Match Five

MATCH FIVE vs. Arselona 28/2/07 21:15
Win 16-5
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 7.Dean 8.Jon 9.Gareth 14.Nathan

“Give them nothing. But take from them. Everything.”

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been blown by Virgin. “They’ve taken their ball home”, they proclaimed of Sky, as I tried to tune into Sky Sports News to see if this jaw-dropping victory had surreally made the vidi-printer. Unfortunately I got greeted with this petulant nonsense, whilst the loss of Lost, 24 and The Simpsons from my digital box sunk into my geekcore.

Still it frees up time to work on my blog, to wave my wii stick around, and to watch dvds recently ‘imported’ from the far east. In Malaysia, and no doubt the rest of Asia, they love their football, love following the EPL, love supporting shit teams, who win fuck all, like Arsenal and Man U, and love wearing crappy fake replica shirts. They don’t do five-a-side at night in pissing rain.

It would be pretty churlish of me not to acknowledge the stunning progress the team has made in the last few weeks in my much maligned absence, not only with a squad system functioning like gears of war, but with two-backed beast victories to drag the Mollys into fifth place, partly sparked by newbie Nathan’s knack of netting, and Aneel’s inspirational turnout for the team, rarer than The Second Coming.

Boy, it’s been a long time since we played a team with a pithy, punny name, but “Arselona” cracked me up. A team that had failed to get more than seven points last season, had made a nominal start to this one, with an attack that scored few, compensated by a defence that conceded fewer. The bookies would’ve cleaned up on correct score predictions, as the Mollys fried them up crispy burnt, before snorting up the ashes.

With no romantic curry dinners getting in the way of team selection, a near full strength squad was available for the choosing, with just a late switch between Robbie and Dean hardly making a dent. Confident of scoring goals, it was merely a surprise at how quickly, how easily, and how cheaply the Mollys did so, as the red machine of Arselona bent over, and asked for more.

The Mollys exploded from the blocks, swifter than my holiday diarrhoea from drinking poisoned powdered Nescafe 3 in 1, as the first goal got caned in, from the first attack, within the first thirty seconds. If Arselona weren’t initially expecting a spanking, they were now rudely slapped awake.

There had been some concerns before the match start: of the wet conditions playing havoc with Matt’s handling; of the lynchpin’s lung lasting more than two minutes, after four weeks rehab; of a referee, previously poor in performance, blind as Magoo; and the half-time oranges being left in the car. Throw in (or not) our ball lost to Steve’s Alzheimer’s, and a reluctance by Dean to be out so late, and few expected the utter devastation that followed.

It was all Molly for the first few minutes. Our defence stood around and looked pretty, as Gareth and Nathan slipstreamed through the opposition with a halcyon quality - the opposition’s keeper unable to contain his incense at his outfield’s inability to stick on a tackle or block a shot. For a team in third place, the reds played with an ineptitude that despite the smell had to be lapped up.

Even when Jon hobbled off the pitch early with a hamstring pull, with a £2 a minute arcade machine style value for money, joining Robbie in the crowd attendance figures to compare sicknotes, the team had already taken a decent lead, with Leo getting in on the shake and bake, as space within the battlefield got more exposed than Britney’s baldness.

The opposition was shoddy throughout the positions. They had little ball retention, ran dead into channels, had no-one who could overly beat their marker, the shooting power of a cracked needle, and the tackle of a gnat.

Of course, it wouldn’t be a Molly match without the Cat throwing his charitable weight around. Shots that seemingly got quietly whispered at him, must’ve thrown his animal-like senses into a thuddery panic, as he swiped at air over the ball on a couple of occasions to give the opposition scoring hope. Well, as much hope, as I have of overcoming this writer’s block.

It’s at this point that my mind goes blank for a while, as the creative juice stops flowing, and I’m left floundering with the bare facts. So to summarise - The Mollys ended the first half 9-4 up, with little danger of collapse – the potent strike force ably supported by the cut and paste midfield of Steve and Dean, were easily dealing with any forward thrust from the opposition. With the defence being marshalled by Leo orbiting the D’s gravity, all half time talk was of how surprised we were at how well we were doing, and the drawing of shadowy comparisons between the Arse and ourselves on a fricking bad day.

The ref couldn’t be bothered with a change of ends, so the Mollys continued with the advantage of having the “door end” – less far to walk for subs, and always facing the action. The second half pretty much resembled the first, except it was Arselona that started it better, an initial lax first few minutes from the Mollys saw the opposition pull back two goals without response.

While the ref continued to patronise the opposition with his piss-taking, his inability to see to either end of the pitch saw dubious goals allowed for both teams – Nathan toe-ending a probable in the area shot goalwards, and the oppo scoring similar so blatantly, it bordered on absolute cheating. Of course when Steve, slowly pottered around the D, touching the ball within it, with all the disguise of Michael Jackson on a day out, the ref saw it and called it.

