Man in the Dugout reports 2000-01
New kit launched
Fixtures 2000 - 01
Your prayers please
Your Prayers Answered
Club Badge
Awards - Yes, we did win one!
2001 - 2002 - A Street Odyssey Continues
Fixtures 2001-02
Could this Be The Year? Reports 2002-03
2002-03 Fixtures and Results
Support Our Sponsors
2003-04: European Union
2003-04: Results, Fixtures
Roma Therapy
The Greatest Football Tournament in the World
2004-2005: Attack of the Minty Badgers
Street's New Training Regime
Meet the team!
Union Street's festive picture gallery!
The Union Street Awards 2004/05!
der Mann in heraus gegraben DAM diary 2005
2005-06: When badgers learn to fly
Street Talk
Knee-Jerk Reaction: Ben's Countdown to Germany 2006
Bolz WM Gonzo Diary
Pre-Seasonal Tension
2006-07: MInty Badgers Save the World
Plumbing new depths
Direkt Von Dem Dugout - Koln 2007
Union Street Awards: Season 2006 - 2007
2007-08: For a Few Seasons More
Wham, Bam, Thank You DAM
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Arise, Badgers!
 | Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwwwwwn
Mr Badger stretched as he stuck his snout out from the hole, shaking his befuddled head as he awoke from his close-season hibernation. The misty air smelled clean and fresh, with a hint of newly mown grass. Had Gordon the Groundsman been out already, preparing the pitch for today's forthcoming fun?
Pulling himself up from his sett, Mr Badger raised his horn to his snout and sounded a rousing toot across the glades and woodlands. It was as if he was saying: "Wake up, badgers, we've got a game on today against some big lads from Golden Ball Reserves and you can bet they'll be up for it!"
Here comes big Danny Badger, the goalkeeping colossus. He has 'bulked up' over the summer. Maybe he hid some extra cake in his hole before he went to sleep. He can't half swear now too! Other badgers trot towards the ground, not that many though - only 11! Maybe the other badgers did not hear Mr Badger's horn, or maybe they are busy playing around in the bushes, or maybe they have not got back from their travels in Nutland. Whatever the reason, the badgers are thin on the ground.
Tarmac the Council Worker studies the keen little badgers with a practised eye. "Ok, er, I'll defend with Gem Badger, wee Dan Badger can run about up front a lot, and the rest of you, well, run around in the middle and at the sides."
All the little badgers were delighted to be frolicking around in the sunshine, and even though those big Golden Ball boys shoved them over a lot and scored three goals very quickly, their moist snouts twitched with excitement when wee Dan Badger scored a wonder goal after being put through off the bum cheek of a Golden Ball defender.
Half time, and Tarmac the Council Worker got his hair dryer out. Seal Badger's hair looked little improved in the second half though, and more goals followed for the very friendly but large Golden Ball Reserves. Jan Badger got a poorly knee, and it turned out that Burner Badger Minor had in fact played the whole game with one of his knees missing. The poor badgers rallied, but finally trudged off 5-1 losers.
Still, never mind, here come Tarmac the Council Worker's wife and children - and look! They have brought green and white Badger Cakes to cheer up our sorry badgers! Just the ticket, tiny offspring, and so appropriate for the progeny of a celebrity chef-a-like to provide home-baked goodies for the badgers!
Golden Ball Reserves 5 (3); Union Street 1 (1)
Kavanagh, Burn Minor, Fry, Adams, de Silva, Ackersley, Holloway, Mackintosh, Sale, Scarfe, Hayward (1)
Referee: small elderly man with glasses
Asst Referee: Birnie |
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The Stuff of Badger
 | What makes a badger? Is it stylish striped looks and a fondness for grubbing up worms, or a tendency to get half way across the A4074 before getting mown down and exposing your insides? After last week's slow start to the season, the Streeters seemed a little unsure what they were. Post match analysis tended to blame a lack of dressing-room atmosphere and team-camaradacamaraderieg on an unusally unusuallych against a better team, and even an absence of players. But that was last week.
This week those men put it all behind them and lined up, heads high, against cereal rivals Grrrreat Milton. An early heroic team effort found the nets up and the boys huddled together in the dressing room in nothing but their undies. This obviously got the blood flowing: no sooner had the kit turned up than they were out of the blocks and taking it to the country boys like Tammy Wynette. In a battling first half Street took the lead through great goals from Sale and Hayward. The referee, that fat one who likes to be the centre of the game, kept his input to a minimum, merely disallowing two street goals and ignoring a clear-cut Milton penalty.
Street switched a few things round in the second half, pulling of the twin towers of Ackerley and Williams (injured), and things seemed to go awry. Milton stepped up the pace and their chief striker (the fat moaning one) started to get in behind the Street defence, making trouble. Before our boys knew what was happening, it was 2-2 and they were clutching on by the tips of their fingers.
Heroic but bizarre on-pitch pogo-ing from de Silva was probably the only thing that stopped the Street falling to an undeserved, but somehow just, beating.
When they finally settled down to a pint of the black stuff in the Swan, they could only wonder: what happened. And where were the cakes?
Union Street 2(2); Great Milton 2(0)
Kavanagh, Mozley, Williams (Mackintosh), Clayson, Fry (Da Silva), Monday, Ackerley (Adams), Sale (1), Clarke, Cobham, Hayward (1)
Subs (not used) Birnie, Burn (M), Burn (J)
Referee: Fat megalomaniac
Assistant Referee: Burn (J) |
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Badgers Grind It Out
 | It's not often you get a sunny day, a nice trip in the country, the most loudest showers in the whole world, an early goal, a host of chances, a worrying blood injury, a friendly team from Wheatley, and a ground-out win when you follow the Street. This was such a game.
This was the game where all their Saturdays came at once: from the balmy September sunshine, to the lovely friendly-but-fair ref. This was the game that the Badger Gods smiled fondly on, and indulged those little minty brocks with all manner of joys.
Aforesaid early lead was the result of Street's first attack, Wee Dan Badger popping one home. Never ones to shirk a challenge, though, those stripey snouted, hoopy shirted dandies gifted the Wheatley two defensively-beblundered goals. Chance after chance was squandered by the boys, including a missed penalty. The only other first-half incident of note occured when a poor unfortunate Wheatley lad broke his crown by heading the back of the concrete-skulled caledonian centre back Badger Birnie, and had to leave the field to be mended with vinegar and brown paper.
After half time, the one-way traffic continued with many, many more opportunities spurned by the Street. Just as disharmony threatened to break out in the ranks, as an aghast defence watched yet another gilt-edged shaving brush of a chance go a-begging, an absurdly blatant second penalty was this time converted by Tarmac the Council Worker, and Wee Dan Badger popped up from the hole to take his tally to 4 in 3 games.
