I have added a link to the old archived besport website, so we can reminisce about the old days.
I am going abroad for three weeks for some much needed high-altitude training, so there won't be any updates during that time. I'd appreciate it if someone can keep a tally of appearances and goals scored in the meantime, so I can keep my stats correct. Feel free to write a match report if you want, and I can publish it to this blog when I get back.
I will however get this week's match report up before I go. Expect to see it by Saturday afternoon. I will be using the word "churlish" in the report, as I know what it means. If you don't, please look it up (gaffer, I'm looking at you).
Wednesday, 31 January 2007
Tuesday, 30 January 2007
Website Functionality
I've now added the message-board to the right, so if need to let people know of your lack of availability, or want to discuss curry houses and shopping channels, you can do it. I will eventually try to replace it with something better, as its clearly too small for said in-depth discussions, but until then... (UPDATE - sorted. Who knew HTML could be not intimidating. I've made everything wider.)
If comments are left in respect of any of the posts, it's probably easier to click on the post title, (rather than clicking the comments link at the bottom of the post) to read those comments.
p.s Someone accessed this site from India. Is that you Nobby?
If comments are left in respect of any of the posts, it's probably easier to click on the post title, (rather than clicking the comments link at the bottom of the post) to read those comments.
p.s Someone accessed this site from India. Is that you Nobby?
Saturday, 27 January 2007
New Season Preview
Not wishing to tempt fate too much, but reading between the lines from the Goals website this evening, it appears that The Molly Maguires should be destined for League 2 (i.e. the bottom one), because there are three vacancies available. The powers that be have effectively wholesale promoted the top half of that league, to make room for crap teams like us. And in a change from the past, all teams in the same division play at the same time. This coming week - 9.15pm.
UPDATE 29/1/07
31 January 2007 at 21:15 - Don't Give A FC
07 February 2007 at 19:00 - Almost England
14 February 2007 at 19:45 - (Unassigned 7) - Jason's Helmet
21 February 2007 at 20:30 - Whitehouse FC
28 February 2007 at 21:15 - Arselona
07 March 2007 at 19:00 - The Offsiders
14 March 2007 at 19:45 - Unassigned 8
21 March 2007 at 20:30 - Don't Give A FC
28 March 2007 at 21:15 - Almost England
04 April 2007 at 19:00 - (Unassigned 7) - Jason's Helmet
11 April 2007 at 19:45 - Whitehouse FC
18 April 2007 at 20:30 - Arselona
25 April 2007 at 21:15 - The Offsiders
02 May 2007 at 19:00 - Unassigned 8
UPDATE 29/1/07
31 January 2007 at 21:15 - Don't Give A FC
07 February 2007 at 19:00 - Almost England
14 February 2007 at 19:45 - (Unassigned 7) - Jason's Helmet
21 February 2007 at 20:30 - Whitehouse FC
28 February 2007 at 21:15 - Arselona
07 March 2007 at 19:00 - The Offsiders
14 March 2007 at 19:45 - Unassigned 8
21 March 2007 at 20:30 - Don't Give A FC
28 March 2007 at 21:15 - Almost England
04 April 2007 at 19:00 - (Unassigned 7) - Jason's Helmet
11 April 2007 at 19:45 - Whitehouse FC
18 April 2007 at 20:30 - Arselona
25 April 2007 at 21:15 - The Offsiders
02 May 2007 at 19:00 - Unassigned 8
Friday, 26 January 2007
Match Zero
GRADING MATCH 24/01/07 20:15
LOSE 8-4
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 6.Robbie 8.Jon 9.Gareth
“Why need a, why need a new faith, when the old is still okay? Will you still, will you still love this, as the interest in it fades away?”
Holy crap! We’re back.
I remember (..okay, re-read) the first ever match report I ever wrote on this team, in the darkest, dimmest, rimmest bum-hole of time – July of 2004. Back then there was no history, no catchphrases, no characters, no stereotyping, no nicknames, no statistics, no tactics, no superstitions, no piss taking. Just a slowly evolving embryonic entity.
The team fought through an assortment of difficulties in the fifteen months that followed - rolling subs, squad size, consecutive thrashings, comedy keeper, crap set-pieces, too seriously-taking, late kick offs, prolonged player absences. The team also grew into their strengths – loyalty, camaraderie, banter, increased fitness, passable skill, victories over shit-bag teams.
