One of Our Own
It’s been an interesting 48 hours, what with the biblical rains, the shutting down of the home of football, procuring the last two available slots of the Oxstalls 3G, switching the ‘A’ Team game to Swindon and remembering to tell everyone except John Kelly the car park attendant / benefactor / sponsor / add your own description for this top bloke here of the venue changes, meaning he arrives at GL2 armed with his hand-held attendance counter and a fluorescent jacket so bright it puts even Simmo’s hideous pink footy boots to shame.
7.45 and we need the kit bag, drinks containers and a bevy of things for the Bs and Ds from the pavilion, only to find that the school’s changed the padlock on the big green gates and we’ve got more chance of getting into an argument with the people monitoring the library spaces than gaining access to the hallowed turf and store room that lies beyond. Thank goodness for Thursday’s monsoon, OSP and the need to switch the A Team fixture, otherwise we might have needed The Groundsman’s legendary disc cutter to free up the bolt and a pair of ear muffs to quell the list of medical ills that would no doubt have been brought on by the resulting dust cloud.
The Photographer’s still suffering from his dodgy shoulder, though the word on the street is that the injury wasn’t actually sustained by a hockey touch judge knocking him over while looking the other way, but in lifting up his latest bank statement, such is the weight of the money deposited within. Whatever the truth of the matter, he’s not coming to Swindon.
Also suffering from a severe case of being weighed down is Freddie Whaddon Road Milton (the three people who read the IOW blog will already know that FM’s the only member of the squad who doesn’t have a clue what his middle name is), who’s arrived (last) at the front gate with a chocolate box for each of the players as he looks to celebrate his latest birthday in some sort of style. How times have changed; in days gone by people bought you things to commemorate your survival for a full 365 days since the last celebration; nowadays you buy everyone else stuff in the hope that not eating a sackful of calories will mean that, given a fair wind and an average amount of good fortune, you might get to do it all over again in exactly 525,600 minutes from now.
It’s only a short trek down the A417 and through the South Cerney water parks to the Gerard Buxton Sports Park, a brilliant facility boasting football, cricket and tennis facilities, a nice modern changing room with the GPSFA logo on the door and a spankingly smart A-Frame which announces that Gloucester are in town, garishly coloured boots notwithstanding.
With Bennett, Ansermoz, Croose, Beaumont and Hine modelling their traditional black foot coverers, it only needs Curtis on his long-awaited return to the squad following a nasty bout of glandular fever to produce his own brownie-point sneakers and tip the scales to 6-5 in favour of originals for the first time this season. Instead, however, the miscreant withdraws a pair of pretty horrid-looking royal blue things that aren’t far away from rivalling Bevan’s nasty sky blues and an assortment of oranges and reds that give the changing room floor the look of a rainbow without anything resembling the proverbial pot of gold at the end of its never-ending curve.
There’s an attendance of 33 at the GBSG (14 away), but this might be pushing it a bit as it includes four kids who popped in for a minute before popping out again. As JK’s mantra is, ‘If they come in, they’re clicked in,’ so it’s 33, which means that for the second week running we’ve got a repeated palindrome as the match attendance. For people who like this sort of thing, last Saturday’s 111 was indeed both manna from heaven and proof, if ever it were needed, that they need to find a proper hobby. Okay, point taken.
It’s a fairly even-steven opening to the game, but despite playing up the slope in the opening half, the visitors force a succession of corners, yet despite some decent deliveries from both Milton and Bennett, they yield little in the way of a goalscoring threat. Gloucester though claim the lead midway through the half: Milton’s quick throw finds Ali, whose excellent pull-back is converted by Bevan. In a moment of pure telepathy, Coach Stalley purrs with audible satisfaction, despite not being here.
Ali is then denied by a fine one-on-one save, but despite Simpson, Brockbank and Beaumont looking solid at the back, Gray nips in to fire in a fine leveller via the inside of the back post a minute before the interval.