A claw-biting ending ensued, but the by now resolute defence held firm to complete a lovely, lovely day. Not a perfect one though: still no sign of more cakes.
Wheatley Utd 2 (2); Union Street 3 (1) (Hayward 2, Adams(pen))
Kavanagh, Burn (J), Mozley, Birnie, Burn (M) (Fry), Sale (Mackintosh), Clarke, Adams, Williams, Hayward, Cobham
Referee: Friendly-but-fair, but lacking hair
Assistant Referee: Fry (Burn, M) |
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Ample warmth as Street fire on both Burners
 | | Life's a gas: Biggest crowd of the season so far, fly-by media coverage, extended unbeaten run with a solid pasting of another pitiful visiting side: surely it will all have to fall apart for United soon. But in the aural shadow of the Kas&*£ stadium, the team fast becoming the most self-sustaining in the county were fumbling to get the nets up in time to provide a welcome to RT Harris newcomers the Ampleforth Arms. While the morning's downpours may have frightened off the referee again, both teams put out a strong show of numbers. Street started off with the classic 4-4-2, muttering darkly about some sort of defensive tactic. Was this due to rumours of 'the amps' putting seven past Tetsworth the week before, or because none of them looked a day older than 25 man years and mad for it? We don't know. What's for sure is that Street started the game brightly defending corner after corner as the opposition swarmed amply forth. Yet it was the badgers who took the lead. Cobham, bursting onto a loose ball, made sure by waiting an age before burying it in the solidly erected net. One-nil to the Union went the cry inside the head of everyone present. 'IT'S STILL NIL-NIL' screamed Birnie, typically. As if to prove a point, Street went two up in bizarre circumstances a few minutes later: classic Hayward badgering led to a backpass that tempted the Arms' keeper to launch the ball over Tescos. But the slippery surface, or the sheer eye to ground distance of the man, caused a slice that rolled slowly, deliciously, over the line. Not a sound from yr Chairman this time. The away team kept their bickering under control and kept up the offensive for the rest of the half. But Street hassled away, dominated in the air, kept their heads, and most importantly, their SHAPE. What was that shape? Our sophisticated ball / player movement tracking technology clearly shows: |
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SHAPE:
 | The second half started with no change of personnel, but a new man-in-black, as Burner junior took the whistle from Burner senior. Heroes both, lesser men would have combusted in that Crucible, as The Arms cranked up the pressure and the volume. But Street matched them. A solid midfield of Adams and Ackerley protected a back four who didn't need any protecting, but thanks anyway. Mozley and Birnie were towers of strength at the back. Kavanagh batted away anything that managed to get through. Though they got one back through a poorly remembered strike, the 'forth never managed to roll-them-over as had been proposed. Street rallied, patched up their wounded, pulled their socks up, fought tooth, nail and arm, took ridiculous forty yard pot-shots, and held on for the last hour of the half to record their second successive win. A great day for discipline, teamwork, and appropriate levels of shouting, and a great day for the Street. Who's up next?
Union Street 2 (1); Ampleforth Arms 1 (0)
Union Street: Kavanagh, Birnie, Mozley, Fry, Clayson (Burn), Ackerley, Adams (Mackintosh), Munday (Sale), Angood, Cobham (1), Hayward
Referee: The ghost of RT Harris' organisational skills (Burn, Burn)
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I want to dance with sexy cartoon girls like this badger
 | Oh badgers, what happened? Why does it always have to be like this, my sweet furry little ones? Why must our noses twitch to no avail? Why must our stripes look sleek and smooth, but with no end product? Why must we poke our whiskers out of our setts, scenting victory on the wind? Oh, why must we lose to Fairview EVERY SINGLE GUFFING TIME?
And so, here we are again. Suffice to say there was much angst and thrashing about on Saturday arvo; much toing and froing in front of our own goal; much ado about sod all, really. It was a new look Street on Saturday, and by that I mean one made up entirely of round badgers in square holes. After many minutes of who-are-yous and I'm-not-sure-if-we've-mets, Street found themselves three goals to the bad and looking for the next Bus to the Swan.
But this was no one-sided affair, dear reader, and heaven forbid if I may have given you that impression thus far. Our hooped little lovelies struck woodwork on numerous occasions, with Wee Dan Badger and Little Finn Badger forming the beginnings of a very beautiful romance up front, and Tiny Matt Burn Badger foraging for nuts, worms and all sorts from the left back spot.
The second half went the way of many before it - Street's badgers huffed and puffed but they couldn't blow the door down, or even find the keys to the changing rooms afterwards. They all but lost their SHAPE entirely, probably still haunted by last weeks insane-acid-badger-football-diagram, and the game was lost. Ho, and indeed, hum.
Mention here must go to the portly-but-friendly, firm-but-fair referee - we salute your even-handed officiating, you fat badger. We should also mention what a pleasure it is to play Fairview sans ginger, though we'd rather not lose next time, if that can be arranged.
So, now you need cheering up, and what better way than to start the World's First Badger Joke Contest. Entries to maninthedugout@hotmail.co.uk, and here are a couple to get you started.
Q. Did you hear the one about the frog whose hot dog van broke down near a badger's sett?
A. He had to be TOAD into the HOLE!
Q. "What do you get when you cross a badger with a horn?"
A. "A HORNY BADGER!"
Q. "What's black and white and red all over?"
A. A badger brutally macheted to death
Q. "What's black and white and hard?"
A. A badger with a machine gun.
Union Street 0 - 3 Fairview
Kavanagh, Burn M, Munday, Adams, Hart (sub Burn J), Akersley, Angood, Mackintosh (sub Birnie), Sheerin, Hayward |
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More badger-inspired SHAPE diagrams
 | For hints and tips on how to beat Fairview, play this game. It's like table football, but on a computer, and with a badger.
It's.... BADGER SOCCER!
http://www.buckysbuddies.com/badger_soccer.html |
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Tilting at Windmills
Round...like a first half in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning on an ever-spinning reel
Like a snowball down a mountain or a tight pitch with a fence
Like the Brill attackers swarming, running rings round our defence
Like a Sale whose hands are flapping round the other player's face
And the world is like an apple spinning silently in space
Like the Union Street you find
In the windmills of your mind
Like a tunnel that you follow to a tunnel of its own
Down a 2-0 margin leading to another half-time moan
Like a Street that finds its SHAPE like in a half-forgotten dream
And a smiling scoring Cobham like a cat that got the cream
Like a third from Brill from nothing that was absolutely ace
And the world is like an apple spinning silently in space
Like the Union Street you find
In the windmills of your mind
Keys that jingle in your pocket, words that jangle in your head
Why did Crispin leave so quickly? Was it something that we said?
