Post by Admin on Dec 1, 2013 20:49:14 GMT
Water of Life. (aka Aqua Vitae).
Bringbacklenwhite
What has this to do with an almanac of sporting anecdotes I hear you ask. Do not worry my faithful reader. All will become apparent.
1975 - Coventry School's U14 and U 15 Tour to Kiel, Germany. (me - Assistant team trainer and coach cleaner - just 6 weeks into my career as a PE teacher).
A frought journey which included a coach tyre change on the motorway, a fog bound crossing of London and a last minute arrival at Dover (they held the ferry for 10 minutes for us) saw us on a week long stay with our twinned city of Kiel. All the staff and pupils were billeted with similar around the city. It is important to remember that Kiel, at the time, regarded itself as being in Schleswig Holstein, and not Germany, with far closer ties to Denmark.
To cut a very long story short, an extra game was arranged for our squad players against a local "special" school who were desperate to play "the english". I was "volunteered" to referee the game at the last minute.
My host,a young frauline called Gerlinda (sadly married) was on a course at the local University for the day so I had to lunch at the school caretaker's flat, where our coach driver was staying. The caretaker was a bull-necked individual called Klaus and would have been equally at home sat on top of a Panzer tank crossing the desert with Rommel.
Over lunch the bottle of Danish Aqua Vitae appeared (strictly falling down juice of a major kind - 60% proof). Klaus decided that we should toast the visit of "the english". Then he suggested a toast to the hosting by the "Danish" Holsteiners, then the skill of bus drivers, the deftness of caretakers, the dedication of PE teachers, the beauty of his wife (seriously debatable) and finally "der skill auf der fussball-spielers", but one after the other.
The game kicked off and proceeded despite me although I was stood on the pitch in black with a whistle. I was totally p*ss*d and fortunate that a good natured game took place. With 5 minutes to go "the english" were deservedly winning 6-0 (I was the only one who had seen 12 goals go in though). The german lads finally broke down the right and delivered their first decent cross of the day. Sadly no one else had managed to stay with the winger except me. It was inch perfect, right on my head and I couldn't resist. It flew off my left ear into the top corner of the net. Final score 6-1.
Klaus deemed the goal worthy of yet another toast over late afternoon tea. I was able to decline without damaging Anglo-German relationships as I knew we had a 5 hour reception to attend that night.
It was certainly a week to remember and the only goal I have ever scored with my head.
Wright's Sports
Downunderhatter
We played against this team in the cup in the late 90's. I think they were in the division above but not exactly ripping up trees. We were fair-to-middling.
On the morning of the game we found out our keeper was missing. We had a replacement who claimed to be a keeper but was about 4' 6". Hesitantly, we named him on the card as our keeper, knowing we'd have to keep the other team from shooting as we had little faith.
They had one big lad who played for them (and ran them I think) so on corners it was my job to mark him. In the first half he beat me to a header but it dropped between us. He reacted first and poked it into the net. Great.
I went up for our next corner. I lurked on the edge of the box but was marked. I ran towards the corner-taker screaming for the ball, which he did, at ground level though. It took one bounce and I hooked it behind me hoping to find someone at the back post. It flew into the top, near-post corner for what looked like a great goal... if I'd meant it. One of our strikers scored two routine headers in the second half to wrap the game up 3-1.
I phoned the result in to the league later in the day giving Kraig the goal-scorer's names. He didn't need to know our first scorer's name as he'd chosen that day to walk his dog down at our pitch and watch the first half of our game. He passed the match report on to Keith Coates who writes them up for the Stockport Express. I bought the paper that Wednesday to see my name under the heading "Equaliser" and something about scoring a "tremendous volley".
I've still got that newspaper clipping to this very day.
Thanks Kraig.
Wet weather
Dudleyhatter
Sat in the stands at edgbaston watching the rain pour down is maing me think of other great wet (oooer) moments in sport. Cliff singing in the rain at Wimbledon, the Barcelona Olympics closing ceremony!
