2005-06: When badgers learn to fly

Match reports from the mysterious 'Man in the dugout' will appear here, just as soon as the RT Harris get their act together and give the mighty Union Street Football Club their first game of the season. In the meantime, here's a weird picture of a badger on a plane.

Three as a bird

At last, and with no thanks at all to the RT Harris – which must surely rival the real FA for organisational chaos and incompetence – our season begins, and with a resounding triumph too. With old father Scarfe volunteering for refereeing duties (after our ref had been nicked for a premier division game) Street laboured under a mid September sun, before coming out worthy winners against a spirited Milton outfit. Holloway and Davies were the chosen forward coupling – and my how they’ve come on leaps and bounds in the summer. Indeed, as well as ‘filling out’ a bit, Davies has even managed to find his scoring boots. More of which, later. In the meantime, let’s discuss the first half: great football, lads. Steele and Adams controlled the game from the middle, and the Mighty Hooped Badger Boys went agonisingly close with a succession of tame headers and looping shots straight at the Milton keeper. And at the back, Beaumont did his best to undo any good work further up the field with an eccentric display of hoofing, fouling and missing the ball completely. Still, at least he had that funny number 8 for company. Never can so much nonsense have been shouted by one man doing so little for his team. 0 – 0 at the break, but Street’s Spirit was undimmed. All they needed was a bit of patience, and their combination of prolonged pressure, great haircuts and beautiful girlfriends would surely tell. And so it came to pass. Just when it seemed Street might conspire to throw Milton a lifeline, a quickfire break away saw Holloway – with a rather fetching goatee, it has to be said – slide the ball under the keeper. Moments later, Scarfe gave a brave – and correct – penalty decision, for a comedy forward-roll by the lanky ginger knob. Up steps Davies – WALLOP. 2 – 0. And then what could only be moments later again, Davies made it three with a shot which rolled off his entire body before edging past the keeper for four byes. Oh sorry, wrong sport. I mean – GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAL! So, there we have it – three goals, a clean sheet and some impressive performances in the middle of the park to kick off this new season. A mention should also go to a few of those Milton boys, who really played in the right spirit and reminded us that football can be a beautiful game after all. Shame we forgot to invite them to the Black Swan – next time, lads. One further thing – unless I haven’t mentioned it before, the Black Swan truly is the BEST PUB IN THE UNIVERSE. Our esteemed sponsors have shown their support again this year, so let’s repay them by filling that pub every Saturday afternoon. Team [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Clarke, Beaumont, Mozley, Ginsberg, Hart, Fry [sub: Birnie], Steele, Adams, Holloway, Davies Union Street 3 (0) – (0) 0 Great Milton [Davies 2, Holloway] While we're here, have a look at another 'Great' Milton, John.

Valley parade

"One sees great things from the valley; only small things from the peak." So said chubby essay mong-bag G K Chesterton, and he should know, shouldn’t he? Mind you, he also said "Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese", so it’s not all plain sailing. But anyway, from the valley of our defeat to a solid Tetsworth outfit on Saturday, we should be able to see some great things. And hark, because it is so. Just the merest of glances at the game shows some encouraging signs – the minty ming-heads battled well, and matched those Tetsworth boys stride for stride, blow for blow, tackle for tackle. The first half was tough going in the September sun, both teams going close but Street looked well organised at the back, with some tidy work in the middle and on the wings. Yet, as G K Chesterton might have said if he was a central defender in the R T Harris, good defence is only an exercise in concentration. And so, what can only be described as a collective snooze-in allowed Tetsworth to bag an opener before the break. It was tough on our hooped ugmos, and they momentarily allowed their heads to droop as those Tetsworth terriers smelt blood. Half time produced a communal ‘heads-up’ (or rather, ‘heads on’, as ol’ Tarmac would have it) and our Street Fighting Men started the second period with vim and gusto. Or is that Vimto and Gus? I can’t remember. But anyway - our bald, marathon jelly baby hero Mozley rose like a Flying Badger on Jumping Drugs to guide an inch-perfect corner into the net for the equaliser. And from there, all things were possible. And by that, I mean Street looked like they could win it with ease, but conspired – via 5 minutes of yet more defensive cat-napping – to gift those ‘worthians a 3 – 1 victory. Still, here are some clichés to act as a soothing balm: we’ll play worse than that and win; lots of positives to take from the game; we’re looking stronger than last year; still got some key players to come back from injury; credit to the opposition; plenty more badgers in the showers; there’s always pizza; time heals all wounds and so on and so forth. Seriously, though, kudos to those Tetsworth lads – they played firm but fair, and are a credit to their village, the league and each other. Or something. And I’ll leave you with some more fine words from that moustachiod twerp-ball Chesterton: "Don't ever take a fence down until you know the reason it was put up." So there you have it. Union Street (0) 1 – 3 (1) Tetsworth [Mozley] [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Clarke, Mozley, Beaumont [sub Birnie], Ginsberg, Steele, Davies, Adams, Fry [sub Sale], Scarfe [sub Holloway], Hart

Bananas, black eyes and Joyce

“If this is justice, I am a banana.” Or so said midget Private Eye idiot-face Ian Hislop, sort-of-famously, once. And he may or may not have been talking about Street’s inability to beat Great Milton on Saturday. Mind you, given our minty minge-heads’ inability to overcome their jitters, put their foot on the accelerator and take the game to those Milton dudes, it might be argued that, on Saturday at least, those hooped scrotum-blobs got exactly what they deserved. Oh, like Craig ‘Two Black Eyes’ Bartlett’s last pull, this really wasn’t pretty stuff, that was for sure. A game for the most dedicated fan (so that’ll be Gordon, then). As our very own lanky ginger nob-man Birnie said post-game, “We needed a goal to settle a nervy start, but despite hittin the bar like The Dude, and creatin the better chances, it was those boys wot struck first, the rascals.” It hardly needs me to put in to words: comedic defending = 1-0 to the opposition. And a dour affair worthy of the Premiership’s finest, and also strangely befitting the shambolic RT Harris in 2005, got more RUBBISH in the second half as those Milton Mong-bags did what is known as ‘packing the midfield’. Oddly, I didn’t think any team in the whole of Oxfordshire had the nous to actually change tactics mid-game, but credit to those lads, they knew how to stifle our awesome creativity and handsome charms. In a tearful post-match conflab, Chairman Birnie muttered: “It was reminiscent of the old Street. They dug in and rode their luck, while we, er, ran out of ideas. Such as we had. Which weren’t many. We played like we were scared of losing, then lost.” So how do we prevent such heartbreak again? Well, as American-headed poet-face John Berryman once said, “We must travel in the direction of our fear.” Let’s forget these silly worries about not losing – that’s for those overpaid Premiership twat-faces. Let’s go out and attack and remember how to win games – he who dares, wins, Rodney, after all. And I’ll leave you with some fine words from round-rimmed, Irish oddball James Joyce: “A man of genius makes no mistakes. His errors are volitional, and are the portals of discovery.” Union Street (0) 0 – 1 (1) Great Milton Team: [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Clarke, Bartlett, Mozley, Fry, Adams, Davies, Beaumont, Sale, Steele, Holloway

"Don't let the bastards grind you down..."

Union Street (1) 2 - 2 (2) Goldenball Match report to follow shortly. In the meantime, here's a pic of Street hero Norman Stanley Fletcher. Beautiful.