There's a local on the touchline who keeps flourishing his flag
We push on, concede a fourth, and Brill have earned the rights to brag
But instead they offer beer and chips and raffles that are mong
Half-remembered names and faces but to whom do they belong?
When you knew that it was over were you suddenly aware
That the badgers won the style war with their lovely leisure wear?
Like a circle in a spiral
Like a wheel within a wheel
Never ending or beginning
On an ever-spinning reel
Like the Union Street you find
In the windmills of your mind
Brill Utd 4 (2); Union Street 1 (0)
Kavanagh, Fry, Williams, Clarke, Clayson (Adam), Sale, Ackerley, Angood (Hart), Mackintosh (Birnie), Cobham (1), Hayward
Referee: Homer but ok
Asst Referee: Holloway; de Silva
Crowd: In the teens
Don't know the tune? Try http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcw8N0ik5mw |
Iron maidens of Street refuse to take it
 | A pre-match downpour couldn't dampen the spirits of the Street as they fought hard to beat a high-flying Golden Ball at the Sandylanium. Having been thrashed and sent to bed early by a strong Ball reserves team on the opening day of the season, our heroes knew they had a tough ride ahead. But did they turn up in force to face the challenge? They surely sort-of did. The rugged forms of veteran badgers stood up alongside new and nearly newcomers in Street's 123rd line-up in seven games. But a lack-of-familiarity did not breed contempt for their rivals Golden Ball. It wasn't that at all. A rousing pre-match changing room talking-to from yr chairman set the scene in those young badgers' eyes. The Ball had just turned up to get the points hadn't they? They were the big boys, here to grab the prize; Street were just poor maidens, resigned to turning away shyly and letting them take it. But no means no for Street this season, and they buckled up their chastity belts and prepared to protect their honour. For the first ten it was all Ball's, as the yellow peril poured forth. They were lively, but Street were bursting with concentration and each time cleared the danger. Several corners and a shot off the post were survived before the hoops could get forward at all. But there was a threat there for sure, and each minute that our boys survived they seemed to grow bolder, and the Ball-boys even more whingey. The battle-lines were drawn. Notable skirmishes occurred down the middle of the park where Crispin fought and Adams and new-boy Simon earned their stripes. Sheerin provided release and came close. And Street showed more threat as Sale used his new leaping skills to put a header just wide. Half-time came and Street were more than still in it. They hardened their resolve, reinforced their SHAPE, and took the field for the second half. More Ball pressure, but now they had faith. Cutting in from the wing, Cobham skipped past a few defenders and slotted the ball home from an angle. This really annoyed Golden Ball, but, fair play to them and legendary stand-in ref Scarfey, the game stayed clean. They stepped up the pressure, but Street, like some sort of modern sanitary towel, soaked it all up with extra-protective wings. When Cobham put away an almost identical second with ten minutes to go, they knew they could make it. And make it they did. An historic win. Three cheers for the Union. But will our heroes sit back and relax, happy with their misty-eyed memories?
Union Street 2 (0), Golden Ball 0 (0)
Kavanagh, Adams, Simon, Burn Jr, Fry, Angood, Cobham (2), Mackintosh (Ackerley), Sale (Okten), Adam, Sheerin
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Tetsworth: Land of Minty Honey.
 | Tetsworth away: always a challenge. 13 heroes on the pitch. Three legends off it. All contributed to another mighty moment in Street history.
The first half was perhaps most notable for a vintage performance from Gem Badger, who gave a master class in crazed commands from the sidelines. Slack marking at the far post had him a-hollerin and a-foaming at the edges of his mouth, waving his arms and screeching like the circling red kites, except it was his arms not his wings he was waving. The gathered hordes could only stand back in admiration at this vintage "ragin' fury", and the impact on the Street was clear as they galvanised their loins with coach-phlegm and redoubled their efforts to withstand the wind- and slope-assisted Tetsworth onslaught.
0-0 at half-time, and thenceforth it was all Street. Pure football honey oozed from the Street, as if from a lactating badger. Thick, rich, and warm, the glutinous nectar replenished the almost spent form of Gem Badger, inducing coos of pure pleasure where once was convulsive frenzy. Burn Senior resumed his position in line with the back four, sprightly as ever and bringing a true sense of occasion to his flaggery.
The first goal slammed home by a cocksure Seal opened the floodgates. A long way from over, though. Farmer Scarfe, back to his best following his second hip replacement, was withdrawn to a standing ovation, allowing ever-willing Pete 'Love' Hart to take up the cudgels. An heroic Left Said Fred then saw his return from Canadia 'marked' by a fine cut to the left eye. Cue the moment for 'my other car is a fascist' secretary Holloway to prove his skills as a cut man, honed on the mean streets of Islington, with steri strips and everything.
While he was patched up, Street popped in a second after some comedy Tetsworth defending. Back up to 11 men with the introduction of 'you will obey' yr Chairman, and two further goals, a well-worked move for Andy Davies' second, and a blatant penalty unceremoniously despatched by wee Dan Badger.
Tetsworth battled to the end seeking a consolation, sporting and manly as always, but the spoils belonged to the badgers. Minty, minty badgers.
Tetsworth 0 (0); Union Street 4 (0) (Davies 2, Seal, Hayward)
Kavanagh, Burn (M), Adams, Mozley (Birnie), Mackintosh, Sale, Ackerley, Scarfe (Hart), Clayson, Davies, Hayward
Referee - Charming Tetsworth dude
Linesman - Burn (J)
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It's a badger Marathon
 | Badgers fornicating, badgers fighting, badgers gesticulating, badgers masturbating, badgers defecating, badgers urinating, badgers snorting, badgers lactating… badgers can do a lot of things, can’t they? But what they can’t do is beat Crown and Thistle on a Saturday afternoon in November.
‘Cos Crown were too good. And we missed a penalty. And our supporters forgot their pets. And we got tired in the second half. And Martin’s knees kept giving way. I can’t think of too many other reasons, though. Can you? But at least we fought them, with our strong fore-claws extended. And at the end of the game, we all felt that we could take on any of those other teams, and thoroughly twat them. And was that bitter taste in our mouths left by the ref's disallowed goal and a sense of what might have been? Or was it those dodgy Tescos Jelly Babies? Keep it real Stu man.
Still, it was all overshadowed by the most understated of financial gestures from our esteemed sponsors at the Black Swan. A cheque in the hand is worth ten victories against Fairview, so they say. Makes you feel kind of humble, doesn’t it? Love those dudes with all my badger-heart. Hmmm?
