Thanks guys, I've got a lot to live up to now! I'd again like to thank everyone who voted for me but also everyone else who has so far praised the story, I would have probably given up by now otherwise! Anyway I've got renewed enthusiasm and as it's only taken me 10 months to do 21 games it should be no problem hitting the magic 80! 
Game 22 – Netanya, Israel
A short hop across the eastern reaches of the Mediterranean Sea found us in the Israeli seaside town of Netanya. As we jogged along the seafront I stopped and noticed a plaque which proudly exclaimed
“Netanya – Twinned With Bournemouth, UK” The similarities were surprisingly quite apparent. The long sandy beaches of Netanya had lead to a proliferation of hotels, malls and restaurants, much like a modernist version of the heyday of the British seaside resort. Whilst Netanya had obviously gone from tourism strength to strength, Bournemouth meanwhile had aged into a mere proliferation of B&Bs, tacky arcades and greasy spoon cafes. As I turned to see if the parallel had been drawn by anyone else I began to say
“Isn’t it ironic…” I was met by the gormless grinning face of Anton Lally. I immediately trailed off into incomprehensible mumblings, after all any irony would certainly be lost on this assorted bunch of halfwits.
Whilst at the end of Europe I couldn’t help but notice the proliferation of western culture. The shiny hotels, the well manicured parks, the love for football, it all gave an increasing sense of homeliness. It was hard to believe on this quiet afternoon that we were in a town that had been ravaged by terrorist attacks and was really not that far from the greater troubles the country is facing. In fact I felt quite safe, like home wasn’t all that far away and there was an unshakeable feeling that from here on the travelling was going to get more difficult and dangerous. I just hoped that football could stay above and apart from the politics that may hamper our progress.
We had decided on Netanya for two reasons. The first, it was home to no less than three football clubs, the second, and most important, it was the cheapest flight we could find that didn’t involve heading backwards. I had sent Chris out to visit the clubs of Maccabi Netanya, Beitar Nes Tubruk Netanya and Maccabi HaSharon to arrange a match whilst I took the team for a gentle jog along the seafront towards the beach soccer stadium. Once there Matty Blinkhorn was sure he could hustle some locals out of their hard earned cash by challenging them to keepy-uppy competitions. Credit where credit is due, he would have been sheqels-in had he not received a slap on the wrists from two local law enforcement officers, who kindly reminded him in good American-English that hustling ten year old kids was not exactly fair.
When Chris caught up with us he triumphantly announced,
“We have a game, this evening against Beitar Nes Tubruk Netanya, they seem a well organised club, but apparently they are more of a feeder team nowadays so rely on training up the local talent and selling them on.”
“Beatable?” I asked
“By your average Sunday pub team? Definitely. By us? Probably Not.”
Linear Mode
