Sunday League Football - A Magical Time

It's a real shame that most of us don't appreciate the good times we have when we are having them. It's one of life's tragedies that we are mostly unaware of how good they are until it's too late.  Personally, the days of playing Sunday League are amongst my favourite.



What could be better than going out the night before a game to Cromwell's bar (the pinnacle of Huntingdon nightlife) with your mates and getting off your nut. There was none of this, "better take it easy guys, big game in the morning" mentality that you mostly get with Saturday football, in fact it was the complete opposite. Who could get the most fucked up and still get to footy on time was the challenge.



When I first started playing Sunday's for the mighty Barley Mo pub me and the Tesco crew would finish work on a Saturday, shower, get changed into our boot cut jeans and baggy shirts and be propping up the bar by 8pm ordering our first round of shots. I know the kids like to venture out at midnight now but with us there was no time to waste.


Come Sunday morning the lads would slowly drip feed into the changing room (after waiting for Alban to get us.....he was and still is ALWAYS late) , have a quick look at the tactics board, (I'm being generous calling it that, it was a white board with the formation on) and then turn to spew into the nearest bin. Late night kebab rearing it's ugly head? There's nothing like a football changing room for banter and shenanigans. I miss that part the most.


One of the funniest occasions I ever remember was our goalie, Matt Ingram, staggering into the Mo changing room, looking at the starting line up and then going absolutely mad at the gaffer for benching him. Graeme had looked out the window when he was preparing the kit and seen Matt drinking in the car park on his way in. I don't think it twigged straight away but Matt was STILL swigging from the can of Stella as he condemned the apparent "injustice" to anyone who would listen. Makes me chuckle to this day at how angry he was.




Drunk but still had enough pace to round the rotund goalie..

Yes, imagine that, it's half hour before kick off and the 'keeper is still necking Stella and hadn't been to bed in 24 hours.  The manager would be crucified for giving him the nod! It's one thing to be hanging a little after 4 hours sleep, but no sleep at all? Even on a Sunday a certain degree of professionalism is required. I think Matt carried on drinking on the subs bench. I recall him getting a fifteen minute run out at left back at the end of the game.


Matt was also part of another stand out moment. A few years later he was the opposing goalie and a few minutes before kick off they realised that he hadn't turned up and they had no substitutes. . Instead of putting someone else in goal they ridiculously elected to start with no 'keeper as they had received a tip off that he was on his way. Just as the ref was about to blow the whistle to start I looked in the distance and saw Matt absolutely legging it towards us. "I'm here guys, wait a sec!!" he shouted, struggling  to put his gloves on. Unfortunately he was so puffed out from that run that I think we were two or three nil up after about ten minutes. At the end I asked him why he was late and he said, "I got pissed and fell asleep down the river." Classic.




clearly we won that one...

As for the game itself, I almost always played better if I was hanging. A good night out, a bit of a dance and a snog with some local munter (ahem...) and a laugh with the boys and I was playing with a smile on my face even if the legs were heavy. Any time I tried to prepare for any game by staying in and being bored and miserable usually resulted in a poor performance. The same can't be said for others and that was why we were known as being very erratic, one week beating the best and the next losing to the worst. The most important thing in those days was just having fun and playing a game we all loved.




You see, Sunday football had so much charm. On a warm, summer's morning there could be quite a decent crowd in attendance. On a Cold December morning there would be nobody but subs. Point is, you didn't care.  


You'd look at the characters lining the pitch and see a mixture of people. Dads with their young sons innocently teaching them about the game, the overbearing yob dads screaming at their grown ass son for hoofing the ball when he could have "squared" it, the group of girls who just came to perve on the better looking ones of us (it wasn't me), half time orange givers, first aiders (I laughed at that, it was some muppet with a bucket and magic sponge), and then the best one, the odd man standing on his own making notes who you convinced yourself was from a premier league club on a scouting mission!  One time I played a great game, scored two goals and had seen this man making notes for about 20 minutes. At full time I went over to him and jokingly asked if he was from Arsenal. Turns out he was from Huntingdonshire Council and he was counting how many pieces of dog turd hadn't been picked up by their owners. SEEEE, the charm of it. You can't recreate these moments. Never got a call from Arsenal.


Saturday football is more serious and involves quite a bit of travel. I used to love being home by midday on a Sunday but Saturday away games you wouldn't get in until 5pm. You really have to love it to do it. I only stopped playing last year and funnily enough have had one offer to play Sunday's again!! But I think it's about the people you play with over the years and it's just not the same joining a new side. I loved that about football, playing with the same lads you knew when you were 10 years old until you're in your 30's....that's pretty special.


With the passing of time the memories will become less vivid but I'm really glad they happened. At the end of the a long work shift now sometimes I think about these days and they make me smile. What more could you want?