Union Street 0 (0); Crown and Thistle 3 (0)
Kavanagh, Adams, Charles, Burn (M), Mozley, Davies, Munday (Fry), Sale (Burn (J)), Clarke, Scarfe (Mackintosh), Hayward
Ref: Old blind man with a chip on his shoulder
Linesman: Fry / Burn (J)
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We had dreams and songs to sing...
...It's so lonely round the fields of Horspath Road.
Three RT Harris matches on the one site, this one surely the pick of them. Yes, Thistle vs Ampleforth might have had more skill, needle, and an old ref; sure Fairview vs Shelley had goals, goals, goals and quartered shirts. But Ball vs Street had so much more to offer the purist than anything so predictable as skill, goalfests, drama, or SHAPE.
What this game had in abundance was an assured performance of gentle grace and fairmindedness, all topped off with the sauntering, insouciant air more typical of the average Badger. But this was not the performance of an average Badger. Indeed it did not even originate from a Badger. It came from a man who barely six months ago let forth a volley of abuse at a quaking young Seal-badger, a man who had to be held back by yr Chairman, a man who had chased down said badger in a frenzy of murderous, visceral hate-filled, well, frenzy.
That erstwhile member of the Golden Ball 'lunatic fringe' stepped into the breach today as stand in ref, and impressed all and sundry with his jaunty good humour, his Ginsburgian bias towards the opposition, and his gallons of oil which came a-gushin forth from his love sac at the merest hint of tetchiness or obloquy. It seemed even this rapscallion had been unable to resist the power of the Minty One, such was his light hearted banter and steadfast reluctance to step too far beyond the sanctuary of the centre circle.
So a delight for badgerdom, even if the result did not reflect quite how hard the Street had worked to keep the margin down to 1. Golden Ball played confident, passing, probing football. Street harried and hassled, twitched and twisted, and there was a wondrous chip from left winger Cobham from the far right-hand side to level the scores, but despite two rattlings of the pipework from newly smart-haired Welsh Badger, they never really looked like scoring again. Rather: come the second half they never really looked like shooting again, while the Street had the shot-stopper supreme Kav to thank for keeping the outcome respectable.
So lets save the plaudits for the Golden Ball Golden Boy, the 'Gentleman Jim' of the stand-ins:
Bloke who we now know as whateverhisnameis, we hold our paws up to you!
Golden Ball 2 (1), Union Street 1 (1)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Burn J (Munday), Adams, Clayson, Fry, Davies, Scarfe (de Silva), Sale (Mackintosh), Hayward, Cobham (1)
Ref - Snake-hipped Charmer
Linesman - Munday (de Silva, Scarfe)
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I can't stand the SUSPENSION
 | You can almost smell the tension. Feel the silence: as if a million breaths are held. A global wind off a multitude of ears: bending at once. Wrists are strained repetitively: clicking for the words of the man; such traffic to slow the internet to treacle. A cursing of office workers to make the very LORD's ears burn. Around the world a diaspora united in suspension: the teary-eyed plumber down-under; the mysterious William Orindoo; legions of fans, young and old, in Germany, Rome, and Blackbird Leys. More breath is baited than there are badgers in Dorset. But this is Oxfordshire. A global communigate, whatever that is. From the coast of Maine to the coast of Spain. From the white cliffs of Dover to the plutonium strands of Dounreay. From the Isles of Scilly to the shores of Loch Bollocks itself. A nation waits, anticipates. The immortal words:
How'd you get on Lads?
Union Street 2 (2) Brill United 2 (1)
Kavanagh, Adams, Simon, Clayson (Burn (M)), Mozley, Davies, Angood, Mackintosh (Sale), Cobham, Hayward (2), Adam
Ref: A good man
Line: Sir Scarfe |
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Things ain't what they used to be
The game's the thing, as someone once said. This game was not the thing. It had long, dull periods of huffing and puffing, punctuated by two goals that the Nomads earned due to their marginally superior finishing. Even throwing defenders into attack led only to a grazed crossbar but no goals for the badgers. Badgers like the taste of crossbars.
This game was anything but the thing. It was nothing. It was not a thing, far less the thing. The thing would be as inaccurate a description of it as anything could be. It was far from being the thing. Far, far away from a galaxy far, far away from the thing. And cup runs in the Junior Shield are really not the Badgers' thing either.
The Christmas do in the Swan was the thing. It had guiness, menus, superb pizzas, guiness, tiramisus at only £1.50 the unit, mounds of sandwiches, whiskey, sausage rolls, craic, cheese, guiness, three tellys on different channels all at once and a juke box and loads of drunk people and the ladies' darts team out on the pull and an outsize automaton dancing santa and a late night drunk argument and a sing song drowned out by the guiness, juke box, tellys and customers and...well, you had to be there. It was the thing.
FC Nomads 2(1), Union Street 0 (0)
Kavanagh, Mozley, Adams, Crowther, Clayson, Mackintosh (Sale), Scarfe (Angood), Davies, de Silva (Fry), Cobham, Hart
Subs (not used): Birnie, Holloway
Ref: Chubby but clear-cut
Asst Ref: Fry, Burn (M)
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Baptism of mud
The smell of Doug Hobbs hanging in the air for all to breathe. The sky grey, the ground wet. A far cry from our boys' last meeting with Golden Ball reserves when they had their asses truly kicked in the sunshine, and tarmac burnt the cakes with his half-time rage. But Street have woken up since then, and all the little badgers duly turned up and tuned in at the Horspath. As for the beautiful game that the Street so often like to think they talk about all the time: it was hardly going to be a prime example of that. But you wouldn't have kicked it out of bed either. The hoops played a quick passing game, the old head of Scarfie keeping the ball away from the quagmire and flowing down the dry-side, leading to no little joy for the lads. A classic Clayson long throw was flicked on and over into the back corner by Mr Scarfe himself. Sadly the Street replicated the Ball's haphazard defending and conceded a mirror-image goal at the other end. Still they kept sliding about, getting stuck in, and taking it to the enemy. But it was less Flanders field, and more like playing with a gang of cheeky cockney mudlarks by the Thames as Golden Ball kept up their recent form of uncharacteristic good humour. Unfortunately Street were too generous in return, gifting a penalty and a ridiculous deflection in a few minutes mid second-half. So 3-1 down, ten minutes to go. What could our boys do? Famous more for their tenacity in holding on to a result than comebacks, could they turn the game around and get the four goals they needed? Of course not, but they could at least enjoy themselves. In an act of tactical Mastery not seen since the Great Tea Race, yr Chrmn made a double substitution and pushed Adams up front. Within minutes they were back in it with a glancing, stooping header from Adams. Then with seconds to go J Burn celebrated his new born with a goal of pure class, poking the ball past what seemed like a couple of Golden Ball players, and performing his trademark celebration of jumping up and down in the air and waving his arms, before he'd even kicked the ball! A draw! Happy days.
