It’s that time of the year again when we ask Bobby Mimms to cast a glazed eye over the happenings of the previous twelve months, try to make some sense of what occurred, and generally take the piss out of everyone by rehashing old stories, before taking the knock and leaving without saying goodbye.
This time around, the inebriate has dedicated his yearly review to that bastion of daytime television – the quiz show.
So, your schtarter for ten…
Who could forget Banksy subbing himself in a game in Germany complaining of ‘arse cramp’, or Alan McDermott getting locked in the toilet at Mannheim (and after Dicko had just used it as well)? What about Kev Scho getting beaten up in town, or Dermott’s piles? There have been many notorious accidents and reasons that have forced Convocation players from the field of play, or to even miss out all together, over the years. These first ten questions concern the best misadventures of 2007.
1. What occurrence back in April caused disruption in July’s AGM, when Paul Dickson’s Second Team review dragged on, almost interminably, due to an uncontrollable fit of giggles?
His unrelenting seasonal report had already begun inducing anaesthesia in most of the trapped, AGM audience when Dicko completely lost his grasp on lucidity, simply by mentioning Phil Holt’s most notorious bête noire. Like the Madeleine McCann saga in the world in general, Squirrelgate is the Convocation story that just won’t go away, and it returned to the forefront of the Seconds’ psyche in the spring during an otherwise forgettable game on the Wirral. Having continually been portrayed as a modern-day Pied Piper of Hamelin – although targeting sciurus carolinensis instead of rattus rattus – poor Phyllis should really have known better than to sit himself down (in a changing room that doubled as a primary-school cloakroom) next to a big picture of one of the rodents. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.
Later in the year, perhaps as a form of catharsis to the merciless raillery he endures due to ‘the M6 incident’, the Mancunian nearly managed to get involved in a fight with Kevin Nolan in Vinci’s on Allerton Road; on the other hand, despite being ‘focused on training and coaching his team’ as always, Dickson’s incomprehensible ramblings couldn’t be suppressed even after he’d been attacked by a barracuda, and rarely failed to amaze with their eclectic sphere – especially one bizarre tirade before a match in Crewe that had something to do with Davy Liver cabs.
2. What was the real reason for John Ross crying off from certain matches during the autumn, although he was claiming he had to go to work?
Firstly, it has to be voiced that the level of excuses within the club for absenteeism during 2007 has been pitiful compared with previous years (with one notable exception – see Q4). Over the last few seasons, players have had to find alternative amusement on Saturday afternoon’s due to, amongst other reasons, having the car keys hidden by psychotic girlfriends, an overpowering fear of a particular part of the country, and the mysterious but brilliantly simple ‘illness’. Even the professionals have been showing keen innovation this year, with Stephen Ireland killing off two (very much alive) grandmothers in an attempt to get out of international duty – eerily reminiscent the exploits of a certain Convocation officer who used to go to work in a tank – and Chris Coleman doing a Chris Lobb and missing a press conference in Spain, supposedly due to washing-machine trouble, when in reality he’d been out on the lash until five in the morning and was still off his tits.
Unfortunately, Convo’s excuses were much more mundane, and Ross’ real reason for missing several games was that his missus had ordered him to accompany her shopping. Still, at least he attempted a blag excuse: Ste and Dave Jones couldn’t even be bothered to do that when they pulled out of one of Geordie’s ‘bonding sessions’, merely claiming they were going to a firework display. It must be like being at the Man. United Christmas party with those boys around.
3. For what reason did Joel Jelen allegedly miss the Seconds game at Sandbach in October?
Well he certainly wasn’t planning the club Christmas do: for the second year running Convocation didn’t have an official festive blowout as, once again, one hadn’t been organised. However, this year Joel wasn’t just content with not celebrating the birth of the Christian Messiah – he didn’t fancy an end-of-season bash either. Not since Kevin Schofield’s disastrous tenure as Social Secretary has the position seemed so irrelevant.
Perhaps then JJ was out checking the local launderettes for all the club’s mislaid football kits, not to mention his sense of humour – that had clearly gone missing some time during the last twelve months, resulting in him writing a trenchant and strongly-worded e-mail of complaint concerning a tongue-in-cheek article about the missing Gulshan strip that had appeared on this website, and has subsequently been removed at his demand.
No, the official explanation, and the Gospel according to Dickson, is that Convocation’s favourite PR guru had to travel down to London to pick up his birthday cards as it was during the height of the postal strike, making him a sort of One-Trick Pony Express.
4. And similarly, what highly-dubious reason was bandied around for Barry Wheller being unable to play in the Firsts’ home defeat to Collegiate in September?
