I was never good enough to play regularly in Sunday league but after failing to get a regular game for the Prince was persuaded to turn out for the Legion club in Wombwell. Rocked up on time to find no-one there. Eventually another player showed up. Where the f is everyone I says. Oh don't worry they haven't opened the cells yet. Sure enough 10 mins later a bedraggled set of still half cut lads turn up. Frantic drive round to pick up kit and the game starts. We are gash - opposition have a flying winger to which we had no answer - until an onlooker decides to help out by taking him out at knee level. Pandemonium ensues Couple of weeks later I'm on the bench for a cup match under the lights at Wombwell Town. Now, same set of lads after a day's work rather than night on the lash turn into prime time Barcelona. Ran out easy winners against a time 4 divisions above. Bonkers the whole thing.
I hear what you say about the teens. My grandson plays at U-18 level and there’s always a bit of aggro between the teams. I assume it’s to do with testosterone levels!
I’ve got a similar story. Whenever we played away at Mansfield Road Club we struggled to raise a team. Something to do with their lack of gentlemanly behaviour! Anyway, we turned up one Sunday morning with 10 men and, to our delight, at five to eleven there was no sign of the opposition. The ref was just about to call it off, and award the points to us, when a couple of car loads of them arrived and the ref decided to delay the kickoff until 11.15. It transpired they had been on a stag do the night before and they seemed to be still half-pittled. Anyway, despite the fact that we only had 10 men, we were winning 2-0 with about 15 minutes to go, when they seemed to collectively sober up and we ended up losing 5-2. But we felt reasonably happy in getting back to our headquarters (the local pub) without any physical injuries. Happy days!
You weren’t the keeper that sellotaped his glasses to his ears were you? I’m sure that you heard that Ray sadly died in a house fire after firing up the chip pan on his return from a night in the pub.