FCFC
Russell Barnes-Heath
Russ
Bruce Bennett
Mr Dance or Brucey
Bruce has been a member of the club for many a long year making his eleven a side debut in the rain of Merton Park in Jan 1993. Bruce soon settled into a comfortable centre back pairing with his large arsed twin Shep... - the pair often proving to be a tremendous obstacle for opposing strikers to negotiate.
Brucie's first tour with the club was the "Kiss me Quick" Manchester tour of mid 93. It was here in the Conti, in the early hours of Saturday morning, where he revealed his dazzling dance floor routines. It was these routines which won not only the first club dance off, against Cairnsey, but were later to break the toes and spirits of many ladies.
By this time Brucie had established himself as a regular both on Thursdays and for the 11 a side teams. He was present on the clubs first overseas tour of Dublin in the Autumn of 1993, but it was the tour of Cyprus the following year that was a turning point in Brucie’s career. It was here on the dance floors of Aiya Napa that Bruce met and first snogged Liz (even with the close attention of Pollard and camera).
Despite embarking on this love adventure, Bruce stayed true to the clubs principles and enjoyed a long run in the side missing only 4 of the next 24 matches. Included in this spell was some true Brucie magic on the US/Canada tour of 95. After scoring a rare goal in the initial win of the tour Bruce provided a moment which will live long in club history (at least as long as Sawdy remains with the club). With only three minutes remaining and their "semi professional" opponents apparently cruising at 3-2, FCFC conjured what was described by one learned reporter as "drama the like of which the West End has never seen" not one but two goals. What better time to take the lead with only seconds remaining... but then no-one had planned on Brucie's intervention. A hopeful cross from the oppo right was met by Bennett who with the greatest aplomb beat the agile Cat. As the final whistle blew the distraught Bennett was swiftly comforted by the jeers and taunts of his team-mates.
Since that time Bruce's opportunities have been restricted as the club looked to younger, brighter and more reliable players such as Heppell and Goodeve. He's never been invited on a foreign tour since and his fall from grace eventually led him to marriage.
Such a shame, so much “talent” wasted, what might have been. Five years following "that own goal" Brucie was invited back to participate in another friendly against easy beats Grovesnor Estates. May be we had been too harsh, maybe it had been a mistake anyone could have made. Oh no we hadn't - within three minutes he was up to his old tricks planting a header firmly past Webmason.
Brucie has now retired from non-competitive football and spends his time collecting bus numbers and eating savoury snacks.
Chris Bromham
Brommers
Stephen Cairns
Shagger or Cairnsey
Ladies man, breaker of hearts, sleeping giant of the niteclub. Shagger was one of the earliest recruits to the newly formed FCFC in the late summer of '91 being dragged unwillingly along by flatmate Smith to Durand Gardens... His talents weren’t immediately obvious with the learned Sawdon commenting that he was “equally poor with both feet”.
Cairnsey was never really in it for the football though, as evidenced by his part in creating the hole in the magical “Q” formation against the Scousers and by his shades wearing performance in Cyprus. What Shagger was really interested in were the ladies and oddly enough and despite his horrendous chin disfigurement, the ladies were interested in him. Historians have speculated at this very strange phenomenon and have attributed this to the fact that the ladies were really after Davey and through Cairnsey they hoped to get close to the great man.
In the early days Shagger kept his lady “habit” under wraps. It wasn’t until the Annual Dinner of 1992 at Caspers that he eventually came out of the closet. Whilst all other club members were attentively listening to Chop’s three hour acceptance speech, Cairnsey’s mind and then body drifted across to a table of twelve fresh, young and nubile Nurses. The club was astounded. What on earth could these medical marvels have that was more interesting than a Davey monologue - to this day that question remains unanswered.
From that moment on Shagger threw caution, and with it the club’s most sacred principles, to the wind. He was involved in several unseemly incidents involving the ladies, firstly in Blackpool in 93 then Cyprus and finally on the second Geordie tour of 1995. It was on this last occasion when Cairns had invited some “pretty young thing” back to his room, which he happened to be sharing, that the club finally decided enough was enough.
After some gentle persuasion from members of the executive, the cocksure Irishman was asked to carry out his sordid business elsewhere. Like so many of his forefathers, Cairns turned to the only place where his perverted tendencies and lack of moral fibre weren’t held against him and probably the only place in the world where he looked a half decent player - the US of A.
And that’s where he has remained ever since, thank God.
In some futile attempt to get back “onside” with the executive, Shagger has “organised” two tours since crossing the Atlantic. Firstly the US/Canada tour of 1995 notable mainly for the poor quality of oppo and the enormous quantities of red meat consumed by Big Kev.
In 1999 a second tour was arranged to the Septic Isle, this time to Manchester, New England and environs and was also notable for the quantity of red meat consumed by Big Kev. This tour also coincided with Shagger’s marriage to Megan. On the wedding day the happy couple opened their house, but more importantly their drinks cabinet to the club (and the other guests). The results were inevitable, but the culprits somewhat surprising. Tomble and Piercey’s furniture and ornament breaking “sting” on an otherwise engaged Taff was ludicrous in the extreme.
Cairnsey made a fleeting return to the squad for the anniversary Bude tour in 2001. The executive’s decision to oust the Irishman looked foolish when within minutes of the start of the first game Cairnsey unleashed a corker. But that was it. Over the course of the next 265 minutes football in the West Country, he only provided comedy, with mis-controls, shinners, aimless runs and nutmegs galore. He truly hadn’t been missed.
John Cassidy
J.C.
JC is one of the long line of successes coming out of the FCFC youth academy. In 1998, at the age of 33, JC was introduced to the club by the young at heart Goodeve. Already complaining of long term injuries to his knees, back and ankles... and someway short of being dubbed the “complete” footballer, JC’s admittance to the club was exactly the right type of signing for a club going places.
And worst still he’s ginger.
Yes, that’s right I’m not kidding - I did say ginger. But then Sawdy was taking the club through its equivalent of the late 60s early 70s open minded, love not war, hippy era of tolerance to all geeks, Welsh and gingers.
So what did JC bring to FCFC apart from throat choking cigars and the smug, self assured support of a team from North London (and we already had enough of those). Well the answer is very little really. He elected to play rarely in the 11 a side matches and turned up only sporadically on a Thursday.
He did eventually make his debut for the 11 a side team in July 1999, in the disgraceful 2-2 draw with Grovesnor Estates, a team regularly stuffed by 6 or 7. A small number of other games followed in which JC was largely a passenger, but his one moment of fame came in the home League game against PwC B.
FCFC, down to ten men due to the late withdrawal of the geeky Mason-Smith, had been up against it for much of the first half but only trailed 2-1 despite the best efforts of juggler Pierce in nets. After Sawdy had managed to level with one of his trade mark “I’m not going to pass because you’re all sh*te” runs, the door was opened for Cassidy and for the very first and only time in his FCFC career, he didn’t disappoint. It was as if John Barnes had been transported from the Maracana, Cassidy displayed some wizardry never seen before to skip past their defence and slot in for a memorable 3-2 victory. Not dissimilar to Barnes, Cassidy has failed to even come close to repeating that mesmeric two seconds (or for that matter scoring a goal) and has passed somewhat into obscurity since that fateful day.
His passing into obscurity only came however after his two most ignominious moments. Firstly at his own Stag do in Munchen, inexperience showed when he allowed a couple of beers to go to his head. His performance with the rubber chicken will not be forgotten by the many onlooking Germans and nor will his failure to show for the match the following morning be forgotten by his team-mates, leaving the team to a bare 10 including Saggers.
He followed this folly with possibly greater idiocy in Brighton on Taffy’s stag. Despite warnings from the more experienced clubmen, the young Cassidy had three whole beers and then got foolishly involved “proving he still had it”, with the immature Dixon in some laddish pranks. But the last laugh was on JC as he missed the morning train with the rest of the team and spent an extra couple of hours shunting around the South Downs with Big Kev.
In October 2001, JC surprised the club by attaining a “prestigious” nomination for Accountant of the Year. His claims that he was “put forward” by a collective of wise partners at PKF is an oxymoron in itself, but it’s also a falsehood. Cassidy actually and rather absurdly nominated and seconded himself.
But it was to no avail and despite his protestations that “it has done my career no harm” and “at least I got £150 of entertainment” (although no-one is quite sure what entertainment constitutes at this collective of Accountants - watching a magician conjure some FCFC accounts?), he was unable to secure victory, beaten by some whinging, bouffant headed bean counter from KPMG no doubt.
Alan Cooper
the Dog
And so we begin the tale of an ordinary ginger headed bloke with an extraordinary story, one so improbable that a major Hollywood studio is currently in the process of scaling down the action for the big screen...
It started on a wet but mild Thursday in mid October 1995 in a small primary school in an exclusive enclave in an otherwise run down part of town. Invited to play some 5 a side football by his geeky pal Webmason, Coops took himself along expecting nothing more than a couple of goals, a couple of pints and maybe a curry (it being third Thursday and all that). He came away with just the one goal (in 26 as it happens), but his destiny had been changed. No longer was he just the geeky kid who was shunned by all others, he was now part of a team.
And he whole heartedly jumped into it, immediately signing up to the NZ/HK tour of the following year – costing a mere £10,000 (after Davey’s cut) having known everyone for less than a week. He enjoyed the tour greatly and interestingly put in some of his finest displays in the canary yellow from right back. That same year he won one of the highest accolades in the sporting world – FCFC Player of the Year.
So all was going swimmingly. But it was about now that the wheels started to fall off. First he purchased a flat. An ordinary exercise but unlike other blokes saw the task of furnishing it as a real challenge. Firstly he spent a crippling amount on the sofa – well fair enough its nice to have somewhere comfy to watch the footie. But then he bought some curtains….not any old drapes either. These cost a whopping £4k – for curtains!!! What’s wrong with stringing an old sheet across the window said the masses.
By 1998 Coops was an absolute regular in the side and so was first to sign up for the Macc Lads tour of that year, arranged by Heppell and the only one incidentally that Piercey has ever missed. Clearly Pierce’s calming influence was also missed as Coopsey set about with some unseemly behaviour with the opposite sex, which ended with the first on tour “coupling” since Cyprus. Still at least it was in luxurious surroundings... oh sorry did you say in the back of a rusty Peugeot.
Still never being a team to dwell on tittle tattle, meeting the young (ish) lady again at a club wedding later that year gave everyone the opportunity to display their maturity. And with shouts of “go on Coopsey get stuck in” whilst the Dog was being crushed by her ample bosom on the dance floor, displayed it in its entirety.
Surely by 1999 Coops had learnt his lesson. Learnt how to keep out of trouble, learnt to think before acting... oh no not Coops. 1999 was the year it went wrong big style. Firstly he decided to jump into the back of a black cab and head for Stansted. Sadly we have been unable to obtain consent of the patent holders to publish the full details of the taxi story here, but needless to say it involved a good deal of incompetence, a huge lack of foresight and a most horrendous amount of cash - £185 to be precise, ooops and tip... that’ll be £200 then.
