16.WHEN SATURDAY’S GONE By Jonaldo.

Sniffer

‘A typical Jonaldo goal’. This is a term used regularly in our football, coined by John South and usually involves him placing his head in his hands in exasperation while saying it in disbelief that the defensive unit he has commandeered has been breached in that basic manner yet again. This is essentially meant as a disparaging remark, unless, of course, he is on my side and then the hands bypass his head as they reach for the sky in jubilation. He means that I am in the right place at the right time to notch a fairly easy goal. But I actually take it as a compliment as not everyone has this ability.

This was evidenced when Southey a couple of years back at a post-match analysis at The Swan stated that he had tried to get in positions like I find to score these easy goals but had singularly failed to do so. He then proceeded to go around the table asking fellow players if the ball ever found them in the box as conveniently as it always seemed to locate me to provide the coup de grace and all sided with him in his observation.

I dare say the likes of Gary Linekar and currently Erling Haaland encountered this sort of envy and marvel from their colleagues as they racked up their impressive tallies in the goals column. John Lord, our solid and dependable defender, who played up front in his prime, calls me ‘sniffer’ as I have a nose for being able to scent a chance and where it will drop. My partner simply says that I am a goalhanger which is ludicrous as I don’t spend much time in the box and float around causing mischief wherever possible to the designs of the opposition, but when I enter that penalty area it is with the chilling efficiency of an executioner. My partner had two sons who played, one of those, like myself, was somewhat of a goal machine with that innate ability to be in the right place at the right time. Something that cannot be taught as it’s natural instinct. The other was an industrious midfielder with the talent to unlock defences. In her eyes, the latter was the player and receives the acclaim. I have every sympathy for the former. The skill bestowed upon us makes it appear that we expend little effort compared to so many others in the team. Hence the disparaging remarks. But the goals we score render us the most essential component of that team. It’s only through my modesty, the fact that I am a quiet assassin, that this important point gets neglected but it is hard to keep my light under a bushel at times.

I suppose my partner is assuming the role of the slave who used to accompany Roman Generals in their chariot when they received the plaudits on a Triumph through the streets of Ancient Rome. The slave’s presence was designed to keep the hero humble, for there is no point in being revered if one doesn’t retain a modicum of humility. She keeps my feet on the ground. Quite literally, actually, for a few weeks ago I conceived the idea of doing some jumping exercises so I could leap in the air as I did in my prime and enable me to reach even more crosses with my head. I was told not to do this as at 61 it would more than likely cause me an anke or knee injury and limit our options for day trips and the like.

Football isn’t always a microcosm of life, although I have been predisposed with the knack of being in the right place at the right time as far as converting chances on the pitch is concerned, when it comes to choosing the right checkout to queue at in the supermarket I invariably select the wrong one. But, when that occurs I smile to myself and think rather that than not being a fox in the box.

I don’t want to give the impression that all my goals are unspectacular. I have scored some corkers too, particulary with diving headers. I love those. Some have reminded me of Allan Clarke’s winning goal in the 1972 FA Cup Final. Little did I know when I watched that with awe as a child that I would be scoring goals of equal brilliance like that fifty plus years on, and that like him I would rejoice in the nickname “Sniffer”.