Match Report

All quiet on the pitch but game will be remembered for crackling clubhouse fracas

After all the trouble we had to get a game this weekend I would like to think it was worth it in the end.  We were due to play away in Reigate, then that was off, then on again, before being called off on Friday afternoon. By Saturday lunchtime luckily we had a game in Catford and we managed to muster a team, including birthday boy Gordon “Venezuela” Thompson (a year younger than thought by some) but excluding the other birthday boy, 40-year-old Simon Thomas whose wife arranged extra celebrations after the Reigate game was finally called off.  

Earlier in the week I had offered my services as a goalkeeper but Mick O’Flynn said “I am OK with Manchip”.  He must have known at the time that he would not be the one who would be giving Toby a lift to the game, and back.  The things I do for this team.  It appears I interrupted an underpants-clad Toby’s morning preparations by turning up on time at his house.   I hope the plumbing at the Catford Wanderers ground was up to Toby’s weighty job.  It would have been a shock to the cistern.  I am not sure which was more of a risk – that, or Manchip coughing and spluttering in the changing room whilst explaining his car was the last one through the Mont Blanc Tunnel less than fourteen days ago. 

FOBG Squad:  Toby Manchip, Steve Blanchard, Matt Ellis, Sini Gracanin, Jay Hardy, Waine Hetherington, George Kleanthous, Colin Mant, Kypros Michael, Danny Mullins, Patrice Mongelard, Mick O/Flynn, Joe Skinner, Gordon Thompson.

Director of Football:  Mick O’Flynn

Chief Football Correspondent:  Patrice Mongelard

Supporter:  Nicholas Michael

Most of us, with one exception, made it for the earlier kick-off time of 10:15 to accommodate the second game at the ground between two younger sides who seemed very pumped up for the occasion.  The sun was out, there was a refreshing breeze and the pitch made a mockery of all the recent rain. 

We took an early lead in the fifth minute when Jay Hardy powered a drive from just inside the box after the ball had been played back to him by Danny Mullins.  The crisp whipped finish surprised the otherwise more than competent Catford keeper.  We could not grow the score because Catford would not let us.  We were outnumbered in midfield and they started to create opportunities.  Not that they needed help but we decided to give it to them anyway.  Our lead did not last long – a scuffed Catford shot from the edge of our box was going wide until Mick O’Flynn decided to intervene – with possibly his wrong foot (not sure he has a right one) – and steered the ball low into the bottom corner with Toby embalmed on the line. 

Things got worse a little before half-time – the Catford “Barry Gibb” had appeared to spring the Farnborough offside trap and had advanced majestically to poke the ball through Toby’s wide-open legs from a tight angle.  There was a bit of debate about when the juvenile Farnborough linesman (son of Kypros Michael) had raised his flag.  To their credit Catford did not kick up a fuss and we got on with the game (although Farnborough consciences were not all clear it seems).  To rub salt in the wound we took the lead with a few minutes to half-time – Kypros Michael twisted and turned like a dervish on the edge of the box in a central position, induced vertigo in his markers, himself, and team mates, before taking what appeared the most difficult option to steer the ball low in to the corner.  This made up for his previous forty minutes. 

As we came off for half-time with the score at what we thought was 2-1, Mick O’Flynn approached the referee and Catford manager to concede the goal that had been ruled offside.  So that was the second goal that Mick gifted to Catford and it was really 2-2.  Mick was now on a hat-trick for Catford.  I cannot confirm rumours that he was voted their Man of the Match.

We started the second half on the front foot.  Jay Hardy must have thought he had scored when he rounded the keeper and slipped the ball goalward.  He had not expected Roger French to stick doggedly to his purpose of denying Farnborough a goal and the last-ditch sliding clearance was vintage stuff. 

Danny Mullins made one of his leggy trade-mark lung-bursting runs into the opposition box only to be brought down or flung up (depending on your perspective) by the Catford keeper.  The referee took the view that Mullins had overdone the theatrics.

However, Catford relief did not last long.  Jay Hardy, Danny Mullins and Matt Ellis weaved something glorious capped by a precise low finish into the bottom corner by Matt from Danny’s slide rule cutback.  It was just like Brazil I thought (not Alan Brazil before you ask).  We doubled our lead not long after that after Jay Hardy was taken roughly from behind in the box.  Matt Ellis converted the penalty with nonchalant savoir-faire.

The best goal of the game was just around the corner.  A Matt Ellis cross into the box saw Jay Hardy position his body to execute an exquisite bicycle kick with his back to goal.  The keeper never moved and we had a solid contender for goal of the season as Jay Hardy narrowed the gap between himself and Kypros in this season’s Golden Boot race. 

With twenty minutes left it was time to be kind to the elderly and Mick O’Flynn made way for Patrice Mongelard, back after months off with injury.  My return though was not as welcome or glorious as that from George Kleanthous, out for longer and with broken bones. 

There was time for Catford to get their third goal after Toby Manchip came off his line to catch fresh air from a Catford free kick and the Catford captain who had gambled on a Manchip cock-up (short odds) was left with a tap in into an empty net. 

In the end the result was a fair one – which even the most ardent Catford Wanderers fan, a formidable female presence on the touchline, would probably concede.  It was good to see her there on International Women’s Day. The match was played in excellent spirit, a fact noted by the referee.

The shower scenes were enlivened by a big hose. But this was nothing compared with the excitement that we were to experience in the clubhouse.  It all kicked off after Roger French left.  Tables and chairs went flying, punches were thrown, food went flying, a pizza slicer went missing allegedly.  The two teams on the adjacent pitch had taken their animus into the clubhouse, although some thought that the two players involved were from the same team (just like Farnborough I thought).  The main protagonist reassured us that it was not gang-related.  I am not quite sure what it was about – it was sudden, loud, indistinct, a confused melee sparked by what sounded like the word "Crackling".  I did not think there was any in the buffet.  The tennis club ladies had an experience to remember (and I do not mean showing Toby how to catch balls).  I managed to rescue some sausage rolls and chicken dippers from the wreckage.  The Catford “Barry Gibb” attended to the furniture.

Man of the match: George Kleanthous, a revenant, the Farnborough Mummy, who gambolled like a new-born lamb in the spring sunshine, and whose gamble with his ankle paid off handsomely.