“Hackney,
Hackney,
We're the famous Athol and we're off to Hackney,
Hackney,
Hackney,
We're the famous Athol and we're off to Hackney...”
We had just beaten a spirited London Bari u23 3-2 and the fans were singing in unison. We’d made
it, we were off to the semi-final of the league cup at Hackney...
...
...
Chris awakes from his glorious memory. His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy, vomit on his sweater already.... He breathes in the atmosphere of the Hackney changing room 10 toilet, rusty water flows from the tap as he wipes with the coarse, grade 3 toilet paper. The excitement of having substitutes is abundant as he walks back to his peg. The team starts to gather in the changing room... we are ready. Chris decides to head out for an early warm up, he knows what is at stake, he’s been in this situation before, he’s felt the pain, the heartache of falling at this hurdle... but that was years ago, today is a new day, time to expel those demons. A good warm-up completed, Chris is in the zone, concentrating on the task ahead, the team looks ready, he’s back in his favoured number 10 spot and he has those graceful 4 words his therapist told him “Just win you cunt” fresh in his mind. Kick off, Athol, playing with the wind, make early headway, fighting for every ball, pressuring he opposition, Chris is confident, the team is solid, every player fighting for the win. Then suddenly a poor clearance by the right back and the ball drops to Chris, everything goes silent, time slows to a near standstill, Chris is transported out of his body, he is no longer in control. He’s watching the game through a TV screen, in his hand resides a ps3 controller.... His right thumb reaches up and presses the triangle button... the delicate through ball is expertly poked home by Jeff. Everything is going to plan, Chris is calm and invigorated and comes back down to earth. Athol are on the attack again, corner kick, whipped in dangerously by T, gasps as their defender inexplicably punches the ball away, the defender later admitted he’d watched a tape on efending by Dav Rankin, a red card and a penalty. Chris can’t believe his luck, the opportunity to make it 2-0, confidence is high, he’s remembering the times he’s scored penalties before and he remembers the happiness it brings others, Beno’s cheeky smile, Pete’s loving gaze. He cooly runs up and tucks it away, 2-0.
The half time team talk was swift, let’s keep playing as we are. The second half took a turn for the worse, Chris hadn’t accounted for the wind, the wind god dammit! Our man advantage had been all but removed because of the bloody wind. We are immediately under pressure, long balls coming from every angle, our defence remains solid. Chris is dreaming, we’ve got this, 2 goals up and they haven’t even tested Carl, do I dare drea..... penalty. An outrageous decision by the ref, trying to bring some competitive nature back to the game. They score... Chris freezes, it’s his PTSD kicking in, but he fights it, he remembers the advice from this therapist “Just win you cunt”, the words repeat over and over, it becomes a chant, he see’s flying elephants singing and swimming monkeys whistling, the song is loud and clear “JUST WIN YOU CUNT, JUST WIN YOU CUNT”.
The rest of the half is a blur.... Until the final whistle.... A triumph for all!
The crowd start to sing....
“Wembley,
Wembley,
We're the famous Athol and we're off to Wembley,
Wembley,
Wembley,
We're the famous Athol and we're off to Wembley...”
