It's a game of two halves Alan

Football management, is not as easy as it would appear. The common misjudgement frequently made by the uninterested observer, reality striking when shoved into the pool on which they have thrown some scorn. Now don’t get me wrong, this is not a “Yes brother I have seen the light, I am healed” moment that would befit some religious satellite channel from across the pond. No, I am happy to concede that football management was harder than I thought it was going to be and that is all the ground that I am prepared to concede.

It started on the morning of the match in which husband and I were due to “take the team”. Unfortunately on the previous night husband, filled with amorous ideas, had made a clumsy pass with some dodgy oysters and a distinctly disturbing Dutch film, the main theme of which seemed to involve a great deal of soft focus naked cycling around tulip fields, culminating in a rather stilted romp among some rosy red round cheeses. Anyway I wouldn’t touch the Oysters and stuck to Liquorice allsorts as Mr & Mrs Humpentulipbang went about their business. Husband scoffed the whole lot of Oysters and subsequently spent the night in the loo throwing up.

Unable to take his place on the touchline I was left in sole charge of Match Day. Son was up with the lark, loading up with carbs and bananas and requesting a programme of warm ups, which I provided with a ten minute work out of picking things up off his bedroom floor and a pile of clean washing to put away. Warm ups complete we packed the car and headed for the ground.

Grandad currently home alone after Grandma’s latest bid for freedom was to meet us at the ground. Grandma had not been seen for over a week after going to Homebase with Sheila to return a carpet cleaner they had hired for the weekend. After a ten minute discussion on the downfalls of living with Grandad they had apparently just “kept on driving” It wasn’t the first time. Two years ago she had gone out to the Ice Cream van full of anti Grandad ire, purchased her 99 mit flake, made old Carllucio an offer he couldn’t refuse and embarked on a two month tour of Europe selling Ice cream all the way to Croatia, eventually ringing Grandad a fortnight later from the nearby service station after hitching her way back to Blighty with a Slovenian trucker. This time Grandad wasn’t too worried, the Rug Doctor Satellite was tracking their every move and had put a crack team on their tail to repatriate the errant carpet cleaner and ageing Thelma and Louise.

Nets were up lines painted, all I had to do was get the balls out of the bag and do the “front of house” bit, touch up the make up before glad handing and meeting and greeting the opposition. The boys came through the gate to be followed by a slightly oily looking coach, who shook my hand firmly made a crass comment about women and balls, winked and slapped my behind as he went on past to the dressing room; What a lech!

Gathering my charges I made them run round in circles as I had seen my husband do on several occasions, got them to do a few flappy things with their arms and some forward rolls before giving them a ball to kick at the goal but without hurting the goalkeeper’s hands. The referee called the boys together,the team assembled a whistle was blown and the game kicked off. Job done, easy this football, the Lecherous coach and his cronies positioned themselves on the far part of the pitch and started issuing what must have been technical advice as they kicked the ball at our keeper who dived and caught the ball,

“What a save from our boy Dave,
He’s a dish and he’s our fave
He’s so cute with those gloves on
Come on Dave lets have some fun! YEEEEEAAAAH!”

Brandi! What the bloody hell is she doing?

And there she was gold shorts, gold trainers, gold vest and gold pom poms with Bingo wings Beryl and a brace of Brandettes by her side, three different sizes and shape of the female form kicking and shaking to varying degrees their way along the touchline.
David, our shy Goalkeeper, couldn’t kick the ball away fast enough.

I tried to match the Lecherous coaches advice with some shouts of Come On, Well Done and Bad Luck but his organising and advice appeared to be making the difference, as they eventually scored a goal.

“Woe is me, and what bad luck,
Now our side is really stuck,
The ball is in the back of the net,
Come on boys there’s still time yet”

Good Grief!

The half time whistle blew and Grandad came with me to gee the boys up and dish out the drinks, which after a few minutes caused the boys to spit and splutter,

“Grandad, what the hell is this? “

Son cried out,

“ Meal in a cup lad…. Pork Dripping Smoothie, made em last Sunday. Just what you need, they’ll all be drinking them soon”

He said proudly,

“Good Grief Grandad, what next? Ships biscuits and hard tack, here boys have some water, and just do your best”

The boys plodding back to their positions with the taste of salted Pork fresh on their lips to continue the game. As the oily opposition coach walked over to make some patronising comments about “doing my best” I had a flash of inspiration. Brandi and her gang had been entertaining the crowd at half time with a corner flag twirling routine in the centre of the pitch. The two self conscious linesman had been encouraged to join in with their flags and the merry band were just marching their way back to our side of the pitch. I hailed Brandi and suggested to her that it would be only fair to spread the Brandi experience amongst the whole crowd and would she consider moving to the other side of the pitch to entertain the opposition crowd.

“Gee Honey, you are so right, it is just give give give with you all the way down the line, come on girls”

And off they went high kicking their way around the pitch to the other side.

Within five minutes the flow of technical advice from the coach had ceased altogether, stuff the football, Brandi was the one who needed the coaching, as the lech of a coach joined in several of their routines, slapping backs, squeezing thighs lost in the haze of a gilded pneumatic middle aged cheerleader. I found three spare players on the sideline who I encouraged to go and join in, our extra numbers making a difference as we scored three goals and won the match, If the Lecherous coach hadn’t been so distracted maybe he would have done the same, the referee didn’t seem to mind, he too was distracted by all things Brandi who rounded off the match with a centre circle victory performance and chant,

“Well done Boys you did the Job
You are definitely Top Knobs.
You won the match with skill and guile
We’ll all remember this one for a while”

I think this was one of Beryl’s,

The opposition left the field bemused at the sight of the Brandettes kicking and twirling their way from the field with their coach as fifth member in only his boxers and vest, using his tracksuit top and bottoms as Pom Poms.

I’m not convinced the distraction ploy will work the next time the team play, but as my husband said from behind the bathroom door,

“Three points is three points, but I’m not sure what Alan will make of your tactics when I ring him later”

“That’s great son you must be delighted, let’s hope she’s learnt her lesson and that football is a serious game not to be taken lightly, thanks for calling 606 with a happy story for once, now its over to Len on line 2 who was at the Spurs game today, Len…… ”

Yes Alan?????