‘You should never let the facts get in the way of a good story’ says some sort of journalistic dictum or other – so we won’t.
On a Friday evening in late September a number of the chaps converged at the Liverpool Cricket Club, where an international beer festival was being held in a huge marquee erected on the outfield. Having stood in a corner for an hour or two, with Dicko holding court behind a small, portable bar (sadly without any taps or pumps – although, at one point, a queue of unsuspecting punters did start to form behind the Convo lads), the carousers finally managed to commandeer a round slate-topped table that turned out to be ideal for proposing strategies, Andy Gray style, for the following day’s Second Team game: many a deranged formation and banzai strategy was mooted – and occasionally, artistically drawn – before the night was over; possibly marking out his territory, Andy Mc pissed himself as well.
However it had been earlier on in the evening, when Richy Schofield had first arrived, that the full gravity of Barry’s disablement came to light, so to speak. The First Team captain revealed that the respected geography teacher and Watford supporter had apparently suffered a corneal abrasion as a result of a voluntary seminal projectile – basically he’d cummed in his own eye – and rather laughably had asked him not to tell anyone of his misfortune. Naturally, everybody in the club knew within ten minutes.
The tale’s got as much truth to it as the one of Timbo and the strawberry – so no doubt Mr. Wheller will be reminded of it daily and ridiculed for the rest of his Convocation days.
5. Which two related players once again appear to have played their last games for the club, during 2007?
When Tony Blair converted to Catholicism at the end of the year he can have had no idea that an equally-treacherous abandonment of faith had occurred several months earlier in the Liverpool Old Boys League. Having not long been re-signed by the club – at great expense it must be added (well, everything’s relative) – Stu and Ash Fox both buggered off once again in the autumn: the elder back to Liobians; the younger off to university by all accounts.
Despite not having scored for two years, the young Fox cub remained a handful for any defence in the league, and upon leaving he left behind him a speedy, hard-working shaped hole in the Firsts’ forward line. Stuart, on the other hand, started the year trying to debauch Dr. Schultz’s mother whilst dressed as Sherlock Holmes (as you do) on the club trip to Cologne, and upsetting the Lady Mayoress by informing her, upon being asked, that he would not like to return to her city. When he defected for a second time he left behind him a… Well, ‘Gabrielle’ Wheller is going to have to pretend to be forty once again, when the Veterans’ Cup comes around in March.
Rod may nave gone, but it seems that Convocation’s loss was also Liobians loss.
6. Which player, after years of trying, finally scored his first goal for the club in the spring, but immediately had to leave the pitch with a bloodied nose, as a team mate had accidentally punched him in the face in the ensuing celebrations?
Of the many accusations that you could throw at Big ‘Drew McLaren – and rightly-so, in most cases – it’s obvious that going missing during a match isn’t one of them. Nobody, no matter how visually impaired, could fail to notice Convocation’s very own Grizzly when he takes to the field of play, so when in March he stuck out a boot and redirected a scuffed Billy Lamb effort into the roof of the Sandbach Vets net for his first ever Convo goal, none of his team mates failed to realise the significance of what had occurred, and all of them were more than eager to congratulate him (wOOt!): none more so than Phyllis. Leaping up into the Bear’s arms, the future scourge of Premier League footballers everywhere accidentally smashed his colleague in the nose, but as it was the last minute of the game, the man of the moment wasn’t too perturbed at having to be substituted to clean the blood from his face – in the same way he hadn’t been bothered at having been assaulted by one of the pitch’s flags earlier on in the match.
When Convo returned to Middlewich to play the Vets in October though, things weren’t quite so rosy for them. True, Paul Fairclough scored a thirty-yard screamer for his first ever goal for the club, prompting some to suggest that it was a lucky ground. But such tarradiddle was quickly scotched when McLaren was assaulted by the sporting equipment (again) and attacked by a swarm of bees, the far-from-impartial referee brazenly referred to the Liverpool team as "moaning Scouse bastards", and the Seconds were given their own, proverbial bloody nose by their opponents.
7. How did Jon Kearney ensure everlasting empathy from the opposition Bootech players, when Convocation played them back in January?
McNaught, the Great Comet of 2007, was the brightest to pass the earth for nearly half a century and so luminous that, even in daylight, it could be seen with the naked eye during the first month of the year. Perhaps this mesmerising celestial body had captivated young Kearney’s thoughts, as he made his way from the changing rooms to Convocation’s allocated pitch on that particular afternoon; maybe its still-visible radiance had stimulated this newshound’s mind, concocting coruscating flights of prose for future oeuvres; perchance it was neither and he was merely passing the leisurely stroll, adrift in a panoply of oneiric musings.
