Symmetry
5.10am on Saturday 17th November and alarm bells are ringing in more ways than one. Deep down, in our Hert of Herts, we know that on this day of almost perfect symmetry, with Hertfordshire coming to town for both morning and afternoon fixtures, there is every possibility of a non-perfect ending to the day’s main events. Hemel Hempstead (Dacorum) face up in the a.m. time zone, while St Albans occupy the post meridian slot on this day of symmetrical destiny.
6.10pm and it’s a mild (but dark) autumnal morning at the Home of Football. The year’s third season is upon us and symbolised wherever one peeps; the patio a blanket of russet and brown, the squirrels skitting from branch to trunk in the adjacent nature area and The Groundsman hibernating in the hospital ward named ‘home’, some three miles east of the immediate action. Elephants never forget, but there are few of the behemoths to be found in the immediate environs of Ivory Close in Tuffley, which is probably the reason why he hasn’t been seen at GL2 since the words ‘cut and roll’ were mentioned in the same sentence around 3 o’clock last Sunday afternoon. Which, as it happens, is what occurred the last time the words ‘cut and roll’ were mentioned together….
Also noticeable by his absence is The Chairman, who’s sent his better half to collect a programme while he coughs and splutters away in the hospital ward located in Stoney Field (Highnam), a location better known to the common man as ‘bedroom’. ‘Twelve minutes to Longlevens and twelve back; 90 seconds from car to programme box and 90 seconds back. 30 seconds to make the purchase and ten minutes of chat.’ Whichever way you do the maths, considers El Supremo, it adds up to enough time to crack the combination of the flapjack tin, get back under the duvet and regain the ability to cough and splutter at will, long before the matron returns. And still have time to sweep up those crumbs….
As it turns out, it’s a good job the boss has decided to give today a miss as Father Jones, once again looking and speaking like a proper coach has arrived, and anything other than a resounding win in the upcoming game may have spelt curtains for the current, ill-looking and ill-speaking regime. A temporary reprieve then….
Millward arrives sporting, in the absence of his regular neckpiece, a wide and bright yellow tie and a wide and bright ‘I know, I know’ grin, with only a wide and bright yellow sash and three-piece dress suit required to state his case for a place on the short list for the much sought-after title of ‘Miss Subway 2019’.
Myatt arrives having packed ‘some of my bag myself’ and modelling a chic blonde hairstyle, ‘some of which’ he designed himself. Pathfinder arrives having ‘set the alarm clock myself’ and is not only five minutes late but is on site at least fifteen minutes after the arrival of Obieri. He’s less than impressed with both statistics and spends the next ten minutes ruminating over whether there actually are any real-world benefits of developing one’s personal independence and all-encompassing self-sufficiency.
Wasp is identified as the loudest person in the changing room at any unsupervised moment, with WC, Lawrence, Kirk and Subway (very) close seconds. Lettuce on the other hand is a paragon of virtue, Iron Man a paragon of thoughtfulness and High Definition a paragon of both GCHQ spy and undercover informant in equal measure.
The gatekeeper’s clicker records today’s official attendance as 61, but no-one’s quite sure where the other 35 are. Of those visible to the naked eye, Father Vye and Father Ted occupy one of the bench seats; one modelling a rather fetching black & blue bobble hat and the other the final remnant of that iconic 30s portrayal of the French Foreign Legion, Beau Geste. On the other bench are Mothers May and Freeman, each of whose topwear had co-starring roles in last week’s missive. In an attempt to remain under the all-seeing radar this time out, both remain bareheaded today until the omniscient scanner is well and truly out of detecting range.
The game kicks off in almost funereal silence, with plenty of pockets of quality but very little goalmouth action adorning the first quarter. Obieri is well shackled by the Hemel defence despite the repeated promptings of Burgess and Vye from central midfield, while Caple, Jones and Wasp deal capably with the visitors’ attack.
On nineteen minutes though the hosts find the breakthrough as Pathfinder, in an act of perfect symmetry with last week’s assist from exactly the same spot of the Field of Dreams, threads in Obieri to apply the neatest of finishes; 1-0.
