The Big Match

So here we were at the end of a tortuous season in the Foreigners Abroad League with seven losses and a draw to our name. Just like the Premiership, this was the final Sunday where the champions and the relegation places would be decided. In truth, although we were bottom, relegation wasn't an issue as there was no 2nd Division so we were safe whatever happened. So, just take it easy then and not bother trying? No way, not this team. At the start of every match we always thought that we would be victorious and, failing that, make a good account of ourselves. Unfortunately, the latter had been true more often than not.

Our last game was a 5-1 defeat and, apparently, as I wasn't available, we were 0-0 at half time against one of the teams who would be battling it out today for the right to call themselves champions.

Today there was a different atmosphere surrounding the team as we really did feel this was the one we were to win and go out on a high. The record against today's opponents was played 2, drawn 1 and lost 1. We were sporting a new kit sponsored by The Grapevine so we even looked the part this time. It wasn't the first outing for our kit, which was evident by the black feet of our red and white hooped socks, as it had been aired the previous weekend in the International Football Tournament on El Día de la Cruz in Cómpeta's Campo de Fútbol. This was a tournament involving just three teams; England, represented by ourselves, a Spanish team and a Moroccan team. Needless to say we came 3rd but managed to take a trophy away in recognition of our participation.

Today we had the earlier kick off in Nerja as the main championship decider would be topping the bill. I had been trying to put the word out that we all needed to be fit and raring to go as my footy reports needed something different to report. The 'copy' and 'paste' function on my lap top was wearing out with the same old, “We started strongly and managed to contain them before we tired and got hammered 9-0” or something similar. Regular readers will know what I mean. My rallying cries to keep fresh and have an early night were threatened by the Rock Night at Bar La Roca and music at the Alicat.

However, we managed to get a team together but again, our Spanish keeper, Curro, had deserted us so it would be down to our very own Samwise Gangee, the hobbit sized keeper you'll recall from the last report, to step up to the foe. Sam was getting quite adept at keeping goal and his outing in the tournament the week before had been impressive to the extent that I presented him with our commemorative trophy from the tournament as recognition of his Man of the Match performance.

We arrived in Nerja and there was quite a following to cheer us on. I must mention the support from our SWAG's, as they have come to be known, has been great all season. Some of the noise levels and rallying songs would put Liverpool's Kop to shame. The numbers were swelled by two newcomers to our travelling throng as Cherry and Bill had got the taste of the Cómpeta/Archez FC bandwagon having seen us in the previous week's tournament. Had they really been watching the right team? They should have gone to Specsavers.

We donned our new kit but unfortunately I was slow off the mark. I managed to get the number 13 shirt, which I'd made my own and knew fitted me and the socks are all the same size but how did the biggest bloke in the team end up with size L shorts? All the midgets had the XL shorts and I was left with shorts which wouldn't have made me look out of place in The Village People. I'm not saying the kit size was close fitting but somebody made the comment they thought I'd had some body art done. Cheers. Further disappointment as we had to wear the yellow bibs as our opponents were also wearing white shirts. Apparently, it was their home fixture. Hang on! I know we were playing Nerja in Nerja but we play in Nerja every week. Every match is an away fixture for us so don't we get the choice? And what about showing off our new kit? Still, one thing was the bibs covered up the back to front numbers 6 and 9 on two of the shirts.

We kicked off and – 'copy' 'paste' – we started well and were putting them under pressure. (Damn, there goes my 'copy' and 'paste' function. Let's hope things are different this week). I was playing in the centre of defence alongside Simon with Stevie Twiselton on the right and Damian on the left. It was a defence borne out of any RFU team's front row. I am more at home in defence as opposed to being in the midfield engine room. I always played defence in my younger days and nowadays my engine isn't what it was; the tappets are a bit worn, the spark plugs are well overdue for changing and my big end's gone.

Damian soon put his mark on their forward as he dared to encroach towards our goal. Like a raging bull Damo charged towards him and whilst he did dispossess the guy of the ball he also just about managed to dispossess him of his head. We have a photo, Damo, and the camera doesn't lie. It was a forearm smash Big Daddy would have been proud of. As Ewan had attempted to do in a previous game Damo was trying to do now and lay claim to my nickname of 'Chopper' and making a good job of it.

