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
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