OMD, eh ? No problem. I reckon that a quick chorus of 'Enola Gay' at half-time could still scupper, 'em.
Your tales of a brutally cold land of decayed industry and faded glories make me almost surprised that Billy Bragg hasn't taken up the cause of the downtrodden of Bierzo. Unless ... Billy Bragg ... Bierzo Baggie ... - yes, of course, that's it - you've found the perfect moniker for a urban poet in Spanish retirement.
Phew, that's a relief. I had fears for a moment there that you were really Max Boyce in disguise ...
I hope the Air Guitar is original. Seems that you need a choreographed celebation here in Spain, and I'm sure that goes for Sunday League aswell. Raul's 'kiss my ringpiece' always made me want to throw up (shame about los galacticos aswell). Do you remember Kike in Athletico with his archer? (Another twat). You can't beat Mick Channon's whirly gig arm spin though, that was original and way before it's time.
:o That's it! It was Mick Channon air-guitarring....NOW THAT IS ORIGINAL.
Favourite goal celebrations include cataña's seagull impersonation (remember him, Celta Vigo) and some bloke who pretended to be a dog pissing in the direction of the opposing supporters. Can't remember who he was but I think he got booked (and very nearly lynched).
MLCM, I have a confession to make. I used to play football for Beer (who didn't I hear you say). What I mean is that my football team for several seasons was Beer Albion AFC who play in the Devon and Exeter league. Happy days and never was a village more appropriately named. http://www.beer-devon.co.uk/bafc/bafc.htm
And as for Billy Bragg ....our Billy was last heard of living happily in that bastion of left wing radicalism, err, Dorset. Maybe Bierzo would provide BB the bard with inspiration for some more angry songs as I can't see him getting very angry in Dorset. Incidently, the miners are comparatively wealthy over here (and they deserve to be) and Ponferrada is a boom town at the moment.
These “player ratings” appeared on the excellent West Brom website http://www.baggies.com/ after an inept display against bottom of the table Sunderland a few weeks ago. Interesting that the irate fan who compiled the report should compare the Baggies with the aluminium boys. The story of Sunday league football from the Black Country to Bierzo country…
I have watched better Sunday pub games for free!! The Albion 0 - 1 The Crown Inn
• Kev C - shouldnt be playing really, too old but his missus washes the kit so gets a game.
• Get Carter - not much good and cant get a game anywhere else but is the managers nephew so gets in.
• Watto and Robbo - the chuckle bros, still they can have a laugh about the oggie over a pint after the game.
• Inna - nice name good hair cut and has a good DVD collection that comes in useful Sunday afternoons after chucking out time.
• Wally - holds the team together and good drinking buddies with the manager who lives next door.
• Ellington - always get late in from all nighters, always still peed up, so cant be bothered.
• Nicholson - young lad off the estate, theres no one else because Earnie and Jase wouldnt help take the nets down last week and had a bust up with the manager and dont want to play amymore.
• The manager - doesnt really know what hes doing but no-one else will do it. Still, he lives next door to the pub. Cant wait for the game to be over so he can rush back for dommies and whiskey chasers.
We too lost against "Sunderland" this Saturday or rather to the previously win-less, bottom of the table OMD, a disorganized ragbag of a team littered with veteran Argentinians, overweight Columbians and enthusiastic 14-year olds who just wouldn’t stop running. Oh, and their goalie was only slightly taller than our own “wee man”. Not that we got near him very often.
I feel unable to write a match report on this one. Only to say that once again we were 2-1 up at half time. Unfortunately the visionary Mingoya senior had injured himself whilst stretching to head home our second goal and stylish French centre half Jean Phillipe limped off with a pulled hamstring. It says a lot for our team when the loss of our two elder statesmen, with a combined age that surpasses 90, leads to total organizational collapse. Lack of substitutes also meant that we were reduced to 10 men and 4 OMD goals in the second half produced another tuneless weekend for the off-song aluminium boys.
Final score: Aluminium Boys 2 OMD 5
Away to the village team of Toral de Merayo next week.
How many times have I run past this pitch?
My normal round route when I run from Ponferrada to Toral de Merayo goes along an undulating track which hugs the River Sil side of Monte Pajariel, through the village and then back out along the road. But there are several other variants and Toral for me has also been the gateway to innumerable hilly routes beyond. So how many times? Well at least once a week for the last ten years discounting one (football provoked) injury spell of some 3 months and the occasional month off when its been too hot to run or when its just been impossible to find time. I reckon that 400 times would be a conservative estimate. No wonder some of the old folk of Toral sometimes shout at me as if Im one of the locals,
where are you going?
dont run so much!
or the classic, have you missed the bus?
