The Soche woke early in anticipation. “Is it on” rang through their keen minds. Also awake was JB, who was meant to be at rest. He blamed his insomnia on “jet lag”. Everyone knew however that he was longing be out there alongside his brethren.
Player/Manager Kenny was in charge of leading the squadron do the field of play, into the back of the van went the team. It was uncomfortable, but the Sochemen’s minds were focused on the task at hand. Taking on the enemy, Motspur Park Reserves.
The Soche arrived at the site of the upcoming battle. It was a dreary, wet and blustery day. The perfect conditions. The enemy was sighted, looking unorganised and disheveled. The Soche knew that they could not take anything for granted however, having suffered for doing exactly that in recent equally wet and blustery conditions. In addition, the Soche’s numbers were diminished, but had been reinforced by players from the equally mighty Real Shame.
As the whistle rang, the Soche started brightly. Motspur Park were more unprepared mentally than anyone thought was possible. After just 15 minutes, their young centre-back was already deserting his team. He took himself off, as “He’s injured”, “nah he’s knackered” was heard. He probably just needed another fag, because that’s what he immediately did when he went off.
Soon, the Soche were on top. Kenny sent Leach the Senior through on goal and the old head calmly slotted home. 1-0 to the Soche.
This seemed to spur on Motspur, who attempted more skillzies. Luckily for them though, the goal also allowed some complacency to creep into the Soche ranks. A break of some sort down the Merton left resulted in an odd shot. The shot then deflected out, somewhat luckily, to an open Motspur player. The good Reverend attempted to save the goal by launching his defensive partner into the way of said player, but the ball managed to squeeze through into the goal. 1-1 into halftime.
Words from the gaffer in the Soche’s ears was enough motivation to overcome this rag-tag bunch of youts. Merton started brightly and continued to dominate the match. The cross-bar rattled from an outside-the-box effort from Duffy. Absolute scenes. Were the Soche going to win this? Due to the deteriorating state of the mudflat, tiredness was setting in. In addition, the ref seemed to be dead-set on making constant frustrating decisions which disrupted the Soche’s rhythm.
However, the Soche were determined to overcome, and to win this match.
Capitalising on a shoddy mistake at the back for Motspur, Kenny stormed towards the opposition goal and smashed it home. 2-1.
Motspur’s response was to send on a diminutive striker with delusions of grandeur, as this tactic was working so well for the Soche ;) This did not go unnoticed, as the Cheen Warrior was quick to dispatch a volley of levellers towards this loud-mouthed likkle man.
The pressure was building as Motspur was chasing an equaliser, but Merton were standing strong. The injuries were taking it’s toll up front though, with the talismanic Kenny having to take himself off. Apparently he’d taken a firm one from a large bloke at work the week before (TMI).
Soon after, a long ball into the Motspur box was taken down expertly, and totally on purpose, by Dupee. The keeper was caught on his heels (or the mud) and was able to close down before the ball was again smashed into the back of the net. 3-1, and frustrations almost boiled over as Dupee had his face slapped.
In the end, Motspur were too busy chapeau-ing and teeth-kissing to threaten the mighty Soche any longer. A deserved victory was celebrated on and in the mud which encased the worn bodies of each of the Sochemen.