A world of longing

Brasenose College in early autumn really is a splendid setting for something, though probably not a football match in RT Harris Division 1. The old pavilion, the perfect outfield, a pitch rimmed with golden trees and boats toing and froing on the river just beyond – it truly was a scene to inspire and treasure, much like our favourite scientist-cum-action hero ‘Indiana’ Ginsberg, whose refereeing performance on Saturday was nothing short of triumphant. The game itself was a rip-roaring, snip-snorting spectacular – packed with goals, chances, incident and passion, the like of which hasn’t been seen on this field since Brasenose old boy Colin Cowdrey opened the batting for the first 11. Possibly. Our mangy badger-boys started promisingly, singing songs, larking about and generally having a right old time of it in the opposition’s half. The first goal came, courtesy of a super slo-mo slide-in from that man Alex ‘Corn-on-the’ Cob-ham, following some excellent build up play from those sexy, hoopy wonder-dudes up front. Another Brasenose alumni, massive twerp-head Field Marshall Haig, may have had something to say about what happened next. Or perhaps not, who can say? The ‘butcher of the Somme’ would surely have admired some of Street’s wholesome tackling, and would have related to the subdued, attritional fare offered up for the rest of the half. He also knew quite a bit about winning the hard way (via years of heartbreaking futility), so would have understood Street gifting those Goldenballs a 2 – 1 lead by the break. Whatever the thoughts of one-man idiot Haig, Street had work to do in the second half. And work they did. Marching up field like Michael Palin (another Brasenosian, you see) singing ‘I’m a lumberjack and I’m OK’, Street played some exquisite football worthy of the surroundings, and created several hundred clear cut chances – Steele planting the last of these firmly past that Golden keeper. Yet, as Street pressed for that elusive winner, the game degenerated into the kind of boys-go-mental anarchy on which former Brasenose author-face William Golding would have looked with interest. Alas, there was no Lord of the Flies-style savagery, just lots of swearing, red-faced shouting and flailing of arms. And dear ol’ Ginsberg – cast in the role of Piggy (short, round-rimmed glasses, confusing use of the word ‘altercation’) – was left standing, bemused at the thuggishness that surrounded him. The chaos started when Street were awarded a penalty for a flying-off-the-line hand-punch (worthy of yet another Brase-badger, William Webb Ellis) by a Goldenball player old enough to know much, much better. As Lord of the Flies oddball Jack proclaimed, once, not-at-all famously: ‘We’ve got to have rules and obey them. After all, we’re not savages. We’re English, and the English are best at everything. So we’ve got to do the right things.’ Not sure Messrs Davies, Birnie and Cobham would agree, but the general point is a sound one. But back to the match. In true Street style, the penalty was missed and the game fell apart. As clever-writer-chap Golding would put it: “There was the brilliant world of hunting, tactics, fierce exhilaration, skill; and then there was the world of longing and baffled commonsense.” Street were certainly baffled by the end of it all, and not a little aggrieved, too. Whatever, and as always, the moral victory was theirs to cherish, and carry with them to the pub to be doused in Guinness and inane chatter. As Golding commented, post-match: “Street wept for the end of innocence, the darkness of man’s heart, and the fall through the air of a true, wise friend called Piggy.” Union Street (1) 2 – 2 (2) Goldenball [Cobham, Steele] Team [3, 5, 2] Kavanagh, Bartlett, Clarke, Birnie, Fry [sub de Silva], Clayson [sub Angood], Davies, Adams, Hart [sub Sale], Steele, Cobham “Then, with the martyred expression of a parent who has to keep up with the senseless ebullience of the children, Piggy picked up the linesman's flags, turned toward the pub, and began to pick his way over the tumbled scar.”

'Penalty King' turns on Union

French philosophical twat-bean Jean-Paul Sartre once said: ‘Three o’clock is always too early or too late for anything you want to do.’ Obviously not a footballer himself, it could be that ol’ Jean-Paul was instead a referee in the RT Harris. That might possibly explain the absence, yet again, of an official for our hooped chubsters on Saturday afternoon. It’s not like the referees we used to get were any good, but it made us feel like we were playing in a proper league. These days we might as well be playing against teams of one-legged banjo-players in the ‘Beach Flip Flop Fantasy Championship Division 8’. Perhaps. Whatever, and onwards in the direction of a match report. The stand-in referee provided by the Street was appropriately handsome – debonair even – and he officiated in the same casual manner. Indeed, Union seemed to take their lead from the lassez-faire, less-is-more stand-in, for it really was a timid, flaccid, quiet-as-a-sleeping-badger display from our green-and-white ugmoids. In actual fact, those Streeters had the better of a whisper-quiet first half, opening up those Fairviewers like a psychologist might a patient with a history of mental dysfunctions. Indeed, they created their usual assortment of half-chances, headers and heavy breathing, but as the game drifted so did Street – off into a dreamworld of pretty girls, banjo playing and well organised football leagues. 0 – 0 at the break, and only fan-of-the-decade Gordon could find much to say about it. The rest of us were still dreaming about those banjos. The second half was also low key – could these be the same teams that served up such a thrilling denouement to last season? Quite possibly. Our badgering ball-heads were thankful for some super saves from Super Danny Kananagh, one - from a fierce free kick - that took the breath away. Alas, such heroics could not rouse the Union from their slumber, and the game had ‘STALEMATE’ written all over it in hefty black marker, until that idiot ref-bag decided he wanted to get in on the action. Always the same with refs, innit? Never happy to stand in the shadows, and let things take their natural course. Always want to hog the limelight, do a little funky hand-jiving and upset the applecart with their half-witted twittery. Mung-balls to a man, that’s what I say. So, for the third week a ‘Street’ ref awarded the opposition a penalty, and the game was lost. What the hell is wrong with us? Can’t we learn our refs a bit of shameless bias every now and then? And when oh when will we get the rub of the green? And when will someone other than the holy ‘Bartlett-Birnie-Mozley’ trinity wash the kit? Next week: the kit roster returns. Union Street (0) 0 – 1 (0) Fairview Team [3, 5, 2]: Kavanagh, Bartlett, Clayson, Mozley, Hart [sub Brown], Sale [sub ‘Jeff’], Davies, Adams, Angood, Smith [sub Scarfe], Cobham I leave you with a quote from presidential pea-face Lyndon Baines Johnson – apparently this is about J Edgar Hoover, but I’m sure we all know who he’s really talking about: "Better to have him inside the tent pissing out, than outside pissing in."

More questions than answers

There are lots of questions that spring to mind after Street’s victory down at Roman Way on Saturday. Was this our biggest ever win? Have we scored 7 goals in a game before? Who brought the banjos? How many hat tricks have we scored in our time? Which Street player has the most handsome backside? How were we able to play so badly and win so comprehensively? How did we gift those boys two goals? Why can’t we ever win 15 – 0? How old is Martin, exactly? Older than their 'keeper? How was the RT Harris able to provide a ref after so many weeks of ineptitude? Was our defence actually, properly asleep at times? Are we frightened of scoring goals? Why did I drink so much last night? Aren’t girls pretty? But a bit mental too, yes? What’s the score? Is there pie for tea? Alas, the MITD has no answers for these many questions, nor any others you may wish to pose. He's too busy thinking about banjos and girls. And backsides. And booze. And pie. He would, however, wish to extend his hearty congratulations for an admirable Street performance on Saturday. We may have made hard work of it at times, but scoring 7 goals is no mean feat. Well played, those handsomely-backsided, hooped wonder-dudes. North Oxford Reserves (0) 2 – 7 (3) Union Street [Hart 3, Adams 2, Scarfe, Angood] [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Bartlett, Clayson, Mozley, Fry [sub Burn], Davies, Adams, Hart, Sale [sub Jeff], Angood, Scarfe I’ll leave you with a thought from chubby mystical poetry-twit, Theodore Roethke. The bit about waking up slowly is very much about the Union Street defence. Theodore told me himself. ‘The Waking’ I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I feel my fate in what I cannot fear. I learn by going where I have to go. We think by feeling. What is there to know? I hear my being dance from ear to ear. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Of those so close beside me, which are you? God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there, And learn by going where I have to go. Light takes the Tree, but who can tell us how? The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair; I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. Great Nature has another thing to do To you and me; so take the lively air, And, lovely, learn by going where to go. This shaking keeps me steady. I should know. What falls away is always. And is near. I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow. I learn by going where I have to go.