And so it’s time to rest the ghost of gone before, and realise the rebirth. Tune back to zero. Reboot the franchise. With Saddam neck hanging, and Bond back shagging, the world became safe enough for The Molly Maguires to come out of hiding to step once more onto the rubber-crumb synthetic. The greatest comeback since Take That dragged their overblown podgy bodies through arenas of rose-tinted cash.
Much was indistinguishable from past sins. A team name change was almost universally baulked at. The players had blown the dust from their musty team shirts, Robbie happy to remove his from it’s lonely frame on his wall of fame, and Matt still snug in his grey trousers and mauve socks. For some players, food and fat had not been kind in the preceding months, easily filling out those extra-large shirts, like four colliding planets drawn into each other’s gravity. Match fitness was lacking at the start of the campaign, and the potential player pool was still refusing to spunk up any fresh blood.
Changes were few but pertinent. As a court officer, Matt had pretty much bugger all to do at work, besides the odd Fast Delivery Report, so proved an instinctive nomination, seconded several times, to be the new gaffer. The fact that he even got a team together for a grading match that he managed to get organised, for a league he’d registered us for next week, suggests that he might yet have the nous for this malarkey. Plus, we could boss his stoogey ass around.
Vida, the home of football, had been razzed to the financial ground. In its place, Goals, the gleaming new soccer centre, equivalent of a web-cam striptease on YouTube vs. Blu-Ray DVD porn on HD-TV*. All bright lights, and security conscious, with an increased
number of pitches, and a website that actually works, let alone the multitude of surplus statistics pouring from it’s cold calculating metal heart. Want to know where the Mollys rank nationally? Yeah, me neither.
Crucially, match day had been changed too. With the grading match scheduled for a Wednesday, rather than a Thursday, with the league itself likely to follow suit, it was hoped the more relaxed, rarefied atmosphere of Wednesday’s smaller league would induce a better turnout.
Fat chance. It was the usual slow tease of players confirming their availability, with Jon already starting the pre-season with two warmly cultivated excuses ready to hand – preferring the picturehouse with his lovely lady, or a flat-out refusal to play in a sub-less team. Pete and Aneel remained on the fringes of decisiveness, and Dean was work occupied, so it was very much an over-familiar spine to the team, with the added scare of the Jon-Gareth attacking hydra rearing its demented head for the first time in eons.
Our opponents, who remain anonymous, saw fit to be half as young as (most of) us, inviting concerns of becoming a Schedule One offender should a loose tackle against them go slightly awry. It was of no surprise to anyone that we failed to keep pace with them throughout much of the match.
With the Mollys’ attacking options relying on Leo’s goal hanging, Jon’s slow, but sure, knee rehab, and Gareth’s fitness and dribble skills, whilst, defensively, Steve and Robbie protected a greasy-palmed Matt, it was going to be a serious test to get the ball from one end of the pitch to the other, without getting turned over more times than a Sunderland players’ roast.
The referee declared that he was going to make us suffer a full on 40 minutes without a half-time break, so all hopes of hearing a stirring rebel yell team talk from the master of ceremonies, Jon, evaporated, alongside our chances of winning, into the frosty air.
Our opposition attacked with clarity and purpose, skilful and deliberate on the ball, drawing their markers in, then pushing the ball beyond us, leaving us weak and powerless to give chase. On the shores of Matt-a-land, they crashed a human wave - the new gaffer failing to deal with the wet balls being t-bagged into his face. Three quick goals were conceded by the Mollys before they hit any kind of stride.
Leo scooped a close range effort into the net, having caught the luck of a through ball, but his shots generally lacked any generated power, having his back to goal, and not running onto passes. Gareth, still looking completely out of place, amongst his veteran heroes, at least was looking like competing with the pace of our opponents. Two absolute blinders from the G-kid, saw him pick his way through the opposition’s outfield, before slam dunking his shots goalward.
At the back, the defence were trying to stamp out the rugrats, but whilst perpetrating tackles wasn’t too difficult against the opposition’s flimsy armoury, a lack of an extra yard of pace, meant energy expended just getting into position, let alone following through with the crunch.