He followed this up with offering his (important to note – hard up) mate the use of his brand new expensive car to race through the countryside of... France... uninsured. Now given his track record it really doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened next. Absolutely correct, car written off!
But it hadn’t finished there. Next he left his very full wallet on the top of a PC in an internet café and followed that up with leaving his bag with new wallet and keys to house on a train... bad luck old chap!
Finally 1999 was over and surely the luckless redhead would also see a change in fortune. And so it very nearly was on the Volts of Vodka tour to Poland and the Ukraine. Coops had never really been very succesful with the ladies, save his efforts in Jan’s Peugeot noted above, so it was with some surprise that in the depths of a dingy Ukrainian nightclub he started to get the come on.
Our on the spot reporter takes up the action: “As the night moved on, Coops started dancing with a stunning and improbably voluptuous blonde sporting a short white dress and thong, who, in an unprecedented development, appeared to return Rex’s attentions. Other club members withdrew to ogle from the edge of the dance floor while the East meets West twosome continued to dance. When he briefly rejoined the FCFC group to ask someone to pinch him and tell him he wasn’t dreaming, it was pointed out to Coops (for his own sake) that she was either (a) frustrated by a shortage of genuine gingers in the Ukraine and hoping against hope that the pedigree pooch in front of her would send some fiery romance her way; or (b) on the game. Naturally assuming the latter, the hapless Coops decided it was “all over, Red Rover” and, as he allowed his lady of the night to slip away, was left wondering whether he had lost the woman of his dreams or saved fifty notes.”
Poor old Coopsey... but it wasn’t long before his luck did finally change and in 2002 he wed his sweetheart Goat. For a while everything seemed to be going his way, no misfortunes or scrapes of any kind, the laid back placid Dog seemed to have found his kennel.
But as with all things in life, it doesn’t last. The catalyst for the change was his old mentor, the ginger bearded ex-SP who’d sanctioned his incorporation into the club, Paul Sawdon. At the beginning of the difficult 2003/4 league campaign things hadn’t started too brightly for the Eggs, defeat in their first outing was being followed by a dismal showing against PwC Wanderers, a team we’d hitherto always cuffed. Sawdy was at his ranting best, firing verbal bullets the way of many teammates. But when it came to being critical of Coops, the hypersensitive Dog took it all the wrong way and ended the match throwing the sacred yellow and blue shirt to the ground (and nearly missing) and storming from the pitch, never to be seen again... TAXI FOR COOPER!
Andy Cox
Coxy
No-one claims to have invited Cox into the club. He just seems to have turned up one Thursday night in 1999 and despite plenty of heavy hints, has continued to come week in week out. Clearly he must have heard that the club... needed a free-scoring playmaker of his ilk.
Coxy really is a cut above the rest when it comes to footballing ability. His touch is exquisite very much in the same class as Zidane and Gascoigne, his range of passes leave Beckham and Hoddle in the shade and his goal scoring has been likened to both Van Basten and Greaves.
Wisely therefore SP Merse immediately sought out a position from which so much talent could excel whilst not out shining the rest of the team. He immediately hit on the right back slot, bringing some much needed balance to a team overly reliant on its left sided defender. And to be fair right back had been a trouble position for the club after the retirement of the Old Man. Many had tried and failed to fill his boots, including “he’s in me pocket” Hughes, the tackle shy Cooper, the positionally senseless Green and Pollard (need I say more).
Coxy immediately proved as reliable as his left sided counterpart missing only one game in the inaugural league season of 99/00. He provided that extra flair that had been missing on the right. His game was about marauding runs, overlapping the slovenly Johnson, along with his ability to deliver his pinpoint superb whipped in crosses to the waiting heads of the ever eager strikers. At the back he was tough tackling without the ball, coolness and composure on it.
Immediately the club’s fortunes were changed. After a barren run of only two wins in the previous eight months the Eggs where in much need of some inspiration. And it was no coincidence that Coxy’s introduction against ADB Select XI corresponded with a big victory and the launch pad for the club’s best run for five years.
Cox revelled in his position enjoying the space to run into, the involvement in the game, knowing he was doing it for the good of the club. Never once did he complain. Not an utterance of dissent, not even on the long and arduous Volts of Vodka Tour. You certainly wouldn’t find Coxy propping up the bar at 3am bemoaning his fate as right back.
It was on this tour that Cox’s marvellous winning record was also besmirched. But it was certainly not his fault that the Fat Actor Brian Blessed weighing in at 33 stones, playing at left wing, managed to steal in twice to set up the first defeat of the tour.
So whilst his on field activities are something of a marvel for all to behold his off-field pursuits are much more mysterious. Everyone was alerted to the fact that all was not quite right on Thursday nights when he repeatedly “went commando” after football. When he then revealed a taste for wearing ladies fishnet stockings, even the liberal minded Sawdon blanched.
Some further investigation has actually revealed Cox as the Grand Poobah of the London branch of the Geeks into Fetish Society. This illegal underground movement with its headquarters in Egham, is actually devoted to the teachings of Marc Almond. Other members of this devout and perverted group include Chris “Virginia Wade” Dixon and Alan “Silver Cap” Cooper.
Still the club has always been open minded about such pursuits and certainly no-one within the club would hold such beliefs against Coxy – not a chance!
Peter Cseh-Szakal
the Hungarian
No-one can ever pronounce his name correctly, but he can model a scarf really well. "Is this my best side?"
Simon Denyer
Badger or Big Cas
Regarding his Big Cas nickname, he himself writes... "it comes from the famous Ireland tour, when my refined striking skills were compared to that legendary frontman Tony Cascarino... (I deny all physical or facial resemblance)...
As you may be aware, Cascarino subsequently went on to some of the greatest years of his football career with Marseille while I rattled in some amazing goals for FCFC. That tour also brought about the "Sorcerer's Apprentice" moniker, after my exploits up front with David Pierce (surely FCFC's most potent strike force).
Also sharing a room with Davey (on my first ever overseas tour) I rightly credited the "wizard of the left-back position" with teaching me everything I now know about football. He was indeed a footballing sorcerer in those days and I was proud to be his apprentice."
Chris Dixon
Dicko (Snr)
Currently the oldest player on the club’s playing staff, at [insert age here] Dicko still sees himself as young at heart. From Day 1 it was obvious that Dicko was not your average middle aged gent.
With his leather trousers, slicked back hair (singular), aviator sunglasses and a revealing open necked shirt along with a powerful throbbing machine between his legs (his motorbike if you were wondering) - sorry Dicko but no matter how hard you try you really are mutton dressed as lamb.
Dicko was another of those IT geeks spawned in the Sawdon era, coming through the ranks of the youth team in the summer of 1995. His first eleven a side appearance came at the expense of the club’s real Old Man, Dave Richards, usurping him for the right back slot in the 3-2 defeat by Shep’s Neighbours.
This was to be, but a fleeting appearance and it was to be another year before our very own medallion man strutted his funky stuff for the club again. His showboating performance, in the 4-2 victory against Habs OB 3rd XI, whilst rewarded with a goal impressed no-one in the club and Dicko was once again put out to pasture.
Three more years passed, with just three more appearances before the club desperately short for their inaugural cup game against E&Y 3rds, recalled the old timer. Things started well for the Eggs, three up inside the first half hour against their under strength opposition they were coasting. Then shortly before half time Dicko scored a corker after some great work from Beansy and Tomble - only problem was that it was in his own net. A hopeful ball in from a corner was flicked on majestically by the leaping Tomble, straight through the hands of the statuesque keeper. The ball landed at the feet of the reliable Dicko who hit it first time into the bottom corner.
Fortunately this made little difference to the end scoreline as FCFC made it comfortably through 7-1. The reward for this emphatic victory was an eye catching, money spinning tie away to League Champions and the then Div I League Leaders “Easy Beats” Tristars. Despite pulling out all the stops, it appeared that once again the Casuals would be forced to play their elderly gigolo. So FCFC lined up for probably the biggest game in their history. Within minutes the Eggs found themselves one up through a lucky shinner from Johnson. Even when Tristars equalised just before half time, the Eggs were still in with a shout. Midway through the first half it looked like an improbable draw could be on the cards but then up stepped Dicko. A Tristars corner from the right found Dicko, left foolishly unmarked by the Casuals, and with unerring accuracy he hit a first time volley past the floundering Beansy. The team were despondent all their hard work carelessly spurned. With the fight gone out of them, the Casuals surrendered two more late goals to give the score a flattering look for the Champions.
Rather than alienating him from the club, these flawed performances rather endeared him to the masses and he went on to become a regular in the side. He even began touring with the club, making his first overseas outing on “Shag’s Stag” Tour to Dingle. Here in a four way Shag Off with Randle, Cooper and Shagger in the local youth club, the old boy showed his guile by passing up opportunities with any of the many carrot topped locals (which some other clubmen couldn’t resist) in favour of more liquid entertainment in the hotel bar.
This mature behaviour and canny judgement was singularly lacking on Dicko’s next overseas outing, a tour for which he will ever be remembered - The “Volts of Vodka” tour of Eastern European. The tour started poorly for the Dirty Old Man, attempting to pull an airline hostess on the plane to Warsaw, and went very much downhill from there. The rubber chiseller had a seemingly boundless ability to come up with crass one liners for the Polish shot putters, Mick Mills lookalikes and Madge from Papparazzi’s Bar.
By the time the tour party had reached Kiev, Dicko’s behaviour was frankly getting on the tits of the rest of the tourists and Trev in his inimitable style set about sorting him out. In the bowels of O’Briens bar in the heart of the City, Polly sought out a touring French rugby team and offered them a challenge of strength. In the words of our on the spot reporter “the club’s newly-appointed arm-wrestling champion, Dicko showed his inexperience by not telling Polly to go wrestle with himself. To chants of “Dicko ! Dicko !” … the wrestle began. It seemed locked in an eerie stalemate until suddenly there was a nasty crack and Dicko announced matter-of-factly “it’s broken”.
As a result of his age, Dicko’s injury was more serious than it might have been for a younger man. Instead of three weeks in a cast, the old fella had to undergo a series of operations spread across 18 months. These included a hip replacement, the removal of his cataracts and the insertion of a colostomy bag. Once these had been completed they pinned his arm back together.
Christopher has now retired from football and lives in Marlow in some Sheltered Housing for the Old and Infirm with his soul mate Margaret.
Roger Dixon
Dicko (Jnr) or Rog
Dicko's younger brother.
Julian Edwards
Jules or Darth
FCGC only player. Known for his heavy breathing and Darth Vader style head mask worn as part of his evening attire.
