ReunionFootball.com

Luke Parsons' ghost of football past...

May I be presumptious enough to ask you to spend a few minutes of your time reading this tale as I believe it may be relevant given the current climate.

The other day (i shan't bore you with times and dates) as I walked along the street minding my own business, I was approached by an old withered man, bent of back and bent of stick. He started to talk of the "good old days" as such characters often do. As he spoke, a strange thing happened - a thick fog seemed to envelop me and I was transported to a far away place in a long gone age. In the distance there was a group of young men playing footy. Yes it was Churston's school field, the time somewhere between 1989 and 1996. Before me a scene played out that I shall hereby refer to as the "Golden Years"; a vintage age when all seemed right with the world and everyone was happy (except for those poor souls that had to endure triple Physics with Eastment sitting next to Colin)

It was a day when some of the great names of yesteryear applied their trade with much aplomb; the likes of Graham 'The Shadow' Friel one of the great Irish Internationals. Paul Watts who shone in a time when keepers were keepers and wouldn't think twice about commiting common assault to win the ball. 'Thicky' Phil Tucker who would attempt to do a Pele and take everyone on from his own goal line before inevitably turning himself inside out and falling over with great comic effect. John 'Spoon-Man' Childs would think nothing of scooping a ball over a 20ft fence from a yard out onto the waiting railway track. Simon Liggins and Simeon Holden two underrated and uncapped (Liggins you may have to correct me) players who you could rely on to run after your crap passes. Mike Taylor who didn't really know what he was doing and didn't particularly give a shit, and bless him the crowds appreciated that. Eddie Brown, the Gazza of his day (but without the skill) who had an illustrious career in the top flight without ever running - a truely remarkable achievement. Glyn Saunders a quality player who has achieved the ultimate stereotype and now runs a pub in foreign climbs. Dan 'The Man' Connor a dedicated and noble defender in what all too often would turn out to be a 1-0-10 formation. Steve 'Gobshite' Candelaria the tricky Portuguese winger (whose close relationship with Toadfish / Rich Bull has never been fully explained) and whose off the field antics has led to his inevitable decline. Mike Simmons the first football mercenary (whose close relationship with Rich Bull / Toadfish was never fully explained) who would endorse his sponsor by wearing his thick black jacket in a searing 90 degree heat, he later changed his name to Nike. Simon Longthorpe the last of a dying breed of athletes not only was he capped many times but also went to the Barcelona Olympics. His legendary stamina proved to be his downfall as it seemed he couldn't take it into the bedroom and some sleazy tabloid stories ended his career. John Hook whose obsession to look good in the best kit soon back fired, as a beer gut and the new figure hugging Italy shirt didn't mix. The unquestionable skill and professionalism of the likes of Ian Hicks and Mike Brown is an example to all; although the hair issue has recently threatened to undermine Mike's achievements.But it was also a time when certain players were only on the field to make the rest of us look good. A time before Johnny Foreigner had taken such a firm grip of these shores. A time when all Norwegians were uncomfortable on the footy field especially Tom Hjelm the first Scandinavian import who refused point blank to get muddy, although his insistance in wearing the old Churston kit to this very day has earned him cult like status in some parts of Loddiswell.

Anyhow, the image eventually faded and I was left standing there in the street where my encounter began. The strange old man / mystical being who I shall now refer to as the ghost of Football Past had disappeared into thin air or just got bored and pissed off.We are now in a time when it is acceptable to play 45 minutes of International / Reunion Football. It is a time when the inept have risen to the dizzy heights of the game and have ideas above their station.I remember a time when Ray "Where's me Glasses?" Barlow was only on the pitch for the amusement of spectators and players alike. Now he puts in man-of-the-match performances wearing a pair of steel toe capped rugby boots!!! Colin 'The Cat' Fisher is the worst thing to happen to goalkeeping since Gordon Banks lost an eye. Kev 'Couldn't hit a Barn Door' Stoyle actually seems to be able to kick it through a cat flap from 40 yards. James Boyd, king of the last ditch goal saving tackle, now tackles in all parts of the pitch and in all weathers. Robin 'Golden Crown' Butler who now plays abroad in a league of a lowerstandard than the SPL and thinks he's achieved the God like status he so desperately craves. Ian Weller who actually claims to be able to run rings round anyone come the big day and thinks you are all a bunch of tossers (technically speaking that's a lie and he doesn't have a bad word to say about anybody so I thought I'd make something up). Nick Weddell who if rumours are to be believed has masterminded Everton's recent revival. Steve Tolcher a first division player at best currently swaggers around the top flight.And of course Alan Morris current holder of The Trophy. I rest my case.

And then there's me Luke Parsons, a Churston Stalwart of two managerial reigns a Wooldridge Warrior before becoming an Eaton Eagle. A gifted player oozing class, a name that struck fear into the heart of opposing captains as it was called out in the team pick. Unfortunately gentlemen (and Johnny C. because I've never really been convinced) I am going to tell you now what you have all been thinking but were too afraid to say. Yes, I have lost my MOJO !!! After a successful spell with the top Midlands side the Titty Twisters I switched codes and became what many of you would call an egg chaser. On my return in various testimonial appearances it soon became apparent what had happened - I was quite simply pants! A brief spell in Peru with an under 12s team boosted my confidence and I am now in extensive training for the big event. My training started today but it's pissing down outside so an hour writing this followed by a cup of tea and loading up Champ Man should suffice.

Thank you for listening.

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