Eternity's sunrise

The MITD has felt chastened by recent comments that his match reports, well, don’t exactly do much ‘match reporting’. True enough. But have you ever tried to report in detail on a Union Street football game? It’s not easy, I can tell you. Anyway, suitably subdued, MITD has left today’s report to two fantastically clever buggers – Yr Chairman and, err, William Blake. First up, Yr Chairman: “Lost 3-1. Usual Tet story. Better team in patches. All their goals our mistakes. Arse. Could have had something out of it. Prob should have. Not enough do or die spirit. Hesitant fatalistic after youse from some quarters mixed with the opposite. Sublime at times. Rich Sale heroic.” Now, though this last comment may seem a trifle odd, it does indeed appear that Mr Seal (AKA Vicki Pollard) had a rather good game on Saturday. Tracking back, moving into space, distributing the ball, setting people up. My, it’s as if one of us knows how to play football after all. Well played that man. So, in order to celebrate Elmer’s stellar (or should that be Stella?) performance, and to inspire the rest of you Street boys to great things in the weeks to come, I leave you with some words that old weird-face-blue-eyes Blake e-mailed over on Saturday night. You’ve got to love ‘im, eh? "He who binds to himself a joy Does the winged badger destroy But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in eternity’s sunrise." So there you are. If “George” thinks he can do any better (a strong possibility), he’s welcome to e-mail his reports to maninthedugout@hotmail.co.uk. Tetsworth 3 – 1 Union Street [4, 4, 2] Not sure exactly who played this week. Or, indeed, who scored. Crumbs. Not doing very well. Humble apologies. I'll be much better next week, I promise.

Midnight orgies of young men

“Have you heard that it was good to gain the day? I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.” Good ol American twonk-nobber Walt Whitman was clearly a Street fan, eh boys? He knew a bit about playing in the right spirit and giving the opponent a toothy American grin, and I’m sure he would approve of our very many ‘moral’, if not actual, victories. And I’m sure he would have had a wise word or two to say after Saturday’s oh-so-near-yet-still-so-far. Oh yes, dear Whitman (or Captain Weird Beard to his friends) would have delighted in Street nicking a goal in the first half against NOR, courtesy of the similarly weirdly-bearded Cobham. Yet those “reserves” could have been 2 up by half-time and no-one would have complained, except perhaps super-fans George Benson, William Orindoo and Gordon. The second half came in a rush, and remarkably super-shooter Cobham scored again, in-off his right whisker, after a cheeky little flick from Farmer Scarfe. So, 20 minutes to go, and Street were cruising like the Sunshine Bus Twins looking for wimmin down DTMs. But what was this? Did I hear someone mention the word ‘choke’? Or perhaps someone whispered ‘cup final’? Whatever, before they knew it, and after some truly knee-trembling moments of defensive tragedy, Street found themselves staring down the barrel of a gun called ‘defeat’. Bad luck? Perhaps. But as Walt-bags would say later down the Swan: “Henceforth I ask not good fortune. I myself am good fortune.” Or, as Chairman Birnie put it: “Disarsetrous.” Such a topsy-turvy match is bound to fill even the stoutest badger’s heart with a modicum of doubt. But don’t despair, fellow Streeters. Life is a complicated and colourful thing, and Union Street is a complicated and colourful (not to mention handsome, hunky and hefty) football team. We have our ups and downs, and our contradictions. But as old Hat-twat Whitters would say: “Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. (I am large, I contain multitudes.)” Union Street (1) 2 – 3 (0) North Oxford Reserves [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Mozley, Bartlett, Fry, Clarke [sub Birnie], Davies, Angood, Brown, Sale, Cobham, Scarfe “I am for those who believe in loose delights, I share the midnight orgies of young men, I dance with the dancers and drink with the drinkers.”

Glum heroes

“If I were fierce, and bald, and short of breath, I'd live with scarlet Majors at the Base,” so said floppy-headed war-poet and all-round conscientious objector, Siegfried Sassoon. And verily, he may have likened himself to the Street on Saturday, who were, in turns, fierce, sometimes bald and frequently out-of-breath on a sunny afternoon down the Lane. Being a Street fan, jug-eared Siegfried would also have found plenty to object to on Saturday, as his team – despite its bald fierceness – ran out unworthy 2 – 1 losers to those View-boys. “In me the tiger sniffs the rose.” So said Chairman Birnie, probably, quoting old Sassoon-face in his team talk yet again. And those barrel-chested badger-bums responded to his cry, getting ‘stuck in’ as only Streeters know how. The first half ebbed and flowed, yet Street’s attacks came to nought, much like Mr Badger being thwarted in his attempts to woo Mrs Badger with all manner of fine words, sharp clothing and handsome singing. MITD is wary of the details, but he’s fairly sure that the Fair boys struck first - not before the referee had decided to bring his own 19th century version of the refereeing handbook to proceedings. Did anyone else think he looked a bit like Mighty Mouse? Or maybe Captain Pugwash? Whatever, Street did their best to ignore his surreal behaviour. Indeed, they created chances and pressure, culminating in our very own Caged Wasp smacking a shot against the post. As half time came and went in the flick of a badger’s whisker, Street felt themselves hard done by to be down. “From off your face, into the winds of winter, The sun-brown and the summer-gold are blowing; But they shall gleam with spiritual glinter,” so mused slick-faced war-bag Wilfred Owen from the sidelines, as he tried to explain Street’s vain efforts in the second half. The boys certainly gave their all, and Messrs Clarke and Sale deserve special mention for their own spiritual glinter, as they set about reviving our hooped hopes. Yet despite Union’s finest efforts, the Fairviewers struck again, and the hooped bumfaces could only muster the solitary goal from Steele in reply. There was brief hope of a fightback, yet it was squashed viciously, like a badger on the A420. As Siegfried muttered, “Speed glum heroes up the line of death.” Noone really knew what he meant – except perhaps the referee – but we certainly know a thing or two about “glum heroes”. Special mention here should go to Union Street – bastion of anarcho-communism, surreal match reports and, of course, fair-play. The Oxfordshire FA has recognised as much for the second year running – Street winning the Anarcho-Communist Award for Surreal Fair Play yet again. Be at The Black Swan for the photo shoot, 10 pm Thursday. Fame - not to mention oodles of Guinness - beckons. Union Street (0) 1 – 2 (1) Fairview (Steele) [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Birnie, Mozley, Clayson, Clarke, Angood, Davies, Sale [sub Burn], Harrington [sub Fry], Scarfe [sub Hart], Steele “The song was wordless, the singing will never be done.”

