Scarves & Shirts
The Brass Monkey sitting by the big green gates is clear evidence that The Weatherman’s 12-hour-old prophecy that, ‘It’ll be mild tomorrow,’ is once again several miles wide of the mark. The leaves frozen to the seats of the stand confirm the metallic primate’s attendance at GL2-0AL.
There’s rarely a dull moment pre-match at The Pavilion. The Chairman’s still not well, but the flapjacks are delivered nonetheless, while The Chef’s been to the Sports Direct weekly sale and arrives looking a tad jauntier than any of the other locals. The groundsman maintains the status quo with a story about a nurse, a needle, and (another) bad leg and the photographer regales everyone who’ll listen and everyone who won’t, apocryphal tales relating to our midweek trek to deepest Essex, to watch Gloucester City’s ignominious Tuesday-night defeat at East Thurrock.
The story he lingers least on is that, upon taking in the sea of black & gold scarves in the clubhouse beforehand and mistaking them for either GCFC or GPSFA supporters, he begins a tour of the tables asking such deeply philosophical questions as, ‘What time did you leave today?’ ‘How long did it take you to get here?’ and ‘What was the M25 like?’ only to receive the answers, ‘7 o’clock,’ ‘About 5 minutes,’ and ‘Dunno, mate, now clear off.’ It’s only when we venture outside at 7.44pm that he sees the (in)glorious Gloucester’s in their sky blue & white change strip, due to a ‘slight’ clash with East Thurrock’s identical black & gold onfield apparel and realises his latest faux pas.
It’s only the die-hards in attendance today, with the Brass Monkey’s clicker never threatening to count beyond 44. Despite the finger-tingling chill, Father of the First Knight appears having donned a pair of denim shorts with a bravado resembling that of Scott of the Antarctic, but look what happened to him. He’s obviously hoping that The Lens will once again transpose his lower limbs onto a photo of Mother of the First Knight, who was last seen attempting to proboscially manoeuvre an After Eight into a position from which she could actually taste it.
Nureyev appears wearing an exaggerated limp that no-one asks about, while Mustoe Senior is modelling headwear that must have been purloined from Red Bull’s ‘new’ Retro Cossack fashion line. Also in attendance is Shad, a chef whose idea of a small starter is akin to ‘Starving Man discovers Toby Carvery’, but at least he’s not wearing shorts. And no-one has a man bag either.
Gloucester give as good as they get against a very good Wokingham side throughout the first half. Adichareh is denied by a fine save from Ganti after being freed by the Second Knight, though Franks does equally well at the other end to thwart Murray with his big, strong Kenny Everett-like hand. The ball rebounds so far, The Lens thinks it’s hit the bar.
Billy and Lisa work both hard and effectively in the centre of midfield, while Scarface and the Second Knight cover the visitors’ wide attacking threat excellently. Really good from the entire midfield four.
Margaret, a man always up for a challenge, revels in his tussle with Wokingham’s most dangerous forward who switches positions regularly in a vain attempt to find a millimetre of space between himself and his marker, while Big Sam shines in a first class performance that merges defensive with offensive to great effect. The Weatherman meanwhile is anything but. They say don’t give up the day job, but in his case it’s the football that does the meaningful talking.
The visitors score with a fine (or free, depending on your viewpoint) header from a corner six minutes after the break and a classic piece of opportunism with eight to go, but there’s not much in it apart from that. The hosts conjure a few half chances, but the goals apart, Wokingham create few clear opportunities either. It’s a proper game of football, two good sides, 21 fine players, lots of challenge, a competitive edge and both teams looking to play whenever possible. A fine advert indeed and even the BM sitting by the gate is enthused enough to offer the odd round of applause. Or maybe it’s just trying to prevent its paws / hands / hoofs from freezing to its fur.
There are two batches of nuggets in the refectory afterwards, one cooked to perfection and the other to a cinder. The Colonel cares not, seamlessly devouring yet another unfortunate hen and Margaret leaving nothing to chance by following suit. No change there then.
Nothing’s different in the post-match changing room either. There are some bits of tape, a couple of water bottles and a pair of black undergarments that have ‘Adidas Techfit’ emblazoned across the waistband, lying around the deserted benches. And there’s the obligatory pile of kit – ten shirts, ten shorts and twenty socks in a heap in the middle of the floor. Eight of the shirts are the right way out and two are not. It would have been three, but Nureyev’s not playing. The arms are unknotted, the sponsor’s logo turned from back to front and the tangled back-of-the-badge fibres returned to the glossy red and yellow shield we all know and love. The numbers become visible to the naked eye for the first time since their owners left them on the floor. And they say eight and ten. You do the maths.
