THE SECRET WORLD OF THE AMATEUR FOOTBALLERS ...

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What secret world, I hear you all shout. Well let's start with the shout, the AFs can shout very loud usually at referees, opposing players, managers, own players, babies, dogs, the telly, in fact they love shouting.

It's good for you shouting, "clears yer lungs," they all bellow, and it's no good asking if that theory has been medically proved, because they'll only bellow louder at you e.g. "what are you on about, you swallowed a dictionary or something, you sound like a student," hysterical laughter. The mere mention of the word student, sends the AFs into convulsions, you see they're deeply suspicious of "those brainy, mingebag bastards" probably because they spend their money on books and are clever and don't like football.

 

Money, now it costs a lot to be a dedicated Amateur footballer. Boots; got to be a good pair. There is a thriving black market in football boots especially German ones. The AFs are probably under the impression that they can be good players (which a lot of them are not) like "David Peckham" if they can get the latest Adidas model on they're deformed tootsies.

 

Shin-pads imperative if you are to have a long career on the immaculate pitches. A large sports bag to carry other extra's such as liniment (that smelly stuff), Sunday papers, oranges, chewing gum, nudie books, hammer to knock pegs for the net in, and anyone else who gets funny. Now you're ready.

 

The most boring part of all the rituals is the actual game, apart from the token hard men (a necessity to any team) squaring up to each other and all twenty two players, at one point slagging the ref, the poor man.

 

The managers, (after watching Match of the Day the night before) start shouting out their coaching instructions, e.g. "jockey him," "give him some options" "Let's do the Business." Unfortunately the coaching manual goes out the window when things are not going your particular way, and the age old cry of break his [******]' legs goes up. As you may have gathered, some people get really involved in this game.

 

After the game they are all mates again and troop off to the ale-house with those big bulky bags that get in everyone elses way. Why do they carry those massive bags with them anyway. Sometimes it's like being in the hundred metre hurdles, when you are trying to go the bog, and the AFs never move their precious bags out of the way.

 

They just sit there, have one orange juice then it's twelve brown bitters and the after- match inquest which usually leads on to soap operas. Soap operas, (especially ‘enders) are a popular topic with the AFs. Everyone is having a spiffing time then somebody standing nearby (probably a student Ed) mentions Panorama and they a growl. Panorama and documentaries of any sort are frowned upon by the AFs, in fact they hate programmes like that.

 

As you may have gathered the ale-house has been taken over, they are past masters at this, the worst occasion being when the match is called off. The Saturday afternoon variety are the worst offenders. (In the main there are two factions of the AFs the Saturday mob and the Sunday mob, but they are nearly all the same bunch any way, the word is fanatics).

 

They come in, put those massive bars down again, and the cry goes up, "put the racing on." Around this time it would be wise to stay away from the juke box, otherwise your eardrums will be assaulted by those loud shouts of "turn that [******]' jukie down, we can't hear the racing commentary. "

 

That's another thing, they never put the juke-box on, preferring to fill the fruit machines up, and buy endless packets of crisps and those disgusting pork-scratchings.

 

The AFs always manage to get a stay behind, and after more and more ale goes down, the other great tradition begins, t'name me 18 players who played for west ham and arsenal with four or less letters in their surnames, they've all got red hair and have at one time or another ran for the presidency of the United States of America, yes you've guessed it, the football questions.

 

Questions are fired thick and fast, and the thing is nobody ever admits defeat, and says "I give in, tell me the answer/answers. All night vies are held until the answer is found. It's very confusing to the ordinary layman because somebody will answer a question asked two hours previous, and immediately everyone will sit back and say as one, "that's rights, that's his name, the little feller who played for Middlesborough." Then the heads will go back down in an at- tempt to answer the other thousands of questions posed, but at the same time, each member of the AFs will be trying to think of a really difficult question himself. You gain a certain amount of respect if you ask a really tricky one, in fact many years ago a trophy was given thus inscribed, "awarded for asking the most difficult question, in the afternoon session, at the Duke of malborough."

 

After being out all day, it's time to head for the chippy. All AFs never go to a club in the night time, "they're all last" , pie dinner men is how you could describe them. It's around this time the last spot the ball will be pulled out, "all the money goes to the club," is the well rehearsed line.

 

Strangely enough a pile of two-bobs and shillings are produced to pay for the pie dinner after the last spot the ball number goes. It's a wonder any spot the balls are left at this late hour, because they are usually sold/fostered on to people earlier in the night. People are sometimes bullied or even embarrassed into 'having a go' as it's called.

 

Here's a typical incident "come on mate, having or what" if the answer is no, the nice tone of voice will turn to "What, you mingebag, you've just changed a fiver there." This is all done under the watchful eye of the mass ranks of Amateur foot- ballers, who laugh dead loud (as only they can) when yet again someone else is bullied into having a go on the spot. More often than not the winner of the spot is a member of the AFs "oh how lucky I am," he will exclaim. The thing is though, that you can't challenge these loud laughing, massive, bag carrying chaps, because it implies you are a mingebag bothering over 10p. And secondly if you pursue the matter further, you are likely to be confronted by hard-man of the team, which is not a favourable position to be in.

 

Another good time to go amateur football spotting is Sunday night, possibly the only night they actually leave their bags at home. Always smartly turned out on a Sunday, i.e. Peter Powell jumpers, cord pegs, polished Italian shoes, immaculately groomed hair and many a witty story to be bawled across the ale-house.

 

They now assume an even greater air of authority, shouting out their theories, on such diverse topics, as Britain's foreign policy in Central America, or the worsening situation in the Zimbabwe,

 

Ah well, I think we should leave these dedicated chaps alone, leaving them to loan out Eagles live LPs and swop Kung Fu Videos, after all, who are we to pry into other peoples lives?