The Game is just One Small Part of the Experience

By Marc Poissonnier

Pre-match build-up was good. I was fit and well-prepared. I'd taken care over what I'd eaten during the week and endured the gruelling Tuesday training session with a smile. That morning, I'd cut my toenails, blown my nose and trimmed off some non-essential body hair, hoping that the loss of a few grams would give me the edge that might just make the difference between winning and losing.

I had a pleasant drive to Nekker and managed to park my car without seeing anyone I knew - it was a bonus that no-one spotted the impotent old tin can I drive around. I was in good time and it was a glorious day so I took my time walking to the pitch. I stopped at the lake to ponder its serenity - a mirror to the blue, blue sky. I took several long, deep breaths of crisp, fresh air as I gazed up - a crescent moon still just visible but cut in two by the trail of a silent jet that could surely go no higher. I left the path to tread the soft, green fields, and meandered through the rustling trees, trying to take in the beauty of the many and varied colours of the autumn leaves strewn over Nekker park. A myriad of birds were darting between the branches, clearly excited by the fact that it was now less than an hour to kick-off. I spied three rabbits in a small copse - eagerly debating what our line-up might be. Life was truly beautiful - I was privileged and humbled and, as I approached the stadium that reaches the clouds, I was in the mood for love FOOTBALL.

Expectations and The Opposition

"Faubourg Brainoise". Now there's a name to conjure with - one of them fancy-sounding double-barrelled names - a bit like "Upper Class FC". I half expected to be playing a bunch of toffs, giving it lots of "Arf Arf - I say, pass the pigs bladder over here Cholmondeley, there's a good chap". All shooting sticks and champers at half-time. Whatever - the opposition were firmly rooted to the bottom of the table and seemed to be regularly letting in goals as if that was the aim of the game. We were out on the pitch long before the kick-off, going through our individual routines with a tangible air of expectancy; whereas the opposition ambled out in ones and twos over a period of several minutes, seeming strangely uninterested by the whole football thing. You wouldn't have thought that they even knew each other apart from the fact that they were all wearing the same outfit. And there were only 10 of them. This was going to be our day. We had 12 players, including 2 newcomers - McAlpine and Debroyer - who'd kindly offered to help out as several of our regulars were laid-up / too old / red-carded / had Alzheimer's and forgot that it was Saturday...

Silence

The day before Armistice Day, one minute's silence was to be observed prior to all games. This was also in remembrance of Albert Lallemand, Vice President of ABSSA, who had served the Association since 1953 and recently passed away. The thoughts of BUFC 1st Vets were also with our absent captain Gerry, whose father had passed away a few days earlier. Both teams lined the centre circle and paid their respects.

First Half

We attacked. We were passing the ball around well, making space, running around a lot more than our opponents - it wasn't a case of whether we'd win but whether we'd reach double figures and who might get a hat-trick. We were creating chances and the first goal that would open the floodgates was soon going to come. Surely. Any minute now. Oooh, that was close. It'll come. Nearly! Nice shot - unlucky. Well played! Almost.

Half Time

0 - 0. Well bugger me - how did that happen? We're much better than they are. Let's just keep doing what we're doing and be patient. They'll tire, then we'll pounce.

Second Half

Worryingly, more of the same followed... Twenty minutes into the second half it was still 0 - 0. As the minutes ticked by, the doubts started to set in - this could all go pear-shaped. I noticed that our more and more respected opposition actually had their own names on their shirts, not just numbers. Wow! And one of them was called Lucky (really). If we had our names on our shirts that day, they would have been 'Crap', 'Complacent', 'Can't Score' and maybe a few others beginning with C.

But fate had decided that there would be a happy ending. At times like these you need your Captain to show the way. About 15 minutes from full time, Fran unleashed a shot from the right, about 30 yards out. It took a small deflection off a defender and ended up in the net. 1 - 0. There are cynics who suggested that if it hadn't been deflected it would have been closer to the car park than the goal; but it was in fact one of Fran's World-famous banana shots (well - famous in Wales anyway…well, famous in a small valley south of Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch). There's not a lot of people who know this, but Fran taught Eusebio how to master the banana shot in the post-war period (Second, not Crimean) - a skill that Eusebio used to devastating effect in the '66 World Cup.

Anyway - that knocked the stuffing out of our opponents. Our goal machine Gerry bagged a couple in the dying minutes of the game and the final score was 3 - 0.

Morals

Complacency Kills. Don't judge a book by its cover. It's not over till the fat lady sings. There's more to people who wear orange than meets the eye. There'll be a welcome in the hillside. I could go on...

The Denouement

We were lucky. Let's hope we learnt some lessons. And well-played Faubourg. A rather relieved band of BUFC Vets relaxed in the bar afterwards, wallowing in that lovely warm smiley feeling that always follows a win. Thanks to Barry (McAlpine) and Didier (Debroyer) for helping us out. And to cap it all - Faubourg bought us a round of drinks. That's what it's all about. I was new to the team and very impressed by this ultimate act of generosity. I wish Faubourg all the best and hope that they don't get relegated.

Team: Walecki, Thomas (c), Ljung, Martiniello, Lees, Bajraktari, Egerton, McAlpine, Poissonnier, Cain, Zahr
Subs: Debroyer (replaced McAlpine during second half - tactical)
Goals: Thomas, Cain, Cain
MOM: Thomas