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Under 8's

Shaun says "Can anyone tell which is the real Mike Marland?"

Fixtures and Results for the Red Squad

Fixtures and Results for the Green Squad

Fixtures and Results for the Blue Squad

West Kirby Wasps U/8s Dads 3  West Kirby Wasps Veterans 2

Coronation Park, Greasby, 23^rd April 2005

We Lived That Dream

A brief conversation with Sean “ The Cool Cumbrian “ Turner at the beginning of the year started the wheels in motion, what followed will live with the men who took part for the rest of their lives, and for many years will be talked about in the local hostelries around the peninsular with fondness, bravado and a slight amount of exaggeration. I was lucky to be a part of history in the making and for the sake of clarity would like to share the experience with you from the eyes of an under eights dad who lived that dream.

Sean in a moment of shear madness suggested that we had enough willing dads in the under 8’s section of West Kirby Wasps to challenge the might of the West Kirby Wasps Veterans team to a football match, this at first I thought was no more than a fleeting comment from an ageing fireman who had inhaled to much smoke (not always legally). Unfortunately I was wrong - the look in his eye was one of pride, he meant it, and as his loving wife Jo will tell you, once the ex marine gets the “bit between his teeth” there’s no stopping him, the glint in her eye told its own story. Arrangements were made, venues, times and dates all to be discussed, Cardiff was out with an FA Cup to fit in, Wembley still not finished so it was whittled down to two, Greenbank Road or Coronation Park the latter winning the race due to its state of the art changing facilities and close proximity to the ale house.

There was no time to lose, venue and date set it was a call to arms the shout went up “LETS HAVE IT”, the squad was assembled for its first training session, Sean and his willing assistant Mike “The Moustache” Marland who incidentally had the very same moustache in school, brought the squad together for altitude training at Arrowe Park. The togetherness shone through from the start as all but one of the squad stopped to cough and splutter in tandem with the same expletives echoing around the trees. Luckily for me I did not suffer the same fate as due to my friend and team mate Paul “Shedo” Sheridan waiting for his good lady wife to bring his pie dinner in, of which he consumed the lot in breath taking speed, caused us to miss the warm up and in so doing suffer the wrath of the management team. A good turnout for the first session with lots to think about some nimble footwork; fast hands and quick minds, once we had our boots on though it did seem to go down hill. The second session was not as encouraging as injuries and work commitments took its toll, the squad depleted to six took on what kids we could muster together and got beat in a game of two touch with alarming ease, still spirits were high and the sessions continued long through the inclement weather conditions, hailstorms that would have shocked an Eskimo, and winds that had terrible consequences to the lads who take pride in there crafty combing techniques (its been noticed) however with days to go the omens did not look good cancelled sessions, worried looks was it falling apart or just a cunning plan by the management to lull The Vets into a false sense of security and let their scouts report carnage in the U 8,s squad. Sadly for us it was carnage as the rigorous training schedule had taken its toll.

A brave and wise decision then took place by the Cool Cumbrian, rest, that’s what we needed and lots of it, a decision that at the time seemed strange was to have a huge impact, and was my first real insight into the managerial skills of our leaders.

I woke on the day of the game with a certain amount of trepidation and a lot of excitement, the sunshine coming through the curtains I lifted my head to look out of the window and oops! My back had gone, not wanting to spread alarm I eased my self to the cupboard and swallowed a packet of extra strength Brufen sat down to bacon and eggs. The adrenalin kicked in and the pain disappeared, a spring developed in my step, what next - time to kill, rest I thought, a gentle tug on my shirt was the only reminder I needed we had a game in Ellesmere Port with the kids, panic set in and all thoughts of my game had gone, up to the Port for an 11.0.Clock KO I was first up there and lucky enough to catch a glimpse of the first game a fine win from Mikes team. Then through the mist he came “The Cumbrian” looking slightly worse for wear, with that lob sided smile I have come to admire he whispered, Dave “I have been on it from five last night, and feel as rough as a bears bum”. Another masterstroke from the great man, show no fear, the dads around me grew with confidence and started doing keep ups with the kids ball, with the match over and another fine win it was off for a light lunch of fish and chips, a quick rub of Ralgex and another pack of Brufen.