Not long into the game I found myself in their half as we attacked. Stu had the ball up front and was holding off their defence. I called for the ball at the edge of the box and managed a shot at goal. It sailed narrowly over the crossbar but the warning signs were there. Maybe my big end hadn't gone after all.
Then something happened which hadn't happened in any of our previous matches. I managed to win the ball on the halfway line (no not that, stay with it) and spotted Luis Felipi running down the left midfield channel. He was tracked by their defender but I managed to play the ball inside the defender and into Luis Felipi's path. Now I could make more of this but The Grapevine limit my word count. I did ask for a separate supplement just for this final match report and especially to incorporate the further detail of this searching pass but the miserable buggers wouldn't have any of it. Anyway, Luis Felipi collected the ball in his stride, dribbled into their penalty area before slotting the ball home as their keeper advanced. We were ahead 1-0 for the first time in any of our games. “Come on ref, isn't it full time yet?” Oh no, another 30 minutes and another half to go.

They did make attacking forays into our half but as a defence we stayed solid and Sam was managing to keep any shots at bay. Then the unthinkable happened. Again I managed to win the ball just inside our half and was able to pick out Stevie T breaking on the right from defence. He collected the inch perfect pass (remember, it's my article and I'll describe it how I want. I have my artistic licence) and beat one of their midfielders. He then delivered an inch perfect pass (you see, I'm fair in my assessment) into the path of the advancing Santi who, despite being under pressure from their defence, managed to find the back of the net. We were in dreamland as we now had a two goal lead. “Come on, ref! Have you lost the pea out of your whistle?”
We made a few early substitutions as Damo had had enough and came off. He was struggling with knee and shin injuries and had so much support strapping on his legs he looked like he was donning a wetsuit under his kit. Their guy, who'd nearly lost his head in Damo's earlier challenge, wasn't sad to see the back of him. The poor chap had managed to twist his head back round and was now facing the right way.

Having made our substitutions they made an attack down the right and we were slow at getting numbers back behind the ball. The ball was crossed and as I'd been drawn out of position to head off the attack the ball was crossed and their forward headed the ball into the back of the net. Sam's height, or lack of it, was exposed. We were 2-1 up and still playing well but we could have done without this. To coin the phrase from the final Sunday of the Premiership, it was squeaky bum time. We had to hold out and try and find another goal.

Half time came and we were relieved we'd have the breeze at our backs in the 2nd half as we had been caught out a few times in the 1st half with their keeper's kicks clearing our defence. As we started the 2nd half mysteriously the wind changed direction and we had it in our faces again. There was a greater force conspiring against us.

As we started the 2nd half we were under pressure early on and frankly it didn't subside. We had goal mouth scrambles, our woodwork was hit more times than a carpenter's thumb and I cleared the ball so often with my head I've got the Nike 'tick' from the match ball embossed on my forehead. We did manage a few attacks including Stu, who had battled hard up front all game, managing to get through on goal only to lob the ball over their keeper and unfortunately the crossbar. Sam and Phil worked hard in midfield with Ewan's later contribution but still they kept coming at us. Could we hold out? Then a heart stopping moment. They were awarded an indirect free kick in our penalty box after I'd passed the ball back to Sam who, as a result of my mistaken encouragement, picked it up. They took the free kick quickly and their forward put it into the back of the net. The whistle went and fortunately, Mick, the ref, blew for off-side and disallowed the goal. It's always worth bringing your own ref just in case! Only joking, Mick, it was a top decision. We could breathe again – just.

The minutes ticked away and as Phil asked Mick how long was left he checked his watch and blew for full time. We'd finally won our first match and left it to the last game. You'd have thought we'd won the FA Cup and in our own minds we had. The scenes of jubilation were to behold as Simon ran around with his shorts round his ankles. I knew he'd taken the shorts I should have had. They were too big for him.

We'd all played well despite the pressure we had been under and it was difficult to pick a Man of the Match. However, as Sam and Phil said they thought I should take the accolade who was I to argue. Not much had got past me as I finally found the position more suited to my game. Damo had clearly taken my mantle of 'Chopper' so was I now to be known as Alick 'Stopper' Howard?

We can now look forward to a summer of recuperation although by the time you have read this we will have taken part in a mini tournament involving the four teams in the FA League and maybe we will have a team in the Cómpeta 7-a-side tournament in July if they decide to re-run it. Next season could possibly see some changes in the team organization as we have potential new backers in the form of The Grapevine. Roman Abramovich watch out!