Burridge 1-4 Redbridge

Saturday 1st May: Titchfield Recreation Ground

I was driving east along the M27 towards Titchfield Recreation Ground with the radio tuned into Stuart Hall on 5 live talking about Manchester City's hopes of finishing the season in the fourth Champions League qualifying place. “If they don't win today,” he said, “the dream is over.” The same was true of Burridge. Had anyone said we still had a shot at second place in the rain at Hiltingbury, at the end of March, having lost 4-1, they'd have been given short change. However, five consecutive wins in April has made promotion to the Southampton Premier League a real and sober possibility. For that to remain so we had to beat the side who currently occupy second place, Redbridge.

(Click on pics to enlarge) Top: Sam Schwodler heads goalwards. Bottom: Kristian Hewitt tries to score his penalty rebound. (All pics by Roz Hutton)

An injured right foot sustained playing Sunday league football has prevented me from taking part in any of our five consecutive wins, something I haven't been keen to bring up in conversation. I was surprised when Pete Lyons asked me on arrival in the car park if I was okay to go on the bench. I would have liked to have believed that he was after a certain kind of cynical bit part performance that he felt was missing from those five wins in a row, but the look on his face suggested it was more likely he was just desperate. Fortunately, my boots and shin-pads were in the boot of the car, along with the team kit, that I'd collected earlier from the laundrette. I told him I was confident of giving him a good twenty minute account of myself, if needed, maybe an entire half if I went at my foot with half a can of freeze spray.

While Southampton Saturday League fixtures are allocated with referees, the responsibility of linesman lies with a volunteer from each team. Over the years I've seen many people go to great lengths to avoid running the line, but having been starved of play for a fortnight I was eager to escape my jeans into a pair of black Burridge shorts, even if it did mean spending the afternoon as a linesman.

Burridge goalkeeper Ryan Jones adjusts his boot laces.

The referee quickly established first name terms with me. His name was Adrian, and for a moment I wondered if I should expect to find a Facebook friend request waiting for me in my email. Marc Judd and Paul Dyke, neither who are strangers to referee's notebooks, and both on the bench today carrying injuries, stood behind taking the piss out of me as Adrian ran over what he expected of his linesmen. Referees be warned: be good, bad, or indifferent, but don't try to be be friendly to players, they will only use your good nature against you.

As the game kicked off it began to rain. Those who had been pessimistic enough to believe the weather forecast hid under umbrellas. Ben Rowe tested the Redbridge goalkeeper's reflexes, then Rich Allan's volley made the deeply satisfying pinging noise that only a newly pumped up Mitre thudding against a steel crossbar can produce, but after twenty-five minutes Redbridge had scored four goals. Burridge captain Kristian Hewitt was struggling to keep a lid on his emotions. When it was left to Paul Dyke, who was on the substitute's bench, to warn Rich Allan he had an opponent on his tail, Kristian exploded. When the whistle blew for the end of the half Marc Judd and I chose to knock a ball to each other on the pitch, rather than intrude on the first half post mortem.

Kev Willsher defends a Redbridge attack.

Sam Scwhodler didn't get a chance to run at Redbridge during the first half, so when he saw an opportunity to fall over the goalkeeper's leg in the second he devoured it like a hungry man. Adrian blew his whistle for a penalty. Redbridge's four goal lead didn't stop them from going ape about players diving to win penalties. Their number five's eyes bulged from their sockets. “I'll stab you,” he told Sam, who now no longer living in the shadows of life thought better of throwing caution to the wind by returning number five's stare with a head-butt. Another Redbridge player tried to calm things down with a much needed sense of perspective. “Don't worry,” he assured his number five. “We'll get him afterwards.”

The penalty was taken by Kristian Hewitt. When his strike was parried back to him by Redbridge's goalkeeper I didn't feel overly concerned; when it came to volleying a football Kristian is Burridge's very own safe pair of hands. When Kristian's second stab at the penalty kick did finally come to a standstill a good walk behind the corner flag I was left with the hollow feeling I imagine boxing fans felt after seeing Muhammad Ali lose a split decision against Leon Spinks at the Hilton Sports Pavilion in 1978; shaken with the nasty doubt that this might be the final curtain for somebody you could always count on to produce the goods, and with this feeling came grim confirmation that this entire afternoon would end in a crushing defeat and another unnecessarily long wait to be served a pint at the Bugle Inn in Botley.

