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Who else but Rich L could take us through the climax of the 10th Anniversary Tour?...
9.30am Saturday morning, Hotel Minerva, Milan. A time for sore heads and churning stomachs. A place for gathering bleary eyed amateur footballers, packing them into continental cars, and shipping them quickly and quietly to the hills overlooking Lake Maggiore. A sombre and reflective hour.
Whilst the majority of the CPR men had made the Amaretto induced stumble to their rooms around 5am, the heads of a rebel contingent had hit pillows around 6.30am. Ahead of us lay the gruelling exertion of the 10th annual Dagnente 5 a side tournament, and glugging beers into the wee hours then skipping breakfast nutrition and rehydratative juices was not ideal preparation. The gastric expulsions decorating the pavement jettisoned from the belly of one Miles Nolan provided clear evidence of this, were it ever needed. Thankfully, the Lothario from Leeds confirmed the regurgitation was a consequence of excessive alcohol consumption, as opposed to any kind of adverse gag reflex from a card game forfeit.
The sun was shining as the vehicles carrying the weary men rolled into Villa Zuccoli, where numerous CPR alumni had already set up camp. The CPR Gold boys looked fresh, relaxed and energised. The kind of energy that 8 hours bed & breakfast in a swanky downtown hotel will buy you. Only time would tell which would prevail - the pampered professionals from the champagne district or the hungry, grafters from the favela. Anyway, such distinctions were put aside for salutations to long lost friends, and introductions to new ones, before the preparations began in earnest. The pitch was inspected; injuries were taped; limbs were stretched. In fact, only John Andrews' strict "No GameBoy" rule brought about any change in the usual pre-match rituals for CPR Gold or new. (A disappointed Chris Davis muttered expletives as he packed away his GameGear, having reached the dizzy heights of Outrun Level 9, cursing the lack of any save function on the Sega handheld.)
As always the current crop of Clissold players are never ones to take the field without some kind of kit drama, and a trip across 750 miles of European landmass was not going to change this. In short, we had shirts, but no shorts. As usual Jacobs took the full brunt of the blame, but evidence suggests John O'Toole was not entirely without fault - the chirpy Dubliner having 'placed' (hidden) the kit bag behind a curtain near Jacob's Minerva room door. An amusing prank, but hardly of Beadle proportions. Thankfully, despite Paddy's protestations, sufficient pairs of shorts were found, such that no one had to relive PE lesson nightmares and take the field in just their pants. Whilst CPR New were going through a kit saga, CPR Gold were warming up like a team from SAGA, and one wondered whether all the cumulative 'yards in their head' would be sufficient to make any impact on the tournament.
The teams going into the draw were the following: CPR New; CPR Gold; Rinosbois; Villa Zuccoli; Cosmix; and "The Locals". There were to be two groups of three teams, with the only rule that the two CPR teams could not be in the same group. The draw was nervously made, with CPR Gold drawing "The Locals" and Cosmix, leaving CPR in the group of death with Rinobois and Villa Zuccoli. CPR New had, much like Mr Beadle himself, been dealt a bad hand.
Exact details of the events of the tournament are somewhat hazy in the mind, but the opening games for each of the CPR teams transpired to be their finest. Gold proved their doubters wrong by stifling the Locals in the early part of the game, before slipping behind. But soon, with Budgie shouting at his team with the inspirational rage of a man who'd just spotted an Atari Lynx lying under the sunlounger, Gold began to creep back into the game. It was only a matter of time before the team with the girth of Donny, the speed of Stu and the commitment of Dawson and Davis scored. The fight back continued as Gold levelled at 2-2, and with the giraffe gait of Big Gay Al and the chopping of Danny Rogers keeping the strikers at bay, Gold held out for a fine draw.
CPR New were uncharacteristically sluggish in the opening minutes of their tie versus Rinos, and fell behind to a sloppy goals courtesy of a mixture of poor goalkeeping from Scott, long grass and incorrectly pressurised football. Which was a shame as Rich L's backpass was of outstanding quality. Sadly, Rich P had not taken note of how to execute this tricky shot, and shortly after Rinos' first, he played an absolute shocker of a pass, causing Rinos to score a second. Player of the season indeed, tsk! Fortunately, the intestinal fortitude of CPR New shone through and once the pace had been upped to English league levels, CPR staged a fine comeback, and drew a game they perhaps could have snatched.