Matt Emerson
FTB, Merson or Merse
"To Feet" he shouts with an exasperated look on his face and his hands, truculently, on his hips. This is the scene that greets all midfielders expertly sliding a ball through the channel and expecting Matt to latch onto it...
But they should know by now. Matt’s style of football hasn’t changed since he made his first appearance for the club against the Geordies in December 1991. Even with nearly 80 appearances behind him, he’s still never made a run and has certainly never “latched onto” a hopeful punt upfield. No, Matt prefers the less strenuous style of football, relaxing upfront waving occasionally to his defenders and midfielders, rarely straying outside the oppositions six yard area (preferring to wait off the field by the oppo goal rather than retreat back to the half way line).
Some (but none within the club) might dispute this criticism and point to Matt’s magnificent goal record. 64 goals in just 78 appearances, with no less than 6 hat-tricks. These are indeed very impressive records and Matt is rightly proud of them. A closer look at these statistics however reveal an entirely different story. He currently sits 23rd and 22nd in the MDG and MVG stats respectively, well below any of his main goalscoring rivals. Further, in games FCFC have lost, drawn or won by only a single goal Matt’s record is just 10 goals in 41 games.
So what does this say about Matt “Graeme Hick” Emerson. Well only one thing really - Flat Track Bully. Many are the tightly fought league games when the heat is rising and tempers are beginning to fray when Matt can be spied in the centre circle, having a quick cup of tea and an amiable chat with the opposing centre half.
One of the first transfers in during the summer of 1991, by the newly formed Casuals, he’s always been a regular on Thursday night and whichever team he plays in always benefit from his tireless running and tracking back.
A regular UK tourist Merse not only went on the first tour to Newcastle, but followed that up by leading the way on the “National Disaster” tour of Liverpool in 93. This tour was a personal tragedy for the idle frontman. He not only failed to get to see some horses jumping over ludicrously high hedges, but he was then robbed of his possessions in the luxurious Shaftesbury Hotel. Clearly it wasn’t an inside job from the oppo as they not only stole his ghetto blaster and collection of naff 80s disco music, but they also stole his football boots.
One of Matt’s defining moments and a memory that has ever endeared him to club members was on the “Pair of Bristols” Tour in 1994. Whilst out clubbing on the Saturday night Merse was rudely approached by an alluring female. She stunned the assembled drinkers with a request for Matt’s attendance on the dance floor for a little soft shoe shuffling. Despite being clearly taken aback by these advances the FTB recovered his composure, held out the palm of his hand and in a booming voice to be heard throughout the niteclub uttered a simple “NO”.
This resoluteness in the face of adversity was one of the key reasons that Matt was soon elected VSP to keep the overexcitable new SP, Sawdon in his place. But it was only in December 1998, after 4 long years with the bouffant one in the top chair that Merse finally engineered Sawdy’s downfall and worked his way into the premier job in British Club football.
So after years of being led astray, recruiting Geeks, Gingers and Welshman into the squad, what would this new era hold. There was talk of only easy games being arranged. Everyone would get their share of goals, even Teasy might be allowed to play upfront (alongside Merse of course). There was talk of looking up some of those teams we’d played in the dim distant past, perhaps a rematch with the Bush Nads could be rearranged, someone still had the number for The Financial Journalists, there was even talk of finding Ludlows.
So we waited... and we waited... Days passed and nothing. Days turned into weeks with no sign of a game, no activity from the top man. When weeks turned into months the masses grew restless, but still there was nothing from the new SP. What was going on? what were his plans? The scene started to turn ugly and Merse was confronted, when was our next game “when someone else sorts it, because I can’t be arsed”.
And that really summed up his year in charge - very little activity. Unfortunately this quickly lead to his downfall in the following year’s election and the re-election of the fiendish Goodman. But strangely this fall from grace finally gave Matt the impetus to organise a game. Strangely not a football match but a game of cricket.
It came as no surprise when Matt elected to take up the strenuous wicket keeping position (he had hoped to only do one end, thereby avoiding the traipse to the other end each over, but Goodman, ever the astute captain, decided there was little point in having your wicket keeper standing behind the bowler). Still he did perform admirably behind the stumps against the demon pace bowling of Smith, Cox and Heppell. You could even say he was at home standing in one spot the whole time, collecting the ball!
Matt Fox
Foxy
FCGC player rather than footballer. Famed for his swinging ability. At golf.
Kevin Goodeve
Big Kev
a.k.a. F.B., Big Kev, Goodeve, Fat Bloke, Quite Big Kev, Kev, Svelte Bloke
Position : Centre Half
Man most likely to : complain
Previous winner of the FCFC 'Player... Of The Year' trophy for losing weight and having to buy a whole new wardrobe by seemingly drinking gallons of Diet Coke. Kev is also a loyal Tottenham Hotspur supporter.
FACT FILE
Full Name: Kevin Jurgen Sol Goodeve.
Likes: Aromatherapy, herbal tea...and buns.
Dislikes: Salad, thumbnails.
Favourite Foods: Burgers, Hot Dogs, Cakes, Chips, Buns of course, Pies, Kebabs, Pasties... can I have another sheet of paper?
Biggest influence on career: Mr Kipling.
What would you be if you weren’t a footballer: Stress Counsellor; Peterborough-based taxi-driver.
Favourite film: Diner, Get Shorty.
If you won the lottery tomorrow, what would you buy: A wig.
Toughest opponents: Good ones.
Proudest moment in career: Being elected Player of the Year for 1995.
Pre-match ritual: I like to get myself hyped-up by working myself into a lather over nothing - such as not being able to find a hotel, for example.
What first attracted you to FCFC: The size of the kits.
What do you least like about the modern game: The way some players let themselves go to seed. Bennett and Shepherd in particular.
Keith Goodman
Imperial Lord
"I’m the leader, I’m the leader, I’m the leader of the gang I am." Not the words of some banged up porno pervy as you might have assumed, but our very own self styled dictator, Keith Goodman, OFPM.
It was all so different when the young, gangly Goodman aged just 24, joined a group of class room chums in 1991, on a footballing adventure beyond their wildest dreams. Keith or The Imperial Lord Goodman as he prefers to be addressed now, was instrumental with Shep in arranging the first five a side at Durand.
It was also Keith “Holy Emperor” Goodman who was the driving force behind the clubs ambitious expansion during the autumn of 1991 which saw some of the less than successful early forays into the transfer market. For the record these included the chair dancing Hughes, netminder Tiny Heppell and the meek Green.
King Goodman the First wasn’t actually much of a player himself, but he has always possessed the most exquisite touch once dragging the ball under after just eight touches.
But it wasn’t his footballing genius that attracted the club to CEO Goodman, it was his ability to organise games and his reliability that were the key. He appeared in 27 of the first 30 matches and organised close to half of these. HRH Keith Goodman’s ability to organise things reached a climax on the “Hoist up your Kilts” Tour of Edinburgh in 1994. It was here that his reputation, stature, presence oh and a wadge of cash enabled him to blag one of the true legendary moments in the clubs, Blobby’s Penalty Shootout at Cowdenbeath.
By this time, Chairman Keith had long succeeded in his bloodless coup to wrest control of the club from the bemused and hapless Shepherd. His whispering smear campaign against the affable and endearing Todge was as mercenary and vindictive as it was unnecessary (Todge was a useless SP and would have been replaced at the next AGM in any case).
The first thing “Il Duce” Goodman did when he became SP was to ban all free elections and appoint himself President Emeritus. Secondly he took control of the media, becoming editor in chief of all literature including all emails by club members. These mails now required his express permission and were also subject to his review and sign off. He even controlled the stats through his henchman Pierce.
He filled the other seats on the executive with his lilly livered cronies. Those men with as little brains as gumption, like the weedy Sawdon and the pathetic Merson. But it was the underhand, unscrupulous and greedy Pierce who was always at his masters side ready to do his bidding. And it was a fraud perpetrated between Goodman the Merciless and Pierce of such enormous scale that even today it can’t be believed, that eventually led to their downfall, but not before each of them had made millions in illicit funds from the club.
The November Revolution of ‘94, led by the heroic Johnson saw the masses rise up and break free from the shackles of the Goodman regime. Goodman the Shameless was ousted but fled to Hong Kong to rebuild his tattered reputation.
By mid 95 the ever charitable club now extended the hand of reconciliation to their erstwhile leader for the “Gone West” US/Canada tour. As it was reported at the time “the UK-based players were reunited with former senior-pro Keith Goodman, a man for whom expensive trips are never a problem - unless he’s going to be best man at a wedding of course”.
Whilst the initial step towards reconciliation had taken place Goodman the Pitiless remained overseas festering, pondering and formulating his way back to the top. The dastardly Goodman finally hit on a plan of such staggering magnitude it left his previous escapades in the shade. His idea was nothing less than wiping out all the clubs senior members in one foul swoop. Goodman the Heartless was even willing to risk his own hide to gain revenge. So it was that on the morning of the 28th of November 1998, the unsuspecting Australian tourers clambered aboard their minibus for their straightforward journey out of Brisbane to Bundeberg. Some twenty miles into their journey on a quiet stretch of road Goodman the Terrible launched into his plan, throwing the minibus sideways in a violent skid, so that it toppled over, rolling eight times before coming to a halt on its roof. Safely strapped in, in the front Goodman the Very Bad (I’m running out of adjectives) braced himself for the inevitable bloodshed. Once again it was Goodman the Not Very Nice’s nemesis, the heroic Johnson, who foiled the plot by alerting his team-mates (but not Goodman’s henchman Pierce) to the use of the seat belts and all fortunately escaped without injury.
The inquiry foolishly cleared Goodman of any wrong doing and upon his return to UK in late 1999 he was elected SP once more, more in desperation after the club had suffered its least productive period under the laid-back and lacklustre leadership of Merson. Once again the club has come under the spell of the man they call Mein Fuhrer, but this time even the efforts of the super human Johnson have failed to lift the club from its torpor.
Phil Green
Shouter or Greeny
Phil is a gentleman who can rarely be said to be understated. In fact when it comes to statements Phil’s are normally IN BOLD AND UNDERLINED. It would be fair to say that it's not often you hear the words... “sorry Phil didn’t quite catch that” in the club. Can Phil keep his voice down? Not of his own volition, he can’t.
The plain facts of the matter are that Phil was born with an unusual disability - he has a megaphone lodged in his voicebox. Even my dear old Nan, sadly departed, who was stone deaf could hear Phil and she lived thirty miles from his house.
And talking of his house, a recent survey on the location of London’s fifth airport, found that people in the Gant’s Hill area would actually welcome the introduction of an airport in the vacinity of Collingwood Gardens as they believe this would hopefully drown out the noise coming from number 134 – some hope.
Phil or Shakin’ Stevens as he’s often referred to, was another of those early “desperation” signings. Having the great misfortune to share a house with founding father and rapacious landlord Keith Goodman, the ever amusing John “We’re laughing at you not with you” Hughes and Bruce “Oooh, a Routemaster!” Bennett, Greeny was convinced that his very limited footballing skills would be of some use to FCFC.
