Phyllis Radcliffe reports.
An intimidating opening fixture for the chaps awaited, causing nerves to be shredded on the morning after the night before. An entertaining opening night saw a new King of Israel crowned, and the club celebrated not only their arrival in their footballing second home, but paid its usual respectful homage to two of the great sons of the club, Messrs Stopforth and Flamson, who had both been recently recognised in the Queen's honours list for their services to karaoke singing and bendy football dribbles respectively. The mode of celebration was as commonly expected, involving beer, wine, shots and a spot of good citizenship in Eckstein's by providing care services to some of Heidelberg's aging population. Less traditional was the rock version of 'you'll never walk alone' sung amidst some bare chested dancing next to the flame ridden bar.
To the game. Given the thread bare squad available to skipper Edwards due injuries and age, Holt briefly came out of retirement to support the troops. Hence the starting line up announced before the game was Topping; Flamson, Ragnauth, Prince, Hawe; Holt, Edwards, Carter, Andrews; Jelen, McDermott.
As FC Referendaria had announced they train once a week, this did shoot fear into the Convo ranks. Arrival at the ground also further hastened the pre-match nerves. The pitch was possibly the biggest (certainly the widest) your reporter has even seen, let alone played on. The temperature was approaching 80F, and a rather youthful looking male welcomed us as host. This already had Topping showing minor concern, asking whether we should propose mixing the teams up before we'd even kicked a ball.
The opening half hour was on for the purest. Skipper Edwards tactics were rigidly enforced as Convo parked the bus, playing deep and narrow. There was growing confidence in the ranks when disaster struck. Losing the ball in midfield a quick counter attack was sprung leaving the home side clean through with an easy chance to slot past Topping in goal. Soon after - similarly losing the ball inside their own box - Convo handed the opposition a second. Just before half time Topping literally handed them a third, mishandling a fairly basic effort which squirmed past him.
The troops were clearly disappointed at half time. Topping made way for McLaren in goal. Holt made way for Dickson, and the recently honoured duo continued to play roll on/off as had begun in the first half. It was difficult to see how the chaps could fight their way back given the fitness of the opposition, heat, size of pitch and the fact the average age of the team was 52 - a good ten years over that of the opposition. The second half - it's probably fair to say - followed a similar path to the last 10 minutes of the first - no tragic goal giveaways, but the pace slowed slightly, and whilst there was some encouraging movement from Topping (back on for the injured Jelen) and several lung busting runs from McDermott the chaps couldn't get on the score sheet. The Bear was imperious in goal and none of the three second half strikes could have been stopped. However the comedy moment when retrieving the ball was one of the highlights of the tour, and could have resulted in a jibber-threatening emergency had the fence the Bear was attempting to leap over, been much higher.
So a disappointing final score, but a decent effort especially in the first half hour. The chaps spent the rest of the night celebrating in honoured fashion with our hosts, who gave us all a great night.
MoM: Topping made a fine comeback out of goal in the second half, though the knee pain clearly makes him run in a way that is even more bandy than usual. And he really did need a hair cut. Flamson was impressive at right back, and Carter and Edwards tireless in midfield. The lung busting energy of McDermott deserves high praise, and Andrews ran himself stupid, though that's not difficult as it's largely his normal state. The central defensive work of Prince and Ragnauth was excellent despite conceding 6 goals. However MoM must go to McLaren's jibber. Given the recent sufferings of its two near neighbours, it held it together when put under immense pressure midway through the second half.
***
Team (from…) Bear, Dicko, Dazza, Ben, Jed, Thomas Wilhelm (Dudenhofen), Mike, Stevie, Flammo, Jack, Matthias Trauth (Dudenhofen), Alan
Injured : Rich, Phil, Joel.
Carsten Jancker reports…
A common opening line of a sportswriter is to note how few changes a manager makes for a fixture so as to suggest strength, form and confidence in the selection. It can rarely have been used to compare two lineups separated by nearly two decades.
Between deadlines and the pre-website age of that pioneering first visit to Dudenhofen in 1998, original sides back then can’t be verified for this report. Yet to any spectators possessed of a Rain Man memory or the travelling powers of Dr Who, most of the names on the teamsheet of Manager Edwards for the 2015 fixture would look very familiar. The timelord’s trick of bodily regeneration would have come in handy though. These tours really are in need of a working youth policy.
The home side too contained many familiar faces, along with one called Anton who couldn’t make it that day as it was at least half a decade before he was born! More of him later. The legendary Hubert Trauth of Dudenhofen was just a spectator this time. Happily his son Matthias, already sporting the family silver locks at the tender age of 39, was on hand to fortify the Convocation squad and make the Trauths the latest of many fathers and sons to have played for Convocation – though surely the first overseas players to have managed it!
Early arrival meant loitering time in what was serving as the backstage area of the international sprint cycling event on the neighbouring velodrome. Opportunity to behold the hi-spec bikes on show worth more than the vans that had carried them in, make lame gags about bells and baskets and to shake hands with triple Olympic Gold Medal winning UK participant Jason Kenny. A top man, all agreed. Except for Tour Chairman Phil who remembered Jason was from down the road from him in ‘not-Bolton’ Farnworth and couldn’t help himself raising some ancient parochial grievance about the correct ingredients for black pudding or somesuch. Offended by Jason’s equanimity on such a vital matter, the great Olympian was robustly instructed to “f*ck off”. Unsurprisingly he declined the requests of others to come and play for us afterwards!
