Field of Dreams

I know many people suggest that they wish their dreams would come true, but in this case I’m willing to make an exception.

It all started innocently enough. As we were camping, 9pm rolled around so we started to get ready to sleep. Yes I agree it’s a bit early, especially as we were at the start of a three week break, but I’m blaming the fresh sea air. Oh and the bottle and a half of wine we’d just consumed. Besides, 9pm isn’t that late when you consider that we’d been awake since 6am.

Anyway, sleep wasn’t far away and so far I’d been sleeping very soundly and getting a full eight or so hours kip. Not quite uninterrupted as this being camping, meant that my nightly visit to the loo which required a five minute walk in pyjamas and flip-flops across the field to the toilet block. Still it was worth the inconvenience to get to the conveniences because I got to stare at the blanket of stars on display. They were wonderful and so bright against the dark country sky. There’s something to be said for getting away from the bright lights of the city, even if it does mean sleeping on the floor in the middle of a field.

But I’ve digressed. 

Toilet issues taken care of, I was soon tucked back up and lulled back to sleep by the distant sound of a Morepork, New Zealand’s native owl and the distant sound of waves breaking onto the beach.

And that’s when it started. I suddenly awoke again to find myself in the centre circle of a football pitch. The ground looked pretty impressive, even if all of the seats in the stadium were empty, and despite the dark night sky floodlights lit every corner. Just as I started to wonder what it must be like to have this as your place of work, a gentleman in a tracksuit approached me and my partner. He looked exasperated and was clearly in a spot of bother. 

“I don’t know what your plans are,” he asked, “but because of a virus we can’t field a full team today so we’re wondering if you could help us out?”

“Oh, really?” I replied then added, “how so?” figuring that even if this was a dream, a cautious approach was needed.

“I’m the Manchester United coach and we are having problems assembling a team for the match today. We can only play the game if we have the required number of players and it would be a great help if you could sit in with the rest of the squad.”

He obviously saw the concerned look on my face so quickly added, “It’s okay - you probably won’t have to play. Not unless we get really desperate.”

If I was in any doubt, it was at that precise moment that I knew I was dreaming. Anyone who had seen me play football as a youngster would have realised that I was definitely not at a professional standard. That’s not to say that I didn’t like playing football, far from it, its just that I wasn’t as good as I thought I should’ve been. Admittedly, if enthusiasm was the only ingredient required, then I was your man. If it was skill you were after then I respectfully decline. 

I was so enthusiastic back then that I was instrumental in forming a team, for reasons lost to time called The Swans, and setting up a local league in which to play. Unfortunately in my eagerness to set up this new venture, I forgot to look at the practicalities. There simply wasn’t enough players to make the whole thing work, and no-one else seemed as enamoured with the idea as I did. So fixtures were somewhat haphazard and usually resulted in the same people turning up to play whatever game had been arranged. Clever player rotation between the two sides, however, ensured that the games could take place and the match fixtures completed. It did lead to some unusual situations, such as the lead scorer in the league having played for most of the teams, but it didn’t seem to bother me. The Clavering Football league was up and running, even if I was the only one who paid it any notice. 

If the coach from Manchester United ever doubted my skills, or rather lack thereof, he only had to witness my performance on warm but damp summer’s evening. 

I fancied myself of a bit of a winger, modelled in the style of Middlesbrough’s Northern Ireland maestro Terry Cochrane. I had been running up and down the wing for most of the match without much of an impact. Well I say wing. At this point I must clarify that we didn't actually have a marked out pitch or anything. We did have a big field though and that was enough for us and, depending on which way you were kicking, either recently planted trees or a pile of jumpers made up the goal posts. Quite why the council had decided to litter our playing field with trees was beyond us. It was one thing having two trees to use as goal posts but as for the others..... Still it added to the complexity of the game. Dribbling around trees as well as a static defence was good practice and there was nothing like hitting the ball on the volley only to see it hit the trunk of a tree and ricochet into the (imaginary) top corner of the goal. 

So there I was, patrolling the wing when a ball was lofted out of defence and over my head. This ball was mine. I was off like a bullet and tracking the arc of the ball, sped down the wing. All I had to do was trap it when it landed and then cut inside and with a deft flick of my left boot hit it homeward. I had it all planned out. It was a bit of a surprise then when my progress was suddenly halted and I crashed to the ground with a thump only to witness the ball land and run into touch. I had been so intent on tracking the flight of the ball that I forgot to look where I was going and had ran smack into one of the aforementioned trees. Bloody council do-gooders.

Where was I? Oh yes, back to my dream. Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly Manchester United material but that obviously hadn’t deterred the chap in the tracksuit. Well he did say they were desperate. 

I was provided with some kit and me and my partner were escorted to our seats in the team dug-out. What a moment. Me sitting alongside the Manchester Untied team who, again for some unexplained reason, were dressed in a white strip and were now sponsored by Marvel. Go figure. Unfortunately there had been a little bit of an administrative error and my Dad’s name had been sellotaped to the back of my seat. Never mind, I would have strong words at half-time with a team official to get it changed.

My fellow, albeit temporary teammate, turned to me and thanked me for helping them out of a sticky situation. They really needed to fulfil this fixture and my presence ensured that the game could take place. Oh, and not to worry - it was very unlikely that my services would be needed on the pitch. My fellow teammate, whose name I didn’t catch, bared an uncanny resemblance to Chris Riggott, the former Boro defender. 

"So are you blue or red?" he asked.

"Actually neither, I'm a Boro fan," I replied.

"Oh, I'm not sure I know who's in the Boro team these days."

"Neither do I really," I admitted, "I live in New Zealand now so it's hard to keep up. We're only here for the day."

I’m pleased to report that my dream didn’t turn into a nightmare and, as promised, my services were not required so I spent a pleasant afternoon chatting to a fictional Manchester United team and their partners whilst Chris Riggott told me more about the inner workings of the team and what it was like being a professional footballer.

Unfortunately I can't recall the score in the game, or whether it was entertaining, as I was rudely awoken by the sunrise and the noise of excited birdlife. Still, it was a beautiful day and just perfect for a quick run and then a dip in the sea. Now that is the stuff of dreams!