He was also another who was signed as a keeper, yet rarely donned the gloves. In his 80 odd appearances he’s started between the sticks a meagre 10 times. This is even more odd because he’s actually quite a reasonable keeper, as opposed to the some of utter dross we’ve had, including the ginger incumbent.
The tactics of consecutive SPs is further questioned when you consider how utterly poor Greeny is as an outfield player. He’s so poor in fact that none of the SPs has yet been able to find a place to hide him and he has been tried everywhere. Below is the full list of positions Green has been unsuccessfully tried:
Keeper – 10 times
Right Back – 9
Left Back – 6
Centre Back – 29
Right midfield – 4
Central midfield – 6
Left midfield – 6
Centre forward – 7
Sub – 3
To be fair his first touch isn’t as bad as many others within the team. It’s just his second, third and if he’s truly lucky and the ball hasn’t ballooned out of play, fourth that are the ones that generally let him down. Here’s a not untypical excerpt from a match report that sums Phil up to a tee. “A poor clearance from Teasdale looked as if it was heading for a throw-in when Green stopped the ball dead with one touch. There was a stunned silence from the FCFC players, with many disbelieving their eyes. However, Green then reverted to type by using the ample time he had created for himself to hoof the ball into touch, narrowly missing Paul and Jimmy Sawdon in the process.”
It has also been alleged that the recent John Smith’s “Ave It” ads were actually inspired by one of Phil’s better performances at Regents Park.
But whatever lack of skill Greeny might have is more than amply made up for in commitment. This commitment runs through not only how he plays on the pitch but also in his commitment off of it. Always a willing runner whether it be the lost cause down the inside left channel, going back to fetch the referee’s whistle left in the changing room or fetching the newspapers in the morning after a heavy night on tour – Greeny can always be relied upon to give his all.
This has even extended to his selfless pre-tour scoping expeditions. It has now become customary for any country or city intent on holding a FCFC tour to be visited a year before the actual tour by Phil, just making sure everything measures up. And the cost, borne entirely by himself, is not inconsiderable when you consider some of the places the club has been to, including NZ in 1996 (Green 1995), Ukraine 1999 (Green 1998) and Bude 2001 (Green 2000).
This attitude, however selfless has also restricted Greeny’s actual tour involvement, in fact it was only on the recent Copenhagen tour for Coopsey’s Stag that Phil played his first game outside the British Isles.
When questioned recently it was discovered that the real reason Greeny had limited tour appearances is because of his passion for trains. Every Saturday and Sunday Phil can be found at his local station, not enjoying the delights of train spotting or even helping restore some old steam train. No, what turns Phil on about trains is that he can pretend to be the tannoy system.
Phil has further highlighted the generous side of his nature via his many entries to various club fantasy competitions. Now into their ninth year, Phil has yet to win any competition and often lavishly contributes another fiver by residing in the bottom three, thus subsidising the Club to the tune of several hundred pounds. A full statisitcial analysis of Phil’s statting performance can be obtained from the Treasurer, upon repeated and prolonged request, hopefully.
Richard Heppell
Emlyn
Dickie Heppell must be the luckiest man alive. Not because, despite being only 3'2", as bald as a coot and the spitting image of Ray Wilkins (before he died) he managed to find someone to marry him (and a rather lovely wife she is too)... Not even because of the goal he shinned in against PwC Guernsey from all of 30 yards. No, Richard Heppell is the luckiest man alive because despite 832 (and like a Greenway shot, still rising) career threatening injuries, he’s still playing football at 37.
One can only wince at the number of times Richard has callously been singled out by the opposition for some “rough” treatment. His reputation in the Sunday Leagues as a County player of some distinction, has often led to some opponents using very cynical tactics against him.
There isn’t a part of his body that hasn’t suffered abuse at one time or another. He’s received ankle twists, groin strains, hamstring pulls, cracked ribs, broken teeth, cartilage tears, tennis elbow, ear ache, brewers droop, colour blindness, tummy upsets, chicken pox, rubella and so on and so on and all in the name of FCFC.
But no matter how many times he falls down, Richard is always quick to hop back on one leg and get on with the game. It’s this fearless attitude to throw himself into the cause which has won the hearts and minds of his clubmates – and this in the face of all odds - as he’s Welsh.
Yes Dickie was the first player, but sadly not the last, from beyond Offa’s Dyke, to appear for the Eggs. He was in fact one of the Eggs’ earliest signings, bought into the club by white slave trader and Far East Mr Big, Keith Goodman in 1992 from the obscurity of the Valleys. The signing was a clear indication of a player fighting Welsh prejudices in London, desperate to find a club and a team with an even more desperate need to find some mug to go in goal.
To be honest not a lot was expected of the stumpy net minder, people were just pleased that someone else was going to stand between the sticks for ninety minutes. And Richard didn’t exceed those expectations, conceding a mere 12 goals in his first two outings in nets against the Scousers and KPMG Corporate Recovery – a track record even The Cat couldn’t better.
The latter game exposed not only Heppell’s ability but his understanding of the laws of physics. Upon the fifth goal gently drifting over the statuesque keeper, Heppell was over heard to note that it wasn’t his fault “the ball had moved both ways”!
At this point SP Shep, a tactical genius, detected one of the many problems with his set up and replaced Heppell in nets for the next game in Manchester. The big question now was could Richard hold down a place as an outfield player. Things didn’t look very good for him with the team literally overflowing with talented midfielders (his preferred position). Players like the jinky Green, the timid but tireless team player Sawdon and even the skilful, play maker Cairns could all be called upon. And then a very strange thing happened. It was discovered that Richard could head the ball.
Heading had not been a skill that had been actively pursued hitherto within the club. It had happened on occasions when players misread the flight of the ball and were unable to duck out of the way, but no-one had actually knowingly got their feet off the ground, extended their neck muscles and pummelled the ball in the vague direction of either another player and certainly never towards the goal.
So on this basis alone Richard gained a place in the starting eleven and has gone on to make close to sixty appearances for the club. He’s even scored with his head and in one ground breaking game at the beginning of the Eggs League campaign of 1999/00 he managed to score twice using his bonce – quite remarkable.
Off the field Dickie has been an inconsistent tourer. In the early days his enthusiasm for long bus journeys and dimly lit niteclubs, ensured his attendance in Liverpool, Manchester, Bristol and both the early overseas tours to Ireland and Cyprus. But since returning from Larnaca with Post Traumatic Tour Disorder after sharing with Pollard for a week, Dickie has almost exclusively confined himself to base.
However in 2002 after an eight year abstention, he was finally persuaded to return to the touring fray on the “Grinning Goodeve in Guernsey” Tour. Here he set about showing his team-mates “he still had it” in the niteclub. And by jove if dancing alongside Frankenstein’s bride all night is considered “having it” then Richard most certainly does.
Graham Johnson
Johnners or Scatty
Heard the one about the bloke who lost his shirt? It was Graham Johnson chime the club - must have been. Then there's the one about the fella who left his baggage at Frankfurt airport. Graham Johnson again...
What about the one about this chap who thought he’d lost his keys and spent thirty minutes searching a muddy football field for them, only for someone else to find them in his jacket pocket. Graham Johnson perchance?
And then there’s the one about the guy who forgot his entire kit on a Thursday night so had to purchase some “casual” wear to play in. You guessed it - our Johnners.
These are just four gems from Johnners “unforgettable” collection. And it would be no exaggeration to say that Johnners has probably lost or left behind a millions things.
Graham Johnson arrived on the FCFC scene in the summer of 1991 and quickly left his mark (as well as several items of underwear) in the club. It didn’t take long for his team mates to establish that Johnners was a) predominantly right footed, b) poor at passing and c) keen to play upfront, despite protestations that he’s a “box to box” right midfielder. In fact in his nearly eighty games he’s never once found himself in his own half (not even for kick offs as his slight figure is not easy to spot amongst the blades of grass in the opposition half). He actually finds himself playing in front of Merse most of the time, not something that’s particularly easy as even opposing goalkeepers rarely find themselves between Merse and their own net.
Another of Johnners trademark’s is the fact that he’s “forgotten” how to cross the ball. Whilst always keen to plough a furrow past the oppo fullback down to the by-line, Johnners has yet to get the measure of pulling the ball back. In fact Johnner’s crossing is so bad that other team-mates have recently employed a lollipop lady to help him (boom, boom - another one from J Hughes).
Off the field, Johnners has always been keen to join touring parties, presumably so he can lose some item of clothing in an exotic location. In fact he rarely misses giving up his family duties to tour some war ravaged Eastern European country or impoverished African nation. He made his first touring appearance on the initial Toon Tour of 1991, but it was in the Return to Toon Tour in 1995 that Johnners left an indelible mark on the club and more prominently on the pitch. And it cleared up a mystery which had long surrounded him.
Since the formation of the club it would not be unkind to say that by 1995 everyone in the team was looking a lot “healthier”. But whilst everyone else in the club has added at least three stone to their waistline (and some directly onto their chins), Johnners, who didn’t mind tucking it away with the best of them had remained at a very trim and tidy eight stone.
Everyone put it down to his metabolism, he was quite quick, although not the fastest man in the club by any means (at the time anyway), but on a cold and frosty morning by the banks of the Tyne, Johnners hidden secret was finally revealed.
Johnners took to the pitch on the morning of the game feeling a little full after his usual tidy breakfast of 4 sausages, 3 rashers of bacon, 2 fried eggs, a heap of beans, two slices of fried bread, a whole black pudding and 3 plum tomatoes, followed by a bowl of porridge, four rounds of toast and jam and all washed down with three pints of Guinness. Sadly rather than savouring this meal fit for a king (albeit a rather greedy, fat one) Johnners was sick, all over the centre circle. And the truth was out - literally. Johnners suffers from Bulimia.
Even now at a slightly more respectable eight stone four ounces, Johnners is still a big binger. Every Thursday night he can be found in the Greyhound supping gallon after gallon of anything that’s put in front of him, including cider - he must really be ill.
Colin Mason-Smith
Webmason
IT user: “I need to establish a runtime session with a secure web server from within an application running on WebSphere. During development I used the Sun JDK and JSSE implementation, and was able to create ... the connection, read the headers, and get the content. When I moved the code into WebSphere, I ran into problems. I've found three different environments that I tested, along with the results. My end goal is to be able to establish the connection, read the headers and get any cookie information.”
Webmason (on call but sitting in the Greyhound enjoying a Malibu and lemonade): “Have you tried turning it off and then switching it back on again.”
Actually that’s not true. What normally happens is that the geeky Webmeister leans across the table and begins discussing the infernal subject matter with his IT chums Cooper and Dixon. All will become transfixed as they talk through the latest sound features on the new MP3 player or the merits of using HTML over Javascript – ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Colin topped a recent poll on the club website, “Which player would you least like to be stuck in a lift with” and now proudly boasts to being the most boring individual in the club. To be fair it’s the only thing that Colin has ever won in his life as most of his time has been spent in his bedroom on his own.
