retired_sherri

Game 11 – Celje, Slovenia

I ordered Dave to drive south and head for Slovenia. Chris had managed to wangle an offer of a game from Italian team Triestina towards the end of the week, so it was my hope that we could find a club on the journey to fit another game in before. We made it across Austria fairly easily and our first stop was Graz. We pulled up outside the stadium, most notable for its previous name, the Arnold Schwarzenegger-Stadium. I went in and after getting to the right people was told in no uncertain terms that neither Sturm Graz nor Grazer AK would give us a game. I then enquired about the more important issue of could we use their toilets, they reluctantly agreed and were bemused at the 30 British men who descended into the reception area.

Back on the road we continued South into Slovenia and into the City of Maribor. Nestled among the hills it was another city with some glorious architecture, but my appreciation of the 12th century gothic cathedral was cut short as I was required to speak to an NK Maribor representative (the groundsman) who told me in broken English, “No football, No team, they gone away for training”. We were not having much luck.

So it was that in the early evening we spotted a football stadium with its floodlights on as we drove through the town of Celje heading for the capital Ljubljana. We were due a stop and it could do no harm to enquire. Chris and I snuck in through open gate and on the pitch was a team doing training drills. Chris approached them, negotiated the best language to speak was English, briefly told them what we were doing and then challenged them to game, seemed simple really. The manager ran over to another member of the coaching staff who ran down the tunnel appearing a minute later nodding his head. We had a game for the morning.

We left the team to battle with the tents once more as Chris and I spent the evening chatting with the porter, who insisted on buying us a drink once his shift had finished, of the hotel we had booked into. He told us that Celje is lovely place now, but it wasn’t too long ago that communism and the killings that surrounded it had torn the entire town apart, and still lingered bitter in many people’s mouths. As I fell asleep between the soft hotel sheets I was grateful of the relative ease and safety of travel in the modern world, and I prayed it did not get any more difficult or dangerous.

retired_sherri

v. NK CMC Publikum

The game looked fairly even to begin with Publikum firing a few warning shots across Ashton’s goal and King returning the favour with a long range effort that was beaten away. We then squandered a perfect opportunity to get on top. Some good closing down in midfield won us possession and the break was two on two, Jones ran goalwards only to fluff the shot entirely when a pass to Blinkhorn would have left him to slot into the empty net. We paid dear for that miss as a poor clearance in our own box from Swan allowed Gabor to put our hosts ahead. Swan’s woe continued as an attempted block at cross-shot deflected into our own net. Just to make sure I had my work cut out for half time our defence backed off, backed off and allowed Kozar to pick his spot to put us 3 behind at the break.

The second half we showed a better defensive performance but we didn’t see enough of the ball to create anything. Our defensive line was breached a final time on 71 minutes as Kozar reacted quickest to a through ball and with a touch of skill turned in the box and chipped the stranded Ashton, the ball falling into the far corner of the net. 4-0 the final score. I told the boys to keep their heads up and keep their compsure in front of goal, if we’d taken our chance to get ahead, who knows where it may have gone.

NK CMC Publikum (4) Lancaster City (0)

retired_sherri

Game 12 – Trieste, Italy

Dave guided the coach westwards through Slovenia. It dawned on me I should savour this as moment as heading eastwards around the globe wouldn’t provide too many opportunities to go west. We we’re heading towards Trieste and the Adriatic coast, sun, sea and sand. Chris and I discussed the squad and came to the conclusion that we wouldn’t need to bring in anymore players but we did need to mould what we had into a lean, mean footballing machine. We had games coming thick and fast and fitness was something we would need to ensure the team had, and with this it was decided that where possible the squad would go on early morning training runs. This was met with much distain from those among the squad who were partial to going out the night before.

