A VIEW FROM THE TERRACE
Aylesbury FC v Hillingdon Borough
I didn’t have to work today, but all was not well at home. I had been out on the lash again last night and this morning I got the.
“Well you really tied one on last night, where’d you go”
“I worked late and stopped just for a couple of beers.”
“A couple of beers, that’s a laugh, you were pissed. Where’d you go?”
Now there are two theories to arguing with woman and I have tried them and they don’t work, so I tried to tell the truth.
“I went to the club in town, to see silly Bob break a world record.”
“No you didn’t, I spoke with Bob’s wife and he was home early and he had been fighting”
“I know he was home early, he got chucked out”
At this point I knew I was on a loser. What ever I said was going to be wrong.
“It’s no good talking to you, you can’t help lying, and I bet you were down that rotten football club.” With that she stormed out of the room, probably working out my next punishment.
Silly Bob had got one of the offices junior’s drunk at lunchtime and persuaded her to join in on his latest attempt to break a world record. He told her all she had to do was just stand there. Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge, but these two just gargled.
Standing there was ok, but silly Bob had omitted some details.
What Bob had found out was, a David Adamovich, an American also known as, The Great Throwdidi, broke the speed knife throwing record on 6 June 2005, in the show Maximum Risk in New York. In one minute, he threw 74 knives around his target girl, Ekaterina Sknarina.
I had tried to tell Bob that you should only try this if you were an experienced knife thrower, but he said he had been practicing in his garage.
Our little office girl was going to be Ekaterina Sknarina and silly Bob was going to go down for manslaughter. This I had to see.
Most of the blokes at the office had come to the club from work, not many had seen a murder close up before.
Needless to say the record attempt didn’t go to plan.
Not only had silly Bob forgotten to tell the girl about the knives, he had forgotten to tell the club committee he was doing it on their stage.
Bob got up on stage and placed the girl against the far wall.
At this point all was ok and then he got the box of knives out.
Everything seemed to happen so fast.
The pissed Ekaterina Sknarina ran screaming from the stage, pulling down the curtains in her haste to get off and covering a group of old ladies getting ready for Bingo. Ten seventy year old committee members jumped on Bob. The girl couldn’t be consoled and the old ladies were screaming the house down with the curtain over them. Bob was being beaten to a pulp by the old boys brigade. They thought they had caught a terrorist.The police marched Bob off all bloody and bruised, probably for another kicking down the nick.
The rain had eased up the last few days so the match would be on.
Before going to Haywood Way I popped into my local for a pint.
Arthur, the old boy well into his nineties and as deaf as a post, was sitting at the bar nursing his glass.
“Want a drink Arthur,” I said
“No son, I can only have a half as it plays havoc with me boils.
“Oh ok,” Bloody hell Danny had one of them, I hoped it wasn’t catching. I wasn’t going to stand near him today.
“All right I’ll have a scotch.”
“I’m off to Aylesbury today” I said shouting so he could hear me; “we are playing Hillingdon.” Gobby me was off again, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
“I was stationed near there for a while during the war” he said.
All of a sudden my hangover started to kick in.
“I used to stand on Hillingdon Heath and watch the twirling vapour trails of the aircraft during the Battle of Britain.”
“I bet that was a nice sight Arthur.” He ignored me.
“In September 1940 there was an almighty explosion. A parachute mine containing a ton of explosive had hit a tree, near a shelter. The force of the blast was so strong that it blew off the escape hatch on the shelter and caved it in. We had to dig all night to get the people out.”
“I bet that’s a bit of a shock Arthur, one minute your in bed having a fag and the next, boom, your on your ass.” Arthur carried on as though I wasn’t there.
“A lot of people had a Morrison Shelter, they used to make the kids sleep in it and it doubled up as a dining table.
I remember we used to play a game called Crown & Anchor; I will have to try and get that again.”
“Talking about games Arthur I’d better get off to mine.” I ran out the door.
I got to the club and went in for a beer, there were a few people about, they must have all been nutters, it was bloody freezing.
The chairman and secretary were on the steps smoking loads of fags, those two were propably the problem with the ozone layer.
I went into the ground and shock and horror, What’s his name our president was there. He was the one that fixed the raffles and draws. This meant he was running short of money and come by to have another dip in the pot. I wasn’t going to have a go on anything today, so he could get it and go back to the Bahamas.
We came out in our famous red and black and Hillingdon were in white.
We started attacking straight from the start and seemed the better side.
