Time until the next game at Benalmadena Polideportivo

Match Report by Rory

Disclaimer: any resemblance to any person real or imaginary is purely intentional so anyone with an objection needs to go through the door marked “Do One”.

Well campers, it was with a feeling of elation that your correspondent returned to the hallowed plastic turf of the Poli-put-the-kettle-on. Typically, Supreme Being*(the Commander has taken out an injunction against me using the term Commander which he now has under copyright) Breck had picked a couple of totally ill-matched teams. When is that guy going to get it!! Anyway, the blacks were a copy of Tod Boehly’s Chelsea, full of tikka takka midfielders, with no-one to bang it in the net. After a short debate about how many Steves and Daves each team should have, the game got underway.

Not for the first time, Kevo’s mummy forgot to pack his footie shorts along with his packed lunch. This resulted in our glider king having to wear his “utility” trousers, which enabled him to do a few quick plumbing jobs in between shoring up the blacks’ defence and scoring a brace for the reds. Fortunately for Kevo, while he was undertaking a number of quick re-wiring jobs, silky wing-back Boris was able to adapt to the new style of Pep’s full-back moving into midfield (get stuffed Kyle Walker). Meanwhile, titanium jointed Chelsea apologist Steve started out in goal, confident that the opposition wouldn’t have the wherewithal to batter the ball past him.

The blacks looked solid in midfield with hard tackling milky Steve keeping the local supplier of orthopaedic aids in business. Running / not walking Dave the Cab dominated left midfield skilfully arguing that his short legs only gave the impression he was running all of the time when actually, he was walking very fast. Diehard Bees supporter Dave (what another one? Did parents of children in the late 50s / early 60s have no imagination?) played in the pocket just off the front two. The midfield was capped off by Dazza, one of Connemara’s finest Gaelic footballers and still the record holder for how high you can kick the ball over the bar and still keep it within the earth’s atmosphere.

Up front, the blacks had big (knock the ball up to him) Nigel holding the ball up and playing in the fast moving £520 million 56 players waste of money Chelsea midfield to run onto the ball. Meanwhile inspirational Ted Talk Bambi unleashed his superpower of being able to alienate players of both teams with his encouraging (facking useless) comments.

The reds started with Billy the Fish in goal, and the reds’ back line was immediately filled with confidence. Plymouth hardman Pete started out at the back to ensure that if anyone did get through on goal, they wouldn’t make it to the after-match social drink. He was backed up by (“on your left shoulder”) Audrey, who plays great in a back four but loses the plot in a five. Anyway, our Aud moved comfortably into midfield and closed down many of the blacks’ silkier moves. Torrequebrada Al (we all ‘ate Leeds, we all ‘ate Leeds) gave a great impersonation of Luke Ayling, great going forward but shite defensively. Meanwhile headless chicken Keef (did you know he used to be someone?) did brilliantly what Keef does. Run around like a headless chicken!! Fortunately, the midfield was solid with your correspondent, despite his shoulder injury he’d sustained while delivering supplies to needy Ukrainian families (you what? he fell over pissed in his bedroom and pranged his rotator cuff). Anyway, enough of this slander.

Up front, the reds had Stanley Matthews clone Ken, ably supported by Dundee Utd’s finest…Mick who brilliantly glided between midfield and up front, deftly laying off the ball to the opposition. Meanwhile secret weapon Dave (what another one? Did the parents of children in the late 50s and early 60s run out of ideas?….YES!) took up position on the left of midfield, waiting for the opportunity to unleash his howitzer left foot on the unsuspecting trundlers.

Ok, so the first 30 minutes was only slightly less dull that watching the Chelsea team line up and try to kick the ball into an empty goal. Both events had the same outcome. No goals! Sometimes there can be too much passing, and this was one of those occasions. As most of the players started to become comatose, Kevo smacked a great ball through to el Bambino. The former Brazilian 163rd team starlet glided after the ball and slotted past the pectoral fin of Billy the Fish into the goal. What a finish. Extraordinarily, Supreme Being Breck ruled the goal out on the basis that the spindly legged hitman had been running when he slotted it past the leaping fish. While even the reds felt this was harsh, they were pleased to be offered the reprieve and secretly rejoicing that the Ted Talk influencer had had his goal brutally denied.

