People Have No Idea Of The Dedication Required To Warm The Bench.......

If you‘re team's got more than eleven players then somebody's just going to have to be substitute. Now a lot of people will try and tell you that if you’re stuck on the bench then you’re wasting your time. Well, I’m here to tell you that's all a load of old rot. Now take it from me, you won’t get the full benefits of being a substitute if you’re just some Johnny-come-lately, sitting on the bench once or twice a month. You have to be dedicated. Then slowly, game after game, month after month you can learn some valuable lessons. And I should know, because when I was fourteen I was a substitute, for an entire season.


I remember that cold January wind like it was yesterday. And why wouldn't I? It was a memorable day. The gaffer took me to one side in the changing rooms, asking if I'd brought my football boots. I was glad that not having played for the last eight straight games hadn't destroyed the motor neurones required to put the only piece of equipment required to play football in my kit bag. Had I got my boots? Do bears shit it in the woods?


The gaffer told me to give them to Michael Edwards. The little scamp had only gone and forgotten to bring his. No sooner had those words left his lips my heart sank and for a terrible moment my confidence was crushed. Embarrassment and shame engulfed my very being. I can’t convey how delighted I was when I realised that yes, I’d given my size six Pumas a damn good polishing during the week. I couldn’t imagine how humiliating it would be to hand over my filthy boots to a fellow player. Michael Edwards had forgotten his boots and as far as I was concerned he didn’t deserve to wear them, not if they were muddy.

I may not have played that day, but nobody could deny that I’d made a valuable contribution. And it wasn’t as if I never featured in games. I remember badgering my parents to come and watch. My persistence culminated in them witnessing a cameo appearance away to Stubbington. Our seven goal lead may have led many to conclude that the game as a contest was over by the time I was introduced to the field of play, but I still like to think that I contributed to the victory. More than that, I was just glad I didn’t let my parents down in the three seconds I played that day.

I mean, anyone can become a first team regular, expressing themselves in a game that allows the individual to totally forget the inhibitions that haunt their everyday life, but being substitute, week after week, game after game, offers so much more. What with your self esteem being shattered, you barely notice the assistant manager stamping all over your brand new Adidas torsions. But he doesn't do it because he hates you. Hell, no. It's just that he's a hopeless alcoholic who loathes not only himself but also his very own miserable life, held together by an endless stream of desperately poor decisions that he’ll no doubt continue to make until his dying day.


And what better way to help him cope with the realisation that he will see out the Autumn of his days accompanied only by acute liver disease, than letting him intentionally tread mud into the finely threaded white canvass of your trainers. Once the season drew to a close we had our annual end of season do. And I'll tell you for nothing that nobody else walked away with a five inch plastic footballer stood on a wooden plinth. No they didn’t. Don’t tell me being a substitute is a waste of time. Hello, managers player of the year anyone? Yeah, of course you’re always going to get the cynics. People saying that the manager felt guilty about leaving me to rot on the sideline for an entire season, even though many of the games where won by half time. Well, whenever I’m faced with these slurs, I only have to gaze into the empty stare of the plastic statue still stood on that wooden plinth. I rest my case.

The rumours are true....

Well, just got back from Burridge's first pre-season get together and I just have to say how great it was to see the guys again. None more so than Lee Fielder. Back in the late nineties before he broke his leg, Lee was a regular little goal machine in the Southampton League. And by jolly, he was so fast. Let me tell you there was more to his game than just out pacing the last defender and scoring goal after goal. He'd work his socks off too for the team too.

Take it from me, you really wouldn't want to be a full-back when Lee Fielder's on the opposition. God help you if you're dithering in possession of the ball because he'll hunt you down like a dog with his selfless running. Burridge gaffer Pete Lyons put us through our paces as the rain fell down in icy sheets. It kind of reminded me of some of the desperately inadequate showering facilities us park level players are faced with.

You know how it is, you've put in a hell of a shift in at centre back, which incidentally, isn't your favourite position. Not that you're going to complain. Truth be told, you couldn’t if you wanted to, what with lungs feeling like they’re on fire. So you clean yourself up. Off to a six foot square shower room shared by anything up to six teams, who've been sliding around on pitches littered with dog shit. Don't tell me that football's glamorous.

