Short Stories 3

JACKERANDA

It is late spring in Sydney. The days are becoming longer and warmer. Birds are singing happily, as they begin to pair off, build their nests, and welcome in the next generation.

Food is plentiful now. Insects are abundant, and provide the nourishment for many species of birds.

The trees are blossoming all over Sydney. Many different varieties and colours can be seen in suburbs such as Turramurra and St Ives. Driving through the back streets of these suburbs is very exhilarating to those who appreciate natural beauty.

One particular tree has such a beautiful lilac blossom. It is called the Jackeranda. When in full bloom, the sight of many Jackerandas lining both sides of the street or avenue, is quite breathtaking. Some of the blossom falls to the ground, and forms a lilac carpet, neatly surrounding the base of the tree.

It saddens me that I watch this wonderful sight without my woman beside me..

Poetalan

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LIFE’S SWEET WINE

Sometimes we look back into our lives, and reflect on what might have been if we had made different choices. Those choices were always ours to make. Circumstances, however, are usually beyond our control, yet the changes to our lives can be equally dramatic.

Whenever I reflect on times gone by, it is my preference to stay in reality, and concentrate on the best events in my life to date. My memory serves me well, and I can drift back as far as 3 years old. That is almost 50 years, but the happy events still appear to be quite clear.

It is now my pleasure at 52 years old, to record some of the best moments in my life for others to read and enjoy. They are not necessarily in chronological order.

EARLY MEMORIES

We begin in Australia in 1952. My family migrated to Sydney in 1951, and we lived in a camp for new migrants, somewhere close to Lane Cove, till 1953, at which time, my mother became pregnant, and the decision to return to England was made.

It is difficult for me to separate which events were before my 4th birthday, and which were after, but both Mum and Dad have confirmed some of the events were before I turned 4, and we had returned to England before my fifth birthday.

My father often told me stories at that time, and very often, a mysterious character called the ‘Old Guy’ appeared in his stories. This ‘Old Guy’ was somewhere between amusing and frightening.

One sunny day, Dad, Scottie the dog, and I went fishing in the Lane Cove river, which was just a few hundred metres from the house. Dad began fishing, and like all little boys, I looked around for mischief. I can remember Dad very clearly. He was sitting on the bank, holding his fishing rod, and waiting for a bite.

As the day wore on, Dad took off his shirt and vest to improve his suntan, and hung them on a bush. A few minutes later, I wandered by the bush and saw the clothes. Clearly, they were not my clothes, so my logical 3 year old brain deduced very quickly, that they must belong to the ‘Old Guy’.

Obviously, they couldn’t stay on the bush so close to Dad and me, so they had to go into the river.

Dad saw his vest and shirt floating past him from the river bank. Fortunately, he was able to retrieve them with his fishing rod. When I explained to Dad why the clothes had been thrown into the water, he saw the funny side. I remember clearly his smile.

For my 4th birthday, I got a new bike. It was red, and had 3 wheels. There were 2 small wheels at the back, and one big wheel at the front. Dad oiled the wheels, and we took the bike out for a test drive. We found a suitable stretch of path, and I put the new bike to the test. Up and down, up and down I went, getting more confident and adventurous all the time.

One last test. I tore down the path further than I had been previously. Further and further, faster and faster, then flew straight down the flight of steps at the end of the path.

Dad thought I was dead. He rushed along the path, and down the steps. I started to cry out in pain. This is always a good sign when a child is injured or hurt. After a few hugs, a glass of lemonade, a bar of chocolate, and a warm bath, I was as good as new. The bike suffered a few scratches, but was mechanically fine, and we had many happy hours together. Needless to say, I did not venture very close to those steps again.

I remember the journey back to England on the ship Maloya. Several incidents come to mind, but I will only relate the most enjoyable. As we crossed the equator, the ship’s crew put on a show for the passengers, and in particular, the children. Everyone gathered around the swimming pool, and the crew had dressed up as Neptune and his band of ‘mermen’.

Each child was ‘initiated’ in the swimming pool, by Neptune himself, and was given a certificate to prove he or she had crossed the equator.

When we arrived back in England, my uncle Les, who was only 4 years older than myself, took me everywhere with him, and it seemed I was someone quite special as he told his friends all about me and about Australia.