While the jaffas and jellies in the posh tupperware container form the main part of any half-time break, today’s lounge-around includes another shirt change with JC’s navy training top doing the rounds as, due to the Longlevens lock-out, we only have ten shirts available until we get a new set of keys cut.
The away side respond to the disappointment of Swindon’s leveller eight minutes after the restart, when Ali chases a seemingly lost cause to restore the city team’s advantage, but once more Gray seizes onto a half chance in the Gloucester box to restore the hosts’ parity for a second time today.
Bevan’s rasping drive forces a fine save from Huckin and Croose diverts Bennett’s right wing corner on to the outside of the near post before Hine’s excellent cross is headed home at the back stick by Bevan as the city team take the lead for the third time this morning.
There are fine recovery tackles by both Simpson and Beaumont and a couple of neat interceptions from Brockbank, while Ansermoz’s handling is first class throughout as Swindon threaten a third equaliser. At the other end, Bennett’s jinking run takes him past three defenders, but his cross eludes both Ali and Bevan by no more than point five of a millimetre as the visitors try desperately to put the game to bed. With four minutes remaining however, Gloucester finally make the game safe – Croose’s fine left wing run and cross is met at the far post by Bevan who completes his treble and seals GPSFA a place in the Shires Cup semi finals.
It’s a happy gathering at the final whistle: a hard-earned victory together with a welcome return to the squad for JC, and Ansermoz celebrates by scooping up a gloveful of multicoloured jelly babies and devouring them en bloc. He misses the last one however and Hine belies his nice guy status by decapitating the little orange orphan and swallowing both body and head with all the aplomb of a boa constrictor.
Ten shirts, ten pairs of shorts and ten pairs of socks are carefully piled in the centre of the changing room, but only the number 5 is inside out – again. The goalkeeper’s kit is now mercifully displaying the number one when you pick it up, which is, literally, a complete turnaround from the dark days of September and early October when every bit of discarded grey looked just like a monkey puzzle and was about as difficult to unpick. Number 1 & 5’s inate lack of order may well be something to do with their living location about fifty yards from each other in the centre of Abbeymead, but the fact that Milton’s a He Ron while Anserz is a Mead may well be the deciding factor regarding which person’s untidiness is a long-term affliction.
It’s no surprise that, despite his fifth-place arrival at GL2 a few hours earlier, Croose is still in the changing room when everyone else is seated in the main building’s very nice refreshment area, munching their way through that staple post-match offering of sausage & chips, though this week it’s from a lidded polystyrene container that’s got ‘Genuine Chip Shop Food’ tattooed on the bottom. Forty yards east, there’s a great temptation to lock the changing room door early, but despite Coach Wilson receiving a telepathically-orchestrated text from Mother Croose which says simply, ‘Please do’, the temptation is just about resisted.
Croose eventually emerges, like a cabbage white from its chrysalis, wearing a flapping shirt and a wry, ‘I know what you were thinking’ smile. Also giving it the upturned banana is Brockbank, who has been nominated by Swindon manager Beale as today’s Gloucester Man of the Match and receives a bar of Cadbury’s something or other to mark the occasion. Bevan too receives a commemorative chocolate bar as, budgets being what they are, any ideas of taking the hat-trick ball home and sticking it in his trophy cabinet are well and truly quashed. You can’t eat a match ball though, which makes the alternative offering much easier to accept.
It’s a noisy mini bus on the return trip to GL2 and only Hine isn’t collected (on time), which seems only fair following his earlier execution of that little orange jelly person. What goes around, comes around.
JC nips home to pour as much energy drink down his throat as possible in order to continue his long-awaited journey to a full and welcome recovery, while Brockbank steadfastly refuses to smile as the colour of his teeth might give away the fact that he’s already eaten his MOM award. Back on Lobley’s Drive, Triple G steps out of his car to a scene reminiscent of the 1940s street parties that were held to welcome home their returning war heroes. There’s black & yellow bunting strung from lamppost to lamppost, a string quartet playing in the corner of his garden and the entire neighbourhood (well, his family, anyway), lining the sides of the street, enthusiastically, albeit a little tunelessly, belting out the words of his favourite song: ‘ Theo Bevan, he’s one of our own.’
