Second Leg
Friday
“Are you sure you don’t have to leave early today?” Miss Bussey asks Myatt for the fourteenth time since 9 o’clock, with every new query elicited in an ever-more beseeching tone. “Are you sure he doesn’t have to leave early?” is again the follow-up question to High Definition, also for the fourteenth time this morning, and it’s not even nine thirty yet.
“The game’s on Saturday,” replies WC for the fourteenth time in twenty eight minutes, a fact that thrills HD as his sense of order and the lack of a remainder create a moment of almost perfect synergy, but even though he knows this is good, he’s not quite sure what it all means.
Meanwhile, over at St Paul’s, the Year Six crew are heavily involved with interpreting Roman Numerals. “What number have you made?” Mr Flower asks Obieri. “LXX,” comes the immediate reply. “And what number are you going to make next?” Mr Flower asks. “C,” replies Obieri, “unless I run out of time.”
“Now, what do you think is the strongest metal known to man?” inquires Mrs Powis at the start of Dinglewell’s weekly Friday morning science lesson. “Chromium,” shouts out the kid who (thinks he) knows all the answers and wants everyone else to know that he knows all the answers. “Wrong!” bellows Mrs Powis, “iron is the strongest metal know to man.” “But Wikipedia says….” protests Tarquin, though stops the very moment both Caple’s eyes bore into the inner depths of his cranium. “Yes, iron,” agrees Tarquin, hoping these two simple words won’t be the final utterances he ever makes.
St Mary’s Churchdown is a very nice school inhabited by very nice people. Last year there was Adi ‘Adibayor’ Adichareh, who is not only one of the world’s most perfect homo sapiens, but also has three known names, all of which begin with the same three letters. This year there’s Todd Fieldhouse, who’s equally well-mannered, equally respectful and equally pleasant, but whose names disappointingly begin and end in completely different ways. “It’s not your fault,” say Todd’s best mates, Johnny Johnson and Robbie Robinson, “We’re sure there are other kids here whose names don’t quite match.”
Over at Highnam Centre of Excellence, Miss Coldrick is wrought with grief. Her all-time favourite pupil is off for the fifth consecutive day and she’s having to engage additional help sharpening the pencils, collecting the dinner money, setting the homework and marking the maths books, none of which she’s ever contemplated doing since the very first day of September. “It’s so inconsiderate,” she’s overheard saying in the staff room, “so very, very inconsiderate….”
“Versatility’s the key at every school, and we need more of it,” Mr Allen is telling Slider in both Upton and St Leonards, with the recipient also doing his very best to keep a steady foot in both camps. “Versatility?” queries Slider, albeit under his breath, “right back, left back, right mid, centre mid, left mid. What do you mean, we need more versatility?”
“In this world, the things that are free are often the best things.” Mrs Alcock-Gore is once again sermonising her brood at Haresfield Primary. “Air, water, friendship, empathy….” “Kicks?” offers Mother Brown, desperately trying to say the right thing. “What?” says Mrs A-G, quizzically. “Free. Kicks?” he repeats, in all seriousness. “Yes, I suppose so,” returns A-G, before continuing with her monologue. “Love, togetherness, feelings….those nice little cubes of cheese they give you at the deli counter in Waitrose; affection, tenderness….”
Meanwhile, there’s an investigation taking place in Pitt Street, due to Mrs Southgate reporting that half the sand in the King’s Reception class has gone missing and even more bizarrely, entire clumps of the newly-planted lawn in the outdoor play area seem to have disappeared without trace overnight. Two Year 6 pupils, whose packed lunches have remained untouched for the past three days, are currently sitting outside the Headmaster’s office, ‘awaiting an interview.’
In Elmbridge Road, the problem’s almost reversed. There’s tons of sand and acres of grass in and around the premises, but both the fridges and larders are mysteriously shorn of their usual contents. ‘I’m afraid it’s bread and cheese for everyone today,’ laments Mr Tharia as the queues begin to form at the dining hall door. ‘I didn’t see any bread or cheese,’ laments Full English, the perfect heist turning out to be not quite as perfect as he first thought.
Saturday
With the new White Hart Lane or whatever it’s now going to be called having taken seemingly years to put together, the Home of Football rises from the sward in double-quick time, thanks largely to the ability of the contractors to carry at least five advertising boards at a time on top of their heads and Father Vye’s first-day-of-Spring shorts that reduce the debilitating effects of air resistance by about 99%.
The BFG is on car park duty and apart from a claim being made by a man from Caerphilly after his Audi suffers some superficial damage and a dented offside wing following a minor collision with the attendant in question, all is well in the vehicle area.
