Saturday 13th October
Overcast skies cooked up a muggy afternoon at Burridge. Aztecs were quickly one ahead and before long they got another. Unfortunately for them it was at the wrong end. Scoring an own goal is rather like getting caught short in public. It’s a messy affair assumed by all others to be an accident and tried at all costs to be forgotten about. Not this one. Luke Sanderson’s left wing cross was met by a Hythe defender’s pristine volley, that was hit so sweetly it was in back of the net before the keeper could blink. In terms of getting short in public it was like evacuating your bowels in the font of a well attended family christening.
Jerseys of synthetic polyester hung damply from player’s chests into the second half. No more so than Greg Baker who placed the ball on the penalty spot once more. He’d made it two-one earlier from twelve yards. Stood with hands on hips at six foot-three, jet black hair sodden from running up and down that right flank, as the previous night’s alcohol intake ran so readily from his pores. With him and him only responsibility lied to seal victory.
Players took positions outside the penalty area as they must. Statements of encouragement echoed for both parties. They are merely protocol. For this moment Baker’s mind is free of clutter. No longer occupied by morbid thoughts of mortgage payments, over draught fees and hired purchases of two seat sports cars. There’s only two things now - doubt and belief. The two diametrically opposed emotions wrestle for supremacy in his mind’s eye, interrupted only by the referee’s whistle. Baker’s signal to begin his run up and strike cleanly to make it three one to Burridge.