The annual festive grudge match: 2019 edition - in review.

For most people, the period between Christmas and New Year is one spent relaxing, rejuvenating, and most importantly of all, eating and drinking. For my family, though, this period is marked by a sense of real competitiveness - not simply due to christmas day Pictionary. This is because, in the festive week, my male family members and I engage in a small-sided football match - something that has almost become a tradition. It might seem strange to you then that I have used the word “grudge” in the blog’s headline - ‘surely there’s no grudge in a family match!’ you might be thinking. Well yes, admittedly, perhaps there's a touch of clickbait in my use of the word grudge, but I must say, in my defence, that I was not the first to coin the term "grudge" in relation to this festive match, and indeed, the word grudge is not totally inaccurate in describing the general feeling of this not SO friendly annual game. That said, 2019's edition of this fixture, the one I'm hoping to review in this article, was notable for its lack of obvious grudge flare-ups - besides a bit from my end towards my Brother (who tore me to shreds the entire game by the way) This seems like a good place to begin the review, actually.

With the promise of grudge, and plenty of pre-match trash-talk, it is vital that we have some form of neutral adjudication, a referee if you will, able to cool tempers and prevent bust-ups, if necessary, mid-game. In previous years, such a calming presence has been lacking, but this year, we had Seacombe’s top VAR official overseeing the game - his presence was certainly felt, evident in the aforementioned lack of grudge in this year’s match. That’s not to say the match was totally clean - I remember a few late tackles going unpunished, particularly one my Dad left in on me (his walking boots caused me no serious harm, don’t worry) - and the ref didn’t get every decision right: a handball that he missed, which killed our counterattack, stands out to me in this regard. I am being hypercritical, though, and I mustn't forget that the ref let me get away with multiple sin-binnable offences, including a tackle with my hands - thanks ref.

I’ve just realised that, 400 words into the article, I’ve not even told you what the result of the match was; well, there’s no point in chuntering any further - my team lost, 11-12. At first glance, this seems like a fairly respectable score in defeat - especially as the winning goal was the last kick of the game (something I will discuss further later in the article). However, when further details are revealed - that the losing team had more players - my side’s defeat appears a little more embarrassing. Indeed, it was largely a 6 v 1 match, as my Brother, on the winning team, took it upon himself to score all of his team’s goals - and he largely succeeded, despite being marked by 3 men for most of the game. I’m doing his teammates a disservice here though (I am still slightly bitter, afterall); they fought through ankle-twists, breathlessness, shots-to-the-crotch and intense self-deprecation to deliver a winning performance. I applaud them for this. That’s not to say my team had an easier ride - if anything our task was harder: on top of the aforementioned difficulties, we had to contend with Joe’s instructions for most of the game. Such are the challenges posed by the sweat box that is Soccer Dome pitch 2.

Amidst the blood, sweat and swearing in abundance on that day was a moment of great poetry. Approximately half-way through the match, my Uncle made some small error, prompting my cousin (his son) to berate him with the instruction ‘use your brain!’ - what happened next was simply unbelievable. Seconds after receiving this clear order, my Uncle headed a rebounded shot into the goal - literally using his brain to direct the ball goalwards. Scoring a header on a 5-aside pitch is impressive enough, let alone the circumstances in which this goal was scored. In a similar vein was the winning goal of the match, an Escape to Victory-esque effort that happened to be the last kick of the game. I could only watch in awe as my Dad bowled an inch-perfect ball over the top of our defence, for my Uncle to run onto, showing great composure as he took the pass into his stride and tucked the ball away past the isolated keeper. Although my team was at the receiving end of this goal, I can still, just about, appreciate its magnificence - the same can’t be said for multiple other goals scored in this game. In the opening minutes of the contest, for example, my team notched in a spectacularly unaesthetic manner, as an over hit shot cannoned off the ceiling into the goal. It was disallowed - a decision that would prove decisive, as we only lost by one. Significantly, two other goals of an equally dubious nature, scored by the opposition, went unchallenged by VAR - apparently it’s perfectly alright for the ball to bounce off the post, back on to the keeper’s behind, and across the line. Thus, whilst our team produced the game’s most beautiful moment, we were also at the receiving end of its ugliest twists. 

And there you have it, 2019’s grudge match, and all its dubious decisions, wonder goals, howlers and fouls, in review - in under 1000 words. For the sake of readability, I’ve chosen to miss out some parts of the game (my cousin Michael and his affinity with the far post; a give-and-go goal Alan Shearer would’ve been proud of, concocted between my Dad and my Brother) but I hope I’ve still done justice to what was another swashbuckling fixture in the history of Torpey, Aldag and Torpey-Aldag festive family showdowns.

Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

Feel free to comment your thoughts on the article, and please share any legendary 5-aside tales you have in the comments too!

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