In the kitchen, Vice Chairman MacDonald, feeling slightly guilty at having pulled a six-month ‘sicky’ during which time he’s worn a prosthetic limb borrowed from Gloucester Royal to give his ‘damaged ankle’ claim a smidgeon of credibility, has returned to the shop floor just minutes after Groundsman Graham has offered his ‘Front of House’ services, much to the relief of both The Chef and the association’s accountant.
In the changing room, May the Force be with You has finally found a way of garnering some nice words from the coaches after seven months bereft of compliments of any description whatsoever. Proudly displaying his brand new black boots for anyone with a badge to make a positive comment about, he sits, wide-mouthed and expectant in equal measure, waiting for the torrent of goodwill to finally come his way. ‘Good,’ says someone, not necessarily to the expectant one, before closing the door noisily behind them.
The Yellows make it a successful first half to the morning, winning an entertaining encounter against a good Caerphilly side that masquerades as both Croatia and Dacorum with its red & white check kit design. All three teams are destined to lose this weekend, but as the protagonists stand between the big, black GPSFA sails ready for the weekly walk-on, no-one is aware of any of this.
What everyone is fully aware of though is the entrance of Mother Daniels, resplendent in her brand new yellow-with-a-touch-of-black GPSFA winkle pickers, designed, bought and worn exclusively for this morning’s Second Leg. Assiduous notes are made by the Club Shop manager, an order for an initial half dozen pairs sent off immediately via Amazon Prime and an extra item inserted on the laminated ‘Welcome to Gloucester’ price list, directly underneath ‘Bobble hats £7.95.’ ‘MHBAYB £149.75’ it proclaims.
Wycombe grab a third-minute lead thanks to a fine finish from Jankovic and immediately set out to limit the hosts’ attacking options with a virtual 3-5-0 formation. Breaking quickly, the same player almost doubles the advantage as HD tips another well-struck drive round the post, but Gloucester grab an equaliser on ten minutes, Mother Brown’s clip into the box and Slider’s opportunist finish restoring parity.
The Wycombe goalkeeper receives extended treatment following the score, during which time he’s seen constantly looking round and pleading, ‘Where’s the Real Physio?’ at least a dozen times during his eleven-minute sit-down. ‘He’s not here,’ pipes up Fieldhouse, who if there’d been even the slightest possibility of a touch of TLC with a free massage thrown in, would by now have been writhing round on the hallowed turf, faking yet another injury. The injured one is finally carted off to the sanctuary of the changing room on something akin to a human version of a sedan chair, though he misses little in the way of goalmouth action as the twenty minutes up to half time has the momentum of a chess game with neither side looking likely to threaten anything resembling a check mate.
The second period is similarly cagey, though it is the visitors that look the more likely to grab the advantage. Ferrous Man is turning in another understated yet hugely effective display at centre back, while Mother Brown wins a lot of ball which he mostly uses to good effect down the right. Having escaped from the Headmaster’s Office due to circumstantial evidence being deemed not enough to prove one guilty as charged, Vespula and Spartacus are reunited on the left side, while Slider and Full English are increasingly called upon to negate Wycombe’s increasing attacking threat.
High Definition pulls off what turns out to be a MWS when it looks for all the world as if Festa will put the visitors 2-1 up and the hosts are forced to ‘hang in’ as the Bucks side dominate possession without creating any further clear-cut chances.
With twelve minutes remaining, ‘I’m feeling okay’ Burgess is introduced to the fray, despite the Highnam C of E weekend homework not being set and the maths books remaining unmarked, while with ten minutes left he’s withdrawn after Vespula states he’s had a long enough rest and is ready to buzz back into action.
With four minutes to go, Obieri draws a foul a long way out and with Howitzer not on the pitch, Mother Brown stands over the ball as a genuine hush descends upon GL2. What follows can be viewed by activating F100%B’s link: https://youtu.be/bduTvsVu9wo and those who do so can decide whether the following description rings true.
Millward’s well struck free kick glances off the head of a Wycombe defender and cannons past the keeper into the roof of the net. The Chairman declares afterwards that it’s, ‘Most definitely an own goal,’ while Son of the Godfather immediately gets on the phone at the Hemel Hempstead Convalescence Home, to where he was moved exactly a fortnight and a day ago, to convene a Dubious Goals Panel soiree with immediate effect after viewing the images live on Gillette Soccer Saturday.
