Wednesday, 26 September 2007
Match 7 Season 3 vs. Port-o-loo FC
Date: 26/9/07 Time: 19:45
Won 10-0 by default.
Opposition now replaced by Real Cupid Stunts.
Won 10-0 by default.
Opposition now replaced by Real Cupid Stunts.
Wednesday, 19 September 2007
Match 6 Season 3 vs. 86 FC
Date: 19/9/07 Time: 19:00
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam 14.Michael
“You were my greatest mistake. I fell in love with your sin.”
Week in (sometimes several weeks in), week out, I churn out plenty of vitriolic bile against people I hate; people I like; people I don’t know; people I don’t give a damn about. All in the name of footballing entertainment. But you might wonder what credentials I have to be the mother of all football historians, tacticians, statisticians, reporters. How can I justify constantly mocking your affliction for supporting the Shithole of the South? Or your team affiliated to Satan? If Newcastle United changed their nickname to the C*ntpies (as they should), the FA, after mucho pissing about, would be suitably appalled. Yet having the most evil of fallen angels brazenly displayed on your club badge is okay?! Explains away Gary Neville, mind.
I used to be one of those armchair “better view on the telly” supporters. It was only during the World Cup of ’86 and West Ham’s previous ascendancy to the top flight (behind those Cole and Beardsley C*ntpies <catching on yet?>) that peaked my interest, but it wasn’t until 1993, that I saw my first live game – Leyton Orient vs Rotherham, a dull terrace-bound 1-1 spectacle. So, yeah, I never got the pleasure of being dragged to my first match when I was five to hear grown men shout “you focking cunt” <in quotes, I can spell it out>; I never got wrapped up in an Irons-branded pyjama set; I never did Tyro league.
Yet after an auspicious start, I arrived at this point of my own volition, supporting a team famous for The Academy, for winning the World Cup, and for buying their way to Premiership safety. I play in the same style as the only West Ham defender I would consider influential to me, the legendary No.5 Steve Potts*. And I try to be a student of the game, to immerse myself in the culture, to read Poll’s column in the Mail, to watch YouTube videos of Kerlon bouncing the ball on his head during matches, or to stifle yawns at England in the Women’s World Cup, whilst fantasising about Rachel Brown mishandling my balls (drum roll, cymbal crash).
All of which brings me full-circle to divine right, and the carat gold of my words. Tonight’s match was a tough old assignment. 86 FC’s record was as good as any in the league. They had an enviable defensive record, and scored just enough more to win their matches. It didn’t take a genius like me to know this was going to be a tight low-scoring affair that we were going to lose.
And it wasn’t exactly looking any more promising with those players having to travel from the farthest reaches of the county not present for the kick-off – even Gandalf managed to traverse the bulk of Middle-Earth to make the second half of the Battle of Helm’s Deep. So with three centre halves assisting the attacking endeavours of Gareth, this even further looked like a war of attrition.
‘Cept, this was a game that fully played into the Mollys’ footballing philosophy. The kind of exhibition football, with touch-tag rules, an absence of notable tackling or fouls, lots of dull ball retention for them, and a lot of Gareth mazy running for us, that had an almost sedate leisurely pace about it. Like a Masters tournament. With Leo dipping more enthusiastically into his Happy Meal of being some sorta schizo defensive attacking left wingback, and Michael so not content to be a defensive anchor (no matter how loudly he protests to being a centre-half) bombing down the right-wing looking for the sweet crack of goals, it left Steve content at the back, and a team shape that enthusiastically dribbled with panache.
An immediate dividend saw Michael play a one-two off either a defender, the wall, or Gareth (it happened so quick I can’t recall) before unleashing his toepoke of thunder through a static keeper, for the Molly’s to take an early lead, and once Gareth had flushed a couple of glaring sitters out of his system, he delivered a brace with his usual prod and go running at defenders.
Adam showed up at some point in the first half to give the team an excuse to sub, but there was so little intensity, violence or speed, that even this report author lasted the first 20 minutes without issue (perhaps six weeks playing on the trot is finally paying off). Of course, we let the opposition back into it, as they managed to pull square, including a dodgy penalty given against yours truly with some referee bollocks about my left foot being in the D.
The ref was hardly having the greatest of matches, but with no-one bothering arguing the toss, the decisions evened themselves over the course of the match. So 3-3 at half-time, and with Nathan finally rocking up for the team talk, the Mollys were in a surprisingly good position to push on and collapse into their usual heap of second half mess.
