Oof, that’d test my loyalties! I’ve played in most of SaintsWeb’s most recent XI-a-side matches…
Look at your current contract, ant.
You’re a sotonian now. You’ll wear the bib with pride and suck it up!
And don’t try not celebrating any goals you might score.
BTW whilst having your Duracels would be useful, I think your birth certificate might exclude you from a match made at veteran’s age.
In other news, my blisters are bleeding! I’m going to have to be Lazarus to be there next week.
I’m walking, most things seem to be intact, we survived another week.
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Was the pace any different at football last night? 
I spent the evening hurling myself over things and down things at Playzone. Good to know I’m still young enough to be able to do that without breaking myself!
It was pretty much the usual, though we are gathering a female following, watching from the balcony.
The ladies have obviously heard about the hunkfest and want to treat themselves with some eye candy.
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I don’t know, but it was nice to spend an entire evening without everyone shouting *man on* at me every 27 seconds.
Talking of pace, you should have seen The RaleighBoy burst through a gap between me and Jamie and his magic lung, head toward goal at warp speed and put the ball in the corner.
It look my breath away.
Turns out his truss was caught in Rooney Scores’ knee brace. The RaleighBoy was just a passenger.
I’m feeling very left out, yet don’t want to play myself.
If I can get myself a sheepskin jacket, can I be your politically incorrect 1980s manager?
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In other injury news, Jamie and his magic lung has an egg-like bruise on his ankle where he rolled it.
If he hadn’t had a couple of pints before the game, he wouldn’t have been able to play on!
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I think you could rock a fedora and cuban cigar pap.
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Originally posted by @saintbletch
No, but I have got a lovely ankle-length, dayglow yellow dress that you could wear…
Wasn’t the answer I was expecting, Bletch. Still, it saves me from having to go to Malky McKay for advice.
Now look here, Bletch, I can see that herding all these old duffers on to a real football pitch is taking up a lot of your time, not to mention all the time it takes for you to report on the divers injuries sustained as a result of these foolhardy endeavours … but can’t you spare just a little time to report on this month’s Fantasy League Table?
ffs
#CarryOnFantasizing
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The hospital are telling me I’ll be out for 8 weeks! 
Stupid medical professionals, what do they know anyway? I’m thinking I might need a week, but we’ll see how it goes and I’ll decide nearer to the relevant times.
They weren’t impressed with me for playing on afterwards, either. Stupid nurses, obviously don’t know that you finish a game and worry about the consequences later, do they?
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A hospital 8 weeks = normal bloke 3 weeks.
You played the first week so now you only have one to go.
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OK old blokes. Next fixture is tomorrow night at Fleming Park @ 9pm.
I’m putting my new SMS(text) booking system into Alpha testing today.
Those that have shared your mobile numbers will _ probably* _ get a text from an 028 **** **** number.
It will ask you if you’re playing in the next fixture and you’ll be give 4 options:
y - I AM playing
n - I am NOT playing
? - I don’t know if I’m playing YET
s - Send me the status of the fixtures (number of players confirmed, etc.)
Please respond when you get the text and report anything unusual - especially if I try to convince you that you have unclaimed PPI…
This may go horribly wrong so I may be asking for show of hands later!
*It’s alpha and I’ve next sent and received SMS from code before.
I think we established in week one that people won’t embrace automatic stuff and you have to actually visit them personally to get any response and then it will be 'I don’t know yet…’
I’m in, also gathering Team Chubster, will let you know numbers.
I am (to use the presumed parlance of our times) buzzing for tomorrow evening.
Is paraphrasing an 18 year old movie really using the parlance of our times? 
ant - batteries included.
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Don’t think I can make it. I have to pick up my ever-loving wife and her elder daughter from Petersfield station on their return from London tomorrow (having dropped them there in the morning) and the chances of this taking place at a time other than between 7:30pm and 11pm are, to put it mildly, minimal.
Arse.