A voice crying in the sporting wilderness – please let me in to see the match, any match

‘HELLO... Is that Eimear…Medders here… Sorry to bother you…I know club officials like you must be run off their feet…The thing is…Look, is there any chance of a ticket for the oul game... Hello…. Hello?’ Desperation. It must be eight months since seeing a match. Any sort of a match. Any two teams in any code wellying into each other. This pandemic yoke is a killer for a sportsman like myself.

When I say sportsman, I don’t mean sports player. Obviously. There’s no great demand for sexagenarians with arthritis and glasses and bunions to actually pull on a jersey.

These days, given the opportunity, I’d be more what might be styled a touchline activist. Someone who can be relied on to point out to referees the errors of their ways. To shout a few words of encouragement to the home side. To give the opposition the raspberry.

Then along comes this pandemic yoke. First there’s no games at all, months on end of a complete sporting desert. And now there’s loads of matches but all behind closed doors. And this behind closed doors malarkey has cut the tripes out of demand for us touchline activists. We are left on the wrong side of this so-called door, with nowhere to go on a Saturday evening or a Sunday afternoon.

I hear tell that one ticket per player’s family is the rule. But living next door to the aunt of some young lad who might make the subs’ bench does not qualify as family. Other strategies are required.

‘Hello…That’s Benno there, isn’t it…Medders here…I got your number off Mallo who had it from Stevo…I was just wondering whether you might need a hand marking the pitch for the match…I presume anyone who helps mark the pitch for the match then gets to see the match…I am available if you need me…No? Well be sure to keep my number for future reference.’

Feck. I was a bit slow off the mark there. Sixth on the waiting list for assistant groundsman and tenth on the waiting list for scoreboard operator. Not a hope of a call-up there. Must be losing my touch.

I suppose I could offer to make sandwiches for the teams to have after the game. My egg and chive filling is Michelin star. These days I’d probably have to come up with a vegan option. Anyway, no guarantee that the caterers are allowed into the stand. They are probably left social distancing far from the action in the kitchen, keeping an eye on the Burco. Forget it.

‘Hello…Justin, yeah, it’s Medders here…I just came across a whistle and it occurred to me that you must be short of match officials…What do you mean, my past record…Calling it a riot is a bit strong. It was more a heated disagreement…I always knew you were two ends of a short-sighted bollix…And the same to you!’

That lad is bad for my blood pressure. Perhaps I should just content myself with sitting at home and watching the box. The Rovers versus Milan game was interesting enough, I suppose – some nice close-ups of yer man Zlatan. Bet he dyes his hair.

And television is actually the best way to follow rugby, pandemic or no pandemic. All those long delays between bursts of action. Perfect for doing the ironing.

Nah! Give me the wind in my hair every time. The feeling of being close to the action, you can’t beat it. The smell of the Deep Heat and the roar of the crowd - except there is no crowd, of course, not at the moment.

There must be a way if only I could think of one. No demand for car park stewards, not while the behind closed doors rule applies. No call for turnstile operators either, or programme sellers. And who needs a public address operator when there’s no public to address? With my dulcet tones, I’d be handy enough on the microphone. Another example of untapped talent.

I’d sorta fancy myself as a maor uisce. That’s a handy number but I’m probably lacking the required turn of speed. And a tendency to faint at the sight of blood rules me out as first aid man.

Last resort. Buy my way out of trouble.

‘Fran, lovely to hear your voice…Medders speaking…Yeah, that Medders…Tell me, are you still treasurer, still counting the shekels…You see, I was kinda keen to see the under 16s play at the weekend…I don’t suppose they need a sponsor?’