Gregg Morgan writes:And lo Recreativo came home. RHFC went back to the Marshes and delivered one of the season's finest performances. A confident and assured Reccy came with in minutes of putting the newly crowned, and unbeaten, Champions to the sword. The impressive Project Clapham, with all their points and goals, got away with this one.
It was actually the first time at the home of grassroots football for over half the team. That half being mostly comprised of the Reccy School of Excellence - Max, Connor, Aaron, Joe (Paul Scholes) and now Ben - the latest product of the youth system! Oh how Chelsea must dream of such a stream of talent. Not only have these boys injected much needed pace and goals into the second half of our season, it's great to see the young ones being among the first ones to turn up week in, week out. In fact they were all there waiting in the Hackney sun as Joey D and I rocked up to the impassioned throng of the car park. Everywhere you look football oozed out, well, apart from the burger van.
But where was our leader? Wembley? Letting his beloved break his semi-final heart again? No Jimmie was in Paris apparently. How do you say 'big screen' and 'referee's a wanker'' a la francais anyway? What with Nick and Adam also absent, it was time for the rest of the squad to step up today. James has nets and phone numbers. Good start. Joey D pays the deposit for the changing room. This is going fine. Now where is the kit? Anyone seen Jimmy L? What's the time? Perhaps we should phone him...he's what? Lost! But we're supposed to be at home!
The league leaders are of course already on the pitch, kitted up, drilling and dreaming of how many they are going to score. We find our kit man, Joao arrives, things begin to look up. We rush out and get the nets up but where's the ref? Oh well fine, we need to warm-up anyway. We try to emulate the exact routine, Jimmie's invisible hand guiding us all the way through to keep-ball in the penalty area. Still no ref. Phone-calls and negotiations with the opposition commence, they only have ten men and are happy to hold on, we want to get into to them immediately, they only have ten men!
Then out of nowhere a ref, a new ref, match ready. Still no sign of our usual man in black. It's 2.25pm, bugger it, let's play. And did we play. Knocking it around on the floor for stretches, calm heads working hard, it's the best footballing display I've seen in Reccy colours. With both teams trying to pass, the first half was a decent and even tussle. Chances at either end and a lively but fair spirit meant the game was a real contest. Given our 7-0 drubbing in the reverse fixture that would have been something a couple of months ago, but that was then and this is now. The further the half went on the more our belief grew. We wanted to be the team that ruined Clapham's unbeaten season. The boys up front clearly roam undaunted by any reputation but even the olds at the back began stroking it around! We have free headers and one-on-one's and then it came true. Ben, with so much power to his pace, rampaged from out right through the centre, beating a man or two, bearing down on goal and forcing the centre-back into one of the finest own-goals you are likely to see. Slotted, along the floor, curving deliciously around the goalie's fingertips, destined only for the bottom corner. 1-0.
We make it to half-time easily enough. Our ref has turned up but bows out leaving us to a Jimmie-less team talk. We are buzzing but I try to warn everyone that these guys are going to come out fighting, that they have played some nice football, clearly have talent, we'll have to keep it tight early doors. So what do we do....? Reccy only go and score the best team goal of the season straight from the kick off! The pass-o-meter clicks into double figures as Connor is put through and beats the goalie with an absolute peach of a finish, clipped over the goalie as he rushes from his line. The opposition didn't even have a touch! 2-0!
Forty-four minutes to go.
The game continues to be an even encounter. On the hour the Champions show why they are just that with some neat build-up play and a cracking 25 yard finish. 2-1. Barking Mad flashes into my mind's eye. But I won't let it stay, 'Come on Reccy!'. It feels different, we're still comfortable, we're working our socks off and still trying to play it about. We are going to pull it off. More chances at either end, Clapham starting to put the pressure on, but we're close now. Five minutes to go.
But then a decent ball slung into the box from out wide causes a mess as bodies come from everywhere, in the ensuing scramble a Clapham foot chops it past Chris's despairing last-line lunge. 2-2. BOLLOCKS. Oh god - I can't take another Barking Mad, that game haunted me for days, not again, please.
Despite our past we almost find a winner, the whistle goes just after Connor slams an effort goalwards only for a deflection to see it into the keepers hands. Reccy leave the pitch with a slight trudge, we came so close. That says it all really, we walk off annoyed not to have beaten a team who have not lost all season, who had only drawn one game amongst all the victories, who surely haven't been as close to defeat as they were today in the glorious Marsh sunshine.
The defence beats a retreat to a Homerton watering hole for a well-deserved pint and to watch another team shrug off their bottom of the table status as Pompey knock Spurs out of the Cup. Safe to say the boss wasn't so happy about that remarkable resurgence as he must be about Recreativo's phoenix from the flames. From bottom at Christmas to Champion-beater's, almost.
Team: James Humphreys, Mario Pisano (Joao Spinola), Gregg Morgan, Jimmy Lloyd, Joe Dunthorne, Aaron Gayle, Joe Haley, Ben Chambers, Chris Read, Max Bland, Connor Joseph.