Trieste is a multi-cultural city which seems almost confused about which nationality it is, hardly surprising given its history of being bandied around as parts of different nations and under different rulers. Even walking through the streets you could hear people speaking in Italian, Slovenian, German, even English. Despite this the cities charm and character was very amiable. I gave the boys the afternoon to off to explore the city and found them playing football with some kids in a local park. I sat and watched as these kids ran rings around my semi-pro’s, I was just hoping we were just taking it easy and this wasn’t a sign of things to come, but I was heartened to see the lads living and breathing football. It meant so much more to me that enjoyment was being taken out of life on the road than the fact we were yet to chalk up a win.

retired_sherri

v. Triestina

A game against a professional Italian team was never going to be the easiest of tasks and whilst I once again kept the same team and formation I just told the lads to enjoy their football and not get too despondent. The almost ritualistic drubbing began in the 4th minute when Vinciguerra found space in our box and headed home. Triestina had obviously forgotten their shooting boots as shots whistled past Ashtons posts, but none calling him into action, it was only a matter of time before they managed one on target and just before the half time whistle the hosts lead was doubled as Andreolli wriggled free of the defence and smashed the ball against the inside of the post and in. 2-0 at half time.

The second half started in the same vein as most of the first, with Triestina missing the goal lots. The third goal was rifled in by D’Alessandro having dispossessed Baines who was dithering on the edge of our area. Obviously frustrated by our recent performances our central defence took matters into their own hands, we had to get a goal to keep the spirits high. Swan provided on 71 minutes when on the edge of our own area and under no pressure he turned towards our own goal and played an overhit backpass straight past the stunned Ashton into our own goal, hopefully our strikers took note on the technique and accuracy of the final product. Not wanting to be outdone by his defensive partner Taylor then managed to prod a dangerous ball from the corridor of uncertainty into our own net. As far as I was concerned we had scored two they had scored three, not a bad result at all really.

Triestina (5) Lancaster City (0)

retired_sherri

Game 13 - Solin, Croatia

The trip down the Adriatic coast was beautiful. We didn’t have a game but I was confident that my relaxed approach of “let’s see where we end up” was far more efficient than Chris’ “Let’s spend all morning on the phone until I’ve run out favours to cash in”. There are football pitches everywhere across the world, surely someone would give us a game, even if it was jumpers for goalposts. It was still the height of summer and the temperatures were soaring. The gentle sea breeze wafting in through the coach skylights kept the heat at bay, but on the occasions the coach turned inland it became unbearable.

I ordered Dave to pull up the coach next to a glorious beach, I’d decided it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Everyone filed off the coach and I got the cones and footballs out of the luggage, we were going to try and inject a bit of samba style into a bunch of English bruisers. Shoes off and shorts on I set out a pitch and with Chris and I as the captains we picked teams, much like it used to be in the playground. The spirit was great and the boys were enjoying their football once more. Many glorious goals later, including a spectacular bicycle kick by keeper Yeomans (who I promised would get a place up front if he could prove it wasn’t a fluke), we washed off in the sea and traipsed sand back into Dave’s coach, which was everyday becoming more like a warzone.

On the road just outside Split a call from the back of the Coach brought me out of my daydream.

“Oi gaffer, there’s a football stadium over there, I reckon with us being the new Brazil we could stuff ‘em”

“Well if you’re that confident then I’m not going to deny you the opportunity to make fools out of yourselves again, we’ll go see what we can arrange”

The team seemed unphased by our recent form, and I think my beach football trick had brought a new sense of togetherness, this was underpinned by the chant that started and soon the whole squad were joining in.

“We’re just like watching Brazil, We’re just like watching Brazil”

I’ll believe it when I see it I thought to myself.

retired_sherri

v. NK Solin

I jiggled the team around again, just to make sure everyone got some time on the pitch, and also to make sure Swan wasn’t on it. The beach football hadn’t had it’s desired effect as on 15 minutes we went behind when Benko beat the offside trap and slotted home unchallenged. The heads went down once again and stayed down as no-one was watching when a long ball was headed on for Benko to round Ashton and score his second. 2-0 at half time and this was beyond a joke now.