The Wonderful "Willie" XI
Unknown User
Owain Fon Williams
Brett Williams
Ashley Williams
Bill Williams
Paul Little Willow Williams
Oshor Williams
Jessup, Willie *
Marc Lloyd Williams
Robbie Williams
Chris Williams
Paul Big Willow Williams
* cheated here, but only slightly
Not a bad side and what a superb central defence pairing; two County Legends.!
WEST BROMWICH ALBION -v- County
Hatter In Macc
WHEN?
New Year's Day, 2002.
WHERE?
The Hawthorns.
WHY was it such a disaster of a day?
(1) County finished up on the end of a 4-0 drubbing, following a particularly listless performance - brought on, in part (it was rumoured), by the players and Manager having stayed up very late to see in the new year. The Gaffer at the time? One Carlton Palmer. Perhaps, for 'listless', read 'legless'...
(2) Rewind a few hours earlier to the journey down, and Mrs Macc's pride and joy of a car, 'Patsy', failing her pre-match fitness test.
(3) Fast-forward back to the match, and, without doubt, what was to prove a lifetime-worst moment of embarrassment...involving Hatter_in_Macc and a steak pie. It has been reported on '606' before, but I'm still not over the shame and guilt of it all.
WHAT happened to 'Patsy'?
The sporty little drop of motor, already nursing an aversion to football-related jaunts following her soaking, whilst open-topped, en route to Bolton the previous Spring (CHAOS Chapter 'R' refers), well and truly gave up the ghost when her brakes, by way of protest at the sub-zero temperature in deepest Derbyshire, froze solid and caused her rear wheels to catch fire just a mile out of Glossop, where we were living at the time.
Mercifully, we had not quite reached the start of the M67 at that stage, and there was a lay-by into which we could steer 'Patsy' for safe keeping until later - but it was still a bit of a schlep for H_i_M to trudge home and pick up his altogether less glamorous, but slightly less temperamental, Fiesta, with a view to our still making the match. Although, arguably, we should already have seen the signs that this really wasn't going to be our day...
WHITHER the pie?
Oh God...surprise
If truth be told, I wasn't even very hungry once the game was in full flow, and my decision to get a pie was, as much as anything, borne out of mild depression over the p*ss-poor fare being served up on the pitch by the away-team.
The food at The Hawthorns, while rich in meat and gravy, was not made of strong stuff, and, in my attempt to keep the soggy pie in one piece, a chunk of it broke off...and dropped into the coat-hood of the bloke sitting directly in front.
He was bigger, and looked harder, than me. And so did his mate next door. What to do? I turned helplessly, and in a whisper, to Mrs Macc for an answer.
"Just tell him what's happened. Only don't...you know, let it cause a scene."
Logical advice, as Joe Jackson once sang, gets you in a whirl...
So, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and all that, I did precisely nothing...other than ensure that we were away from our seats sharpish when the final whistle went. (Not a difficult call, given that there was neither anything or anyone County-related worth staying behind to applaud.)
As we walked briskly out of the ground, the heavens opened - and, in an instant, the hoods of our coats went on.
And then, my blood chilled...as I thought of the County fan who had been sitting in front of me - and I hoped against hope that, somehow, he might have made it to his car, or the nearest pub - anywhere indoors, really - before the rain came.
WHO are Mrs Macc's favourite second team?
Erm...West Brom, as it happens.
And why?
Upon leaving the stadium, and on the back of a thoroughly miserable afternoon's football - not to mention the prospect of having to replace a much-loved, burnt-out car, plus a lingering fear that the Pie-in-the-Hood Man might yet cross my path and kick me all the way home - a silvery-haired/tongued Black Country gent of a Steward by the gate smiled sweetly as he motioned to Mrs Macc:
"Today's Miss Stockport Competition must have been cancelled, if you're here, my lovely!"