Ran past the pitch twice this week, once early on Monday morning and again today. Like many in the area the crude, uneven playing surface is fringed by poplar trees and criss-crossed by occasional tyre tracks. And today it looked fairly waterlogged after a week of heavy rain. It would be considered a very poor playing surface by UK standards but here its about average. At least theres some grass. And changing rooms. From our flat to Toral de Merayos theatre of dreams it takes me around 12 minutes. Its going to feel like playing at home
A pleasantly warm Saturday afternoon seemed to promise ideal footballing conditions. Alas, the pitch was infested with mosquitoes and molehills and the aluminium boys were once again limited to 11 semi-fit men. And for the third consecutive week I traced the cumbersome flight of returning storks over the tops of budding poplar trees whilst we were warming up. Could this have been an omen?
The match. A dismal first half display saw us three nil down at half time. A funny thing happened though after the restart. We suddenly started to string passes together, to arrive first to the 50-50 challenges, win balls in the air we even started to look like a half decent football team. Javi, our very own version of follically challenged rottweiler Thomas Graveson, started to hassle our opponents in the middle of the park, nipping at their ankles with ferocious canine intent and the wee man transformed into a giant, spraying passes left, right and centre. We even hit the post twice. It was as if wed communally consumed an entire back catalogue of self-help literature with the half time oranges such was our inexplicable surge of self belief. It only lacked a goal. Or three.
As there were no subs I couldnt wimp off at half time as per usual but despite feeling off the pace for perhaps the first hour as the second half developed I was running all over the place. Attacking, defending, helping out Javi and the wee man in midfield .and I felt better at the final whistle than at the beginning! Looks like what Ive lost in speed (due to the age) Ive gained in stamina (due to the running).
Final score: Toral de Merayo 3 Aluminium Boys 0
Man of the match: The wee man.
Next week were at home to the village team of Villalibre de la Jurisdiccion which translates literally as town free of jurisdiction. An anarchical Sunday morning may be on the cards
Footnote: Torals clean sheet wasnt only the result of the woodwork. They had a greying colossus in the centre of defence called Berty who one fine day at the start of the 90s had marked a certain Diego Armando Maradona. Our local semi-pro team (who Berty used to play for) is Ponferradina and having reached the early stages of the cup they drew high flyers Sevilla where the half pint Argentinian was waddling about in the last throes of his illustrious playing career. And being marked by the man who marked Maradona probably represents the pinnacle of mine..
My Uncle also marked Maradonna.
He was a guard at the European Drug Rehab centre . . .
Your boys sound like they're going to turn their season around at any stage, BB. Best get on the blower to Robbo - he could certainly use the Wee Man against Davids (or to quote Martin Jol Dar-vitts) & Co on Monday night . . .
It's a bit of a worrier, the Spurs/ Baggies match tonight.
I'd love to see another Great Escape (Robson was my hero - I met (bumped into) him in the lobby of a Manchester hotel once. As I gawped like waterless goldfish he patted me on the shoulder, grinning like a loon, and offered me an 'Alright Son'. At least he stopped short of toussling my hair - well, I was 32 at the time.)
But then again there's some sadistic pleasure to be gained by seeing Spurs finish above the Arse this season.
I guess I'll just have to let the chips fall as they may
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Did Sweder really tip off Robbo? The wee man failed to show this Sunday morning and once more I was forced to drop back into midfield. Perhaps it was for my own good. One goal in 5 years is hardly prolific for a centre forward, even by Kev Campbells standards.
And last weeks optimism was based upon more than a mere hunch. Confidence oozed through the entire aluminium structure of our metal bashing outfit and it is appropriate that todays hero should be the man with the iron leg. Alongside the volatile yet luckless Gelo up front we have an extremely talented striker whose injured knee only permits one game every fortnight. He plays with a complex looking orthopaedic support which covers most of his left leg and from a distance it looks like an artificial limb. In fact from a distance the man with the iron leg doesnt look unlike the boy on the old Barnardoes collection tins. Remember him? no?...thought not In any case, put a ball at his feet 40 yards from goal and our man turns into Ronaldo. Ronaldo with a limp.
Match Report.
Our opponents today werent the anarchists of Villalibre. Instead the visitors were a young side called El Rancho from the nearby village of Magaz. The first half was evenly contested with the aluminium boys perhaps edging it on possession. 10 minutes before half time a lofted ball from BB put the man with the iron leg clean through only for him to be brutally upended by the goalie who was lucky to stay on the pitch. Gelo lumbered up to take the resultant penalty kick but our hapless centre-half kissing gunslinger blasted the ball straight at the keeper and then wasted the rebound as well. Jubilant scenes followed as los rancheros congratulated the goalkeeping villain-turned- hero and directed a few uncomplimentary colloquialisms towards the ever unpopular Gelo. The preferred insult of our uncouth opponents seemed to be a tomar por el culo! which translates as go and take it up the bum! But even then, I suspected that Gelo would have the last laugh.