Indicative of the opposition’s general shitness, was the subsequent penalty, as the Jesus lookalike blasted the ball against the bar and away. The match finished, initially according to the referee, as 14-6, although official stats have it recorded as 16-5. Either way the two frontmen scored so many fricking goals that they lost count. Well boo-hoo. I scored three, and can re-enact them all, with god-like detail.

The result took us into third place, thumping past the rest of the league with most goals scored, and whilst the Gaffer might convince you the three wins on the trot are the best the team have ever produced, and therefore by default makes him the best gaffer ever, such a run has been achieved before, in 2004, season 1.

Goals Scorers: Gareth 6, Nathan 6, Leo 3
Match Ratings: Matt 8, Steve 8, Leo 8, Dean 8, Jon n/a, Gareth 8, Nathan 8
Man of the Match: The Team

Leo's Knee Injuries - The Left pt.2 - 28/2/07

Score Prediction (Match Five)

A match against last season's bottom club, who managed just two wins and a draw last season, would bode well for The Molly Maguires, given our sudden surge in form. However, an improved defensive record for Arselona this season - with a general meanness in front and behind goal suggests this match will be incredibly tight, as the Molly's irresistable force takes on the immovable object d'Arse. The scoreline and result will depend almost entirely on how the Mollys approach the match, attacking with abandon, or defending from the front. Do we hope to score more goals than we concede in a hellish basketball-style back n'forth, praying it's not an improved keeper that barely concedes 5 goals a game? Or do we plug our own defensive leaks, and try counter-sneaking a goal here and there? We shall see. Lungboy predicts a victory 7-5 to The Molly Maguires.

UPDATE - Clearly I know shit.

Match Four

MATCH FOUR vs. Whitehouse FC 21/2/07 20:30
Win 13-11
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 6.Robbie 8.Jon 9.Gareth 11.Adam 13.Dean (mk.II) 14.Nathan

Goalscorers - Gareth 6, Nathan 5, Adam 1, Own Goal 1

"21/2 Stats; 1230 4 players confirmed, 1700 9 players confirmed, 2030 kick off 8 turned up" Sttatto

"A stunning victory from a well motivated tigrish squad of 8 against a rumbumctious pub team of fatties and bruisers. Quality soccer from all" Club Reporter

MOTM - Nathan
"5 goals and also travelled from Newbury under the understanding that he was making up the 5, only to discover we had a full squad of 8" Sttatto

Match Three

MATCH THREE vs. Jason's Helmets 14/2/07 19:45
Win 10-7
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 6.Robbie 7.Dean 9.Gareth 10.Aneel

"A sweet sweet victory, rounded off with Gareth's back heel goal in the last minute. Team - Matt, Robbie, Steve, Aneel, Gareth, Me. Count em - 1 sub! we are heroes." Homer Sexual

MOTM - Gareth (according to Don)

Match Two

MATCH TWO vs. Almost England 7/2/07 19:00
Lose 7-12
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 6.Robbie 7.Dean 8.Jon 9.Gareth 12.Martin

Goalscorers - Gareth 5, Jon 1, Steve 1

Match One

MATCH ONE vs. Don’t Give A FC 31/01/07 21:15
LOSE 4-8
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 8.Jon 9.Gareth 11.Adam 12.Martin

“There’s been an accident! Calm down. There’s been an accident! Breathe. In and Out. Calm down. In and out. Calm down. In and out. Calm down.”

I know I said I’d forget the past, not delve into the dusty annuls of history, and instead look forward to the bright and breezy second coming of the dark phoenix rising, that is the Molly Maguires. The truth is that, so much of the past popped its decaying, festering head up, through the cabin hut trapdoor, that you couldn’t escape it. For the first time, since Ben defined ‘waking coma’, and Ian became an Oxford English expletive, there were actually some new players, who not only volunteered to play, but then actually delivered on their threat. Comparisons with previous incumbents of the ‘new boy’ tag were inevitable.

The week began with the over familiar song and dance routine that is team selection. IMF, Ocean’s Double Figures, Blake’s 7. All groups of handpicked, specialist experts brought together for a common goal. Sharratt’s Seven by contrast, would barely outdo a third of Charlie’s Angels (the ugly one), such were the twists and turns of team tuning, that even this report could not do justice to it.

With people dropping out, like Matt’s butt crack from his trackies, the gaffer, stressed and blind, would barely be capable of a heist on a brewery, even if they dropped the keys in his lap, and built the bloody building around him. Thankfully, the final paper selection matched the reality and a seven strong squad would at least start the match.

We’d been burnt before. Mr X and Ben had previously upset the delicate eco-balance of nature’s greatest footballing petri dish. But the addition of Martin “Sheriff” Roscoe, and ‘hunky’ Adam, actually strengthened the squad, adding depth to the lacking midfield and attacking options. With the Sheriff capable of shooting with both feet, powerfully, and on target, and Adam, with shoulders built for water carrying, they filled the potholes left by the much missed Dave, and many missing Nobby.