Somehow we held it firm – we maintained a balance and disciplined team shape with Adam, Leo, Steve and Michael all successfully having a crack at defending the final third, whilst Gareth and Nathan continued to plug away at their partnership upfront, turning in the most astonishing sequence which saw them pass and move the ball to each other unbroken half-dozen around the opposition’s goal, before proving ultimately anti-climactic – like a 69 interrupted by vomit.
And whilst part-time charlie Nathan looked like a limp piece of raw meat by the end, he had enough sauce to drive home a low range, tight-angled winner with seconds remaining to end a game that was packed with so little incident that shaking the black stones from my shoes, and watching Adam failing to finish a whole pint of orange juice in the bar (he didn’t drop it, mind) proved infinitely more memorable, although in fairness to me, it was a long time ago.
So what happened? The doomsayers had predicted a defeat – even Nathan was talking to himself about such, on his stroll over. For the second week running, we’d only conceded 5 goals, which puts paid to the theory that Steve’s too immobile, that Leo can’t operate away from the D, that Matt’s just a big pudding with gloves, that Adam's presence does not necessarily spell defeat. You just wonder when the attack are gonna shift into third gear, eh?
At the start of this report I wasted three paragraphs talking about my credibility as a journalist, but damn even I didn’t foresee this barn-storming, more like shed-walking, result that keeps the Mollys in amongst a pack of cannibalistic teams hungry to take chunks of points from each other. But then again, my second team is Sheffield Wednesday.
Final Score: 6-5
Goal Scorers: Gareth 3, Nathan 2, Michael 1
Match Ratings: Matt 8, Steve 8, Leo 8, Gareth 8, Nathan 7 (for being late), Adam 8, Michael 8
*The shortest ever centre-back that has played top-flight football. Fact. That I just made up. But might still be true.
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam 14.Michael
“You were my greatest mistake. I fell in love with your sin.”
Week in (sometimes several weeks in), week out, I churn out plenty of vitriolic bile against people I hate; people I like; people I don’t know; people I don’t give a damn about. All in the name of footballing entertainment. But you might wonder what credentials I have to be the mother of all football historians, tacticians, statisticians, reporters. How can I justify constantly mocking your affliction for supporting the Shithole of the South? Or your team affiliated to Satan? If Newcastle United changed their nickname to the C*ntpies (as they should), the FA, after mucho pissing about, would be suitably appalled. Yet having the most evil of fallen angels brazenly displayed on your club badge is okay?! Explains away Gary Neville, mind.
I used to be one of those armchair “better view on the telly” supporters. It was only during the World Cup of ’86 and West Ham’s previous ascendancy to the top flight (behind those Cole and Beardsley C*ntpies <catching on yet?>) that peaked my interest, but it wasn’t until 1993, that I saw my first live game – Leyton Orient vs Rotherham, a dull terrace-bound 1-1 spectacle. So, yeah, I never got the pleasure of being dragged to my first match when I was five to hear grown men shout “you focking cunt” <in quotes, I can spell it out>; I never got wrapped up in an Irons-branded pyjama set; I never did Tyro league.
Yet after an auspicious start, I arrived at this point of my own volition, supporting a team famous for The Academy, for winning the World Cup, and for buying their way to Premiership safety. I play in the same style as the only West Ham defender I would consider influential to me, the legendary No.5 Steve Potts*. And I try to be a student of the game, to immerse myself in the culture, to read Poll’s column in the Mail, to watch YouTube videos of Kerlon bouncing the ball on his head during matches, or to stifle yawns at England in the Women’s World Cup, whilst fantasising about Rachel Brown mishandling my balls (drum roll, cymbal crash).
All of which brings me full-circle to divine right, and the carat gold of my words. Tonight’s match was a tough old assignment. 86 FC’s record was as good as any in the league. They had an enviable defensive record, and scored just enough more to win their matches. It didn’t take a genius like me to know this was going to be a tight low-scoring affair that we were going to lose.
And it wasn’t exactly looking any more promising with those players having to travel from the farthest reaches of the county not present for the kick-off – even Gandalf managed to traverse the bulk of Middle-Earth to make the second half of the Battle of Helm’s Deep. So with three centre halves assisting the attacking endeavours of Gareth, this even further looked like a war of attrition.
‘Cept, this was a game that fully played into the Mollys’ footballing philosophy. The kind of exhibition football, with touch-tag rules, an absence of notable tackling or fouls, lots of dull ball retention for them, and a lot of Gareth mazy running for us, that had an almost sedate leisurely pace about it. Like a Masters tournament. With Leo dipping more enthusiastically into his Happy Meal of being some sorta schizo defensive attacking left wingback, and Michael so not content to be a defensive anchor (no matter how loudly he protests to being a centre-half) bombing down the right-wing looking for the sweet crack of goals, it left Steve content at the back, and a team shape that enthusiastically dribbled with panache.