Whatever the reason, he tried to hurdle a fence on the way and, in front of several Bootech players (who are usually more than assured of their own importance, and everyone else’s unworthiness), caught his foot on the top and crumpled arse-over-tit into a heap on the other side of it. Florid of face, the Convo man gingerly picked himself up as the haughty plebs jeered with sneering contempt, but went someway to banishing their derision by putting in a sterling performance during the match along with his team mates.
The Firsts still lost though, and a worrying procession of narrow league-defeats ensued (with the exception of one draw) until the end of the season. Fortunately, they had done more than enough in the first half of the campaign (2006) to avoid relegation.
8. In June, which tourist spent part of the evening forlornly wandering around the beach in Newcastle, despite it being battered by driving rain and gales blowing in off the Irish Sea?
If ever there was a tour that should have been sponsored by the Gulf Stream, it was the one to Northern Ireland during the summer; from the moment the chaps landed at Belfast airport to when they left again thirty-ish hours later, it teemed down almost constantly. (The only dry period of their stay was during the ninety minutes of football – a match that, hardly surprisingly, Convo lost 5-2 to the local Tollymore team.) As their hotel – being on the sea front – was right in the firing line of all the inclemency that Mother Nature could throw at the east coast of Ireland, whenever the chaps went outdoors they tended to get a tad wet; once they were comfortably settled in Quinn’s Bar for the trip’s fund-raising night (supposedly the real reason for the weekend away), everyone was more than happy to stay put.
Everyone, that is, except Timbo. While the rest of the chaps were busy hob-knobbing it with the Cuban Ambassador to Ireland and his assorted bodyguards, and bibulously inviting him (and maybe Castro) over to Liverpool, the forlorn Hibee was pacing the blasted sands of Newcastle’s beach, mulling over the cruel continuance of his unwanted ‘tour cherry’.
9. Which newcomer to the club made an immediate impression on his new changing-room colleagues, by returning his shorts after a match in November, with skid marks in them that Lewis Hamilton would be proud of?
There are more than enough smart arses and pranksters within Convocation’s ranks to take the proverbial out of unsuspecting neophytes, without the need to supply them with ammunition: to do yourself up like a kipper would be just asking for trouble. But, in one of his early games for the First Team, that was exactly what John McLachlan did. Clearly being that rarest of Convo goalkeepers – one with height and decent vision – wasn’t enough for the Elvis impersonator, so in order to really make his mark he returned his kit, shall we say, soiled. Whether or not it had been a case of the dreaded turtle’s head was never made clear, but what was for certain was that Geordie had his work cut out in trying to sanitise the tainted garments.
Unfortunately, he was no better at keeping clean sheets – neither he nor Alex Hendry (the two have been sharing goalkeeping duties for the Firsts) have managed a shutout in the first half of the 2007-08 season, and the team finished the calendar year precariously close to the foot of the table.
League wise, the passing of 2007 will not be mourned.
10. After Simon Stanforth was substituted, only eighteen minutes into his comeback match at Halkyn in October, how did he pass the remaining twenty-seven minutes of the first half?
Like most of the Seconds’ Welsh opponents, Halkyn’s home is a picturesque spot of the Principality that boasts panoramic views of the Dee estuary, the rolling hills and valleys, and the golden fields and meadows. Life idles by serenely, and in its more silent moments you can imagine you are the only person about for miles – its deceptive stillness once caught Mr. Willis out when he described Halkyn, within earshot, as “one of the worst teams I’ve ever seen”, filling them so full of a need for vengeance that they gave Convo a good thrashing.
And it was into this idyllic peacefulness that Simon made his first, tentative steps back into the big time. A quarter of an hour of lung-busting, heart-pounding directionless chasing of shadows later, he was on all fours beside the pitch, giving an excellent impression of Bob Woolmer’s last moments. The volume, body and regularity of each retch and regurgitation, whilst quite impressive in their own rights, were greatly amplified by the echoes and reverberations off neighbouring hills. Legend has it that local vets were searching for days for the anguished cow that was calving.
They are the sound bites that epitomise a year, and will appear in any annual review worth its weight, but who are the next ten Convocation quotes-of-the-year accredited to, and who or what do they concern.
11. “That was better than getting your tubes blown.”