It would be pretty churlish for me to take the piss outta the new boys straight away, so Adam, as a fellow Breach Officer, gets a stay of execution for this week. The Sheriff, however, was as deceptive a player that ever graced the squad. Ill-prepared with incorrect playing fee, no shinpads, and no blue top, it was almost as if the scarecrow had wandered off the yellow road, whilst looking for wizard country, and pitched up pitch side. On the field however, it was hazard county, as he drew on energy reserves presumably stored in his front hump, to raid and burn the opposition’s defence, as the attacking apex. Ably supported by Deputy Dawg, wearing a tea cosy on his head, and dreaming of Nora Batty’s tights, the outfield fizzled with old man musk mixed with young man virility.

Matt reluctantly, but bravely, gave up his shin pads to allow the Sheriff’s participation. Clearly concerned that he wouldn’t be able to squeeze back into his girdle before the start of the match, the gaffer was going to have to show his ability to dive and ground drop was all him, and not his pads.

With a line-up completed by d’money attack-midfield-defence pyramid scheme of Gareth, Jon, and Leo, there were exceptionally high hopes of cashing in against the white team who managed just three wins in the season previous.

The match started tentatively, as the teams felt each other up, looking for an opening. Nothing much happened for the first few minutes, a weak concede cancelled out almost immediately by a bullet from the badge. Things were nicely balanced, with DGAFC very much there for the taking, until the icy grip of the ghost of Lungboy’s past, finally caught up with him, metaphysically crushing his chest from within. With the team’s anchor Leo incapacitated so soon into the match, and failing to make any recovery from his inability to breathe properly, the defence was quite frankly shot to shit.

Amazingly, the team’s balls didn’t drop as Leo got stick-pulled from Molly’s Ker Plunk, and instead were suitably galvanised to trade blows like for like, an old washed up has-been punching out a franchise. DGAFC went two goals ahead, before the Mollys retaliated with a balboa of their own, Gareth and Martin providing the continuing goal threat. Both ends of the pitch saw shot-blocking of the highest order, with Matt taking a pretty awesome ‘double or nothing’ body shot stopper to keep the team a contender.

The team were working hard, and a real concerted effort not to be substituted, and to break the back of their unfitness was initially looking promising. The referee was blowing his whistle like a ‘paid by results’ street walker; officiating the match with all the restraint of a pair of pink fluffy handcuffs, so there were ample opportunities to catch a breather.

Half-time saw the team down by 5-3. The bulk of the opposition’s goals were from degrees acute on the edge of the D, just not sufficiently cut down by the Mollys’ uncute. This was a very salvageable position, as the gaffer motivated with words, bursting into some beautiful half-time team talk rhetoric that he’d clearly been practising all week long.

Unfortunately, another injury nightmare was set to haunt the team, as Jon’s uncompromising hard running style, left him knee-clutching after a heavy challenge, spookily almost exactly in the same spot (near the pitch door) as he had fallen on that fateful night on 26th May 2005. If you add 26 to 5 (the fifth month) you get 31. The exact date of this match. Ooooooooooh. The portents are true. The Horsemen are coming, and gawd knows, some of this team could use some Famine.

Whilst Jon bravely charged in and out of the match, as a running wounded, tweaking his knee back into place on the sidelines before subbing back on, to fuck it back up again, the rest of the team were having to remain strong. Steve was frequently in some sort of sweeper system that owed more to mockney jigging, than anything approaching defensive technique. Adam continued to swipe and swish in all areas of the pitch, filling up space, and Gareth was busting his way down the wings to provide the extra dimension to Martin’s central hold.

I pause for a moment, ‘cause The Lost Room has come on, on Sky Two. Yes, I know when the Inquisitor gets here, I’m getting zapped. Be back in an hour and a bit.

Right then, where was I? Oh yes. Alas good intentions ain’t gonna score you goals, and as the match wore on, the Mollys did their best to cope with the inevitable fitness depletion, due to the one sub situation. The team started to falter, and discrepancies in the back line were sufficiently significant for the whites to further drive ahead, despite Matt continuing to display a solid grasp of goalkeeping mathematics. With us only able to further draw blood once more, the opposition’s more clinical finishing, and our more disjointed structure, doomed us to our first defeat of the season, and left us langrishing (see what I did there?) at the bottom of the table despite the new recruits.

A lack of anything written meaningful about the football itself, will suggest to you that I either had my eyes shut in sheer agony, or actually the performance wasn’t exactly earth-shaking and eventful. As it turned out, I effectively spent £6 to watch The Molly Maguires play. So as a paying customer, my view holds valid. No wonder Don banned himself from the touchline. It was a shame that injuries, coinciding with the 'getting to know you' blooding in of new players, blighted our first competitive league match, but couple the graft shown tonight with a pristine fitness upgrade, and a sharpened attacking edge, and the multi-purpose sonic screwdriver of soccer, may yet teleport the team into the future.


Goal Scorers: Martin 2, Gareth 2
Match Ratings: Matt 7, Steve 6, Leo n/a, Jon 7, Gareth 6, Adam 6, Martin 6

Man of the Match: Jon (for guts)