With 5 minutes gone a great move involving at least 8 passes finished with a shot from Boyce narrowly missing.
A few minutes later a nice move down the left found Lafayette, who shot hard and low into the corner to beat the keeper. 1-0.
Aylesbury were doing all the attacking now and it was only going to be time before they had further reward.
What was spoiling the game and a lot of people from both sides were telling him in colourful language, was the referee, he was giving cards and blowing up for silly things. He was blowing up for tackles that wouldn’t put a newborn baby on its ass. He was being assessed and was way over the top. I hoped the assessor shoved the whistle up his bottom.
On 28 minutes the Aylesbury pressure paid off. Another move down the right found Maynard whose cross found Graham lurking on the penalty spot. He flung his self at the ball in a diving header with all the grace of a swallow. He connected with the ball perfectly and it crashed into the net. To finish this majestic move he crashed to the floor like a sack of shit. Once a boxer always a boxer. 2-0.
The rest of the half saw a great many Aylesbury chances going to waste, with the odd Hillingdon chance coming now and then.
The half time whistle came and I went in for a beer, I needed it, I was frozen.
The second half was a game once again about a silly referee. He booked players that he should not have and players were not booked who should. He slowed the game down with a continuous whistle that was not needed.
Aylesbury kept up the pressure but were thwarted either by the post or referee.
Straight from the start Aylesbury should have scored only for Hayward to go just wide.
Then a corner by Mead flew into the keeper’s hands, only for him to drop it into the net and an Aylesbury player making sure it was in, was pulled up again by the ref.
On the hour mark a through ball found Lafayette who beat first the defender, then coolly rounded the out rushing keeper. There he was standing in front of the open goal. He stopped, brushed him self down, smiled and had two photos taken with his foot on the ball and then he smashed the ball into the advertising boards at the side of the goal. I saw the chairman smashing his head against the fence.
More chances came and went and Mead had a fierce shot just tipped over the bar.
In the last few minutes, Hillingdon who were reduced to ten men by our refereeing genius went close, but Aylesbury kept them out.
It should have been a bigger score, but the pitch was slippery, the day was cold and any other excuse I can think of.
The final whistle came and with it three points, I wasn’t staying for a drink; I couldn’t wait to get home to see what my little piranha had thought up as a penance.
Aylesbury FC v Hillingdon Borough
I didn’t have to work today, but all was not well at home. I had been out on the lash again last night and this morning I got the.
“Well you really tied one on last night, where’d you go”
“I worked late and stopped just for a couple of beers.”
“A couple of beers, that’s a laugh, you were pissed. Where’d you go?”
Now there are two theories to arguing with woman and I have tried them and they don’t work, so I tried to tell the truth.
“I went to the club in town, to see silly Bob break a world record.”
“No you didn’t, I spoke with Bob’s wife and he was home early and he had been fighting”
“I know he was home early, he got chucked out”
At this point I knew I was on a loser. What ever I said was going to be wrong.
“It’s no good talking to you, you can’t help lying, and I bet you were down that rotten football club.” With that she stormed out of the room, probably working out my next punishment.
Silly Bob had got one of the offices junior’s drunk at lunchtime and persuaded her to join in on his latest attempt to break a world record. He told her all she had to do was just stand there. Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge, but these two just gargled.
Standing there was ok, but silly Bob had omitted some details.
What Bob had found out was, a David Adamovich, an American also known as, The Great Throwdidi, broke the speed knife throwing record on 6 June 2005, in the show Maximum Risk in New York. In one minute, he threw 74 knives around his target girl, Ekaterina Sknarina.
I had tried to tell Bob that you should only try this if you were an experienced knife thrower, but he said he had been practicing in his garage.
Our little office girl was going to be Ekaterina Sknarina and silly Bob was going to go down for manslaughter. This I had to see.
Most of the blokes at the office had come to the club from work, not many had seen a murder close up before.
Needless to say the record attempt didn’t go to plan.
Not only had silly Bob forgotten to tell the girl about the knives, he had forgotten to tell the club committee he was doing it on their stage.
Bob got up on stage and placed the girl against the far wall.
At this point all was ok and then he got the box of knives out.
Everything seemed to happen so fast.
The pissed Ekaterina Sknarina ran screaming from the stage, pulling down the curtains in her haste to get off and covering a group of old ladies getting ready for Bingo. Ten seventy year old committee members jumped on Bob. The girl couldn’t be consoled and the old ladies were screaming the house down with the curtain over them. Bob was being beaten to a pulp by the old boys brigade. They thought they had caught a terrorist.The police marched Bob off all bloody and bruised, probably for another kicking down the nick.
