The day previous to our last league game, I was helping out at my old place of work for the afternoon. It wasn’t too bad, got a free dinner for my trouble! Anyways I was offered a slice of desert, apple pie with cream. Now if the dinner itself hadn’t filled me up I’d have it finished but I declined, citing my impending relegation battle as the reason. It prompted two words of amazement from a former colleague.
What? Again?
News of my latest relegation scrap was met by my former colleagues with initial surprise, followed by pity. In my time spent working with them, they had heard all about my fledgling football career, the ups, the downs, the international appearances for the Irish fans team. Usually I’d be happy to enthral them of the latest goings on in the season. This time however, I wasn’t quite happy, pleading that “we don’t even ask about us”. There was nothing to shout about, or even talk about, just that we are fighting relegation and the attitudes weren’t exactly right.
The build-up to this game was far from ideal. A text went out looking to confirm availability for the game during the week before. I responded very quickly with my confirmation. An hour later however, I got another group text, this time asking players to ring the manager to confirm our commitment for the rest of the season. This was because only three players responded to the initial text. This was alarming! I would find out on match day itself that a Senior and Under 21 GAA double header with the local club had taken a lot of lads off us for the day. At that moment however, I was wondering have we just given up without a fight? I was confused, annoyed and desperate for any meeting to go ahead. I was willing to lay it down in no uncertain terms that this was a fight we could win, but only if we were committed.
The meeting never materialised. So I was left wondering what the hell was going on. Usually I’d have a good grasp on the situation regarding the team and indeed the club. However, Christmas had passed and my absence from the previous game left me in the dark. The lack of clarity was not only concerning but disheartening. All I knew was that I was turning up to play. I was making my return from injury after all. I had not kicked a ball since late November. I missed 3 games as a result. My fitness however was atrocious. The last thing I wanted to do would be cleaned out and cost the team a result. It was a mix of emotions heading into this game, and none of them were positive
The game itself would be a clash between 2nd from top against 2nd from bottom. Our previous encounter last October was a turning point in the season. Two lads quit after a 4-0 defeat at home, disgusted with the team’s performance. I kept my council at the time but the two players in question had hardly covered themselves in glory and were basically running away. They had grandeurs of delusion, that they were better than the club. They were decent players but no superstars. This was the Junior football in the West of Ireland, not a professional club plying their trade in a continental league.
That
was the scene that greeted me as you walked to the meeting point. As you can
see above, the weather overnight had left its mark. My initial thoughts were
that the game could be cancelled. However, I would have received notice of a
cancellation early in the morning. Given our struggle for numbers, my struggle
for fitness, and my struggle to get out of bed that morning, a cancellation
would have been a miracle. In hindsight however, I’d rather our miracles be
performed on the pitch and not away from it. I did myself no favours by going
to bed late the night previously and my body was in bits. I’d pass no fitness
test if we went so far as to have one. (My
good fortune that we don’t eh?) I did my usual routine for an away game. Stopping
first at the nearby shop for some hot food and a bottle of Lucozade Sport in
addition to my light breakfast was a tradition. It wasn’t superstition, I was
usually just hungry in the morning and my breakfast rarely sufficed. With my
complete aversion to performance enhancing drugs (not that they even exist
amongst our supplies) great importance is attached to a bottle of Lucozade
Sport. Even if it made me play that less worse than usual, it would be worth
it. I met 2 lads on my way into the shop. I thought to myself that at least we
have 3!
That number increased to 5 when we arrived at the meeting point. Already I could sense the desperation in the search for numbers. A further two players would meet us in Galway, while another was on his way. We were left searching through our minds and our contacts to see if anyone else could fit in. The main point of discussion was the GAA exodus. The weather at home was bad, bad enough to cancel games. We all knew however that the GAA club would train in the absence of a game. Despite our manager’s hopes, we abandoned the idea of waiting for word of any change. I think he seriously contemplated ringing ahead to cancel the game but we couldn’t for several reasons. The weather in Galway would have been ok in contrast to where we were. In light of that, our cancellation would then be seen as a forfeit. Another forfeit and we would be thrown out of the league. Despite this desperate farce of a situation, spirits remained good. Two lads debated who would be our emergency goalkeeper. Deciders such as tossing a coin or rock/paper/scissors were discussed. As we left for the game, it was believed that we would have the requisite 11 players when we arrived.