For some reason, Les told many of the other kids that I was a good fighter. Kenny Papworth put me to the test. Kenny was a year older than me, taller and stronger, but somehow, his neck was caught between my legs. When I squeezed my legs together, he began to cry. It was all over. Les didn’t lose face in front of his friends, I was happy because I had pleased uncle Les. In fact, everybody was happy, except, of course, Kenny Papworth. The fight had taken place on waste ground just behind Kenny’s house, and we were all excited and laughing as the fight was discussed on the way home.

The local Catholic school was ‘Our Lady of the Visitation’, which I attended till I was 11. The class took an exam to decide who went to Grammar school, and who went to the Secondary Modern. If a local boy or girl from the Council Estate in which I lived, passed the exam and was selected for one of the Grammar Schools, it was quite a feather in the cap of the parents. Mum and Dad promised me anything I wanted to the value of twenty pounds.

Mum and Dad were so proud when the results came through, and I had been selected by the Grammar School of my choice, Greenford Grammar. As promised, we went out to buy my gift. I chose to buy a chess set for a pound. Dad was pleased with that. He had saved 19 pounds.

At school, I was not particularly talented in any one subject, but didn’t have any trouble keeping up with anything. The ‘after school’ activities were interesting to me. At 11 years of age, I made the school team for football and chess. The football matches were every Saturday morning, and the chess games on Wednesday evenings.

The chess team was selected from the first 3 years, so it was quite an achievement for a first year student to make the team.

Our first game was against Drayton Manor Grammar School. The boards were set out, everyone sat at the table, and the word was given. BEGIN.

My opponent was a third year girl. After 10 minutes she was attacking my defensive position, and looking quite confident. She moved her queen forward, and right into my trap. My knight moved forward to ‘fork’ her Queen and Castle. Her Castle was lost. The poor girl panicked at losing her Castle. She left herself wide open for a King and Queen ‘fork’. Realising her position was hopeless, she knocked over her King to signal she was resigning. I exchanged formalities with the girl, and went to see Steggal, the team captain. ‘I’ve won my game Steg’, I said proudly to the astonished Steggal.

I lost the next game, but over the next few years, lost very few.

At 16 years old, I met my first real girlfriend. It was at the local park. Val was with her friend Pauine, and Pauline’s boyfriend Greg. Val was a ‘gooseberry’. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and Greg wandered over to me, introduced himself, and asked me if I would ‘escort’ Val for a while. Val looked very pretty, and was blessed with a very good figure. At 16 years old, those assets are all important, and words like talent, kindness, personality, and intelligence, were seldom mentioned in the circles that I frequented.

The 4 of us walked around the park for quite some time. Greg was holding Pauline’s hand, so I took Val’s. Gregs arm went around Pauline’s neck, so I followed suite. Greg kissed Pauline under a big tree, so I walked past them with Val, and waffled on about some silly subject or other.

As it got dark, we walked past an old church. There was a lamp post at the entrance. For the first time in almost 2 hours, I stopped talking, stopped walking, and kissed her lips passionately. It was wonderful.

She later confided in me that she had been eagerly awaiting that moment for over an hour.

Four months later, we made love for the first time. The date was 24-12-1965. I was 17, and Val was almost 17. This was the first time for both of us, so we didn’t know quite what to expect. On Christmas Eve, my parents and sister were out, and we went to my home to be alone and make love. We had planned this for a few weeks, but this was the first really good opportunity.

Naked together in my sister’s bed, (cannot remember why) we had foreplay, followed by penetration, and then 2 seconds thereafter, the most incredible orgasm.

Because the moment had been indescribable for me, I assumed that it had been somewhat similar for Val. When I spoke to her afterwards about how wonderful it had been, she replied ‘Yes, it was all right’.

For the next 30 months, we made love at every possible opportunity. Val soon began to find much more pleasure when we made love, probably because I learned from older and more experienced boys how to make the process last for a long time. We even came to a special agreement during the football season. We would make love every time I scored a goal. At that time, I was playing 2 games every week, and scoring a lot of goals. It was difficult to find enough ‘safe’ places to keep up.

Just before my 17th birthday, I joined the judo club at the company I worked for. The first few weeks were very difficult. It is important to learn how to fall, before anything else.

After 3 months, I went for my first grading. I had one contest with another white belt. I won, and we both got our yellow belts.

At the next grading, my techniques were quite good, and with very considerable natural speed, I was confident of getting my orange belt. The grading was at our club this time, and we had a man from another club come specifically for the grading. He was a green belt, hoping to become a blue belt.

