Haven't played 11's for a few years, but scored a beautiful volley as my last goal at 11 a side.
I was covering at LB due to injuries we had 8 players on the pitch and were losing 0-7, anyway picked up the ball from keeper, dribbled forward then played a big diagonal ball to RM, I then pushed up to support the attack, RM crossed for the striker, who belted a shot at the keeper he pushed it up and out and as it fell I found myself under it and smashed it first time into the postage stamp.
The Italian substitute Juliano hares down the right, but Tostão takes the ball off him like candy from a baby suffering from heat exhaustion and altitude sickness despite only being in the pram for 11 minutes. Tostão dispatches the ball back to Brito, who rolls it forward to Clodoaldo. The ball’s clipped in a short-range triangle, first Pelé, then Gérson, then back to Clodoaldo – cue TV caption ’41 - who drops and raises his shoulders like a laughing policeman, tying Rivera, Domenghini, De Sisti and Juliano up in knots. He strokes the ball wide left to Rivelino who, inside his own half, curls a pinpoint pass down the line to Jairzinho. Just ahead of the box, the striker cuts inside past Italian captain Facchetti, then clips the ball across Cera to Pelé, facing goal in front of the D. Burgnich closes him down, but Tostão – who’s made it all the way upfield after starting the move and is now behind Burgnich, also facing Pelé – gives the King the eyebrows to the Brazilian right. Pelé takes the hint and rolls a perfect ball out wide; it sits up, allowing me to evade the despairing lunge of Rosato, who has fruitlessly attempted to come across and block, and skelp it into the bottom corner past Albertosi.
The Italian substitute Juliano hares down the right, but Tostão takes the ball off him like candy from a baby suffering from heat exhaustion and altitude sickness despite only being in the pram for 11 minutes. Tostão dispatches the ball back to Brito, who rolls it forward to Clodoaldo. The ball’s clipped in a short-range triangle, first Pelé, then Gérson, then back to Clodoaldo – cue TV caption ’41 - who drops and raises his shoulders like a laughing policeman, tying Rivera, Domenghini, De Sisti and Juliano up in knots. He strokes the ball wide left to Rivelino who, inside his own half, curls a pinpoint pass down the line to Jairzinho. Just ahead of the box, the striker cuts inside past Italian captain Facchetti, then clips the ball across Cera to Pelé, facing goal in front of the D. Burgnich closes him down, but Tostão – who’s made it all the way upfield after starting the move and is now behind Burgnich, also facing Pelé – gives the King the eyebrows to the Brazilian right. Pelé takes the hint and rolls a perfect ball out wide; it sits up, allowing me to evade the despairing lunge of Rosato, who has fruitlessly attempted to come across and block, and skelp it into the bottom corner past Albertosi.
Outside of the right foot into the far top corner from the left hand corner of the box, spring 2009 I was 18 and playing in a cup game as an unregistered player in my uncle's team. One of the best goals I ever scored and it ensured we ran out comfortable 6-1 losers
Scored in a Cup Final last year at Pheonix Sports last season.
Returned from travelling in Feb last year and was ineligible for the Semi Final as I hadn't played enough games, but had by the time of the final which was a bit odd. Usually a CDM/RB, all of the strikers were injured and was put upfront to make up the numbers. Managed to get in behind the defenders, take it round the keeper and scuff it towards goal from a tight angle. Thankfully the defender went into Titus Bramble mode with an airkick on the line and in it went. We were well beaten 3-1 eventually though.
playing right back I surged forward on a break away - played in by a midfielder I ran onto the ball & just inside the penalty area I deftly lifted it over the 'keeper as he slid out to meet me.
I played for another 5 years without troubling the scorers........
I only ever scored one goal in the right end. Weak shot at the keeper who let it through his legs. My Simon church like strike confused the keeper who expected it to reach him 30 mins before!
About 92, playing left back, went on a run down the wing, one two with the centre forward, nutmegged Les Berry to be one on one with the keeper, gave him the eyes and sent him the wrong way curling into the bottom left hand corner. Said keeper was a certain Nicky Johns .....