Even as a young lad Colin knew he was that bit duller than everyone else. Many were the sunny summer days in Hull during the school holidays when the nerdy Mason-Smith would be locked in his bedroom playing the latest PacMan game on his ZX Spectrum or writing basic code on his BBC, while all the other bouffanted lads in the area were outside kicking a football or tripping over their eyebrows.
So I hear you all cry how did someone so dull, who’s interests were more Star Trek than Match of the Day, more Clive Sinclair than Gary Lineker, come to playing in a team with such an out-going, likeable, witty punch of jolly japsters such as FCFC.
Well we have the geek loving Sawdon to thank for that. As SP Sawdy made some very poor decisions but his introduction of the odd ball Mason-Smith really does take the biscuit. Incidentally Colin was so weird and had so little idea about football that in his first two years he came “ready” to play on a Thursday night in a bright orange cardigan and fluorescent yellow bobble hat. His wife had knitted them especially for the occasion.
After a game there’s nothing Colin enjoys more than a glass of Taboo or Mirage. If he’s feeling particularly risqué he might even dabble with the Cinzano.
On the field Colin is a complete non-entity and rarely gets involved. He was started at the back but it soon became obvious that he was far too much of a liability and so Sawdy wisely switched him to the left flank were his mistakes are regularly mopped up by Davey. The level of his contribution can be measured by the number of goals he has scored from midfield. Most midfielders have a strike rate somewhere over 50%, even the IT geeks Dicko and Rex make it up to 15%. Mason-Smith meanwhile struggles at a paltry 3 goals in 42 games – just a 7% strike rate. Not exactly setting the world on fire.
At this point in the squad pages I usually turn to a couple of interesting little off-field incidents or some unusual fact involving the player being profiled. Unfortunately that’s just not possible with Colin as absolutely nothing interesting has happened to him in his entire seven years with the team. Oh hang on there was that time that he wore blue socks instead of the regulation yellow and there was that other occasion when he turned up three minutes early for a game. Ummmmm... no absolutely nothing interesting at all really.
Readers will be unsurprised to note that Colin is the resident Website engineer. Apparently he spends all his spare time tweaking the cookies - whatever that might mean. And nothing turns him on more than a tough piece of code.
Anyone interested in finding out more about Colin can try viewing his personal website www.colinisfun.co.uk – they should also get out more.
Timothy Mills
the Cat
Hey! Football purists have long argued that there is no place in the modern game for uncoordinated, overweight, dim witted Canadians who’ve no appreciation of the finer points of the game and don’t even... understand the offside trap. The Cat without question confirms this theory.
What Tim understands about football could be written on the back of a postage stamp. His gaffs have been legendary, like the time he scored an own goal and missed a penalty in the same match or then there was the time in goal when after a shot from inside the area had “sneaked” past him a statuesque Tim was heard to comment “but I wasn’t expecting that”.
Introduced to the club for the inaugural game against the Geordies in 1991, he made Beer Mat look like an accomplished player. It had been intended that this was a one off, but desperately short of players some two years later, The Cat was recalled to the fold for the Services (UK) game at Tottenham. Extraordinarily he let only one goal in.
That was to be his high point, but misled by this apparition, Todge signed him up for the following match against the feisty Catford Sports at Crystal Palace. After playing the first half in nets, The Cat was let out for a prowl in the second. Finding himself marking a wriggly forward inside the penalty area, Tim took his opportunity to shepherd him, Ice Hockey style, “the hell outta there”.
Still, fellow club members looked on this lack of ability as quaint and by 1994 (and with no other option), The Cat had firmly established himself between the sticks - and lets face it, it would have taken a big yellow JCB to move him. But lets not be too harsh his record in nets speaks for itself: he’s started 28 games with the keepers jersey and in those games a mere 83 goals have been conceded; he’s only let in 7 twice (the club record) and there’s also only been a couple of sixes. Pretty impressive stats.
A regular tourer, The Cats first appearance on the road was the remarkable “Pair of Bristols” tour where he definitely played his part in one of the more exciting games, the Eggs finally winning by a couple of goals in sixteen.
He also featured with the late night party boys at Aiya Napa. But Tim’s true vocation was only discovered (to the benefit of the whole club I might add) on the US/Canada tour of 95. It was here that his culinary skills on the BBQ first came to the attention of Big Kev and the rest of the club. Boy could he handle his sausages and his burgers and his half a cow.
The Yankee Doddle Dandy tour however was a turning point for the stressed out netminder. It was here after his first and only clean sheet that The Cat decided to turn his back on top class football. He set off on a long journey through the jungles (he was trying to get to Hong Kong but somehow got lost on the way) of South East Asia on a voyage of self discovery to find his inner calm.
But life without FCFC just didn’t suit the big man and within months he’d signed up for the epic NZ/HK tour of 1996 fully playing his part in the tour record of only 1 win in 5 games.
Another of The Cat’s much undervalued skills was uncovered at Tombleson’s wedding in 1997 (to which he wasn’t actually invited and where he missed much of the reception catching a Catnap at the foot of Piercey’s bed). During a disturbing soft rock interlude, the big man swung into action with some classic Air Guitar - which was nice.
It was another 2 years before he returned to the UK full time however and it was only now that the Casuals discovered what had been staring them in the face for many a long year - play the Cat out of nets, he can do less damage there (although Greeny might not agree after he was poleaxed by the lumbering defenceman during the PwC Wanderers victory the Spring of 2001).
In the Summer of 2001 Cat joined the masses for the Bude 10th Anniversary Tour and it was here once again where he picked up the BBQ tongs with relish (and with ketchup - boom, boom copyright J Hughes). On one particularly sultry evening Cat found himself purring over some burgers, sausages and Todge’s fresh trout. With time to wile away, Cat indulged himself with odd drink or seven. By the time dinner had been served Cat was struggling to stand. No surprises then when he lurched over and dropped his glass, breaking it right outside the Johnson’s front door. There followed a moment that summed up the ham-fisted, clumsy septic. As he disappeared inside, everyone commented that at least he was going to clear it up - however when he did reappear (after an inordinately long time) it was not with a dustpan and brush, but with a fresh glass of vodka punch. Cheers Cat!
Kevin Murphy
Bigger Kev or Murph
For so quiet and uncontroversial a player, this softly spoken Wearsider had the most unlikely of introductions, through the spiky Pollard during the summer of 1994. Unlike many of the club’s previous signings, Murphy came... with some alleged footballing credentials – having supposedly played before, albeit not at the highest level (Munich Chartered Accountants League Divison 2).
So it was with some optimism that the side lined up in Hull for Murphy’s debut. Ninety minutes later it was immediately obvious that this step up to top class football had come a little too quickly for Murphy. Always a big ask for any new player to pick up the pace of a FCFC match, Murphy was so far off the pace he almost (but not quite) made Merson look energetic. The final result, a club record defeat 6-1, was in no small part due to Murphy’s inability to get into the game.
Skipper Goodman then dropped Murph to the reserves for the next month, before giving him another run out and an opportunity to redeem himself in the return fixture against the Fisherman’s Friends at Coppermill. The resulting defeat was again in no small part due to Murphy’s inability to effectively play the holding role in midfield. He was always second to the ball and when he did have it, was far too easily knocked off of it.
To his credit Goodman then took the young man under his wing. He deflected further criticism by switching Murphy with netminder Mills, a man who’s never knowingly been knocked off the ball (but then he’s never knowingly done anything). There was little to choose between the players, but the switch immediately bore fruit in a creditable 2-2 draw with KPMG South East.
Meanwhile off the field Goodman set Murphy on a tough training regime designed to bulk him up. Despite Goodman’s downfall in late 94, Murphy continued on this routine and by mid 1995, a diet consisting entirely of Stella and pies appeared to be paying off. He’d added five stone and now weighed in at a solid thirteen and a half stone. When called upon to play outfield, Murphy finally started to have an impact on the matches, scoring 8 goals in his next 9 outings.
But that was to be the pinnacle of his career with the club. Sadly, new SP Sawdon didn’t have the same interest in his players as his predecessor and Murphy’s continued lager and pies diet eventually began to tell. By the time the South Africa tour came around in late 1997, Murphy could hardly fit in the plane seat and the big question was being asked - Was Kev bigger than Big Kev? Sadly the answer was yes.
Despite his bulk Murphy had surreptitiously struck up a relationship with one of the young helpers behind the bar at the club beer hall, the Surrey Tavern. Their clandestine meetings on a Thursday night were kept very much under wraps until a fateful Auction night. With the masses assembling in the auction room, the chips and sandwiches were being brought out by Kev’s buxom mistress. His attempts to keep his private life private were sensationally undone, when with a slip of the tongue she announced “dinner’s ready Kevin”.
There’s was a shocked silence amongst the assemblage. What had he been thinking, a man who had seemingly upheld the club’s key principles, a man who’d scorned the activities of such reprobates as Cooper, Dixon and Greenway, had apparently been seduced by a beer wielding temptress? Murphy fled shame faced and teary eyed from the room.
Although he ended his furtive relationship immediately the club was given no alternative and suspended the player for eighteen months until 30 June 1999.
In solace Murphy turned to politics. Despite his apparent working class background, Kev had been a keen admirer of Margaret Thatcher and Norman Tebbitt during the 80s and with the imminent arrival of what Kev saw as an extreme left wing government under Tony Blair, he threw himself into assisting the true blues.
It was whilst on electioneering duty that Kev met Lynn, whose father was running for the Tories in Derbyshire. Whilst ultimately unsuccessful on the political front, Kev had more success with Lynn and the couple eventually married in the frenzy of another election campaign of 2001.
Another humiliating defeat for the Tories was a devastating setback and left Murphy bitter and enraged. If anything he became more right wing and now spent much of his time writing acerbic letters to the national press.
On the footballing front, he finally made his comeback in July 1999 in the dreadful 2-2 draw against regular whipping boys Grovesnor Estates. However his extreme political views have marginalised him within the club and he’s since only been called up when the team is really desperate, playing only 10 of the next 55 games.
David Pierce
Davey or Chop or the Treasurer
"Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod, it's him isn't it" says another awe struck young teenager as they come into the presence of The Treasurer. Despite his celebrity status, Davey has a wonderful way with what Hugh Grant... charmingly describes as ‘civilians’. Many young women can speak at length about the help the generous Mr Pierce has given to them at the outset of their careers. Indeed, he has often had them bending over backwards to help. . But the truth behind the rise to the top of the Club’s ‘Mr Big’ is an astonishing one of deception, swindling, cheating and chilli sauce.
