Dad gave me a lift to Cardigan Park. It was my first match in five weeks and there were queues to get in. I found Robert, Carol and Lynne already in the Shed.
The match started at a flaccid, lethargic pace, with Athletic fannying about in midfield, giving the ball away, punting up into the air, looking slow, jaded and non-committal. Stavington Green, in all blue, were fierce but unwilling to venture out of their half most of the time and as Athletic piled on the pressure, we watched the distant, frantic figures lunging, falling, and flailing up at the Wellington Lane end. But the ball always seemed to meet someone’s boot, the post or the goalie and just would not go in. We could scarcely believe it.
After half time the match degenerated into frustrating and boring ‘up and unders’ and structureless, inept football, with no one really on top. Although Stavington Green pressed forward and at times looked quite dangerous it ended 0-0. I felt a tight angry knot inside. Frustration.
Andrew rang in the evening. Dad, in response to the recent schoolkids ‘riots’ at a few Yorkshire schools due to the teachers’ industrial action: “I know, it’s old fashioned, but it’s true: Satan’s abroad in this country, affecting every level.”
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