A470
Ffansin Ar-Lein Pel Droed
Cymru · On-Line Welsh Football Fanzine
The
sun beat down as part of Finland's hottest summer ever. For players used to the
spartan, doggie-do blighted fields of Pontcanna or Blaendolau, it was manna from
heaven.
We
were playing on a verdant sward so smooth it could have hosted a cricket match.
Next
to the grandeur of Helsinki's Olympic Stadium we crossed swords with Finland on
the impressive training pitch used by our hosts' top players.
Mark
Hughes's boys had warmed up on it earlier in the day before rightly making way
for, er, the main attraction.
And
it started so well - a cross from the right and up popped Daf Prys on the far
post to score. It looked as though it might be easy and we all had visions of
netting a hat-trick for Wales. If only we had known...
The
match went rapidly downhill from there but at least we had the comfort of
knowing we were making history. At least 21 fans, we lost count of how many
exactly, took part in the first match between our supporters and a foreign
country's fans.
Another
seven or so passed up the chance as they decided, like Ryan Giggs,that they
don't do away friendlies.
And
if you're wondering whether it was a bunch of jelly-bellied blokes with Stella
Artois breath who scoffed a kebab at half-time you'd be wrong.
The
standard was surprisingly good and, your correspondent apart, everyone looked
pretty useful.
Sixteen-year-old
Gareth Bailey, from Llandudno, was the starting goalie probably because he was
the only person present who would dive and not get up complaining of gippy
knees.
We
had a platoon of rugged Aberystwyth league players who could run for morethan
ten minutes (anyone over 30 will tell you this is an incredible talent) and a
couple of front guys who were always a threat.
There
are four explanations for the scoreline:
1.
Seven lucky goals
2.
Blame the media. The fiendish Finns targeted our manager Phil Olyott, a man with
the wisdom of Solomon, as the main threat. They interviewed him for the whole of
half-time (15 minutes) so that he couldn't make the tactical changes that would
have assured us an entirely merited 11-5 win.
3.
We stupidly didn't field our seven-year-old mascot Chester from Cardiff.In a
kick-around on the sidelines he looked a lot better half the side.
4.
Their number eight was bloody fantastic - he should have represented the
national side later on in the day he was so good.
As
a keen fan of conspiracy theories, your correspondent plumps for No 2. The
scoreline flattered our hosts slightly, though they certainly deserved to win -
maybe 5-3 would have been a fairer reflection of the game's progress.
But
given that the Welsh team fielded two spry over-40s and probably had an average
age seven years older than our hosts it was a great effort.
Despite
two hours drinking time being lost and the kick-off being delayed two hours
until 2.15pm so the Wales team could have a training session
(Ok we won 2-0 but but don't do again or they'll be hell to pay, Sparky), it was
worth it or those of us who don't drink much, and just about worth it for those
who do.
As
a spectacle it lacked plenty but many thanks to all those who turned out to
watch - there were about 100 fans at the game.
And
everyone who took part can proudly say that they were part of possibly he worst
team to represent Wales at football at any level, ever.
That's
saying something. But at least we can puff out our chests in pride and say we've
savoured the taste!
And
we managed one goal more than Bobby Gould's boys in Eindhoven.
Best
moment: Any player who experienced the sweltering heat would say it was the
moment he was substituted.
Hot? Crikey, there was more panting than a Roman orgy, mun.
Best
player: Up front, sports writer Mark Bloom was always a threat but then he was
out in Finland on South Wales Echo eckies (expenses) and, technically, he was on
a business trip.
Though
he'd disagree, he doesn't qualify as a fan to us sniffy sorts who've spent
billions of zonks and wasted their lives watching Wales abroad. So best player
was his partner in crime up front, Aberystwyth's Daf Prys, who deservedly scored
our first goal to give us a 1-0 lead.
Most
dastardly dragon: Wrexham rough-house Stu Hughes totted up three of about five
fouls committed by Wales. He growled later: "They were lucky I wasn't in a
bad mood."
Showboater
of the day: After crying off with an arm injury, Gog Bryn Pritchard ran the line
and drew attention to himself throughout the game, tripping up twice over a ball
in a minute and gifting our hosts two goals by failing to spot offsides. FIFA
should launch a probe. A marked contrast was Kent's Phil
Nicholson on the opposite line - a soul of discretion.
Team:
G Bailey, G Mayall, B Powell, N Dymock, B Ling, P Olyott, Ll Jones, S Hughes, M
Bloom, A Roberts, D Prys. Subs: A Colley, R Powell, E Williams, S Edwards, T
Hartley, S Davies (not the one you're thinking of), G Edwards (not the one
you're thinking of), B Law, A Morris, S England.
Maybe a couple of others too