Golden Ball 3 (1), Union Street 3 (1)
Kavanagh, Fry, Mozley, Adams(1), Clayson, Scarfe(1)(Munday), Davies, Sale (Burn(1)), Da Silva (Mackintosh), Durham, Hayward
Ref: The very capable Chris
Line: Munday
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SHOUT (LET IT OUT)
Apologies for DELAYED match report. MITD has been buy CELEBRATING. Quite FORGOTTEN how to write. Street scored SEVEN. 7. ZIEBEN. SEPT. NOR scored one. Street played WELL. VERY WELL. VERY, VERY WELL. The SUN shone on SANDY LANE. My CAPS LOCK key got the better of me. THREE 3 TROIS goals for the perservering Wee Dan Badger. ONE for the lovely CRISPIN who reminds the MITD a bit of ALAN SHEARER. TWO for TARMAC, though one got what is commonly referred to as a WICKED DEFLECTION. And the Welsh Wizard got a beauty to cap a FINE DISPLAY. Anyone else finding this DIFFICULT TO READ?
CHANGING ROOM CHAOS. Duplicate keys. SPECTATORS in chairs and hats. Danny COLD in goal. 3-4-3. Let's ATTACK. Let's SCORE SOME GOALS. After all, that's why we're HERE. ONE - ONE at half time. Rousing team talk. 4 GOALS in the last 2 minutes. Goal-GLUT. Street swept towards RECORD VICTORY. Though Mozley's sure we've scored EIGHT before. MITD thinks he's MADE THAT UP. NOR's spirit broke like Ben's CRUCIATE LIGAMENT. Wee Dan SNEAKED his hat-trick like a true BADGER. We were all looking the OTHER WAY. Poor KEEPER.
IT'S A BEAUTIFUL DAY IN THE HISTORY OF THE STREET. WE SHOULD SHOUT AND BE PROUD BADGERS. WE SHOULD GET DRUNK AND WRITE INCOHERENT MATCH REPORTS. WE SHOULD ALL PLAY WITH CAPS LOCK. WE SHOULD SCORE EIGHT NEXT TIME. WE SHOULD BEAT TETSWORTH. WE SHOULD GET PROMOTED. WE SHOULD BE THE BEST GOD DAMN STREET TEAM TO EVER GRACE SANDY LANE. WE SHOULD BE HEROES. WE SHOULD WRITE OUR MATCH REPORTS ON TIME IN THE FUTURE.
Union Street 7 [Seven] - North Oxford Reserves 1 [One]
[Wee Dan Badger (3), Tarmac (2), Angood, Davies]
Kavanagh, Mozley, Burn, Crowther, Clayson, Davies, Angood, Salee (de Silva), Wee Dan Badger, Tarmac, Durham (Yr Chairman)
Lino: the wonderful Mackintosh
Ref: the Kidlington knee expert Scarfe
Crowd: Beaumont with crutches and tweed cap, Yr Sec with blue cap and massaging thumbs, Two inquisitive girl badgers who were actually football coaches themselves and knew much more than the MITD and the irrepressible Gordon... |
Rise like Lions after slumber
 | Street were solid, solid, solid. Like a rock. Like some minty green and white rock with the words SOLID BADGER running through it. The kind of team who, once the cellophane wrapper has been unceremoniously removed, you could wrap your lips around and suck for a long time, leaving you with a slightly sickly sweet gacky mouth. They were that good.
A vintage performance from the Street, shouldering arms against the Arms, repulsing their many probings, even shouting. They were all AWESOME and IMMENSE and there was even some SHOUTING. Only one goal conceded from a corner, and all to play for second half.
Quarter of an hour left, stick Tarmac up front and take a chance, create half-chances, harry, hassle, ball just won't sit up for him, ooh, aah, they're holding on for the final whistle. Shame. No goals today. Take a lot from it. Tidy up the stuff on the sidelines. Cellophane blowing across the Lane. Hearty handshakes. Fellow feeling. What football's all about. Lovely lads. Nary a foul. What's all the fuss about Ken?
The Man in the Dugout does not know. Maybe we will never know. Maybe we will.
'Rise like Lions after slumber
In unvanquishable number -
Shake your chains to earth like dew
Which in sleep had fallen on you -
Ye are many - they are few.'
Good ole Shelley. Good ole Farmer Scarfe.
Shelley Arms 1 (1), Union Street 0 (0)
Kavanagh, Burn (M), Adams, Mozley, Munday, Davies, Angood, de Silva (Mackintosh), Scarfe (Burn (J)), Cobham, Batter (Sale)
Subs (not used) Birnie, Durham
Referee - 2 halves of Shelley
Linesman - Burn (J), de Silva
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Hair today: Street get taken to the barbers
 | That Union Street have wonderful haircuts has rarely been in dispute throughout their long and, yes, chequered history. Alas, Saturday was such a rare occasion. Their hairstyles - and their football, if I’m being honest – were put under severe scrutiny by a Fairview outfit altogether more at home with the FCUK men's grooming range from Boots.
The hooped ones started well enough – their side burns, quiffs and curly bits standing up to the wind and whatever Fairview might have had to throw at them (like greasy hair gel or that weird hair wax that looks like dubbin). Wee Dan Badger might even have sneaked our well-combed, black-and-white noses in front, with an audacious chip that drifted agonisingly wide.
Nasty
That was to be Street’s last glimpse of a well-coiffured day out, however, as Fairview set about ruining their hair with a very sharp pair of scissors and a nasty metal comb that only your Dad would think to use. Before the super-hoops knew it, they were two goals down, and their immaculately-maintained barnets had been reduced to ugly clumps of gingerish pubes.
And so to one of the more reflective half-times in Street’s short (back-and-sides) lifetime. Tarmac reached for the hairdryer, but emerged only with Macka’s curling tongs and Kavanagh’s broken hair straighteners. Words were exchanged, styling tips passed on, magazines perused for just the right kind of trim to show the hairdresser, and Street resolved to make amends with a lift and bounce that would make Vidal Sassoon proud.
Thatch
That lasted approximately 37 seconds, when the bushy-haired ref – not wishing to have his thatch called into question – blew for a pen against the Claysonator. This was slightly hard to stomach, since the ref was having his beard trimmed in the other half of the field at the time, and in any case should have given us a throw-in moments before, but I digress.
With the penalty dispatched with the kind of precision that the Men’s Room on Cowley Road could only dream of, Street were up against it. Time for a radical change – to abandon the flowing curls of our youth (and a misguided attempt to play 3-4-3) for the hairy eyebrows and fluffy nasal hair of Yr Chairman (and a return to 4-4-2).
