The Football Game!

Saturday 11.42 p.m.
The semi-final of the Timmons Cup was the only time I played football in front of quite a lot of people. It was a game played at Bellshill Athletic's ground which was right off the Main Road. I was twelve years old.

Someone said if you wanted to imagine what it's like to play on a full sized park when you're about twelve, you should quadruple the size of the football park for adults, particularly the goals. But when you're a kid, the full sized park is just the right size.

St Columba's school in Viewpark, just a few fields distant from Bellshill, were unbeatable. Everyone knew they were a brilliant football team and everyone knew they won everything. I was left half for The Holy Family school in Mossend and we didn't have a man teacher in the whole school. Mr Murphy came and took us for football and he worked nightshifts in the steelworks, the kind of wonderful man who is prepared to put in some time with kids. He had two kids at the school. But we never did any training for the games, we just played.

I got my pal Derek Gibson into the ground for nothing. He came in carrying my bag. I told him I'd kick a ball over the stand so he could run round there and knock it. Once Derek knocked a display machine gun from the Army Recruitment bus. When they chased him, he turned round and they all dived into the ground. Approved school. He had fantastic ginger hair. He probably doesn't meditate. I hope he found himself somewhere.

St Columba's Boy's Guild at the time were also unbeatable. Slight hint of scandal with the feely gropey, don't go near big Frank with the groin strain motif about them, but Big Frank was a great coach as well as a great pervert. Anyway ... Mr Dollans was the head master of the primary school team and well beyond reproach.

Joe Donnelly, Kevin Something, John Murphy, Jake Carlin, Mick Cassidy, Hotboy, Brian Hart, Somebody, Somebody, John Banks and Peter Verrichio (Verrikia) were our team. I've never tried so hard at anything. Afterwards, because it was the summer coming up, I had blisters all over both feet. It was the only game where I was given a half orange at half time. We drew four each. Brain Hart, who was the best twelve year old player in the world at this time, kicked a ball from the very edge of the eighteen yard box, and as it was sailing over the head of the goallie and into the net, the referee blew for full time. Apparently, that is not allowed anymore. When the ball is in flight. We were four three down, and we murdered the bums.

We had to replay the semi-final. John Banks was injured and they put our goallie on as centre forward and someone who didn't ever play football was put in our goal. We lost six nil.

Anyone who saw the game when he cuffed them four each said it was the best game between twelve year old they'd ever seen.

John Doyle played on the wing in the first game and in the second game he was their centre forward because Mick Cassidy couldn't live with his pace.

I'd been taking speed for three days and I was on my own when it was announced on a flash news thing that John Doyle had electrocuted himself while doing it yourself. He was playing for Celtic then. Well, that's another post. I'm not going to blog anymore about ra bliss. It's a waste of time. Flatheids just don't get ra bliss!I'm going to present photies of the hut and blog about being young in Bellshill. So there!

Sunday 11:28 a.m.
Posted the previous whilst pissed. I blame it on the bob hopelessness and the resultant grande ennui. But I've just had an hour of the fabulous bliss and I'm now most cheerful!