Berry got me back though, took me out at a corner about 10 minutes later, had a dead leg for a week, dirt
Just reading through the comments, the goals either seem to be fantastic goals or horrible scrappy things. Mine was certainly at the lower end of the scale.
2016, guest appearance for works team oop North. Played left back (cos old), game was level at 2-2, halfway through second half. Made a run, cut inside full back and received ball on edge of the area, first touch took it away from centre half and put it in bottom right corner with keeper partially unsighted and wrong footed. Not bad for a (then) 43 year old. Drew 3-3 in the end.
Think it was about 1996 playing Sunday League football.
We had a corner and it was cleared to me roughly on the edge of the box just to the right of the D.
Under no pressure whatsoever I controlled it and just laced it towards the keepers right, and somehow made it through undeflected through a crowded box into the right side netting.
That was my 2nd goal that game and those were the only 2 goals I scored for the team since scoring 3 in my first 2 games playing RM. Then got moved to RB and didn't score until then about 5 years later.
Remarkably we won that game 20-0 and nobody got a hat trick. All 10 outfield players by chance happened to score 2 each. I assisted about 7 goals that day too the opposition were so poor I played RWB instead of RB and told our RM to go up front I didn't need him and generally had enough time and space to cross the ball as if I was taking a free kick.
The first goal was better again fell to me on the edge of the box unchallenged and with one bounce of the ball hit it over the crowded box and into the top corner keeper's right.
It put us 1-0 up too. The odds on me being first goalscorer would have been ridiculous. Almost like backing Chris Solly!
Remarkably we won that game 20-0 and nobody got a hat trick. All 10 outfield players by chance happened to score 2 each.
This is the first thing in this thread I flat out don't believe
Haha honestly it happened. I think everyone was just so desperate to score the opposition were so weak. In context everybody else thrashed them too, we finished just under mid table.
1998 a hat trick. The only one I ever scored in 10 years of 11a-side football. All right footed coming off the left wing. I went travelling the next day...drank lots of beer and never played Park football again. I’d be out of breath giving out the oranges now.
2006 for Horsted Athletic in the lower reaches of the Medway Sunday league. Ran onto a bouncing throughball, took a couple of touches to control before lobbing the keeper (really fat keeper who would never have been able to jump for it). Soon hung up my 11 a side boots afterwards after an ACL injury which wasnt that long after breaking my collarbone. Plus the Sunday morning hangovers were killing me
Just reading through the comments, the goals either seem to be fantastic goals or horrible scrappy things. Mine was certainly at the lower end of the scale.
I've not scored many goals in 11 a side. Considering I played for a couple of seasons as a centre forward my goal per game ratio is abysmal. What this does mean is unlike some of my mates who could get 50 a season and forget half of them I can remember in intricate detail all of mine. In fact I have slept with some women and totally forgot about it and couldn't recall names yet every goal I have scored I can talk you through
I've easily had my name in the referees notebook for being cautioned more than scoring
In the Medway Sunday league 91 or 92. Ball came in from a corner, half cleared and came to me on my left foot (which is even worse than my right) on the six yard line. Just hit it as hard as I could and flew in the goal.
First and last ever left footed goal, in fact last ever goal as didn't play a competative 11 a side after that season.
My last ever goal in 11-aside was in an Over 35’s League Match on a Friday night in Brisbane for the Holland Park Hawks - about six years ago.
The team that I was playing for were pony (though not the club itself), and as bad luck would have it, we were playing against the top of the table Greek based team ‘Brisbane Olympic’, who had some very tasty individuals indeed, that had played at a much higher level.
Aside from my goal (more on that later), I remember that game more than most as Irish Paul, our wistful central midfielder had brought along his mate ‘Spider’ (an avid local AFL player), to help out between the sticks, as our resident keeper had pulled out (again).
‘Spider’ certainly looked the part, and at around 6ft 6’’, there was certainly no danger of him being lobbed, however it was only after Olympic had raced into a 4-0 lead by the twenty minute mark, that I had begun to sense that all was not right with the world of our keeper.
