Sunday 5th December 1999
| The first game of the day, in which we were playing our final round-robin
game against Marseille, was at nine, so half an hour to get ourselves together and an hour
to get to the pool seemed to strike a reasonable balance between sleep and tournament
commitments. Clocks were duly set for 07:30, and it was a cheerful albeit still slightly
sleepy band that crocodiled its way around the waterfront towards the Metro station. The previous morning we had learned from Eva that buying a multi-use ticket for the Metro that would feed all of us was a much cheaper and much easier way of travelling than buying ten individual tickets, so Eryl found his life's vocation by manning the ticket machine and feeding the superticket through again and again. |
|
|
Once on the Metro, however, we came increasingly to feel that there was something wrong with the directions given to us by David. A stop and a check on the map confirmed these feelings: we were on our way to the first pool, not to the second! However, we managed to work out the problem before we went too far wrong, and with Clare's leadership and a bit of deft hopping between the various tube lines, we still managed to get to the pool on time (9am). Full marks to the Barcelona Metro, though: there was a train waiting for us every time we needed to change. Would we get that at 8am on a Sunday in England, we wonder? |
We got into the changing rooms, whereupon David rushed forward full of apology for misunderstanding the previous night's question and having given us the wrong directions. However, it really didn't make any difference, as there was no sign whatsoever of our opponents. Matches were rescheduled to play other games before ours, but an hour later there was still no Marseille . . . Clare: "Eventually Marseille turned up, just as we were going off for a mid-morning coffee. They said they always have a lie-in on Sundays . . . and then had the gall to say we would forfeit the game if we were late back from our coffee, 1 1/2 hours after our early arrival! In fact we got there before many of the organisers! Justice was done when we gave them an Octopush lesson: 9-1!"
|
|
|
(With apologies to Boddington's) "That Clare Ash, she never buys her own..." |
||
|
Clare: "Michelle had a new swimming costume idea: leave your costume at the hostel, and just swim in your black and lacy low-plunging lingerie! We don't know what it's called - they probably don't exist in England! Our game against Marseille concluded the round-robin, so we were now into the playoffs, and were again pitched against Slovenia, in our capacities as the first and fourth-placed teams. Maja, one of Slovenia's two female internationals, had had to drop out of the tournament due to sinus problems, which left them with no substitutes. We, on the other hand, were now at full-strength, and gaining in confidence, and were really psyched up for this game after our draw yesterday. Every point was very closely-fought, but we managed to inflict a defeat on this good bunch of guys, and this win put us into the final for a rematch against Toulouse. |
 Clare goes into the pit lane to refuel |
 Smile for the camera! |
Barcelona pipped Slovenia in the third-place playoff, and then it was time for the big one, although not without another interminable wait of a good thirty minutes for the referees to show. Eventually, the final got underway.
This time Toulouse played like a completely different team  , and the whole game was a nailbiter from start to finish. They only had six players, but were young and fit, and obviously highly fired-up. Our biggest problem was our complacency, having just beaten Slovenia and these guys yesterday. Steve did lots of shouting (motivational shouting that is!) to try to gee everyone up . . . Eryl still wouldn't get in the water! (He had gone out into the town in search of a coffee after the semi-final game against Slovenia, and did not reappear until moments before the final was scheduled to start. As it was, he had 3/4 hour to spare!) |
|
Toulouse gave us a real fight, not to mention several frights, and the game was a hard-fought and very equal contest. We scored within seconds (Andy again, ably supported by Ki, the rainmaker), but Toulouse quickly pulled back a goal to make it 1-1. Again we went ahead, and again Toulouse pulled a goal back: 2-2.
We (Steve) allowed ourselves to become frustrated by the flurry of referee's decisions, and we had a player (the B.O.A. Chairman) sin-binned for supposed foul-play! More sinned-against than sinning . . ."
Then came the shock: Toulouse went ahead!
Paul: "I can remember going through the shock of thinking 'How can we be one point down?'. I had to change from a Mr Nice Guy . . ."
We changed, but not quickly enough to stop two of their forwards from getting through our defences, and streaking for goal with no one to stop them. "They think it's all over"? Not a chance! Clare in her borrowed fins sprinted back from nowhere and managed to not only make up the two-yard deficit, but got ahead of them and cleared the puck from within inches of the tin, much to the relief and almost euphoria of the team. Whoa-hoa, we breathe again!!!
And yes, we did let her sub-out after that . . .