Who are these people? What do they know? What are they seeing? They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and from this single Cyclopean Eye, the outcome of the free kick is a thing of glorious, unexpurgated beauty. Even High Definition, that hater of skipping and all things choreographed, does a celebratory dance (also captured on the edge of the You Tube screen), while Ferrous grinds his teeth so tightly that for a couple of seconds at least, sparks fly from the corners of his mouth in a pyrotechnic display of utter jollification. There’s a three-way race to the scorer, with Spartacus winning, Vye second and Myatt, courtesy of a rather fetching, Dick Emery-type hopping movement mid-run, a dismal third; Burgess, who only seconds earlier had had his head enveloped in his hands, runs on the pitch only to find his pins give way, so he crawls off as fast as possible, while eventually Obieri (fourth) and finally Full English return to the scene. Wasp emits his loudest buzz yet, the echo from which can still be heard as the referee blows the final whistle some four minutes or four hours, depending on your sense of chronology, later. If 240 seconds really is this long, ageing will become a thing of the distant past.
Sunday
For the second week running, the morning after the day before breakfast is in Cheltenham’s BTP, a poached egg and bacon bap providing the much-needed energy to keep the forefinger pressing the ‘play’ button on the 16-second youtube clip at least a hundred and fifty times in the upcoming hours that constitute Sunday afternoon.
In Abbotswood Road, The Photographer is a happy man. Caerphilly spent well 24 hours previously and the only time he put his hand in his pocket yesterday lunch time when dining with The Chairman and The Secretary, was to check the padlock on his money cave had not come loose and his properly profitable morning was still well and truly intact.
And in Highnam Villas, The Chairman’s working hard to repress a smile as he filters through his beloved microfiche collection once more. Bracknell, South Oxfordshire, Gloucester, Potters Bar, St Albans, Vale of White Horse, South Bucks and Gloucester are the only teams, since 1979 at any rate, to have reached both district cup finals in the same season. And only one team’s done it twice.
As this column suggested last week, one leg is hugely preferable to no legs, but two legs are far more exciting than one.
Gloucester: High Definition; Mother Brown, Ferrous, Vespula Vulgaris; WC, Full English, Slider, Lettuce; The Determinator; Spartacus, Howitzer.
Glossary
BFG: Bright Fluorescent Garb; MHBAYB: Must-Have Black and Yellow Boots; MWS: Match Winning Save.
“Are you sure you don’t have to leave early today?” Miss Bussey asks Myatt for the fourteenth time since 9 o’clock, with every new query elicited in an ever-more beseeching tone. “Are you sure he doesn’t have to leave early?” is again the follow-up question to High Definition, also for the fourteenth time this morning, and it’s not even nine thirty yet.
“The game’s on Saturday,” replies WC for the fourteenth time in twenty eight minutes, a fact that thrills HD as his sense of order and the lack of a remainder create a moment of almost perfect synergy, but even though he knows this is good, he’s not quite sure what it all means.
Meanwhile, over at St Paul’s, the Year Six crew are heavily involved with interpreting Roman Numerals. “What number have you made?” Mr Flower asks Obieri. “LXX,” comes the immediate reply. “And what number are you going to make next?” Mr Flower asks. “C,” replies Obieri, “unless I run out of time.”
“Now, what do you think is the strongest metal known to man?” inquires Mrs Powis at the start of Dinglewell’s weekly Friday morning science lesson. “Chromium,” shouts out the kid who (thinks he) knows all the answers and wants everyone else to know that he knows all the answers. “Wrong!” bellows Mrs Powis, “iron is the strongest metal know to man.” “But Wikipedia says….” protests Tarquin, though stops the very moment both Caple’s eyes bore into the inner depths of his cranium. “Yes, iron,” agrees Tarquin, hoping these two simple words won’t be the final utterances he ever makes.
St Mary’s Churchdown is a very nice school inhabited by very nice people. Last year there was Adi ‘Adibayor’ Adichareh, who is not only one of the world’s most perfect homo sapiens, but also has three known names, all of which begin with the same three letters. This year there’s Todd Fieldhouse, who’s equally well-mannered, equally respectful and equally pleasant, but whose names disappointingly begin and end in completely different ways. “It’s not your fault,” say Todd’s best mates, Johnny Johnson and Robbie Robinson, “We’re sure there are other kids here whose names don’t quite match.”
Over at Highnam Centre of Excellence, Miss Coldrick is wrought with grief. Her all-time favourite pupil is off for the fifth consecutive day and she’s having to engage additional help sharpening the pencils, collecting the dinner money, setting the homework and marking the maths books, none of which she’s ever contemplated doing since the very first day of September. “It’s so inconsiderate,” she’s overheard saying in the staff room, “so very, very inconsiderate….”
