your point of view). Occasionally it kicks off in a way reminiscent of the UK mining areas in the 80s. But the crude destiny of the mining town was summed up more poetically in an old Appalachian folk song.
Went down an operational mine once. It was a few years ago when an adult student of mine who worked in the coalfields near Toreno invited me to come along one Saturday morning. Had recently read George Orwells Road to Wigan pier and was amazed to discover that the reality of present day coal mining in Bierzo was not dissimilar to what young George had found back in the 30s. I like to think that I could try my hand at most jobs, however uncomfortable or unpleasant they might be. But having spent one measly morning down pit I have to say that never in my darkest dreams could I imagine working down that mine. The illustrious Mr. Orwell describes it better than I ever could (see pages 18 to 45 of said book) but then I bet he was crap at football.
Saturdays match. Ive never played on Folgosos ground before. Its on the way to Colinas del Campo and bear country so we must have passed by in December when we went walking up there. Should be an interesting tussle.
The match, actually scheduled for Sunday morning, was another one that was snowed off. Its the first time that I remember 2 matches being snowed off in the same season.
Arrived at the ground, high above the village of Folgoso, in the midst of a monumental blizzard. The ref had taken refuge in his hut and refused to come out even to inspect the pitch. Or he might have been afraid of Mingoya and son hassling him for the 3 penalties hed awarded against us the previous week. Meanwhile the pitmen (or their sons, half of our opponents seemed to be 16 year olds) were sitting moodily in the changing rooms. I dont think theyd expected us to show up and were waiting to bag the 3 points without playing. After about 5 minutes hanging around in the snowstorm the ref suddenly emerged, said thats it, Im going home and sodded off without so much as a glance towards the playing surface.
We ended up in the nearest bar. Mingoya senior was soon accompanied by a large jug of beer and the old sea dog told us of how in his 35-year football career hed often played on pitches with several cms of snow and a layer of ice underneath as well. I ordered a coffee (not into early morning beers) and was accused of not being English. Noticed one local at the bar sporting a fine pair of clogs ("zuecos") which are still used in the villages when theres muddy snow to be negotiated.
Next week were at home to the village team of Valdecañada.
Valdecañada. Id translate that as valley on the drovers way. It is located behind Monte Pajariel and is linked by a track to Toral de Merayo, one which I occasionally run along (and where I once came across a possee of pig slaughterers washing intestines in the river!) The village itself is an elongated affair wedged into a tight valley and populated by elderly people, chickens and dogs and the said drovers way probably ran up the Morredero Pass (a place to die) and onward to wherever Like several village teams around here Valdecañada football club is dependent on the support of a football crazy mayor who naturally is guaranteed a place in the starting 11 (its my village, so Ill pick the team ).Most of the players probably come from Ponferrada though and as there is no football pitch they play their home games in another village several miles away. They are also a mid-table outfit. Could this be the opportunity for the aluminium boys to snatch a point or three?
Here are a couple of photos of Morredero after last weekends snowfall. Might try and get up there on Sunday.
I'm definately warming to the Football Diaries.
A word of caution; I hear tell from south of the river, from the sage they call Jose.
Apparently some of these Latin Types are quite fond of the occasional 'extra roll' in the tackle.
A ploy to sway the opinion of the referee, I'm told.
Just thought you should know.
These Drovers sound like a rum lot.
Not related to those legendary north-west animal husbands of these parts, Blackburn Drovers?
Best of luck
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
This is getting reminiscent of the great winter freeze of the 78-79 season when West Broms momentum was cruelly checked by a succession of postponed matches. Perhaps it robbed the last truly great Baggies line-up of a league title (Forest won it instead), ahh what days Regis, Cunningham, Robson, Brendon Batson, Len Cantello .
At this rate well have to consider raffling off the village cows and investing the proceeds in under soil heating.
As you may see from the tyre tracks in the photo, some thoughtful joy-riders had earlier tried to clear some snow off the pitch by performing handbrake spins. In any case I reckon it was just about playable.
