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Post by bringbacklenwhite on Apr 30, 2014 12:28:07 GMT
Dobar dan, Dydh da, Dia dhuit and Dy bannee diu.
That's "Hello" for our Bosnian, Cornish, Gaelic Irish and Manx readers !!!
"Week D Dispatches" descend in dashingly dynamic and disreputably divine disorder. Do your duty and duly disgorge your detailed dire devotions. Disdain, disenchantment, disgruntled diatribes. All divulged to document dollops of drivel and dysfunctional durability.
The thread is now open.
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Post by sirroger on Apr 30, 2014 14:26:34 GMT
DefenceI start work and find out there's a football team and a pretty good one too. The team played other Companies in the Manchester area, including friendlies and an all important Cup compeition. There were also games against other offices throughout the UK. To find out that Friday afternoons were, in the main, a time for drinking, to find out social events were a regulat occurrence, pitch and putt competitions, trips to Blackpool (with a skeleton staff left behind to look after the place), Xmas parties, leaving celebrations, birthday parties, payday celebrations etc, to find out you got paid as well was just too good to be true. A football team was the icing on the cake. Inside left, that was my poisition and I was soon in the team. Some decent players were in that team too, some playing for the likes of Radcliffe Brough, most playing regular weekends. A few had seen better days, still had it mind, but sadly time was close on their heels. Our keeper was OK, midfield good and up front, class (especially the inside left  . Now to the main purpose of the post, our defence. Effectively, a back four. Lets call them, Barry, Joe 1, Jeff and Joe 2, basically, because that was and as far as I know, still their names. All four had played the game before, all four were tall and virtually all the size of the proverbial brick outhouse. Playing matches was always good fun, especially when given the opportunity to battle against other regional offices. A couple of good cup runs were enjoyable which were played without 'ringers' unlike one or two other teams eg. "He's an engineer that calls now again to inspect our heating, so we deem him to be an employee, what's wrong with that". The fact that he's a goal scoring machine has of course, nothing to do with it. Anyway, back to our defence. Our tatics were often short and to the point, but the philosophy of our defence, their moto, coat of arms if you like, was a simple, but oh so effective one. Yes, our back four always tried to impress on the oppostion that: T - Thou S - Shall N - Not P - Pass Simple, but in the main, effective. Defence, I raise my glass to you all 
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Post by gazz on Apr 30, 2014 14:40:35 GMT
Excellent, Rog!
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Post by Admin on Apr 30, 2014 17:19:57 GMT
Double
In January 2010 me and my friends set up a football team to play at Powerleague in Stockport. Our first ever game we got hammered 32-0. Despite this we kept going and for the first 3 or 4 seasons we were embarrassingly bad maybe winning one or two games in a 14 game season if we were lucky. A year or so later we seemed to click a bit and would win a few more games but still finished closer to the top than the bottom.
Finally in Spring 2013 we won our first ever promotion from the basement league, Division 5 to the lofty heights of Division 4. After losing the first 2 games we thought it'd be a quick return but no somehow we managed to finish 2nd and get promoted again! Against all odds!
We have levelled out now and just finish mid table in Division 3 but when we couldn't buy a win in Division 5 it shows how much we've come on since!
Easily one of my proudest achievements in sport!
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Post by Epworth Hatter OLD account on May 3, 2014 19:44:40 GMT
Following my late submission of this anecdote under 'A' and Lennie's advice to repost under a different letter, here it is again. Got to be worth a shot!
'Dan' and a lesson in anger management
This story involves a simple game of football at a local park. It was organised by Nige, a mate who does some amazing work with prisoners and ex-offenders. One of the things he organises is indoor football games in prisons and also games for the ex-offenders who have come out and need help readjusting. As an ex-offender, who has really turned his life around, Nige commands great respect from the lads.
Anyway, from time to time I used to play in some of the matches and Nige would ref. He is the only one who could. He uses the games, in all seriousness, to help the lads release their energy/anger, but also learn to control it – especially when things don’t go their way.
So, this game was played in a reasonably good spirit. There were a few flare ups when crunching tackles went in, but Nige was always on the spot to help calm them down. Seriously, he is an amazing guy.