Animal farm

“It was a bright cold day in November, and the clocks were striking Fourteen.” Or so socialist-ferret-bum George Orwell might have said if he was writing this match report. But he isn’t. So, I’m afraid you’ll have to put up with your humble MITD, and rather fewer references to revolutions, big brother and doublethink. Though you never know. Whatever, your reporter today is proud to have braved the hazy Tetsworth gloaming to witness a stirring Street performance on Saturday. Reduced to the bare ‘legs’ eleven, and without their heroic shot-stopper Kavanagh (and who knows what had happened to that layabout Bartlett?), the green-and-white arse-bandits could have gone in to the game with heads bowed and lips trembling. But as moustachiod-numpty Orwell muttered into his scarf from the sidelines, “There was much in it that I did not understand, in some ways I did not even like it, but I recognised it immediately as a state of affairs worth fighting for.” Indeed, though they may not fully comprehend what exactly is going on, our hooped nob-floppers will always fight to the last – for each other, for the game, and for Guinness. However, such spirit took a while to emerge from the winter fog on Saturday. In the meantime, those Tet-heads were busy making the most of the mist that clouded their opponents’ thoughts. They were also aided by some hefty slices of good fortune, not least when they took the lead via an involuntary 30 yard cross-shot that looped agonisingly over our stout stand-in Chris. “Doublethink means the power of holding contradictory beliefs in one’s mind simultaneously, and accepting both of them,” or so said weasel-Georgie, whilst filling his little fat-face with pizza later on down the Swan. And it seems our very own aerial-supremacist Peter Hart was perfecting doublethink on Saturday – a Tet cross came over to the far post, and dear Pete didn’t know whether to nod it goal-ward or safe-bound, and ended up scything a beautiful diving header high into the net. So, two down in the shake of a badger’s whoopsie, and yet again Street had given themselves some kind of outrageous mountain range to climb. But the fog cleared and Union’s beating heart emerged, roaring the badger boys in to life. They deserved a goal before the break, and indeed their efforts were rewarded soon after half time with a fierce drive from ‘hard man’ Crispin Angood. So, one goal in it and Street had those Tetties on the rack. But what was this? More silliness from George? “Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two makes four,” he whispered to the linesman. “If that is granted, all else follows.” Truly, Union were free enough to count to four, and more appalling fortune in front of their own goal gave the Worth an unassailable three goal lead. Street rallied at the end – via an exquisite lob from our Welsh ugmo – but it was all so heartbreakingly late. Still, some noteworthy performances, not least by our centre backs Clarke and Keith “Get your effing grass cut” Birnie. And Street showed what we all knew – that they’ve got real soul, man. Tetsworth (2) 4 – 2 (0) Union Street [Angood, Davies] [4, 4, 2] “Chris”, Burn, Clarke, Birnie, Sale, Angood, Adams, Davies, Hart, Scarfe, Cobham A timely quote from giant-twerp-bag Orwell. Maybe we should send it to the Oxford City FA. “Serious sport has nothing to do with fair play. It is bound up with hatred, jealousy, boastfulness, and disregard of all the rules.”

Proud and stiff (a shudder in the loins)

“The innocent and the beautiful, have no enemy but time.” Oh, chubby-headed mong-twerp W.B. Yeats was a clever bugger, weren’t he? And he may well have been referring to the beautiful innocence of Street’s clinical 2-0 drubbing of North Oxford on Saturday. Indeed, our hooped ming-wazooks’ only enemy was time itself – if it took 90 minutes to register just 2 strikes (despite something like 43,623.53 shots raining down on that Nox goal), heaven knows how long it would’ve taken to get a third. No matter, Saturday was a truly victorious Union day down at Roman Way. It had all the makings of greatness – a great turn out, the return of our esteemed left back Mr Williams, nice flowery chairs for our Chairman and his many supporters and, of course, and how could we ever forget, a first goal for The Plumber, our wayward Sec, the one and only Craig ‘Chubby’ Bartlett. I’m sure barrel-stomached Bartlett can fill us in on the details (something along the lines of ‘I took it past three players before planting a 60 yard pile-driver in the top corner’) but we all know that it came off his knee before ricocheting off a defender, and was in fact an own goal. Still, we can let him have his moment in the sun. Or, at the very least, his moment in an Oxford bar with a bottle of Bollinger (see below). “O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance?” Old grumpy-faced toff-nose Yeats was a bit of a weirdo, eh? Any road, he was probably likening Street’s masterful football on Saturday to all thinks musical and hand-jivey. For the green-and-white mong-flops were an awesome force, carving opening after opening, chance after chance, open-goal after open-goal, only to have them all hopelessly miss-kicked / thumped over the bar / saved by the advancing keeper. “A shudder in the loins, engenders there, the broken wall, the burning roof and tower.” Mong-ball Yeats was clearly pissed – or delirious with frost-bite – by half time. Still, Street’s loins shuddered into life in the second half, and a peachy goal for that man Clayson meant it was all smiles. Happy days, and well played those North Oxfordians. Great chaps, lovely hair cuts (and one gorgeous McEnroe-style hair band), nice dance moves. Oh yes, the Swan was buzzing after the game. And Yeats, happy as a badger drinking Guinness, dancing to Irish banjos and looking at GIRLS, kept muttering his inanities. “Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart,” he declared, and Bartlett, having waited five years for his first Street goal, might have known what he meant. And there's just time for a gentle warning for all you Streeters, including Richard Sale and his new 'fascinating' girlfriend: “A woman can be proud and stiff, when on love intent.” So there you are. North Oxford (0) 0 – 2 (1) Union Street Bartlett, Clayson [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Williams, Bartlett, Mozley, Clarke, Clayson [sub Fry], Davies, Adams, Sale [sub Burn], Steele [sub Hart], Cobham “Think where man’s glory most begins and ends, And say my glory was I had such friends.”

Turn that frown upside down

Gutted. There’s only one word for it, and that’s it. I could waffle on at length here (as I usually do), about how Street deserved a draw; about how the hooped ugmaloids fought and fought and fought; about the truncated game (everyone knows we’re at our strongest in the last 20 minutes, don’t they? Hmmm?); about magnificent performances all over the pitch; about our super-screeching fan-of-the-year Gem de Silvia; about the heart-clenching injustice of it all; about how our green-and-white derr-brains battled from behind (fnar) only to have the game wrenched away from them in the dying moments... Yes, I could talk about all these things, and many more – but, as Welsh poet-mong-nose Dylan Thomas might say, ‘Somebody’s boring me. I think it’s me’. Instead, and rather, however and yet, let’s say nowt, and vow to win next time. It’s the very least we can do. As that drunken ball of curly-haired foppishness Thomas said in the huddle (after the equally rousing words of Mr Williams), "I know we're not saints or virgins or lunatics; we know all the lust and lavatory jokes, and most of the dirty people; we can catch buses and count our change and cross the roads and talk real sentences. But our innocence goes awfully deep, and our discreditable secret is that we don't know anything at all, and our horrid inner secret is that we don't care that we don't." Mind you, he then added: “I've just had eighteen straight whiskies. I think that's the record." Fairview (1) 2 – 1 (1) Union Street [Hart] [3, 4, 1, 2] Kavanagh, Williams [sub Sale], Beaumont, Mozley, Clarke, Davies, Adams, Clayson, Angood, Hart, Cobham [sub] “Light breaks where no sun shines; Where no sea runs, the waters of the heart, Push in their tides.”