The opposition played with a flat kite formation, that just begged to blown into a tree with a countering man-marking system, but this sure wasn’t the match for any of that nonsense to take place. The Mollys barely managed to retain possession beyond their half, with feeble goal bound efforts easily dealt with, and the enemy comfortable bringing the ball from last defender through the channels. Once Matt trusts that the long throw out is never gonna work, and that a short pass out at least gives us a touch, and a small chance to retain possession, the better. Really the Molly formation was all wrong, and played to the opposition’s strengths. Had the team played a more goal-side waiting game, with quick counter-attacks, when chances arose, we could have made significant tests of their pretty average keeper.
Still Jon managed to get through his first competitive match unscathed, and Gareth finished his hat-trick with the help of the keeper’s fumble off the back wall. And who the hell wanted to win anyway. The last thing this patently unfit, take the lift to the first floor, cream-cake guzzling team needs right now, is getting dicked for the next fourteen games. The match finished in a 4-8 defeat, which bearing in mind all that had gone before, was actually half-respectable. The team were as skilful as they’d always been (i.e. not much), but fitness was always going to tell, just ask any £30m striker.
That’s all I got for you. As I said at the beginning, no history. Yet.
Goal Scorers: Leo 1, Gareth 3
Match Ratings: Matt 6, Steve 6, Leo 5, Robbie 6, Jon 6, Gareth 7
Man of the Match: Gareth
*I know that none of that makes any real technical sense, but I haven’t had to come up with shitty metaphors for months.
LOSE 8-4
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 6.Robbie 8.Jon 9.Gareth
“Why need a, why need a new faith, when the old is still okay? Will you still, will you still love this, as the interest in it fades away?”
Holy crap! We’re back.
I remember (..okay, re-read) the first ever match report I ever wrote on this team, in the darkest, dimmest, rimmest bum-hole of time – July of 2004. Back then there was no history, no catchphrases, no characters, no stereotyping, no nicknames, no statistics, no tactics, no superstitions, no piss taking. Just a slowly evolving embryonic entity.
The team fought through an assortment of difficulties in the fifteen months that followed - rolling subs, squad size, consecutive thrashings, comedy keeper, crap set-pieces, too seriously-taking, late kick offs, prolonged player absences. The team also grew into their strengths – loyalty, camaraderie, banter, increased fitness, passable skill, victories over shit-bag teams.
And so it’s time to rest the ghost of gone before, and realise the rebirth. Tune back to zero. Reboot the franchise. With Saddam neck hanging, and Bond back shagging, the world became safe enough for The Molly Maguires to come out of hiding to step once more onto the rubber-crumb synthetic. The greatest comeback since Take That dragged their overblown podgy bodies through arenas of rose-tinted cash.
Much was indistinguishable from past sins. A team name change was almost universally baulked at. The players had blown the dust from their musty team shirts, Robbie happy to remove his from it’s lonely frame on his wall of fame, and Matt still snug in his grey trousers and mauve socks. For some players, food and fat had not been kind in the preceding months, easily filling out those extra-large shirts, like four colliding planets drawn into each other’s gravity. Match fitness was lacking at the start of the campaign, and the potential player pool was still refusing to spunk up any fresh blood.
Changes were few but pertinent. As a court officer, Matt had pretty much bugger all to do at work, besides the odd Fast Delivery Report, so proved an instinctive nomination, seconded several times, to be the new gaffer. The fact that he even got a team together for a grading match that he managed to get organised, for a league he’d registered us for next week, suggests that he might yet have the nous for this malarkey. Plus, we could boss his stoogey ass around.
Vida, the home of football, had been razzed to the financial ground. In its place, Goals, the gleaming new soccer centre, equivalent of a web-cam striptease on YouTube vs. Blu-Ray DVD porn on HD-TV*. All bright lights, and security conscious, with an increased
number of pitches, and a website that actually works, let alone the multitude of surplus statistics pouring from it’s cold calculating metal heart. Want to know where the Mollys rank nationally? Yeah, me neither.Crucially, match day had been changed too. With the grading match scheduled for a Wednesday, rather than a Thursday, with the league itself likely to follow suit, it was hoped the more relaxed, rarefied atmosphere of Wednesday’s smaller league would induce a better turnout.
Fat chance. It was the usual slow tease of players confirming their availability, with Jon already starting the pre-season with two warmly cultivated excuses ready to hand – preferring the picturehouse with his lovely lady, or a flat-out refusal to play in a sub-less team. Pete and Aneel remained on the fringes of decisiveness, and Dean was work occupied, so it was very much an over-familiar spine to the team, with the added scare of the Jon-Gareth attacking hydra rearing its demented head for the first time in eons.