I was playing centre back and at one point we had a corner. I usually went up for our corners (as I’m 6’4” – I don’t have much heading ability, but the opposition don’t know that so I’m a useful distraction for our better players!)
The only problem with going up for corners in this match was the opposition goalkeeper, Dan*. Dan was built like a brick, had more tattoos than I’ve had hot dinners (and I do enjoy a roast dinner of a weekend) and was absolutely mental. It didn’t matter which side you were on, if he decided to go for the ball and you were in the way, then he just took you out. He was nails.
So, the ball came across from the corner and I went for the header. True to form, it skimmed off the top of my head. What happened next was the ball then hit one of their players on the knee, rebounded onto the crossbar, onto Dan’s back and trickled into the goal as if in slow motion.
You could sense the tension. What would Dan do? Well, he turned to face the ball and just shouted, “Oh c*nt, c*nt, c*nt, c*nt, c*nt, c*nt, f*ck!”
There was silence. It was absolutely the funniest thing we'd ever heard, but nobody dare blink.
Nige calmly walked up to Dan, put his hand on his shoulder and, in the best example of irony I’ve ever heard, said, “Well done Dan. Good control. I’m particularly pleased that you managed to tone the swearing down at the end.”
And with that we all fell about laughing. It was about 10 minutes before we could restart the game.
*Not Mad Dave’s real name.
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Post by another_ruined_saturday on May 3, 2014 22:47:43 GMT
darlington and the whitest of elephants. every season that we travelled up to darlington during the last decade, i took the opportunity to text a photo of one side of the darlington arena during the game, with seven or thirteen or twenty two quakers' fans in it, with a caption such as 'the darlington hordes welcome stockport county'. (generally, a picture like this  ) commissioned by a convicted bank robber who initially named the stadium after himself, and with a twenty five thousand capacity, during their most recent season in the football league (2009-10) at its worst there were just 1,296 rattling around it. with a haplessness eclipsing even county's myriad errors, even if they had been successful, the capacity was restricted to 10,000 due to access issues. this was known at the planning stage. and yet they still went ahead with the construction. for a period the restrictions were even lower (6,000 at weekends and 4,500 for midweek games) unless prior written permission was granted. effectively george reynolds built it to his own glory, without any recognition of the club that darlington was, or indeed, how many people the local authority would let him put in it. if you build it, they will come. no. no they won't george. faustino asprilla arrived in a fur coat, but beat a hasty retreat without putting his boots on. the stadium never hosted anything above league two football, the team was liquidated and a new one formed playing at bishop auckland, and the arena is now owned by the famous darlington mowden park RFC. on a more personal note, i once saw us get dispiritingly hammered there on my birthday; and after the brilliant 5-0 on the last day of the 2006-07 season, the police/officials wouldn't let the county players back onto the pitch to come over to us. it wasn't as if we were going to cause any trouble - the nearest darlington fan was an energy-sapping half mile away. we sang 'we're not going home' for 40 minutes. and then we went home. once we'd queued to get out of the car park, that is.
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Post by gazz on May 4, 2014 0:09:18 GMT
Great piece, ars.
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Post by bringbacklenwhite on May 4, 2014 10:22:03 GMT
Week D is very quite , but it is Bank Holiday weekend.
I am sure there are a few more D-lightful tales of d-erring d-o to regale us with.
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Post by sirroger on May 4, 2014 11:55:37 GMT
Ray Drake
Under the letter 'D' Ray could get a mention three fold, Drake, Deaf and Diabetic.
His story is a remarkable one. Born in Stockport he played for for his home team, scored on his debut and went on to score 19 goals in 22 games. Whilst this may not be considered that remarkable, the fact that he was deaf in one ear and diabetic too, certainly was. Ray holds the record for fastest goal ever scored for County, it took him seven seconds! In the days that Ray played, the centre forward always started the match from the kick off on the ref's whistle, a task made difficult for the hard of hearing Ray. To overcome this problem, his strike partner would tug on his shorts to signal the game could start!