Gloucester A: Hot Chocolate; Beaumont, Brockbank, Simpson; He Ron, Triple G, Bennett, Cannibal; Hangman; Croose, JC.
7.45 and we need the kit bag, drinks containers and a bevy of things for the Bs and Ds from the pavilion, only to find that the school’s changed the padlock on the big green gates and we’ve got more chance of getting into an argument with the people monitoring the library spaces than gaining access to the hallowed turf and store room that lies beyond. Thank goodness for Thursday’s monsoon, OSP and the need to switch the A Team fixture, otherwise we might have needed The Groundsman’s legendary disc cutter to free up the bolt and a pair of ear muffs to quell the list of medical ills that would no doubt have been brought on by the resulting dust cloud.
The Photographer’s still suffering from his dodgy shoulder, though the word on the street is that the injury wasn’t actually sustained by a hockey touch judge knocking him over while looking the other way, but in lifting up his latest bank statement, such is the weight of the money deposited within. Whatever the truth of the matter, he’s not coming to Swindon.
Also suffering from a severe case of being weighed down is Freddie Whaddon Road Milton (the three people who read the IOW blog will already know that FM’s the only member of the squad who doesn’t have a clue what his middle name is), who’s arrived (last) at the front gate with a chocolate box for each of the players as he looks to celebrate his latest birthday in some sort of style. How times have changed; in days gone by people bought you things to commemorate your survival for a full 365 days since the last celebration; nowadays you buy everyone else stuff in the hope that not eating a sackful of calories will mean that, given a fair wind and an average amount of good fortune, you might get to do it all over again in exactly 525,600 minutes from now.
It’s only a short trek down the A417 and through the South Cerney water parks to the Gerard Buxton Sports Park, a brilliant facility boasting football, cricket and tennis facilities, a nice modern changing room with the GPSFA logo on the door and a spankingly smart A-Frame which announces that Gloucester are in town, garishly coloured boots notwithstanding.
With Bennett, Ansermoz, Croose, Beaumont and Hine modelling their traditional black foot coverers, it only needs Curtis on his long-awaited return to the squad following a nasty bout of glandular fever to produce his own brownie-point sneakers and tip the scales to 6-5 in favour of originals for the first time this season. Instead, however, the miscreant withdraws a pair of pretty horrid-looking royal blue things that aren’t far away from rivalling Bevan’s nasty sky blues and an assortment of oranges and reds that give the changing room floor the look of a rainbow without anything resembling the proverbial pot of gold at the end of its never-ending curve.
There’s an attendance of 33 at the GBSG (14 away), but this might be pushing it a bit as it includes four kids who popped in for a minute before popping out again. As JK’s mantra is, ‘If they come in, they’re clicked in,’ so it’s 33, which means that for the second week running we’ve got a repeated palindrome as the match attendance. For people who like this sort of thing, last Saturday’s 111 was indeed both manna from heaven and proof, if ever it were needed, that they need to find a proper hobby. Okay, point taken.
It’s a fairly even-steven opening to the game, but despite playing up the slope in the opening half, the visitors force a succession of corners, yet despite some decent deliveries from both Milton and Bennett, they yield little in the way of a goalscoring threat. Gloucester though claim the lead midway through the half: Milton’s quick throw finds Ali, whose excellent pull-back is converted by Bevan. In a moment of pure telepathy, Coach Stalley purrs with audible satisfaction, despite not being here.
Ali is then denied by a fine one-on-one save, but despite Simpson, Brockbank and Beaumont looking solid at the back, Gray nips in to fire in a fine leveller via the inside of the back post a minute before the interval.
While the jaffas and jellies in the posh tupperware container form the main part of any half-time break, today’s lounge-around includes another shirt change with JC’s navy training top doing the rounds as, due to the Longlevens lock-out, we only have ten shirts available until we get a new set of keys cut.