“Versatility’s the key at every school, and we need more of it,” Mr Allen is telling Slider in both Upton and St Leonards, with the recipient also doing his very best to keep a steady foot in both camps. “Versatility?” queries Slider, albeit under his breath, “right back, left back, right mid, centre mid, left mid. What do you mean, we need more versatility?”
“In this world, the things that are free are often the best things.” Mrs Alcock-Gore is once again sermonising her brood at Haresfield Primary. “Air, water, friendship, empathy….” “Kicks?” offers Mother Brown, desperately trying to say the right thing. “What?” says Mrs A-G, quizzically. “Free. Kicks?” he repeats, in all seriousness. “Yes, I suppose so,” returns A-G, before continuing with her monologue. “Love, togetherness, feelings….those nice little cubes of cheese they give you at the deli counter in Waitrose; affection, tenderness….”
Meanwhile, there’s an investigation taking place in Pitt Street, due to Mrs Southgate reporting that half the sand in the King’s Reception class has gone missing and even more bizarrely, entire clumps of the newly-planted lawn in the outdoor play area seem to have disappeared without trace overnight. Two Year 6 pupils, whose packed lunches have remained untouched for the past three days, are currently sitting outside the Headmaster’s office, ‘awaiting an interview.’
In Elmbridge Road, the problem’s almost reversed. There’s tons of sand and acres of grass in and around the premises, but both the fridges and larders are mysteriously shorn of their usual contents. ‘I’m afraid it’s bread and cheese for everyone today,’ laments Mr Tharia as the queues begin to form at the dining hall door. ‘I didn’t see any bread or cheese,’ laments Full English, the perfect heist turning out to be not quite as perfect as he first thought.
Saturday
With the new White Hart Lane or whatever it’s now going to be called having taken seemingly years to put together, the Home of Football rises from the sward in double-quick time, thanks largely to the ability of the contractors to carry at least five advertising boards at a time on top of their heads and Father Vye’s first-day-of-Spring shorts that reduce the debilitating effects of air resistance by about 99%.
The BFG is on car park duty and apart from a claim being made by a man from Caerphilly after his Audi suffers some superficial damage and a dented offside wing following a minor collision with the attendant in question, all is well in the vehicle area.
In the kitchen, Vice Chairman MacDonald, feeling slightly guilty at having pulled a six-month ‘sicky’ during which time he’s worn a prosthetic limb borrowed from Gloucester Royal to give his ‘damaged ankle’ claim a smidgeon of credibility, has returned to the shop floor just minutes after Groundsman Graham has offered his ‘Front of House’ services, much to the relief of both The Chef and the association’s accountant.
In the changing room, May the Force be with You has finally found a way of garnering some nice words from the coaches after seven months bereft of compliments of any description whatsoever. Proudly displaying his brand new black boots for anyone with a badge to make a positive comment about, he sits, wide-mouthed and expectant in equal measure, waiting for the torrent of goodwill to finally come his way. ‘Good,’ says someone, not necessarily to the expectant one, before closing the door noisily behind them.
The Yellows make it a successful first half to the morning, winning an entertaining encounter against a good Caerphilly side that masquerades as both Croatia and Dacorum with its red & white check kit design. All three teams are destined to lose this weekend, but as the protagonists stand between the big, black GPSFA sails ready for the weekly walk-on, no-one is aware of any of this.
What everyone is fully aware of though is the entrance of Mother Daniels, resplendent in her brand new yellow-with-a-touch-of-black GPSFA winkle pickers, designed, bought and worn exclusively for this morning’s Second Leg. Assiduous notes are made by the Club Shop manager, an order for an initial half dozen pairs sent off immediately via Amazon Prime and an extra item inserted on the laminated ‘Welcome to Gloucester’ price list, directly underneath ‘Bobble hats £7.95.’ ‘MHBAYB £149.75’ it proclaims.
Wycombe grab a third-minute lead thanks to a fine finish from Jankovic and immediately set out to limit the hosts’ attacking options with a virtual 3-5-0 formation. Breaking quickly, the same player almost doubles the advantage as HD tips another well-struck drive round the post, but Gloucester grab an equaliser on ten minutes, Mother Brown’s clip into the box and Slider’s opportunist finish restoring parity.