Dyke, Judd and myself failed to establish who could manage the longest playing time between us. When Pete did make make a change to Burridge's line up it was Mike Reed, ten years younger and neither balding or grey, who came on as substitute. Rich Allan's left wing delivery deserved the neat finish Bryn Schwodler gave it, heading in his nineteenth goal of the season, but Burridge's unbeaten eight match run had come to an abrupt end in twenty-five minutes of drizzle. Two games are now left in Burridge's season before Pete Lyons calls it a day as manager, and Saturday afternoons once again become wide open spaces.

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Burridge 2-1 Sholing Sports

Monday 12th April, The Shed, Burridge

Sholing's goalkeeper continued shouting at the referee long after the final whistle, as the sun set over the trees. In his opinion, thirty-five minutes each way was an unreasonably short game. He relied heavily on colourful language to make his point. Kristian Hewitt had scored Burridge's winner from the penalty spot. It had been conceded by Sholing's goalkeeper, whose team's arrival to Burridge had eaten fifteen minutes into the scheduled kick off time. The referee had warned both teams he wouldn't accept any abusive language. Seventy minutes of football was enough to expose a goalkeeper's short memory, as well, it seemed, as the strength of the referee's conviction.


Click on pics to enlarge: Kristian Hewitt wallops Burridge's winning goal in from the penalty spot.

The referee stood in the centre circle shaking hands with several Burridge players. Sholing's goalkeeper wasn't ready to call a truce. His words broke the referee's dignified silence. Who momentarily glanced in the direction of the goalkeeper for long enough to tell him that he wouldn't have had this problem if his team had turned up on time. The goalkeeper took his anger back to the away team's dressing room. The referee was in no rush to follow. The price for wandering if he was going to get a knuckle sandwich was his match fee of twenty-two pounds.

Bryn Schwodler weaved through Sholing's defence to make it one-nil, demonstrating great promise in a career of sticky witches. Sholing drew level from a corner kick before half time. Burridge's net yawned wide open for several shorn and unmarked Sholing heads to compete successfully in directing the ball past Ryan Jones. Responsibility to win the game rested with Kristian Hewitt. The club's third choice penalty taker had been fast tracked to the front of the queue by injuries and absentees, in a starting eleven that gave a début to Kev Judd, who wore the number seven shirt and a mop of hair. Hewitt put his faith in raw power and the Nike encasing his right foot. Five minutes later the game was over. Within ten the referee had his foot to the floor on the A3051.


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Burridge 6-0 Southampton BTC

Date: Saturday 20th February
Venue: Meadowside Leisure Centre, Whiteley

The referee had a face that asked serious questions on just how far the directors for the Werther's Original commercials are casting their nets. If Saturday afternoon at Meadowside is anything to go by it appears that the playing fields of Southampton remain very much uncharted waters. Undermined only by a stiff legged gait, the referee gave anyone watching the strong impression he was dealing with a loose kernel in his underpants. While his name remains a mystery, on the evidence presented here it's fair to assume it's something like Tommy Peephamton. Or Old Tom to his friends.

BTC made the most out of their day out to Whiteley. On the way they visited Burridge recreation ground, Allotment Road in Sarisbury Green and most of the A3051. Seeing as the rest of their afternoon was spent in their own half of the pitch they didn't get the chance to see Burridge's penalty area. There were ten minutes before kick off when BTC's five car strong convoy arrived at Meadowside car park. Their secretary hadn't called them to let them know that the game had been switched to Whiteley.

It was to BTC's eternal credit that they didn't let the referee's age become an obstacle. Throughout the game they treated him just like they would any other referee. So it was to Old Tom's great advantage that he had the hearing capacity of a tube of Smarties. Within fifteen minutes of kick off BTC decided that Burridge linesman Greg Baker was a cheat. They broke the news to him from a distance more appropriate for those engaging in non-consensual frottage. Greg managed to restrain himself, despite having a handful of linesman's flag, one with the old fashioned wooden handles, but Greg went to university and likes panini instead of sandwiches, so clocking blokes around the head with pieces of wood isn't really is his thing unless he can spend several years studying it that's followed with a written examination.

During the interlude BTC's number 14 had a word in Burridge centre forward Ben Rowe's ear. Rowe had been trying to defuse the situation with a few jokes which number 14 took exception to. 'Just you wait,' he told Rowe. For what he never found out. Perhaps when BTC get to grips with the telephone they might be good enough to let him know.