The advantage doesn’t last long however, Nicholls feeding Broadbent down the right and the finish inside HD’s far post is classy to say the least. There is still time for Vye to bring a high-class, one-handed save from Funnell and Obieri’s cross to just evade WC at the far post before half time arrives in a game that has so far simmered but never quite boiled.
The second period continues in much the same vein and much the same silence as the first, with Gloucester enjoying more of the possession, but Dacorum looking ever-dangerous on the counter. Obieri’s drive is touched on to the far post by the keeper who then saves May’s follow up on the line, while WC lifts an effort over the bar after taking up a good position at the back post.
At exactly the mid-point of the second half Obieri’s powerful strike finds its way in at the near post to restore the city side’s advantage and May, Burgess and Obieri each go close to extending the lead. The absence of a third score however keeps the visitors’ interest piqued and both Iron Man and Millward are forced into goal-saving blocks to prevent an equaliser, while Obieri embarks on a back-back-back-front piece of defending-cum-attacking, with a movement akin to a regiment of Panzer tanks at El Alamein, though with a slightly more successful outcome.
It's been a determined display, with skill, effort and grit in equal measure combining to complete the victory. HD’s been as unflappable as ever, while Iron Man’s emphasised once more the meaning behind his hundred per cent accurate nom de plume. Wasp’s reliability and Subway’s commitment have again come to the fore, while Jones has excelled in both full back positions, illustrating what a good all-round player he really is. The wide men/boys, Fieldhouse, Myatt and May receive fulsome praise from the Dacorum manager, ‘Hard working, up-and-down (the pitch) and always available,’ is how he effusively describes them. Vye and Burgess have been a big influence, both offensively and defensively in central midfield, while Obieri’s put in another shift that would have made even Red Robbo in his pomp, if you remember him, enormously proud.
The game is done, a semi final spot ensured and the other cup results are in. Of today’s four ties, two were home wins and two away. Both St Albans and Gloucester had two teams involved and each won one. And all four home sides scored twice. From a symmetrical point of view, it’s almost perfect; from any other perspective, highlighting facts of this nature is quite simply, just very sad.
And so, at twenty past two post meridian, we wear a contented (inner) look as we transfer our thoughts from the Field of Dreams to the venue for the Gloucester City FC v St Albans FC blockbuster (well, potentially, at any rate) – the Hartwell & Spiers Jubilee Stadium which is, er…...a bobbly field with a fence round it. At ten o’clock this morning, the recent fortunes of GPSFA and GCFC had a sort of reflective symmetry about them; the first had won seven games on the bounce and the second had lost seven. On clicking the season ticket turnstile, the morning’s Field of Dreams is replaced by a Field of all too common (and all too true), recent Nightmares.
Every good reason then for the majority of the remainder of the 299 that enter (and in a déjà vu moment of this morning, only around 120 are actually visible to the naked eye) to feel a slight tinge of both apprehension and nausea on entering this most un-arena-like of arenas. As it turns out, the portents of impending doom are unfounded, as after St Albans’ first minute shot that’s neatly saved, one-handed, by the wonderfully named Alhaji Sesay (or, somewhat oddly, ‘AJ’ for short), there’s not a single effort on target in a quite horrendous ninety three minutes of National League South ‘action’. No matter, the losing run is ended and according to Toddy, our new-ish and to date highly unsuccessful manager, a corner has been turned.
In terms of positive mindset however, there’s a highly symmetrical feel between this morning’s result and this afternoon’s outcome, even though there’s now a rather asymmetrical look about WWWWWWWW and LLLLLLLD. In times like these you want the previous order and convention of the afternoon sequence of letters and results to disappear ad infinitum, but in terms of the ante meridian hours, you want them to continue forever.
Because there are only a few letters of the Roman Alphabet that reflect so exquisitely. And none that have a more perfect symmetry in any shape, form, culture or language, than the most coveted symbol of this tiny corner of the civilised world – the wonderful, faith-healing, mentally-uplifting, weekend-making, letter ‘W’.
