Standing Trial

My introverted personality means that without social networking and a small leaflet, I could probably have attended football trials for the England six a side team without anybody knowing. I have known individuals who have talked more about scoring a five-yard tap-in during a friendly match. Then again I guess every dog has its day. However you will discover further on in this blog that last Sunday was anything but a walk in the park.

I have always been grateful for the support received from friends and family over the years in my sporting pursuits and despite playing it down, it was nice to hear other players tell me that I deserved this opportunity. Deep down I have always been confident in my footballing ability, therefore it is not within my nature to wax lyrical about myself should I produce a performance aesthetically pleasing on the naked eye.

Being me I expressed more delight for my good friend Nigel Wallace who himself was also invited to the event. For those who don’t know Nigel, he was on the books of Lincoln City until personal circumstances went completely against him. I have been very fortunate to play with some wonderful footballers, but as far as natural ability goes, Nigel is hard to beat. However, my opinion on natural talent versus the nurturing of talent will come to light another day.

I think we would have had less of a disaster last Sunday if I had cooked Nigel and his girlfriend Jessica (who kindly drove us to the trials) Sunday dinner. Apart from a letter I received three days before the trials, all contact I received from the UK MiniFootball Association was through email. It insinuated that the trials were from 12pm until approximately 1.30pm, so I and Nigel were content in the knowledge that we were going to get an hour and a half’s worth of football in return for making the two hour journey southbound to Stevenage Academy.

To say we left it late leaving Lincoln would be one of the understatements of the day. Sunday mornings are meant for the relaxation of the cranium propped up against the pillow whilst the taste of bacon butties and aroma of fresh coffee swirl through the house. However poor Jessica had to pick up the pieces of a full English disaster due to a miscommunication in the starting time between me and Nigel. For some reason he had it in his head that the trial was from 1pm until 2:30pm so when he suggested that leaving at 10am would allow us plenty of time to cruise down the A1, I didn’t trigger on that in fact this would not be the case.

It was only at about a quarter to eleven as we were strolling along the open road that I looked at my letter and realised that the trials were due to start in just over an hour. To add further concern, the letter stated any player arriving after 11:45 would not be allowed into the trial. At first Jessica and Nigel thought I was delivering another vintage Towler gag, but their initial reaction of impudence was soon replaced by what can only be described as panic combined with disbelief. If anything, Jessica was the most agitated out of the three of us but then again it wasn’t me and Nigel who had to make up the mileage at record breaking speed.

Having said that, she did a commendable job as we arrived in the Stevenage area for pretty much bang on 11:45. Me and Nigel immediately dashed from the car once we had pulled up at the stadium and scurried around the area. We noticed a large sign across the road from the stadium with the words ‘Stevenage Academy’ so we dodged the traffic like you would football cones and sprinted like our lives depended on it. It looked quite the setting as we ran towards an array of finely cut grass and eye-catching astroturf pitches, most of which were filled by coaches in tracksuits delivering professional coaching to youngsters. Surely we couldn’t be at the wrong location?

We frantically looked around for signs and potential personnel who were there for the trial, but this came to no avail. Nigel ran inside to the reception and the chap behind the desk instinctively asked if we were there for the trials. After we informed him we were, the male stated to us that the academy we required was five minutes up the road. The way in which he had asked Nigel instantly if we were there for the trials implied that other players had already been to this place, only to be told they were at the wrong location (in contrast to the details on the letter).

We went further on up the road looking for the supposed academy and we must have been driving round Stevenage for a good forty minutes before we eventually found the place. We were sent from pillar to post by various people and when I called the emergency number and told the lady we were at a Leisure Centre, she asked if it had an astroturf. As this was the first (and hopefully) last time I ever have to go to Stevenage, I told her I did not have a clue and she didn’t really know her bearings in relation to where we needed to be. I thought to myself if the organisers don’t know where we need to be, then what hope do we have?

Eventually we managed to get to the location from a kind couple who gave us a lead. Ironically they were out walking their dog at the time. So me and Nigel arrived through the gates of the ‘academy’ at half past twelve – forty-five minutes after the time we were meant to have been there for. By this stage our motivation levels had faded dramatically and we were frustrated by what appeared to be a shambles of a set-up. Don’t worry, there’s more.

After the belated apologies and gripes about the shoddy directions, we were both promised ten minutes game time each. We were so apathetic at this stage that they could have told us we were bringing on the oranges at half-time such was our repulsion with the whole situation. It turns out that players who had performed miracles and actually got there on time had been given three games all of which were ten minutes straight through. So even if we had got there ahead of schedule we would still have only of got thirty minutes to show if we had what it takes to cut it at international level. Personally I think it is shocking that this information was never relayed to us before the trials and had we known beforehand, I strongly doubt we would have made such a journey for thirty minutes football. The only consolation for us was that one poor bloke had made the journey from Swansea for this ordeal.

I was also staggered at the amount of trialists that were on show. The organiser told us that there were 120 players at the event, many of which had signed up themselves. I was flabbergasted that it wasn’t even an elitist system. Surely the whole point of the England experience is that it is meant for the elite. After all, these are players that potentially have the ability to represent their country. I was recommended by a referee at Leisure Leagues and Nigel was selected by an old school teacher. Just imagine if Roy Hodgson picks his team for the World Cup by using this method. Every Tom, Dick and Harry would turn up, although in this case I don’t think an incompetent Tom or Harry had assisted in the running of the event.

In my ten minute spell, I was rarely passed the ball and other players seemed intent on performing pointless tricks in an attempt to impress the watching scouts. I didn’t feel out of place in regards to the standard and my team managed to post a 3-2 win, but I know that I am not going to be selected for the next stage. Nigel was on several games after me and he appeared to have more of an influence – either through his forceful demands of the ball or the crunching tackle he made in the opening few minutes. Wallace had arrived. And much like his namesake William, he was given the FREEDOM of the area to bag himself a goal.

We were informed that the England team last year were very unprofessional in their approach – getting drunk before a match and trashing their hotel. This was unsurprisingly a total contrast to the exemplarily standards set by the other countries in the tournament. Having attended this event I am not surprised that the England team acted in this manner as it reflects the abysmal planning that was in full view last Sunday.

If either of us have a chance to get through, it will be the big man and I will be as chuffed for him as anyone. However I don’t think ten minutes is enough time for any player to show their real quality. The day was capped off with pub food in the town centre which me, Jessica and Nigel agreed was the worst we had ever had.

I seriously doubt I would attend such an event again and in many ways in sums up the state of football in this country. The most satisfying part of the day was when we got back into Lincoln and were greeted by the magnificent sight of the cathedral. I would rather have spent two hours driving around Lincoln to see this awe-inspiring spectacle for ten minutes rather than travel two hours to Stevenage for ten minutes of football with ‘potential England players.’ Quite simply, it had been a day to forget (or a nightmare to remember).