Meanwhile the mini-squad of fitness doubts set about determining their readiness for action. Jed and Joel’s lengthy yoga pasa doble resulted in a victory for conventional medicine over its alternative practitioner, who couldn’t overcome his mystery back complaint. Stevie set about himself with a specially adapted instrument of self-flagellation and declared himself fit – he was probably fit all along and just enjoyed the pain. Alas it proved ineffective on Sassenachs and Rich had to miss out. Jack meanwhile treated himself to a therapeutic ‘mindfulness’ session, otherwise known as sitting comfortably doing nothing for a while, at the conclusion of which he bravely declared himself fit to play.
On the field the proceedings began in cautious fashion with both sides getting to grips with the greasy surface and the curiously under-inflated ball – the finger of suspicion falling on young Anton for that! Our two German loanees, Matthias and Thomas, provided our main early threat in what for many of us seemed like a touching tribute to the late lamented Tony Caslin and his faithful sidekick Nick Rowland, sharing long periods of possession with nobody but each other! Of course this might have had something to do with the Convo chaps lack of ability to keep up with them!
After a passing movement had led to an opening goal for the home side, Convo turned to psychological tactics in the unorthodox form of comedy. Stevie, presented with a stationary ball, perfect poise and abundant time and space was able to deliver a killer - air-shot - collapsing on his ginger erse before a still unmolested, still stationary ball. Bewildered Germans helped him to his feet, presumably assuming him to have been the victim of some seizure – well he must be about 15 years past the average life expectancy of a Scotsman by now - but instead we played on and put Matthias, who’d already gone close already, through on goal to level the scores.
Next up for a turn was Andy the Bear, with a variant on his celebrated ball retrieval circus performance of Saturday. This time, with a ball ending up perfectly perched atop a mound of freshly excavated soil behind his goal, the great ursine set about his fagging duties only to find himself half buried under a mini avalanche of soil disturbed by his paws.
Meanwhile Anton was looking increasingly likely to embarrass one of his elders. The fall-guy was Jed, taking advantage of the surface to deliver a sumptuous, if somewhat unsurgical, sliding tackle that claimed a bit of ball and a bit of young Anton and enough of the displeasure of a sympathetic referee to point to the spot. Undaunted, the kid stepped up to beat the bear with a penalty of Germanic precision.
A further German goal before half time gave us more of a mountain to climb after the break. A tougher one that Andy had earlier demolished. And yet the veterans of ’98 and their newer recruits applied themselves heartily to the task. Ben and Dazza looked increasingly confident at the back, able to win possession stride forward majestically and liberate the midfield from emergency defensive duties. Thus Flamson seemed rejuvenated, finding the touch, vision and economy of movement that characterised his earlier work, whilst alongside him Andrews was rediscovering his Strachanesque sense of mischief. The gesamtkunstwerk that is John Topping was suddenly orchestrating things up and down the field in a blur of orange unrecognisable from the limping non-shotstopper of two days earlier.
But fortune proved elusive. A series of crosses fell tantalisingly beyond their targets. A solid penalty claim as a home defender handled as he stumbled over the ball was interpreted as an obstruction offence, then in the follow up McDermott was ruled offside as he wrongfooted the goalkeeper with a deflection of Edwards’ low drive.
Instead it all went wrong down the other end. Young Anton had a little dribble up the right but delivered a rather tame ball. Ben had it covered. Dicko had it covered. What could go wrong? Dicko cleared the ball into Ben and Anton’s old man was on hand to receive an early Vaterstag present.
Back upfield others fell back on old tactics. McDermott, a name to induce groans down at the local Accident and Emergency department, decided it might be time to thin out the opposition ranks a little, first reminding one opponent of the importance of fastening his Schienbeinschutze[*] correctly before contesting a sliding tackle. One down but credit for taking it silently. Within moments another defender was despatched squealing into the demolished remains of Mount McLaren behind the goal. Finally the goalkeeper received a test of his Bert Trautmann qualities from the striker who’d played 65 minutes with a broken toe only six weeks previously. Another yelp, but like mountain boy, another rapid recovery. Bert might not have been impressed.
More positively, Edwards had been showing some of the old trademark bursts into the box. One ended in what the yoof of today call an epic fail as the explosion of upper body movement was matched only by inertia in his legs and he swiftly ended up on his half-scottish non-ginger erse. But, undaunted, he kept on probing and with McDermott and Trauth dragging defenders away from him, found space to receive a well-weighted Topping delivery and chip the keeper from 18 yards.
Late, but still hope. Shortly after a burst into the box by Matthias seemed certain to be followed by a bulge of the goalnet, but instead his hamstring popped at the vital moment and he limped off and took most of our fading hopes with him. McDermott had a chance with a late cross but his low shot was too close to the keeper. The game had had its last kick. Our famous and long awaited victory of 2012 was not to be repeated this time.
But as the beer flowed and we toasted the hospitality of our German hosts and our organising committee, it seemed no big deal, we’ll all be happy to come back and have another go sometime!
Dudenhofen – you’re just too good to be true!
[*] – shinpads.