More poetry than science

"One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star." For those that don't know, mung-faced thought-numpty Friedrich Nietzsche has been a Street fan for many a year, and has been known to compose entire philosophical tracts on whether we should play 3 at the back. And, as a true supporter of our hooped ming-balls, his was a proud Saturday afternoon indeed - for, amidst unimaginable chaos, our heroic badgers gave birth to a thousand dancing stars (and much more besides) to beat those Goldenballs 2-1. Hoorah, hoorah and thrice hoorah! Get in my beauties! Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes, etc etc. "To forget one's purpose is the commonest form of stupidity." Ah yes, as Friedy-baby was quick to note, Street began stupidly again, gifting the 'Ball a sleepy goal to open proceedings. But from such golden slumbers arose a mighty performance to rank with the greats: Union Street 2 - 1 Donnington Old Boys, Union Street 0 - 0 Tetsworth, Birmingham City 4 - 6 Swindon Town. "All truly great thoughts are conceived by walking." Hmmm, it's obvious that ferret-brained Nietzsche has never played football for the Street. If he had, he'd know that truly great thoughts are conceived by coming back from one-nil down, after missing a penalty and playing with ten men for the whole of the second half. Whatever, the extravagantly-moustached philosophical nob would have marvelled at the green-and-whites' capacity for making things bluddy difficult for themselves. First Tarmac misses from the spot, then our esteemed Chairman "takes one for the team" to prevent a certain goalscoring chance. A Street player sees red for the first time - is it a sign? Is this the moment our pertly-backsided mighty men come of age? At half time, funky-Friedrich took the boys to one side (after the Chairman had returned from the dressing room) and declared: "We should consider every day lost on which we have not danced at least once. GO GET EM BOYS!" And get them they did, by jingo. A revitalised Street pounded the Goldens into submission in those final 45 minutes. Chance-after-chance went a-beggin before Cobham finally got one to stick. And, as injuries momentarily took the oppo down to 9, Tarmac took several nerve-jangling touches to make sure of the second nail in the coffin. Oh joy-of-joys! Sing hosannah! Woo hoo! The Gold-bags eventually returned to their full 11, but never looked up to the task of breaking down our resolute, hirsuit and finely-honed hunks of defensive man-hood... The clock ticked down and the referee eventually blew on a famous victory for the hooped handsomes. As Friedrich Bumslug uttered as our victors made their way shower-wards: "Ah, Union Street. They make the highs higher and the lows more frequent." I'll leave you with the post-match words of our beloved Chairman: "Tactical nouse from myself may have threatened our supremacy in the Fair Play, but stopped a goalscoring opp, and galvanised the lads into an inspired second half performance. Great goals from Cobham and Tarmac and towering play all round. Great debut, too, from Stephen Ackersley and suber-sub Sale, but MOTM was that man Clarkey, who had an unusually quiet Ramsey in his pocket. WE'RE EFFING BRILL!" When probed on the sending off, the chariman simply added: "I think it was an instinctive piece of man-management: more poetry than science. I'm thinking of writing a paper: Management and the Unconscious - A Jungian Approach to the RT Harris." And, after an inspirational day all round, who could blame him? Union Street (0) 2 - 1 (1) Goldenball [Cobham, Adams] [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Mozley, Clayson, Clarke, Birnie, Adams, Ackersley, Scarfe, Hart, Angood, Cobham "The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything."

Sale away

A magnificent, breathtaking, barnstorming, mind-boggling, heroic, juicy, overweight, sublime, sexy, rotund, fat-bottomed 25-yard strike from that man Richard Sale could not prevent Street from slipping to an ill-deserved (and ill-tempered) draw away to the Orange men of Great Milton. It would be fair to say that the Mil-mongers were happier with the draw, and our hooped fart-brains ought really to have done a whole heap better on the famous Milton slope. But that's what happens to Street when they venture this far from home - they just can't seem to play well in these surrounds. Perhaps it's the, err, cheerful locals, or maybe the thought of post-match, ladder-climbing and shower-singing. Or maybe it's the oddity of 10 year old referees, or the agricultural out-field. Whatever, we all know they can play so much better than this, so let's not dwell on it too long. Let's dwell instead on Sale's other-worldly first half strike. And on the triumphant rendition of 'Hail! Hail!' after the match. And on the fact that our green-and-white ming-tits still tried to play football on a ploughed field. And let's think, too, of a magnificent night out. Music, laughter, song, food and booze. And old birds that our new hero Ackersley took a fancy too. And Craig's Christmas Eve marriage. Who cares that we didn't get the Xmas victory our hearts desired? As the fabulously-bearded Irish madman George Bernard Shaw said down the Black Swan before our staggering Christmas dinner, "There are two tragedies in life. One is not to get your heart's desire. The other is to get it." Great Milton (1) 2 - 2 (1) Union Street [Sale, Mozley] [Formation: who can say?] Kavanagh, Beaumont, Williams, Mozley, Clarke, Ackersley, Davies, Adams [ sub Bartlett], Angood [sub Cobham], Sale [sub Hart], Clayson "Beauty is all very well at first sight, but who ever looks at it when it has been in the house three days?"

Some men in hats

"Hell is full of musical amateurs: music is the brandy of the damned."

Happy days in the Black Swan

Old bird: "I've been married 20..." James: "Times?" Old bird: "No, years."

Songs, laughter and Guinness

"A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable but more useful than a life spent doing nothing."

A Welshman, Yr Chairman and our Fairplay award

"Alcohol is the anesthesia by which we endure the operation of life."

Yr Chairman's Pedometer

Fear and loathing on Sandy Lane

"I shit on the chest of fun." Or so said Gonzo-journo mung-twerp Hunter S Thompson, so it's possible that he was to blame for the fun-free rubbish served up by Union Street and Fairview down at the Sandylanium on Saturday arvo. It was a performance notable only for some dashing goals by that bright-eyed blonde-bag Chris Clarke, and some epic goalkeepery from our hero-in-chief Kavanagh which kept the scoreline respectable in the second half. Who knows what Street were scared of this time, but surely by now they owe Fairview a victory. Oh yes, this was a tame, low-volume performance, and one best left in the drawer marked 'Insipid early-January defeats to mediocre opposition'. As fag-toting Hunter screamed from the touchlines, "Volume! Clarity! Bass! We must have bass! What's wrong with us? Are we god-damn old ladies?" It says something about the listless second half that our green-and-white willy-boys could only muster a goal at the wrong end, courtesy of a 50-pencer from mong-of-the-day Beaumont. As the Chairman prattled on about apples and orchards, and the referee busied himself with enforcing lesser-known rules from the FA handbook, Street were left to contemplate just how much alcohol it would take to cheer themselves up in the evening. On that note, ol' HST had some words of advice for the Streeters (though surely if there was one group of lads who don't need to be told how to have a good time, it's these boys): "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me," he said in the post-match huddle. "And have an objective to give your bender a theme. For instance, stalking and killing a wild pig with a bowie knife." And through it all remember one thing: "Good people drink good beer." Union Street (2) 2 - 4 (3) Fairview Clarke 2 [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Mozley, Clayson, Beaumont, Bartlett, Hart [sub Abid], Davies, Ackerley, Clarke, Sale [sub Harrington], Angood "Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish - a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow - to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested..."