The Wycombe goalkeeper receives extended treatment following the score, during which time he’s seen constantly looking round and pleading, ‘Where’s the Real Physio?’ at least a dozen times during his eleven-minute sit-down. ‘He’s not here,’ pipes up Fieldhouse, who if there’d been even the slightest possibility of a touch of TLC with a free massage thrown in, would by now have been writhing round on the hallowed turf, faking yet another injury. The injured one is finally carted off to the sanctuary of the changing room on something akin to a human version of a sedan chair, though he misses little in the way of goalmouth action as the twenty minutes up to half time has the momentum of a chess game with neither side looking likely to threaten anything resembling a check mate.
The second period is similarly cagey, though it is the visitors that look the more likely to grab the advantage. Ferrous Man is turning in another understated yet hugely effective display at centre back, while Mother Brown wins a lot of ball which he mostly uses to good effect down the right. Having escaped from the Headmaster’s Office due to circumstantial evidence being deemed not enough to prove one guilty as charged, Vespula and Spartacus are reunited on the left side, while Slider and Full English are increasingly called upon to negate Wycombe’s increasing attacking threat.
High Definition pulls off what turns out to be a MWS when it looks for all the world as if Festa will put the visitors 2-1 up and the hosts are forced to ‘hang in’ as the Bucks side dominate possession without creating any further clear-cut chances.
With twelve minutes remaining, ‘I’m feeling okay’ Burgess is introduced to the fray, despite the Highnam C of E weekend homework not being set and the maths books remaining unmarked, while with ten minutes left he’s withdrawn after Vespula states he’s had a long enough rest and is ready to buzz back into action.
With four minutes to go, Obieri draws a foul a long way out and with Howitzer not on the pitch, Mother Brown stands over the ball as a genuine hush descends upon GL2. What follows can be viewed by activating F100%B’s link: https://youtu.be/bduTvsVu9wo and those who do so can decide whether the following description rings true.
Millward’s well struck free kick glances off the head of a Wycombe defender and cannons past the keeper into the roof of the net. The Chairman declares afterwards that it’s, ‘Most definitely an own goal,’ while Son of the Godfather immediately gets on the phone at the Hemel Hempstead Convalescence Home, to where he was moved exactly a fortnight and a day ago, to convene a Dubious Goals Panel soiree with immediate effect after viewing the images live on Gillette Soccer Saturday.
Who are these people? What do they know? What are they seeing? They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder and from this single Cyclopean Eye, the outcome of the free kick is a thing of glorious, unexpurgated beauty. Even High Definition, that hater of skipping and all things choreographed, does a celebratory dance (also captured on the edge of the You Tube screen), while Ferrous grinds his teeth so tightly that for a couple of seconds at least, sparks fly from the corners of his mouth in a pyrotechnic display of utter jollification. There’s a three-way race to the scorer, with Spartacus winning, Vye second and Myatt, courtesy of a rather fetching, Dick Emery-type hopping movement mid-run, a dismal third; Burgess, who only seconds earlier had had his head enveloped in his hands, runs on the pitch only to find his pins give way, so he crawls off as fast as possible, while eventually Obieri (fourth) and finally Full English return to the scene. Wasp emits his loudest buzz yet, the echo from which can still be heard as the referee blows the final whistle some four minutes or four hours, depending on your sense of chronology, later. If 240 seconds really is this long, ageing will become a thing of the distant past.
Sunday
For the second week running, the morning after the day before breakfast is in Cheltenham’s BTP, a poached egg and bacon bap providing the much-needed energy to keep the forefinger pressing the ‘play’ button on the 16-second youtube clip at least a hundred and fifty times in the upcoming hours that constitute Sunday afternoon.
In Abbotswood Road, The Photographer is a happy man. Caerphilly spent well 24 hours previously and the only time he put his hand in his pocket yesterday lunch time when dining with The Chairman and The Secretary, was to check the padlock on his money cave had not come loose and his properly profitable morning was still well and truly intact.
And in Highnam Villas, The Chairman’s working hard to repress a smile as he filters through his beloved microfiche collection once more. Bracknell, South Oxfordshire, Gloucester, Potters Bar, St Albans, Vale of White Horse, South Bucks and Gloucester are the only teams, since 1979 at any rate, to have reached both district cup finals in the same season. And only one team’s done it twice.
As this column suggested last week, one leg is hugely preferable to no legs, but two legs are far more exciting than one.
Gloucester: High Definition; Mother Brown, Ferrous, Vespula Vulgaris; WC, Full English, Slider, Lettuce; The Determinator; Spartacus, Howitzer.
Glossary
BFG: Bright Fluorescent Garb; MHBAYB: Must-Have Black and Yellow Boots; MWS: Match Winning Save.