My first few contests were against other yellow belts, and I won them. Then I fought 2 blue belts, and got 2 draws. Their techniques and knowledge were far superior to mine, but I was difficult to throw. My last contest was against the green belt going for his blue. After about 25 seconds, I used my favourite throw to win the contest.

The Sensae went through all the competitors one by one. Most of them stepped up one grade, but when he came to me, he said ‘Alan, brilliant, green belt’. I was so pleased.

My place of work had a football competition every year. Each department had a team entered. The 3 players from the Laborarory were put into the ‘pool’ team, because our department was very small.

My father also worked there in ‘engine assembly’. After a few games, the pool team was drawn against engine assembly. The pool team won 2-1, and I scored both goals. My father knew nothing of the game, until many of his colleagues approached him, and congratulated him on the performance of his son in the game. He was very proud that day.

Following that game, I was approached by a talent scout, and invited to have a trial for Brentford Juniors. I scored 2 goals in the trial match, and was invited back to play for them.

Uncle Dan came to watch me at judo practice a few times. He was also involved with a wrestling club in his own area of Notting Hill. Dan had a part time job as a ‘bouncer’ at one of the big Irish dance clubs, and some of the bouncers there, were very good wrestlers. One bouncer named Chris McGuire, had recently won the English championship in his heavyweight division.

Dan invited me along to see how my skill in judo would compare with the wrestling skills of others. One evening, I went to the wrestling club to compete.

My first opponent was a West Indian called Cyril. At 6’, he was more than 4” taller than me, and much heavier. Cyril was expected to ‘wipe the floor’ with the skinny little nephew of Dan.

Cyril had the same wrestling attire as the other wrestlers. I had my judo trousers on. No dress was allowed from the waist upwards.

Cyril grabbed me. He was very strong, and my movement was very restricted. Cyril had to bend a little because he was so much taller than me, and I saw that as an opportunity. I moved in quickly for a hip throw.

When Cyril hit the mat, all the other wrestlers stopped practicing. They were all astonished.

Cyril got up, and we grappled again. Everyone was watching, to see if my throw was just a fluke.

Cyril hit the mat with his back six times. Uncle Dan nodded to show his approval.

My next opponent was an Irishman named Jimmy. He kept his body very close to the mat, making it difficult to manouver him into a position to throw him. The contest was drawn, and by that time, I was tiring. That was enough.

At the age of 16, I was playing football for a club called Vikings. The coach was wonderful. He loved the boys, and took time to talk to us about many things. He looked after us when we went on the club tour to Belgium, Holland, and France the previous year. He was only 25 when he learned he had Lukaemia, and died shortly after. Everyone at the club was devastated. He had been married for 6 years.

The replacement coach Phillip Little, was not well received by the boys, but perhaps that is understandable in those circumstances. John Benstead was a tough act to follow.

The new coach brought along a few new players, and I spent the next few games watching from the sidelines. Some of my friends invited me to play for another local club, and I accepted.

One year later, my new ream was drawn against my old team in a cup quarter-final. The stage was set. We would now see if Phil’s decision to leave me out of the team was the right one. The motivation to play well was very strong.

The half time score was 2-0, and I had scored both goals. Vikings scored, and went in search of an ‘equaliser’. When I scored the final goal, to make the score 3-1, I saw the unforgettable look on Phil’s face. That win took my team through to the semi-final.

In the semi-final, we were drawn against a very strong team. Hayes Juniors were the youth team of the local semi-professional club.

At half time, we had played extremely well, and we were leading 3-0. Jimmy had scored one, and I had scored two. Both my goals came from Jimmy’s crosses. For most of us, it was our first game under floodlights, and this seemed to lift us to new heights.

I can imagine what the Hayes coach said to his team at half time. They came out for the second half with far more determination than they had showed in the first. They scored with 20 minutes remaining, and scored again, with just 5 minutes left. They were fitter than us, and tried so hard for an equaliser. With just one or two minutes to go, the ball was kicked away by our flagging defence. I was the only man in our team not called back to defend the slenderest of leads, and I won the ball on the half way line, and ran for the goal. On the edge of the penalty area, a Hayes defender lunged in for a tackle. My toe moved the ball out of his reach, and he fell on his back. The goal keeper moved out to narrow the angle of the shot he knew was coming, but immediately, I struck the ball very hard for the corner of the goal. The sound of the ball hitting the net was sweet music. The crowd roared, and the rest of my team, including our goal keeper, dragged me to the ground and dived on top to celebrate.

