Well Saturday saw my European Football debut! The Hamlet came third (out of three) but a great day it was. I am totally inspired by these boys (as much as it pains me to say) and I am of to Estonia in July to play for them again in a rematch against our 'Green Enemies' the Estonians.
Saturday has really motivated me to take my team to the next level and I am already hatching plans for the girls to conquer Europe and beyond! Watch this space.......
Here are some Photo's for you to enjoy and below is a report of the day from a fellow blogger......
Players:
DHFC: Steve Rickerby (GK); Ian Hunt; Alex Bushell; Larry Marsh; Andy Tucker; Chris Garrett; Chris Tarbett; Jason Cobb; Mark Hutton; Mishi D Morath; Ferenc Morath; James O'Shaughnessy; Dawn Taylor; Jack McInroy; Keri Ryan; Phil Doyle
Match Officials: Referee: Mr Freddie Collins
Match Officials: Referee: Mr Freddie Collins
Heard the one about the Estonian National Anthem in SE22? We came close to hearing the proud anthem of the people of the Republic of Estonia at Champion Hill on Saturday morning as the Dulwich Hamlet Supporters' Team hosted an inaugural international tournament in South London.
Too drunk to fuck...The Entente Cordial was completed with our friends from the Belgium branch of Paris Saint Germain FC Supporters' Team. Things are never plain sailing with the pink 'n blue boys. Estonian Anthem aside, should we greet the PSG group with the French or Belgium Anthem? Is there any difference? And what song should be played before the pink 'n blue rabble took to the pitch? 'Too Drunk to Fuck' by the Dead Kennedy's was actually a serious contender. We settled though on the Sex Pistols and 'Anarchy in the UK,' keeping in spirit with both the Rabblers outlook on life, and our way of working. But first we had to bow down to the Establishment; well, Southwark Councilor Columba Blango who kicked off the competition with some fine words of sporting wisdom. 'Great to have your support,' I told the good Councilor as he shook my hand during the team introductions. 'It would be great to have yours as well,' dead-panned the ex-Olympian (TRUE!) with a firm handshake that was half South London hospitality, half Mad Frankie Fraser friendly word of warning. I hadn't the heart to tell him that I'm a Lambeth boy. And so onto the big kick off. I spent the first game relegated to running the line. Nothing wrong in that, and I'm proud to say that I have semi-officiated at an international football event. 'You know where you can stick yer flag, Lino,' moaned one Rabbler in a rare moment of discontent within the ranks. I don't think he meant somewhere in Estonia either when the Rabblers claim a part of Eastern Europe for South London later in the year. The pink 'n blue boys have a proud history of representing their team and playing within the spirit of the game. This usually means losing, but at least we get a decent applause when we leave the pitch. 4-1 to the Estonians, although it must have been difficult for our central defender to mark a geezer going by the name of 'Oops.' His striking partner wasn't wearing the legend 'a daisy' on the back of his shirt, but our foreign friends seemed to come from the Didier Drogba School of Falling Over. The Sex Pistols on the PA soon gave way to some Spandau Ballet during the break before the next game. It was like punk never happened, although not in Estonia apparently as some of our Eastern European friends preferred the facial mutilation look, compared to the South London Soul Boys. With some scouts in the South London crowd (boy scouts,) the Rabblers were keen to impress as we lined up against PSG in the second match. This was always going to be a tough match as we were playing with only ten men. Nope - we really were playing with only ten men, with our secret weapon of a female footballer acting as the eye candy to disrupt the continental types. It was all a honey trap as the most attractive player in the tournament (there wasn't exactly stiff competition) took on the PSG boys in the centre of the park. The South London language heard when the big boys play at Champion Hill ('fuckin get up 'im!!!!') was replaced with a Parisian je ne sais quoi. This confused me as Johnny Foreigner frequently switched from a quatre-quatre-deux to a quatre-trois-trois. I just tripped over, falling feet first into our own honey trap. And so a 6-3 defeat for the South London boys this time, setting up nicely a winner takes all final game between our friends from Estonia and Belgium. But first there was a truly surreal South London moment involving Kajagoogoo and extra strength Eastern European lager on a Saturday morning. My oh my, that Estonian trip is going to be fun. A thrilling final game saw the PSG boys blag the PA Wilson trophy with a 6-5 win. Apt that on Eurovision day, the English ended with nul points. But points don't make prizes. You can't win the friendship that football creates. For such a small club, the Dulwich Supporters' Team is starting to turn heads. And we're not talking about the honey trap either. Today South London, tomorrow... well - the world is your oyster. Do they accept oyster cards north of the river?
