The Northern Alley-ance Christmas Do 2008

By St Dai himself, sure to be cumming down your chimney this Christmas...

What sort of Christmas would it be without an Alliance Christmas shindig? Well, I’ll leave those of you who couldn’t make this particular festive knees-up to ponder that and ask yourselves if you’re the poorer for it. If, having thought about it, the answer still escapes you, let me point you in the right direction: I think it’s akin to Butch without Cassidy, Cannon without Ball, Crankie without the other smaller Crankie – you know, the one that’s actually a bird. In short, it’s a gaping chasm on your social calendar.

So, to the 4th or 5th annual Alliance Christmas Do. In a departure from tradition that had blood at boiling point amongst the self-styled ‘old-guard’, the Thames Tandoori at Waterloo was shunned in preference of a trip up North (though not to the grim-oop-north North where Celtic band tattoos have recently been ditched in preference for a Nick Ketchell varicose vein motif). It was a brave move by Social Secretary Crouch that took an almost exclusively South-residing team to Finsbury Park Bowling Alley, but the promise of a late night extremist meeting in the nearby mosque quickly put paid to any sense of uprising. Coyley’d brought a head scarf and everything.

First to the lanes were Bernie, Steve, Formerly-disgraced Captain Coyle, Iain, Crouchie and Dai. A quick tussle with the in-lane computer and a scout around for suitable balls – Bernie was particularly thorough in this – and we were away. Iain, Simon and Steve started solidly enough, Bernie got an early strike (no I didn’t I was useless, ed.), Coyley was reining in his competitive instincts whilst I booted my first ball into touch and over the fence. Well out Dai.

After some early jostling, the table started to sort itself out. Iain and Simon were looking good for Europe, Steve was safe in mid-table, whilst Bernie and Coyley had started negotiations to bring in Ron Atkinson and Joe Kinnear respectively as the fans started to turn against them. Dai, meantime, was looking good for top-spot as he bored everyone to death with a series of solid if unspectacular spares. I’ll be honest and say that I was hoping for greater fuss and comment about my technique, but that’s an all too familiar story.

Little had changed by the end of Game 1. Crouchie had attempted some outrageous spin bowling – to cries of ‘chucker’ – and Iain had attempted a spirited dash for top-spot only to fall short. Bernie had managed to bowl 4 consecutive balls without knocking over a single pin and Paul had resorted to scaring the shit out of the pins in an attempt to climb his way back up the table. If memory serves, the two-footed challenge on the king-pin was particularly out of order. Still, at least he didn’t actually ‘strike’ anything. (Thanks – ed.)

High drama before Game 2 as some people went to the bar. Shortly afterwards Bernie unveiled the evening’s special guests. Enter our midfield general Dan Monahan, Chairman ‘Listen, I was never actually charged with anything’ Malice and Chris ‘I’m bang up for every game this season’ Ketchell. Two of the three 3 newcomers stepped in to replace Game 1’s ‘Turkeys’ (Crouchie – are you having that?) and we were off again.

After only a few frames it was apparent that two key battles were emerging: Iain and Simon were going head-to-head in the Bureau Vertias Plate Competition whilst Dan and Dai were trading strikes and spares at will at the top of the table. At the bottom end of the table, Paul was nearing suspension for 5 yellow cards and Ketch was clearly distracted by the fact that he hadn’t got his buttons quite right after ripping his shirt open in an earlier celebration. None of this was helping Dan and Dai who had gone into big game mode: cold towels, psychotic stares and headphones on in-between frames.

We could scarcely have asked for more drama in the final analysis. It’s what makes Big Game Bowling so enthralling. As Dai and Dan traded punches (Paul traded punches with a nearby 7-year old who had ‘looked at him funny, like’) the tension mounted and interest in the game grew. Two gladiators in their coliseum watched by Simon, and intermittently by Iain and Steve in-between fag breaks. But what drama was to come?

With two balls left, Dan needed to knock all 10 down to win…

“He’d have taken that if you’d asked him before kick-off…” mumbled Alan Parry.

“Cometh the hour, cometh the man…” said Martin Tyler.

“10 pins from glory. And boy, 10 lords will leap if he makes this” eulogised Peter Drury.

“To me. To you” croaked Barry Chuckle.

And, despite having rolled his sleeves up, he missed.

No matter, the night wasn’t done yet. From there on to Carnaby Street for some more ale and then to stand outside Strawberry Moon’s for 20 minutes. The reasons for this are still unclear, but the decision to give-up and move on prompted unanimous cries of “Well, it’s f*cking a car crash of a place anyway”. Or maybe that was just me.

And then there were 5. Crouchie, Bernie, Dan, Paul and Dai – hang on, let me count that again. Five, definitely – headed for Brixton with the promise of more revelry and the outside possibility of a knifing.

It was half hour or so before we really found our feet in Brixton and then – if it’s possible – it was because we took up arms. Still smarting from narrow defeat in the bowling and with machismo coarsing through every sinew, Dan suggested an arm-wrestle. Early money went on Dan and Paul, Simon and Dai were sensibly over-looked, whilst at the off more money had been put on Bernie to be Christmas No. 1 than be arm-wrestling champion. (As it turned out, ‘Reet fit arse’ by Bernie & Mickey featuring Gary Glitter failed to get general release, though you it should still be available at www.glittermyarse.com).

In an early round, Simon beat Paul – or maybe Paul beat Simon – whilst Bernie showed his hand by putting Dai to the sword (he was later reinstated after using a sword was found to be within the rules Coyley was playing by). Bernie went on to put up good showings against the others, earning himself the nickname ‘The Arm’. By now the penny had dropped and no-one could quite believe how it was that we hadn’t imagined Bernie to have at least one giant forearm.

And so to the final. Coyle vs. Monahan. It went on for 3.5 hours and – isn’t it always the way? – as I went to get beers and hot-dogs when it finished, I can’t remember who won. I think it was Dan. Yes, it was Dan. There were definitely 2 dead on-lookers when I returned which I took to mean that Coyley had probably been defeated. Two more dead on the way to the next pub too. Carnage on the streets of London.

The night was drawing to a close but there was still time for a few rounds of shots, some circular, arm-in-arm dancing to Sheriff Fatman by Carter USM, and for Dai and Coyley to plot an unlikely coup to overthrow Bernie and sell the club on eBay. There was also time for Bernie to claim that he would “definitely take some dirt home tonight”. And still time for him to fail. Not there Bernie.

So, to sum up? Christmas comes but once a year and with nights like this, more’s the pity. Man of match awards to everyone who turned up and I’ll leave you with the words of Noddy Holder: “It is better to have bowled and lost than never to have bowled at all.”

Happy Christmas.

Forza Alliance.

Dai.

PS from the ed.

As is always the case, the evening was spoilt slightly at the end – 5 crazy, testosterone fuelled dogs made for home after a victorious KFC dinner. Only for Dai to throw his coke, in an act which can only be described as totally g*y, over the once spotlessly clean restaurant floor. I wouldnt have minded if it had been an act of valiance against the inane uniformity of everything the KFC brand stands for. But we all know that will have been cleaned up by an illegal immigrant on less than minimum wage later that evening. He knew he’d done wrong as soon as he’d done it. Suddenly the early evening bowling victory didn’t seem such a victory after all.

Merry Christmas.

BS