VIEWS FROM THE CHAIR
May 2010
The Official Retirement
I’m retiring. Officially.
When I say “officially”, I look at others who have retired only to find themselves answering a call at half 11 on Saturday which begins “we’ve only got 10, we’re desperate…” before digging out mould infested boots and heading down to the ground for a game.
This isn’t intended to be me making a big meal of this, something I tended to do with one of my all too infrequent saves, but I was thinking about my “official” retirement the other day and reminiscing about my experiences playing for the Old Josephians.
As some of you have pointed out in the past, I do have quite a sizeable head. This does store quite a lot of information, so I am able to recall a lot of what has happened over the years rather accurately. I thought I might share some of that with you if you’re interested in reading.
Anyway, it was November the 4th 1989, during season 1989/1990 that I made my debut.
To give an idea of how long ago that was, Millwall had just been promoted to the “old” First Division for the first (and still only) time in the top flight in their history. Margaret Thatcher was still a year away from resigning as Prime Minister and Tony Maguire had just paid for a cab without doing a runner.
I was still at St Joseph’s at the time, in GCSE year, a mop of black hair and weighing in well under 16 stone, when the OJFC captain of the then 3rd team, a fella called Guy Darby contacted the school and asked them if the school goalkeeper, “the best you have”, could play for the Old Boys that weekend.
By a quirk of fate which would change my life forever I am sure, the best goalkeeper in the school wasn’t available.
Saturday was the day his Mum used to take him to “Fat Skills School” on Saturdays. FSS for those of you who don’t remember was a sort of 1980s Weight Watchers for clinically obese kids who also had serious co-ordination problems. The idea was to get the rotund school custodian to shift a load of weight at the same time as enabling him to perform simple tasks such as throwing and catching.
So as he wasn’t about, the message was passed to me instead.
I didn’t have a clue who these “Old Boys” were, so asked the opinion of one of the PE Teachers. He told me not to bother playing for them and gave me a list of reasons from; “you have exams coming up”, to “concentrate on playing for your Sunday team” and the best one of all which was “well, the last I heard they were dog shit anyway…”.
Going against his advice, and missing out on going to Stamford Bridge to see Millwall lose 4-0 (which is how I could trace the exact date of this game), I went along to Bel Air in Dulwich which was the home ground back then, not far from Southbank where we play now.
In the side that day were some real OJFC Legends; Paul “Reg Hollis” Donohue, Brian “The Iron” Kilpatrick, Tony Maguire and a bloke called Gary “Goals” Lawrence. A diminutive figure who had one of those ironic nicknames, because I don’t recall him scoring. I suppose a bit like the character “Little John” in Robin Hood, “Trigger” from Only Fools and Horses or even Dan “Smiler” Frewing.
We lost the game 5-2, the highlight of which being a 40 yard volley into the top corner by my centre half. Unfortunately this was in the days of back passes and that was what he had intended it as. I was stood on the edge of my box at the time and watched it whistle over my head. That was in the days when I came off my line, of course.
I played out the rest of that season when Millwall were away and went straight into the first pre-season game the following year. By this stage I was 16, curly hair grown in all the right places, though still not too sure about having a shower after the game (a bit like half of the current 2nd XI) and thought I could handle my drink.
We played away to Dorking Police in the shadow of Box Hill. Beat them 3-0 and went straight to their bar after the game for hospitality. Given my age, I shouldn’t have been in the bar at all, let alone surrounded by a load of Surrey Plod. It had been a hot day though, I’d kept a clean sheet and as it was only 85p a pint in their subsidised bar. I knocked back 5 pints in just over an hour before getting in the back of Matt Frewing’s jeep for the journey back.
The drink had kicked in by this stage, cue a succession of “moonies” all the way up the A3 at passing female motorists. If we’d had had a tug from the Police and they’d asked how and where I’d got so tanked up they never would have believed it.
It was then back to the White Hart up at the Palace, the OJFC drinking hole of choice. It was a proper pub back then, not a wank gastro pub that sells strawberry lager, organic parsnip crisps and has clientele called Sebastian and Jennifer. You know the type.
Oh no. This was a proper pub.
A choice of Castlemaine XXXX or McKewans on tap, a juke box that played Yazz and Plastic Population – ‘The Only Way Is Up, Bayabeeee’ - and slightly unattractive bar maids that looked like they might’ve been picked up by their ankles and dipped in acid, head first, before coming on shift.
Unfortunately I didn’t see out the night as I was outside being sick within half an hour of arriving back from Dorking. Even sadder, I didn’t even get a phone number off one of the bar maids.
Instead, I was taken home, by bus and dumped on my doorstep by my guardian Angel, Donny. Not your average or ordinary looking Angel, but a debt which I will always owe him. Thanks again, Donny.
I stopped playing for the Old Jo’s the season after this as I got a Saturday job. That and the fact the drinking they all did afterwards was taking its toll and I didn’t think it was a good idea to have a beer gut before my 17th birthday.