Too drunk to fuck...The Entente Cordial was completed with our friends from the Belgium branch of Paris Saint Germain FC Supporters' Team. Things are never plain sailing with the pink 'n blue boys. Estonian Anthem aside, should we greet the PSG group with the French or Belgium Anthem? Is there any difference? And what song should be played before the pink 'n blue rabble took to the pitch? 'Too Drunk to Fuck' by the Dead Kennedy's was actually a serious contender. We settled though on the Sex Pistols and 'Anarchy in the UK,' keeping in spirit with both the Rabblers outlook on life, and our way of working. But first we had to bow down to the Establishment; well, Southwark Councilor Columba Blango who kicked off the competition with some fine words of sporting wisdom. 'Great to have your support,' I told the good Councilor as he shook my hand during the team introductions. 'It would be great to have yours as well,' dead-panned the ex-Olympian (TRUE!) with a firm handshake that was half South London hospitality, half Mad Frankie Fraser friendly word of warning. I hadn't the heart to tell him that I'm a Lambeth boy. And so onto the big kick off. I spent the first game relegated to running the line. Nothing wrong in that, and I'm proud to say that I have semi-officiated at an international football event. 'You know where you can stick yer flag, Lino,' moaned one Rabbler in a rare moment of discontent within the ranks. I don't think he meant somewhere in Estonia either when the Rabblers claim a part of Eastern Europe for South London later in the year. The pink 'n blue boys have a proud history of representing their team and playing within the spirit of the game. This usually means losing, but at least we get a decent applause when we leave the pitch. 4-1 to the Estonians, although it must have been difficult for our central defender to mark a geezer going by the name of 'Oops.' His striking partner wasn't wearing the legend 'a daisy' on the back of his shirt, but our foreign friends seemed to come from the Didier Drogba School of Falling Over. The Sex Pistols on the PA soon gave way to some Spandau Ballet during the break before the next game. It was like punk never happened, although not in Estonia apparently as some of our Eastern European friends preferred the facial mutilation look, compared to the South London Soul Boys. With some scouts in the South London crowd (boy scouts,) the Rabblers were keen to impress as we lined up against PSG in the second match. This was always going to be a tough match as we were playing with only ten men. Nope - we really were playing with only ten men, with our secret weapon of a female footballer acting as the eye candy to disrupt the continental types. It was all a honey trap as the most attractive player in the tournament (there wasn't exactly stiff competition) took on the PSG boys in the centre of the park. The South London language heard when the big boys play at Champion Hill ('fuckin get up 'im!!!!') was replaced with a Parisian je ne sais quoi. This confused me as Johnny Foreigner frequently switched from a quatre-quatre-deux to a quatre-trois-trois. I just tripped over, falling feet first into our own honey trap. And so a 6-3 defeat for the South London boys this time, setting up nicely a winner takes all final game between our friends from Estonia and Belgium. But first there was a truly surreal South London moment involving Kajagoogoo and extra strength Eastern European lager on a Saturday morning. My oh my, that Estonian trip is going to be fun. A thrilling final game saw the PSG boys blag the PA Wilson trophy with a 6-5 win. Apt that on Eurovision day, the English ended with nul points. But points don't make prizes. You can't win the friendship that football creates. For such a small club, the Dulwich Supporters' Team is starting to turn heads. And we're not talking about the honey trap either. Today South London, tomorrow... well - the world is your oyster. Do they accept oyster cards north of the river?
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