Meanwhile, back at the soccerball, the blacks started to exert their one-man advantage. With Steve L getting louDER and LOUDER!! with his calls, the blacks surged forward and it wasn’t long before big Nigel took on a long-range shot. The frontman skilfully planted it in the corner past the gasping fish to give the blacks a surprising early lead. This gave the blacks an injection of confidence which put the reds under considerable pressure resulting in Dave (running / not walking) skilfully bagging a brace and giving the blacks an undeserved 3-0 lead. Blacks 3-0 Reds. It was at this moment of desperation that Blackburn Dave (what, another one?…..) unleashed his thunderbolt, which as you know is now to be used to power the latest attempt by some very bright scientist people to land a rocket on one of Jupiter’s frozen moons. Anyway, the missile safely landed in the back of the blacks’ goal, although Japan did issue a general alert, fearing it would land in their territorial waters. Blacks 3-1 Reds.

As the game entered the last third it was eventually decided that the reds should have the extra man, with utility midfielder Kevo switching and rewiring the floodlights at the other end of the ground. Sure enough the dominance brought by “to me- to you” Kevo soon had the reds on the front foot again and pressing hard on the blacks goal sticks. Against the run of play, apologetic Dazza worked his way down the right and ran onto a great through ball from Nigel. To the everyone’s surprise the Irish wizard discovered that he could side-foot the ball rather than using his big toe to blast it into the stratosphere. Unbelievably the snow-covered ball dropped out of the sky and over the head of little Al, into the goal. Blacks 4-1 Reds. The reds were under the cosh, but gradually started to wrench back control with some strong tackling and distributive play from deep lying midfielder Audrey. With Kevo slotting into the libero role, this allowed Plymouth Pete to take his dynamic tackling game into the final third.

The reds were down but not out. As they were becoming increasingly dominant, hunch-back Rory fired a ball through to goal-hanger (and soon to be relegated Dundee Utd victim) Mick, who cool as you like, took the ball on his left peg and stroked it past the advancing apologist for a goalkeeper Dave (which one??). Blacks 4-2 Reds. The reds could sense victory with Keef (running / not walking) providing the engine room for a series of assaults on the blacks’ goal. Meanwhile big Dave (which one?) launched a series of shots vaguely in the direction of the goal. Unfortunately, the Pueblo had to be temporarily closed down because of this misdirected bombardment of bladder filled plastic. Hover boarding Kevo eventually glided into position, and against Keef’s screamed advice, hunchback Rory slid it into the big man’s stride. Sure enough he fired it home from 20 yds past rubber armed Dave (don’t ask me which one).

Surely the reds were going to secure the best turnaround in WFS history? Hopes were raised when due to a curious defensive error the ball pinged into Kevo’s feet. The big man calmly shifted it past the oncoming defender and fired it into an empty goal, as for some reason milky Steve had gone walkabout. Blacks 4-4 Reds!! What a game. The reds continued to press for a winner and would you believe it, Keef found himself 15 yards out with only the keeper to beat. Sure enough he’d been watching too much QPR on the telly and proceeded to waft it wide when it would have been easier to score. Would that prove a costly miss….? Well of course it would. And with Breck adding on the minutes, surprise surprise, Steve Loasby delivered a brilliant ball to send the supreme being through on goal. The reds were fairly relaxed with Breck bearing down on goal, as they felt he was bound to batter it wide or over the bar. But shock! Horror! He took aim with his left foot and fired it into the goal past the despairing fish’s dorsal fin. A brilliant goal and a last minute deserved victory for the blacks.  The game was played in a great spirit with the lads retiring to the bar to discuss the latest theories on quantum physics.