The most insane game of the last twelve months had to be the Firsts’ 7-5 victory over Blue Coat in November – a match that Convo “won twice” according to one eye-witness account. There was no apparent presage beforehand of the madness to follow, but once Alex Hendry, his Blue Coat equivalent, and the two defences began their game of footballing Russian roulette, the game became compulsive viewing. Chris Lamb netted a brace, Richy Scho got one, and TPJ – the Convocation Ronaldo (that’s the fat Brazilian one, who used to be a bit good, but now is just shit) – grabbed a hat trick. However it was Simon Holder, the scorer of the last goal, the one that finally put the game out of the reach of the opposition, who gauged his clinical finish against a spot of bagpiping.
For added surreality, midway through the second half the tired and emotional Second Team Correspondent sloped past the pitch in a state of dishabille, and disappeared off into the distance in a condition that was described as “undressed and distressed”. Surely the fare on show would have cheered him up, had he stayed and watched.
12. “You’re a shit player, playing shit.”
Heard on the upper slopes of Sudley back in the spring, it shouldn’t really astound anyone that this withering retort was directed at ‘doom in human form’, Andy Willis – after all, later on in the year he endeared himself to his team mates by telling them, “don’t pass to Tim – he’s shit.” Whilst not of the level of animosity shown by Craig Bellamy towards John Arne Riise back in February, it still begs the question: with friends like that who needs enemies?
No the two-fold surprise of the put-down was in the fact that, firstly, it was uttered by Chris Shokoya – a man normally so relaxed and cheerful on the football pitch that he makes Ronaldinho look in need of Prozac – and secondly, he’s not exactly Didier Drogba himself. Once again the currently monogamous Shokky managed to pass the whole year without finding the back of the opposition’s net, despite spending the majority of his time on the pitch, theoretically, up front. Talk about praise from Caesar.
13. “Fuck off, Knobhead.”
If Willis is the undisputed champion of instilling disharmony with his scathing opinions, then his (Chuckle) brother in arms, Kevin Schofield, corrupts through the medium of moaning. Throughout 2007 – and especially during the summer when he half-heartedly threatened to resign his post due to a bit of bad press – the Second Team vice-captain’s carping grew continually worse, with players on both sides of the halfway line on the receiving end of his opprobrium; match officials didn’t escape unscathed either. And it was one such referee in Denbigh who, having had enough of young Kev’s hectoring, suggested in a not-so-round-about sort of way that he might want to “Foxtrot Oscar” (to use the Topperism), much to the delight of the rest of the Convocation team.
As if the admonishment of a supposedly disinterested ref wasn’t bad enough, come the autumn (in a scene reminiscent of King Juan Carlos of Spain asking Venezuela’s President Chavez at a summit in Chile: “why don’t you shut up?”) the disgruntled defender was ordered, by a chairman’s decree, to “stop fucking [with the ‘g’] moaning.” Possibly out of shock at hearing John Flamson swear – the first time anyone could recall such an occurrence – Schofield promptly substituted himself and, from the safe and sulky distance of the clubhouse, watched his colleagues go through a twenty-minute collapse against a previously subdued Ramblers side. Perhaps there’s a method to his moaning madness after all.
14. “He even looks scruffy in a dinner suit.”
Staying on a Ramblers theme, the grand old club hosted a 125th anniversary dinner at the Crown Plaza hotel back in March, and of the fifty-or-so tables at the bash, only two were exclusively reserved for players of other teams – Convocation being one of the lucky and privileged pair. The ten tickets given to the South Liverpool side were allocated amongst the officers and more-established members but, nonetheless, young Percy managed to acquire one. The sometime Big Issue vendor, never normally renowned for his sartorial elegance, was slightly aghast at having to dress up like a penguin (the do was black tie, although Joel still turned up in a lounge suit) but, with the prospect of plenty of wine and a bit of grub, tried his best to scrub up regardless. Sadly, he shouldn’t have bothered as Phyllis, several sheets to the wind and taking a leaf out of Trinny and Susannah’s book (not to mention Dicko’s), called into question the urchin’s efforts. In vino veritas, as they say.
Still it wasn’t all slurs and bad news, as during the evening Kevin persuaded Dr. Nutter to return for a cameo goalkeeping-role in the following afternoon’s trip to Fazakerley; on the day, Richy brought that boy of his with him, and using all of the experience he’d gathered in German sex shops over the years Chris scored, in the 3-1 defeat to St. Martins. Neither of them have been seen since.
15. “Young man, I suggest you go away and study the laws of the game.”
Who else could dispense such authoritative advice – indeed would dispense such authoritative advice – than the Convo chancellor himself, ‘Iron’ Mike Edwards. Never one to back down to mindless thuggery, his recommendation to one particular borderline-psychopathic Blue Coat player was still asking for trouble, and the veteran midfielder spent the rest of that game dodging potential bone-snapping challenges from the unbalanced youngster. But you have to get up early to outfox MJE and, ultimately, the Sudley daffs gave him more grief.
