Fantasy Football

Towards the end of last summer, my husband and my son were swept up on a tide of excitement at the impending football season. New boots were purchased, whistles were polished, flags ironed and lots of cones put down on the lawn in various geometric patterns and then picked up again. As a “family” activity, one in which we could all participate and perhaps hold my daughter’s and mine attention to something near football, my husband suggested we all enter our own teams in the newspaper’s Fantasy Football league, we would also have our own little competition between ourselves with a first prize of £20.
With a double billing of “What not to wear” followed by “A place in the sun” imminent, and to avoid discussion, I hastily agreed; my husband and son retiring to the kitchen table to thrash out a two hour conference on the merits of various midfielders.
Refreshed by my daily dose of make do and mend, and houses by the beach I came up with the following side.
In goal I would have somebody who has worn the number one shirt in my heart, for much of my life, Thomas Magnum PI, Tom Selleck in the flesh. He has the height and muscular build to play in goal, I can’t imagine him ever swearing or getting cross at his fellow player or official, and his Hawaiian shirts would be colourful enough for a keeper. I once persuaded my husband to grow a moustache, just to see if we could recreate just a little of Tom’s sparkle. After six months he had something vaguely resembling a moustache that sometimes had small bits of food hidden within. Bedtime was more a mixture of Joseph Stalin or Freddie Mercury depending upon the occasion. So it was off with the tache and a welcome return to the hairless little peachfish that he is today
At left back I would have more tached tottie solving crime, Shoestring actor Trevor Eve. A cricketing centre back partnership of cheeky Phil Tufnell, and West Indian Michael Holding, a man with a voice like the deepest darkest chocolate, that would turn the stoutest legs to jelly. Completing the back line I would have more moustachioed muscle in Canadian snooker player Cliff Thorburn, there is something about a well turned out snooker player, in his tight evening wear, with a smooth cue action that leaves balls bulging in the pockets, that makes the heart flutter.
Moving to midfield where I am told I must play another four players. On the left I would have George Clooney in his batman costume, alongside a freshly showered David Ginola, (who, I am told has actually played football) lightly oiled and in a small white towel. Alongside David I would have my first crush, and another solver of crime, Fred from Scooby Doo, and on the right Rhino from TV’s Gladiators.
Strikers, I believe, must be up front and out there, so I going to pair the sexiest Dr Who to travel through time David Tennant, alongside Mr Sauce - Ainsley Harriot.
On the subs bench I would have Buzz Lightyear as cover for George Clooney, Take That as multi functional players, Mark Ramprakash for an injection of hip thrusting action, and Des Lynam - a poor man’s Tom Selleck, as goalkeeping cover. Peter Kaye would manage the side and I would do all of the physiotherapy and massage.
Of course my attempts at fantasy football were met with howls of derision and accusations of infantile behaviour from my husband and son, “why couldn’t I take it seriously?” “How on earth could I leave out Steven Gerrard?” So with Hotel Babylon about to start, I picked eleven players at random and forgot about them. My Husband and son spend hours each week poring over possible transfers that would lift them a few places from ten thousand and fifty fifth in the UK, and fourth and third in the family competition to some level of respectability.My unchanged eleven are in the top one hundred of a national paper, the team name to look out for? Momsmagnificentmagnumandfriends