Now I know I should have been paying better attention to Rich Allan who I was supposed to be marking, but what with the heavy showers and the presence of Lee Fielder I got sidetracked. Now listen up, because what I’m about to say to you comes from a 100% card carrying heterosexual. I know I may have got a few of you asking questions during my crimpled maroon flare days, but if you think Fielder's got it going on in the game, you should check him out in the changing rooms. I mean sheesh, is Fielder seriously hung or what. Damn, I’ve seen smaller dangs at the Grand National. That’s right girls, in those shorts lurks a monster.

Sure, Lee’s had a few conquests over the years, and frankly my mind boggles at those poor girls who probably had no idea what they were in for. What with him being only five six and having pretty small hands, there’s really very little evidence to suggest what’s hidden in those pants of his. So girls, if you’re reading this, yes - the rumours are true. Take it from me, if it’s that big while flaccid after being suffocated to death in cycling shorts over ninety minutes, God knows what size it’s going to get to when he's running the full gun through you.

I'm not being funny, but....

Not long now before the start of another new football season. You’re burning your fingers on the very fag end of youth and by the time that first game kicks off you’ll be looking back over your shoulder at the period of life known as your twenties. When you hit the big three-zero, getting pissed out of your mind on a school night ceases to be the actions of a young man living life in the true spirit of rock ‘n’ roll and instead becomes the lonely descent into alcoholism by a sad bastard. Or so you’ve been told, but does that bother you? No it does not.

Everything in life has turned out just fine. Had you been asked five years ago where you’d wanted to be in the summer of 2008, it’s fair to say that you may not have said working in the high flying world of specialist recruitment. Where people who don’t meet their targets are shuffled out the door to rot, but that’s life - always full of surprises. Okay, it’s the kind of profession that a few years ago you would have said was reserved for only the most depraved scum sucking capitalist whores. But hey ho. Morals and ideals aren’t going to pay the rent are they, Mother Teresa?

Of course you still have your friends, although you haven‘t seen much of them lately. What you have to realise is that they have their own lives. Their garden fences aren’t going to creosote themselves. You could tell for yourself that they've done a fine job on the garden, when you peered over the brick wall through the trellis panels, seeing them laughing and joking with tall drinks in their hands. Without you. I'm sure they'll call you soon. Of course you’re too polite to flag this up, you’ve matured, (you have grey hair). You’ve moved on financially as well, (instead of the one crippling credit card debt, now there’s three). Not to mention you’re free and single, (lost and alone in a pit of self loathing, hoping a painless death will save you from old age spent eating a diet of cut price baked beans in a badly heated bed-sit).

Not that you've been short of things to do during the close season. Thank goodness for the television. There was enough excitement in Turkey’s Euro 2008 games alone to at least delay the desperate feeling that eats away at you. Telling you that your entire life hasn't amounted to anything. Yep, you really can’t wait for the coming football season, because the number of seasons you have left are getting fewer in number, which can't be said of the amount of tears you cry into your pillow during those long nights.

Milk

On the morning preceding the Euro 2008 final between Germany & Spain, ITV commentary duo Clive Tyldesley and Jim Beglin discuss Mark Sanderson’s performance during Hillyfields’ 10’o’clock training session.

CT: His performance has been a bit flat, hasn’t it Jim.
JB: As a pancake.
CT: Do you think it’s got anything to do with those milk cocktails he put away last night?
JB: That or the eight pints beforehand.
CT: Sanderson’s usually so good with milk. He’s had it on his cereal for as long as I can remember and I don’t think he’s ever puked afterwards. Not once.
JB: Yeah, it’s a great record to be fair, Clive. His record with Cornflakes, Weetabix, even Ricicles has been second to none, but vodka at two-thirty is always a very unforgiving opponent.
CT: Ricicles?
JB: They’re exactly the same as Rice Krispies, Clive - just with a frosted sugar coating.
CT: Really?
JB: Yeah, they never really captured the public‘s imagination.
CT: Sanderson’s preparation hasn’t been ideal.
JB: No, you’re always going to struggle on three hours sleep.
CT: In hindsight do you think running to the Sports Centre was a good idea?
JB: No, It’s bad enough when you’re knocking on for thirty and you’re still going to the same old bars, when you wake up to retch down the toilet it’s a whole new low.
CT: He really is his own worst enemy some times.
JB: Yeah, but to be fair a shag was on.
CT: The chance was certainly there Jim, wasn’t it? He just didn’t seem to have belief to convert the chance.
JB: It was stonewall, Clive. He’s very good at giving it the big one, but when it comes to getting them home and getting them naked he’s not quite there.
CT: Overall impressions, Jim?
JB: Great promise, Clive. Just always fails to deliver in the big games.

