Old dudes playing soccer

The high plains of Seddon #3 was the battleground for an epic encounter between two over 35 heavyweights. Both teams looked heavier than usual. Diets had obviously been cast aside in favour of beer, chips and steak. More to love. Glenfield looked a bit hairier and heavier than Go Feet to be fair, a midfield consisting of some Game of Thrones extras, a big bad bald tattooed striker that looked like he should be playing bass for Metallica, and a defensive four of fearsome looking Uruk-hai Orcs. Go Feet tried not to be intimidated. There was a tangible atmosphere of determination in the changing room, the sweaty scent of anticipation. Or maybe that was just nervous flatulence. It was a must-win game for Go Feet whose season had been underwhelming so far. The star-studded side had been playing like one-legged Mongol zombies from the icy wastelands of Laurasialand where football is frowned upon as being a decadent whimsy. And Glenfield were top of the table. Could Go Feet vanquish the Northern vagabonds and claw their way back up the table? Or would the hairy troglodytes beat these handsome heroes on their own patch.

Go Feet had Intensity from the start, bumper boat Richie crashing around, doing damage in the midfield. Guile, pace, stylish haircuts and cutting witticisms from Dazza and Stef up front. Uncompromising solidity from the twin towers at the back and a finally fit Neil showing his class in the playmaker role. The early exchanges were cut and thrust, both sides feeling each other out, probing for weakness but wary of making any mistakes.

Glenfield were no mugs and the longer it stayed at 0-0, their confidence grew. Tension filled the air like evil green swamp gas. Their heavy metal striker put himself about, causing chaos wherever he went. Other opposition had scored early against us then built a wall which Go Feet found hard to break down, so it was with great relief our own balding striker, super-sub Simon glanced a header home from a wicked Richie cross. Simon hadn't worked up a sweat yet, but he had shaved the stubble on his head into a velvety sheen. Just the right amount of friction on his noggin to accurately direct the lotto match ball we pinched off the 1st team last year.

Half time, 1-0 up and wise words from Dad filled us with determination. Glenfield came at us with barbarian ferocity, but Go Feet held firm. Good work down the left and Richie got the ball on the edge of the box, he wisely ignored Camdenzo's desperate decoy run and slammed it home for 2-0. The hordes of fans hooted with delight, it must have been feeding time for the Howler monkeys at the zoo across the road.

Glenfield were broken but not vanquished. As they surged forward it was up to Dazza to land the killer blow. Running all the way from right back where witnesses claimed he actually made a tackle! Photographic evidence will be required to justify these wild claims but Dazza embarked on a weaving run down the wing, beating his man then turning around and beating him again, just because he can, then finishing from a typically tight angle. Classic Dazza.

The marauders from the North were walking wounded by the end and Go Feet happy to keep their sheets spotless in a comfortable 3-0 win. The children, pets and long-suffering wives/girlfriends/boyfriends can rest easy tonight. But is the old unbeatable Go Feet back? Who knows where the football rollercoaster will take us next? It will take us to Birkenhead! that's where. Come on Go Feet!