The 'A's
THE CLICHÉ EDITION
The usual suspects turned out at Fortress Buckingham on a sunny Sunday morn. On paper we had the better team, but as you know, you don’t play football on paper.
A pair of well matched teams at the business end of the season were up for the challenge. The visiting crowd had a lot to say but Ryan was doing his talking on the pitch. A great shot produced a save right out of the top drawer.
Matt was on fire on the wing and Reggie produced the goods with a fine effort. Rhys displayed some training-ground-cheek with a back heel to Ross who was giving 110%.
The game needed a goal and the stadium erupted as Reg showed great calm with a textbook tap-in ASC 1 HR 0
Buoyed by their success, it was handbags in the box as Ross was brought down on the six yard line. The resulting penalty went just wide. He'd have been disappointed with that.
Regan had the bit between his teeth and running like a gazelle saw his left foot strike hit the post. Last time I saw a run like that was many, many years ago:
If the boy had been a Brazilian we'd be raving about it for ages.
Ross was in the wars today but his knock just before half time deserved an Oscar
Half time: ASC 1 Hangleton Rangers 0
It was a game of two halves as ASC had a mix-up in defence; Joe pulling off a great save. Sam's running was a real feature of the early exchanges. That boy's got a great engine. Reg was on hand with another great effort from a free-kick.
Matt and Ross tracked back well knowing this would be a bad time to concede a goal. Reg, Ross & Rhys were making lovely triangles as they sought to stretch their advantage. Sam then upset the applecart with a cross from his right[!] peg which was met with precision by the head of Reggie ASC 2 HR 0
Of course, a two goal lead is often more difficult to defend than a one goal lead but it was a bad time to concede a goal for the visitors who'd made the long trip out West. Matt was called upon to step up to the plate in defence but Reg was a different class with a header that had the keeper well beaten. His hat-trick came soon after with a neat one/two between him and Ross; a giant of a player ASC 3 HR 0
As the clock wound down, the Ref checked his watch knowing there are no easy games at this level. Football was the winner as Reg, asked to comment on his three goals said the main thing was getting the three points. Yeah - right.
Final Score: ASC Strikers 3 Hangleton Rangers 0 [a real six-pointer, that one]
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The 'B's
THE HYPERBOLE EDITION
Hangleton Rangers, fresh from a brief sojourn in the pleasant hamlet of Knoll Rec, were soon to make the game theirs with a display of passing not seen around these parts since the days of Ozymandias and his triumphant journey into the heart of the beast within the bowels of Patcham; just off the A23.
Joe G., the enigmatic provider of wondrous attack play, of a skill forged in the fire-pits of Hades itself, forced his adversary into a save that the Great Yashin could only have dreamed to call his own. Mothers screamed and babies cried to the Gods of All That Is Good and Evil as the young firebrand let loose his blaze of glory.
Sunny, a rock upon which the Church of Phenomenal Defending was built, stood sentinel at the heart of a defence bolstered by the presence of the Ice Man, Sharpy. His inability to crack in the face of all pressure has enabled this team, this group, this collective of players, their skill hewn from the rarest alloy found only in places that no human eye has seen, only in their dreams, has been the reason, the force du nature that has kept this group of footballers in their rightful place on this planet spinning helplessly in a cavernous, infinite universe.
Bill, for yes, it is he, who was then able to rise like a phoenix who has seen the dark ages of man sweep through the ancestry of aeons to meet a ball that had been delivered, sent, crossed rapier-like into the cold, beating heart of the opposition defence; a group of players made great by their own indifference to such fripperies as defeat, loss, heart-breaking loneliness in a world populated by old men in tracksuits living vicariously through the feats of their offspring. This ball, met by the head of the young man of Belgian/Shepherd's Bush descent, fell painfully wide of its target. Sad, defeated, lying to the left of the steel upright which the defending talisman of a goalkeeper now looked to with pride, awe and not a little shame.
Joe W., the flaxen haired son of God like parentage, both riven from the stones of Nebukenezer in the Ancient City of Thebes, then saw a shot that only the deities of millenia could describe in the hallowed writings of Ramses and Ebenezer. It went just wide but families, preparing for a brief repast in the grounds of the Adur District's finest acres of common ground, stood and stared in awe at the trajectory of its wideness.
But lo! Had Sharpy's coolness lulled his opponents into a sense that all was well in their area of the park? With a bellow of 'FOR ENGLAND! FOR ALBION!' he set upon a sprint that the wing-ed Mercury could only behold in awe, in terror, in recognition that his particular place in history had been left broken and bereft; with no chance of a reprieve or a return into the history books under 'Very Fast Runners'. His through ball to Joe G. had the latter, and his parents, and the Manager, and a man asking directions down on the Upper Shoreham Road, thanking him for such delicacy and kindness in a world riven by hate, fear and malice.
It was now Bill's turn to shine once more. Can there be greater pleasure in any man/woman's life than to see the years of hard work, of striving, of perseverance brought into one beautiful moment by a neat little one/two on the edge of the area? Joe G., once again the grateful recipient of this magnanimous gift. The post once again the blocker of dreams; the usurper of fantasia.
Half time: ASC 0 HR 0
Onward, upward, crossways and in descent the warriors made play once more. Les garcons jaunes applied pressure that would move continents, would unsettle the stability of the ocean floor, would bring forth a tsunami of such gargantuan proportions that no man/woman/child/animal/mollusc/invertebrate/arachnid would be able to survive its inexorable journey across the plains of this tiny planet upon which we seek to make our fortune and happiness.
But what have we here? A melée! A zigamorph of thrashing limbs as the orb of faux leather and weave spins helplessly like a sponge tossed on the surf of the aforementioned tidal wave. A tidal wave of hope? Of dreams? Of lost, cold moments in the arms of a long since past love? Ah - love. Would it be such that this love of which I speak could bring us the joy to which we so desperately cling? Could Sharpy bring us that love? HR decide to face him up. To make him become the man that he NEEDS to become. Will he answer their call? Will he say 'NO! YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASS.'?
Yes. Yes, he will.
And Bill returns for one last combination with Max, our flame haired Zeus of the left wing. Girls swoon as he zips left, then right, then left, then right, then right again. Each move brings a shrill cry of ecstasy from the sidelines. And that's just from his father! Bill and Max have been drawn back to help, along with Fraser and Henry who look at each other in implicit realisation of the approaching storm. They know. They. Know.
Our world now stops. Pollen is held suspended in the air. Dogs hold their jaws akimbo as they draw in the last vestiges of oxygen. A ball, hit with such ferocity, with such vigour, with such primeval anger and despair and desperation travels toward Charlie. His face is locked in a gaze of such intense concentration that sleeping children five towns away are woken from their slumbers by the ultrasonic wave of its magnitude. The ball, travelling at speeds hitherto unknown and therefore unrecorded by the tiny machines of human capability is stopped by him in its unerring path toward the net. It falls to the floor.
Would that there were a blue stockinged foot to send it clear, but No. It is the black sock of our venomous foe. The sock of all that is dark. Of all that spells solitude, fear and death that pushes the ball home. For a moment, every street in the South East of England stands still in unseen knowledge of this watershed moment. It is a time for heroes. A time to regroup. To realise that among ALL of our victories, we must, at times, taste defeat. ASC 0 HR 1
Bugger.
Final Score: Adur Sports Council Strikers Under 10s Association Football Club 0 Hangleton Rangers Under 10 Association Football Club 1
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