anyone need...whoosh a football shirt would land on your face and you would be dragged in and be told who you were for the day....."you're Johnny Smith and don't get yourself booked or sent off......no you don't have to pay to play......you don't want to play in goal do you?....I thought not"
Really I can't ever remember a game at the marshes being called off...snow, ice, torrential rain. The closest I ever came was one time when it was foggy. So foggy that standing on the half way line you could only just see the goals at either end. This particular Sunday morning I was ill with a stomach upset, we only had 8 players while the other team had 9. Sure enough in a 3-3 draw I scored from 25 yards....the referee pointing for a goal kick to be taken......an effin Goal kick....referee you must be joking! Desperate I pleaded but the fog and a lack of nets on the goals left no evidence of a score. Without really thinking about it I ran to their goalkeeper who was standing stony faced about to take the goal-kick. What else could I do? Yes .....I was willing to beg. In what seemed like seconds I had appealed to him as a player....as scoring debutant then finally I said...."look keeper we must be mad to be here it's freezing fukin cold, the marshes looks like set from the ripper and I have got the worst diarrhea you have ever seen and you are gonna let this idiot disallow my goal?" Somehow I got through to him and he picked the ball up, threw it to the ref and siad "It was a goal".
Not that playing at the marshes was always such fun. When we about 17 we had a side in a mens division....not a real problem just part of the learning curve you might say. This particular game saw us up against a pub team who happened to have centre forward who was 18 stone, six foot eight and a bully! This particular Brutus spent his whole time threatening and kicking our players. Terrifyingly I actually shirtfronted him by mistake and knocked him over, only the referees insistance that 'surely' I wouldn't of done it on purpose, calmed the brute down. There he was striding around the pitch making everyone scared to go near him. Then, just outside our box they won a free kick and we proceeded to form a wall. Mr Bully came and stood right it front of us his shadow darkening our view.....that was until our particular popeye arrived. Davie Hutchinson was as wide as he was tall! Just as the freekick was going to be taken he took one step out of the wall and kicked the bully right up the arse! Yes, aimed his muddy football-booted toe right up the relaxed jacksy of the bully. In what seemed like glorious slow motion the bully collapsed screaming to the floor. Davie had by now taken a step back into the waiting wall. The bully was crying, screaming and curled into the foetal position lying in the Hackney Marsh mud. The referee calmly walked up and without even looking at the bully informed the wall that if anyone came any closer than the ten he would have to book someone. Getting to his feet the bully looked for his attacker. That someone who had inserted their toe further up his arse than any doctors examination before this! Davie, a foot smaller, calmly and quietly put his hand up saying" It was me, you're a fucking bully and the next time you foul someone I will be personally knocking you out!" After what seemed an age, we all still being in the wall watched him turn and limp off to the side-line.
Across the years I played for many 'pub teams' over the marshes, Strathspey, only won one game and that on forfeit in the last match of the season. Duke of Devonshire, in the bully match. Hoxton Athetic, the Jolly Farmers Pub owned by Arsenal' Peter Storey...the Brownswood Tavern in Green Lanes and Queensbridge Trucks. All these teams played either in the Hackney & Leyton League or the East London Sunday League.
Typical of most Sunday sides kicking off at 11 o'clock many often started games short of the full eleven. You actually got 15 minutes grace and you could start the game with seven players the rest to come on afterwards. One match with the Brownswood had this very situation...we knew the others were coming but we only had six on the pitch....in another two minutes we would have to forfeit. Then to my lasting shame I had an idea to get the game going. Norman, a heavily crippled West Indian bloke who was four foot two and used a crutch was our ever present team supporter. Somehow I pursuaded him to pull a shirt on and to come a yard onto the pitch! Only a yard but now we had seven. These were no politically correct times, no health and safety only a referee looking to make sure he would get him game fee. After five hectic minutes where Norman literally hugged the touch line our reinforcements arrived and we had a full team. To applause and relief all round Norman left the field.
Playing / coaching at the marshes wasn't always what it seemed. Two of my cousins had had a few problems with substance abuse and asked me if I could coach their side on a Sunday. I had my badge and thought why not it would be good to see them playing again. Questions. It is important to ask questions! Of course I was surprised a month in to find just who I was coaching / training......a whole side of recovering drug addicts! After the initial shock I grew into the role and we had a great time. Apparently the squad had sworn to each other that turning up on the Sunday morning was sign that they had all got through the night. In that season there was only one player who failed to turn up on the Sunday....it was truly uplifting and part of what was the great Hackney Marshes football experience for me and thousands of others.
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