I woke up early wondering if it was the done thing to be leaving my comfy bed in Croydon to travel to Walthamstow.
I didn't even know where Walthamstow is!
It turns out it as the end of the Victoria line so a quick bus ride to East Croydon, then a train to Victoria and then the tube. I found my DS when cleaning up the flat so I played Mario Kart on the way.
I got to Walthamstow station and saw that a bus, the W12 stopped right outside the venue, and being not particularly great at directions this seemed the done thing. I got on the bus, no problems... apart from there was a problem. I'd left my bag at the bus stop so had to run back and wait for a bus again.
I finally got there about 45 minutes late and no one had kicked off and Luke (Hunk of Spam) was already offering the rum around.
We were just about to get started so I got changed by the side of the pitch.
We didn't start off great and despite CEB making some good savess they kept scoring the rebounds or finding the net from stupid angles.
I was on the sub bench so I had visions of being the saviour. No one really knew anyones name. The lack of communication, understanding, fitness were showing. We did do ourselves proud by scoring a couple of late goals to have them rattled and with us only needing 4 goals in the last 90 seconds to sneak a draw Southend grabbed a late winner to make it 7-2.
The next game was against Bristol who looked like a team made up from a bunch of odd balls from the internet.
There was an angry 50 year old Scottish bloke (very angry (more of which later)), a couple of old blokes, a couple of teenagers and a somalian guy who didn't stop running.
Despite having most of the ball we failed to really register a shot against the whale in goal. The fat angry scottish bloke scored 1 at least.Luke also volunteered to go in goal. We missed our leader, our captain and nutcase in goal.
However, we were finding our confidence and understanding and occasionally passed the ball to each other.
We were learning that Hemmo had a great 3rd touch on the wing.
Conkers was a midfield maestro who could also drop in to defense.
PLF was a roaming attacking midfield/striker who was waiting for any opportunity to strike on goal.
CEB was better in goal than outfield.
HoS was better outfield than in goal even with his injuries.
Tomo was a rock in defense. Refused to be beaten in the air and willing to throw himself in front of anything. Someone compared me to a none racist/rapist John Terry which I thought was slightly harsh.
We did have a slight issue in that at some point over night it had rained, this meant the ground was wet, this in turn made it very slippery and several of us lost footing which certainly resulted in one or two of the goals we lost.
We changed our approach for the next game. We warmed up. I say warmed up. We basically kicked balls at Keith in goal and crossed the ball a bit and arsed around. We had also opened of PLF's haribo which were starting to help and Luke and Hemmo had rehydrated by working on the rum. We were also becoming more comfortable in each others companies and even begun to understand what we were all called.
Luke had also managed to fall in some Goose Shit making it look like he'd been shot and Goose shit had spewed out of him.
Next up we had Orient, hot favorites from the off for the trophy and the bookies were already paying out on the result for their match against the spirited Libertines.
But something odd happened.
We held our shape. Tomo bossed the back with help of the other Tom. Keith continued to make saves and when they were approached with an open goal Tomo dived in front just to turn the ball around the post after valiantly appealing for an offside.
The rest of the team continued to drop out and help out and we then pushed forward with Hemmo having a great opportunity that didn't quite reach the goal and PLF also having a chance which we couldn't convert.
We were buoyed by our performance and at half time we were nil nil. A crowd had started to develop for what was becoming some of the highest quality 6 a-side football you could see at midday in Walthamstow on a pitch covered in Goose Shit.
We continued to hold our discipline, and the oppo's long haired tricky winger who had been tearing teams apart all morning could not escape.
Then something magical happened. Tomo picked the ball up and made a run, he gave it to conkers who put him through. The cross was cut out, and Conkers put another ball in. The keeper made a comfortable catch but PLF was lurking. As the keeper went to throw it out he realised PLF was close by, you can't be leaving the ball that close to such an able striker of the ball, but to late, the ball slipped out of his hand, straight to PLF who controlled it expertly on the shin before rolling it into an empty net.