Buzzy
For a nano-second, it seemed to work. Street surged forward like a buzzy, Babyliss clipper kit with diamond-sharpened blades, trimming the Fairview defence with slightly manic ferocity (like a barber on the edge of doing something very bad with a razor blade). A peach of a goal for the always-well-groomed Welsh Wizard resulted, and Street’s whiskers stiffened briefly in the breeze.
Oh but what was this? A thunderbolt from the weird blue liquid they use to disinfect the combs – a swirling 35-yarder that flattened Street’s chances (and whiskers) like so much ‘product’ on David Beckham’s new fuzz. Then 4-1 became 5-1 in the bewildering flick of a badger’s comb, and Street’s hopes tapered off to nothing.
Ping
Still, there was time yet for Tarmac (oh, how we could do with his Anthony Worrall-Thompson beard now) to ping the post and for Yr Chairman to scream blue murder at anyone coming within inches of the hair growing out of his ears, before Fairview completed Street’s bad hair day with a sixth and final flourish of their badger-baiting brush.
Lads, it’s time for some home truths. For too long have we laboured under the impression that our stylish hair would see us through. It’s time to reach for the clippers, the nasal trimmers, and the taper control with 5 position lever. Haircuts all round, boys.
Union Street 1 – 6 Fairview
[Davies]
Kavanagh, Adams, Clayson, Mozley, Sale [Hart], Davies, Angood, Scarfe [Birnie], Fry, Hayward, Durham [Mackintosh]
Line: Mackintosh and Scarfe (for us) and a red-faced, drunk, double-vision idiot (for them)
Ref: Nice pony tail, shame he didn’t move out of the centre circle |
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BBC Get It Wrong Again
 | Ba-boom!
Two Teams
Boo, boom!
One Trophy
Bang-a-boom!
The CJL Cup - Great Sport on the BBC.
Message to the BBC. DO NOT send that decrepit old fool John Craven again to cover a football match just because your researcher mistook Tetsworth's pitch for the National Wildfowl and Wetlands Centre. The game was at the Lane, anyway, and you lot missed a classic. Tell that Ben Fogleberg he should get a proper job as well.
A classic, only in the sense that we went one down to a windy long ball, scored a peach of an equaliser before half-time courtesy of the wee badger-faced lad, dominated the second half like an egret toying with a frog, then lost to the unlikeliest, two-shots-in-the-whole-half sort of a goal.
And sure, 'twas in that goal, the defining moment of the game, that young Mr Crowther showed the true Street spirit that we knew was in him from the moment he first sashayed past Ginsburg on a Thursday and played it simple. Picture this: after 80 minutes of dazzling left back play, Uncle Burn collapses, writhing in agony, suffering from camp. Instinctively, Simon hurries to his aid, stretching and pulling on the unfortunate Burn-with-hair with all his might. Meanwhile, seizing their chance, the dastardly Tetsworth attack down the empty half of our defence and slot home the winner. Herein lies the essential stuff of the Street: had the boot been on the other foot, as it were, we would have gone to aid the unfortunate defender, probably offering mouth-to-mouth. Or at least Alex would. And Dr Finn, what with his casebook. And wee Dan, what with his life-saving skills.
That is why, my friends, the Street will always be about so much more than winning games, let alone cups or leagues. Leave these things to the tinpot chasers. Long live the Minty Badgers. Feed the world. Stop climate change. Kill Philip Schofield.
Tetsworth 2 (1); Union Street 1 (1) (Badger)
Kavanagh, Burn (M) (Thirkell), Crowther, Mozley, Munday (Mackintosh), Cobham, Adams, Davies, Sale (Durham), Badger, Sheerin
Subs (not used): Burn (J); de Silva
Referee: Him again
Linesman: de Silva
Elective Mutes: Scarfe, Birnie, Holloway, Beaumont, Clayson
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Street wallow in their own turgescence
Turgid adj 1 swollen or distended. 2 of language, a speech, or a piece of writing, etc: pompous or bombastic and lacking any liveliness of style.
Swollen? Distended? Pompous? Bombastic? Sounds like our friend in black.
Lacking any liveliness of style? Hmmm, sounds like the Street on Saturday
Oh, what a turgid day. What a turgid performance from the Union bhoys, slugging it out on a bright and breezy early-springer. What a turgid referee. The only anti-turgidity on display was from the Brill dudes, who – credit to them – tried to liven things up by only fielding nine players.
Still, it was nice of the humble Streeters to play as though Brill had fielded a full rugby 15. Indeed, some of those green-and-whitoids hadn’t even realised that there was an imbalance until Yr Sec’s ever-naked infant Jude pointed it out to them at half-time.
In the first half, safety-first seemed to be the order of the day, our Streeteroos more worried about having a solid back four than of penetrating the much-reduced Brill backline. As the game unfolded (as slowly as a badger peaking its head out of the sett on a particularly cold morning) three things became clear:
1. The referee was determined to make up for his ability to spot fouls with assiduous throw-in rule appliance.
2. When Dan Badger hurts, Street hurt too.
3. Tetsworth v Goldenball Reserves looked like a cracking game.
With their un-badger like reticence holding them back – save for a bit of edge-of-the-area chicanery from Cobham, a well struck blastaway from Doc Fin and a dubious disallowed from someone else – the Unionistas could hardly complain when Brill (did I mention they had nine men?) broke away and biffed their way in to an unlikely lead.
After a few rockets were aimed squarely at their collective badger-bums at half-time, Street roared to life, their previous bashfulness making way for something altogether more proud and bulging. Sure enough, the equaliser came in the twinkle of Martin’s ageing bonce, as he bundled home a peach from the Doc.
A sign of great things to come, the assembled throng assumed. Alas, it was not to be. The Streetlings soon retreated into their first half cage, locking the door and forgetting where they put they key. Much hopeful punting and aimless rushing followed, and the crowd soon began to wonder what deep fried treats the Swan might deliver later on.
There was time yet for Brill to bring on another player, Cobham to bring his tally of foul-throws to 27 before mercifully substituting himself, and for much playing-and-missing from both sides, before the chubby idiot in black called time, and we all went home in a huff.
The End.
Oh, what a turgid match report.
Union Street (0) 1 – 1 (1) Brill
(Scarfe)
Kavanagh, Burn (M), Birnie, Crowther, Fry, Angood, Davies, Cobham, Sheerin, Scarfe, WDB
Subs: Burn (J), Mackintosh, Thirkell, Munday, Durham
Linesmen: Burn (J), Munday
Crowd: naked
Still, we’d rather be turgid than flaccid, eh? We wouldn't want to lose our SHAPE. |  |
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Share my soap
 A proper hard pitch and no mistakin. The winds of Thor creating a pleasing ripple in the hoops of green and white. A dumpy, grumpy, numpty ref, with a two-meter tape measure he knows how to use.
