AC Medway

AC Medway, the football team started by the boys of 4A2, were doing well. So I was told. At one time we were doing so well that we could have gone second in the league if we’d won our next game. I was told that too, like I was told lots of things, yet there was never anything about us in the local papers. That was strange, and disappointing, as results and tables for the local leagues were published in the local papers every week. The established leagues played their games on Saturday afternoons and Sunday mornings, yet we played on Sunday afternoons, usually at the Langtons, at a time when none of the other pitches were in use. Whatever the weather, however bad the pitch, we played and no one ever stopped us. Someone arranged the fixtures and the changing pavilion was always available, so who saw to that? Was someone running our league on the quiet, as a favour? I couldn’t say.

Playing the game was all that mattered. It didn’t bother me too much that Mark Sandmann, another Upbury lad, was left unmarked at a corner and given a free header when we played against his team. Nor did it bother me that my boots were often caked in mud from a previous game, or that my damp kit often ponged. Both would be fine once I got running around. And it didn’t bother me when I sustained a cut under the knee. When I soaked it in the bath later and cleaned out the mud, there was something perversely enjoyable about it stinging. An injury was a badge of honour, something me and Paul had often talked about, that made us feel like real footballers.

The joy of playing for AC Medway reached a peak on Sunday March 8^th when we played table topping Darland Youth. Playing down the slope in good conditions, Darland had the better of the first half and took the lead with a cracking shot from outside the penalty area. ‘Well played mate,’ I said, in admiration of the strike, to the clear disapproval of my nearest team mates who looked at me like I’d gone soft. At half time we were 3-1 down but the second half was a different story. It was our turn to pile on the pressure and Paul almost hit the goal of a lifetime when he ran onto a ball and smashed it against the crossbar from a long way out. I’d never seen a ball fly so high off the bar.

And then came a moment of personal glory. Following a corner to us, a ball turned away by the Darland defence rolled invitingly towards me, a little way out of the penalty area. As I’d done so many times in the playground I ran onto it and smacked it hard as I could. Oh, the thrill, to see it bullet through a crowded penalty area and into the net.

‘Great goal Gerard!’ someone shouted from the touchline, as I spun around and calmly strode back to our half with an arm aloft. It was Paul’s dad. ‘That’s the best goal I’ve ever seen,’ he added. Though his words were appreciated I took them with a pinch of salt. This, after all, was the man who called Pele Peely.

In a game that could have gone either way we drew 4-4, an honourable result for both sides.

The low spot of playing for AC Medway came in the pavilion after another game, when Stan got hold of my football and tossed it through an open trap into the loft space. With no way of getting it back, I looked at Stan in dismay. Nobody had ever wanted to play with my ball and I couldn’t blame them. A bump at the lace meant it didn’t run true, but I’d waited a long time to get that ball and it was mine, and it meant a lot to me. What a choker.

AC Medway didn’t make it to the end of the season. After a disastrous defeat when only eight of us turned up, the fixtures dried up and AC Medway faded away. Officially, we'd never existed, but exist we most certainly did and it was fun while it lasted.