I even remember one of the players from back then being such a fan of Kronenbourg, he once confided in me he had to have 1664 as his PIN code as it was the only number he could remember.
Anyway, thinking I was perhaps a bit better than I was, I went off and played for a number of other clubs for the next 12/13 years or so, played in the FA Cup preliminaries a few times and even got paid a few quid in expenses for my trouble. I was even at one club that gave me an extra pound for a clean sheet, though I don’t remember seeing that bonus too often.
It had always been in the back of my mind, though, that I’d come back and play for my “old” team. I still knew a lot of the characters either from my time at school, from playing for the club before or because they were notorious local drunks. The likes of Agey Boy, Michael Lea, Donny, Dougie Chapman, Matt and Dan Frewing, Liam Boyle, Nick O’Donnell, Dave Carbin, Matt Griffin, Tony Phipps. You can work out for yourself who fitted into what category.
Upon coming back I found there had been a few changes. The first team was run by “Smiler” Frewing, with the assistance of Brian Tivnan. I’m not sure now, it may have been the other way round. In fact, I don’t think either of them were sure who was running it and who was the assistant.
Being a teacher at St Jo’s, Brian had brought through quite a few pupils into the side and one of my first games back involved a handful of older heads with a mixture of “yoofs”. We won the game comprehensively but unfortunately some of the yoofs didn’t see eye to eye with our opponents. Instead of the traditional handshakes and “three cheers” with the opposition, as I’d been used to all those years previously, one of our players thought it would be better to see if he could tighten the nuts of one of the other players with a steel wheel brace he kept handy under the driver’s seat of his car.
Old Jo’s has never been that sort of club. We didn’t see him again.
When Brian Tivnan moved back to Ireland to pursue a new career as an Eddie Izzard impersonator, I was left with the job of First Team Captain. Not an easy job and hats off to all of those who do or have done this in the past. Highlight of the season was reaching the Old Boys Cup Final. Such was the excitement among players and supporters, we hired a coach from the Railway Bell, the now well established pub for post-match drinks, and as a way to ensure we had a full house, offered a return journey at just £5.00 per person. To include drinks.
To say this offer was embraced with open arms would not do it justice. A couple of the regulars, the landlord Scouse Pete included, used it as a means of transportation for the Fulham Liverpool game they had tickets for that day and which was taking place near to where the final was being played in Barnes. The opposition could scarcely believe it when we turned up, in the pissing wind with 50 odd fans in tow.
Sadly, we lost the final 3-1, though thanks to the all inclusive booze-coach trip offer not many of our fans actually realised that, or cared. Who can blame them? So excited were a couple of our fans at this ridiculously good offer, they enjoyed themselves so much they thought they were on a South London version of the Rio Carnival and didn’t actually make it back from Barnes till the Monday morning.
That’s not to say all of our football was restricted to these shores. I was fortunate on returning to the club that Nick O’Donnell was good enough to organise end of season football tours, which I am pleased to say I was ever-present on. “Eastern European flesh pot for a kick about” was the overriding theme; Prague, Budapest, Bratislava, Tallinn and Krakow. I was there.
I say it was a football tour, frankly the football got in the way and in this sense we were very poor. However, the belly laughs, banter and piss taking levels were of the highest order.
My favourite ever quote from these came from Dave Carbin when we got onto the minibus outside Budapest Airport. The curtains were pulled on the minibus and as I was first on was confronted by a “Stewardess” (because you get Stewardesses on mini-buses all the time, don’t you?).
This trolley dolly was a bit different to the ones on Ryan Air as she was scantily clad in a chain link bikini and was dishing out cans of lager as we got on. Dave, who certainly knows one end of a can of lager from another, got on and sat next to me.
“I’m a bit worried”. Dave says to me,
“Why’s that Dave?” I enquired.
“Because” he replied, holding up his 5% proof vessel of Hungarian beer “I noticed this can of lager before I noticed the bird”.
So I am calling an end to it, officially at least. The main reason I came back to play after all those years was the level of banter I could enjoy with the lads, before, after and more often than not, during games.
So often would I wake up the morning after a game, having been in the pub since 5 on my settee not feeling too well. One particular morning I woke up in this state and thought I’d gone blind as I couldn’t see a thing.
“I’ve gone blind” I shouted to no one in particular.
After a minute or two of wondering how I was going to cope the rest of my life not being able to see, I realised I had a kebab on my head. What a result, not only was I not blind, but there sat in my hand was my breakfast.
Now some of the more generous amongst you might say, “don’t do it you’re retiring too early” while others might think “leave off Mac, you’ve hung around longer than a DFS Sale, now do one”.
Well I am hanging me Turtle Doves up. Thanks to all of those who have played alongside me, to Agey Boy Nick and Matt Griffin for their hard work, to those who toured with me, endured my awful gags, put me in a cab when needed. Above all thanks for the football and the laughs.
In the words of Brian Tivnan “now that’s banter”.
Fellow Josephians, I salute you!
Thanks for reading!
Best regards,
Macca