Our opponents, who remain anonymous, saw fit to be half as young as (most of) us, inviting concerns of becoming a Schedule One offender should a loose tackle against them go slightly awry. It was of no surprise to anyone that we failed to keep pace with them throughout much of the match.
With the Mollys’ attacking options relying on Leo’s goal hanging, Jon’s slow, but sure, knee rehab, and Gareth’s fitness and dribble skills, whilst, defensively, Steve and Robbie protected a greasy-palmed Matt, it was going to be a serious test to get the ball from one end of the pitch to the other, without getting turned over more times than a Sunderland players’ roast.
The referee declared that he was going to make us suffer a full on 40 minutes without a half-time break, so all hopes of hearing a stirring rebel yell team talk from the master of ceremonies, Jon, evaporated, alongside our chances of winning, into the frosty air.
Our opposition attacked with clarity and purpose, skilful and deliberate on the ball, drawing their markers in, then pushing the ball beyond us, leaving us weak and powerless to give chase. On the shores of Matt-a-land, they crashed a human wave - the new gaffer failing to deal with the wet balls being t-bagged into his face. Three quick goals were conceded by the Mollys before they hit any kind of stride.
Leo scooped a close range effort into the net, having caught the luck of a through ball, but his shots generally lacked any generated power, having his back to goal, and not running onto passes. Gareth, still looking completely out of place, amongst his veteran heroes, at least was looking like competing with the pace of our opponents. Two absolute blinders from the G-kid, saw him pick his way through the opposition’s outfield, before slam dunking his shots goalward.
At the back, the defence were trying to stamp out the rugrats, but whilst perpetrating tackles wasn’t too difficult against the opposition’s flimsy armoury, a lack of an extra yard of pace, meant energy expended just getting into position, let alone following through with the crunch.
The opposition played with a flat kite formation, that just begged to blown into a tree with a countering man-marking system, but this sure wasn’t the match for any of that nonsense to take place. The Mollys barely managed to retain possession beyond their half, with feeble goal bound efforts easily dealt with, and the enemy comfortable bringing the ball from last defender through the channels. Once Matt trusts that the long throw out is never gonna work, and that a short pass out at least gives us a touch, and a small chance to retain possession, the better. Really the Molly formation was all wrong, and played to the opposition’s strengths. Had the team played a more goal-side waiting game, with quick counter-attacks, when chances arose, we could have made significant tests of their pretty average keeper.
Still Jon managed to get through his first competitive match unscathed, and Gareth finished his hat-trick with the help of the keeper’s fumble off the back wall. And who the hell wanted to win anyway. The last thing this patently unfit, take the lift to the first floor, cream-cake guzzling team needs right now, is getting dicked for the next fourteen games. The match finished in a 4-8 defeat, which bearing in mind all that had gone before, was actually half-respectable. The team were as skilful as they’d always been (i.e. not much), but fitness was always going to tell, just ask any £30m striker.
That’s all I got for you. As I said at the beginning, no history. Yet.
Goal Scorers: Leo 1, Gareth 3
Match Ratings: Matt 6, Steve 6, Leo 5, Robbie 6, Jon 6, Gareth 7
Man of the Match: Gareth
*I know that none of that makes any real technical sense, but I haven’t had to come up with shitty metaphors for months.
Wednesday, 24 January 2007
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Tuesday, 23 January 2007
Squad Numbers
- Matt S (c)
- Pete M
- Don J
- Steve B
- Leo H
- Robbie T
- Dean H
- Jon G
- Gareth J
- Aneel S
UPDATE 31/1/07 - 11. Adam L, 12. Martin R
Remembering the last time...
15/9/05 19:30 Match Fourteen vs Roystone Rangers
LOSE 11-14
1.Matt 3.Don 5.Leo 6.Robbie 9.Gareth
“Come and I’ll take you under, this beautiful bruise’s colours. Everything fades in time, it’s true”.
It was somewhat fitting that our final game in division four should be against our fellow alumni, Roystone Rangers, the only other team to have been ever present in the mediocrity of the middle third. Fitting too, that we clashed in a bottom of the bin, bargain basement six-pointer, with the Rangers three points behind the Mollys before the start of the match. But like an open invitation to a leaving party, the number of friends conspicuous by their absence was telling. Still, long time injured Jon, wearing his perfunctory denim jacket/jeans combo, and Delia, Don’s better half, honoured us with their presence, as a five man Molly team took a final swig at the last chance saloon.
