Friday, September 28, 2007

Back to basics at the North Dulwich cauldron




Well what a turn out, the highest attendance of the long season. Despite early butterflies at the turn of the hour, with only five of the regulars doing their intense warm-ups, (customary wall-pushing and the odd knee-touching), by the turn of the fifth minute past the hour we were on for a true game. It was to be our first 6 v 6 and the place was pumpin'.
However all was not well in the lead up to, what could be, the game of their lives. To start with, the ever-keen Sunderland legend Cowey started as we left off last week by skying the match ball. Then we had a Rafa style rotation situation to sort out. The bibs!
Gone was the old school decision of whites v colours. The bibs blinkered the team selectors’ vision of the game. The two player-directors of football, Der Kaiser and Gizzabaldi looked perplexed, the team were growing restless. Was there outside influence in the team selection?????
It was to be done tonight not by colours but by alphabetical selection.
All in all it was a gritty game, hard fought mostly in mid-field and very much a game of two halves. But "this was by no means a classic”(Anon).
In a brief post match chat, at the pavilion, Gizzabaldi was said to be "growling like a tiger" with claws and all. He mentioned his general dissatisfaction with his spreading of the ball both from goal and on the field. Although he had moments, looking much like Ronnie Rosenthal, at his peak. You know the one with the hair.
Conngiggskï had an awful night. His tap dancing shiny shoes did him no favours and found that the glare from the lights affected his play no end.
(He has reportedly held lengthy talks with legends Paul Merson, Tony Donkey Adams and the celeb Lee Sharpe, regarding his recent inability to curb his social life in the interests of the team. We wish him all the best). However the match was sealed with a glorious individual piece of skill. The Waddo was back to his old best. "Next goal wins", was all he needed to hear. He sprinted forward, pouncing on a spill from the keeper, to bury the ball in the onion sack. What a goal, what an ending and what a memory from what was going to go down as a very average match.