The Beautiful Game

So once again the dust settles on the latest in the series of post-picnic football matches.

It's a long and hallowed tradition. Whenever we have a Community picnic on the lawns, the more athletic, youthful, stupid and/or aggressive like to have a kick around afterwards, while the rest of us shelter in the relative shade of the immemorial sycamores (the immemorial elms having sadly bought it in the 70s). On this afternoon's occasion  the sides were lead by Hnaef and Grundii. Grundii being 67 years of age, and not having played in about thirty years, we tried desperately to stop him getting too carried away, but he tells us he used to be a midfielder in the Southern League in his youth. He says that he played with George Best on one occasion, but as we said that doesn't necessarily bode well for his footballing longevity.

The formations were unusual, as is often the way on these occasions. Grundii and his team were in the rigid 2-3-5 formation that he swears they used in his youth. Whereas Hnaef cunningly went for two holding midfielders, in a 4-2-9-3-1 formation. The "9" in that formation being all the community kids under 12 years of age, who requested to be in the same team.

It was one of those fascinating games. Grundii's team were trying to play some expansive football, while Hnaef's were playing a pressing game. When I say "pressing" - what happened was that whenever any of Grundii's team got hold of the ball, they'd suddenly have nine kids buzzing round them like hornets, kicking them in the ankles. At one point Willibrord tried shielding the ball from them, only to receive repeated kicks in the back of the legs till he fell over. I tell you, it was like the soccer chapter from Gulliver's Travels.

Nor was the dealing out of physical damage reserved to the littlies. Hnaef having, once again, mislaid his trainers was playing in those walking boots. There were some severe lacerations dealt out. And at one point when Hnaef went into a tackly two-footed, Marston went down like a felled tree. Of course, the consequence of playing without a referee is that people have to self-police to an extent. Which is why eventually a couple of Grundii's team wrestled Hnaef to the ground and stole his shoelaces.

The danger from Hnaef and the kids early on meant that after twenty minutes or so, Hnaef's guys were 12-4 up.  And failing in his aim to be a stopper centre-half, Grundii realised he was, after all, not as fit as he used to be. At this point some would have retired quietly into the shade with a long drink. Not an old semi-professional like Grundii. Oh no. He stole Agnet's mobility scooter and switched to playing right-wing, on the reasonable grounds that he would have been dangerous in the centre of midfield.

The balance of the game swung at this point.  The kids got bored and wandered off to climb trees, and suddenly the rump of Hnaef's team was being over-run. It's pretty tricky, after all, trying to tackle a mobility scooter. Suddenly the score was 13-17 to Grundii's team. So Hnaef's team decided a better defensive formation was needed.

I've got to give it to them. It was a clever tactical switch. But I still reckon digging a trench across the edge of the penalty area is technically against the Laws of the Game. And, if it's not, then it properly ought to be. It was a bit of a surprise for Grundii, suddenly disappearing into a hole like that just as he rounded the left-back. Or, as he more accurately might be described, "pike-man". I know that electric scooters are against the Laws - but so, surely, is knocking them off with broom handles equipped with boxing gloves?

So by mid-afternoon, as usual the game had descended into a brawl. About five minutes after the handbags broke out, I nipped on and stole the ball. They're still kicking each other now, and nobody's noticed any different. I guess I'm going to have to call time soon and then we can ferry the survivors back to the First Aid room. That's what Community picnics are all together, team-building, recreation and togetherness.