Football Crazy.

They let me out at weekends. Last Saturday (I must tell you this), I went to a Cup game to
watch my beloved Plymstock Argyle. It was only the first round but we had high hopes of
reaching the final for the first time in our long history. Our opponents were the redoubtable
United, champions of all Devon for the past ten years. The first half went as planned - we
gave them a five goal start so we knew we had a good chance. After the interval, our
opponents re-grouped and redoubled their efforts. Then came the turning point of the match.
We were denied a certain penalty when United's assistant trainer ran onto the pitch and
deliberately handled the ball just inside the box. I had my loud hailer with me and I certainly
made myself heard over the yelping of the hunting dogs that had invaded the pitch as I
made my protest. I was told to shut up by a fussy fifth official (a spitting image of Ian Armando),
who had me escorted to the far end of the ground behind the urinals where a young police
constable I know reluctantly took down my particulars. I demanded to be released and told
him, in no uncertain terms, that this was not the end of the matter and that I would take it up
with the Board of Governers. Our side lost 12-0 in the end but were, from all accounts, the
better side for much of the second period. This gives me hope for our next meeting which
happens to be two weeks from now in the League. I'll be there if they'll let me out.