Dan Kay and his fellow members of London’s only non-league football firm Wingate Wide Boys, have decided to set-up a five-a-side team for some much needed exercise.
I turned up at the Barnet Power League thirty minutes early so I could warm up. But there wasn’t much room in-between the pitches, so I had to jog up and down in front of the bar. Then I started to feel like everyone in the bar was looking at me and saying things like “Why is that guy even bothering to warm up, he looks rubbish”. So I decided that I didn’t need to warm and I went in the bar to get a drink instead.
I thought about getting a Lucozade Sport which all those pros drink, but then I imagined Dave walking in and laughing at my neon coloured drink and calling me a poof, so I got a pint of Carling instead. It was flat and warm.
All the other players were young lads, late teens or so. There was a Championship game on the telly and everyone was commenting on how shit they thought all the players were. I thought that all the lads in the bar must be very good and play for Premiership academies to be criticizing other professional footballers as they did. Then I remembered that me and the other Wingate Wide Boy lads had to play some of these lads in ten minutes. I took a few stiff swigs on my Carling.
Dave and the other lads walked in and came over to my table.
“Why the fuck are your drinking a pint, Dan? We got a fucking game in a minute,” Dave said and all the other lads shook their head in disappointment.
We were playing a team called ‘The Essence of El Clasico’ who were top of our league with a goal difference of +57. We made our way to the pitch and I took off my tracksuit.
Trev jogged over, “Dan, why are you wearing the full Brazil kit?” he asked.
“I like Brazil” I answered.
“Only twats and seven year olds wear full kits to 5-a-side you knobber,” Dave shouted from the other side of the pitch. I put my tracksuit top back on and jogged on the spot for a minute.
The game started and after five minutes we were 6-0 down. I had been skinned by a guy wearing pink boots for four of the goals.
“Fucking snap him, Dan! He’s making you look like a right mug.” Dave yelled at me. He looked angrier than usual.
But I didn’t want to snap the kid. He was good and played with a passion I wish I saw back down at the Abrahams. I thought ‘why can’t we just applaud the boy’s skill and enjoy playing on the same pitch as someone so talented’, but as I was thinking that he nutmegged me and put in through our keepers legs, then Dave yelled at me some more and called me a spiv.
The pink booted player was coming at me one-on-one again and tapped the ball round me. I felt ashamed to be on the same pitch as someone with so much ability and not offer him a challenge. I owed it to him, my team and myself to sweat blood and gave it everything I had. I stuck my leg out for the ball, but my challenge was tired, clumsy and he was too quick. His knee slammed into my foot and he went flying into the boards.
A few of his teammates shoved me about and Dave swung a punch at a kid who looked fifteen, then it all kicked off. I went to help the pink booted player up, I wanted to say sorry and that I admired his skill. But his mate pushed me off him, “Why the fuck did you snap him? He’s got a try-out with Orient on Monday!” Then he punched me in the throat.
As I lay on the floor feigning injury I wished I was back at home. I should have never left home. At home I can watch Grand Designs and Kevin McCloud’s smooth voice would make everything seem less pointless.
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