A tight first half hour. A jammy, wind-blown goal to the North. A swerver from Roberto Carlos Davies to equalise. A Ginsburg-like penalty to snatch a half-time lead Northerly. A half-time growl from Tarmac. An ah feck og from Yr Chairman.
A change of tactics comes to nought. More accurately, four to the North. Then five. Oh woe. Still, time for a shower and a rub down. Except for the youngsters.
Funny that. Is it an age thing or are they ashamed of their bodies? Street is no place for shame. So lads: Stand proud in or out of your hoops! Borrow soap off the North boys! If you forget your towel, run around outside! Love yourselves!
North Oxford (2) 5 - 1 (1) Union Street (Davies)
Kavanagh, Uncle Burn, Daddy Burn (Durham), Mozley, Birnie (Sale), Clayson, Davies, Adams, Mackintosh (Clarke), Angood, Cobham
Referee - Destroyed what flow there was to the game
Linesman - The indefatigable Scarfe
Sidelined - WD Badger |
Writer's cramp
 | Every football man needs a break; fans, players, and sheepskin-coated sideline gurus alike. And the Man in the dugout is no exception (in this respect). But whilst your average footballing gent waits until the end of the season, MITD likes to get in there early, take advantage of those in-season low prices, and kick back. Whether it's North, South, far East or West; sometimes a Man's got to be away for a while, sunning his backside, getting a rubdown from a ladyboy in the Orient, sliding down some barely frozen grass in the lower Alps, or writing his new book (see above). And when this cat's away, so to speak, he likes to think his lads will play without him. And even make note of the score and team occasionally. So here we go, let's play: 5 games in 5 words:
Crown and Thistle
Massive Street fight in SHAPE.
Union Street 1 (0); Crown and Thistle 1 (1)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Cobham, Birnie, Mozley, Fry, Angood (1), Monday, Sale, Thirkell, Durham
North Oxford Reserves
Disappointingly unmassive, but a win.
North Oxford Reserves 0 (0); Union Street 1 (1)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Mozley, Adams, Fry, Clarke (Clayson), Angood, Davies, Sale Hayward (1), Thirkell
Shelley Arms
Massively unfortunate, Wizard free kick.
Shelley Arms 2 (1); Union Street 1 (0)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Burn J, Mozley, Adams, Angood, Davies (1), Sale, Clayson, Thirkell Durham, Hayward
Wheatley United
Hot Wednesday Uncle goal action.
Union Street 1 (0); Wheatley United 0 (0)
Kavanagh, Burn M (1), Mozley, Adams, Fry, Angood, Monday (Scarfe), Sale (Clayson), Thirkell (Mackintosh) Cobham, Hayward
Great Milton
Hot. Plan. Arse. Moan. Hoof.
Great Milton 2 (1); Union Street 2 (1)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Mozley, Adams, Fry (Burn J), Sale (Mackintosh), Davies (1), Cobham, Clayson, Hayward (1), Scarfe (Durham)
So, in long, two wins, two draws and a loss to Shelley. Not a bad haul. But is it enough to push for the title? Can the Street stick out the gruelling RT Harris end of season schedule? Will the Man in the dugout find his tongue, or even turn up to a game?
Apologies to those hardworking linesmen and women, superfly players, and excellent referees overseen by MITD's scouts. Honorary mention to the Crispinator who is setting up a Union Street feeder school in hitherto unexploited (in football terms) tropics.
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Hot Badger
With all that sewage, fish in the Firth of Forth are dead in the water. After 20 minutes on Saturday, Street's season looked to be 'dead in the water': a revolutionary back 3 of Matts and Chair ushered in two goals that threw this 'must win' game into turmoil.
But 20 minutes is not 90 minutes. Football, like the big race in London, is 'a marathon and not a sprint'. The minties quickly pulled one back with a mighty dink through the keeper's hands from the wee one. 2-1 at half time then, but Street, like those marathon runners were 'in no mood for lying down'. They started the second half with some incisive passing, but like in the traffic jams in London during the marathon, found there was 'no way through': until that is, yet another one-on-one with the Tet goalie finally went Street's way.
Back on level terms, a mighty long shot from half way by Tarmac flummoxed the Tet goalie. He let the ball, like the Americans with Osama bin Laden, 'slip through his fingers'. 3-2 the Street, and cruel luck for the Tet. However, the goalie, like the coalition troops in Baghdad, was 'having a mare'. He next held firmly on to a back pass, 4 yards from goal, resulting in a well-placed finish through a crowd of players from the wee one.
Goals continued to fly in, like recent record-profit-making shop Tesco's customers, 'all over the shop', McHammer and the Welsh maestro adding their names to the scoresheet to complete the rout.
This win propels Street to the top of their division for quite possibly the first time ever. Just like that French election, the title race is now 'too close to call'. As TV pundit Alan Shearer would say, 'the permutations are endless'. Doubtless there will be a 'few more twists and turns' before this one is over. What we know for sure is that those badgers will be 'reaching for the stars', so 'watch this space'.
The weather is 'hotting up'. The planet is 'hotting up'. The run-in to the RT Harris Oxford City League Division 1 title is 'hotting up'. Minty Street are 'hotting up' - chutney style.
Union Street 6 (1); Tetsworth 2 (2)
Kavanagh, Burn M, Fry M (Burn J), Birnie, Clayson, Adams (1), Davies (1), Sheerin (Mackintosh), Sale (Durham), Cobham (1), Badger (3).
Referee - Cheerful, courteous, intelligent, and fair.
Assistant referee - Mighty Scarfer
Oranges - Mrs Clayson
Hair - By Holloway
Beards and Antics - By De Silva
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Who ate all the pies?
 | As Yogi Bear once said: "Bad boys stick together, never sad boys. Doodoodoo dooroo WoohWooh!
Tonight, for the Street, it was all about Park Rangers, pic-a-nics, and Boo Boo.
Key chaos led to The North moaning and whinging about the lack of dressing rooms at Jellystone Cutteslowe Park. I mean what do they want, their arses wiping? Brand new nets to play with, woman to be boorish to, and still they're not happy.
A conservative approach to the game, with 9 men in defence, led to an 'after you' gambit which, tied to the ever-biassed lineology of Ginsburg, threw North into an early lead. A second followed, and Street reverted to 4-4-2. Hamstrung badger retires.
The second half provided further goals: another for North followed by a quicksilver strike for 'most thinned down man of the season', captain-for-the-day, off-to-Forty-Venturer Sale, followed by knee-damaged Fry, followed by another North goal, and another, and a consonant, and a vowel please Carol.