In the second half the aluminium boys played a patient, waiting game, looking for the quick counter attack. The defence was marshalled by stylish Frenchman Jean Phillipe (Sacha Disdel to his friends) with unruffled not a hair out of place composure. In midfield our leggy Cape Verdian workhorse Paulo won everything in the air and resembled Patrick Viera at his best. Mingoya junior didnt win anything in the air but flicked the ball about cunningly and BB ran about a lot and hoofed balls up-field a lo ingles. And you know what? The worm turned, the mouse roared and the dog had its day, all in the space of a 15-minute hat trick by the man with the iron leg. Each goal was a poem, worthy of a loftier stage than the Bierzo league of friends. The rancheros, shell-shocked, began to argue amongst themselves, the ref, thinking of his Sunday lunch, decided to blow up 5 minutes early and the happy aluminium boys trooped off the pitch with beaming smiles wondering how they possibly could have gone 5 months without a win.
Final score; Aluminium Boys 3 El Rancho 0
Man of the match; the man with the iron leg.
Days like this make me realize that football is and always will be my first love and that running provides an honest substitute for my impending middle age. Running is individualistic, introspective, idiosyncratic and many other polysyllabic adjectives beginning with i. You ask yourself a thousand times why you do it and never come up with a truly satisfying answer. Football on the other hand is an uncomplicated game for social animals. Its about teamwork and about having a bit of a laugh and it only takes up a couple of hours on a Sunday morning. Running (or perhaps I should say marathon running) consists of lonely, unimaginably hard 20-milers, painstaking pre-dawn plods and rewards that sometimes only you are aware of. Football meanwhile is all about two halves and putting it into the back of the net and remember, it only takes a moment to score a goal so, over here mate on me ead PUT IT IN THE MIXER!!! Complicated it aint and when youve won 3-nil, well. Youve won 3-nil havent you?
Speaking on behalf of all those about to taper, this place sounds pretty darned inviting.
'In all the Bierzo one eats well, but Molinaseca, is does not go more. In its restaurants and inns we can taste all the berciana gastronomy like botillo, the inlays, the "chichos", cured meat, lacón, androlla, the diverse ones empanadas, the roasted peppers, the red meats, the lamb and the cabrito, the trouts, the fish of river, the berciano broth, the vegetables and vegetables of its orchards or the squid to the berciana.
And to enjoy desserts: almendrados, spirals, roscones, the chestnuts roasted and in syrup, the reineta apple cake, the bittersweet higos in syrup and, the cheeses. And all accompanying by the good berciano wine and the different types from brandies.
We do not forget that one of the rooted traditions more is to visit the numerous warehouses and to taste bercianos wines. The municipality comprises of the zone of production of six products that excel by their quality: the wine, the reineta apple, the pepper, botillo, the cured meat and the pear.'
[SIZE="1"]Translation courtesy of the good people at Babel Fish[/SIZE]
Good for Eric Von IronLeg - another great aspect of playing footie is making a taunting opposition eat humble pie - and lots of it. Your reports make me yearn for the halcyon days of ralgex, neoprene and Sunday mornings at the Dripping Pan, home of Lewes FC and very occasionally the mighty Kingston Kestrels, a veritable band of Sussex strollers who, to a man, had absolutely no aptitude for the game whatsoever, yet had more fun than was strictly allowed.
I clearly remember one rain-soaked match where we'd taken a fearful beating - something like 8 - nil down with 5 minutes to go. We won a corner which I took and my fellow centre-half buried in their net with a bullet header. We ran the length of the pitch, all ten outfield players, and swallow-dived into the mudbath that was our own goal area as if we'd won the FA Cup.
We got a severe bollocking from the manager - his wife had to wash the kit.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
Isn't it amazing (and at the same time reassuring) that with all our technological wizardry a computer is still hopelessly incapable of translating a language.:p
Molinaseca is a magical little place on the Santiago pilgrim route. It's also perhaps the village in Bierzo with most bars (most of them "bodegas") and there are 3 or 4 excellent little restaurants.
Imagine a pre-season friendly for the the 2006-7 season. Aluminium boys v Kingston Kestrels followed by "la ruta de los vinos" down the ridiculously narrow Molinaseca high street....an impossible dream?
Why do I unconsciously reach for the slight swelling that still protrudes from just underneath my ever-receding hairline whenever I pass the village pitch of Molinaseca F.C.? When I last played there several years ago I clashed heads with one of the Capello brothers. At that time half the team consisted of Capello brothers, each one of them as hard as re-enforced concrete. The oldest Capello was team captain and he only had one arm. As local legend goes he was an ex-legionnaire and hed lost it while mishandling a hand grenade. I only discovered this when on indulging in a sneaky spot of shirt tugging (when in Rome ) I grappled at an empty sleeve and nearly ripped the fellows shirt off.