While Robbie and Gareth were no speed daters to a full-on fifty minutes of hot-blooded outfield action, for Don and Leo, this would prove a useful test of skill and stamina, respectively. With Don holding rock in defence alongside Robbie, Leo finally embraced his destiny as goal-stalking striker (and therefore his ascendancy to most versatile Molly player) alongside a fully super-charged Gareth. Matt was hoping to end the season with a brief sojourn into the outfield, a feeling in his water that he could get on the scoring sheet, given a chance to pull the trigger foot.
As has always been the case against the Rangers, whichever team has the better start, will go on to dictate the play. But while the Mollys were getting acclimatised to a completely bonkers 1 in 166,320 line-up, Roystone started hardest and fastest, hitting the ball with pace, shooting goalwards at the merest sight of Garfield’s whiskers, and playing some clever possession football, retreating back to their sweeper when needed.
Of course, this didn’t stop the Mollys exploiting the Rangers’ obvious weakness – their skill on the ball - raining down challenges and slamming in tackles, as every ball was up for a 50-50 grabbing. Don was enjoying his responsibility in the heart of the defence, using his brute strength and tactical deviousness, to keep the Ranger forwards occupied, showered in the confidence afforded to him by Robbie, playing with him at the back. Completely exonerated from defensive duties on the edge of the D, Leo hovered in the opposition’s half, looking to put pressure on the last Roystone man, and chase down the back passes.
Robbie kickstarted the Molly scoring, dragging a loose ball central, and unleashing a verocious slam into the bottom left. Leo caned a back board rebound straight past the keeper’s throat with his left foot, and followed that up with an equally close range shunt through the keeper’s flapping arms, having got over the hump of still being on the pitch without respite. Gareth continued to attempt the spectacular goals, riding the waves of unclean tackling, and thundering in shots, long and short, with calculated precision.
While the hammer and tongs Molly outfield were weaving a blanket of magick, our keeper was seemingly pulling away at the threads. You’d need the fingers of two hands to count the number of questionable goals conceded by Matt, providing they too didn’t slip from your grasp. Enough spillage to flood a supermarket aisle, Matt seemed permanently surprised that people were shooting the ball at him.
Don took command of the set plays, the free-kicks and the kick-offs, playing useful short balls, or walloping it toward their keeper (unceremoniously declared by Robbie, within full earshot, as “shit”) for the hopeful rebounds, that Leo would try to get on the end of. The Mollys, played with a demented confidence, stroking the ball around with pace, trying to beat their markers, playing one touch passes, and generally matching Roystone’s physical presence.
The end of the first half saw the Mollys come in four or five goals down, the deficit partly attributable to the human sieve in goal. With Gareth offering sage tactical words to sit back and counter (a favourite of his), Jon declaring that the Rangers would tire quicker, and Leo happy not to be tasting his own blood, the Mollys set about righting the wrong.
The second half saw the Rangers change their injured hand keeper. The Mollys didn’t think to do something similar.
Robbie and Don continued to keep the Rangers at bay, closing down shooting angles, and blocking shots, with Robbie taking every opportunity to plummet down the right wing, as gaps started to appear in the opposition’s half, as the Rangers started to overcommit their players in attack, frequently having the ball turned over. Leo was providing a useful distraction to the Roystone sweeper, allowing his strike partner Gareth to zip his way down the wings, ignoring the passing option to Leo, and instead crashing shots in on the rookie keeper. Superbly acting as decoy, Leo watched as Gareth ragged in another superb smash from the left, and also rounded the keeper, tricked into going down, for a simple passing shot.
All over the pitch, mini-battles of physicality and verbals, were still raging. Don versus the tall guy. Don versus the skinhead. Don versus the Eminem wannabe. The referee was performing his usual pantomime - “I’ve warned you once, fella”, “This is your second warning, playa”, “I won’t warn you again, gangsta”. The entire Roystone team seemed one niggly, deliberate foul away from a sin binning, but it was all tease and no touching. Even Don, all wide-eyed innocence, was warned for a second time, as he thumped another Ranger to the ground, for the umpteenth time, in that patently disguised clumsiness of his. The “old fella” was putting in a fine ‘at all costs’ display of defending that met with lynchpin Leo’s approval.