Unfortunately, we lost the final 3-0, to a team that was far more motivated on the night. They deserved their win.

Whenever I am asked to reveal the very sweetest moment in my life, the birth of my first child, Natalie, stands out above all the rest. My first wife Hilary, had gone into labour some 9 hours previous, and I was waiting patiently with her, and trying my best to help her through the pain of the contractions.

When the time came, they moved her into the delivery room. I was asked if I wanted to be present for the ‘delivery’. ‘YES’, I quickly replied.

They dressed me in suitable attire. Long gown, hat, gloves and face mask, in an effort to prevent any infection. As the very professional team went about their work, I held Hilary in an effort to ease her pain. As Natalie’s head emerged, and whilst her body was still inside Hilary’s, she screamed. That was the sweetest sound that I’d ever heard. A moment later, Hilary gave a final push, and Natalie was born into this world.

For a few precious moments, it seemed that Hilary, Natalie and I were in the presence of God. He was saying ‘Take this gift of life and cherish it’. So beautiful!!

At the time of writing this incident, I am in Shanghai with my ‘wife to be’, Hui, and Natalie is almost 25 years old, but the moment is very clearly preserved in the ‘Precious Memories’ folder, within my memory.

I am very fortunate to have been present at the births of all 4 of my children, and each one is very special, but the first was by far the best.

May 1983, my wife was about to give birth to our 4th child. As I waited in the room with her, the temperature seemed to rise very quickly, and I began to feel a little light headed. I left the room and walked along the corridor towards the exit. As I walked, I heard a nurse cry out ‘Are you alright Mr Clarke?’ but it didn’t quite register.

The corridor led to a T junction. Left for the delivery room and right for the exit, and the fresh air I craved.

As I walked, my brain gave explicit instructions to my legs to turn right, but my legs refused to obey. The result was that I walked directly into the wall. I was unable to raise my hands to protect my face.

The nurses were with me almost immediately. They took me out into the cold fresh air, and I recovered very quickly. When I returned to Hilary, it was almost time to go to the delivery room.

The nurses had told Hilary about my misfortune, and seemed to be very concerned. Hilary remarked that my small incident was minimal, compared to what she was going through, but the nurses seemed more concerned about me.

Shortly after the birth of Natalie, I decided to start buying and selling Land Rovers. An Italian friend of mine had told me that these rugged vehicles were selling very well in Italy because the engines were diesel, and that many Italians were eager to buy them both in Italy and in England.

I put an advert in the paper, and got several replies. The next day, I selected the most promising, and went to see the Land Rover. It was owned by a mechanic, and was in very good condition. We haggled for a while over the price, but eventually, a deal was struck, the money and papers were exchanged, and I took the vehicle home.

Hilary said ‘Did you really spend all our savings on that?’ She was far from impressed. But, when I sold it a few days later for a reasonable profit, she was far happier, and gave me her blessing to continue buying and selling.

The next 2 vehicles both produced a modest profit, and once again, Hilary was happy.

On the next occasion, the seller needed the money quickly. He had been to a dealer, and had been offered far below the market value. We talked on the phone, and I explained I could only offer a little more than the dealer. He agreed the price, and I went to see him immediately. The vehicle was in good condition, the papers were in order, and the deal was completed.

One week later, I made a substantial profit when the vehicle was sold.

Hilary was very pleased with my efforts, and that evening we played ‘SNAP’, for 500 pounds a game. We were in a very joyful mood.

The business did quite well until the market in Italy became saturated.

There were many wonderful moments in my semi-professional football years in England. They are usually associated with scoring an important goal, creating such a goal, or an important win. I will describe just one event.

Playing in the preliminary rounds of the FA Cup, we were battling against a very aggressive team from Frimley. Winning this game was important to both clubs, because whoever made it to the next round would secure a percentage of the takings for all the games played. Our home game had been drawn 0-0. The replay at Frimley was 0-0 at full time, and we went into extra time. With only 6 minutes to go, Frimley scored the goal they believed would take them through to the next round. Their players celebrated as though they had won the game. We attacked furiously for the last few minutes. In the last minute, the referee was looking at his watch. Time for just one last attack. The ball was crossed from the right, and came to me on the edge of the ‘18 yard’ box. I struck the ball sweetly, and saw it crash into the back of the Frimley net. 1-1.