Ahh ... was it 'Texas Campfire Tapes' or 'Short, Sharp Shocked'? Either way it brings back memories of college days ... watching the clock ticking 'till opening time, playing cribbage, drinking scrumpy and smoking Golden Virgina or Old Throat Burn. The amount of spare time I had in those days to plough through so much music ....
It was from "Short, sharp, shocked" Glaconman. I've got the "Texas campfire Tapes" as well (she recorded this album on a sony walkman!) We must be from the same vintage...
Everybody was kung-fu fighting
Those cats were fast as lightning
In fact it was a little bit frightening
But they fought with expert timing
More about kung fu later .
The temperatures rose during the week and the rain finally lashed down instead of snow. There may still be the occasional frosty day left on the wintery agenda but I have the feeling that the watershed has been crossed. The snowline will rise higher and higher until it only remains on the most inaccessible peaks or in the murkiest recesses and whizzing down the mountain pass on my bike for me marked the end of winter.
Match Report.
And of course football hostilities resumed on Saturday with hostilities being the operative word. We played last weeks postponed game against Valdecañada. And first blood went to the aluminium boys with a well taken goal by Gelo, our bullish but volatile centre forward who has the amusing habit of crossing himself after scoring. The Drovers were soon back in it though with two goals in quick succession, but the flashpoint came just before half time. It was perhaps one of the oddest incidents Ive witnessed on a football pitch. An innocuous looking challenge between Gelo and one of their centre halves looked like developing into the usual case of handbags- pushy pushy hold me back. However when the centre half thrust his none too pretty face an inch from Gelos our ever-unpredictable goalsnatcher promptly gave him a kiss. On the mouth. All hell let lose. The sexually unenlightened centre half pole axed our Gelo with a punch which was swiftly follwed up with a kung fu kick in the teeth worthy of that Welsh international and full time lump of lard John Hartson. The frothing centre half was then bundled off the pitch by his own team-mates while the ref brandished a straight red, from a safe distance of course. I imagine a 50-game suspension will follow. And as for Gelo I feared the worst, a broken nose or a couple of missing teeth at the very least. But after 10 minutes of theatrical heavy breathing and blood spitting, Rocky 3 was up and fighting again. Somebody commented his head is very hard.
With Valdecañada reduced to 10 men I expected us to get straight back into the game. The problem was that we were soon reduced to 9. Mingoya junior was dismissed for a comic Jackie Chan-style two-footed lunge and then our left back followed for attempting to take home one fellows shirt as a souvenir. We did eventually equalise thanks to a long range punt from stylish Ginolaesque French geezer Jean Phillipe but a late Valecañada winner left the aluminium boys licking their wounds yet again.
Final score: Aluminium boys 2 Valdecañada Drovers 3
If there is it must be still at the Film Censors Board.
A heary-warming tale, BB, remeniscent of one of my last 'competitive' matches, FC Falcons Vs The League of Gentlemen, circa 1998 . . .
. . . shudder.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Yeah, it was ugly stuff out there. I guess Sunday league football is just about the same everywhere...I'd never seen a footballer wind up an opponent up by kissing him though!
And videos? Are you joking? We haven't even got showers.
Bought the local rag this morning. On Wednesdays they print scores and league tables. The bottom end of the Bierzo Liga de Amigos interests me most.
13. El Rancho 13 points 14. Aluminios Dos 11 points
15. OMD 2 points
Two observations.
1.We are not the worst team in El Bierzo.
2.The worst team in El Bierzo is 80s synth-pop outfit Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. I wonder how many other pop groups have reinvented themselves as Sunday league football teams in far-flung places. Is ex-smoothie Midge Ure leading the Ultravox boys to glory in the South Macedonian combination league for example? I just dont know. Perhaps Ive been out the country for too long.
