Netley Central Reserves 3-1 Burridge AFC

Saturday 11th September, Station Road, Netley

My brother was strangled in his car. He heard shouting as he parked next to a grass verge alongside a block of terraced houses, so he wound down his window to get a better listen. It was coming from an old man, who was coming closer. He looked about sixty. He looked angry too; then he reached in and tightened his cold hands around my brother's throat. My brother pulled himself free and got out of the car, slamming the door behind him.

What the fuck are you doing?” He shouted.
 The old man kept telling my brother to move his bloody car.
"You can't just go doing things like that,” said my brother. “You're an old man.”
The old man took this as an invitation to fight. “Come on then,” he said, raising his fists. My brother shook his head and moved his car, as the old man stormed off back inside his house.

Fear of the old man conking out with a heart attack weakened my brother's desire to retaliate; but noticing the old man had left his front door open, my brother walked toward it. “Hey you,” he shouted. “I'm calling the police.”

The old man appeared looking startled. “I've already done it,” he insisted, and with that he shut his front door behind him. My brother had come to watch us play. Little did he know that this would be the only funny thing to happen all afternoon.

Jason Wilson

 I hadn't even had a kick by the time Netley scored their first goal. Exactly the same thing happened last season. The deja-vu was appalling. It wasn't long before Netley went two-nil up. A right wing cross skipped up in the dirt onto Dan Allen's arm. The referee took a second to assess the situation, which seemed to involve a brief study of Dan Allen's face, and with injustice missing from his facial expression the referee sounded his whistle and pointed to the penalty spot. Burridge manager, Paul Dyke, wasn't impressed. “He's not going to appeal, ref,” shouted Dyke, from his position stood on the touchline. “I've only just got him to say a word in training.” The referee didn't see fit to give Dyke a similar examination.

Burridge goalkeeper Ryan Jones likes to follow a routine before a penalty is taken against him. As the taker picks up ball, Jones fetches his water bottle from behind his goal line and takes it with him for a twelve yard stroll to the penalty spot. He likes to delay the taking of the kick with a quick swig, then he spits a mouthful out into the mud near the taker's feet, has a long hard look into their eyes, then slowly walk backs to his goal-line. On this occasion it didn't seem to do the trick. Later that evening Jones was stood by the bar, sipping another rum and coke, complaining that he never was quite ready for that penalty. Dan Esfandiari provided us with the greatest goalscoring threat by hitting a beautiful ball across Netley's penalty area. It deserved better far better than ending up in a bush. Essy held his arms out by his side to vent his frustration at none of us being able to get on end of his delivery. Sam Schwodler benefited from another whipped in cross from Essy by scoring with his head. We were back in the game, or so it seemed.

I was on the left with the ball at my feet when it happened. All I had to do was smash it up field; instead I chose to dilly-dally. This pleased the opposition no end, who having taken the ball from me, broke away to score a third goal, and with it perhaps momentarily puncturing any genuine belief we had in coming back into the game. Cock ups like this were a serious threat to my position as a self proclaimed pillar of the Burridge fraternity. At half-time we retreated to the quiet of the away team dressing room. Rather then send us out with a flea in our ear, Dyke reminded us that we still had 45 minutes to play and that was a long time in football. He was right.

Paul Dyke touches up Jason Wilson's make-up

I was replaced by Mark Reeves early in the second half. Reeves lasting contribution to the game was duly noted by several teenage spectators sat behind me, when seemingly trapped by the touchline, Reeves nutmegged his opponent - which is the skill of pushing the ball between another player's legs and collecting it on the other side – shouting 'nuts' as he jogged away with the ball. This is the ultimate indignity, and rather like being slapped around the chops with a wet trout.

One of the teenagers lit a cigarette and pointed at Reeves. “He don't look like the sort to do skill,” his friends nodded in agreement. “He looks like the kind of bloke who would go through you.” Reeves' shaven head and cold blue eyes were enough to convince a handful of young lads that he was a hard-case. Burridge's first half mistakes were enough to make Netley believe they were better than us. Whether Burridge believe that is unclear.

GK: Ryan Jones
RB: Dan Allen (Jo Hill)

CB: Kev Willsher

CB: Ryan Hurst

LB: Mark Sanderson (Mark Reeves)

RM: Sam Hewitt

CM: Jason Wilson

CM: Daniel Esfandiari

LM: Kristian Hewitt

CF: Ben Rowe (Lee Fielder)

CF: Sam Schwodler

Marc Judd was there too.

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