The next game for each team was less glorious. A combination of the searing heat and tired limbs, contrived to reduce the Gold to an unfortunate loss, whilst the only thing gold about CPR New's second match performance was Paddy's nipple rings, with the whites falling 5-3 to Villa Zuccoli. The results meant that the unthinkable suddenly became reality. The two CPR teams were to play each other in the 5/6th place play-off. The authorities were on edge, the fans were jubilant. This was what everyone had wanted and feared at the same time. The biggest game of Dagnente 2008. So much to gain, but so much to lose. The game was of such epic proportions it cannot be described in print. No, the only appropriate tool for such a spectacle is Microsoft PowerPoint...
 | A New Gold Dream
The clash of CPR Generations, as imagined in Powerpoint by Richard 'Linklater' Littlechild. |
And so the football side of the Milan tour came to a fatigued end for the English teams, and as aching limbs were bathed in the icey pool, the remaining fixtures were played. Cosmix triumphed over Villa Zuccoli in a tightly contested, yet sublimely officiated match (if a good referee should go unnoticed, then Rich L is clearly the best referee in the world), eventually winning the penalty shoot-out 4-3 to take third. Rinosbois lived up to their billing as favourites in the final, stomping to a 8-0 final victory over "The Locals", with their star player pleasingly surpassing Walshy as tournament top scorer. A disappointing end for the crowd's favourite, but the heroic efforts of their octogenarian goalkeeper and the sleeve rolling antics of their Stonewall striker meant they would surely be welcome to seek revenge next year.
The entire CPR contingent checked into the luxury lakeside hotel and shat, showered and shaved ready for the end of season dinner. Shirts were pressed, shoes polished and hair gelled. Some made more effort than others; no one made as much effort as Donny. After all it was the 10th anniversary dinner, only black tie would do. And so offsetting the formal jacket / black tie combo, with navy denim jeans and brown boots, the big man looked every inch the Texan oil baron as he led the way to the restaurant.
Evo hair watch: Well gelled and styled for a tousled / spiked look.
An uneventful journey to our eatery was followed by a fine repast, wherein copious volumes of vino rosso were guzzled, whilst mounds of flesh and carbs were jammed down hungry throats. Stuart fell foul of the old CPR mantra - "Sit with Pablo and Donny betwixt mouth and food that is yummy, and yee shall forever sleep with the pain of an empty tummy." Still there was plenty of blue cheese goo left for him to feast upon.
The speeches and awards followed. Nico spoke first to a rapturous welcome. Clearly working the crowd like a rock star, the host threw in as many local references as possible to keep the songs-a-coming:
- Nico - "I'd like to thank... Samy..."
- Crowd - "Wa-hey!!! Stand up if you love Samy! Stand up if you love Samy!!"
- Nico - "It's great that... Rino is here"
- Crowd - "Wa-hey!! Riiiiiiiiinooooo!!!! Riiiiiiiiinoooooo!!!! Riiiiiiiiinoooooo!!!!"
- Nico - "CPR worked hard today, especially the big striker... Walshy!!!"
- Crowd - "..."
Budgie followed with heartfelt thanks from the CPR contingent, and used his encyclopaedic CPR knowledge to name an all Italian CPR team, which probably would have fared better at Euro 2008 than the actual Azzurri did. Then Samy followed with the history of how the Milan tour came to be and the events of those four days ten years ago. It ended with a gathered group of drunken men, in a field, at 4am, their physical exertions lit only by the headlights of the cars that surrounded them. And that is how the act of dogging came to sleepy Arona.
Evo hair watch: A noticeable increase in volume, but still gel still holding its own. Not too different to the hair seen in photographs displayed in budget hairdresser windows.
The awards ceremony followed next, and whilst there were two clear candidates for goal of the season, player was a far more disputed and unknown beast. Scotty, despite some hideously offensive tactical voting took home goal of the season, to much aplomb, whilst Stuart broke new ground by claiming his much deserved second player of the season trophy. Scott was uncharacteristically reserved in his acceptance speech, offering a simple 'thanks lads', whilst Stuart stepped up to deliver a detailed lecture about photography. Those present cheered raucously following his musings, and were in no way repelled from consuming more food and drink by the wee man vomiting in his mouth several times during his sermon (the root cause definitely identified as Grappa rather than any card game forfeit).