When one thinks of the name David it often conjures up thoughts of other sex symbols – people like David Beckham, David Bowie, David Essex and David Dickinson to name but a few. But none have profited from their looks in quite the same way our Davey has. For under the outwardly placid, almost bovine, exterior there lurks a ruthless and driven financial genius.
Recently listed as the richest man in Britain (under his pseudonym The Duke of Westminster) Davey was one of the founder members of the club back in the heady days of the Summer of ‘91. Seeing an opportunity to fleece some gullible, but reasonably affluent ‘friends’, Chop was a regular attendee from the very early days. He eagerly undertook as many duties as the lazy SPs Shepherd, Goodman and Sawdon could foist upon him. To start with this included the Stats, which seemed harmless enough. Then it was the kitty on a Thursday night (always careful to pocket the loose change and slip the folding stuff tidily into his top pocket while everyone else was queuing for the bogs before the long ride home). Slowly his grip tightenend and imperceptibly he began paying - and more importantly - taking “his cut” of everything.
Initially this didn’t seem to matter as the annual balance sheet proved an excellent control and check for the Executive at the end of each fiscal period. Pored over by the masses, every last penny was accounted for and everyone felt secure in the knowledge that a decent, honest, trustworthy individual was looking after the enormous funds being slushed through the books.
But in 1996 the Balance Sheets stopped coming.
Delays in his home computing department covered the first eighteen months’ excuses, until Coops was directed by SP Sawdon to sort it out. Since then we’ve had more lame excuses than Johnson has lost coats. Not only have the excuses been lame but promise upon promise of a publication date have all gone unfulfilled, leaving everyone not only empty handed but empty pocketed. The extent to which Davey has ruthlessly ripped off this group of naïve young men only came to light on Pollard’s stag to York in 1998.
Whilst taking a gentle afternoon constitutional through the ancient city, Davey kept guiding us away from the historic 11th century cathedral and its surrounds (something every tourist to North Yorkshire’s finest city shouldn’t miss – according to the North Yorks wonderfully presented tourist guide book that we’d just picked up from the well appointed Tourist Office). Innocent to his scheme the club still managed to find their way through the bustling streets and lo and behold what do we find but the magnificent Treasurers House, named after the benefactor who’d made restoration of the derelict property possible.
And slowly it was all revealed. Not only had he purchased the antiquated Treasurers House but he’d bought up many of the concerns the club patronised including The Surrey Tavern, The Royal Tandoori, Encona’s West Indian Hot Pepper Sauce Company and Durand Gardens Primary School to name a few. It was interesting to note however that after just five years ‘in-charge’ at the Surrey Tavern, the management team decided to burn the place down rather than continue working for Slave Driver Pierce. The same happened just three years later when the entire staff of the Royal Tandoori made a midnight dash out of the capital ‘to Gloucester’ and out of the clutches of the Tyrant.
So the big question remains, just how much has he taken off everyone? Estimates range from the low, £100k to as high as £10m per person (the high estimate came from Sawdon so can probably be divided by 50). Still, we’re a pretty easy-going bunch: everyone has taken it in their stride and as a consequence he continues to rob us blind to this day. Oh, and still no sign of that balance sheet.
Estimates also vary because - as with any protection racket - the boss must have his lieutenants. Whilst the outside world may perceive the Senior Pro as the ‘leader’ of the Club, insiders know that he is merely a stooge (the Paulie Walnuts to Dave’s Tony Soprano, if you will), often taking the rap for the Treasurer’s latest swindle. Some struggle against the role, demand accountability and are voted out in rigged elections. Others are enthusiastic helpers and often have to go abroad as tax exiles after stints as SP. Twice, in some cases.
Excepting this minor flaw in Davey’s character, on the field he has been a stalwart. He has the club record appearances under his (lengthy) belt for both Thursday evenings and 11-a-side appearances (it should be noted that David also holds the record for missed penalties and own goals). Teams have learnt quickly that there’s nothing to be gained by attacking down their right. Davey’s pace, assurance on the ball and distribution truly set him apart from the rest of the team.
His reading of the game has also bailed out his butter fingered keeper on a number of occasions. There’s hardly a match goes by without Davey knocking one off the line after Teasey has flapped it goalwards.
This understanding between defender and keeper has lead to a special friendship off the field. The Piercedales are inseparable, whether it be going drink for drink in the Greyhound on a Thursday night or more disturbingly, sharing a room on every tour (does anyone know why they’re never in the draw?), they’re never far from each other’s company. Still, this club’s never been one for idle gossip and chit chat, so we shall move on.
What strikes me with all this, is it’s a wonder that Beansdale has been able to stomach so much of Dave’s company. Don’t get me wrong, Davey’s a lovely bloke (no not in that way, although the nickname Chopper was not bestowed for his on-field tackle). He’s got a fine wit, he’s very amiable (unless you owe him money, of course), but it’s the odour that really gets to you – Davey has toilet trouble.
Not many people can claim to have been on a 3-week safari, eating and drinking all the local cuisine, without once needing to “unload”. It seems that as a consequence of this unfortunate problem he quite often springs a bit of a gas leak. Still flatulence isn’t a funny matter and you won’t catch anyone giggling in the dressing room as Davey literally takes off after trumping. Apart from the man himself.
Paul Pollard
Trev or TC
To say that Pollard is a carbuncle on the arse of humanity, would be to mislead readers that he was in some way part of the human race. The truth is that not even the Lord above knows where the hell Pollard came from....
He seemed to appear from nowhere, on a mild Friday afternoon in April 1993 as the team assembled for the short trip to Merseyside on the eve of what was to be the eventful “National Disaster” tour. A god sent apparition he unfortunately wasn’t however as he clambered aboard the team bus, fag dangling precariously off his lower lip, in search of lager. Sadly we had an abundant supply and no manner of persuasion at the time, or since, has been able to remove him from the club.
With Hughes at the wheel we all set off, 11 players, Pollard and Tippy Onion Ring (official photographer). Despite Pollard’s constant carping and a short stop on Spaghetti Junction for everyone to relieve themselves, the team arrived in good order at the Shaftesbury Hotel just as last orders were being called. As everyone else looked around nervously at the other clientele (looking suspicious and odious), whilst gripping their possessions just that little bit tighter to their chests, Pollard looked at home amongst some of the lower forms of humanity. They in return seemed to be looking a little nervously at Pollard.
The room draw delighted all but Green and Smith as they found themselves shacked up in a smoke filled, blood stained room with the malevolent Polly. Surprisingly however the rest of the evening was passed pleasantly enough topping up on the half dozens cans of Stella consumed en-route, in nameless bars and clubs. Upon return to the Hotel at around 3am, more drinks were partaken with a branch of the Glaswegian mafia also enjoying the homely surroundings of the Shaftesbury. After some light chit chat with our Scottish brethren, clubmen slowly took their leave and retired to their beds for the night. All that is except Davey (who was taking a quick nap on the shoulder of some sixteen stone brick sh*t house) and Pollard.
Pollard decided that 4am was far too early to be retiring and set about gently persuading Smith that there was plenty more drinking time. This gentle persuasion took the form of pulling him and his bed from the room and onto the landing. Smith deciding that despite these very persuasive arguments that he really would rather sleep forced his bed back into the room and quickly fell into a deep slumber.
But the obnoxious Pollard wasn’t finished there and it wasn’t until late the next morning that Smith found out exactly how determined Polly had been to have one more beer. Spread all around the bed were charred pieces of rolled up newspaper. When questioned Pollard exclaimed “well I thought I could smoke him out of bed”.
Pollard spent much of the rest of the tour impressing fellow tourers with his repugnant behaviour, abusing bar staff, shouting obscenities and generally annoying everyone within his vacinity. It all became too much for Sawdon who finally exclaimed “you really are the Tour C**t” and so the TC legend was born.
On the field Pollard has had little success in breaking into the team. His favoured position of left back has been admirably filled by the dependable Davey and consequently Polly’s appearances have been restricted. Often when he has played its been out of position and not being the most versatile player he’s found it hard to adapt, as seen in Liverpool where (whilst playing left midfield) he and Davey spent much of the game marking each other. He followed this up with his astonishing power headed own goal whilst playing right back in the “Kiss Me Quick” match in Knutsford.
In fact Pollard’s has such a disruptive influence on the side that they rarely win with him in the team. In fact he has the worst points per game ratio of any player. And this fact didn’t go unnoticed by then SP Sawdon who dropped him from the side in November 1995 after the debacle against Shep’s Neighbours.
Devastated at the news, Pollard has since touted his services in some of the world’s footballing backwaters. His first stop was Cambodia, where he was only finally persuaded to leave at gunpoint. From the tropics of Phnom Penh he moved to the icy wastes of the Ukraine.
Whilst in the Ukraine Polly did manage to organise a tour and was once again at his most impish in arranging Dicko’s arm breaking wrestle and a game against the a tough local outfit, which was comfortably lost and which Trev sat out “nursing” a sore back with copious beers and roll ups.
Whilst on these overseas wanderings Polly has always managed to keep in touch with the club, principally through hardcore pornographic emails. These delightful interruptions to everyone’s day are now universally “binned” without opening (although not before Tomble’s bearding experience).
In 2001 Polly decided it was time to move on again (or so he alleges, although our sources in Kiev revealed that the secret police had him thrown out). After being turned away by immigration at Heathrow, Polly became another stateless refugee. He tried South Africa – no go, what about India – not a chance. But then sanctuary came in the unusual form of Ireland where he now resides. One can only contemplate on why he was taken in and assume that now most of their weapons have been decommissioned the Real IRA will plant Polly outside Harrods next Christmas and watch him cause mass disruption.
Matt Randle
Randle
Man Most Likely to be : sharking
A wholly left footed player whose indiscretions could supercede Coops' now that he ventures on away tours, although he declares himself to be monogamous now, even so far as celibate...
FACT FILE
Favourite TV programme: Three's Company, Men Behaving Badly
Paul Sawdon
Sawdy or the Mouse
Mousey, as he's affectionately known at the club, was one of the founding fathers in the formation of the team during a preparatory exam course in the Summer of 1991. At the tender age of 23 it was immediately... obvious that this timid, unassuming lad from Yorkshire, made up in enthusiasm what he lacked in ability. Always first to arrive on a Thursday, he was a real tryer who'd work non-stop for the team, selfless in his running, encouraging all those around him.
Sawdy made very little impact on the club in the early days turning up regularly but rarely making any telling contribution either on or off the pitch. He remained as keen as mustard however and jumped at the chance of playing in the inaugural 11 a side game against the Geordies, never having played the full pitch version of the game at school. His joy at selection was increased when late in the second half he deflected a Merson shot past the keeper and (being that it was Merson) was credited with the goal.
Having learnt a great deal from playmaker and mentor Steve "Beer Mat" Hardy during his first game, Sawdy was the first to volunteer to play in the return leg in Geordieville in October of the following year. Unfortunately with only 11 men, skipper Shep was again forced to play him, but despite this tactical error the Eggs clung on to claim an historic first victory.
