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Thanks to skipper Danny's cautionary curtailing of festivities the previous night, CPR managed to wake early on Saturday morning with not too many sore heads. Those who made it downstairs for diluted fruit juice and a roll were rewarded with the welcome sight of the newly-arrived Kano and Evans. The pair looked relaxed and ready to go, resplendent in their devastating fashion statement of football shorts and flip-flops. By 10:30 John had the troops assembled and Our Italian hosts had turned up with the cars to drive the team up to the lakes.
CPR were treated like old friends when they arrived at the station hotel in Meina, but time was tight so there was little time for anything but sling your bags down and head off up to Dagnente. Rain had been forecast but for now the weather was holding and the six-a-side pitch looked fantastic bathed in the warm sunshine. CPR went into their customary corner and soon the Deep Heat fumes were rising upward past the well-travelled No Klaxon banner which had been draped over the bushes to mark out North London territory.
The draw was made and CPR kicked off with a match against Bongo FC, whose numbers were supplemented by three of CPR's own: Luca, Teo and Andy Danieli. The prospect of matching up against these three had adrenalin running high in the CPR camp: Newman had completely forgotten his intention to just sit out the six-asides and spent the entire build-up to the match telling Danieli to enjoy the sunshine while he could because he was going to spend the entire match in Steve's pocket.
In the event it turned out to be a very tough match for CPR, as the Bongo FC boys pushed them all the way. The fact that CPR eventually triumphed was predominantly down to Stuart's poaching instincts and some fine stops from Budgie Andrews, but more than anything to two fantastic strikes from debut boy Liam Kane. The fine playing surface provided the perfect stage for Liam to show that he operates on a different level from the rest of us, and his flicks, venomous shooting and incisive passing - "guided by radar" - were admired by the entire crowd. It was tight, but CPR just edged the game by a couple of goals.
Unfortunately, the win over Bongo was to prove the highlight of the day for CPR. After two matches on Thursday and Friday, and no little extra-curricular activity, it seemed as though they used up what little energy they had left in that opening match. Already rocked by an injury that Samy D had picked up in the opening game, when they came to take on the might of Matteo Motterlini's always-powerful selection they conceded a couple of early goals and just didn't have enough in the tank to come back. Stuart notched a couple of goals but Matteo's team scored at will and ran out handsome winners.
The tournament turned out to be extremely tight this year, with all of the teams taking points off each other, so CPR went into the final match against Rinosbois still in the hunt. Five minutes before kick-off the rainclouds finally arrived and the match started in a torrential downpour. Unfortunately CPR made another bad start and were 1-0 down within a minute. After this they steadied the ship and had the bulk of possession, but Rinos defended well and their keeper was in inspired form, as usual. Just a minute before half-time Rinos broke upfield and scored a second, and with that you could see the energy draining from CPR legs. They gave it their all in the second half but Rinos were clearly in control and repeatedly hit CPR on the break with slick passing moves.
The tournament ended with two teams in the lead with 6 points, but the intended play-off had to be abandoned as the rain, and the accompanying gloom, made it impossible to continue further. CPR were drenched to the bone and very grateful to get back down the hill to the hotel, where a hot shower and an aperitif from our ever-elegant host raised the spirits once again. Before leaving for the end-of-season dinner, Liam made an impromptu presentation to show what it has meant to him to be a member of CPR, and to express his disappointment that he won't be able to contribute quite as much next season due to work commitments. Liam presented John 'Budgie' Andrews with a bona fide England U-21 kit, in recognition of the efforts that he goes to to keep the club spirit alive: a fantastic gesture that everyone heartily approved of.
CPR joined the large Italian party in the restaurant and as soon as everyone settled in it was time to make the big decisions: get hammered on beer, wine or try and do both ? As each team member mulled it over, John Andrews occupied himself with the preparations for the big vote later on: it took half an hour to cut up the tiny voting strips with a blunt knife, but at last it was done. The ballot papers were passed around and the vote-rigging could begin in earnest. The old heads sat back and smiled as they heard the old classics come trotting out: "vote for me or I'll never pass to you again / email those photos to your missus / make you smell the kit bag". The smell of corruption was in the air and it clearly put many folk off their rice pudding.
The awards ceremony started as always with the presentation of trophies from Dagnente. CPR had finished a creditable third this year, and after some discussion as to the resolution of the play-off for top spot, Rinos were awarded the winners' trophy for another year. After this CPR made a series of presentation to honour their Italian hosts, whose hospitality was outstanding as always, and to say a big 'thank you' to all those who'd helped organise the trip and put in the hard work behind the scenes to make it all run smoothly.
The ceremony came to its usual climax with the CPR awards. Stuart K had the Top Goalscorer all wrapped up by Christmas (we really need to present him with more of a challenge next year, fellas), but was no less chuffed for all that. As he accepted the trophy from John, the lads tried their best to come up with a song that would fit 'Kuczynski'. We quickly found that it helps if you don't pronounce it properly... or at all, in fact.
With that it was on to the matter of Goal of the Season, and like a thunderbolt out of the blue - literally - it was won by Liam Kane for his scorcher at Dagnente earlier in the day. To ringing appluase Liam picked up his trophy with a beaming smile and slipped into his 'sign here and smile for the cameras, son' pose with the grace of a true pro.