The journey ahead was pleasant. We were in great form heading up to the game, despite the situation. Along the way we got word that one player had got two friends of his to come with him, with the words “I’m not responsible for how good they are”. We now knew we had a team and even a substitute. We now knew we had a game. We discussed potential tactics along with other general craic. We were on a hiding to nothing but the journey eased any tension. We arrived on time and I made my way into the dressing room and set about covering every inch of my legs in Deep Heat. It wasn’t a tactical ploy to suffocate the nostrils of the opposing left winger but something to allow me to run in some shape of form. My next task was carefully strapping my knee before I put on the support. I was anxious to take every precaution necessary. Both I and the team could not afford a relapse of my injury. I was sick of standing on the side-line unable to make an impact on our fortunes. I needed to play, I needed 90 minutes football to gauge where I was. The team just needed someone to play right back.
The game kicked off, only after two of our players held up the original 11am kick-off time up for a few extra minutes as they togged on the side of the pitch. Despite all the hap hazard preparation and our resigned hopes, we did alright in the initial stages. Unsurprisingly we sat back and got stuck in right from the off. We had one of our new “recruits” on the left side of midfield along with another late addition up front on his own. They chased down and pressed high for the first five minutes but their lack of fitness started to show and soon enough our opponents started to control the game. The best they could muster in the first 15 minutes were 2 half chances. We were living dangerously but I allowed myself to think we could get something out of it. Moments later, we went 1 goal down and all hope of a miracle faded. It was scrappy enough goal to concede, a low cross was finished poorly but in the corner away from the keeper. Now it was just a matter of how many. I was doing ok, but a lack of supporting cover from the right midfielder ahead of me put me under pressure. I wouldn’t necessarily blame him, as he not a right midfielder but he would sometimes criticise me when he came back, I had to rely on what my central defender told me. We would concede twice more before the half, two identical goals coming from headers and the defence switching off.
Finding ourselves three nil down was unfortunate. I felt 2-0 would have been a fairer score-line. We were shooting ourselves on the foot instead of at the opposition goal. I was holding up ok. Just disheartened at the prospect of another 45 minutes. Knowing things were only going to get worse.
For the 2nd half, I would be lining up on the pitch alongside the small crowd that had gathered. One spectator was a certain John Delaney, the FAI chief executive. Both John and I have a number of things to say to each other, especially if he knew what role I’d played on a certain YBIG.ie debate last November (that’s for another post) One of our players had mentioned he’d be there today. I thought he was joking, and I didn’t even notice him during that 2nd half.
I had more pressing issues like trying to stem the tide of the onslaught we were facing. It didn’t get any better. We were playing on a terrible surface, and towards the end of the game, a growing pain formed around the strapping I applied to my knee. I was fairly sure the circulation of blood was slowly cutting off. We would concede a further 3 goals before the final whistle. The first of those was an unfortunate OG from a corner, and the last was a penalty. They had a further goal ruled out for offside, which I didn’t realise at the time. I was quickly made aware that the game only finished 6-0. That was probably the only positive of the day, that it wasn’t 7-0 or worse.
The only other positive I can think of is that I got through the 90 minutes and played relatively OK, as OK as any full back could in my situation. I lasted longer than one of our new recruits, who succumbed to his previous night’s drinking. His replacement, the other recruit did ok. He might be worth adding to the squad for the run-in. Despite the result, despite the performance, despite the situation surrounding us, some of the lads remain fairly confident about our chances of staying up. Some feel that even two wins might be enough. The main thing is we’re willing to fight. Yet the commitment to organising any training will be the making of our survival chances. 3 weeks from today pits what is the first of a double header against a potential rival. If we take 6 points from those two games we put ourselves right back in the mix. Dropping points is no longer a luxury we cannot afford.
