Game
29, 2016-17
It's just before midday and 45 minutes before
kick-off. I'm waiting outside the locked changing rooms with players from both
teams, and nobody seems to know who's got the key. "We had our Christmas party
last night," a bleary-looking player from the home team tells me
apologetically. "It went on until 5.30." A couple of his team-mates manage
a tired, knowing smile. They're almost bottom of the table, with 14 points. The
visitors are top, with 46. No one's expecting any shocks today.
 |
| Almost clean sheet - players too hungover to argue? |
The home team represents Sunday football in
all its glory - hopelessly disorganized and severely affected by last night's alcohol. Late arrivals dribble in looking pale and fragile, then once out
on the pitch chug around like dysfunctional steam trains clanking between
randomly programmed lower gears. The ball seems to be permanently just out of
their control, as though it's being manipulated remotely by a snickering deity
with nothing better to do on a Sunday afternoon than taunt hangover-prone amateur
sportsmen. Somehow they hold out for 20 minutes until the league leaders
finally go one-nil up.
The hosts do have one good player, though -
a grey-haired but slim number 10 who controls their game...
Want to read more? Click here to order Reffing Hell: Stuck In The Middle Of A Game Gone Wrong by Ian Plenderleith (Halcyon Publishing), published on August 8, 2022.
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