The away side respond to the disappointment of Swindon’s leveller eight minutes after the restart, when Ali chases a seemingly lost cause to restore the city team’s advantage, but once more Gray seizes onto a half chance in the Gloucester box to restore the hosts’ parity for a second time today.
Bevan’s rasping drive forces a fine save from Huckin and Croose diverts Bennett’s right wing corner on to the outside of the near post before Hine’s excellent cross is headed home at the back stick by Bevan as the city team take the lead for the third time this morning.
There are fine recovery tackles by both Simpson and Beaumont and a couple of neat interceptions from Brockbank, while Ansermoz’s handling is first class throughout as Swindon threaten a third equaliser. At the other end, Bennett’s jinking run takes him past three defenders, but his cross eludes both Ali and Bevan by no more than point five of a millimetre as the visitors try desperately to put the game to bed. With four minutes remaining however, Gloucester finally make the game safe – Croose’s fine left wing run and cross is met at the far post by Bevan who completes his treble and seals GPSFA a place in the Shires Cup semi finals.
It’s a happy gathering at the final whistle: a hard-earned victory together with a welcome return to the squad for JC, and Ansermoz celebrates by scooping up a gloveful of multicoloured jelly babies and devouring them en bloc. He misses the last one however and Hine belies his nice guy status by decapitating the little orange orphan and swallowing both body and head with all the aplomb of a boa constrictor.
Ten shirts, ten pairs of shorts and ten pairs of socks are carefully piled in the centre of the changing room, but only the number 5 is inside out – again. The goalkeeper’s kit is now mercifully displaying the number one when you pick it up, which is, literally, a complete turnaround from the dark days of September and early October when every bit of discarded grey looked just like a monkey puzzle and was about as difficult to unpick. Number 1 & 5’s inate lack of order may well be something to do with their living location about fifty yards from each other in the centre of Abbeymead, but the fact that Milton’s a He Ron while Anserz is a Mead may well be the deciding factor regarding which person’s untidiness is a long-term affliction.
It’s no surprise that, despite his fifth-place arrival at GL2 a few hours earlier, Croose is still in the changing room when everyone else is seated in the main building’s very nice refreshment area, munching their way through that staple post-match offering of sausage & chips, though this week it’s from a lidded polystyrene container that’s got ‘Genuine Chip Shop Food’ tattooed on the bottom. Forty yards east, there’s a great temptation to lock the changing room door early, but despite Coach Wilson receiving a telepathically-orchestrated text from Mother Croose which says simply, ‘Please do’, the temptation is just about resisted.
Croose eventually emerges, like a cabbage white from its chrysalis, wearing a flapping shirt and a wry, ‘I know what you were thinking’ smile. Also giving it the upturned banana is Brockbank, who has been nominated by Swindon manager Beale as today’s Gloucester Man of the Match and receives a bar of Cadbury’s something or other to mark the occasion. Bevan too receives a commemorative chocolate bar as, budgets being what they are, any ideas of taking the hat-trick ball home and sticking it in his trophy cabinet are well and truly quashed. You can’t eat a match ball though, which makes the alternative offering much easier to accept.
It’s a noisy mini bus on the return trip to GL2 and only Hine isn’t collected (on time), which seems only fair following his earlier execution of that little orange jelly person. What goes around, comes around.
JC nips home to pour as much energy drink down his throat as possible in order to continue his long-awaited journey to a full and welcome recovery, while Brockbank steadfastly refuses to smile as the colour of his teeth might give away the fact that he’s already eaten his MOM award. Back on Lobley’s Drive, Triple G steps out of his car to a scene reminiscent of the 1940s street parties that were held to welcome home their returning war heroes. There’s black & yellow bunting strung from lamppost to lamppost, a string quartet playing in the corner of his garden and the entire neighbourhood (well, his family, anyway), lining the sides of the street, enthusiastically, albeit a little tunelessly, belting out the words of his favourite song: ‘ Theo Bevan, he’s one of our own.’
Gloucester A: Hot Chocolate; Beaumont, Brockbank, Simpson; He Ron, Triple G, Bennett, Cannibal; Hangman; Croose, JC.
