2007-8 Season

Punchy posties go postal on the pitch

You have to get up early to beat a team of posties – and when their home ground is in Croydon, you have to get up even earlier.

While the ‘Chels had managed to get out the door early enough we didn’t actually wake up until the second half – a common feature of recent games.

Thus we sleepwalked through the first 45 mins, complete with dressing gowns, slippers, jim-jams and hot-water bottles (See match reports passim)

Within minutes of kickoff, I had missed two soft goals and Euan missed one – sadly, both were scored by the Posties and we were watching (or rather not watching from the bench).

The pain was made worse by the Posties’ decision to play most of the half with ten men (and some of it with only nine). Indeed, they had even declined my offer to play for them – can you believe that!

Now I could talk about their first-class passing or their special deliveries into the box or even how they stamped their authority on the game but I wouldn’t fall for such cheap gags, Terry, or even italicise them.

Besides, it wasn’t just that they were playing well, we were very definitely, ahem, second-class. The great sage of football, Tommy Taw, later suggested that it might have been the altitude that was the problem (Croydon is at least six metres above sea level, after all).

Anyway, at half-time we were three-nil down. Obursturmbanfuhrer EP (fresh from a starring role as a Nazi at the weekend) got his hairdryer out and blew a bit of West London pride back in the sleepy-headed ‘Chels.

Some changes were needed, an injection of steel at the back was required…yes, you guessed it, he brought me on (along with a few others, whose names are completely irrelevant, Gavin)

The second half was an entirely different game. Suddenly, we were passing the ball in midfield instead of giving it straight back to the opposition. The Posties were on the back foot and we began to create chances.

Our first goal came from a Gavin move – he picked the ball up 20 yards out, beat a man and drove a shot across goal which the keeper dropped, only for Euan to pounce and put it away. Three-One.

The Posties were rattled and getting far fewer chances at our end than they had earlier. We defended well – Wayne especially so – and Craig stopped the most dangerous efforts on goal.

Our second came from a Euan cross which was deflected and spinning in the box. Gav got to it and stroked it into the back of the net.

Our opposition were not just on the back foot now, they were well and truly seething. Indeed, their tattoos – of which they had more than their fair share – were twitching. The inevitable was only a matter of time.

The first bit of handbags broke out after a totally innocent Euan challenge on one of their midfielders – who went into a full-on rage.

This paled into insignificance later when a minor incident in our goalmouth (a delicate Dotden touch that went unseen by ref Tommy Taw, who would have had to give a penalty for the backpass) led to full-on fisticuffs at the other end of the pitch.

This time it was their keeper who got stuck in – a geezer with a face that looked like a relief map of one of Jupiter’s lesser moons – and put his dukes up against Gav, who gave every bit as good as he got. Chaos ensued and, with about five mins to go, Tom T wisely blew the whistle.

CR6 is definitely one postcode we won’t be returning to. Sorted.

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