There seemed to be something of the unhinged in the air whenever Convo faced Blue Coat during 2007: as well as the mental goal-fest covered in Q11, and the players trying to decapitate each other when they met in the spring, colloquies on no less perverse subjects than Madagascan cucumber harvests and rutting deer have been overheard during the two sides’ encounters over the last twelve months. Andy Thomas’ dad must have wondered what he had let himself in for.
16. “Stop asking for the ball, or I’ll punch you in the face.”
The threat of mindless violence for nothing more innocuous than asking to be passed to – there’s no prizes for guessing who that could be. The eternal camaraderie of Andy Willis was once more evident during the club’s visit to Cornwall in October, in a game that Convocation had to win in order to prevent Simon O’Brien from hanging up his boots. As capricious in mien as ever, the forward managed to grab a hat trick – whilst also warning the impudent Mr. Prince that he’d rearrange his facial features – with guest player Chris Hampton, the insatiable Drew McLaren and Ben’s butler grabbing the other three goals as the tourists ran out 6-3 victors; despite the incentive of OB’s retirement, Convo hadn’t taken their collective eye off the ball.
The crazy world of Andy Willis wasn’t done there though. The previous night – the first in Hayle, bear in mind – he’d managed to blow all of his money in the bookies and had to borrow funds in order to survive the weekend. Whilst you had to be thankful that, at least this year, it was his own money he lost, just what was going through his mind when he implored Kev Scho: “Don’t tell Percy”? Even Matt Dawson could work out what was going to happen next.
Maybe it was something to do with the Doomsday Clock being moved forward by a couple of minutes...
17. “I know it’s foggy, but there’s no need for Jack the Ripper.”
When the Second Team players drew back their curtains on the unassuming morning of Saturday February 3rd, they were greeted with the sight of… well nothing: a pea souper had descended over much of Liverpool; visibility was at a minimum. Although it gradually began to rise, most people would have still thought play impossible – a notion that Dicko quickly chided when asked, with the geographically-correct rebuke: “We’re not playing at Anfield.”
No, Convo were playing the animals of Croft at Sudley, and it being one of the highest points in South Liverpool, a phantasmal Sudley at that. Near the top of the hill it wasn’t far off being just about all you could do to see the hand in front of your face, but content that both goals were (just about) visible from the halfway line, and probably being leant on by Dickson (ouch!), the referee was content to let the game go ahead. In an otherwise tepid game, it was when the eternal optimist Richy O’Brien was being throttled by one of the Warrington heavies that Timbo called out regarding Whitechapel’s most notorious serial killer.
The Scotsman continued to provide merriment for all when attempting to head the ball out for a corner in the dying minutes, as it was bouncing towards his own, open, goal. Unfortunately he just nutted it into the back of the net himself, and scored a similarly hilarious own goal at the end of the year, belting the ball past his own #1 from six-yards out against Whitegate.
Tim Jago: the scourge of Convocation goalkeepers everywhere.
18. “Fuck the government, fuck the planners.”
Jamie Carragher knew exactly what he was doing when he phoned into talkSPORT to defend himself, live on air: “Don’t ever call me a bottler on radio in front of all, thousands of people listening,” he warned Adrian Durham, the show’s host.
Sadly OB, with much more radio experience than Carragher, and the benefit of his conversational faux pas having been pre-recorded, couldn’t make the same boast – his Radio Merseyside P45 was soon in the post.
19. “You don’t mess about with the top of your knob, your spine, or your eyes.”
Certain people will pay a lot of money for such sagacious advice, yet on a bitterly cold afternoon in January Comrade Allister took his own particular style of Marxist Quackery to North Wales and willingly dispensed prognosises for free. His recommendation began quite serenely – something to do with an eye infection – but quickly and tangentially deteriorated into more delicate matters that gave rise to uncomfortable mental images of water boarding and foot whipping.
When he wasn’t unwittingly giving rise to squirmingly-agonising fantasies of torture methods, the Ulsterman was busy arranging the clubs trip to Norn Iron, and next year’s jaunt to Cuba – home of Guantanamo Bay. Looks like it might be fun.
20. “You bent twat.”
With Topper having sated himself on the bonhomie of Cologne and getting ready to take up his new post as a Middle East peace envoy, his resignation as club secretary at the AGM was inevitable; new blood was needed in the Convo inner sanctum. Kicking and screaming, John Littler was voted into the hot seat and quickly adopted the stoic manner and diplomatic demeanour required of a custodian of footballing values – the prerequisite for a Convocation officer or a public school headmaster.