Within seconds, I was under a pile of happy, excited players. The final whistle blew as soon as the game was restarted.

The second replay was drawn 2-2, and the third replay was at Brentford’s ground under floodlights. This time we won convincingly 5-1, and I was very happy to score 2 goals. Our club officials were very pleased to progress to the next round and get their share of the prize money.

Perhaps the most rewarding sporting achievement of my life came in 1985 in Cwymbran. The company where I worked, CASE, entered a team every year into the Computerstars competition. This draws teams from the UK, and several other European countries.

Our team consisted of 5 players. We contested 12 events, and 3 of the team would be in each event. The events varied. Some were athletic, some gymnastic, and others ball skills. In the European final, there was also swimming.

We won the area heat, and qualified for the national final. In that final, we finished 4th, but that meant qualification to the European final.

The team went to Cwmbran on the Friday, and stayed overnight in a hotel, so we were fresh for the final the next morning. First event was swimming. Unfortunately, we only had 2 good swimmers. I won my event, John came in a good second, but poor Tony came a miserable last. This left us almost last.

As the events progressed, we moved closer and closer to the number one spot. As we approached the final event, we were in second place. A Dutch team were in the lead, but the final event was a 400 metre steeplechase, and the Dutch runners were not as good as ours. The real danger was Kalamazoo, who were in third place. They had won the competition for the last 4 years, and they had very good runners.

I am a sprinter, so I did not run in the steeplechase, but as team captain, it was my job to motivate the 3 runners to win the day for us. We didn’t come all this way to be second or third. I gave them a really inspiring talk, then as they went to the starting line, I moved to the area of track leading to the finishing line. As they came into the home stretch, I was able to scream encouragement to my team-mates. They all finished well, but so did Kalamazoo.

As the numbers were carefully crunched, we all waited patiently. It was going to be very close. They announced the 3rd team first. It was the Dutch team, as we had expected.

Next they announced 2nd place. As soon as they said ‘Runners up, and champions for the last 4 years’ I knew we had won. Kalamazoo had been beaten.

It wasn’t till they announced CASE as the winners, could we really be sure. The thrill that day was so exciting. We all screamed and shouted as we accepted the applause from the crowd. John, the manager, and myself stepped up to receive the trophy. We sang nearly all the way back from Wales to London.

At 35 years old, I thought that all the big moments in sport had gone, but I was wrong. That was however, the last. In latter years, I have enjoyed coaching very much, but having had my right hip replaced 4 months ago, even that is doubtful now. I can still shout words of wisdom from the sideline, as watch my team play.

Poetalan

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LONG WALK TO TEEM PLAZA (16 Mar 1999 - Published Guangzhou)

The 177 bus takes about 25 minutes to travel from Guangzhou’s Jinan University to the nearest big shopping mall which is called Teem Plaza. The walk is much more fun, if you can handle the pollution, and takes about an hour and a half. If, however, you stop to look at all the shops and businesses on the way, wander down several side streets, and get a haircut, the walk can take as long as 4 hours.

I set off on foot for Teem Plaza at 10am carrying a bag on my shoulder with some orange juice inside. Within a couple of minutes I was into the crowded street and passing Jinan university. Often there are expensive cars parked outside the university, especially on Friday, because some of the more attractive young female students are picked up for the weekend by their older and far more wealthy 'sponsors'. The young ladies often find good jobs immediately after graduation with a little help from their sponsors.

The walk along Huang Pu Ave, was interesting to me because I like to see everyday life in Guangzhou. So many people going about their daily business, motorbikes being repaired on the pavement, cars being detailed with jets of water flying everywhere, the odd beggar trying his luck with a likely looking prospect, street vendors peddling their wares enthusiastically. Sugar cane, ears of hot corn, hot potatoes etc can all be purchased for about 30 cents. Some of the vendors have specially adapted bicycles, some have stalls, but many just have 2 baskets with a pole in between them, which rests on their shoulder in typical Asian fashion.
From Huang Pu Ave, I turned right into Sports Drive, which may well be so called because it leads directly to the very large sports stadium opposite Teem Plaza. As I walked along Sports Drive, I went down several side streets trying to find a barber who charged a reasonable price for a haircut. Unfortunately, having fair skin and blue eyes guarantees that the quoted price almost everywhere is at least doubled. Even though I may be able to afford the inflated price, it is not in my nature to be 'taken for a ride', so if I am not convinced that the price is the best I will get, I walk away, often to the disgust of the shopkeeper.
Down one side street, I discovered a large market where meat, fish and veggies were being sold, and I decided to walk around inside. Everything from frogs to beef, crabs to turkeys, and garlic to snakes was being sold here.