Running - the jury's out.....

Hi guys, you are still my guys aren't you? Great! Just finished trying this new thing. It's called running. Wait a minute, how rude of me, I expect most of you haven't got the foggiest idea of what I'm talking about, have you Jay? Running is this thing like walking, just faster. Least it's supposed to be. I haven't really worked it out yet.

Now I just want to warn you, because you'll get alot of people, people like Scott Burnet - you know, science types with clip boards and a head full of crazy ideas. They'll try and tell you that 'running' is good for you. Now I'm all for puking, especially on Saturday & Sunday mornings. I've been doing it for years & years. Spending all my hard earned money on more & more booze I can scarcely afford let alone handle, then waking up and feeling like total shit.

That's the way I like to puke, alone and hunched down over the toilet bowl with nothing on but a cold sweat. I don't want to be doing it with shorts and trainers on, leaning over the metal railings of the kiddie's park, puking my ring up on the tarmac in front of young mothers, shielding the eyes of their innocent young from a scumbag. No, I've got myself a nice little miserable rut that I've worked bloody hard to nail down over the years.

So go ahead and knock yourself out, try running if you like. When you've finished, you'll feel like you've been on a big night out, just without the fun of the night before.

Don't try this at home

Daredevil Lee Fielder amazed colleagues with a narrow escape from a serious injury at Burridge’s first pre-season training session last night. In front of the rest of the squad, long term injury absentee Fielder, performed a stunt that had some Burridge players looking on in a state of total disbelief. With utter disregard for his safety, Fielder actually kicked a man-size leather football and somehow managed to walk away from the incident unscathed.

How Fielder has been able to live to tell this tale is a mystery. He’s tried such elaborate stunts before and they’ve ended badly. Doctors have diagnosed the problem, giving Lee a series of exercises that take all of five minutes per day to complete. But what with Lee’s busy schedule he’s been unable to get round to doing these.

Blessed with the taunt physique of a shop floor mannequin, but the knees and ankles of an arthritic donkey, Lee has not played many more games than David Busst over the last couple of years. When you consider that Buust packed playing in after snapping in two while playing for Coventry over ten years ago, you suddenly get the picture.

What with these things usually coming in threes, Burridge are now wondering if Greg Baker can go more than two minutes without telling anyone with a vagina that he's done a lot, and I mean a lot, of charity work with children, really sick ones who will almost certainly die. Or that Mark Sanderson may actually have sex. Although it's reported that Burridge are too preoccupied with this miracle at the moment. An unnamed source said, "It was amazing." Before continuing, "I’ve never seen anything as exciting as seeing a twenty-eight year old man kick a football without dying."

Let's get Physical....

Pre-season training starts on Tuesday 29th July. Last year Burridge trained down at Osbourne Road in Warsash, near to Burridge manager Pete Lyons' house. He's since moved to Hamble and the new training location's yet to be disclosed, although it's been reported that Pete has a reasonably sized garden for a five a side, after the squad have gone through their paces going up and down his stairs.

In the meantime, sometime Burridge right-back Jay Schwodler arranged for a gentle kick about at Burridge, kicking off at 7pm tomorrow night. Big Manchester United fan Jay said ,"It'd be good to have a kick about before the serious business begins."

This coincides with the Euro 2008 semi final, where Turkey take on Germany, but many Burridge players have already claimed not to be interested in the tournament. Afterall it's only a once in every four years tournament when the cream of Europe play for the pride of their country in shirts without sponsors, but people are busy, doing.....stuff.

And anyway, England aren't involved. Which is true, it is a semi-final. England haven't been involved in one of those for twelve years. Burridge will welcome back Lee Fielder, who's had a busy summer rearranging his Facebook page. Lee's been working hard taking photographs of himself, striving for moody poses that best make him look like a homosexual. The results have been good. He's hoping to double his appearances of the last couple of seasons and maybe play three games in 2008/2009. Also coming back to Burridge are Rich Allan and maybe even Kev Wiltshire, or if we're really lucky Kev Willsher. Shit, let's push the boat out, has anyone got Dave Gurd's number?