An immediate dividend saw Michael play a one-two off either a defender, the wall, or Gareth (it happened so quick I can’t recall) before unleashing his toepoke of thunder through a static keeper, for the Molly’s to take an early lead, and once Gareth had flushed a couple of glaring sitters out of his system, he delivered a brace with his usual prod and go running at defenders.
Adam showed up at some point in the first half to give the team an excuse to sub, but there was so little intensity, violence or speed, that even this report author lasted the first 20 minutes without issue (perhaps six weeks playing on the trot is finally paying off). Of course, we let the opposition back into it, as they managed to pull square, including a dodgy penalty given against yours truly with some referee bollocks about my left foot being in the D.
The ref was hardly having the greatest of matches, but with no-one bothering arguing the toss, the decisions evened themselves over the course of the match. So 3-3 at half-time, and with Nathan finally rocking up for the team talk, the Mollys were in a surprisingly good position to push on and collapse into their usual heap of second half mess.
Somehow we held it firm – we maintained a balance and disciplined team shape with Adam, Leo, Steve and Michael all successfully having a crack at defending the final third, whilst Gareth and Nathan continued to plug away at their partnership upfront, turning in the most astonishing sequence which saw them pass and move the ball to each other unbroken half-dozen around the opposition’s goal, before proving ultimately anti-climactic – like a 69 interrupted by vomit.
And whilst part-time charlie Nathan looked like a limp piece of raw meat by the end, he had enough sauce to drive home a low range, tight-angled winner with seconds remaining to end a game that was packed with so little incident that shaking the black stones from my shoes, and watching Adam failing to finish a whole pint of orange juice in the bar (he didn’t drop it, mind) proved infinitely more memorable, although in fairness to me, it was a long time ago.
So what happened? The doomsayers had predicted a defeat – even Nathan was talking to himself about such, on his stroll over. For the second week running, we’d only conceded 5 goals, which puts paid to the theory that Steve’s too immobile, that Leo can’t operate away from the D, that Matt’s just a big pudding with gloves, that Adam's presence does not necessarily spell defeat. You just wonder when the attack are gonna shift into third gear, eh?
At the start of this report I wasted three paragraphs talking about my credibility as a journalist, but damn even I didn’t foresee this barn-storming, more like shed-walking, result that keeps the Mollys in amongst a pack of cannibalistic teams hungry to take chunks of points from each other. But then again, my second team is Sheffield Wednesday.
Final Score: 6-5
Goal Scorers: Gareth 3, Nathan 2, Michael 1
Match Ratings: Matt 8, Steve 8, Leo 8, Gareth 8, Nathan 7 (for being late), Adam 8, Michael 8
*The shortest ever centre-back that has played top-flight football. Fact. That I just made up. But might still be true.
Wednesday, 12 September 2007
Match 5 Season 3 vs. The Granite
Date: 12/9/07 Time: 21:15
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 2.Nobby 4.Steve 5.Leo 6.Robbie 9.Gareth 10.Nathan
Due to editorial deadlines, this report does not exist. However, please take note of the following:
-These guys are arseholes, resorting to hacking and slashing Gareth on the "kicking wing" because he had the damn nerve to outplay them.
-Matt kept us in the match with some very smart saves.
-Robbie stepped in the breach both as peacemaker, and as defender, like he'd never been away.
-Leo scored a tumbled goal, getting to the ball, before it just got to the D
-Steve produced a sublime Joe Cole-like through pass to set up Gareth
-Don was told by an opposing player to "shut up", as he gave The Granite the usual lesson in the rules
- This wasn't the thrashing that we expected to mete out onto the opposition
Final Score: 8-5
Goal Scorers: Gareth 5, Nathan 2, Leo 1
Match Ratings: Matt 7, Nobby 7, Steve 7, Leo 7, Robbie 7, Gareth 8, Nathan 7
MOTM: Gareth
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 2.Nobby 4.Steve 5.Leo 6.Robbie 9.Gareth 10.Nathan
Due to editorial deadlines, this report does not exist. However, please take note of the following:
-These guys are arseholes, resorting to hacking and slashing Gareth on the "kicking wing" because he had the damn nerve to outplay them.
-Matt kept us in the match with some very smart saves.