Scorers:

1-0 Lee Fielder
2-0 Mark Sanderson
3-0 Bryn Schwodler
4-0 Sam Schwodler
5-0 Greg Baker (pen)
6-0 Marc Judd

Burridge lined up in a 4-4-2 formation


GK:Paul Andrews
RB:Jay Schwodler (Greg Baker)
CB:Kristian Hewitt
CB:Kev Willsher
LB:Paul Dyke
RM:Sam Schwodler
CM:Mark Sanderson
CM:Mark Reeves
LM:Bryn Schwodler
CF:Ben Rowe (Rich Allan)
CF:Lee Fielder (Marc Judd)

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Sholing Sports 3-2 Burridge AFC

Burridge (in red) and Sholing search for the ball?

Short shortage

A man with white hair about his temples stood watching the game. After several minutes he asked the man next to him if what they were watching was junior football. When he was told that it was senior football he raised his eyebrows and decided to leave. Burridge were wearing their red away kit. There's never enough shorts to go around. Justin Newman brought along his own pair. They're the same ones he wears down the swimming baths. Their snug but perishable inner lining was still very much intact.

Burridge colossus Kev Willsher sat in the away dressing room taping his broken toes together. The thin walls couldn't deny Dizzee Rascal's MC-ing from Sholing's ghetto blaster. Kev plunged his fist deep into the foot of one of his long red football socks. He left it there for a moment. Those waiting for him to begin an impromptu puppet show with the sock mouse were left disappointed. The game was tied 2-2 after 20 minutes. Bryn Schwodler and Lee Fielder put Burridge 1-0 and 2-1 ahead. Then Sam Hewitt headed the ball away with his hand. Sholing scored the penalty. Sam was left to roam the the rest of the first half with the same dead eyed expression that haunted Arthur Fowler when he got sent down to Smithy's nick.

The Second half

Burridge had kick-off. Lee Fielder legged it down the left waiting for Justin Newman's pass. Justin decided it was better all round if he banged if off for a throw in deep into Sholing's half of the pitch. Greg Baker asked if he'd piled on big in a spread bet on first throw in of the second half.

Sholing had a few on the sidelines. One was assisted by a single crutch. He didn't like the look of Sam Schwodler's face. 'Lee Fucking Bowyer,' he said. 'That's who he looks like.' Ryan Jones made several long walks behind his goal to retrieve the ball. On one a small boy, no more than seven, who was strongly encouraged by his father, tried to kick Jonesy around the waist. The boy's Dad found it hilarious. This served as a swift reminder that we weren't very far from Weston. Jonesy was left to make a much shorter but painful walk to the back of his net when Sholing scored their third goal.

Burridge lined up in a 3-4-3 formation

GK:Ryan Jones
DF:Kristian Hewitt(c)
DF:Kev Willsher
DF:Sam Hewitt
RM:Jay Schwodler (Greg Baker)
CM:Mark Reeves
CM:Justin Newman (Marc Judd)
LM:Mark Sanderson
CF:Lee Fielder (Rich Allan)
CF:Bryn Schwodler
CF:Sam Schwodler


Above: Justin Newman and Kristian Hewitt prepare for a free kick.

Next Saturday Burridge face against their arch bogey side Durley. At Durley. Kick off could be as early as 9:30am so we can all watch the Saints game.

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Bush Hill 6-2 Burridge

Southampton Trophyman Cup
Green Park, Millbrook

Paul Dyke celebrated his birthday by scoring an own goal. He wanted to put the ball out for a corner kick. Instead he put Bush Hill one-nil up. He was at full stretch. There was nothing he could do. Jonesy was in goal for Burridge. There was nothing he could do either. Bush Hill won the Southampton Premier League last year. Before the game they stood linking arms in a huddle. They all shouted something as it broke. It sound liked kicking out time in town. Burridge were taking pot shots at Jonesy. He wore a baseball cap to protect his view into the low sun. There was no escaping it. He looked like he'd escaped from a Young Offender Institution.

Bush-Hill were never in trouble, unless Burridge scored. It happened twice. Both times Bush Hill's manager went bat shit. When Bryn Schwodler's shot against the post he just went ape-shit. There was a consistency in his shit goings. The referee looked like he needed a holiday. Millbrook wasn't on the short list. There's no beach, nor are there any sights to speak of.

Jay Schwodler got hacked in two because he hacked somebody else. The hacking was done by Bush Hill's centre forward. His hair was cut right down to the wood. His and Marc Judd's hair combined amounted to even less than one imagines to be found on Gary Lineker's ball-bag. He had the number 99 on the back of his red shirt. Nobody asked him if it was because he liked ice-cream. The referee did not send him off. He was too busy thinking about his holidays. Jay lay in the mud moaning for water. Burridge manager Pete Lyons, ran onto the pitch with the bucket of cold water and gave Jay the wet sponge treatment. It seemed to do the trick. It's a versatile liquid.