Gloucester: Kenny; Michael Fish, Margaret, Big Sam; Scarface, No-Moaning Lisa, Billy BS, Second Knight; Adichareh; The Colonel. Physio: Nureyev (present). Bag man: Sargeant (absent).
There’s rarely a dull moment pre-match at The Pavilion. The Chairman’s still not well, but the flapjacks are delivered nonetheless, while The Chef’s been to the Sports Direct weekly sale and arrives looking a tad jauntier than any of the other locals. The groundsman maintains the status quo with a story about a nurse, a needle, and (another) bad leg and the photographer regales everyone who’ll listen and everyone who won’t, apocryphal tales relating to our midweek trek to deepest Essex, to watch Gloucester City’s ignominious Tuesday-night defeat at East Thurrock.
The story he lingers least on is that, upon taking in the sea of black & gold scarves in the clubhouse beforehand and mistaking them for either GCFC or GPSFA supporters, he begins a tour of the tables asking such deeply philosophical questions as, ‘What time did you leave today?’ ‘How long did it take you to get here?’ and ‘What was the M25 like?’ only to receive the answers, ‘7 o’clock,’ ‘About 5 minutes,’ and ‘Dunno, mate, now clear off.’ It’s only when we venture outside at 7.44pm that he sees the (in)glorious Gloucester’s in their sky blue & white change strip, due to a ‘slight’ clash with East Thurrock’s identical black & gold onfield apparel and realises his latest faux pas.
It’s only the die-hards in attendance today, with the Brass Monkey’s clicker never threatening to count beyond 44. Despite the finger-tingling chill, Father of the First Knight appears having donned a pair of denim shorts with a bravado resembling that of Scott of the Antarctic, but look what happened to him. He’s obviously hoping that The Lens will once again transpose his lower limbs onto a photo of Mother of the First Knight, who was last seen attempting to proboscially manoeuvre an After Eight into a position from which she could actually taste it.
Nureyev appears wearing an exaggerated limp that no-one asks about, while Mustoe Senior is modelling headwear that must have been purloined from Red Bull’s ‘new’ Retro Cossack fashion line. Also in attendance is Shad, a chef whose idea of a small starter is akin to ‘Starving Man discovers Toby Carvery’, but at least he’s not wearing shorts. And no-one has a man bag either.
Gloucester give as good as they get against a very good Wokingham side throughout the first half. Adichareh is denied by a fine save from Ganti after being freed by the Second Knight, though Franks does equally well at the other end to thwart Murray with his big, strong Kenny Everett-like hand. The ball rebounds so far, The Lens thinks it’s hit the bar.
Billy and Lisa work both hard and effectively in the centre of midfield, while Scarface and the Second Knight cover the visitors’ wide attacking threat excellently. Really good from the entire midfield four.
Margaret, a man always up for a challenge, revels in his tussle with Wokingham’s most dangerous forward who switches positions regularly in a vain attempt to find a millimetre of space between himself and his marker, while Big Sam shines in a first class performance that merges defensive with offensive to great effect. The Weatherman meanwhile is anything but. They say don’t give up the day job, but in his case it’s the football that does the meaningful talking.
The visitors score with a fine (or free, depending on your viewpoint) header from a corner six minutes after the break and a classic piece of opportunism with eight to go, but there’s not much in it apart from that. The hosts conjure a few half chances, but the goals apart, Wokingham create few clear opportunities either. It’s a proper game of football, two good sides, 21 fine players, lots of challenge, a competitive edge and both teams looking to play whenever possible. A fine advert indeed and even the BM sitting by the gate is enthused enough to offer the odd round of applause. Or maybe it’s just trying to prevent its paws / hands / hoofs from freezing to its fur.
There are two batches of nuggets in the refectory afterwards, one cooked to perfection and the other to a cinder. The Colonel cares not, seamlessly devouring yet another unfortunate hen and Margaret leaving nothing to chance by following suit. No change there then.
Nothing’s different in the post-match changing room either. There are some bits of tape, a couple of water bottles and a pair of black undergarments that have ‘Adidas Techfit’ emblazoned across the waistband, lying around the deserted benches. And there’s the obligatory pile of kit – ten shirts, ten shorts and twenty socks in a heap in the middle of the floor. Eight of the shirts are the right way out and two are not. It would have been three, but Nureyev’s not playing. The arms are unknotted, the sponsor’s logo turned from back to front and the tangled back-of-the-badge fibres returned to the glossy red and yellow shield we all know and love. The numbers become visible to the naked eye for the first time since their owners left them on the floor. And they say eight and ten. You do the maths.
Gloucester: Kenny; Michael Fish, Margaret, Big Sam; Scarface, No-Moaning Lisa, Billy BS, Second Knight; Adichareh; The Colonel. Physio: Nureyev (present). Bag man: Sargeant (absent).