Aarrgghh!
But seriously, though, not a bad line..
Bringbacklenwhite
What has this to do with an almanac of sporting anecdotes I hear you ask. Do not worry my faithful reader. All will become apparent.
1975 - Coventry School's U14 and U 15 Tour to Kiel, Germany. (me - Assistant team trainer and coach cleaner - just 6 weeks into my career as a PE teacher).
A frought journey which included a coach tyre change on the motorway, a fog bound crossing of London and a last minute arrival at Dover (they held the ferry for 10 minutes for us) saw us on a week long stay with our twinned city of Kiel. All the staff and pupils were billeted with similar around the city. It is important to remember that Kiel, at the time, regarded itself as being in Schleswig Holstein, and not Germany, with far closer ties to Denmark.
To cut a very long story short, an extra game was arranged for our squad players against a local "special" school who were desperate to play "the english". I was "volunteered" to referee the game at the last minute.
My host,a young frauline called Gerlinda (sadly married) was on a course at the local University for the day so I had to lunch at the school caretaker's flat, where our coach driver was staying. The caretaker was a bull-necked individual called Klaus and would have been equally at home sat on top of a Panzer tank crossing the desert with Rommel.
Over lunch the bottle of Danish Aqua Vitae appeared (strictly falling down juice of a major kind - 60% proof). Klaus decided that we should toast the visit of "the english". Then he suggested a toast to the hosting by the "Danish" Holsteiners, then the skill of bus drivers, the deftness of caretakers, the dedication of PE teachers, the beauty of his wife (seriously debatable) and finally "der skill auf der fussball-spielers", but one after the other.
The game kicked off and proceeded despite me although I was stood on the pitch in black with a whistle. I was totally p*ss*d and fortunate that a good natured game took place. With 5 minutes to go "the english" were deservedly winning 6-0 (I was the only one who had seen 12 goals go in though). The german lads finally broke down the right and delivered their first decent cross of the day. Sadly no one else had managed to stay with the winger except me. It was inch perfect, right on my head and I couldn't resist. It flew off my left ear into the top corner of the net. Final score 6-1.
Klaus deemed the goal worthy of yet another toast over late afternoon tea. I was able to decline without damaging Anglo-German relationships as I knew we had a 5 hour reception to attend that night.
It was certainly a week to remember and the only goal I have ever scored with my head.
Wright's Sports
Downunderhatter
We played against this team in the cup in the late 90's. I think they were in the division above but not exactly ripping up trees. We were fair-to-middling.
On the morning of the game we found out our keeper was missing. We had a replacement who claimed to be a keeper but was about 4' 6". Hesitantly, we named him on the card as our keeper, knowing we'd have to keep the other team from shooting as we had little faith.
They had one big lad who played for them (and ran them I think) so on corners it was my job to mark him. In the first half he beat me to a header but it dropped between us. He reacted first and poked it into the net. Great.
I went up for our next corner. I lurked on the edge of the box but was marked. I ran towards the corner-taker screaming for the ball, which he did, at ground level though. It took one bounce and I hooked it behind me hoping to find someone at the back post. It flew into the top, near-post corner for what looked like a great goal... if I'd meant it. One of our strikers scored two routine headers in the second half to wrap the game up 3-1.
I phoned the result in to the league later in the day giving Kraig the goal-scorer's names. He didn't need to know our first scorer's name as he'd chosen that day to walk his dog down at our pitch and watch the first half of our game. He passed the match report on to Keith Coates who writes them up for the Stockport Express. I bought the paper that Wednesday to see my name under the heading "Equaliser" and something about scoring a "tremendous volley".
I've still got that newspaper clipping to this very day.
Thanks Kraig.
Wet weather
Dudleyhatter
Sat in the stands at edgbaston watching the rain pour down is maing me think of other great wet (oooer) moments in sport. Cliff singing in the rain at Wimbledon, the Barcelona Olympics closing ceremony!
