ReunionFootball.com

Luke's 2003 Match Report

As we enter into this, the 2004th year since the demise of our lord, public attention automatically turns to one thing. The Annual Reunion Football Match. Rumours about participants, game plans and of course that new pitch are already rife, so I thought it a rather fitting moment to reflect on last years cheers and tears. Following is my match report. Written shortly after the event it was never published as it was destroyed in a particularly nasty house fire. Now that modern technology has moved on, the charred remains have been salvaged and digitally re-mastered to recreate them as they were meant to be read, all that time ago. Enjoy.

The Gospel According to Luke.

Firstly a big thank you to all those who worked tirelessly behind the scenes including myself, Candy, Boydie and Hjelm for erecting the nets and giving the fans an opportunity to see their heroes close up. E. Brown and spoon provider Longthorpe for the latest addition in a long line of silverware and a special mention to John Childs for the half-time and full-time refreshments, duct tape and for not bringing an oversized football boot this year.

Firstly, the picking of teams, Candy's report comprehensively covers this so I'd like to take a look at it from another angle; where you can clearly see the outstretched pointing finger of Fisher directed towards Parsons before a gust of wind caught hold of his feeble arm, flinging it in the direction of M. Brown. Although narrowly missing out on my rightful "first pick" position, I realised when the day was out how much gratitude I owed that gust.

Anyway, on with the show and as the teams grouped together for the briefest of tactical discussions and allocation of positions I looked around for our captain, the man who would make the calls, the man who would be the inspiration for our game. Where was he? Well, the two captains were fannying about looking for a set of goalkeeper gloves for Colin. Initially, I was bemused that Fisher (who had been harping on about the great exhibition of goalkeeping that he was going to give for about 3 months), didn't have the foresight or inclination to spend a tenner on a pair himself! Next I was angry that our captain was more concerned about arming the opposition than sorting out his team. With the chilly and blustery conditions morale was at an all time low when John finally grouped us together. I waited for and indeed wanted a pre-prepared speech written just for the big day to focus the minds and strengthen the hearts. Instead all I got was "Who wants to play up front?" Our heads dropped and John was met with a wall of silence. We needed leadership we got a commitee meeting. I was nominated to perform the role and then John (for the first time in his life buckling to pressure to actually start a game of football) finally barked out some orders. He promptly put people out of their natural positions and gave everyone a number for their turn in goal. He did this so quick that no one actually got their allocated number in the first place let alone remember it for later! A look of bemusement descended upon all until we chose to ignore him from there on in. Morale suddenly took an unexpected boost. It was a key moment, we were a now a team and as we looked each other in the eye for the first time as we reshuffled ourselves into a variation of Child's vision, I realised that we would be playing for each other. The fact that no one was bothered about going up front cemented the view that there was no pre-madonnas in this outfit; and what an outfit.

When Eddie pulled out our kit for the day the prospect of playing into the wind no longer seemed daunting. John Childs in his carefully balanced team selection and showing an apparently inept attitude towards on-the-field captaincy thereby allowing us to stand on our own twenty-two feet had proven himself an unlikely genius.

The match kicked off and the wind was going to be a key factor that became apparant from early doors. However, in what was probably our first attack of the game a well slotted ball from the left side of midfield (either Longy or Ross) gave me a sniff. Could I regain my pace that surprisingly has deserted me in direct correlation with me gaining a few pounds (of pure muscle) and out sprint the last defender, Robin Butler. I shouldn't have worried as Butler simply fell on his arse, seemingly unable to run in a straight line. I was through on goal with Fisher advancing towards me; the weight of a year of no reunion football, the expectation of the crowd praying for an early goal to warm their chilled bones, the possibility that Colin might actually save it, the embarrassment. I picked a spot and hit it. I didn't catch the ball quite right and a terrible dread filled me, against the wind the ball quickly lost it's pace as it headed towards the goal and too close to Colin for my liking. Thankfully, the pre-match hype/bullshit from Fisher proved unfounded as he was left floundering on the floor as the ball rustled a net for the first time in Reunion Football. I wheeled away more in relief than in joy. One up - A good start.

We struggled for a while and soon found ourselves 3-1 down. We abandoned our long ball tactics and kept it close and short, the midfield trio of Longthorpe, E. Brown and Hunt took a strangle hold on the game that they never really relinquished. The change in tact soon paid dividends as Longthorpe bagged a crucial goal. 3-2 down, against the wind, we we heading towards the interval in a strong position.

I released Barlow from his goalkeeping duties and took up the gloves for what remained of the half. It was from my goalkeeping position that I viewed the first third of the second half, and watched as long, hopeful, punted balls were pumped into the wind by the opposition. They hadn't learned the lessons of the first half and seemed unable to adapt, with players abandoning their positions and bickering about who should go in goal we knew we had them on the ropes. Candelaria in particular seemed to be getting increasingly frustrated which had a detrimental effect on his play. Indeed, we were soon 5-3 up and it should have been more, chance after chance went begging as we failed to capitalise on Fisher's team resorting to a one man defence.

I was then relieved of the gloves by Tucker and made a conscious decision to stay back in defence, having earlier lost Connor and with Barlow taking up a midfield role, our full time defenders had been reduced to two men - Boyd and Morris. Both had played well during my spell in goal and I decided to assist them in their unsung role, thereby sacrificing personal man-of-the-match chances as I would undoubtedly have gone forward and bagged three in as many minutes.

Then, a glimmer of hope for the jokers we were playing. Butler's weak arse header snuck in as a break down in communications between keeper Tucker, the inspirational Longthorpe and the post, allowed the self-proclaimed 'golden crown' an air of respectability with a headed goal. The momentum and impetus should have been with them now but for stirring tackling from the back line, including some dubious bookings for myself and Boyd as the ref remembered he had cards in his pocket and was running out of time to use them.

We all know how it ended; Butler reared his ugly head (literally), and his bollocks (having lain dormant since the incident in his garden involving a Sam 'Quaterback' Baldock bullet pass) rose again to calmly slot pass Tolcher. James Boyd was sent off for the tackle of the game. And that miss! I rejoiced and revelled in our glory, in the end it was quite comfortable. The difference between the two teams was more than a scrotum sack, it was attitude and dedication (except Connor who thought he couldn't play with one eye).

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