A Breath of Wind

Fulham 2 Charlton 1
For some reason last Monday night, Mush, John, Tony and I had extremely bad luck when trying to get a taxi from the Centre down to the pub where the quiz takes place. It is not, as the crow flies, much more than a mile, but we aren't crows, and after a long day, which Monday is for all four of us, a shared cab at approximately €1 each is a luxury we have come to regard as an automatic right. So, having got clear of the premises, and once John and I had smoked what we agree are our most enjoyable cigarettes of the week, we started to look expectantly down the road for our hoped-for conveyance.

One drew up right in front of us to drop someone off, so we waited while the lady in the back fiddled about with her handbag, purse and so on, and then hunted for the right change, and finally took another minute to get her stuff together and get out. We moved forward and signalled that we would take the cab on, but the driver signalled back to the effect that we wouldn't, and drove away. Two minutes after that, another one was sweeping up the hill when a figure shot out of a side street and flagged it down right in front of us. The next one to approach abruptly turned into the aforementioned side street as soon as we waved at it.

But we did get one in the end and we reached the bar at about 9.50 to greet Sam, already there as Monday is his day off. I was in the middle of relating our cab misfortunes when I broke off, realising that the television was showing Charlton's attacking moves from the first half, it now being half time. Charlton, I have to say, looked very good, Jerome Thomas was back, and Dennis Rommedahl looked incisive; but it seemed the score was 0-0 for all that.

But I felt quite cheerful as we trooped downstairs to the jazz-club-like cellar where the quiz takes place, took our seats, greeted our sixth team member Hugh, who, finishing earlier on Mondays, had had time to pop home for a bite to eat, and started in.

After three rounds or so, Mush told me he had a feeling we might win, and I couldn't disagree; I was also, of course feeling the same about Charlton at Craven Cottage.

Not long after that, our beloved landlady came downstairs to collect empties and take orders for more drinks, and I asked her how we were doing. "Oh, I've been meaning to tell you", she said, and my hopes rose. "You're losing 2-0". They sank again. Apparently Fulham had altered their tactics radically for the second half, and the Charlton coach failed to notice, or at least that is what I have read.

But our quiz team won quite handsomely, with 19 points more than the much-vaunted (by themselves) Old Farts. And I didn't even find out about Charlton's consolation goal till I got home.

So, continuing with my analogy from last time, the quiz team got some wind in their sails and moved away from the Doldrums; and here's hoping that same wind might now reach becalmed Charlton as they kick off against Watford at The Valley in about 9 minutes' time.