It wasn’t so much that the four goals were his fault, but rather his manner of attempting to save them was a little eccentric. Almost on cue, a rather modest low shot, came in from outside the box, and Spider promptly swung his boot at it, and sliced it back into his own net.
“Spider – you do know that you can use your hands don’t you” I enquired anxiously.
“But you can’t use your hands in soccer mate – just your feet.”, he replied a touch defensively.
“You can mate – you’re the goalkeeper – that’s why you’ve got the gloves on.”
“Fuck well one of youse blokes might have mentioned it earlier!”, he responded, and gave out a mighty chuckle, that slightly unnerved me.
From 5-0 down, things began to get worse, and by around the midway point of the second half, we had reached 12-0 and total dejection had set in, when miraculously we got a corner.
As the centre back, I would nominally have gone into their box, but as damage limitation was now very much the name of the game, I stood my ground in the centre circle dreaming of my post match VB and packet of salted nuts, in the very swish Olympic bar.
The corner was predictably feeble, and was headed out in my general direction, whereupon myself and their centre forward ran to contest possession of the bouncing loose ball.
I was going to head it, but then realised that it wasn’t high enough, so instead jabbed my right knee towards the ball, which flew straight as an arrow back towards their goal, and into the top right hand corner from around fourty metres out, with their keeper dumbfounded at the miraculous nature of the goal.
“Fuck me – what a goal” their centre forward exclaimed “Did you mean that?”
‘If I had meant that” I retorted “Then I certainly wouldn’t be playing with this bunch of fuckwits!”
“I did think that” he said dryly “You’ve been pretty shithouse so far”
At that moment, I realised that after hundreds of games, and not so many goals, it was somehow appropriate to call it a day at such an felicitous moment.
Mine was at The Valley 13 years ago - played in 3 charity games in consecutive years. In the 2nd game I missed an absolute sitter. In the 3rd game I scored at covered end - a shit corner from the left dropped to me about 8 yards out, back to goal, I hooked the ball over my head and in to top corner of the goal. I never played an 11 aside game again - i was never going to beat that.
Comments
I was covering at LB due to injuries we had 8 players on the pitch and were losing 0-7, anyway picked up the ball from keeper, dribbled forward then played a big diagonal ball to RM, I then pushed up to support the attack, RM crossed for the striker, who belted a shot at the keeper he pushed it up and out and as it fell I found myself under it and smashed it first time into the postage stamp.
Game finished 1-9.
2014/15
The Italian substitute Juliano hares down the right, but Tostão takes the ball off him like candy from a baby suffering from heat exhaustion and altitude sickness despite only being in the pram for 11 minutes. Tostão dispatches the ball back to Brito, who rolls it forward to Clodoaldo. The ball’s clipped in a short-range triangle, first Pelé, then Gérson, then back to Clodoaldo – cue TV caption ’41 - who drops and raises his shoulders like a laughing policeman, tying Rivera, Domenghini, De Sisti and Juliano up in knots. He strokes the ball wide left to Rivelino who, inside his own half, curls a pinpoint pass down the line to Jairzinho. Just ahead of the box, the striker cuts inside past Italian captain Facchetti, then clips the ball across Cera to Pelé, facing goal in front of the D. Burgnich closes him down, but Tostão – who’s made it all the way upfield after starting the move and is now behind Burgnich, also facing Pelé – gives the King the eyebrows to the Brazilian right. Pelé takes the hint and rolls a perfect ball out wide; it sits up, allowing me to evade the despairing lunge of Rosato, who has fruitlessly attempted to come across and block, and skelp it into the bottom corner past Albertosi.
Returned from travelling in Feb last year and was ineligible for the Semi Final as I hadn't played enough games, but had by the time of the final which was a bit odd. Usually a CDM/RB, all of the strikers were injured and was put upfront to make up the numbers. Managed to get in behind the defenders, take it round the keeper and scuff it towards goal from a tight angle. Thankfully the defender went into Titus Bramble mode with an airkick on the line and in it went. We were well beaten 3-1 eventually though.
playing right back I surged forward on a break away - played in by a midfielder I ran onto the ball & just inside the penalty area I deftly lifted it over the 'keeper as he slid out to meet me.