-Robbie stepped in the breach both as peacemaker, and as defender, like he'd never been away.
-Leo scored a tumbled goal, getting to the ball, before it just got to the D
-Steve produced a sublime Joe Cole-like through pass to set up Gareth
-Don was told by an opposing player to "shut up", as he gave The Granite the usual lesson in the rules
- This wasn't the thrashing that we expected to mete out onto the opposition
Final Score: 8-5
Goal Scorers: Gareth 5, Nathan 2, Leo 1
Match Ratings: Matt 7, Nobby 7, Steve 7, Leo 7, Robbie 7, Gareth 8, Nathan 7
MOTM: Gareth
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Thursday, 6 September 2007
Match 4 Season 3 vs. Team Gumtree
Date: 5/9/07 Time: 20:30
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 2.Nobby 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth 10.Nathan
Line-up: 1.Matt (c) 2.Nobby 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth 10.Nathan
“It goes…..face in the crowd. If you don’t care, then why are you singing out?”
All the most important things in the world are divided into halves. The human brain – separate hemispheres with distinct control functions; the Bible – the old part with it’s creation, plagues, judges, and Samson – the new part with a hippie and his God complex; From Dusk Till Dawn – part gangster/hostage/hijack flick, part vampire suckfest; and the football match – a first half, and a final half.
Even I am divided into two: half cute, loveable, sweet and innocent Leo; half cynical, sarcastic shitbag Lungboy. Split personalities are fun – they allow abdication of responsibility, confuse mind readers, and gives me someone to talk to when sitting alone in The Lizard Lounge rubbing the condensation off my glass.
What you’ve yet to know, is that even my alter-ego has an alter-ego. Even Lungboy has a darker half, so dangerous he casts a shadow in the darkness. He’s reckless and uncontrollable, and makes Mr Hyde look like a teenage whinger who wasn’t allowed to breast-feed beyond the age of 13. The nature of this recent football match means that the jovial first half will be written by the Lung, the second, by he who should not be named.
The evening started brightly, as the team were informed by the janitor at the Goals centre that they would be featured on the covers of Shoot, Match! and World Soccer, with an exclusive photoshoot and match review. Once we’d twigged that there is no janitor at Goals, the designated first-aider instead confirmed it was the back page of The Pink* we would be gracing with our translucent beauty, and so their circulation would increase by six.
Yeah six, what with Adam continuing to use his sophisticated Create-Your-Own-Excuse randomiser computer programme. It allows thousands of reason combinations to skive. As I can’t be bothered to play next week, I’ve tried it: I cannot attend your event/activity because MY STEP-DAUGHTER has BROKEN HIS FACE whilst EATING AEROPLANE. I need to GET LAID and CLEAN my FLOWERS. **
So the team photos were taken, with media whore Don pushing his way into shot, and although Team Gumtree were no doubt actually the team being profiled and report written about, we were not about to make up the numbers. Nope, we’d fuck it up later.
We’re trying to learn from our mistakes, and after the debacle of last week’s terribly pathetic performance, we tried to get the tactics right from the start. We were gonna play a 1-2-1 formation, in a pseudo-man marking system, with the ‘2’ being the dedicated wingers, with Steve anchoring (and Leo deputising) the defence. Nobby was tasked with doing the one thing he’s actually skilled at, running into space, holding up the ball, and playing in Nathan and Gareth. And Matt was tasked with not letting shots slip through his fingers at his near post, or lift his foot up to allow soft direct free-kicks to trickle into the net, because he misheard the referee.
And make love to me slowly sideways with a rusty chainsaw if it didn’t bloody work, as the Mollys were all over Team Gumtree, like maggots over Pavarotti. Decimation and desecration are the only words to describe what we did to the “strong favourites” (© The Pink) that first half. Despite some bitch-talk about his legs being sore, Gareth impressed once again with his delirious running, linking with Nathan in what some demented people have described as a striking ‘partnership’, with a bit of ‘passing’ going on between them. Just imagine me reading the last part of that sentence aloud to you, for full sarcastic effect.
Gareth and Nathan “danger man” Mills (© The Pink) were shooting beyond their keeper with absolute clarity – Nathan banging in a top corner stunner that reeked of awesome. With Nobby playing a good water-carrying game, assisted by an opposition who stood off, played fair, and kept their ‘shoulders down’ for the most part, it was all Molly traffic. Leo even had the audacity to follow up a sky rocket shot to the moon, with a half way long range caner that squirreled under the keeper’s body as the Mollys took a 5-0 lead without reply.
