A pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon seemed to promise ideal footballing conditions. Alas, the pitch was infested with mosquitoes and molehills and the aluminium boys were once again limited to 11 semi-fit men. And for the third consecutive week I traced the cumbersome flight of returning storks over the tops of budding poplar trees whilst we were warming up. Could this have been an omen?
The match. A dismal first half display saw us three nil down at half time. A funny thing happened though after the restart. We suddenly started to string passes together, to arrive first to the 50-50 challenges, win balls in the air we even started to look like a half decent football team. Javi, our very own version of follically challenged rottweiler Thomas Graveson, started to hassle our opponents in the middle of the park, nipping at their ankles with ferocious canine intent and the wee man transformed into a giant, spraying passes left, right and centre. We even hit the post twice. It was as if wed communally consumed an entire back catalogue of self-help literature with the half time oranges such was our inexplicable surge of self belief. It only lacked a goal. Or three.
As there were no subs I couldnt wimp off at half time as per usual but despite feeling off the pace for perhaps the first hour as the second half developed I was running all over the place. Attacking, defending, helping out Javi and the wee man in midfield .and I felt better at the final whistle than at the beginning! Looks like what Ive lost in speed (due to the age) Ive gained in stamina (due to the running).
Final score: Toral de Merayo 3 Aluminium Boys 0
Man of the match: The wee man.
Next week were at home to the village team of Villalibre de la Jurisdiccion which translates literally as town free of jurisdiction. An anarchical Sunday morning may be on the cards
Footnote: Torals clean sheet wasnt only the result of the woodwork. They had a greying colossus in the centre of defence called Berty who one fine day at the start of the 90s had marked a certain Diego Armando Maradona. Our local semi-pro team (who Berty used to play for) is Ponferradina and having reached the early stages of the cup they drew high flyers Sevilla where the half pint Argentinian was waddling about in the last throes of his illustrious playing career. And being marked by the man who marked Maradona probably represents the pinnacle of mine..
