Rehabilitation almost complete, I was back in the dugout as assistant manager for the visit of Westwood Wanderers to the Maracana. With everyone at a low ebb, it’s heartening to see signs of life where possible. As Neil Hannon crooned: ‘If you’re wondering why this tired old world sometimes seems brand new: it’s you.’ As we took to the field, it wasn’t long before events took their usual turn towards the bizarre, lifting the spirits. A somewhat weakened line-up began the game but defended with passion and effort; still, it wasn’t long before the Woodland Folk scored their first goal, adding 3 more in the ensuing 5 minutes with Mulvaney and Saynor bench bound.
The source of the oddness, to be frank, was the referee. The lads who turn out to officiate on these cold mornings deserve a lot of credit, but this was the kind of chap who when asked to remove a pen from their pencil case (in a school, for example), looks at you as if you’re probably addressing them in Hindi and are to be pitied. In a complete world of his own, he made wrong call after wrong call, missed several clear fouls and sometimes didn’t bother to give throw-ins at all. I was reminded of a line from The Archers this week: ‘Jane doesn’t need a mentor. She needs a brain transplant.’
With Mulvaney back on the pitch, things soon improved for the Satsumas as the Woodlanders’ direct and combative players struggled to legislate for the skill of Connor, who scored one himself and opened up the space for Mark Sexton to add another. The half time team talk centred on various clothing alterations and instructions from Coach Peter for Evan along the lines of a child friendly ‘Don’t piss about with it, son; control it, use your skill if you need to and shoot.’ 5 minutes in, the ball was put through to Evan and just inside their half, he knocked it slightly to the right and then hammered it across the goal to make the score 4:3.
Unfortunately, Westwood Glen then scored two very good goals themselves before a ludicrous ‘sleeve stoppage.’ Somehow, a Woodlander contrived to get their hand stuck within their sleeve, and it wouldn’t emerge from the typically and logically designed hand liberation gap. Do you imagine that the ref was able to offer much support with this? I thought not. Watching them wobble about trying to get the hand through made you wonder exactly what had become of man at this stage of our process.
Controlling the pace of the game with this sleeve business, Wanderers then managed to score again and the noise level really grew. As we sought to issue instructions to the players, I was reminded of trying to teach after each day’s break time Seagull Festival. There really are a lot of seagulls in Winnersh at times.
‘Where the hell did all these seagulls come from?’
‘Maybe they were bussed in from Brighton, sir.’
Pity the next driver if that was the case. And what would have happened when they stopped at the services? Would they have been allowed out to stretch their wings?
With the game pretty much out of sight, Evan managed to score from a corner, curling it in with the help of some dodgy goalkeeping. He was rewarded with the ‘Skill Trophy’ (awarded by Peter, of course), while I gave the Man of the Match wristband to Mark Sexton. However, we did both admit afterwards that our minds had gone a bit iffy when giving these things out. I might criticise the ref, but I think a little bit of responsibility can cause the mind to go weird, honestly. Before the game, Evan said ‘I want to live in Manchester because there’s not much wars there and I already understand their language.’ Not sure a conurbation straddling Lancashire and Cheshire was the place to do it, but it was definitely time to go and sleep this life off for a bit.
Wilderspool Causeway 