Gloucester: High Definition; Lawrence, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Pathfinder, Lettuce; TGS; Kirk, Subway.
6.10pm and it’s a mild (but dark) autumnal morning at the Home of Football. The year’s third season is upon us and symbolised wherever one peeps; the patio a blanket of russet and brown, the squirrels skitting from branch to trunk in the adjacent nature area and The Groundsman hibernating in the hospital ward named ‘home’, some three miles east of the immediate action. Elephants never forget, but there are few of the behemoths to be found in the immediate environs of Ivory Close in Tuffley, which is probably the reason why he hasn’t been seen at GL2 since the words ‘cut and roll’ were mentioned in the same sentence around 3 o’clock last Sunday afternoon. Which, as it happens, is what occurred the last time the words ‘cut and roll’ were mentioned together….
Also noticeable by his absence is The Chairman, who’s sent his better half to collect a programme while he coughs and splutters away in the hospital ward located in Stoney Field (Highnam), a location better known to the common man as ‘bedroom’. ‘Twelve minutes to Longlevens and twelve back; 90 seconds from car to programme box and 90 seconds back. 30 seconds to make the purchase and ten minutes of chat.’ Whichever way you do the maths, considers El Supremo, it adds up to enough time to crack the combination of the flapjack tin, get back under the duvet and regain the ability to cough and splutter at will, long before the matron returns. And still have time to sweep up those crumbs….
As it turns out, it’s a good job the boss has decided to give today a miss as Father Jones, once again looking and speaking like a proper coach has arrived, and anything other than a resounding win in the upcoming game may have spelt curtains for the current, ill-looking and ill-speaking regime. A temporary reprieve then….
Millward arrives sporting, in the absence of his regular neckpiece, a wide and bright yellow tie and a wide and bright ‘I know, I know’ grin, with only a wide and bright yellow sash and three-piece dress suit required to state his case for a place on the short list for the much sought-after title of ‘Miss Subway 2019’.
Myatt arrives having packed ‘some of my bag myself’ and modelling a chic blonde hairstyle, ‘some of which’ he designed himself. Pathfinder arrives having ‘set the alarm clock myself’ and is not only five minutes late but is on site at least fifteen minutes after the arrival of Obieri. He’s less than impressed with both statistics and spends the next ten minutes ruminating over whether there actually are any real-world benefits of developing one’s personal independence and all-encompassing self-sufficiency.
Wasp is identified as the loudest person in the changing room at any unsupervised moment, with WC, Lawrence, Kirk and Subway (very) close seconds. Lettuce on the other hand is a paragon of virtue, Iron Man a paragon of thoughtfulness and High Definition a paragon of both GCHQ spy and undercover informant in equal measure.
The gatekeeper’s clicker records today’s official attendance as 61, but no-one’s quite sure where the other 35 are. Of those visible to the naked eye, Father Vye and Father Ted occupy one of the bench seats; one modelling a rather fetching black & blue bobble hat and the other the final remnant of that iconic 30s portrayal of the French Foreign Legion, Beau Geste. On the other bench are Mothers May and Freeman, each of whose topwear had co-starring roles in last week’s missive. In an attempt to remain under the all-seeing radar this time out, both remain bareheaded today until the omniscient scanner is well and truly out of detecting range.
The game kicks off in almost funereal silence, with plenty of pockets of quality but very little goalmouth action adorning the first quarter. Obieri is well shackled by the Hemel defence despite the repeated promptings of Burgess and Vye from central midfield, while Caple, Jones and Wasp deal capably with the visitors’ attack.
On nineteen minutes though the hosts find the breakthrough as Pathfinder, in an act of perfect symmetry with last week’s assist from exactly the same spot of the Field of Dreams, threads in Obieri to apply the neatest of finishes; 1-0.
The advantage doesn’t last long however, Nicholls feeding Broadbent down the right and the finish inside HD’s far post is classy to say the least. There is still time for Vye to bring a high-class, one-handed save from Funnell and Obieri’s cross to just evade WC at the far post before half time arrives in a game that has so far simmered but never quite boiled.