The second half started perfectly. Uberschar intercepted the ball fantastically on the edge of our own area but under pressure turned towards our own goal, panicked, and punted the ball past a bewildered Ashton. Ironically Uberschar was only in the team to replace Swan, who had done similar in the last game. The 62nd minute was when it all kicked off, the heat had gotten to us, our heads were down and the scoreline wasn’t helping matters. All it took was a little winding up by Solin centre midfielder Maric and Kelly landed a fine left hook. Hell broke loose and Solin’s Marlon ran to confront Kelly but never made it as Zico lashed out with a well aimed kick to stop him in his tracks. Once the ensuing bundle had calmed down both Kelly and Zico were given their marching orders. Solin capitalised changing to a 4-2-4 formation scoring twice more. Kuna wriggled free and passed under Clarke, who had replaced Ashton between the sticks, and then Vedran followed up a stinging shot which rebounded off the crossbar with a simple side foot into the net.

So we lost 5-0, it wasn’t pretty and I most certainly was not proud, but I went to bed in a campsite overlooking the beach safe in the knowledge that if we are ever challenged to a boxing match, we may actually win something.

NK Solin (5) Lancaster City (0)

retired_sherri

Game 14 - Mostar, Bosnia & Herzegovina

We headed inland towards the hills of the Dinaric Alps after a tip-off that a team in Mostar called Zrinjski would happily give us a game. However our first stroke of real bad luck (with the exclusion of footballing luck) was to befall us. Climbing up a slight incline, the coach began to struggle. Dave jokingly shouted “lean forward everyone” but it was to no avail as with a cough and a splutter the coach ground to a halt and smoke started pouring from the radiator. On reflection it was quite amazing that this heap of junk had got us this far, especially with Dave in charge, but that didn’t help the fact we were now stranded in the middle of nowhere. A local farmer walked up the road and wandered full circle around the coach before approach me. After much hand waving, pointing to Mostar on the map and ignorant repetition of various English phrases by myself the man shook his head and wandered back off down the road without uttering a word. Half an hour, or so, passed. Dave was tinkering in the Engine and only a few cars passed, none bothering to stopp, but all of a sudden up the road came a chugging tractor pulling a trailer. It was the local man again. He got out and frantically waved his hands, pushing big Anton Lally towards the trailer. I think he wanted to drive us to Mostar, so I quickly chose a squad loaded them onto the trailer, which I think may have been carrying manure before ourselves, praying that this mad local wasn’t going to kidnap us, or drive us even further into nowhere to drop us off and leave us, just for giggles.

We left half the lads with Dave telling them to meet us in Mostar when they could. A slow and painful journey, that was only really 15 miles or so, brought us right to the centre of Mostar where the man pulled his tractor up and ordered us all off his trailer with more over-exaggerated arm waving. I got out some cash, offering to pay him for his troubles, he looked at me blankly, shook his head, got back into his tractor, did a full turn U-turn in the road cutting up a number of other cars and headed back down the road from whence we had came. A journey I could only describe as bizarre, I didn’t even know this man’s name, he didn’t smile once and generally was rather blunt with his manner, but even so I was thankful.

I used a payphone to call the contact number I had and the game against Zrinjski, the Croat side in Mostar, was confirmed. We had the afternoon to wander around, and although you could see that this city had been ravaged by war, the buildings still riddled with bullet holes, the streets were quaint and the old bridge, despite it being a brand new reconstruction, was still a sight to behold. As we piled on the bus to the ground I just hoped that Dave and the rest would be able to catch us up soon as I didn’t fancy being stuck anywhere longer than necessary.

retired_sherri

Route Continued To Game 14

retired_smelesko

Interesting premise. A shame about the record. 0-1-12 is a bit of a bummer, but hey, at least you're trying

I hope your luck changes!

retired_simonhederman

Good read so far.