The Wonderful "Willie" XI
Unknown User
Owain Fon Williams
Brett Williams
Ashley Williams
Bill Williams
Paul Little Willow Williams
Oshor Williams
Jessup, Willie *
Marc Lloyd Williams
Robbie Williams
Chris Williams
Paul Big Willow Williams
* cheated here, but only slightly
Not a bad side and what a superb central defence pairing; two County Legends.!
WEST BROMWICH ALBION -v- County
Hatter In Macc
WHEN?
New Year's Day, 2002.
WHERE?
The Hawthorns.
WHY was it such a disaster of a day?
(1) County finished up on the end of a 4-0 drubbing, following a particularly listless performance - brought on, in part (it was rumoured), by the players and Manager having stayed up very late to see in the new year. The Gaffer at the time? One Carlton Palmer. Perhaps, for 'listless', read 'legless'...
(2) Rewind a few hours earlier to the journey down, and Mrs Macc's pride and joy of a car, 'Patsy', failing her pre-match fitness test.
(3) Fast-forward back to the match, and, without doubt, what was to prove a lifetime-worst moment of embarrassment...involving Hatter_in_Macc and a steak pie. It has been reported on '606' before, but I'm still not over the shame and guilt of it all.
WHAT happened to 'Patsy'?
The sporty little drop of motor, already nursing an aversion to football-related jaunts following her soaking, whilst open-topped, en route to Bolton the previous Spring (CHAOS Chapter 'R' refers), well and truly gave up the ghost when her brakes, by way of protest at the sub-zero temperature in deepest Derbyshire, froze solid and caused her rear wheels to catch fire just a mile out of Glossop, where we were living at the time.
Mercifully, we had not quite reached the start of the M67 at that stage, and there was a lay-by into which we could steer 'Patsy' for safe keeping until later - but it was still a bit of a schlep for H_i_M to trudge home and pick up his altogether less glamorous, but slightly less temperamental, Fiesta, with a view to our still making the match. Although, arguably, we should already have seen the signs that this really wasn't going to be our day...
WHITHER the pie?
Oh God...surprise
If truth be told, I wasn't even very hungry once the game was in full flow, and my decision to get a pie was, as much as anything, borne out of mild depression over the p*ss-poor fare being served up on the pitch by the away-team.
The food at The Hawthorns, while rich in meat and gravy, was not made of strong stuff, and, in my attempt to keep the soggy pie in one piece, a chunk of it broke off...and dropped into the coat-hood of the bloke sitting directly in front.
He was bigger, and looked harder, than me. And so did his mate next door. What to do? I turned helplessly, and in a whisper, to Mrs Macc for an answer.
"Just tell him what's happened. Only don't...you know, let it cause a scene."
Logical advice, as Joe Jackson once sang, gets you in a whirl...
So, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and all that, I did precisely nothing...other than ensure that we were away from our seats sharpish when the final whistle went. (Not a difficult call, given that there was neither anything or anyone County-related worth staying behind to applaud.)
As we walked briskly out of the ground, the heavens opened - and, in an instant, the hoods of our coats went on.
And then, my blood chilled...as I thought of the County fan who had been sitting in front of me - and I hoped against hope that, somehow, he might have made it to his car, or the nearest pub - anywhere indoors, really - before the rain came.
WHO are Mrs Macc's favourite second team?
Erm...West Brom, as it happens.
And why?
Upon leaving the stadium, and on the back of a thoroughly miserable afternoon's football - not to mention the prospect of having to replace a much-loved, burnt-out car, plus a lingering fear that the Pie-in-the-Hood Man might yet cross my path and kick me all the way home - a silvery-haired/tongued Black Country gent of a Steward by the gate smiled sweetly as he motioned to Mrs Macc:
"Today's Miss Stockport Competition must have been cancelled, if you're here, my lovely!"
Aarrgghh!
But seriously, though, not a bad line..