Old Caths were promptly dismissed as a shower of shite (he did have a point), whilst it was the astigmatic referee who was the focal point of the newly sworn-in secretary’s invective during a game at Cardinal Newman, when he seemed to call into question the official’s sexual orientation. A post at the United Nations surely beckons.
Whether its being threatened with a gun on a pitch in Cheshire, a forced walk along the hard shoulder of a German autobahn in the dark, or an unholy ability to cause the closure of establishments foolish enough to entertain you, there are some things that just sum up Convo, and wouldn’t be understood by players in other clubs. These last ten questions involve some of those moments during the last year that make you realise why you play for the mighty Convocation.
21. On three separate occasions during the year a Convocation player was sent off. Unsurprisingly, two of those were Andy Willis, but who was the other miscreant who had the luxury of being first in the proverbial bath?
The early bath was hypothetical, as it took place at Sudley – an early cold trickle would have been more appropriate – but the recipient of the red card in the dying minutes of Convo’s Veteran’s Cup defeat to Old Caths, was none other than Darren Ragnauth. In his only game of the calendar year, the former club secretary (who, thanks to Topper’s apathetic approach to the job, was still doing pretty much the same amount of work) received his marching orders for a cynical trip on an opponent who would have been clear through on goal otherwise. Seriously though, it was accidental, but that was irrelevant as Darth Bargery could smell blood.
Several weeks later the joke of a referee rightly sent off a Waterside man in a very bad tempered match in the Sealand Cup (for a brief moment the player refused to leave the pitch), but that was about as good as his year got – in just about every other game he officiated, he was awful. At least he wasn’t the reincarnation of Jon Pertwee though, as Stephen Mason claimed was refereeing a First Team fixture against Essemmay back in January! Incidentally, there was one other notable occasion in that Veteran’s Cup game – the annual appearance of the great Bill Rand, who promised to play for the Seconds forty-eight hours later. Not surprisingly he failed to turn up on the Saturday, but as John Flamson pointed out to the disappointed troops: “A lot can happen to Bill Rand in two days.” How true. 22. Who played a game against Woolton Vets at Sudley in March, with a permanent erection due to his predilection for Viagra? Oh to have been a fly on the wall in the Derby Arms pub on Menlove Avenue that evening, as the Woolton players regaled the locals with their tales of the Caledonian coat hanger that was Stevie Andrews. Quite why he has this fondness for the impotent man’s drug of choice is anyone’s guess, but it will certainly never be understood just what he was thinking in turning up for a Second team fixture with an unshakable boner. Why didn’t he just proudly march naked down Rose Lane and be done with it? On a similar theme, the Scotsman was embarrassed again later on in the year, when he disturbed his sleeping missus as he was, erm… enjoying a midnight meal, shall we say. Rather than keep this juicy titbit to himself, he informed Phyllis, who was only too happy to share the wealth with the chaps outside the Sloop pub in St. Ives. Has the man no shame? 23. And in the same match, which Convo player managed to score an own goal despite being only yards from the corner flag? What a great twelve months it’s been for players beating their own ‘keepers. Strangely though (or maybe not, if you think about it) it’s an affliction that predominantly occurs in Second Team fixtures, with the solitary own goal for the Firsts coming in a game against Bankfield. The Corinthians have been much more hapless: added to Timbo’s two in his own net, the Seconds’ opponents have also been helping out, with one Ramblers man heading past his own goalie, and a Tollymore defender doing likewise during Convo’s trip to Northern Ireland. But by far and away the best of the calamitous bunch was Dermot’s effort at Sudley. Collecting the ball near his left-hand corner flag (as Convo were looking at it) and under no pressure from the opposition, he attempted to hoof the ball up the pitch but sliced it badly, up into the heavens and also across the pitch into the penalty area. Equally untroubled by any opponents, Stuart Fox decided it would be best to let the ball bounce first, rather than catch it outright; when it landed, in the region of the penalty spot, it took off again with a ridiculous amount of back spin given to it by the Irishman’s initial slice, looped up over the goalkeeper’s head, and into the back of the Convo net. Freakish it most certainly was, but at least Dermot wasn’t immediately subbed, as he had been the last time he’d scored past his own #1. 