Here we go, here we go, here we go……
With Jimmy’s breakfast inside us we went to do battle with the Brits in our first game of the Championships. Some of us had worked hard since 1997 to get to this point and finally it had arrived. The nervous tension was there for all to see but at least we were playing a Great Britain team that were everyone’s favourite to win the Gold medal. Not much was expected of us. The classifiers were out in force to watch this one because in the red corner, lining out for GB, there was John Lilley and in the green corner there was Philip Gibson. Lilley and Gibo both suffer from the same disablement but I ain’t even going to attempt to spell it here nor anywhere else for that matter. There was a protest in against John Lilley before he had even landed in Belgium. It was a tough time for poor John. The GB squad were all wearing black armbands in memory of John’s father, who had died suddenly the month before. The match went to plan, for the Brits at least. One thing that we had to admire about them was the respect that they showed us in the way they played this game, playing it in a professional way from start to finish even though they were leading by the proverbial mile, eventually beating us by 52 goals to 11. We had a hell of a job trying to get the ball out of our own half. Everyone got a run so the whole team was off the mark for these Championships. On reflection now, it was a bad score because I can’t remember the last time that we only scored 11 goals in a match. It must have been way back yonder in the early years.

Next up were the Dutch. That match was played in the afternoon, shortly after lunch, which doesn’t appeal to some of our players, like Stephen “Rocket” Hickey. We’re calling him the Rocket, not because he’s shit fast in the chair but because he’s the picture of Wayne “Pocket Rocket” McCullough. But Stephen must have one of the biggest appetites in Europe and he must be one of the skinniest and lightest men in a wheelchair. If there was a prize for eating then he’d be well up there. Anyway where was I? Oh yeah, the Dutch. They were very strong and fancied themselves to finish in the top 3 and qualify for next years Paralympics in Athens so we were on a hiding to nothing in this game too. But we got stuck into them and let Philip loose on court for most of the match and he was, as Robert from the Dutch team put it, “a pain in the ass”. We know the feeling well, Robert lad, but you guys only had to put up with him for a couple of hours, we had him all week, and in our shalley too. But the Dutch were just too strong for us and we were well beaten in the end by 58 goals to 24. Not that we got much sympathy from some of the refereeing decisions that were made. There were a few times when we felt very aggrieved by some decisions but you can’t fight City Hall, so they say. One occasion that I can recall in this game was when I was in our box defending. I was on the corner and I was holding my own. One of the Dutch players was making a move to get in and I blocked him off so he hit against the front of my chair, and stayed in contact with me. The next thing I knew, I was looking up at the ceiling after getting an almighty bang from behind, one that sent my chair tipping backwards and one that had me landing on my head. It was a clear case of dangerous play, the kind of hit that they are trying to take out of the game to ensure the safety of players. But in this case there was nothing done. It didn’t even warrant a minute in the sin bin for the Dutch culprit, so there was a refereeing decision gone wrong in my humble opinion. Sure she nearly sent me there for saying ouch as I landed with a thud and a bump on my head. Robert was the guy who set me up for the hit but not to worry, I’ll get you again ya little fecker.

But worse was yet to come. How could things get any worse, says you, for a team that conceded a hundred goals in their first two matches? Well, the classifiers had their work done and they informed us that the R was lifted off Philip. Yep, he was classified OUT of the Championships and out of Wheelchair Rugby. Sure, we were going to protest the decision and therefore get Philip classified by a different panel of classifiers but John Lilley was also classified out so our chances looked slim. We were convinced that Philip was classified out as an excuse to ensure that John was too. I had a chat with a classifier or two before submitting our protest form, just to be sure that it wouldn’t be thrown out on some technicality or other.

That evening the bath in our shalley was in great demand, to help soothe those aching muscles and we all slept soundly after a nice buffet meal and a bit of music in the bar, if that’s what you could call it, the music I mean.