8 steps to heaven

Different day, same team, same result, better performance. A quirk of the fixture list (the quirk being the total ineptitude of the Oxford City FA – which must surely be running for ‘most hopeless football organising body in the universe 2006’) meant that the Streeters were paired with those blue-quartered, ginger haired Fairview boys for the 18th time this season on Saturday. Now, I like their handsome strips and merry banter as much as the next man, but surely this is getting beyond a joke. Especially cos, like, we can’t seem to beat them any more. “Football is a simple game,” or so said scouse-Scot football brainbag Bill Shankly, “based on the giving and taking of passes, of controlling the ball and of making yourself available to receive a pass.” And for 30 minutes on Saturday our hooped super-dudes played like they knew what he meant. It’s just a crying shame that they were two nil down when they realised, and that they seemed to forget just as soon as they had remembered, but what can you do, eh? There were some tasty goals, some lovely build up play, some robust push-and-shove from MOTM Crispin ‘Pretty Hard for a Church-goer’ Angood and – but of course – some defensive lapses which put us on the back foot for the entire game… Now, what is needed here is not so much a minute-by-minute match report, but a step-by-step guide to getting our season back on track. So, without further mucking about, and with a sharp intake of breath, here is the MITD’s 8-point plan to winning a game occasionally, and having a good time while we’re at it. Step 1. Stop playing Fairview. We’ll beat them eventually, but it’d be nice to play someone else in the meantime. It’s getting boring. Step 2. Make Coops Director of Football. He’ll use his army-training to knock us in to shape, quick sharp. Step 3. Encourage our excitable fans to wind up our opponents a treat. A screaming Gem and an encroaching Chairman will shatter their confidence in no time. Step 4. Remember that patience is a virtue. Let’s not be scared to keep the ball and move up the pitch “as a unit”. Caress it like those girls Sale’s always banging on about (though be sure not to give it the clap). Step 5. Let our Street Spirit roam free. Shankly once said: “A football team is like a piano. You need eight men to carry it and three who can play the damn thing.” We’ve got 11 piano-carriers at the moment, and my back’s killing me. Step 6. Get a settled back line that, like, talks to each other and shouts at the midfield to get back and stuff. That’d be nice. And it’d take the pressure off Danny ‘Best Keeper in the League’ Kavanagh. Step 7. The team that eats together stays together. Let’s drink more Guinness and eat more pizza together down the Swan, cos it’s good for the soul. Maybe another big night out is on the cards? Step 8. Gain your weekly Street inspiration from Street Talk, where our hooped heroes share their words of wisdom with an unsuspecting public. And I’ll leave you with a quote to guide your entire footballing career, from Bill ‘I hate Gary Neville’ Shankly: "If a player is not interfering with play or seeking to gain advantage, then he should be." Fairview (2) 4 – 2 (1) Union Street [Cobham, Harrington] Kavanagh, Beaumont, Bartlett [Hart], Mozley, Clayson, Clarke, Angood, Davies, Sale [Harrington], Ackerley [Birnie], Cobham

Burns' night

"Dare to be honest and fear no labor." A game of two referees, an icy wind and, alas, hopes familiarly dashed against those wort-boys. Street welcomed back old-boy 'Big' Coops to their back line, and his awesome presence clearly lifted spirits in a lively first half. With the wind at their backs and the low, winter sun in their eyes, the hooped nobbers played some beautiful football for their customary 30 minutes, and chance after chance went a-beggin. "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley." Regrettably, for all their creamy football, Street are always wont to let the opposition back in. Sure enough, the Tet-balls finished the half strongly, but were still fortunate to find themselves a goal to the good at the break, thanks to a combination of cock-ups, deflections, miss-hits and oversights. And thus, as the second period got underway, Union had to play into the wind, up the hill, round the corner and with Coops as ref and everything. "Firmness in enduring and exertion is a character I always wish to possess. I have always despised the whining yelp of complaint and cowardly resolve." The Union-boys certainly gave their all in the last 45, but that wind proved to be a bit too much for their badger-legs. Not that I'm looking for excuses, mind. The speedy front line certainly looked dangerous on the break - it's just that those breaks were all too few and far inbetween. The heroic centre backs slogged it out with the worthian strikers and, were it not for the cruellest of weak-shotted-through-the-legs efforts from one of their boys, may have held out. "Liberty's in every blow! Let us do or die." Two down and with twenty to go, Street threw a modicum of caution to that aforementioned icy-breeze. And they clawed back a goal within a shake of badger's whoopsy, thanks to some beautiful football, a dangerous cross, a clip of Fry's heels and some assured refereeing from the big man. Chris Clarke dispatched the pen with some aplomb. Well played, that fresh-faced boy. "Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing." Indeed, hope swelled in our hooped-hearts, but in truth a second goal seemed a long way off. The well-drilled Tet boys snuffed out any hint of danger, and the heavy pitch and winter weather soon took its toll. In short, we were knackered. Hey ho, not to worry, heads up, chins up, socks up, onward and away to brighter times. We played alright, didn't we? A win is surely round the corner, up the hill, and left at the lights. COME ON STREET! "Suspense is worse than disappointment." Just remember that, boys. And when you've worked out what it means, let me know. Union Street (0) 1 - 2 (1) Tetsworth [Clare (pen)] [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Coops [de Silva], Bartlett, Mozley, Beaumont, Sale, Davies, Adams, Hart [Birnie], Ackerley [Clarke], Cobham "My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here; My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer." Robert Burns

Marbles: lost and found

Great football graced the Sandylanium this Saturday just passed, yet it was not enough to gift Union Street the victory their artful dodgings demanded. If football matches lasted but 45 minutes less, the hooped booby-boys would have been home-and-hosed on more than one occasion this season, and this was surely one such occasion. Alas, it was not to be. For all their sexy oozings, the Unified Boys could not muster more than one goal against those Nordings, and that was never really going to be enough, was it? A lesser man than thee would be forgiven for more melancholic musings this day, but we all know that there was much to rejoice in Street's juicy ball-play on Saturday. As nineteenth century God-fearing windbag Charlotte Bronte would oft remark during an energetic first half: "Let your performance do the thinking". True to her word, those green-and-white tit-heads thought less and performed to their full potential for the first time this season. Creamy passes, squelchy one-twos, frantic gaspings, moist beginnings, breathtaking saves and steamy runnings - all that was lacking was that heady, orgasmic, climactic finish. Bars were hit, one-on-ones missed, heads were shaken in disbelief - yet there was just the one goal to show for it all (and a sumptuous one at that, from Alex 'She's Not The Boss, Honest' Cobham). Oh, if only the ardent thrustings of our boys had come to more, the game would surely have slipped away from those Nordics. And if only the aroused badger-boys had been able to maintain such passionate push-and-shove in the second half. As ball-breaking Bronte remarked at half-time: "Consistency, madam, is the first of Christian duties". It's just a shame that, of our heroes, only Crispin would feel duty-bound by such proclamations. So, predictably, the second half tailed off with a whimper, much like this match report. The Streeters were positively post-coital in their approach - tired and sleepy in thought and deed. It still look an outrageous long-ranger to undo them, but as ol' Tarmac remarked in the post-match gather-round - in their eagerness to ram it home and finish the job, Street rolled up and down the pitch like marbles, racing forward, racing back, but without too much care or precision. But let's not nit-pick. The green-and-white numpties may not have too much confidence in the finish, but they're damn fine lovers. Union Street (1) 1 - 1 (0) North Oxford Reserves [Cobham] [4, 4, 2] Danny 'Gordon Banks' Kavanagh, Beaumont, Mozley, Bartlett, De Silva, Clarke, Adams, Angood [Burn], Sale [Harrington], Cobham, Steele [Scarfe] "A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow."

