Life with the Lichties

Behind-the-scenes of Scottish football l

THE TV weatherman says a storm is brewing as I leave Broughty Ferry for training with Arbroath’s f irst team — he could be spot-on. Folk of my 34-year vintage who still play five-a-side football all suffer the same misguided notion they could, just maybe, have played at a decent level, and I’m no exception as I arrive at Riverside, Dundee.

As we wander out to the floodlit astroturf it’s immediately clear I’m giving away at least a decade to almost all the players, as well as possessing a slight beer belly that’s taken the same period to cultivate.

Having a bit of Sunday league experience I’m no stranger to football drills and I’m feeling unfounded confidence as we begin the session.

The 20-minute warm-up starts with a light jog up the touchline and I settle in near the back of the pack.

Lichties player / manager Paul Sheerin leads the pace as we run through a standard routine of sidesteps, heels- to- bum and hip- swivels designed to loosen the joints. Piece of cake. After two lengths of the pitch the intensity rises and the kind of driving sideways rain only available served straight off the Tay hits right on cue.

Paul takes us for two more lengths, this time throwing in sprints, turns, jinks and running backwards.

We break for some stretching and then start the sets again, building up to double pace.

Some of the players share a bit of craic but I’m now gulping air like a veteran camel on its last tour of the Sahara.

Paul calls a halt and we get a brief breather, then, retaining my role as wheezing beast, I take up position as piggy-in-the-middle for a passing drill. Clutching luminous bibs, myself and a partner attempt to touch the ball while a circle of seven or eight others endeavour to keep it away from us.

I quickly get a toe to it and join the passing side.

Although I hold my own, it’s obvious the lads are several levels above me.

They zing the ball around effortlessly and the quicker the tempo, the more I struggle.

With Paul joining the drill, assistant boss Stewart Petrie is calling the shots and gradually turns up the diff iculty by introducing passing conditions.

We move on to a second similar drill and then a third, all of which are aimed at improving sharpness, touch and, for the defender, closing down the player on the ball.

By the time we reach the one-touchonly level four we have been at it for around half an hour and I’ve been piggy so many times I’m growing a snout and my trotters are almost finished.

“Come on, Graeme — keep it going,” is the shout from Stewart.

Towards the end it’s like chasing a pinball and I feel I’m starting to be carried; my pride tells me I’m done.

The session wraps up with two more complex passing and shooting drills, which I’m happy to watch from the sidelines — feeling reasonably pleased with my effort if not my fitness.

An overall appraisal of: “You were not bad,” from Paul is good enough for this reporter!

Above: Graeme gets to work. Left: our man turns to the goalpost for support. Right: Graeme (in blue) shares a joke with his new team-mates. Pictures: John Stevenson.