That most prestigious of Internet Football fixtures: the mighty SBA FC vs Watford, a match with a proud tradition that dates back to WorldNet '99; an epic tale of high drama, low farce and a touching friendship born out of adversity. And that's just for starters...
A calamitously early 9.30am Bank Holiday kick-off meant that, with customary foresight, most of the team spent Sunday night sleeping on Banjo's floor. After a lengthy journey (which involved three of us peeing on the hard shoulder during a traffic jam on the M1 southbound) and a skinful of beer, I turned in for bed at 3.30am. Not bad for a designated driver. Me and Joe were downgraded by necessity to the kitchen floor, as Woody Hickman vociferously snored his way through a wet dream upstairs.
A less harrowing journey on the morrow and we arrived in good time for our fixture, whilst even the larks in the trees were whiping the sleep from their eyes and contemplating a shower and a cup of coffee before going after the early worm. The kit had been laundered by Polly and David, which might go some way toward explaining the lipsick marks and dubious stains on the shorts. It's not often that you can't find any volunteers for the number 9 shirt.
Lining up in our customary 3-3-2 (with detachable wing-back accessories) were:
Pete Tim John Woody Banjo Martin Me(Dan) Ross Joe Lanie Orca
So, an embarassment of riches up front, and just an embarassment elsewhere. We didn't have any substitutes available, which made managing the team a lot easier for Tim.
The early pace was not quite as frenzied as is usual between these two sides, but there was still plenty of goal mouth incident. At their end, Orca stalked onto a deft through ball to rattle the Golden boys' crossbar. The opposition responded by penetrating the heart of the Sky Blue defence and violating our virgin goal with a shot that scooted through Pete's legs. Bugger.
Watford, buoyed by this early advantage, attacked again, only to see John McCutch larrup the ball over their centre half and into the green spaces beyond for Lanie to run onto. Everyone expected the equestrian porn star to lob the keeper, but he slipped the ball under the advancing custodian for the most laconic of finishes (although he did later say that he'd meant to lob the keeper.)
Still, practice makes perfect and the Inca Assassin made good a few minutes later after deftly waylaying the opposing centre half. This time, the lob was judged to perfection and the Sky Blues had their noses in front.
A third arrived before half time: a quick break up the right, into the area and I hit a shot which the partially unsighted keeper got hands on, but couldn't keep out.
Despite the 3-1 scoreline in our favour, Watford weren't taking this lying down. They forced a couple of decent saves out of Pete in goal and one spectacular defensive block when Woody Hickman made himself big in front of a driven shot from inside the area. We held out for the half time whistle and pearls of wisdom from Tim: "Right lads, let's run through the changes..."
By now both sides seemed pretty wide awake, but we'd developed the Midas touch in front of goal and Orca, a man with so many toe-poked goals to his credit that his boots are beginning to look like sandals, added another to his collection, arriving between two defenders to finish off some good approach play by Lanie.
There followed a series of borderline handballs in the Watford area by their centre half (who, it later transpired, is a Rugby player- I guess the gumshield should have given us a hint...) No matter, a precise corner from Banjo found the sloping Neanderthal forehead of Ross and the Watford goal suffered a fifth time. This time last season, Ross's SBA career looked to be over: highly-publicised rows with the management, an acrimonious break-up with his supermodel girlfriend, rumours of alcoholism and substance abuse, a court appearance for shoeing a defenceless steroid-fuelled 18-stone nightclub doorman and the publishing of his controversial autobiography Me and a Gun, ghostwritten by Marilyn Manson. Now, however, with a new lease of life, two goals from two games and in the vinegar strokes with the local gypsy birds, Cross Ross is back with a vengeance. This despite having previously rounded off a circuitous tour of the opposing defence and midfield with an attempt to chip the row of houses behind the Watford goal.
In the meantime Watford had been unlucky not to ease their burden with a shot that ricocheted off the SBA woodwork. Lanie also passed up an opportunity for a third with another attempted lob which didn't unduly trouble the keeper. Lanie's wry expression summed up a man who'd just seen a hat-trick disappear into the long grass.
There was time for one last score, which arrived after a bit of a mix up at the back for Watford. I nipped the ball away from the keeper and laid it back to Joe, fresh from the critical plaudits in Edinburgh, who drove his shot in off the far post with a raw masculinity which belied the fact that he's a thespian ponce.
This wrapped up the scoring and a morning to remember for the mighty SBA; much to my relief, I might add, since I took the King's shilling and went in goal for the last eight minutes. A 6-1 away win was a good result for us, a bit harsh on Watford who had chances of their own, although our previous record of three defeats from three meetings possibly didn't reflect the merit of our own contribution.
Which leaves us with our popular feature, Shooters and Rooterstm as nominated by Pete "I've sullied my sheet" Myton. This week's shooter is, apparently, Cross Ross, although Peter didn't say why. Still, two from two, can't argue with that. Our special Bank Holiday rooter is none other than Watford's very own Rob Sterry, who blithely consigned his own team mates to a painful early morning kick-off, whilst he was buggering off to the seaside. Plus, when we arrived at the ground, the groundsman told us that he had no record of a booking. Although this could just be senile dementia.
A shower, a drink and off to Vicarage Road for another seven goal thriller...