24. In April, which two players turned up at the Richmond Tavern one Saturday evening, in fancy dress that had more than an air of the Village People about it, and why? Jackie Bibby, the legendary Texan snake handler, broke his own world record for sitting in a bath tub with rattle snakes in November, sharing the vessel with no less than eighty-seven of the creatures – a trifle compared with Chris and Billy Lamb’s ordeal earlier in the year when they were out on the town donning authentic Lone Star State raiment for the Convo Dorian Gray’s stag night. Attempting to dodge Liverpool’s own venomous serpents, the elder Lamb came attired as a cowboy, the youngest as Davy Crockett and an unnamed friend was donning that classic uniform of Texas… well, he came as a construction worker (disclaimer: that may not be true). All that was missing was Peter in Sioux get up, but that was never going to happen. 25. In a weekend of very strange discussions while the club was away in Northern Ireland, which two famous people did Paul Dickson suggest should be locked in a lift together until they sorted themselves out? It’s impossible to truly understand what a strange bunch the Convocation chaps are, until you’ve been on tour with them; it’s also when you realise that like attracts like, and all the weirdos and nutters in the world see the Convo crew as one of their own and instinctively know when they’re in town. Whether it’s piling into German brothels to watch the football, having complete strangers inform you, out of the blue, about the state of their children’s pubic hair, or being stalked by Finnish homosexuals, once Convocation leave the confines of the North West, the normal rules of engagement go to the dogs and they seem to enter the twilight zone. And whilst June’s trip to Ulster didn’t cause all the local wackos to gravitate in their direction (Christ, in Northern Ireland – it doesn’t bear thinking about), the constant rain meant the chaps had very little to do but drink… and talk to each other. Lurching spectacularly from one outlandish conversation to the next, Dicko got the badinage underway immediately upon arriving by suggesting that Cilla Black and Andy Gray should thrash out their differences in a closed lift (don’t ask), but by the end of the weekend confabs on what would happen if Joe Pesci and Jerry Springer mated, Michaela Strachan’s nipples, Dicko’s ‘methane footprint’, wizards’ sleeves and, inexplicably, 'Magnus Pike’s chocolate cockring' had all taken place and given proceedings an very LSD vibe. When someone mentioned “Norman Stanley Feltcher” [sic] the tourists, with tears streaming down their faces, knew that it was probably time to go home – and they generously left the ‘Joe 90’ kit behind them for the natives. Cuba here we come! 26. How did occasional player, Dave Horrocks, mentally prep his First Team colleagues for a game against Gateacre back in February? While Rafa Benitez was successfully navigating a way through the minefields of European competition to a second Champions League final in three years, and Alex Ferguson was managing to wrest the Premier League title from Chelsea’s grasp, Convocation’s equivalent of the Fast Show’s ‘Competitive Dad’ took the more subtle, Steve McClaren approach to man-motivation for this game. The thinking behind a siege mentality is surely to create a team ethic of: ‘it’s us against the world – we’ve all got to pull together’; the ‘Baader-Meinhof/gun to the temple/we’re all going to die’ way of looking at it, isn’t really going to be conducive with a particularly good performance. Nevertheless, this was the doomed scenario concocted by the club’s most heartening and inspiring enthusiast. Not content with drawing attention to the underworld connections and criminal records of all of the opposition players, he compounded his folly by vociferously pointing out everybody’s individual mistakes to them, and Gateacre easily overwhelmed a deflated Convocation to take the day’s three points. It wasn’t the only demoralising card up his sleeve though: several weeks later, in the minutes leading up to the Connerty Cup semi-final, with anything-but-Churchillian rhetoric he questioned the side’s ability and told them that they needed to “get their act together”, and that they were “going nowhere.” Joey Barton’s got a lot to learn. 27. What unusual episode temporarily halted the Seconds’ game against Sandbach Vets at Wyncote in October? When you consider pitch invasions in amateur football, it’s images of riotous mobs battling it out with bats and Stanley knives, referees being knocked unconscious, and mangled players ending up in casualty that usually spring to mind; stilettoed viragos, shedding clothes and raining fists, whilst trying not to sink into the filth of the field, do not. But once the rapidly-deflating, haughty demeanour of a Sandbach man had infused him with the need to strike Kev Scho in this bad tempered affair, and players from both sides had waded into a melee akin to the Valencia and Inter Milan teams in their spring Champions League ‘clash’, the stage was set for one of the most extraordinary sights of the last twelve months. Affronted at the slight on her brother’s being, Mrs. J-Lo streaked across Wyncote’s remote pitch five as fast as her legs, and the going, would let her. Far more bellicose than the Glaswegian goon who had tapped Dida across the face at Celtic Park days earlier, the wild woman pummelled her startled quarry remorselessly, before being dragged off by disbelieving players of both sides and collecting her strewn possessions on her way back to the side lines. Mortified, J-Lo hasn’t been seen at a Seconds game since, whilst everyone else in attendance