Street finally relaxed into their free flowing passing game, only for no further goals to be scored.
Then ensued a gorgeous evening preparing, DAM-like, for the DAM, with singing and stunning sunsets, and Scarfey getting angry, as we waited and waited for the changing rooms to be unlocked by Parky, who had gone home to Didcot. And why wouldn't he. And it was our fault.
Midweek football. Advantage Brill and GB res. Ampleforth next. Street smarter than the average bear.
Union Street 1 (0); North Oxford 5 (2)
Kavanagh, Fry (Ginsburg), Munday, Birnie, Mozley, Clayson, Sale (1) (Scarfe), Davies, Adams, Cobham, Badger (Durham)
Ref - Troll-like good humour
Lino - Utterly, crazily unimpeachable Ginsburg followed by reliable old Scarfe followed by utterly not-up-with-play Sale.
Oranges - by Mrs Clayson
Ball retrieval - by Matt's mate
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Street leave Ample room for improvement
 | If the Amps were turned up to 11 on Saturday, Street had their switches set to a barely audible 3.5. And why wouldn’t they? It was sunny, and it was hot for sure. They were sweating like 11 badgers chasing whatever it is that badgers eat, on a very humid afternoon. And, what with injuries, drop outs, hangovers, weddings, bar mitzvahs, holidays to future ventures and people not being ARSED, there were only 11 of the little bleeders. How could they possibly compete, hmmm?
But compete they did, despite all this. Or maybe because of it, who knows? The first half was baking. And Street were half-baked. By half time, the Amps had discovered two things: that it’s remarkably easy to kick a ball over a fence and in to the road, and that they’ll never win a one-on-one with Kavanagh. Despite those home truths, they were still one-up, the rotters. Street consoled themselves with oranges, and the comforting thought that it could be oh-so-many-more.
But what happened in the second half? If only your humble reporter could remember. Ah yes, there was football, wasn’t there? Of a sort. And not all of it from those Amplers, either. The Union boys had a shot or five, one of them a memorable screamer from the impressively flame-haired chairman. And they hit the bar, too, if memory serves. But before long, and as is the way in these end of season affairs, the Streetoids found themselves three down, with seemingly no way back.
But what was this? A hero dressed in black? Sent to save Street from their despair, and make the afternoon more interesting for everyone? First up, a penalty, dispatched with uncharacteristic aplomb by the Cobbler (admittedly, it was the most cast iron penno you’re likely to see – the ‘forther leaping with well aimed fist to punch clear from the line. Whither the sending off, hmmm?).
Next, an indirect-er, awarded for the goalie fiddling with his nadger in the area. Street had been given one of these in the first half, too, but rather than strike for goal, deemed it more appropriate to wang the ball in the direction of the corner flag. But this time, they made no mistake. It was wanged right on to the grateful nonce of our Tarmac, with those Ampies screaming “offside!” in vain.
3-2, then, and the game was most certainly back on. Street surged and soared and swarmed and swelled. Their fans woke up, switched off Radio 5 Live, and even let out a girly scream when a corner drifted in to the side netting. But it was all to nought. And it was probably right and proper that the Ampleforth boys scored a forth to put the afternoon to sleep, once and for all.
Ampleforth Arms (1) 4 – 2 (0) Union Street
[Cobham, Tarmac]
Kavanagh, Burn, Birnie, Mozley, Clayson, Mackintosh, Davies, Adams, Munday, Durham, Cobham
Linesman – a very nice Ampleforther with very hairless legs
Referee – kept Street interested
Crowd – sunburnt
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Golden Balls (up)
Another glorious annoying Wednesday game. How come we have all our games crammed into a few Wednesdays when all other teams are playing for the next few weeks on a Saturday, that's what I want to know? I also want to know where the Street left their balls for this, the last historic game of an historic season.
GB Reserves were practically flushed out of the changing room by our friendly ref, and onto the pitch, some of them rubbing the sleep from their eyes, tying their laces, and pulling their pants on as they came. Street, honourable as ever, decided to give then some time to get themselves together before taking it to them. About 45 minutes in this case.
To be fair Street had their chances with Dan and Alex up front. Alex, our very own Golden Balls, (and the first ever Union Street member to win both "Player's player" award and "Player's player's player" award in the same season) came close early on. In fact, to be honest, he was already close when the ball came to him. Another chance came the Cobham's way in the form of a proper cross and glancing header, the likes of which you might see on the TV if you watched that sort of football.
But that was it. Having sent our walking wounded to sit behind the goal and swim for the wayward shots, the Balls were never threatened again. Instead a weird period of play, reminiscent of previous seasons but without the stylish insouciance, occurred as long balls and short balls caught the Union Street defence out. Unprotected by their linesman the goals rained in. There was nothing our poor Danny could do but watch the ball hit the net. Street did little else that half, and the only glimmer of good humour came from the sidelines. Yr Chair baited those badgers appropriately, at one point almost forgetting to claim a header whilst rollicking Cobham.
At half time Street felt the season had gone full circle. Was it really just this season that, similarly behind in the first game against these opponents, Tarmac had got his manicure kit out and smartened us all up a treat? Had Street come so far this year, only to go all the way back again, and then carry on past where they had started?
Freshly blow-dried, the Union boys came out a different looking team in the second half. Attack was the name of the game. And style. And dominoes. And talking. And SHAPE. At least several chances were had, probably enough to return parity, but the goalie just seemed to suck the ball into his hands. However many wee Dan runs were made, however hard we Claysonated, all Mackattacks were resisted. The best efforts of the boisterous crowd couldn't bring a goal. One distinguished observer was heard to scream at Cobham 'GET ONSIDE!', in the same breath turning to the GB lino and screaming 'HE'S NEVER OFFSIDE!'.
At the back we were solid, though Ginsburg's confusion over which of the day of the week it was led him to attempt some outrageous passes off the non-existent wall. Some fine saves from Danny kept the GB counter-attacks down to a single unfortunate goal, and the game ended with Street knowing that if they'd played the whole game in the spirit of the second half, they'd be running away with a setful of badgery goals, an end-of-season high, and a chance for the title. As your chairman seemed to say with a mouthful of cake: it's been a long and rocky road, but I've loved every minute of you, and next year I'M GONNA TAKE YOU HIGHER!!!!
Bring on the Award ceremony, bring on the DAM, bring on THE AGM.
Union Street 0 (0) - 4 (3) Golden Ball
Kavanagh, Burn J (Ginsburg), Mozley, Birnie (Macka), Burn M, Adams, Monday (Hart), Clayson, Sheerin, Cobham, Badger.
Ref: keen to get home
Line: Ginsburg, Burn
Honorary mention for services to refreshment: Mrs Clayson
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