In Ray's first season he scored a hat-trick and four in one game which prompted a rumour of a move to Bolton. That never materialised and a fall out with the then managar, saw County lose Ray to non-league football.
Ray went on to work with my Dad, who considered him to be an extremely decent, honest and down to earth bloke, that clearly had a great affinity for County. Ray was a season ticket holder and a member of the ex-County Players Association, along side such greats as Trevor Porteous and Johnny Price.
As we all know, Ray passed away last year and is sadly by all who knew him.
His name continues to crop up in conversations I have with my Dad moreover, the recent anniversary of his passing.
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Post by gazz on May 4, 2014 12:21:27 GMT
Great addition, Rog.
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Post by hatter_in_macc on May 5, 2014 16:00:33 GMT
DONCASTER Away: 10th December 1996
Ever been to a game which, after the event, didn't seem quite real?
My own Dream-like match experience occurred in the most unlikely of settings and circumstances, as County, one midwinter's night, embarked on the Auto Windscreens Shield trail at a very sparsely populated Belle Vue. A couple of dozen or so County fans had made the trip, whilst, overall, the attendance was some way shy of four figures.
For much of the game it felt like those of us who had turned out were making the wrong call. County, despite being towards the top of the third tier (from which, of course, they were ultimately to be promoted at the end of the campaign), seemed to be making heavy weather of things by falling behind against a struggling Donny side from the Division below. True enough, the AWS wasn't at the top of County's list of priorities that term - what with League form markedly improving after a poor start, and a very handy-looking League Cup run taking shape - but it would still be rather shameful to go out of the competition at the first hurdle, and at the hands of such unfancied opposition...
Just then, substitutions were made - and what followed would still be difficult for me to believe, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Enter the best footballer most of us never saw: one Manuel Henrique Baptista Gomes Charana. Or 'Kiko', for short.
The little Portuguese import had either been told to go out and enjoy himself, or been given more rigid instructions that he simply chose not to understand. For, that Tuesday evening, he ran all over the pitch, dribbled, shimmied and nutmegged his way through the Donny defence, inspiring County in the process to win by the odd goal in three. It was an astonishing cameo, and as if the small and lowly gathering were bearing witness to something so remarkable that it was no business of theirs.
Sadly, though, we didn't see its like from Kiko again. He did put in a couple more appearances for the Club, but on each occasion he refrained from venturing very far from a deep midfield position and from making any impression on the game. I could not, and still can't, equate that with what I had had the privilege to watch amid the crumbling ruins of Belle Vue.
Perhaps, when I think about it, the Donny match was a dream. It had, after all, also featured a surreal half-time raffle which saw the owner of the drawn ticket invited onto the pitch to add to his cash prize by selecting a series of keys to locked boxes, and walking away, a very happy punter, with a thousand quid! No wonder Rovers went to the wall a year or so later. They probably p*ssed away the entire gate-takings that evening...
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Post by bringbacklenwhite on May 7, 2014 13:14:12 GMT
Ding Dong. Decision time Sandy. Who dons the Mantle of Brilliance for dynamic dissertation.
Over to you.