The big one left to resolve was Player of the Year, and with his precious ability to grab priceless goals out of little or no service, it was no surprise that it went to the talented young striker Stuart Kuczynski. Stuart was overcome by his second award of the evening but graciously managed a short speech of thanks to the team. This was to be the last time that evening he made anything approaching sense that evening, as he was mercilessly plied with amaro and grappa by all and sundry, and was soon approaching a state of Murray-like revelry.
With that the awards evening drew to a close and the Milanese contingent bid their farewells to make their way back home. CPR, of course, were just revving up and the plans were made to breach the walls of the local nightclub and let the party truly commence. Steve Newman's entourage were first down, and the big man took one look at the queue and decided he wasn't having any of it. Despite them having no language in common, and with seven pissed-up English footballers in tow, he managed to persuade the Italian doorman that it would be a really good idea to let them into the VIP lounge where a private party was taking place. With results like this, Newman could find himself in charge of a few more things next year.
Meanwhile, John, Ken, Stuart and Garry were lining up with the rank and file but had the played the cunning route and split up to try and blend in and avoid attention. It was a total mystery that Stuart managed to pull this off while wearing his two winners' medals, drinking grappa out of a trophy and attempting to convince a bunch of young blokes in the queue that he was a professional footballer in the SPL (in an accent by now unintelligible to anyone from outside of Ayrshire). The young Merse was fortunately persuaded to keep quiet long enough for the party to sneak it past the bouncers and get inside the doors.
Once inside, it was straight to the bar where your entry ticket bought an enormous measure of whatever poison you chose to get down your neck. Newman and Rogers were holding court, Scott was circling the dancefloor like a predator, Amir was just staring and Stuart was trying to stay upright.
Pretty soon it was time to get on the dancefloor - joining Jon Murray who'd been down there for ages already. All went tremendously until a hefty bouncer became jealous of Scott's dance moves and asked the highlighted centre-back to leave by the back door. With the experience of club veterans CPR realised it was time to lay low and everyone split up, to reassemble at a pre-determined spot (the bar) 10 mins later.
On John's signal - "This music's sh!t, let's go upstairs" - CPR broke into two groups and made a double assault on the VIP lounge: Alpha team straight in by the front door and Bravo creeping up the back steps. The teams met with little resistance, regrouped in the centre of the lounge, and with true military precision they had soon taken the high ground, bumping some drunken Italians off the podiums to give the Milanese a taste of clubland, London-style.
With the scent of this victory in his nostrils, John Andrews decided to lead the team to (literally) the biggest stage of all - the raised platform looking over the dancefloor. John made the first attemt and was met with some stiffer resistance this time as the locals weren't too happy with this raid on their territory. However, Newman was up there in a flash, cutting an imposing figure with the strobe lights bouncing off his shaven bonce, and the Italians quickly saw which way the wind was blowing and backed down.
Within minutes the whole of the CPR contingent were crammed onto a platform about 2 foot square, pogo-ing like troupers and smacking their heads off the roof. Sadly, given the combined effects of alcohol and three days' exhuastion, there was only one way it could go. John was tripped in mid-flow and in an effort to break his fall made a grab for one of the ceiling lights, which came away in his hand and left John swinging Tarzan-style onto the dancefloor below. In a flash Danny realised the game was up: yelling "Downstairs, now !" he busted the fire exit and disappeared, hauling Kuczynski and Griffin with him. The bouncers started to close in but struggled to make headway through the crowd, giving the other CPR boys enough time to melt away and make their escape.
Back downstairs the boys had another ration of fire-water to keep things moving along nicely, and danced away the remaining half-hour until the lights came up. It would be something of an understatement to say that CPR received quite a bit of attention from the bouncers on the way out, to which they of course responded with cheery waves and promises of "See you next year".
No night in clubland is complete without a bit of violence in the car park, and this night was to be no exception. Having missed the scheduled time for their taxis, CPR had to wait until the drivers could make it around again. The team fractured into several groups doing their own thing - Steve and Dan attempted to cadge a lift (at least) from some bird in a 4x4 despite the best efforts of her Crystal Maze slaphead chaperone to fend them off, Scott and Garry tried to keep Stuart conscious, etc.
In the midst of all this a random nutter pulled his car to a stop claiming one of us had kicked it. Stuart went to investigate and was slapped to the pavement, Rino stepped in to try and talk reason and got even worse treatment. Things didn't look too good: this psycho was clearly on a different mental plane, twitching uncontrollably with his eyes rolled back into his head. As both sides circled warily Scott and Garry tried to keep a rein on Stuart, who was desperate to fly back in and dish out some vengeance. However, after another few minutes of mad-eyed stares the lunatic got back into his motor and drive off.
With that the tension eased, and we had time to check on Rino who'd taken a few heavy knocks for the sake of CPR. Scott and Garry released Stuart, but the young Scot was still in radge mode - he leapt to his feet and lashed out at the first thing available, which happened to be the entrance lights outside the club. Unfortunately the taxis turned up just as the light-box smashed and fell off the wall, and it seemed they weren't too keen on taking what they perceived to be a bunch of alcohol-soaked British hoolies.
It took 10 mins' persuasion from John but we eventually piled in and made it back to the safety of the trattoria. There was one more ad hoc round of drinks as Kuczynski emerged from his room with an Amaretto bottle, stumbled down the corridor bouncing off walls, and insisted that everyone take a swig before he'd go to bed. Then, finally, the lights went out on Saturday night.
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