The rain had eased up the last few days so the match would be on.
Before going to Haywood Way I popped into my local for a pint.
Arthur, the old boy well into his nineties and as deaf as a post, was sitting at the bar nursing his glass.
“Want a drink Arthur,” I said
“No son, I can only have a half as it plays havoc with me boils.
“Oh ok,” Bloody hell Danny had one of them, I hoped it wasn’t catching. I wasn’t going to stand near him today.
“All right I’ll have a scotch.”
“I’m off to Aylesbury today” I said shouting so he could hear me; “we are playing Hillingdon.” Gobby me was off again, why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
“I was stationed near there for a while during the war” he said.
All of a sudden my hangover started to kick in.
“I used to stand on Hillingdon Heath and watch the twirling vapour trails of the aircraft during the Battle of Britain.”
“I bet that was a nice sight Arthur.” He ignored me.
“In September 1940 there was an almighty explosion. A parachute mine containing a ton of explosive had hit a tree, near a shelter. The force of the blast was so strong that it blew off the escape hatch on the shelter and caved it in. We had to dig all night to get the people out.”
“I bet that’s a bit of a shock Arthur, one minute your in bed having a fag and the next, boom, your on your ass.” Arthur carried on as though I wasn’t there.
“A lot of people had a Morrison Shelter, they used to make the kids sleep in it and it doubled up as a dining table.
I remember we used to play a game called Crown & Anchor; I will have to try and get that again.”
“Talking about games Arthur I’d better get off to mine.” I ran out the door.
I got to the club and went in for a beer, there were a few people about, they must have all been nutters, it was bloody freezing.
The chairman and secretary were on the steps smoking loads of fags, those two were propably the problem with the ozone layer.
I went into the ground and shock and horror, What’s his name our president was there. He was the one that fixed the raffles and draws. This meant he was running short of money and come by to have another dip in the pot. I wasn’t going to have a go on anything today, so he could get it and go back to the Bahamas.
We came out in our famous red and black and Hillingdon were in white.
We started attacking straight from the start and seemed the better side.
With 5 minutes gone a great move involving at least 8 passes finished with a shot from Boyce narrowly missing.
A few minutes later a nice move down the left found Lafayette, who shot hard and low into the corner to beat the keeper. 1-0.
Aylesbury were doing all the attacking now and it was only going to be time before they had further reward.
What was spoiling the game and a lot of people from both sides were telling him in colourful language, was the referee, he was giving cards and blowing up for silly things. He was blowing up for tackles that wouldn’t put a newborn baby on its ass. He was being assessed and was way over the top. I hoped the assessor shoved the whistle up his bottom.
On 28 minutes the Aylesbury pressure paid off. Another move down the right found Maynard whose cross found Graham lurking on the penalty spot. He flung his self at the ball in a diving header with all the grace of a swallow. He connected with the ball perfectly and it crashed into the net. To finish this majestic move he crashed to the floor like a sack of shit. Once a boxer always a boxer. 2-0.
The rest of the half saw a great many Aylesbury chances going to waste, with the odd Hillingdon chance coming now and then.
The half time whistle came and I went in for a beer, I needed it, I was frozen.
The second half was a game once again about a silly referee. He booked players that he should not have and players were not booked who should. He slowed the game down with a continuous whistle that was not needed.
Aylesbury kept up the pressure but were thwarted either by the post or referee.
Straight from the start Aylesbury should have scored only for Hayward to go just wide.
Then a corner by Mead flew into the keeper’s hands, only for him to drop it into the net and an Aylesbury player making sure it was in, was pulled up again by the ref.
On the hour mark a through ball found Lafayette who beat first the defender, then coolly rounded the out rushing keeper. There he was standing in front of the open goal. He stopped, brushed him self down, smiled and had two photos taken with his foot on the ball and then he smashed the ball into the advertising boards at the side of the goal. I saw the chairman smashing his head against the fence.
More chances came and went and Mead had a fierce shot just tipped over the bar.
In the last few minutes, Hillingdon who were reduced to ten men by our refereeing genius went close, but Aylesbury kept them out.
It should have been a bigger score, but the pitch was slippery, the day was cold and any other excuse I can think of.
The final whistle came and with it three points, I wasn’t staying for a drink; I couldn’t wait to get home to see what my little piranha had thought up as a penance.
