This is a tale of a boy taking his first steps in the company of men.
As I sat quietly on the Piccadilly line my mind wandered to tales of the great men with whom I would be sharing a dressing room. I was awash with doubts - Am I good enough? Am I fit enough? Will they like me? But mostly, can my virgin orifice accommodate Carsten in the shower? Will he be gentle? The nerves built and the sphincter twitched at the thought of playing alongside these giants of the Sunday Leagues.
Sometimes a single act can sum up a match, a man and maybe even a season. I will not begin this report at the beginning; I will begin at the defining moment. James Flynn, in one moment encapsulated all that is great and all that is sub-normal about PPR. In using his face as a shield he has proven that he has a rare gift, the ability to summon the bravery and wild abandon of the severely mentally handicapped. This dumb valour characterised the game as PPR dominated the tackles and possession but persisted with the moronic long ball. PPR (like a very slow child, at the back of the class, on a red plastic chair, eating his pens and smelling faintly of his father's semen) failed to learn that the long ball wasn't going to work. Nevertheless, on the rare occasions when the ball was played along the ground PPR looked a cut above, and it would be unfair not to mention some of the neat football played by Gomme, Flynn, Cowan and that thin fella who is clearly a very tidy (but slightly lazy) footballer.
The breakthrough came after 20 mins as the Red Bee goalkeeper came charging from his line at pace, eating up the ground with every stride (literally) before coming face to face with Tomkins senior. The keeper duffed his clearance under pressure and Ween with characteristic cool...very nearly missed an open goal.
The PPR back four exhibit some interesting contrasts: on the one hand an obvious bond of brotherhood, solidarity and common purpose shared by Nils and Havers, and on the other the slightly effeminate whinging and intense sexual tension between Phil and Carsten. It seems to work: Havers, Phil, Nils and Carsten were rock solid at the back answering every question asked of them (special mention to Phil - well done mate I expected you to be much worse). The more refined forward pairing of Tricky and Ween looked as cultured as ever, but would always struggle chasing speculative balls into the channels. Chances were few and far between and with the exception of Tricky's header (pushed onto the bar by the keeper) and Phil's fizzing worm burner (didn't reach the keeper), there was little in the way of goal mouth action.
As you can imagine I was extremely bored on the sidelines by this point (I only had Goddard for company) and was desperate for my debut. The change came after about 55 mins at which point Goddard replaced Jimmy Cowan and I came on as a poor substitute for the quality rangy lad who doesn't like running. The game continued as before with PPR out-working and out-fighting Red Bee but lacking the composure to finish the job. On 70 mins Red Bee got an equaliser, following a slight mix up, their striker cut inside and hit a cracking long range strike past Olly.
The game finished 1 - 1: good enough for PPR to finish top of the group - the cup dream lives on. An uneventful and mediocre match lifted only by the stalwart efforts, work rate and sheer dog of the Owls.
We finished off the afternoon with a relaxing spa experience - 13 men, one bar of soap, 2 streams of luke warm stagnant water and a bearded pervert.
MoM: Flynn (paraplegic bravery)
DoD: Phil & Carsten (for not playing nicely with each other)
