My gentle readers and rabid listeners as well as those whose curiosity has been peaked by the title of this diary entry nay last testament of a football mad podcaster. I first met Cuthbert Peregrine Sewel in 1999 at the Fox and Hounds pub drinking alone and wearing the garb of distinguished yet well travelled gentleman from Hyde Park circa 1830’s. An odd sight even for a pub usually filled with scallywags and the occasional cinema starlet so I ventured to say hello and see what this fellow was all about.
He spoke so eloquently that I mistook his accent for one being born somewhere around Covent Garden or Holland Park but in fact , well so he claimed at the time, he was from Kingsbridge Road in the Bronx. His neighbor, he said was a young Edgar Allen Poe and that they would often have long discussions of the romantic and gothic nature of the world at the time.
What a fascinating person I thought and I was drawn to the way Sewel would talk about historical events like he had witnessed them first hand. Daring not to interrupt, I asked Sewel what he was doing in Studio City, drinking Guinness and eating what looked like the oldest pork pie in the San Fernando Valley. He looked at me and he said non chalantly “I’m an association football supporter and this ale house has the jammiest bits of jam.”
It was there and then, gentle readers, that I knew Sewel was someone I can talk to. So as you do, we had a few beers and while in the more, shall we say, relaxed moment I blurted out “What’s with the Halloween costume!?”
That is when Cuthbert Peregrin Sewel went as white as a ghost. I dare say I thought I insulted the gentleman but no! because the next thing that happened was something I shall never forget. Sewel looked at me dead in the eyes and said “I am a traveller in time!”
As the Dalai Lama of Soccer, I try not to be purposefully confrontational nor do I ever want to burst anyone’s reality especially if that person is a madman dressed up like a dandy from the 1800’s. Now in a moment of weirdness, I blurted out “So you’re a football loving time traveller! What do you do? Just go through time and watch football matches?”
To which Sewel replied “I’ve seen every Football Final in these Americas!”
There was a moment of silence and I couldn’t get the last drops of beer to my mouth and I watched in slow motion as my fingers stopped working and I dropped my glass, spilling it all over the green carpet. Babs the bartender looked on and as I turned I saw Sewel smiling a devilish smile that I would never forget. Sewel knew what the next word would be that would fly out of my mouth.
“Bullshizzle!”
Sewel looked at me and said “I assure you Simon. I have a time machine. I go through time and watch football matches.” Not being a man of more than twenty five years old, Sewel looked like a soccer fan and he spent the afternoon convincing me about how he created a time machine following the instructions from HG Wells. Perhaps, noble reader, if you’ve made it this far into my fantastical tale, I will tell you about that part of our conversation. But as for now, I believe you are all soccer fans so this next bit is for your consumption. I asked Sewel what the last match he witnessed was. Sewel looked down at his pocketwatch, placed it next to his ear and shook it about. He looked up and said “We’re in Los Angeles now? So the last match I saw was the National Finals in 19 hundred and sixty three”
Now curious reader, Sewel could have been old enough to remember 1963 but like I mentioned, he didn’t look like he was more than twenty five years old. So as your humble servant and writer of this tale, the Dalai Lama of soccer, I whipped out my RCA voice recorder and placed it on the pub table. I ordered more beer and what you are about to read is the transcripts of the very first conversation I had with Cuthbert Peregrin Sewel. Time Traveller and Football Fan.
Simon: So Cuthbert you claim you went back in time and witnessed the 1963 National Final in the United Sates of America?
Cuthbert: No! I went forwards into time to witness the match!
Simon: Care to go into specifics?
Cuthbert: As it was customary at the time, Association Football Finals were two legged affaires. It was June 2nd , in the year of our Lord 19 hundred and 63. I had ventured to Philadelphia as I had done many times in my youth… Cambria Fields…It was a beautiful day and the entire city was mafficking and the supporters of the Ukrainian team were mad as hops as they watched the match. Half rats gigglmugging in anticipation of the match against the Armenians of Los Angeles.
Simon: Can you tell me about the match itself?
Cuthbert: Why of course, a chap I befriended later by the name of Mike Noha had scored with 5 minutes to go in overtime. Mike was a left side player who could run up and down the field and was everywhere that day. The Ukrainians of Philadelphia, who in all accounts of the day, were the best team in these United States were having a dandy of a time showing just why everyone thought they were the best booters. Their reputation was better than their play.
Simon: So the Ukrainians won 1-nil?
Cuthbert: No! As the match went on, the referee, a man by the name of Ray Craft, dismissed an Armenian player. There was little time left in overtime .That player, who’s name escapes me right now, didn’t want to get off the field. So he started arguing with Mr Craft. And…as it happened, the player struck Mr Craft.
Simon: So the player refused to get off the pitch and hit the ref?
Cuthbert: Yes!
Simon: So the match ended 1-nil?
Cuthbert : No. The ref declared the match a forfeit.
(Babs comes by the table with a round of drinks)
Simon: So the match technically never ended…officially?
Cuthbert: (Non audible noise)….The Second leg was never played either.
Simon: So the 1963 National Finals were won on a forfeit?
Cuthbert: One could say … (Non audible noise)
Simon: So you said you became friends with the goal scorer…Noah?
Cuthbert: Mike Noha. He was actually born in Argentina and he told me his real name was Miguel Noga. When he played football, the team changed his name to sound more Ukrainian.
Simon: Did you keep in touch with him?
Cuthbert: A year later When the United States team summoned him to play a game against England. I remember it was a Sunday and I delivered the telegram from the heads of the soccer offices to him. They gave me the clothes and the boots that he had to bring to the match.
Simon: So he played against England?
Cuthbert: The English were on a holiday tour of somekind. The US National Team consisted of three players from Philadelphia, three from Chicago and two from Los Angeles as well as some players from other places.
Simon: So did you watch that game as well?
Cuthbert: By then Mike and I were great chums, so I was there at the match against England. The entire USA team met for the first time two hours before the game at the stadium. They didn’t even know each others names. Do you know how many goals England scored against the USA?
Simon: 10!
Cuthbert: (laughing) The goalkeeper was a daddler. Uwe was his name…Uwe Schwart…from Queens. I remember seeing him play. Horrible player. They all were though. Uwe never played for the United States ever again after that.
Simon: Going back to Mike Noha? Was he any good?
Cuthbert: Yes. That season he scored 13 goals for his team that year and during the Final match…there was about 5000 of us at the field…he looked like it was an everyday thing for him….it was a fantastic match…looking back (Cuthbert smiles to
himself) I don’t know if they would have won the second leg.
Simon: That’s one to debate I guess….
And here, my patient readers, is where the audio stopped. I can assure you that when Cuthbert finished regaling me with the tales of soccer in 1963 America that I was indeed convinced that he was a time traveller.
Convinced so much so that I asked Cuthbert to meet up again so we could talk some more. He assured me he would and wanted to tell me about the time he went to Brazil to watch the USA play against England.
I have all the subsequent meetings on audio and, dear listener, the older I get, the more of them I will transcribe. Perhaps I can make a believer of time travel out of you or perchance if you stumble across an oddly dressed man at the pub who tells you he’s journeyed through time, you might possibly believe him.
Until then, I bid you adieu as I have done for a decade or so I will say It ain’t trickin if you got it.
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