As I walked past a fish stall, the vendor pulled a large, live fish from a very large red bowl. The fish was about 18" long and quite healthy. Several other fish of similar size were left in the bowl awaiting their fate. The buyer, a middle aged woman, gave t he go ahead, and the fish was placed on the wooden block and de-scaled with a large 'chopper' whilst he was still alive. If the fish thought that was painful, he didn't know what was coming next. His guts were removed whilst he was still alive. Next his head came off complete with about an inch of his body. Just one clean cut, his head was placed on another block alongside several others who had suffered the same fate. All the mouths were pointing skywards. To my amazement, the fish was still breathing. His mouth was opening and closing and his gills were letting the air through. I don't know if this was just a nervous reaction or not, but if he was still alive, he lived long enough to see his body sliced up, weighed and sold to the woman and then watch her walk off with his body in a plastic bag. It took over five minutes for the head to stop moving.

Down another side street, and finally I found a barber that I agreed a price with. A haircut without a wash for 10 RMB (about $AUD 1-50). Initially he had asked 20 RMB, but once the 'Caucasian' factor had been removed, we settled at 10. The boss was a man, and there were 3 women there. One of the women gave me a nice haircut. As my hair was being cut, I noticed the other two women looking at me and smiling as they talked, but I didn't think this was unusual because I can sometimes travel all round Guangzhou and not see another foreign face. When the haircut was finished I paid the man 10 RMB, and he asked me if I would like a massage for 50 RMB whilst pointing to the prettiest of the 2 girls who had been smiling at me. Although the young woman gave me such a very nice smile, I declined his offer and left the shop very content with my haircut. I then remembered that at several other barbers shops where we had failed to agree upon the price, there were often women sitting around waiting. Was this the Chinese equivalent of "French lessons available"???

I took a detour around the sports stadium and watched the children play soccer on some of the peripheral soccer pitches. I wanted to join in their game, but was not dressed for the occasion. That has never deterred me in the past, but the perimeter fence was also a deterrent.

In and out of many shops looking for sweatshirts and sports shoes to bring back to Australia with me. Just looking today. I was frightened of taking much money out with me on a long walk in case I was robbed. Then I finally succumbed to one of the street vendors and bought a hot corn cob. It was delicious. It cost 1.5 RMB and I later found out that all the Chinese pay just 1 RMB for this delicacy. I was robbed.

On then to the Teem Plaza. This is a little like Warringah Mall, but on 6 levels. Almost everything is sold there from food to washing machines. I wandered round there for about an hour looking at all the dazzling displays of the individual shops.

Feeling a little tired by now, because it was almost 3pm and I had been walking for nearly 5 hours, it was time to sit down, read the newspaper I had brought with me and drink my orange juice.

By 4 o'clock I was on the 177 bus going home for dinner after a very enjoyable, but tiring day.

Poetalan

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MELVIN LEGGE

When I was playing semi-pro soccer, training was 2 evenings per week and the main game was played on Saturday afternoon. There was often a game midweek in the evening played under floodlights. This was what we were paid for.

Despite all this soccer, many of the players played a game on Sunday morning for 'Rockware Glass' just for fun. Unfortunately, the standard of soccer and also the standard of refereeing was far below the Saturday standard. Some of the teams were very aggressive and had to win at all costs. One such team was 'Fulham Conservatives'.

We were drawn against Fulham in a cup semi-final, and having already played them twice in the league and beaten them twice, we were confident that our skill factor would win us the game. Fulham were equally convinced that their aggression and physical strength would win the game for them.

We kicked off, and the game quickly fell into a familiar pattern. Rockware had more soccer talent, but Fulham were kicking us and showing no mercy. Unfortunately, the referee was less than adequate and the Fulham players were going unpunished.

