Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Michael
“I’ve been waiting. I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. But it’s not quite right”
Early kick-offs used to be the delight of many a squad member. Back in the Hatton days of leadership, you’d get all the fair-weather players (i.e. Pete) suddenly available, and the announced squad would be a kind of reward scheme for those who’d braved the (shudder) 10 o’clock kick-offs.
Nowadays, people are up to their armpits in baby poop; they have kids who want to see EastEnders before bed-time; have demanding girlfriends, who insist you come with them and ogle their hockey team-mates in ra-ra skirts and spanky pants; or are wimps, too tired to travel home from work and then onwards to Millbrook in time.
So the team was a little short this week, such that Steve’s return from injury was just as welcome as finding a Werther’s Original behind a sofa cushion with only a little hair on it. With Matt’s fiancée’s brother being introduced into another extended family, this was a bottom heavy defensive line-up, that could’ve been detrimental, but in fact proved to be the Castle Grayskull of defensive foundations.
Make no mistake, Matt is soiling some superior genetic family material. A hulk of a man-mountain, Michael’s size and bulk actually meant something advantageous (unlike Adam and Don) in a sub-level mid-stage boss henchman kind of way, that you’d find in any good martial arts movie.
This was a game of records. The first of which was the fastest goal ever scored, probably anywhere ever. With Nathan worth at least one goal direct from kick-off a game, he wasted no time in notching up his first of the game, with the first sodding kick of the match. Doing that school play “are we ready?” acting, he performs that on the spot Chun-Li spin kick of his, to raze the ball home, and then tries desperately to keep the smuggest of grins off his face. The kind of smug you’d wanna slap off his face, were it not for the fact he’s on your side, and embarrassing the opposition with aplomb.
In open play, Just For Football had the right ideas, but totally the wrong execution. Playing an over-elaborate passing game that they just didn’t have the moxy to accomplish. Performing drag backs with the hugest of turning circles in the least damaging areas of the pitch. Shielding the ball from their marker with the uncouth audacity to back their ass right onto my cock. This was the equivalent of rendering the Sistine Chapel ceiling with Crayola.
Such frivolous opposition play meant for the Mollys complete non-stop end-to-end action, constant turnovers, relentless counter-attacks, 50-50 challenges, enough space to roll Beth Ditto’s fat ass through. Gareth and Nathan were sparking riots up top, Steve and Michael were patrolling the defensive perimeter, leaving Leo in an unaccustomed role of box-to-box runner.
Nathan snaffled a double hat-trick of goals, most of them unclean ricochets, including an own goal that his mere presence elicited such panic that JFF thought that suicidal defending was the better opt out; strike partner Gareth whacked in four, as the pair of them got overzealous with shooting at the opposition’s less than adequate keeper. Even new boy Michael weighed in with two on his debut, a ferocious toe-poke, and, for the second record of the game, a well-struck bullish blast from so far behind the halfway line that their keeper must’ve thought a bullet train from Japan was about to run him down.
At the back, Matt must’ve been day-dreaming of biscuits, as he got fooled, foxed and flummoxed on a number of occasions to give the opposition and their shouty, unkempt stinking spokesman enough opportunities to make the scoreline half-respectable, when they thoroughly deserved no such charity. At least Steve passed his fitness test with no ill-effects, and Michael needed no babysitting whilst the amok was running upfront.
The lack of a seventh man didn’t seem to hinder us much, and the balance of the side against such lower opposition was always the right side of Jenga. In fact, had Leo not found the keeper in scintillating form for his shots, and seemingly his shots alone, this could and should’ve been an absolute Manson massacre.
The game ended with a satisfactory 12-7 scoreline, keeping the Mollys well positioned in the upper echelons of the table, but with later kick-offs to come, expect the Molly Maguires B-team to be unleashed on an unexpecting league.
Final Score: 12-7
Nowadays, people are up to their armpits in baby poop; they have kids who want to see EastEnders before bed-time; have demanding girlfriends, who insist you come with them and ogle their hockey team-mates in ra-ra skirts and spanky pants; or are wimps, too tired to travel home from work and then onwards to Millbrook in time.
So the team was a little short this week, such that Steve’s return from injury was just as welcome as finding a Werther’s Original behind a sofa cushion with only a little hair on it. With Matt’s fiancée’s brother being introduced into another extended family, this was a bottom heavy defensive line-up, that could’ve been detrimental, but in fact proved to be the Castle Grayskull of defensive foundations.
Make no mistake, Matt is soiling some superior genetic family material. A hulk of a man-mountain, Michael’s size and bulk actually meant something advantageous (unlike Adam and Don) in a sub-level mid-stage boss henchman kind of way, that you’d find in any good martial arts movie.
This was a game of records. The first of which was the fastest goal ever scored, probably anywhere ever. With Nathan worth at least one goal direct from kick-off a game, he wasted no time in notching up his first of the game, with the first sodding kick of the match. Doing that school play “are we ready?” acting, he performs that on the spot Chun-Li spin kick of his, to raze the ball home, and then tries desperately to keep the smuggest of grins off his face. The kind of smug you’d wanna slap off his face, were it not for the fact he’s on your side, and embarrassing the opposition with aplomb.
In open play, Just For Football had the right ideas, but totally the wrong execution. Playing an over-elaborate passing game that they just didn’t have the moxy to accomplish. Performing drag backs with the hugest of turning circles in the least damaging areas of the pitch. Shielding the ball from their marker with the uncouth audacity to back their ass right onto my cock. This was the equivalent of rendering the Sistine Chapel ceiling with Crayola.
Such frivolous opposition play meant for the Mollys complete non-stop end-to-end action, constant turnovers, relentless counter-attacks, 50-50 challenges, enough space to roll Beth Ditto’s fat ass through. Gareth and Nathan were sparking riots up top, Steve and Michael were patrolling the defensive perimeter, leaving Leo in an unaccustomed role of box-to-box runner.
Nathan snaffled a double hat-trick of goals, most of them unclean ricochets, including an own goal that his mere presence elicited such panic that JFF thought that suicidal defending was the better opt out; strike partner Gareth whacked in four, as the pair of them got overzealous with shooting at the opposition’s less than adequate keeper. Even new boy Michael weighed in with two on his debut, a ferocious toe-poke, and, for the second record of the game, a well-struck bullish blast from so far behind the halfway line that their keeper must’ve thought a bullet train from Japan was about to run him down.
At the back, Matt must’ve been day-dreaming of biscuits, as he got fooled, foxed and flummoxed on a number of occasions to give the opposition and their shouty, unkempt stinking spokesman enough opportunities to make the scoreline half-respectable, when they thoroughly deserved no such charity. At least Steve passed his fitness test with no ill-effects, and Michael needed no babysitting whilst the amok was running upfront.
The lack of a seventh man didn’t seem to hinder us much, and the balance of the side against such lower opposition was always the right side of Jenga. In fact, had Leo not found the keeper in scintillating form for his shots, and seemingly his shots alone, this could and should’ve been an absolute Manson massacre.
The game ended with a satisfactory 12-7 scoreline, keeping the Mollys well positioned in the upper echelons of the table, but with later kick-offs to come, expect the Molly Maguires B-team to be unleashed on an unexpecting league.
Final Score: 12-7
Goal scorers: Gareth 4, Nathan 6, Michael 2
Match ratings: Matt 6, Steve 7, Leo7, Gareth 8, Nathan 8, Michael 8
Match ratings: Matt 6, Steve 7, Leo7, Gareth 8, Nathan 8, Michael 8
Man of the Match: Michael
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