The following match and with more resources to hand Shep showed his nous by relegating the puny midfielder to the bench, despite the four hour round trip Sawdy had had to make - the resulting victory, in which Sawdy played only the last ten was testament to the captain's strategy.
There followed a period of low attendances by FCFC players to games but to his credit the young whipper snapper showed up regular as clock work and played his part in some of the clubs worst defeats against the Scousers, KPMG Corp Recovery and Catford Sports.
By 1994 he'd become a regular in the side, despite his lack of talent and it was in the Autumn of that year that his big moment arrived. Shepherd had been relieved of his role as SP after the Mabley Green fiasco and replaced by the ambitious and single minded Goodman. However on the 19th of November in 1994, an enormous fraud was uncovered by the sly and cunning Johnson which led to Goodman's downfall. Now instead of placing himself at the head of the club and risk being accused of bringing Goodman down for his own benefit, Johnson instead deviously planted his own puppet. It was all very simple. Johnson’s egomaniac streak meant he needed to control the club but with his intended take-over of KPMG New Zealand also in the offing he needed someone who'd do his bidding in the UK. And who better than lap dog Sawdon.
Sawdon now notionally headed up FCFC for the next four years and saw them through some of the golden years, which "coincidentally" including tours to New Zealand (the only overseas tour he hasn't attended) and Australia both of which saw Johnson take a prominent role. It was also no surprise that when the cowardly Johnson returned from conquering New Zealand to take up the reins full time, Sawdon was ousted from his post - fortunately however all didn't go to plan for Johnners. All the same Sawdy’s time was up.
There was one very notable downside to this period in the club’s history. Sawdy's term "in charge" saw a monumental shift in direction that has ever since left a cloud over the club. Previously staunchly anti-Welsh, anti-Ginge and anti-Geek, the club found these barriers dismantled by their new liberal chief. Sawdy's personal introduction to the club of the geeky Mason-Smith has left a stain on the club that has since grown into a virus. It was Mason-Smith who opened the door not only to other geeks but horrifically the ginge - Cooper in 1995. Despite protestations from the masses not only did Sawdon condone this activity but he invited in a second "ginger man" in the shape of net minder Beansdale. I can now exclusively reveal that Sawdon is in fact a closet ginge himself with confirmed reports of "a ginger mange growing on his upper lip and chin between shaves" and blond bouffant highlighter spotted in his bathroom cabinet.
It should also be noted that in the five annual awards dinners over which Sawdon presided, no less than two Welshmen and one ginge were awarded the Player of the Year award (plus two of the three young player of the year awards went to gingers)- another was awarded to Johnson (need I say more).
Since his downfall Sawdon has maintained a low profile and was awarded the token VSP role more out of kindness and pity than any sense of respect that the club might have for him.
Roger Shepherd
Shep or Todge
Todge is the founding father and original driving force behind FCFC. A player who has competed at the very highest level in football (London Chartered Accountants League Division 1), Todge commanded the respect of... the entire team through both his footballing prowess, his off field management capabilities and the way he could get two pies in his mouth at once. In fact it was this combination of ability, command and unnecessary gluttonous behaviour that led to his election as the very first senior professional.
And lead us he did, arse first but generally unscathed through some tours of the industrial North to Newcastle, Liverpool and Manchester. It was on this latter tour that Shep’s role as SP first came in to question, not as one might imagine because of the cuffing we got in Knutsford, nor because of his chatting up women whilst wearing a Bradford Northern shirt in the Conti. No, Shep’s reputation was stained after booking us in to the Roker Hotel, where “double” rooms consisted of a single bed – cosy, Johnners and Piercy certainly thought so. The rest of us were less than amused and somewhat troubled during our fitful sleep by images of an ‘oiled and naked’ SP.
However after 10 games the verdict on Shep’s performance as SP weren’t all that bad. Whilst results didn’t always go our way, just 4 wins in his first 10 games, he was assembling a pretty decent young side, with some well thought out signings such as Hughes, Mills, Cairns and Pollard.
There was also a ruthlessness about Shep as seen when he dropped Beer Mat after just one sheepish performance. This was further evidenced on the grit of Shepherd’s Bush when despite being 9-0 to the good Shep, ever the stickler, insisted on re-taking a poorly hit free kick after some infinitesimal wall-encroachment, to score his first goal for the club.
But it wasn’t long before the knives were out. The whispers began after he missed out on the Irish tour and the team, lead by stalking horse Goodman, ran out comfortable victors. When in the very next week, Shep failed to show in the game at Mabley Green, barrack-room lawyer Goodman engineered a dressing room revolt that saw the end of Shep’s lengthy reign and the start of a new, more costly, time to be a Club member.
Whilst he remains the least successful SP of all time with average points per game of just 1.58, his FCFC sides will forever be remembered for their gung-ho style. No SP since has been able to match Shep’s average score per game of 5-4, albeit not for a lack of trying.
Shep continued to play on despite the obvious snub and played some of the best football of his career as witnessed a year later back at Mabley Green where he scored a hat trick from sweeper. In this purple patch everyone came to respect his speed of thought (get rid of it quick), tactical nous (kick it as far as you can) and understanding of national stereotypes (they don’t like it up ‘em). The back four became exceptionally well drilled, rarely making a slip or being caught with the ball. And even if they were Shep was always there with a super burst of speed to avert the danger.
And then it all went wrong. The 25th August 1995 lives long in the club’s memories and not only because it was the eve of the second club wedding. The match against the fiendish fisherman from Hull was the end of an era. The reporter at the time summed it all up very well – “Delays on the A1 meant that FCFC had to choose from a depleted squad at the start of this third encounter with the high-class Hull outfit. By the time substitutes were available, one man had already made the difference between the two sides - had made it 3-0 in fact.
Despite a long tradition of never pointing the finger of blame at any one person, your correspondent must highlight the appalling display of so-called centre-back, Roger Shepherd. Caught in possession more times than a Kings Cross crack dealer, the ex-Senior Pro was finally subbed at half-time; he then flounced off to his hotel room for the rest of the evening (rather than joining his team-mates for a few looseners), pausing only to symbolically dump his boots in the nearest bin.”
It was a rather sad end to a great career. Shepherd now went into self-imposed exile in Peterborough, becoming only a fringe player. The man who had single-handedly laid the foundation stones of the club was now spurned by new man Sawdon, with his new look FCFC team of gingers, geeks and Welshman.
Todge did join up with the squad occasionally, but more often than not it was out of a sense of nostalgia and rarely when any football was involved. Merse’s stag do was one of those occasions. After a heavy night on the tiles in Cambridge and with a whole morning to kill before the races began at Newmarket, some wit decided it would be a good idea to “play” Superstars. This involved just three events, Horse Race betting (we could cope with that), left footed penalties (as long as it doesn’t involve a run up) and the Sprint (why on earth?!).
First up the Sprint and the 16 contestants were quickly organised into heats of 4 according to age. In the last heat Shep lined up against Big Kev, Matt’s big brother-in-law and Heppell. Having weighed up the oppo and with a glint in his eye, Shep came under starters orders. Slow out of the blocks Shep quickly realised he was trailing, so he put the hammer down but nothing happened. He finally finished some five metres adrift of Big Kev in last place – it really was the final insult.
Todge can now be found working part time in a pastry shop in the Fens. They’re shifting a lot of product, but barely making a profit. Strange.
Neil Smith
Scuffler
Although not one of the founding fathers, our very own Luis Figo lookalike Neil did soon join the rank and file in 1993. Well known for his facial jaw-line, his second chin joined the club shortly afterwards, followed by a third in 1994... As Tarby would say, he's got more chins than a Japanese phonebook.
Always one to strike the ball hard with maximum force, you do feel sorry for goalkeepers and defenders that stand in his way. There's nothing better to snap you out of your Sunday morning hangover than a rasping shot from Neil to hit your thighs. Either that, or an early vomit before kick-off.
None moreso than Neil have entered into the friendly spirit of the game. Many has there been an occasion when opponents have asked Neil to kick them, push them over, or engage in a few moments of fisticuffs. And, never one to disappoint, Neil has dutifully obliged. When playing in defence his shoulder charges are legendary. His moves wouldn't been seen out of place at Twickenham. Perhaps he feels that our games warrant more supporters such that he pushes the opposition onto the touchlines to watch the rest of the game. But more likely it's a case of "if he's going to push it past me then there's no way he'll ever get to it".
In attack he favours the headlock approach. Typically the opponent firstly engages in some verbal and physical abuse.
The tugging of the shirt.
The tredding on toes.
The shouts of "you're a bit of a girl".
Eventually, at the last insult, Neil will have had enough and will attempt a highly complex and tricky manouevre known as the "scuffle". To do this he will try to put his opponents head underneath his own arm, and then proceed to wrestle for a few brief seconds, with arms flailing uncontrollably. This often brings immense entertainment to an otherwise dull game. It is a strange spectacle not seen since your days in the playground, when you maybe witnessed a couple of girls fighting, naked as the day they were born. Hair pulling, slapping, scratching, you name it... Neil's got it all in his repetoire.
Although keen to make his mark on the club, literally, it has not always been hunky-dory for Neil in terms of fitness. His knee gave way whilst bending over to shoulder barge an elderly couple out of the way in a local supermarket which put him out of footballing action for a year or two.
But doctors rebuilt him.
They had the technology.
They had the capability.
They had watched dodgy seventies television programmes. Making him faster... stronger... better... no, no, no, that was someone else. Making him just the same then, except that his leg's full of metal and it hurts even more when you tackle him.
Things swung his way however in 2001. Even though he did produce the hefty Jumbo Crossword, minus the answer to 71 across, it was his wife, Julie, who was instrumental in organising the well received 10th anniversary Bude tour. So much so, that Neil won Player Of The Year mainly on her behalf.
With Davey's demise into the snowballing club financial account backlog, lack of home spreadsheet access and bending some secretary over the photocopier, Neil began to carve himself a niche in the production of Thursday night statistics. The welcome addition of beer stats prompted many in the club to bolster their consumption of ale in order to out-gut fellow club members and to make Friday mornings a complete non-starter.
Further to this, at the Annual Awards ceremony, after a couple of rounds of Mike Reid's Runaround and a few minor scuffles, it was this new found love of producing meaningless stats, coupled with Goodman's impending Asian sabbatical, that led Neil to be voted to the highest rank of Senior Professional.
And no-one dared to argue.
Apart from Sawdon.
Richard Smith
Ricky
Another FCGC only player who swings both ways. And he really likes it in the rough. We're talking about golf here people.
Ian Teasdale
Beansy or Beansdale or Teasy
At the tender age of [insert age here] Teasy is one of the youngest members of the FCFC playing staff. And he's a real little tearaway, often sporting the scars of youthful exuberance, with scraped knees and elbows..., generally the result of throwing himself around unnecessarily trying to show off to his older and wiser team mates.