There was one player in the Fulham team that was worse than all the others. His name flashes in my memory like a beacon. 'Melvin Legge'. I think maybe he was just a little insane. Melvin kicked somebody every chance he had, and when we scored he became even worse. His language was attrocious. His team-mates were like church choir boys by comparison. Finally the referee took some action after Melvin's 759th foul. He got a yellow card. One more card and Melvin would be sent off. At half time it was 1-0.

The second half started much the same. Fulham were kicking and swearing. As the game progressed, Melvin became more and more frustrated. The referee warned him several more times, but he took no notice. Then I had the ball and just Melvin and the goalkeeper between me and the goal. I beat Melvin quite easily and moved round him in a wide arc so that he couldn't kick or grab me, and advanced towards the goal. Melvin didn't give up. He wasn't as quick as me but he ran after me, screaming at the top of his voice 'I'm gonna break your f.........ing leg. I'm gonna break your f.........ing leg'.

I was very frightened even though I was several metres in front of Melvin. As the goalkeeper advanced, I just hit the ball as hard as I could. The ball went hopelessly wide of the goal, and I continued running after it so that my legs would not get broken.

Melvin committed another 492 fouls after that, despite several more clear and unequivocal warnings from the referee. Finally, the referee lost patience and sent Melvin off the pitch.

Melvin was not happy. He asked the referee 'What's the registration number of your car?'

The referee asked him 'Why do you want to know?'

Melvin replied 'Because I'm gonna break every f____ing window you've got.'

The game continued and eventually, we won 2-0.

Melvin was reported for this incident by the referee and he was banned from playing soccer for life. However, it seems he re-registered in a different league under a different name and continued playing.

I have never seen him since that day.

Whenever I think of that incident, it occurs to me 'There but for the grace of god go I'.

I wish Melvin well in life, but have no wish to play soccer against him ever again.

Poetalan

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OLD BOILER (Published Guangzhou)

As assistant coach of Jinan University football team, and a former semi-professional player myself for some 14 years, it is with great pleasure that I take the coaching sessions as often as I can.

The team and the coaching staff were highly successful last year, and won the championship. I can claim no part in that success because this is my first year at Jinan. Some of that successful squad have graduated now, but there are several good new players amongst the freshmen, so hopefully, we can emulate the success of that talented team.

The training session is divided into 3 parts and structured in the following way.

First there is the warm up and stretching exercises Then skills and shooting practice, and finally a full length game.

There are too many players to have them shooting all at once, so in the middle session, I divide them up into 2 groups. One group plays a 5-a-side football game and the other group comes with me to one of the goals for shooting practice and to learn a few new skills.

Before we start that middle session, however, the 5-a-side pitch has to be marked out. Now, as we have no brightly colored, purpose built markers, we use empty water bottles, but this creates a severe conflict with one of the local residents.

Every training session, the coach brings along a few dozen bottles of fresh drinking water, which the thirsty students gulp down as if it was their first drink in a week. As the water quenches their almighty thirsts, an ‘old boiler’ waits eagerly to collect up every single empty bottle. This woman must be at least 110 years old. Her back is arched, her legs are bowed, her teeth are nonexistent, and there are more wrinkles on her weather beaten face than there are stones in the ‘Great Wall of China’. It seems that scavenging empty bottles is her living.

When ten of ‘her’ bottles were put into a box and she was told not to touch them, she was not pleased at all. She made several attempts to take the whole box when she thought that no-one was watching, and she only gave up when one of the players took the box of empty bottles away, along with the bag of footballs after the training session was finished..

The following session was attended by the players, coaches, and of course, the old boiler. The head coach had graciously put some sand in the bottles to prevent them being blown away. After the warm up, the coach was talking to the players and I took that opportunity to mark out the 5-a-side pitch with the sand filled bottles. Before I had completed my task, I was interrupted by loud roars of laughter from the ‘guys’. I turned around to see what they were all laughing at. Well! There she was. The old boiler was following me around the pitch and picking up the bottles that I had just put down.

I was unable to tell her off because I was laughing too much, and also, my Chinese vocabulary is limited to Yi Er Shan Si (1 2 3 4), which I learned at aerobics. She was even emptying the sand out of the bottles before she put them into her bag. I think that if I had chased her, those frail, old bow legs would probably have outrun me anyway, in order to keep her precious bottles.

That evening, the small pitch was marked out with spare football boots, old socks, and discarded cardboard boxes. I had no intention of incurring the wrath of the ‘old boiler’ again.

Poetalan

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