The football diaries.

[Bierzo Baggie]

Why do I unconsciously reach for the slight swelling that still protrudes from just underneath my ever-receding hairline whenever I pass the village pitch of Molinaseca F.C.? When I last played there several years ago I clashed heads with one of the Capello brothers. At that time half the team consisted of Capello brothers, each one of them as hard as re-enforced concrete. The oldest Capello was team captain and he only had one arm. As local legend goes he was an ex-legionnaire and he’d lost it while mishandling a hand grenade. I only discovered this when on indulging in a sneaky spot of shirt tugging (when in Rome…) I grappled at an empty sleeve and nearly ripped the fellow’s shirt off.

But I think it was the youngest of the Capello brothers that I clashed heads with. I’d dived into the six yard box as the ball came over from a corner and made contact just below my left temple. But not with the ball. My first instinct was to apologize, half visualizing his big brother rearing up with a hand grenade. But Capello junior seemed blissfully unaware that any clash of heads had occurred at all and instead winced at me asking “has your head always been like that?”

That was when I discovered the huge tennis ball sized lump and for some reason my first thought was of John Hurt in Alien. The lump seemed to be growing and I half expected a slimy, throbbing extraterrestrial to explode from my swollen head. I half expected top thespian John Hurt himself to pop out and take up position on the left wing. Panicking at the sheer size of the bulge I charged off the pitch, out of the ground and straight into the first bar along Molinaseca’s narrow main street (in search of ice and not a stiff drink). The sight of the elephant man in full football kit brought out a cry of “hostia” from one of the old fellows playing cards. Their grimacing faces as they all downed cards and turned to look at me made me even more nervous. A plastic bag full of ice cubes seemed to quell my amazingly expanding head. Then a quick visit to the local hospital followed where I was prescribed with some anti-inflammatories and Rosana was told to wake me up every 2 hours that night…just in case.

So, 5 or 6 years later I returned to the Molinaseca stadium, the only one in the league with seating (or rather, a crumbling concrete terrace). And this time I vowed not to go up for any corners. Not difficult as it turned out. We didn’t get any.

Cast a wary glance at their lot during the pre-match warm-up in search of any hard-headed Capello brothers and counted only 2 of them. Wild boar hunting Capello brother and one-armed legionnaire Capello brother were missing. Our own aluminium boys were also somewhat depleted in numbers due to a Cape Verdean wedding. This forced the venerable Mingoya senior to play in goal. Is there no limit to this man’s versatility?

And last week’s win proved to be another false dawn. We were 4 down by half time and although the man with the iron leg scored a cracker later on, the final score reflected fairly on a one-sided contest.
Molinaseca 6 Aluminium boys 1

Footnote; And finally, just as our heroes pound the streets of Paris and Zurich in search of marathon glory I was woken up this morning by the typically Spanish sound of some 2000 bagpipes all playing at the same time. Apparently in the park up the road is the second phase of the 17th Galician tournament of bagpipe playing. Bloody noise! It’s not just Molinaseca that gives me headaches.