But I think it was the youngest of the Capello brothers that I clashed heads with. Id dived into the six yard box as the ball came over from a corner and made contact just below my left temple. But not with the ball. My first instinct was to apologize, half visualizing his big brother rearing up with a hand grenade. But Capello junior seemed blissfully unaware that any clash of heads had occurred at all and instead winced at me asking has your head always been like that?
That was when I discovered the huge tennis ball sized lump and for some reason my first thought was of John Hurt in Alien. The lump seemed to be growing and I half expected a slimy, throbbing extraterrestrial to explode from my swollen head. I half expected top thespian John Hurt himself to pop out and take up position on the left wing. Panicking at the sheer size of the bulge I charged off the pitch, out of the ground and straight into the first bar along Molinasecas narrow main street (in search of ice and not a stiff drink). The sight of the elephant man in full football kit brought out a cry of hostia from one of the old fellows playing cards. Their grimacing faces as they all downed cards and turned to look at me made me even more nervous. A plastic bag full of ice cubes seemed to quell my amazingly expanding head. Then a quick visit to the local hospital followed where I was prescribed with some anti-inflammatories and Rosana was told to wake me up every 2 hours that night just in case.
So, 5 or 6 years later I returned to the Molinaseca stadium, the only one in the league with seating (or rather, a crumbling concrete terrace). And this time I vowed not to go up for any corners. Not difficult as it turned out. We didnt get any.
Cast a wary glance at their lot during the pre-match warm-up in search of any hard-headed Capello brothers and counted only 2 of them. Wild boar hunting Capello brother and one-armed legionnaire Capello brother were missing. Our own aluminium boys were also somewhat depleted in numbers due to a Cape Verdean wedding. This forced the venerable Mingoya senior to play in goal. Is there no limit to this mans versatility?
And last weeks win proved to be another false dawn. We were 4 down by half time and although the man with the iron leg scored a cracker later on, the final score reflected fairly on a one-sided contest.
Molinaseca 6 Aluminium boys 1
Footnote; And finally, just as our heroes pound the streets of Paris and Zurich in search of marathon glory I was woken up this morning by the typically Spanish sound of some 2000 bagpipes all playing at the same time. Apparently in the park up the road is the second phase of the 17th Galician tournament of bagpipe playing. Bloody noise! Its not just Molinaseca that gives me headaches.
El Impacto 2006-2007.
No, this isnt the name of some dodgy 80s Spanish heavy metal band on tour. The aluminium factory gave up on us as a lost cause and this season we had new sponsors which meant new shirts and a wacky new name El Impacto F.C.
El Impacto is in fact a bar so were now officially a pub team. (Arent they all?)
Last season wed played in the Brazil strip evoking images of Pele, Zico, Ronaldinho, La Copa cabana and jogo bonito. We finished bottom but one.
This season weve changed the shorts from blue to green. Now think Norwich City. Think Robert Fleck, Delia Smith, The Norfolk Broads, Bernard Matthews and his flu-infested turkeys. An obscure English second division outfit is more in line with the robust, up-and-under style of football we play. In fact we ended up playing a lot better as Norwich City and even won a few games. There were historic victories against the intriguingly named Spartak Villafranquino and against the quarrymen of Puente Domingo Florez. And although we lost our final game of the season this morning wed already achieved some sort of mid table respectability. http://www.veteranosbierzo.com/clasificacion.php
My own personal tally for 2006-7 has been 3 goals which for a striker is a bit on the crap side. Two goals were tap-ins and the third was a wicked deflection which went in off my chin and left me unable to chew for a couple of days. I called it my Jimmy Hill moment. I suspect nobody understood what I was on about.
The team photo is the team photo of a Sunday league side just about anywhere. From Bilston to El Bierzo. Ill miss the footie now back to the running.
3 goals in one season? Please come for a trial with QPR -- you sound like just the kinda striker we love...
I hope you get back into running BB. I'm astonishingly keen at the moment. I've had Los Aquilianos 08 tatooed onto my wife's bottom to remind me where I need to be next year.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
andy Wrote:3 goals in one season? Please come for a trial with QPR -- you sound like just the kinda striker we love...
I hope you get back into running BB. I'm astonishingly keen at the moment. I've had Los Aquilianos 08tatooed onto my wife's bottom to remind me where I need to be next year.
Was that the climax to the premiership season you spent in the pub Andy . . . or the whole darned season?*
3 goals in a season eh?
Manchester City fans have wet dreams about your kind of talent BB
[SIZE="1"]* I suspect that your good lady, as mine, has better things to do than read this rubbish. Still . . . [/SIZE]
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