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Post by gazz on May 7, 2014 13:58:04 GMT
DONCASTER Away: 10th December 1996Ever been to a game which, after the event, didn't seem quite real? My own Dream-like match experience occurred in the most unlikely of settings and circumstances, as County, one midwinter's night, embarked on the Auto Windscreens Shield trail at a very sparsely populated Belle Vue. A couple of dozen or so County fans had made the trip, whilst, overall, the attendance was some way shy of four figures. For much of the game it felt like those of us who had turned out were making the wrong call. County, despite being towards the top of the third tier (from which, of course, they were ultimately to be promoted at the end of the campaign), seemed to be making heavy weather of things by falling behind against a struggling Donny side from the Division below. True enough, the AWS wasn't at the top of County's list of priorities that term - what with League form markedly improving after a poor start, and a very handy-looking League Cup run taking shape - but it would still be rather shameful to go out of the competition at the first hurdle, and at the hands of such unfancied opposition... Just then, substitutions were made - and what followed would still be difficult for me to believe, had I not seen it with my own eyes. Enter the best footballer most of us never saw: one Manuel Henrique Baptista Gomes Charana. Or 'Kiko', for short. The little Portuguese import had either been told to go out and enjoy himself, or been given more rigid instructions that he simply chose not to understand. For, that Tuesday evening, he ran all over the pitch, dribbled, shimmied and nutmegged his way through the Donny defence, inspiring County in the process to win by the odd goal in three. It was an astonishing cameo, and as if the small and lowly gathering were bearing witness to something so remarkable that it was no business of theirs. Sadly, though, we didn't see its like from Kiko again. He did put in a couple more appearances for the Club, but on each occasion he refrained from venturing very far from a deep midfield position and from making any impression on the game. I could not, and still can't, equate that with what I had had the privilege to watch amid the crumbling ruins of Belle Vue. Perhaps, when I think about it, the Donny match was a dream. It had, after all, also featured a surreal half-time raffle which saw the owner of the drawn ticket invited onto the pitch to add to his cash prize by selecting a series of keys to locked boxes, and walking away, a very happy punter, with a thousand quid! No wonder Rovers went to the wall a year or so later. They probably p*ssed away the entire gate-takings that evening... Brilliant story, and a killer punchline! This is my winner  ...but who will Sandy pick?! |
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Post by bringbacklenwhite on May 7, 2014 17:36:10 GMT
Dressing Rooms
Not the ones that managers occasionally lose ("but lads it was there at the end of the corridor when we went out for the first half !") rather those that I have "found" over the many years of playing sport. It is often said that the dressing rooms reflect the standard of the other facilities and can set the standard of contest between the teams. Remember the South American coach who painted the home dressing room red to fire up his players and the away room blue to send them to sleep !
Hayfield Primary School - a quick change of shorts and socks in the cloakroom while the girls were out at afternoon play and unable to view your underpants (if you were lucky enough to afford any).
New Mills Grammar School - An under-croft of dank, dark, metal caging (neath the long wooden dining room and woodwork area) with probably the smallest set of showers for 30 uncouth teenagers. We had to be good friends and certainly never dropped the soap !
Inter New Mills - A wooden work-hut bought from a demolition site near Gee Cross. Creosoted on the outside and painted inside by whatever tins of left over paint we could find in our parents sheds. The colour scheme was orange above waist height, pale blue below with a purple bar around the middle. Very 1960's decor.
Hyde United - First chance of using state-of the art heat-treatment (early 70's)
Curzon Ashton - Full size team bath which they filled and let us use during a Cup Final played there. How grown up was that.
Styal FC - perhaps the most wrongly named club in the North West. No substance - no style - no heating - no bath !
Didsbury FC - Outbuildings but with separate rooms and a tin bath to share in the middle of the floor.
Birch Vale & Thornsett - Another wooden hut in a field until promotion to the Lancashire and Cheshire League which insisted on an upgrade from a cold water tap over a foot-basin to full showers. It was quicker to walk home and have a hot bath !
Coventry Rd Sports/Downes FC (Hinckley) - ex Leicestershire County Cricket Club ground. Not as grand as it sounds. But fairly comfortable compared to others. Smelt of old, wet cricket pads though.
Leicester Fire Service FC - Upstairs facilities. You had to descend the pole to get down to ground level (only joking).
Hinckley Athletic - A step up in class. Even had a tunnel to reach the pitch. Shame there was no grass on the pitch.
Blackpool FC - Before the re-build. Changing Area under the wooden south stand. School team played in the local Association finals the week after Chelsea had played there. Nails for pegs and benches that gave you splinters. You could imagine Stanley Matthews resting his weary bones on them. Another year I was refereeing - the facilities for officials was even worse ! A black and white TV with no plug, metal framed canvas sheet chairs (broken) and showers that looked like something out of Belsen.
I could go on but you get the picture.
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Post by sandbachhatter on May 7, 2014 18:11:10 GMT
I've debated this and agonised over my decision for some time, but have ultimately decided that the winner of Week D is another_ruined_saturday and his homage to Darlo.
Sorry to everyone else as they were all excellent entries!
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