I played for another 5 years without troubling the scorers........
I scored an own goal in similar fashion!
Berry got me back though, took me out at a corner about 10 minutes later, had a dead leg for a week, dirt
Penalty, sent the keeper the wrong way. No drama.
We had a corner and it was cleared to me roughly on the edge of the box just to the right of the D.
Under no pressure whatsoever I controlled it and just laced it towards the keepers right, and somehow made it through undeflected through a crowded box into the right side netting.
That was my 2nd goal that game and those were the only 2 goals I scored for the team since scoring 3 in my first 2 games playing RM. Then got moved to RB and didn't score until then about 5 years later.
Remarkably we won that game 20-0 and nobody got a hat trick. All 10 outfield players by chance happened to score 2 each. I assisted about 7 goals that day too the opposition were so poor I played RWB instead of RB and told our RM to go up front I didn't need him and generally had enough time and space to cross the ball as if I was taking a free kick.
The first goal was better again fell to me on the edge of the box unchallenged and with one bounce of the ball hit it over the crowded box and into the top corner keeper's right.
It put us 1-0 up too. The odds on me being first goalscorer would have been ridiculous. Almost like backing Chris Solly!
I went travelling the next day...drank lots of beer and never played Park football again.
I’d be out of breath giving out the oranges now.
From corner top corner of goal! Sadly injuries have forced me to stop playing
I've easily had my name in the referees notebook for being cautioned more than scoring
Ball came in from a corner, half cleared and came to me on my left foot (which is even worse than my right) on the six yard line. Just hit it as hard as I could and flew in the goal.
First and last ever left footed goal, in fact last ever goal as didn't play a competative 11 a side after that season.
The team that I was playing for were pony (though not the club itself), and as bad luck would have it, we were playing against the top of the table Greek based team ‘Brisbane Olympic’, who had some very tasty individuals indeed, that had played at a much higher level.
Aside from my goal (more on that later), I remember that game more than most as Irish Paul, our wistful central midfielder had brought along his mate ‘Spider’ (an avid local AFL player), to help out between the sticks, as our resident keeper had pulled out (again).
‘Spider’ certainly looked the part, and at around 6ft 6’’, there was certainly no danger of him being lobbed, however it was only after Olympic had raced into a 4-0 lead by the twenty minute mark, that I had begun to sense that all was not right with the world of our keeper.
It wasn’t so much that the four goals were his fault, but rather his manner of attempting to save them was a little eccentric. Almost on cue, a rather modest low shot, came in from outside the box, and Spider promptly swung his boot at it, and sliced it back into his own net.
“Spider – you do know that you can use your hands don’t you” I enquired anxiously.
“But you can’t use your hands in soccer mate – just your feet.”, he replied a touch defensively.
“You can mate – you’re the goalkeeper – that’s why you’ve got the gloves on.”
“Fuck well one of youse blokes might have mentioned it earlier!”, he responded, and gave out a mighty chuckle, that slightly unnerved me.
From 5-0 down, things began to get worse, and by around the midway point of the second half, we had reached 12-0 and total dejection had set in, when miraculously we got a corner.
As the centre back, I would nominally have gone into their box, but as damage limitation was now very much the name of the game, I stood my ground in the centre circle dreaming of my post match VB and packet of salted nuts, in the very swish Olympic bar.
The corner was predictably feeble, and was headed out in my general direction, whereupon myself and their centre forward ran to contest possession of the bouncing loose ball.
I was going to head it, but then realised that it wasn’t high enough, so instead jabbed my right knee towards the ball, which flew straight as an arrow back towards their goal, and into the top right hand corner from around fourty metres out, with their keeper dumbfounded at the miraculous nature of the goal.
“Fuck me – what a goal” their centre forward exclaimed “Did you mean that?”
‘If I had meant that” I retorted “Then I certainly wouldn’t be playing with this bunch of fuckwits!”
“I did think that” he said dryly “You’ve been pretty shithouse so far”
At that moment, I realised that after hundreds of games, and not so many goals, it was somehow appropriate to call it a day at such an felicitous moment.