10 REALLY GREAT THINGS THAT HAPPENED ON SATURDAY

1. Street going two-up within roughly 25 seconds, courtesy of some of the swiftest forward play you'll see this side of the Ring Road. 2. Richard Sale. No doubt high on Union's blistering start, our very own Flamboyant Seal scooted past their number 8 and 'gestured' with his hand, whilst emitting an 'Aaaaaaah' noise. Marvellous. 3. Street enjoying the majority of the play in the first half. They could easily have scored four or five - thanks in large part to some comedic central defending from an old friend. 4. Street's third goal. Having inevitably gifted Fairview two goals (one via some hilarious 'after yous' by Messrs Bartlett and Beaumont), Street swooped forward for the goal of the game - Cobham nipping in at the near post to nod home a vicious Clarke cross. And on the stroke of half time, too. 5. Some heroic second half battling from our hooped wonder-dudes - giving as good as they got, but perhaps not 'giving' quite as much as that there number 8. 6. Our hooped super-supporters switching sides in extra time to catch the last of the late-afternoon winter rays (and distance themselves from aforementioned old friend's 'all about me' whining, no doubt). 7. Some top-class goalkeeping from our man Kavanagh. So many great saves I don't know where to start. 8. Cobham's extra time empty-netter. Cue screaming, shouting, clenched fists and stuff. If only it had been the winner, eh? 9. The five who volunteered for penalties (and that dude Kavanagh). Heroes to a man. Special mention must go to Swindon Craig for finally getting one under the crossbar. (Though you'd think he'd scored the winner from his smile in the changing rooms). 10. Some nice hand shakes and 'well playeds' from the vast majority of those Viewers (with one or two dishonourable exceptions of course). Nice chaps, really. As slap-headed word-nobber William Shakespeare remarked after the game: "Heads up lads. You don't have to play them again for at least two weeks." Fairview 4 aet 4 Union Street [Sale, Cobham 2, og] Fairview won 4 - 3 on penalties [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Beaumont, Mozley, Bartlett, De Silva [Burn], Sale [Clayson], Angood, Davies, Clarke, Scarfe [Hart], Cobham

Man in the Dugout - An Apology

Mr Dugout has asked me to express his regret at not being able to post his usual prompt report on the Saturday's match. He hopes to have something for you later in the week, so look out for big Street insider gossip soon.

Meanwhile, for those insatiable few who cannot wait for their weekly Street fix, check out the latest developments in Yr Chairman's pedometer diary above. Also, Yr Secretary's latest addition to 'Street Talk', like his bus habit, takes some beating.Those men could crank for Britain.

That's entertainment

They should charge a fortune for football as good as this. Pure entertainment, from start to finish. This was the match that had everything: our very own Argy-bargie's last game, Siberian winds, cold like you've never known (I could've done with a dugout - don't they know my needs?), hastily rearranged pitches, epic first-half defending into a gale, nasty injuries, chopsy teenagers... ...Humorous pitchside verbal jousting, brave refereeing, entertaining opposition fans, the obligatory flag-happy oppo linesman ("Offside!"), the equally obligatory breathtaking Kavanagh save from a well-struck goal-bounder, a lovely breakaway finish from that lad Dan, chances a-plenty for our very own Lampard-a-like, a sumptuous poke for West Ham nobber Clarke and an ending that veered from the surreal to the farcical to the vicious and all the way back again... ...Aforementioned chopsy teenagers ill-advisedly kicking out at Coops (who was chuffed just to have lasted the full 90 for the first time in 17 years), Yr Chairman and anyone else within range - and our brave hero Richard 'Hard Man' Sale running scared across the Morris Motors outfield (last seen on the ring road, still running). Truly mind-boggling stuff, which is not to take away from the boundless joy of Street's win - built on teamwork, solid defence, and generally running about and chipping in for each other as necessary - oh, and keeping our cool when all about us were losing theirs. And of course, at the end of it all, warming chat, cool Guinness, cheeseless pizza, weird rugby matches and tiny orange juices at the home of civilisation, the Black Swan... Oh Lordy, where would we be without the Black Swan? Goldenball (0) 0 - 2 (1) Union Street [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Mozley, Beaumont [Bartlett], Coops, De Silva, Clarke, Davies, Clayson [Fry], Harrington, Sale [Steele], Dan "Fan the sinking flame of hilarity with the wing of friendship; and pass the rosy wine." Charles Dickens

Swiftly does it?

"My nose itched, and I knew I should drink wine or kiss a fool." Jonathan Swift Oh tell me this, humble Communigate-peruser, how does the MITD, on such a fair and blessed March morning as this, report anew on another defeat to Fairview? It's bluddy hard, I can tell you. Losing to those dudes is depressing enough, without me having to write about it (and you, in turn, having to cast sad eyes over my lonely words). It'd be much better to think of sunnier things: springtime, Guinness, Germans dancing on bar stools, and England beating Denmark in the Badminton. I'll endeavour to dispatch the 'report' as swiftly as possibly, just as Fairview dispensed with our 'comeback' on Saturday afternoon. In summary: 2-0 down in approximately 5 seconds, the new-look Street roused themselves from a confused (yet golden, one presumes) slumber to get back on terms through an exquisite lobber from Scarfe, and a rebound-blast from young Dan. Our badger-spirits were lifted, and optimism hung in the air unspoken. Then Street did what they do best: no, not singing, hugging and spilling Guinness down their front, but dashing hopes and swiftly gifting the opposition an undeserved 5-2 advantage. This they carried with them until the final whistle, despite Street throwing the proverbial kitchen sink (well, Yr Chairman) in their approximate direction. As the aforementioned Chairman muttered, darkly: "Lots happened, but to little end." But as I said, it's not my business to bring you down on a Monday morning. Think of all the good things in the world: young Dan's excellently fresh-faced goals, Cobham's bearded tomfoolery, Scarfey still playing (and scoring) at 73, Sale's big round bum, and the fact that, if all is right and true and good and honest, we'll never have to play that lot EVER again. And, as old Irish weird-face-big-nose Swift would say: "I've always believed no matter how many shots I miss, I'm going to make the next one." A postscript to last week: Union Street - bastions of fair play, screaming fans and witty put-downs - have been fined by the Oxford City FA for 'failing to control our spectators' during last week's ill-tempered game against Goldenball. Of course, how silly of me: if opposition players kick us and chase one of our players across the pitch, that's OUR fault. Thanks for pointing that out. Fairview 5 - 2 Union Street [Scarfe, Dan] [4, 4, 2] Kavanagh, Mozley, Bartlett, Smiffy, Burn, Dan, Clarke, Clayson, Sale [Fry], Cobham, Scarfe [Birnie] "May you live every day of your life."

