OTFC Is v Old Sedcopians IIs, Saturday 04 February 2017
OTFC Is 1 – 3 Old Sedcopians IIs
Joe Matthews 1
MOTM – Alan Hutchenson
The Old Tiffinian touring party gathered under the Waterloo clock like a huddle of hopeless romantics re-enacting a moment from Brief Encounter. Youllie, with a rose between his teeth and a black Americano in hand, denied rumours of a raging hangover and helped himself to Kuldeep Grewal’s inexplicable range of eastern delicacies. Apparently Eden Hazard swears by a lamb kofta and some sweaty calamari before any big game. There is no better fuel for a nauseating, trans-metropolitan commute than a stuffed olive and excited speculation about the return of one ‘Gorgeous Alan.’ “I’ve literally never been in a game where he hasn’t scored…” they said, with no regard for the ill-fortune these words would bestow on the young buck.
What followed, on the turf of New Eltham, was much huffing and puffing and a crippling lack of quality all round.
A fat man misplaced a pass. A leaden-footed midfielder failed to close. An even fatter man put enormous strain on his own Achilles tendon. A heavy-set left-back chose not to wallop a football. A ginger boy apologised. We reminded each other of what was important. “Can everybody please just look at Alan?” said one. “I’d almost forgotten how graceful he is…” added a teammate. Joe Matthews scored a goal. He would describe it later. “Once, in 2013, I won man of the match in East London after playing in goal.” He would add. Some would nod. Some would stare in to space. Others would mock. ‘I made a save.’ He would say. He would be ignored again.
The purps wallowed in their new found optimism at the turn – the 2-1 deficit could be overturned. Or so they thought. Steve Hung appeared tired after a long drive. Keiren did some step overs. Youllie neglected his overlapping duties. Fuse huffed. Danny Leech puffed. Alan did his best to blow the little piggies house down. It was not to be. After two flicked headers Seb’s net was bulging once again. He chose not to apologise or to kick his post – to the disdain of the back four. 3-1. Game over.