Evo hair watch: Little evidence of gel remaining, volume and size of hair akin to that of George Michael's in the Wham 'Last Christmas' video.
With the feasting over, it was time for some serious drinking - drinking which was to separate the men from the boys, literally. The CPR Gold team made excuses about sore legs, early flights and tired minds, and retired to the hotel early. Only Big Gay Al and Evo were willing to push on through to LaRocca. Garry clearly tempted to join, was duly smuggled into the back seat of the taxi and placated with the latest John Lewis catalogue, whilst Budgie sang gloatingly of the latest defection "we got Garry Griffin, we got Garry Griffin!"
The taxi ride from restaurant to club was a splendid one man show, as Evo delighted his driver with theories on hair, music and song, and such was the in-car entertainment that full bladders were forgotten, in favour of singing 'Massimo, show us your hair, Massimo, Massimo show us your hair". Never was a band of brothers more ready for an evening in LaRocca than this night.
Evo hair watch: Volumised to the max, hair beginning to resemble a soufflé. Scott's worst haircut in CPR title in serious jeopardy.
Details post-club entry become sketchy. There were big buckets of beer, sambucas, tequilas, teenagers and scantily clad uber-fitties. There was Big Gay Al, standing high on the podium, playing the dancefloor like puppets. The big man, dressed in an open shirt and brown corduroy jacket had the ilk of the hip & groovy substitute teacher, as the on-looking teens stood captivated by the astounding shapes he threw to the sounds of the mighty Quo. Children, today's lesson... is Rock.
Evo hair watch: Hair now four times it original size and beginning to encroach on other people's personal space - young, impressionable, inebriated Italians are increasingly concerned. Club bouncers made aware.
As the evening drew on, the alcohol flowed, the dancing deteriorated, the slapping started and quickly subsided again. Miles' photography became more and more explicit. Sloaney's broken foot began to heal at an alarming rate ("I reckon if Milan had been a week later, I could have played"). The drinks got sillier and pricier, and memories became fuzzier. Eventually the lights went up and despite protestations to the contrary, everyone knew it was time to head home.
Evo hair watch: Fortunately closing time arrives as follicles reach their elastic limit and the Evans mane mushroom-clouds in reaction. Scott is knocked down due to shockwave. The king is dead, long live the king.
Supported by several CPR men, the injured (ultra-pissed) Scotty and rest of the men embarked on the longest short-walk known to man. As expected, the band of merry men began to disperse and soon broke off into various groups of deranged drunks. This reporter can only talk of his experiences with Messrs Pratt, Jacobs, Moore, Cavanagh, O'Toole and Sloane, but tales could be told of others elsewhere.
To that end our posse encountered a group of young Italian men en route from LaRocca. One of these fresh faced, lively Mediterraneans was singing raucously and shouting random words in English. The beam from Jacobs' smile blinded oncoming traffic as the chief realised he had found a sparring partner, protégé and, most likely, soul-mate. After several shouts of 'Prego' and orders for bitter lemon placed, attentions turned to the somewhat obese, unconscious young Italian boy slumped on a nearby log. Helpfully informed by il Jacobini that he was 'a fat pig' chants of 'Pig! Pig! Pig!' unified both nations in the celebration of excess and gluttony, whilst little piggy's roast dinner looked increasingly likely to garnish the roadside. As we stumbled on all that could be heard was Jacobs' words to his counterpart "Chief! How can you not know Lord of the Flies? The novel by William Golding! About how personal welfare eventually conquers the common good? Well there's this character, Piggy…"
However, il Jacobini and the rest of the CPR boys' attention soon wavered and was duly captured by a giggling Tooley pissing from a bridge.
Eventually after much wandering and singing, the hotel shuddered into focus, and comfortable beds came a calling for most, while the lure of the cool waters and marine defecation beckoned for others. As final parting words for the end of a highly enjoyable session were exchanged, Rich Pratt reflected on Milan, the season and life. And delivered these sage words….
"There are two types of people in this world… there's CPR...
...And there's wankers."
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