That number increased to 5 when we arrived at the meeting point. Already I could sense the desperation in the search for numbers. A further two players would meet us in Galway, while another was on his way. We were left searching through our minds and our contacts to see if anyone else could fit in. The main point of discussion was the GAA exodus. The weather at home was bad, bad enough to cancel games. We all knew however that the GAA club would train in the absence of a game. Despite our manager’s hopes, we abandoned the idea of waiting for word of any change. I think he seriously contemplated ringing ahead to cancel the game but we couldn’t for several reasons. The weather in Galway would have been ok in contrast to where we were. In light of that, our cancellation would then be seen as a forfeit. Another forfeit and we would be thrown out of the league. Despite this desperate farce of a situation, spirits remained good. Two lads debated who would be our emergency goalkeeper. Deciders such as tossing a coin or rock/paper/scissors were discussed. As we left for the game, it was believed that we would have the requisite 11 players when we arrived.
The journey ahead was pleasant. We were in great form heading up to the game, despite the situation. Along the way we got word that one player had got two friends of his to come with him, with the words “I’m not responsible for how good they are”. We now knew we had a team and even a substitute. We now knew we had a game. We discussed potential tactics along with other general craic. We were on a hiding to nothing but the journey eased any tension. We arrived on time and I made my way into the dressing room and set about covering every inch of my legs in Deep Heat. It wasn’t a tactical ploy to suffocate the nostrils of the opposing left winger but something to allow me to run in some shape of form. My next task was carefully strapping my knee before I put on the support. I was anxious to take every precaution necessary. Both I and the team could not afford a relapse of my injury. I was sick of standing on the side-line unable to make an impact on our fortunes. I needed to play, I needed 90 minutes football to gauge where I was. The team just needed someone to play right back.
The game kicked off, only after two of our players held up the original 11am kick-off time up for a few extra minutes as they togged on the side of the pitch. Despite all the hap hazard preparation and our resigned hopes, we did alright in the initial stages. Unsurprisingly we sat back and got stuck in right from the off. We had one of our new “recruits” on the left side of midfield along with another late addition up front on his own. They chased down and pressed high for the first five minutes but their lack of fitness started to show and soon enough our opponents started to control the game. The best they could muster in the first 15 minutes were 2 half chances. We were living dangerously but I allowed myself to think we could get something out of it. Moments later, we went 1 goal down and all hope of a miracle faded. It was scrappy enough goal to concede, a low cross was finished poorly but in the corner away from the keeper. Now it was just a matter of how many. I was doing ok, but a lack of supporting cover from the right midfielder ahead of me put me under pressure. I wouldn’t necessarily blame him, as he not a right midfielder but he would sometimes criticise me when he came back, I had to rely on what my central defender told me. We would concede twice more before the half, two identical goals coming from headers and the defence switching off.
Finding ourselves three nil down was unfortunate. I felt 2-0 would have been a fairer score-line. We were shooting ourselves on the foot instead of at the opposition goal. I was holding up ok. Just disheartened at the prospect of another 45 minutes. Knowing things were only going to get worse.
For the 2nd half, I would be lining up on the pitch alongside the small crowd that had gathered. One spectator was a certain John Delaney, the FAI chief executive. Both John and I have a number of things to say to each other, especially if he knew what role I’d played on a certain YBIG.ie debate last November (that’s for another post) One of our players had mentioned he’d be there today. I thought he was joking, and I didn’t even notice him during that 2nd half.
I had more pressing issues like trying to stem the tide of the onslaught we were facing. It didn’t get any better. We were playing on a terrible surface, and towards the end of the game, a growing pain formed around the strapping I applied to my knee. I was fairly sure the circulation of blood was slowly cutting off. We would concede a further 3 goals before the final whistle. The first of those was an unfortunate OG from a corner, and the last was a penalty. They had a further goal ruled out for offside, which I didn’t realise at the time. I was quickly made aware that the game only finished 6-0. That was probably the only positive of the day, that it wasn’t 7-0 or worse.
The only other positive I can think of is that I got through the 90 minutes and played relatively OK, as OK as any full back could in my situation. I lasted longer than one of our new recruits, who succumbed to his previous night’s drinking. His replacement, the other recruit did ok. He might be worth adding to the squad for the run-in. Despite the result, despite the performance, despite the situation surrounding us, some of the lads remain fairly confident about our chances of staying up. Some feel that even two wins might be enough. The main thing is we’re willing to fight. Yet the commitment to organising any training will be the making of our survival chances. 3 weeks from today pits what is the first of a double header against a potential rival. If we take 6 points from those two games we put ourselves right back in the mix. Dropping points is no longer a luxury we cannot afford.
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