Robbie scored his second of the match with a scintillating passing move from Gareth on the left, through to Leo, his back to goal, in the middle, turning superbly, and laying a pinprick thorough ball into Robbie’s run on the right, who then devoured his chance like cake.
Leo continued to seize his own chances, reacting quickest to the rebounds or loose balls. And while he may have fed a loose keeper’s throw out straight back into his arms, or lofted a left-sided goal-glaring sitter high and dry, or capitalised on a “play on” shout from the ref, when all had stood still, only to ping it wide, it wasn’t for the lack of trying. In fact it was the more difficult to control balls that Leo showed proficient expertise in – whipping a wall rebound into goal with his left foot (again) in a sumptuous slide, and pouncing on a bad ball across the D to slam home. This was goal-hanging scoring to the maximum extreme, and Leo’s “chalk it up” goal celebration got its fifth airing before the match was up.
The Mollys were easily outscoring their opponents, but like an advancing NFL offensive, the Mollys were running out of downs. They narrowed the score gap, but while still shipping a consistent goal every few minutes, the Mollys weren’t able to catch up. Matt had seemingly got the upper hand on his own irregularities, making some useful diving saves, but his inability to see through his defenders, left him prone to the long range belters. There was still the sneaking suspicion that the odds of a shot missing its target would increase if Matt didn’t get a touch on the ball, as another fumble squirmed under his body, over the line.
As Matt’s desire to come out and play, got lost amongst the fight and flail, the final whistle finally brought a final end to the final game of The Molly Maguires’ final season. A gutsy, competitive effort that perhaps showed vague signs of recovery, in passion, in quality, in spirit, that suggest a future resurrection might not be futile.
Final Score: 11-14
Goal Scorers: Robbie 2, Leo 5, Gareth 4 Man of the Match: Don
LOSE 11-14
1.Matt 3.Don 5.Leo 6.Robbie 9.Gareth
“Come and I’ll take you under, this beautiful bruise’s colours. Everything fades in time, it’s true”.
It was somewhat fitting that our final game in division four should be against our fellow alumni, Roystone Rangers, the only other team to have been ever present in the mediocrity of the middle third. Fitting too, that we clashed in a bottom of the bin, bargain basement six-pointer, with the Rangers three points behind the Mollys before the start of the match. But like an open invitation to a leaving party, the number of friends conspicuous by their absence was telling. Still, long time injured Jon, wearing his perfunctory denim jacket/jeans combo, and Delia, Don’s better half, honoured us with their presence, as a five man Molly team took a final swig at the last chance saloon.
While Robbie and Gareth were no speed daters to a full-on fifty minutes of hot-blooded outfield action, for Don and Leo, this would prove a useful test of skill and stamina, respectively. With Don holding rock in defence alongside Robbie, Leo finally embraced his destiny as goal-stalking striker (and therefore his ascendancy to most versatile Molly player) alongside a fully super-charged Gareth. Matt was hoping to end the season with a brief sojourn into the outfield, a feeling in his water that he could get on the scoring sheet, given a chance to pull the trigger foot.
As has always been the case against the Rangers, whichever team has the better start, will go on to dictate the play. But while the Mollys were getting acclimatised to a completely bonkers 1 in 166,320 line-up, Roystone started hardest and fastest, hitting the ball with pace, shooting goalwards at the merest sight of Garfield’s whiskers, and playing some clever possession football, retreating back to their sweeper when needed.
Of course, this didn’t stop the Mollys exploiting the Rangers’ obvious weakness – their skill on the ball - raining down challenges and slamming in tackles, as every ball was up for a 50-50 grabbing. Don was enjoying his responsibility in the heart of the defence, using his brute strength and tactical deviousness, to keep the Ranger forwards occupied, showered in the confidence afforded to him by Robbie, playing with him at the back. Completely exonerated from defensive duties on the edge of the D, Leo hovered in the opposition’s half, looking to put pressure on the last Roystone man, and chase down the back passes.
Robbie kickstarted the Molly scoring, dragging a loose ball central, and unleashing a verocious slam into the bottom left. Leo caned a back board rebound straight past the keeper’s throat with his left foot, and followed that up with an equally close range shunt through the keeper’s flapping arms, having got over the hump of still being on the pitch without respite. Gareth continued to attempt the spectacular goals, riding the waves of unclean tackling, and thundering in shots, long and short, with calculated precision.
