Monday 5 June 2023
NEXT HOME GAME: Huddersfield - Saturday 22 July, 3pm
NEXT AWAY GAME: Lincoln (in Spain!) - Friday 7 July, 12pm
Dear County fans, Stopfordians, and anyone else joining us today, a very warm welcome to your Monday edition of The Scarf My Father Wore.
Something a little bit different for you today, an extract from Ben Aitken’s new book. Ben was born under Thatcher, grew to 6ft then stopped, and is an Aquarius. (His words.)
He’s also one of my favourite authors at the moment. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed his four previous books (Dear Bill Bryson, A Chip Shop in Poznan, The Gran Tour and The Marmalade Diaries) and I’m currently reading his latest excellent tale, which is basically a year of trying to have more fun. There’s absolutely all sorts of activities in the book, one of which is joining a veterans’ football team. I thought that would make an interesting article for you lot, so with Ben’s permission, here’s a little taster.
Finally, a big thank you to Jen from Hug & Co for sponsoring today’s edition. You’ll recognise Jen’s bags immediately, which we’ve featured below, along with a link to purchase one if you haven’t yet done so.
Enjoy today’s issue.
Des Junior
Increasingly flat and decreasingly zen, Ben Aitken knew that something had to change. So he joined a lawn bowls club. About a week later, he continued his assault on the doldrums by taking a cheerleading class. Then – with an almost entirely reformed selfhood winking appealingly on the horizon – he went cold-water swimming and was back to square one.
Despite the inevitable setbacks and missteps, it was becoming clear to Aitken that the very pursuit of fun was a great route to feeling less naff. And so he made a vow to go after the f-stuff with as much gusto as he could muster. (Starting with the crossword.)
Over the next year, he filled his calendar with a plethora of potentially pleasurable pursuits. He did things he’d never done before but reckoned could be fun (a pilgrimage in Spain, afternoon bingo); things whose fun-factor was less obvious and more down-to-earth (volunteering in a charity shop, sitting on a bench); and things he wasn’t at all sure about but were fun according to other people (improv, wakeboarding, learning Welsh).
Although the results were mixed, the author’s year of making merry left him feeling undoubtedly … better. Which invites the question: if fun is such a reliable mood-swinger, shouldn’t we be having more of it?
I’ve joined a veterans’ football team. My partner Megan isn’t supportive at all. She doesn’t, for a start, like the idea of me being eligible. (You’ve got to be 35+.) She asked me not to go. Looked on in despair when I bought the boots and shin pads. “My grandad plays walking football,” she said. “Shall I see if they need anyone?”
I’ve not played football for 23 years, in which time my muscles and physique and general sporting ability have grown accustomed to televised drama and burritos. I enter the changing room and am hit by the smell of Deep Heat, which prompts a wave of bad nostalgia.
“Where do you play?” says a man wearing the glow of retirement (and very little else).
“Nowhere.”
“Nah, come on. Striker? Full-back?”
“No, honestly mate. Nowhere.”
I don’t fit in the shirt, which is surely a portent. Problem is there’s only a small one spare, and I’ve got too much spare to be small, if you know what I mean. My warmup is off-the-scale self-conscious. I do some things I remember seeing others do years ago: high knees, star jumps, that sort of thing. The gaffer comes over and says that some of my teammates are genuine veterans. “One of these blokes fought in Vietnam. Another in the Falklands. If you don’t put your head in the way of things they’ll be on to you.”
After this attempt at encouragement, the gaffer then makes the mistake of confusing age with ability and puts me in the centre of midfield – the most dynamic position. After 47 seconds, I feel my right calf muscle creak. It’s not a snap, or a pull, but it’s something. A howl, maybe. A protest.
Then, ten minutes later, and not yet having touched the ball deliberately, it’s the groin. Another creak, another howl. When, just before half-time, I kick the ball awkwardly with my weaker left foot and half the nail on my big toe comes off, or very nearly comes off, I’m ready to throw in the towel and put football down as a failed experiment.
And yet despite the knocks and strains, and my gross incompetence, and the fact that I resemble a walrus in a crop top, I’m loving it. The steady adrenaline. The slight risk. The pleasant anarchy. The feeling of returning to childhood. The low-stakes camaraderie. The game.
Also pleasing is the half-time team talk, wherein our 69-year-old winger displays a knowledge of complicated footballing matters that was neither demonstrated nor hinted at during the first half. Andrew’s opinion (that we need to pass in triangles), sets off a flood of others, including the need to keep it simple (from James), the need to throw caution to the wind (from Mike), and the need to exploit their old boy at the back, who’s seen more general elections than Ricardo’s had hot dinners (from Ricardo). Each opinion is earnest and passionate, and paid absolutely no attention whatsoever.
My opinion – that I ought to be taken off – is also ignored. And so, for another 50 minutes that feels like a full calendar month, I waddle around like an awkward bollard. Until, that is, an unlikely ball is sent over the top and I’m clean through on goal, at which point, instead of dropping a shoulder or just putting my laces through it, I display all the composure of a rabbit in the headlights and just kick the ball tamely into the goalkeeper’s tummy. We lose 5-1.
I walk home with less a spring in my step (too injured for that), and more a spring in my mood.
I’m sure you’re eager to discover how the rest of the season panned out for Ben and his new football team. Click here to buy your copy. (Or go and pick one up next time you’re passing Waterstones.)
Grab yourself a “Stockport Isn’t Shit” bag
You might not know Jen from Hug & Co, but if you’re from Stockport you’ll definitely recognise the bag she designed, which was originally posted online as a bit of a joke before she was inundated with requests from people wanting to buy one! You can still get your hands on one of these bags and be able to proudly announce that “Stockport Isn’t Shit” wherever you are in the world.
Visit hugandco.co.uk for further details.
Photo of the day
Maine Road, Manchester
City are going to win the treble this weekend unfortunately. But Tony Dinning did this to them, which means County are in fact the best team in Europe. I think that’s how it works.
Today in SK
☕️ Food and drink ☕️
Kebabs are just £3 all day at Fishers of Cheshire (SK2). Open from 4pm till 9.30pm.
Med Monday at TRUNK (SK7) between 12pm and 9pm. Enjoy three tapas dishes for £15. T&Cs apply.
🎶 Live music 🎶
Acoustica at Bask (SK1). Live music from The Dove & The Dragon, Chloe Chadwick and Issy Sutcliffe. 8pm. Free entry.
❓Quiz night ❓
The George & Dragon (SK7). 7.30pm.
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