As the youngest clubman, Beansie also has the honour of playing in nets. However he is currently finding it difficult to live up to the great reputation of past wearers of the green jersey, such legends as Springy Tomble, Heppell the Salmon, Leapy Greeny, Tim the Cat Mills and Lithe Denyer.
Still he tries and he is still young so team management are likely to continue with the experiment for some time to come (and so say all of us). And in all honesty the alternatives to playing him in nets have all been ruled out. On the numerous occasions that Teasy has been given a run out up front he’s consistently failed to deliver, scoring just 3 times. His current run of nearly 50 games without scoring is second only to Piercey’s unbeatable 84 and rising. Beansy’s appalling run has included some woeful bloopers which even Ronnie Rosenthal in his pomp wouldn’t have missed. There was the penalty miss against staunch opponents Grovesnor Estate, the launch onto a hedge in the adjoining field from fully 4 yards against PKF Guildford and then there was the multitude of misses on the Kenyan tour most notably the five yard open goal strike.
He’s also been tried in defence with very little success. He was one of the three centre backs who all went missing in the 4-3 reverse against PwC Croydon at Old Deer Park – a game that Sawdon’s isn’t the only one in thinking still ranks as the teams worst ever performance. And while he can’t put them away in the oppo net he seems to have no such problem in locating the back of his own net as can be testified by his super strike past the athletic Cat in the tightly “fought” win over PwC City in February 2000.
No, its been unanimously agreed that Teasy should stay in nets indefinitely.
Teasy was the last of many signings from KPMG I. He played his first game on loan from the slumbering first division giants in March 1996, but it wasn’t until a year later that he finally made the move permanent. His decision to leave the Big Five club for what where at the time perceived to be a bunch of footballing “no-hopers”, who weren’t playing in any of the big leagues, shocked the world of football. But Teasy showed his youthful inexperience by being persuaded of the ambitions of the team and their search for world football supremacy by the fast talking, bullsh*ting Sawdon.
Still he made his decision and to be fair he’s literally thrown himself into helping the team move up the FIFA world rankings to their current lofty position of 3,073,922nd, having missed only 15 of the 80 plus games played since his move.
Remarkably all these appearances have been made despite being physically handicapped. From birth Teasy was born with debilitating ginger hair. But he has shown great courage in rarely covering his red thatch with a balaclava, cap or bobble hat. He has battled against overwhelming odds to make it in the club despite this substantial disability and one can only marvel at his character and fortitude. He’s certainly silenced his critics within the club who now rarely even mention the coarse redness of his hair.
Like many people suffering from what us ordinary folks would consider a life threatening (at least many us would probably consider taking our own life if we had the auburn affliction) problem, Teasy has selflessly thrown himself into helping others with similar problems. He recently demonstrated this by throwing himself off the top off BBC Centre for Charity for what he said was some worthy cause but I can now reveal was actually to support gingerheaded Welsh kids become IT literate.
Beansy has even been bold enough to take his carroty barnet on some of the club’s great overseas expeditions, making his overseas debut on the “Rolled Over Down Under” Tour of Australia in 1998. He then went on to make quite a name for himself on the “Yankee Doodle Cairnsey” Tour of the USA in 1999. It was here in the kitchens of Cape Cod that sorcerer Beansdale got to work concocting from the barest “red” ingredients - beans, tomato sauce and Beansy’s own secret ginger ingredients - a dish Marco Pierre White would have been proud of.
Paul Tombleson
Tomble or P
Paul has always been something of a periphery squad man, playing just 28 games in nearly nine years with the club, beginning in Wapping in the 4-1 defeat of Bristows. Unlike every other club man, early on it was clear that Tomble had a... life and enjoyed leisure pursuits outside Durand Gardens and The Royal Tandoori/Old Calcutta.
Signed as FCFC’s 7th goalkeeper, in just eight games, Tomble went on to make just four further appearances as net minder before deciding in the Spring of 1994, that rebuilding the lives of some of the poor and starving masses in Africa was a more worthwhile cause than keeping clean sheets for the Eggs (how odd).
One of these few games was also one of Tomble’s rare excursions on tour. His bobble hat wearing appearance between the sticks on the mammoth Snugboro’ pitch on a foggy October morn remains a treasured memory of the good old days for all who witnessed.
From his Project Raleigh calling, Tomble moved directly to New Zealand for an eighteen month posting in Wellington. It was here that Tomble became involved in some Xtreme sports, which unsurprisingly eventually lead to his hospitalisation – and it was another five years before anyone else in the club would foolishly try their hand at running a marathon.
Tomble returned to the UK in the Summer of 1996 and immediately donned the green jersey again, keeping a clean sheet on his first game back against the troublesome Derwent Information. However Tomble’s time in nets was numbered by the transfer of the flame haired Beansdale by the soft hearted Sawdon. It’s a shame that such a potential was cut short, because as the stats show, Tomble remains the outstanding keeper of the nineties, conceding an average of just one goal a game and keeping two clean sheets in his six appearances.
Since this rude eviction from nets, Tomble has been tried unsuccessfully in any number of positions. Firstly he was tried at centre back, but his Jack Russell like tendency to just follow the ball meant that the team were caught short more often than George Michael.
He was then tried in midfield where it was thought that his undoubted stamina would be of use. However with his playing style being likened to a headless chicken, this only caused greater problems. He unfortunately got more of the ball and clearly having no ability would then run aimlessly across the pitch with it. Alternatively he would find himself running into and then dispossessing his own team mates. His spell in midfield did have one positive outcome though, his comedy headed first club goal in Boston on the “Yankee Doodle Cairnsey” tour. Unusually an aimless ball was hoofed up from the back and caught Tomble on the side of the head as he rambled into the box, and looped into the top corner. Since then Tomble, despite being 7’12” has failed to win a single header.
Having clearly failed to find a useful home either in the defence or in the midfield the club was left with no alternative to give him a run out upfront. But even here he’s failed to inspire converting just five times in fourteen outings.
These appearances excluded his memorable pairing with the other blonde haired, lanky, threshing machine Denyer in the Heavies line up for the Commemorative 10th Anniversary Tour match in Bude. The agricultural style adopted by the Big Guys seemed aptly suited to their front pairing’s undoubted height advantage over the minuscule Heppell and short stuff Cox, but after an hour of play neither had managed to win a header or get a shot on goal. Then came the inevitable. With both making aimless runs in different directions and neither keeping an eye on the ball they collided with catastrophic results. It took ten minutes before the entire wreckage from the helicopter crash was cleared from the pitch and all limbs were fully unwound.
Tomble has never fully recovered from the incident and has played very little for the club since claiming Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He now spends his time running pointlessly around the North Downs near his home in a very nice part of Guildford.
Andy White
ITYT or Whitey
Whitey was recruited back in the autumn of 1994 from the PKF brat pack, at a time when the squad had been substantial depleted by players looking to further their footballing ambitions on the continent.... This is not to say Whitey’s transfer was a desperate measure by a team in dire straits, but it should be noted that the other key transfer that year was Kevin Goodeve.
Still at least Whitey was reliable – you could generally rely on him not to show up and if he did you could rely on him not to make any telling contribution. Whitey’s commitment to the FCFC cause has been questioned on many occasions. His failure to play more than three consecutive games in his entire eight year career certainly points that way, as did his decision to sit out the match in Munich – watching an under strength, 10 man FCFC get beaten by vastly inferior opposition.
Andy himself however would point to another cause – rain. He’s apparently allergic to the stuff. Whenever there’s even the merest hint of a light sprinkling the follically challenged midfielder will always head for the nearest shelter or just not show up at all, as we’ve experienced on many a wet night at Stockwell.
ITYT made his debut for the Eggs in September 1994 against a tough KPMG South East side. The slightly built Whitey didn’t enjoy the combative nature of the game and was careful to select just the easy games in his next half dozen appearances, including both games against Securiguard, PACT (who were so inept that both Bennett and Shepherd scored – Whitey failed) and The Flying Whippetts.
It was around this time that the young, impressionable White fell in with useless, incompetent Johnson. Some would say what happened next was the inevitable outcome of this relationship. In April 1995 one of the most talented FCFC squad’s ever assembled (i.e. it didn’t include Keith or Greeny), met at King’s Cross for their two night visit to the wonderful West Yorkshire city of Leeds. The team’s main reason for touring was to watch the city’s dazzling young side, lead by the modest, energetic and talented Carlton Palmer take on Brian Little’s struggling Villa team. They also planned to take in a game organised by Trev.
Now most people had a large suitcase or holdall with the requisite kit, change of casual clothes, spare underpants, toothpaste, funky niteclub shirt. Whitey however, decked in sharp business suit, elected just to bring his football kit, no change of clothes. One can only surmise at the reasons for wanting to stand amongst the Elland Road’s finest dressed in your best pin stripe – some sort of sado-masochistic streak perhaps.
Anyway the receding White, was fortunate to come away from Leeds with his life, but this didn’t stop him from touring. In fact through 95 and 96 Andy played in all 7 UK tours, whilst during the same period not playing in any of the 11 games in London.
But he’s penchant from metropolitan Britain came to an untimely end in mid 97 with a serious shoulder injury. Whilst some would have been back up and playing regularly by the end of that year, the sickly Whitey took an incredible 3 years to recover only returning to the side in the Autumn of 2000.
Since his return the balding Whitey has actually played slightly more regularly, but with no more impact. His return of just 8 goals in over thirty appearances compares exceedingly unfavourably with all the other attacking midfielders. Maybe this can be put down to the fact that despite the advancing years, Whitey still believes he’s a teenager. Rare is the Sunday that Andy will turn up without a hang over after a night on the Alcopops. However his thinning thatch tells an entirely different story.
His return to footballing action has also coincided with his shock revelation that he was a closet geek and that he intended switching codes from the honourable, well respected life of an Accountant, to the seedy, despised world of IT. Clearly the injury had effected more than just his shoulder.
Honourable Mentions
Simon Winters
Nicholas Creek
David "Old Man" Richards
Ralph Wootton
John "Knob Gag" Hughes
Kevin Searle
Clive "Taff" Greenway
Stephen Street
Al Ridgeway
Greg "Diego Forlan" Smith
James Woolf
Duncan Leggett
Paul Jordan
Mike Johnson
James Byrne
Dave Townsend
Chris Ratcliffe
Dave Proud
Niklas Angeltoft
Scott "Celebrity Higgins" Huggins
Alex Henderson
James Tranter
Stuart Robinson
Steve "Beer Mat" Hardy
Graham Cox
Jeremy Outen
Paul "Tippy Onion Ring" Condon
and the FCFC Youth
Joe Tombleson
George Emerson
Henry Emerson
Charlie "Chas" Smith
Alex Bromham
Beech Mason-Smith
Jack Sawdon
Jimmy Sawdon
Sean Green
Ben Shepherd
Tim Cooper