The pitch was not what I expected it seemed so much bigger than I remembered, team mates waiting in anticipation, the changing room was quietly subdued until that colossus of a man Jason Hughes stepped in, threw down his Asda bag containing the largest pair of silver boots I have seen and smiled, were am I playing as he glanced over at the management, another gem of man management skill came out of the managers mouth, “Your Not” no training meant no start the entire dressing room lifted with laughter and the nerves disappeared.  

The warm up consisted of a slight stretch, a gentle chat and a line of Lucozade that was sufficient as energy was precious and not to be wasted. Formation was all-important and the management decided on 4-4-2 to start, which did develop in to an 8-1-1 formation in the latter stages of the match. My heart sank when our keeper Mally the Cat put on a pair of gardening gloves still fresh with manure and grass cuttings, brave as a lion, and with the reflexes of a bus he wasn’t found wanting.

The defence consisted of Sean, Paul, Shedo and myself, stalwarts of amateur football with over 207years of experience.   Sean played like he lives, to the extreme never found wanting, in fact never found at all.  Paul Gray was like a brick wall, never moved, the years of alcohol abuse had taken its toll but not once did I see him shirk a tackle, not once did I see him make one.  Shedo what can I say the man lives and breathes football the left foot of Daniel Day Lewis in the famous film “My Left Foot” his new boots moulded to his feet like a kangaroos pouch, language always choice but commitment never in doubt.

Four across the middle Mark on the left a mixture of Ronnie Whelan, Kevin Sheedy and Lilly Savage unassuming and likeable by nature especially after his goal, a chip that would have put Harry Ramsden to shame.  Colin and Mike in the centre, Colin a lean mean fighting machine, like a Vietnam conscript going into battle, stoned with a blank expression on his face, the only words muttered and I quote “This game is passing me by” his shot that broke the bar was a sight to behold and is up there with the best.

Mike the oasis in the desert, the class in the side, the Ossie Ardiles of the dads, small dark and with funny facial hair. His cutting pass for our third goal was a joy, as was his tricky run to get the penalty at the hub of all things good.  Eammon on the right the iron man of Ireland, not only has he kissed the blarney stone he has rubbed his feet all over it with the footwork of the front row of River Dance in a Bognor Theatre on a Saturday night.  Rob Doig up front a poacher by day and a poacher by night, the rabbits give it away, confidence in abundance grabbed the ball to bang the penalty in to the back of the net with the same enthusiasm he has when polishing the bricklayers trowels.

Chris the youngster of the team constant running, skill beyond his years and a goal of shear class, rounding the keeper with a drop of the shoulder and walking the ball in to an empty net.  Jason was on the line much to the disappointment of his many family members and one friend, but another masterstroke by the Cumbrian took off the penalty taker before the celebrations had ceased and brought on our answer to “Big Dunc” his first shot a thunderous drive with the silver boots shaved the outside of the corner flag, our prayers were answered his endless running and robust approach made it easy for us all to get served at the bar.

The pattern of the game was set from the start no quarter given and none taken, Portsmouth v Southampton, City v United, Celtic v Rangers all much better games than this one, but to the men that took part they lived that dream.

The changing room was a hive of activity, laughter, shouting, and back slapping, that’s enough of that I thought and off on the ale I went. The look on the faces of Shedo and Jason when I walked in to the pub will stay with me to my grave; the kids have eaten all the flipping chips, brilliant lads, poetry in motion. Long through the night the beer flowed the team changed dramatically we were now Brazil of the 70’s the backslapping continued, that will have to change, and friendships cemented. The sound of Shedo singing CHAMPIONEY, CHAMPIONEY as he was taken away in the back of the police car was heart warming, Paul Gray managed to talk again, and Chris returned to milk the applause. With a smile I called it a day thanked everyone and retired with my boots to my bed, fell back on my pillow sighed and turned to my partner. HECK! I was in the wrong house.

To all that took part  "WE LIVED THAT DREAM."