Bryn Schwodler's goal for Burridge was good. His brother Sam's was better. He was nearer the half way line than the goal when he shot. Few players enjoy their goals as much as Sam. He shouted at no one in particular on the sideline. His voice was full of four letter words. The only ones that made you ever open a dictionary when you were young. It made little difference to the result. Next week Burridge play Wellow. It should be easier going. Although you're not supposed to say that.

Burridge lined up in a good old fashioned 4-4-2 formation.

GK:Ryan Jones
RB:Sam Hewitt
CB:Paul Dyke
CB:Kev Willsher
LB:Mark Sanderson
RM:Jay Schwodler
CM:Justin Newman
CM:Rich Allan
LM:Kristian Hewitt (C ) (Marc Judd)
CF:Ben Rowe (Paul Andrews)
CF:Bryn Schwodler (Sam Schwodler)


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Hythe & Dibden 3-1 Burridge AFC

Date: Saturday 12th September
Venue: Jones Lane, Hythe
Previous meeting: 1-4 that sealed Hythe's title win.

The idea of living dangerously to Burridge striker, Paul Andrews, could easily be represented by being struck by the impulse to say yes to ten quid's cash back at the supermarket and blowing it frivolously on takeaway chicken tikka masala, nan bread, poppadoms, and those little tubs of gloop we're often guilty of filling ourselves up with before getting served our main. The activities Paul carries out on a regular basis are: making toast, drinking tea, watching Zulu, going to the toilet and drinking tea. Bearing this in mind, one can only assume Paul's neighbour is embarking on the final stages of a nervous breakdown. Thirty-one years on Earth had been inadequate in preparing me for the news that Paul had received a letter from the council advising him that his neighbour had complained about the noise he makes shutting his cupboard doors.

(All pics Roz H) Paul Andrews (number 17) tip toes towards Hythe's goal.

Within minutes of kick off Bryn Schwodler scored a very good goal. Hythe's goalkeeper shuffled back desperately to stop the ball floating over his head as though faced with the dilemma of attempting to catch a tennis ball perilously close to a cliff edge, during an ill advised impromptu game of cricket. Once he'd retreated as far as the precipice of the goal line he came to a sudden halt. The goal acted as a reminder that the idea of Bryn being a good footballer wasn't just an old wives' tale. Over the years fellow players have shook their heads in disappointment at Bryn's lack of application to the game, as if believing his preference of idly picking his hands on the halfway line over wilfully chasing down opposing full backs had somehow denied him a footballing career with the Moneyfields and Havant & Waterlooville's of this world.

Bryn Schwodler realises he's way out of his depth in the country dancing pageant.

His lax attitude's usually met by a cross word or two in his direction. Having never retaliated to the verbal joust thrown his way has given some the impression that Bryn simply doesn't care, but I think I know better. This silence isn't a sign of apathy, but a flashback to the countless long nights he's spent sat starring into space, oblivious of the hour hand fast approaching three in the morning as he wrestles with his own footballing mortality. Although on cold reflection the likelihood is that he just sits in playing Mario kart, one hopes lobbing a football over the head of a goalkeeper who clearly has an eye for dessert will draw a line in the sand somehow on the subject of Bryn's attitude to tracking back.

Burridge find a suitable area to set up their picnic.

Ryan Jones reflexes are slightly late today, but unlike Bryn, the young man is not open season to hecklers. Mainly because berating the Jones boy would be no more beneficial than scolding your young nephew, who having waved aside several toilet breaks in his eagerness to reach Thorpe Park, has wet the interior of your Mazda, within tantalising close range of the turn off to the service station. It was an accident of judgement, of course, and the experience of having to remove his soiled underpants in the car park will serve him in far better stead for the future than a tanning in front of a coach load of pensioners ever will.

Chinese Monkey Allan's surprise new direction into art

Seeing as Burridge showed little interest in scoring a second goal, it's entirely possible they scored their first too early on in the game. Holding onto the lead for most of the game against last year's champions was out of the question after Hythe scored two before half time. It's good to see that the Echo haven't been put off by Burridge's lowly position last year, by tipping them as this year's wild card in the senior division. If they're led to be believed Warsash will finish first, Hiltingbury second and Redbridge third. That probably won't happen. Although the Echo's predictions were rather put into context by the teasing headline at the foot of the page that read, 'Jayne Campbell gives her predictions for the veterans' division in next week's Echo.' Rarely have capital letters looked so futile.