Match Report
“Oh look, it’s the little pitch we used to play them on for the 1st XI” said Crutchley to McGuckin as the Vets arrived at Armoury House, only slightly distracted by the men dressed as ancient soldiers being put through their paces. A good omen? It appeared not when ten minutes into the game two gifted goals had put HAC 2-0 up.
Those goals, though, were really against the run of play. The Vets eased back into the game pressing high up the pitch, and showed their attacking purpose when Jim Byrne ended a brilliant, mazy run (think Ricky Villa in 1981) with a disappointing shot rather like this …
Roger Pointon had spent his rail journey to the capital schmoozing an 80-year-old lady and trying to talk her into abandoning her flight to New Zealand to come and watch him play instead. Well more fool her for declining his invitation, missing as she did his magnificent half-volley which epitomised his excellent 2018 form reduced the defecit to 2-1. The best goal ever scored against the HAC since 1537, when Henry VIII granted a charter to the ‘Fraternity or Guild of Artillery of Longbows, Crossbows and Handguns’. Or so it was claimed in the pub afterwards.
No half-time oranges this week, but there was renewed vigour nonetheless at the start of the second half. Angus Whyte, now just a marquee fixture player, justified his selection nonetheless with a slick turn after which he smashed the ball into the roof of the net, left-footed too.
Murphy (he was not alone) employed his own tactics to try to persuade the skipper to make changes from the impressive bench, in his case employing physical jerks.
Unfortunately, this team know their captain’s weaknesses too well, as he capitulated to McNay’s verbal assault and introduced him with still 25 minutes to play. With 24 minutes to pay HAC were 3-2 up, an absolute howler from the Not-so-Young Juan playing their centre-forward expertly through.
Claypole, imminently to leave for the real purpose of his weekend (the West End) was felled in the box, but the ref had no time for theatricals of any type. Murphy had his way, sort of, and was introduced at right back. But time was slipping away and the chance of an equaliser was slipping away too.
Then a dramatic last minute; the Chairman burst into the opposition box, sporting this week some lime green Nike boots as he makes his way through the football boot rainbow. The keeper’s outstretched arm felled him and this time the ref did point to the spot. It turned out that nostalgia doesn’t count for much, as Lewis wrestled the ball from Crutchley and drilled home the equaliser.
Never did a draw feel more like a win.
Some travelled back on the Chianti Express, others arrived bleary-eyed at Euston the next morning to see that RvP’s goal had already been commemorated.