Our Saturday afternoon game (or Sunday morning?) is against the village team of Castropodame. This is another village on the fringe of the mining belt and probably with several players from nearby Bembibre. Castropodames football-playing mayor has ensured that their ground is the best looked after in the whole league. Theyve got a clubhouse with hot showers (although no bar you cant ask for everything!) The pitch is smooth, flat and covered with green grass. The touchlines dont look like theyve just been painted by a drunken man with one eye and the nets havent got holes. Its a joy to play there. Just hope that the aluminium boys can behave themselves this time.
For hundreds of years Bierzos wealth has been based on mining activity. And not just coal. The half hour journey to Castropodame for Sunday mornings match took us through a ghostly little village called Onamio which consists of several rows of run-down mining cottages. For much of the 20th century up to the early 80s iron ore was extracted from the area and the mines were given the grandiose names of classical composers, coto Wagner, coto Vivaldi, etc.. All that is left now are some bizarre holes in the hillside that look as if theyve been left by enormous spaceships along with the habitual slagheaps and bits of rusting industrial paraphernalia.
A little further on and now climbing up to Castropodame village there are newly placed wind turbines high above us purring to themselves in the breeze. But just below the turbines another example of industrial archaeology lies unseen to any but the untrained eye. Nearly 2000 years before man was extracting coal, iron ore and slate from the mountainsides in monster size bites a different sort of mining activity was on the agenda in Roman occupied Bierzo. A substantial portion of the empires gold reserves was taken from these mountains after a very special technique had been employed. It was called ruina montium, and as a feat of engineering its comparable to that of the Great Wall of China. Those clever Romans built a vast network of canals covering literally hundreds of kms, some collecting thawing snow from the highest 2000m peaks, and transported water to the operational zones. Next the water entered a Swiss cheese of pre-cut tunnels and galleries and the effect was not only erosive but also explosive. The water pressure compressed the air in the deepest caverns and the mountain literally collapsed. Ingenious or what? The sediment was then washed downhill to artificial lakes, the gold was panned and the wealth extracted for at least 200 years. Quite remarkable. And to think that some still ask what have the romans ever done for us?
The most famous of these large scale Roman goldmines is a World Heritage Site in a place called Las Medulas which lies about 20kms from Ponferrada. But perhaps the second biggest mine was located above the village of Castropodame and the earthworks and the reddish soils which had been blasted out of the mountainside can still be observed. Nobody visits them. As far as I know theres not even a signpost.
And in the shadow of the site of one of the most remarkable stories never told, there lies a football pitch. And the mountain which the aluminium boys must tear down is the village team of Castropodame and a bulky bunch of lads they are too. The aluminium boys team is somewhat depleted by several suspensions from last weeks battle of Valdecañada and Sunday morning hangovers have also paid their toll. The end result is that we have no substitutes which means I cant be substituted.
As always we scored first and this time it was Bierzo Baggie who nipped in between two defenders and slammed it low past the keeper before performing a strange air-guitar arm swinging celebration that may have seemed slightly undignified for a man of my age. Well, it was my first goal for 5 years. Predictably our opponents soon equalized from a set piece and we went into half time all square but playing well. The game looked destined to finish in a 1-1 draw but with 10 minutes remaining BB found himself in a similar goalscoring position. With only the goalkeeper to beat I tried to loop the ball delicately over his head. Never having been the delicate type, footballingly speaking, I looped it over the bar as well. Shame that because they went straight up the other end and scored and we ended up losing 3-1.:mad:
Next week sees a bottom of the table clash between the two worst teams in El Bierzo. Disappointingly our opponents, OMD, will not be bringing their synthesizers and treating us to a half-time greatest hits compilation because the said initials refer to the construction company who sponsor their shirts.
Oh, and the photo is of the Roman goldmines at Las Medulas (not those of Castropodame).
. And talking about God, Mingoya senior was smoking a huge cigar when I entered the changing rooms 15 minutes before kick off. He always smokes a cigar before a game. Must be one of those football superstitions. 