agreed that it was the funniest thing they’d seen all year. 28. Earlier that month in Cornwall, who made the foolish faux pas of nipping to his car for a quick doze in the middle of a team piss-up, only to return to accusations of unnatural sexual behaviour? Unless you wish to unleash a persecutory vehemence not seen since the years immediately following the reformation, it is never a good idea sneak off early when on tour – a lesson that Ian Mitchell isn’t likely to forget in a hurry. Following the game of football on the Saturday, copious amounts of alcohol, a fish supper and an industrial portion of pickled onions were enough to send the goalie-cum-defender off for forty winks in the car park and spark a frenzy of speculation and calumny as to his whereabouts – particularly from Stevie, who was still smarting from his ribbing of the night before (‘who’s that down there?’). By the time the youngster returned, suitably ‘refreshed’, he’d been away long enough for his situation to deteriorate to the point where he’d been shagging a cheese and onion pasty. Still, it beats a bottle of vodka. Other itinerants in Hayle included Joel, whose mind wandered as soon as he arrived (“Is this it? Where’s the town centre?”) and Percy, who made a beeline for the nearest stretch of water on the first night in St. Ives and was given a ride home by the local constabulary twenty-four hours later. On he other hand, one notorious Lothario probably wished he had gone a roaming when he woke the following morning, after an equally notorious local man-eater had latched onto him – and vice-versa. 29. On a similar theme, what connected [Censored by Legal Team] with ‘having a break’ during 2007? Once again [Censored by Legal Team]’s insanely excitable and highly-charged tales of his trips to the continent have kept the Second Team players enthralled during their after-match revelries throughout the last year, and none have created more interest or as much hilarity as his anecdotes of the fantastically named Kit Kat Klub (KKK?). It was after a game at Denbigh that he started divulging the details of the Berlin swingers’ club – much to the delight of his colleagues – and after they had sated themselves on accounts of leather bondage gear, group sex and other Frank Bough related depravities, Richy OB piped up to ask Convo’s answer to Stan Collymore: “Can you just have a wank?” [Censored by Legal Team] seemed genuinely hurt: “Don’t be disgusting, it’s not that kind of place.” At the end of the year, in a pub in Whitegate, the cumbersome striker mentioned, in passing, another club he frequents, in Milan. Although they had been talking amongst themselves and not paying much attention, everyone else around the table immediately seemed to swivel in [Censored by Legal Team]’s direction, leaning in to hear better; even the television suddenly gave the impression of having been muted. With all eyes on him though, he clammed up, not willing to make the same mistake twice. 30. Finally, with time running out in the Connerty Cup semi-final, and Convo trailing Waterloo by a goal to nil, what unorthodox tactic did Richy Schofield employ in an attempt to get his team back into the game? To be fair to the First Team captain he did have his hands slightly tied. Following their superb quarter final win over Blue Coat – a 3-0 victory that could easily have been double that, apparently – for a place in the final the Firsts had to face a Waterloo side that had already beaten them home and away in the league, and who were battling it out with Bootech for the divisional title. For eighty minutes Convo had held their own against the team from North Liverpool, but disaster struck ten minutes from the end when the visitors had finally found a way through the resolute defence of Sudley’s finest. Schofield had used all his subs, legs were tiring, and they had to find a goal from somewhere without going gung ho, as Waterloo were showing little sign of throwing everyone behind the ball. There wasn’t much he could do really. But what he definitely didn’t want to do inside the final ninety seconds was get the ball in the centre circle, let it trickle away from him, and then stand there overbalancing on one leg whilst waving the other appendage at the receding ball as though he had magic wands (that might teleport it into the opposition goalmouth) instead of metatarsals. Inevitably, a Waterloo player took advantage of the stumbling Schofield, nicked possession off him and scored past Alex Hendry; like the Cutty Sark, any meagre hopes the Convocation players had had of progressing went up in flames. They’d almost been able to smell the final but, as usual, it wasn’t to be: yet again the perennial bridesmaids were so close, and yet so far. 0-9: Oh Dear. You haven’t really got a clue what’s going on around you. Do you Dicko? 10-19: Must Try Harder. I suspect you floundered through this examination of your knowledge, ad libbing and hoping you could bluff your way to a good mark. You must be one of the club’s pedagogues. 20-29: An excellent effort – you’ve proven yourself to be a thoroughly perspicacious student of Convocation affairs and deserve your place at the top of the class. Take a bow Edwards. 30: You’re a genius and know absolutely everything there is to know… ever. Well done Jack. How Did You Do?