Clare: "This near-death experience frightened our team sufficiently to awaken us from our lethargies. Steve marshalled us Montgomery-style into action, complacency went out the window, and top gear and maximum firepower were engaged.
| Paul now hardly subbed out at all - Plankton's mask snapped, so he was out of the running while he got that sorted - Eryl played tug-of-war in the centre of the pool, trying to get his stick back after his wrist-strap had got caught up with another player - Keith was a hairy powerhouse with his booming flick - Michelle, Stephanie and Helga were cheering from the other side of the lane rope, doing well to make themselves heard over the combined din that three French teams (the Toulouse women and both Marseille teams) were making. Eventually, the pressure told and we got our equaliser: 3-3! |  |
We were now into the last four minutes: Steve battled his way into the French half and fed the puck to Eryl, who with a plum and aplomb winged it to Ki, who created a vortex and passed it to Mr Mercedes - man & machine in perfect harmony - who fired up the 3 1/2 litre V12 fuel-injected turbo-charged legs and went for broke: G O A L !!
We were so close now, with only 2 1/2 minutes left, and we pinned them to their half, much to their frustration.
Ding, ding, ding . . . the final buzzer had never sounded so sweet. How did we feel? "We felt good!""
Paul: "The best team won, of course!"
|
|
The presentations were then made, then everyone went their separate ways, although not before Martin had lost something else: this time his red book with all his Octopush info.
We had also not had the chance to get Clare's fins back, and we would now not have time to go to the first pool to retrieve them before Clare and Co were due to leave for the airport, so we asked Eva who said she would check with the pool the next morning and report back to Martin and Eryl at the hostel the next morning.
|
We made a further mental note to come back to this pool on one
of the subsequent days in order to pick up Martin's red book, then took the Metro to La
Rambla - the city's main pedestrian thoroughfare - and headed into the Old Town in search
of a restaurant, Los Caracoles (Spanish for "The Snails"), that Michelle had had
recommended to her. Those leaving for the airport that evening went back to the hostel to
get their remaining gear, and we also lost Andy and Helga en-route to the charms of
McDonalds, but one by one the stragglers turned up, and we had a final team get-together
in a really Olde Worlde atmosphere with dark oak casks and chandeliers everywhere. Yummy. Everyone was being experimental with their food, although no one could quite compete with Ki, who ordered the item from the menu that bore the single word "brains". |
After great anticipation, it was quite a disappointment for the curious when he received lamb chops instead, but as there was not really enough time to re-order, he ate what he was given without raising the issue with the waiter. We may never know . . . Eventually, the time came for people to start heading to the airport. We ordered a staggered set of taxis which took an extraordinarily long time to come, and thus meant the departees were now running late, whereas previously they had been in plenty of time. However, the taxis did eventually arrive and Paul, Stephanie and Keith, and Ki, Clare and Steve left in the first two, to be followed half an hour later by Andy and Helga in the third. Anton, Michelle, Eryl and Martin finished their meal and carried on drinking . . . |
|
At the airport: Everything had to be done at breakneck speed, but Paul,
Stephanie and Keith managed to get to the check-in desk, get checked in, get to the
departure gate and on the plane without incident. However, Clare, Steve and Ki had
reckoned without the cunning of easyJet in putting the word "London" above the
departure gate of their flight bound for Liverpool, and made the easy mistake of following
the destination rather than the gate number.
By the time they got to the front of the queue and the mistake was identified, the London flight was long since closed, so emergency measures had to be taken. A few minutes later an airport bus could be seen screaming across the tarmac of Barcelona airport in pursuit of flight EZY318.
Keith: "We got a bit concerned when they pulled the steps away
from the plane, and the other three weren't on!"
However, it might have been said that this was just in keeping with the rest of the
weekend . . .
Clare: "As we write the report, the Captain is flying us right over Toulouse, and he says that we are flying with a 120mph headwind. Is that a hurricane???"
|
Back with the snails: The remaining four crew members left Los Caracoles and went back to the hostel to dump our bags. That done, we went straight out again to the Taverna where the "Tapers" had the previous night seen "Alan Partridge's Dad", but unfortunately today he wasn't doing his floorshow. Or as Eryl so eloquently put it: "we visited the queen, who didn't perform". Michelle then complained of feeling unwell, so Martin walked her back to the hostel, but when Martin got back - a reasonable time later, granted - Anton and Eryl had gone. |
Eryl: "We waited for quite a while for Martin, but when it began to look like he wasn't coming back, we decided to make the most of the short stay in Barcelona and sample a bit of the night life. We had a great time visiting the pubs and clubs around the Old Town and the waterfront, but a bit of advice to visitors, though: "keep your money safe".
We had already been around a number of pubs and clubs and had quite a bit to drink when we were approached by a couple of apparently drunk men who greeted us as if we were old friends and started hugging us. However, no sooner had they done so than I felt a hand going for my wallet, so I shouted out to Anton to watch out for his wallet and the men took fright and ran off. Neither of us lost anything, but I was so, so angry, especially as it didn't hit me straight away what had happened.
The evening ended trawling through a series of great clubs with glass walls across a bridge over the sea. Wow!"