The Libertines went wild and the fans interest intensified. We had 5 minutes to hold on. Tackles flew in. Keith got in front of nearly everything. We put our bodies on the line and made goal line clearances. All to make a bunch of strangers on a message board about a now defunct band proud. The crowd were loving it. They were cheering us on. Every block was greeted with roars of approval.
We also begun some honest gamesmanship by smashing the ball as far as we could when as soon as we got it.
In the last seconds they had a corner. The referee had the whistle in his mouth, but he waited, and waited, and waited, and as they were about to shoot the final whistle blew. The players and the crowd went wild.
We were buzzing now, hopeful that we would not be winning the wooden spoon with Dulwich up next. We had also gained a new player in Wesley with a shrewd signing by Keith in the transfer window.
Dulwich were also a slight mixed back of a team with 2 massive black guys who were very fast and very strong as well as some ringers from Orient.
Luke, who had now had half a bottle of rum in him had developed a new steal method of marking, which involved being very quiet, crouching down, so no one could see him.
Libertines went 1-0 down and at half time we were wondering if the ecstacy of the last match had gone to our heads... but then Tomo and Conkers came on. Tomo made an incredible run, being 4 or 5 players at least and then lacing the ball into the bottom corner from at least 30 yards only for the keeper to turn it round the post making a save CEB would be proud of. That is how it looked to me anyway. But as always, Libertines were never to be beaten and our new signing Wesley grabbed an equaliser beating the keeper to a cross and iverting it to the bottom corner. Despite having a lot of the ball, we couldn't convert it into goals.
We should also note that Dulwich were rather physicial with a couple of horrible tackles by one player which Conkers was quite happily to voice his opinion on but not much support from the ref.
However we had done enough to qualify the Plate. The Europa League to the Champions league. We had some celebratory beers and watched a couple of games. Bristol vs Southend was particularly good value for the ticket price. Angry scottish man committed 2 or 3 very nasty fouls already and was generally acting like a prick moaning at everyone and everything. He then committed a horrible foul, swiping at the ankles of a player who was running with the ball. Apart from a slight protest the victim of this near assault stood up only to be called a fucking prick and pushed back over by the Angry Scottish man, who then fell over on him and tried to punch him. He was sin binned for the rest of the half. We then watched a quarter final which was hilarious as one of the players had several strops about the treatment the referee was giving him. The highlight being "HE THREW ME REF" when he tripped up and The Libertines got stuck in with some good natured banter in his direction.
In the quarter finals we had a team who wore red. They scored a bit of a fluke goal early on and after that they didn't do much else. Libertines had all the ball. Hemmo had a great chance after being put through on goal only to shank his chance just the wrong side of the post, and quite possibly the wrong side of the corner flag. We were playing all the football. The red team were time wasting from the off and trying to disrupt our game plan. The second half came and Keith was now playing as a goalkeeper/sweeper/attacking midfield player. Tomo in defense was pushing forward, supersub Wesley was taking the ball to the oppo, Conkers was still bossing the midfield and Luke was readying for the beer for a celebration when we scored.
Tomo then broke, beat one man and as he went to shoot he saw star striker PLF with a near open goal and laid it to him on the plate. Was it the pressure of the situation? Was it the beer he had before the match? Was it the complete monstrosity of a man in goal facing him putting him off? Was he still thinking about the 20 stone man who was playing as lone striker for the oppo tripping up on some sand and resembling a beached whale rolling around in the mud. No one will know but he couldn't connect properly. We had other chances but they didn't result in anything.
The referee admired us and told us we didn't deserve the fate we had. We all had another beer and chewed the fat about what might have been and talked about what an enjoyable game it had been despite the results.
Special thanks to Keith for organising a great day for all of us and Hemmo's girlfriend for getting the beers in.
Was great to meet all that played and was a terrific day. Hope to meet you all soon.
by Tomo Meadowcroft
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