The Lives and Times of a Sunday League Team….
By Claire Bagnall
Monday 19th October 2009
Monday 19th October 2009
Of all the British institutions Sunday League has to be one of the best. It allows people (from spotty teenagers to somewhat overweight middle-aged men) who think they can play football to actually put their skills to the test. Even here in St Andrews, if you head down to the sports centre on a Sunday you will see team upon team playing the beautiful game. There’s a reason these people are studying maths or geography rather than kicking a ball round Old Trafford. However, often, amazingly, Sunday League football is actually remarkably good to watch. And do you know why? For the pure unadulterated love of the game it tends to attract. And so, for my own pure unadulterated love of the game, I am going to devote my time to following one of St Andrews’ Sunday League teams – Why Not?. To follow them in the exhilaration of victory and the bitter dejection of defeat, and to shout like an idiot from the sideline.
What better way to start then, than with the golden glow of the win of their first game. Why Not? have started the season as they mean to go on. A 9-0 win. Amazing. One of the players, turning up hung-over, managed to score 5 of these goals. Not entirely sure what that says about the rest of the team, or the possibilities of having him not hung-over. But then, a Sunday league player isn’t a Sunday League player if not suffering from Saturday night side-effects…surely? Logically, I would expect at least 3 goals per player per game. Expectations are high!
The support was surprisingly good, striped deckchairs on the sideline, mugs in hand. Plenty of shouting, though not all of it appropriate (“Kick him!!!!!”). Apparently two people can make a lot of noise. Unfortunately, making up football chants is harder than first expected; especially for those who are rhymingly-challenged. “Number” and “Palmer” do not rhyme, just for future reference. Talk of a supporters’ association was heard, and as the early afternoon got colder and colder, shifted to whether coffee should be brought with a little shot of something extra for insulation purposes next game.
There is no “I” in team, quite literally in this case. So let me introduce you to those who can be found on a Sunday trampling the turf of the sports centre: in goal John Palmer, rolled straight out of Cheers; Mo, tackler of the Paul Scholes school; Rhys el Capitan, and ex-school fellow of Chris Rees first match goal-scorer extraordinaire; Ry, overlord of the university basketball; Eugene, midfield, who should get into the team on his name alone; Stuart, angry; Duncan, football genius whose his boots match his socks; Chris, the friendly giant; Faisal, striker, unfortunately a Chelsea fan; Karl, multi-lingual corner taker; management Marcus; as well as Andreas, Rob and Guy.
Post-match, the walk home down Lade Braes with a Wispa Gold stop, gave voice to the excitement at the possibility of being top of the league. How many other teams can have possibly won 9-0, after all? Though this whole “league” business in itself is a bone of contention; the top league having been split into three and them finding themselves smack bang in the middle, despite two consecutive years of promotion. Then there’s the fact there 9-0 win has suddenly become 8-0. Goals can be hard to keep count of. Apparently. But I get the feeling that this could definitely be their year, I mean really, why not?
What better way to start then, than with the golden glow of the win of their first game. Why Not? have started the season as they mean to go on. A 9-0 win. Amazing. One of the players, turning up hung-over, managed to score 5 of these goals. Not entirely sure what that says about the rest of the team, or the possibilities of having him not hung-over. But then, a Sunday league player isn’t a Sunday League player if not suffering from Saturday night side-effects…surely? Logically, I would expect at least 3 goals per player per game. Expectations are high!
The support was surprisingly good, striped deckchairs on the sideline, mugs in hand. Plenty of shouting, though not all of it appropriate (“Kick him!!!!!”). Apparently two people can make a lot of noise. Unfortunately, making up football chants is harder than first expected; especially for those who are rhymingly-challenged. “Number” and “Palmer” do not rhyme, just for future reference. Talk of a supporters’ association was heard, and as the early afternoon got colder and colder, shifted to whether coffee should be brought with a little shot of something extra for insulation purposes next game.
There is no “I” in team, quite literally in this case. So let me introduce you to those who can be found on a Sunday trampling the turf of the sports centre: in goal John Palmer, rolled straight out of Cheers; Mo, tackler of the Paul Scholes school; Rhys el Capitan, and ex-school fellow of Chris Rees first match goal-scorer extraordinaire; Ry, overlord of the university basketball; Eugene, midfield, who should get into the team on his name alone; Stuart, angry; Duncan, football genius whose his boots match his socks; Chris, the friendly giant; Faisal, striker, unfortunately a Chelsea fan; Karl, multi-lingual corner taker; management Marcus; as well as Andreas, Rob and Guy.
Post-match, the walk home down Lade Braes with a Wispa Gold stop, gave voice to the excitement at the possibility of being top of the league. How many other teams can have possibly won 9-0, after all? Though this whole “league” business in itself is a bone of contention; the top league having been split into three and them finding themselves smack bang in the middle, despite two consecutive years of promotion. Then there’s the fact there 9-0 win has suddenly become 8-0. Goals can be hard to keep count of. Apparently. But I get the feeling that this could definitely be their year, I mean really, why not?