MITD goes predictive

Three oil to the Rupeet. The Nighty Abdies. Goals from Ambian, Castlet? and a thirty yard screames from the welsh lizard that gets my vote as incl of the century. And a car hit by yr chairman to sound off the champagne fontcall. Against a bunch of old neo, barely legal teems and that neil bias who strangely isn't a see any more. "Still the hand was there to be won and who we did," or so texted yr chairman post match, and who could disagree? Other highlights included Ambian's spectacular but paved overhead khak, a lovely red kite, and some love shower pongs. And that fat uselers "forward" shouting at hir ozo team a lot again. And Sale not doing the lit, blaming his fad and them claiming credit for the who. A final word must surely in to yr chairman: "Duck that for a hand of soldiers." Great Milton 0 - 3 Union Street [Ambian, Castlet, Father] Lavanci, Mozley, Claws, Burn, Castlet, Sale (Dry), Beans, Clarke, Father, Ambian (Birmi), Animod (Cakes)

MITD goes minimalist

Windy. North Oxford Reserves 0 – 0 Union Street Kavanagh, Bartlett, Coops [Burner’s bruv, Birnie], Mozley, Burn, Sale, Fry [Scarfe], Clayson, Adams, Cobham, Dan

Three's the magic number

Hat-trick Moore, Hat-trick Swayze, Hat-trick Kielty... There are many famous hat-tricks in the world but none of them, I should imagine, will go down in history quite like the one from our cuddly plumber-nob Bartlett on Saturday. It was a story Holy Grail-twat-bag Dan Brown could only dream of, a script of which The Bard himself would be proud. This was a perfect Street moment. In his last 'proper' game for the Union, on the eve of his 30th birthday, and just two days before he journeyed to the other side of the world for his first shag in four months, our round-arsed Secretary was thrust up front alongside a bemused Cobham, and promptly banged in THREE goals. This was a tale straight from Roy of the Rovers. Or perhaps Desperate Dan, given the protagonist's predilection for sausages. The first half offered little of the feast that would follow - our chubby hero did a lot of huffing and not a little puffing, straining every sinew in an effort just to stay onside. The game itself failed to settle on the stiff April breeze - the hooped twatters were in control, of that there was no doubt, but could do little to impregnate those Goldenballers. But whatever they put in that fat striker's tea at half-time certainly did the trick - within minutes of the restart, a suspiciously not-offside Bartlett stole a march on the Golden defence, turned inside his marker, jinked left, jinked right and then KERBLAMMO - the twerp-bag angled a fine left foot drive past the keeper. There followed ten minutes of the usual Street-style nonsense, gifting Golden a goal via a calamitous goal-mouth merry-go-round, but then our boiler-fixing tubby-boy stepped in to seal it, much as he would a pipe underneath Burner's new shower. His second goal was taken straight from the drawer marked 'possibly offside tap-ins that threaten to clear the crossbar from six yards', and his third, seconds from the end, was taken straight off the toes of a disbelieving Welsh Wizard. There was still time for Yr Chairman to haul him off to receive the adulation of the frenzied crowd, and that was that. A legend was born. There followed a night of obscene celebration involving drinking Guinness from the Fair Play cup, £80 bottles of Bollinger and a lapdance poll. One hopes that fatty slow-cakes Craig won't be getting too many fancy ideas about his exploits, despite a clearly exhausted / deluded Andy W's assertion that if he'd been playing up front for the whole season Street may have won a few more games. Three's a crowd, three is the magic number, three blind mice, three-asy does it, three wise men - I could have used any of these headlines, you know. Union Street (0) 3 - 1 (0) Goldenball Bartlett (3) Kavanagh, Burn [Fry], Mozley, Williams, Clayson, Sale [Smiffy], Davies, Angood, Clarke, Cobham, Bartlett [Birnie] Robbie Fowler: exactly a year older than Bartlett, and about the same weight.

Aunt Sally says...

Another season draws to a close, and with it (God-willing) our humble hoopaloids' long association with the crumbling edifice that is the RT Harris league. As a tasty sign-off, this flavourless encounter left a lot to the imagination, but nevertheless those Street-dudemeisters can look back on (probably, I've not actually checked the facts, but it's a safe bet) their most successful season to date, ever, so far, yet, thus far, until now. The game itself was as forgettable as the bright and toasty April day was memorable, noteworthy only for the 'pace trio' Adams, Birnie and Scarfe up front, and for a second half which did much (but not quite enough) to right the wrongs of a wayward first. Mistakes were made and corrected, chances created and spurned, but mostly our young, lean ball-erinas were content to don their shades, smooth some sun lotion on their toned torsos and burn their fine todgers in the early-summer sun. And why wouldn't they? The hazy, flip-flopped aftermath of the game left most of our gaybos wishing for the hasty erection of some kind of 'pitch-side Black Swan on Sandy Lane', complete with free sun lotion, real ale, Morris dancers and weird banjo-led folk tunes. As it was, they made do with the real thing, and a heated discussion on the rules and origins of the popular pub game, Aunt Sally. And it occurred to more than one casual observer that the flood-lit, grass-decked, Aunt-Sally-blessed garden of the Black Swan would be a fine location for forthcoming Street summer gatherings... Stay tuned for the end-of-season review, which will be winging its way to you soon. The MITD welcomes your nominations for player of the season, please e-mail them to maninthedugout@hotmail.co.uk, and then I might get round to putting it to the vote, or something. Union Street (0) 1 - 2 (2) Great Milton Kavanagh, Mozley, Burn, Williams, Davies, Clayson, Clarke, Cobham, Adams, Birnie, Scarfe, Hayward, Fry, Somebody Else, Maybe Another Person, look who am I kidding? I wasn't there, right, so if I've missed you out, I'm sorry, OK?

The Man in the Dugout's End of Season Awards

Player of the season (as voted for by YOU) Danny Kavanagh: Never in the history of the RT Harris has one man done more to keep one team in more games. I’d like to pick out a save-of-the-season, but there were just so many. We salute you, boy-band, shot-stopper, hero-dude. Most improved player of the season Richard Sale: Developed from a lippy 19-year-old fat-bum who used to cry at being taken off, to a lippy 20-year-old fat-bum with commitment, passion and quite a bit of skill. Not to mention a pile-driver at Great Milton. Goal of the season Andy Davies v Great Milton (a) BOOM! The FA award for organisational incompetence The RT Harris Oxford City FA for: fining Union Street for turning up to a game when the opposition didn’t; fining Union Street for ‘failing to control our supporters’, who at the time were being chased and kicked half away across East Oxford; failing to provide a referee for nearly all our games; having a league with 6 teams in it; making us play Fairview approximately 47 times in a season… Performance of the season The ten-man 2-1 victory against Goldenball, complete with Yr Chairman’s sending off: "I think it was an instinctive piece of man-management: more poetry than science.” Free-for-all of the season Goldenball 0 – 2 Union Street For once, the match that really did have everything. Worst refereeing decision of the season Either a crook Ben Beaumont v Fairview (‘Never a penalty,’ says Craig) or some fatty half-wit v Goldenball, for sending off Yr Chairman. Most unlikely event of the season Yr Plumber / Secretary’s hat-trick in his last competitive game. Never has one man scored so many goals without running at all. Innovation of the season Yr Chairman's pedometer. I'm lost without it. Let's buy him a new one, eh boys? Most talked about 'promised land' of the season The Witney & District League. Is it really that good? If you can think of more awards and winners, send them to maninthedugout@hotmail.co.uk and I'll get them up here. Promise.

AGM PHOTO MADNESS

Through the chair please Alex...

Player of the season

And outfit of the night: the yellow-shorted, wife-beater-topped Danny Kavanagh.

Yr departing plumber-secretary

Going 'Jewish'. Obviously.

James talks some sense

Just after falling down the stairs.

Craig loves boys

Yr Sec takes some 'minutes'.

End-of-the-night kitchen chaos

Those dudes can rock. Altogether now 'Union Street, Union Strasse, one-nil down but it doesn't really matter...'