It was only two years ago that Burridge nearly folded, ceased to be, called it a day. No manager, no money and barely eleven players to call upon. I remember standing on the half-way line twenty minutes before kick off, making calls to every able bodied man I knew, and when they told me they'd love to play but they were going to Homebase with their girlfriend to look at some decking for their new maisonette, or that they'd been up 'til five in the morning drinking sambuca, I asked them who else they knew, and when I told that person that a starting midfield berth beckoned, if only they'd stop exactly what they were doing and drive straight to wherever we were playing that day for ninety minutes of excruciating tedium, I was usually told that they were going to Homebase.
So that was that. Burridge had been sunk by the first time buyers and their DIY compulsions. Things got so desperate that I knocked up a recruitment poster. That poster was printed out on the colour printer at work. Why, I must've gone through a box of A4 before sticking it to every lamppost and leisure centre within miles. I even went on the Internet. And what happened? Nothing. Well, not unless you count applications from teenage Nigerians who wanted to come to England to find their way into the professional game, but that's another story.
Burridge didn't fold. Somehow we got Pete Lyons involved. And last night there were twenty players at training. Burridge are in no longer in any cup competitions and the league title remains elusive as it ever has, but we have a club and for that we're thankful.