The second period continues in much the same vein and much the same silence as the first, with Gloucester enjoying more of the possession, but Dacorum looking ever-dangerous on the counter. Obieri’s drive is touched on to the far post by the keeper who then saves May’s follow up on the line, while WC lifts an effort over the bar after taking up a good position at the back post.
At exactly the mid-point of the second half Obieri’s powerful strike finds its way in at the near post to restore the city side’s advantage and May, Burgess and Obieri each go close to extending the lead. The absence of a third score however keeps the visitors’ interest piqued and both Iron Man and Millward are forced into goal-saving blocks to prevent an equaliser, while Obieri embarks on a back-back-back-front piece of defending-cum-attacking, with a movement akin to a regiment of Panzer tanks at El Alamein, though with a slightly more successful outcome.
It's been a determined display, with skill, effort and grit in equal measure combining to complete the victory. HD’s been as unflappable as ever, while Iron Man’s emphasised once more the meaning behind his hundred per cent accurate nom de plume. Wasp’s reliability and Subway’s commitment have again come to the fore, while Jones has excelled in both full back positions, illustrating what a good all-round player he really is. The wide men/boys, Fieldhouse, Myatt and May receive fulsome praise from the Dacorum manager, ‘Hard working, up-and-down (the pitch) and always available,’ is how he effusively describes them. Vye and Burgess have been a big influence, both offensively and defensively in central midfield, while Obieri’s put in another shift that would have made even Red Robbo in his pomp, if you remember him, enormously proud.
The game is done, a semi final spot ensured and the other cup results are in. Of today’s four ties, two were home wins and two away. Both St Albans and Gloucester had two teams involved and each won one. And all four home sides scored twice. From a symmetrical point of view, it’s almost perfect; from any other perspective, highlighting facts of this nature is quite simply, just very sad.
And so, at twenty past two post meridian, we wear a contented (inner) look as we transfer our thoughts from the Field of Dreams to the venue for the Gloucester City FC v St Albans FC blockbuster (well, potentially, at any rate) – the Hartwell & Spiers Jubilee Stadium which is, er…...a bobbly field with a fence round it. At ten o’clock this morning, the recent fortunes of GPSFA and GCFC had a sort of reflective symmetry about them; the first had won seven games on the bounce and the second had lost seven. On clicking the season ticket turnstile, the morning’s Field of Dreams is replaced by a Field of all too common (and all too true), recent Nightmares.
Every good reason then for the majority of the remainder of the 299 that enter (and in a déjà vu moment of this morning, only around 120 are actually visible to the naked eye) to feel a slight tinge of both apprehension and nausea on entering this most un-arena-like of arenas. As it turns out, the portents of impending doom are unfounded, as after St Albans’ first minute shot that’s neatly saved, one-handed, by the wonderfully named Alhaji Sesay (or, somewhat oddly, ‘AJ’ for short), there’s not a single effort on target in a quite horrendous ninety three minutes of National League South ‘action’. No matter, the losing run is ended and according to Toddy, our new-ish and to date highly unsuccessful manager, a corner has been turned.
In terms of positive mindset however, there’s a highly symmetrical feel between this morning’s result and this afternoon’s outcome, even though there’s now a rather asymmetrical look about WWWWWWWW and LLLLLLLD. In times like these you want the previous order and convention of the afternoon sequence of letters and results to disappear ad infinitum, but in terms of the ante meridian hours, you want them to continue forever.
Because there are only a few letters of the Roman Alphabet that reflect so exquisitely. And none that have a more perfect symmetry in any shape, form, culture or language, than the most coveted symbol of this tiny corner of the civilised world – the wonderful, faith-healing, mentally-uplifting, weekend-making, letter ‘W’.
Gloucester: High Definition; Lawrence, Iron Man, Wasp; WC, Slider, Pathfinder, Lettuce; TGS; Kirk, Subway.
