The morning of the match saw the Rugby World Cup Final, a day where the underdog performed above expectation against a highly decorated team. Trafford were of a similar ilk, top of their table, unbeaten, with a team littered with (local) stars.
Unlike the Doghouse (which I’ve always found pleasant; good real ale, basic food, occasional live entertainment), I’ve never been in the Trafford pub but if I was to pay a visit though I suspect that the trophy cabinet must take up at least three customer tables. 2006/07 shield winners and promoted, 2007/08 Division 3 champions. 2008/09, Division 2 champions. 2009/10 Division 1 champions, league cup winners, and inaugural Norfolk FA Veterans cup winners, and 2010/11 Norfolk FA veterans cup winners again. At the outset of the game Trafford were unbeaten in this competition.
The arrival of a new kit is a rare special moment, like a solar eclipse, it is an event that comes around very rarely in a man’s amateur football career so is one to be treasured and cherished. There’s been a childlike excitement amongst the team since word of its arrival. The question has been asked every week “when it will come?”, but frustratingly like Christmas the asking never seems to make the event arrive any quicker. But then joy, you forget all about it and it arrives from nowhere, plastic vacuum pack manically torn apart like wrapping paper to reveal Santa’s present. The virgin-like new strip, fresh smell, soft to touch, pristine, yet to be misshaped and manhandled by the local laundry’s brutal washer dryer. The socks are soft like silk, comfortable with some form of stitched-in support running around the arch of the foot… simply because we’re worth it. Farewell horizontal green and white stripes and the visual illusion of adding two stone per player. Welcome Yellow and Blue (true club colours) Brazilian- esque, XXL shirt and shorts, ones to grow into proudly with age and waistline.
With a new kit came a new formation. 3-5-2 was the great new hope adopted by Ecky, who caved in very easily following a very one sided case put forward by a centre back currently playing left back. Ecky was keen to point out that the team management wasn’t some of a Dictatorship, but more of a …. “erm what’s the opposite of Dictatorship?”.
The first half started well with Cringleford attacking the pavilion end, and our defence coped easily with high balls forward to the Trafford big men. Potter and Barnston were getting up and down the flanks, and on occasions beyond the full backs, and the midfield 3 of Izzard, Howie and Sanders pinged around short triangular passes straight from beaches of the Copacabana. Ecky had a great chance to score, one on one with the keeper and managed to hit the net albeit the wire meshed one surrounding the tennis courts. Scott and Mick also had good chances to registered but neither succeeded.
Generally the referee seemed like a man with good intentions, but a worrier overly concerned with minor detail. Free kicks were awarded to penalise bad hair, failure to replace turf divots after shots, and untied laces. He was keen to play the advantage rule following an infringement, but allowed play to go on for so long on one occasion that both teams had time to grow full beards, with the resulting free kick due to take place in three weeks against Horsford (during the second half). The offside rule caused constant confusion. Deon tackled a Trafford player, won the ball, knocked it through to himself into space, and the referee agreed with Mill’s Dad and gave offside. Half time and nil-nil.
The break was eventful. Our keeper Graham Casbourne suffered a muscle pull in the leg whilst undertaking the strenuous task of enjoying a quick drink of water while sitting on the bench.
The second half brought similar events to the first, injury to our keeper sent Scott into hiding. Richard Anderson lost paper-scissors-stone so had to replace Casbourne. Cringleford continued to play the best football, Trafford continued to lump it forward with Mark Dennis seemingly unbeatable in the air or on the floor. Playing against yellow shirts and blue shorts got Mr. Mills Junior reminiscing about his elder brother’s proudest moment; representing England in the 2002 World Cup Quarter Final against Brazil. His sibling rivalry juices got the better of him though when looking to emulate one of his brothers powerful runs down the right wing, he carried the ball 5 yards took a touch, got the ball stuck under studs, then proceeded to go face first into the grass. Claims that he wasn’t even the best footballer in his family were resisted.
Cringleford hit the top of the bar (Simon), should have done better from an indirect free kick in the area (Izzard), and had a very good chance at the far post that was put over (can’t remember). Another day we would have been 4-0 up. The referee awarded a corner on the basis of who shouts loudest gets it.
Extra time was met with a moan and groan from both sides about how long a half should be. I’ve never seen a less energetic coin toss in my life. God forbid the winning captain suggest changing ends as there would have been a revolt from both sides. Second half of extra time, looked like this was going to pens, then Trafford scored; their number 10 appeared from nowhere on the left, crossed early to the forward who took a heavy touch, then shanked the ball into the one foot of the net not covered by keeper nor defender. Heartbreak, but a solid performance all round from Cringleford. You can’t help but think though that we are the Cheryl Cole of Vets football. Pleasing to the eye, you feel a little bit sorry for her, and everyone knows she could do much better.
A day of defeat for the gallant underdog indeed. Still cheer up... the French lost at Rugby after all.