While the hammer and tongs Molly outfield were weaving a blanket of magick, our keeper was seemingly pulling away at the threads. You’d need the fingers of two hands to count the number of questionable goals conceded by Matt, providing they too didn’t slip from your grasp. Enough spillage to flood a supermarket aisle, Matt seemed permanently surprised that people were shooting the ball at him.
Don took command of the set plays, the free-kicks and the kick-offs, playing useful short balls, or walloping it toward their keeper (unceremoniously declared by Robbie, within full earshot, as “shit”) for the hopeful rebounds, that Leo would try to get on the end of. The Mollys, played with a demented confidence, stroking the ball around with pace, trying to beat their markers, playing one touch passes, and generally matching Roystone’s physical presence.
The end of the first half saw the Mollys come in four or five goals down, the deficit partly attributable to the human sieve in goal. With Gareth offering sage tactical words to sit back and counter (a favourite of his), Jon declaring that the Rangers would tire quicker, and Leo happy not to be tasting his own blood, the Mollys set about righting the wrong.
The second half saw the Rangers change their injured hand keeper. The Mollys didn’t think to do something similar.
Robbie and Don continued to keep the Rangers at bay, closing down shooting angles, and blocking shots, with Robbie taking every opportunity to plummet down the right wing, as gaps started to appear in the opposition’s half, as the Rangers started to overcommit their players in attack, frequently having the ball turned over. Leo was providing a useful distraction to the Roystone sweeper, allowing his strike partner Gareth to zip his way down the wings, ignoring the passing option to Leo, and instead crashing shots in on the rookie keeper. Superbly acting as decoy, Leo watched as Gareth ragged in another superb smash from the left, and also rounded the keeper, tricked into going down, for a simple passing shot.
All over the pitch, mini-battles of physicality and verbals, were still raging. Don versus the tall guy. Don versus the skinhead. Don versus the Eminem wannabe. The referee was performing his usual pantomime - “I’ve warned you once, fella”, “This is your second warning, playa”, “I won’t warn you again, gangsta”. The entire Roystone team seemed one niggly, deliberate foul away from a sin binning, but it was all tease and no touching. Even Don, all wide-eyed innocence, was warned for a second time, as he thumped another Ranger to the ground, for the umpteenth time, in that patently disguised clumsiness of his. The “old fella” was putting in a fine ‘at all costs’ display of defending that met with lynchpin Leo’s approval.
Robbie scored his second of the match with a scintillating passing move from Gareth on the left, through to Leo, his back to goal, in the middle, turning superbly, and laying a pinprick thorough ball into Robbie’s run on the right, who then devoured his chance like cake.
Leo continued to seize his own chances, reacting quickest to the rebounds or loose balls. And while he may have fed a loose keeper’s throw out straight back into his arms, or lofted a left-sided goal-glaring sitter high and dry, or capitalised on a “play on” shout from the ref, when all had stood still, only to ping it wide, it wasn’t for the lack of trying. In fact it was the more difficult to control balls that Leo showed proficient expertise in – whipping a wall rebound into goal with his left foot (again) in a sumptuous slide, and pouncing on a bad ball across the D to slam home. This was goal-hanging scoring to the maximum extreme, and Leo’s “chalk it up” goal celebration got its fifth airing before the match was up.
The Mollys were easily outscoring their opponents, but like an advancing NFL offensive, the Mollys were running out of downs. They narrowed the score gap, but while still shipping a consistent goal every few minutes, the Mollys weren’t able to catch up. Matt had seemingly got the upper hand on his own irregularities, making some useful diving saves, but his inability to see through his defenders, left him prone to the long range belters. There was still the sneaking suspicion that the odds of a shot missing its target would increase if Matt didn’t get a touch on the ball, as another fumble squirmed under his body, over the line.
As Matt’s desire to come out and play, got lost amongst the fight and flail, the final whistle finally brought a final end to the final game of The Molly Maguires’ final season. A gutsy, competitive effort that perhaps showed vague signs of recovery, in passion, in quality, in spirit, that suggest a future resurrection might not be futile.
Final Score: 11-14
Goal Scorers: Robbie 2, Leo 5, Gareth 4 Man of the Match: Don
Monday, 22 January 2007
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