With Steve and Nathan fighting to take the free-kicks, the Mollys played with a reasonable high line, we counter-attacked them with rapidity and accuracy, as our strikers frequently found themselves through one on one with their last man. And Matt was barely troubled until the end of a rapidly over first half when he soiled a potential clean sheet with a dirty doo-doo of concession. As the Mollys put down the tins of whitewash at half-time, was there talk of the inevitable second half collapse? Had we scored enough distance to absorb a potential fightback? Did we make whooping noises, and imitate sexual thrusts? Well, something snapped, something got triggered, as the Mollys went from Banner to Hulk, only in reverse. Which is an appropriate time for my other other half to take over.
PISSPOORFUCKWANKSHITCOCKBOLLOCKSCRAP.
Final Score: 7-9
Match Ratings: Matt 6, Nobby 6, Steve 6, Leo 5, Gareth 5, Nathan 5
MOTM: Matt
*Steve was kind enough to inform us that this was the only pink he would be in this weekend, without giving his missus a month’s notice. Ooooh suits you sir.
**Utterly more plausible than anything Jon and Robbie ever came up with. 2 for 1 Orange cinema tickets, indeed?!
All the most important things in the world are divided into halves. The human brain – separate hemispheres with distinct control functions; the Bible – the old part with it’s creation, plagues, judges, and Samson – the new part with a hippie and his God complex; From Dusk Till Dawn – part gangster/hostage/hijack flick, part vampire suckfest; and the football match – a first half, and a final half.
Even I am divided into two: half cute, loveable, sweet and innocent Leo; half cynical, sarcastic shitbag Lungboy. Split personalities are fun – they allow abdication of responsibility, confuse mind readers, and gives me someone to talk to when sitting alone in The Lizard Lounge rubbing the condensation off my glass.
What you’ve yet to know, is that even my alter-ego has an alter-ego. Even Lungboy has a darker half, so dangerous he casts a shadow in the darkness. He’s reckless and uncontrollable, and makes Mr Hyde look like a teenage whinger who wasn’t allowed to breast-feed beyond the age of 13. The nature of this recent football match means that the jovial first half will be written by the Lung, the second, by he who should not be named.
The evening started brightly, as the team were informed by the janitor at the Goals centre that they would be featured on the covers of Shoot, Match! and World Soccer, with an exclusive photoshoot and match review. Once we’d twigged that there is no janitor at Goals, the designated first-aider instead confirmed it was the back page of The Pink* we would be gracing with our translucent beauty, and so their circulation would increase by six.
Yeah six, what with Adam continuing to use his sophisticated Create-Your-Own-Excuse randomiser computer programme. It allows thousands of reason combinations to skive. As I can’t be bothered to play next week, I’ve tried it: I cannot attend your event/activity because MY STEP-DAUGHTER has BROKEN HIS FACE whilst EATING AEROPLANE. I need to GET LAID and CLEAN my FLOWERS. **
So the team photos were taken, with media whore Don pushing his way into shot, and although Team Gumtree were no doubt actually the team being profiled and report written about, we were not about to make up the numbers. Nope, we’d fuck it up later.
We’re trying to learn from our mistakes, and after the debacle of last week’s terribly pathetic performance, we tried to get the tactics right from the start. We were gonna play a 1-2-1 formation, in a pseudo-man marking system, with the ‘2’ being the dedicated wingers, with Steve anchoring (and Leo deputising) the defence. Nobby was tasked with doing the one thing he’s actually skilled at, running into space, holding up the ball, and playing in Nathan and Gareth. And Matt was tasked with not letting shots slip through his fingers at his near post, or lift his foot up to allow soft direct free-kicks to trickle into the net, because he misheard the referee.
And make love to me slowly sideways with a rusty chainsaw if it didn’t bloody work, as the Mollys were all over Team Gumtree, like maggots over Pavarotti. Decimation and desecration are the only words to describe what we did to the “strong favourites” (© The Pink) that first half. Despite some bitch-talk about his legs being sore, Gareth impressed once again with his delirious running, linking with Nathan in what some demented people have described as a striking ‘partnership’, with a bit of ‘passing’ going on between them. Just imagine me reading the last part of that sentence aloud to you, for full sarcastic effect.
Gareth and Nathan “danger man” Mills (© The Pink) were shooting beyond their keeper with absolute clarity – Nathan banging in a top corner stunner that reeked of awesome. With Nobby playing a good water-carrying game, assisted by an opposition who stood off, played fair, and kept their ‘shoulders down’ for the most part, it was all Molly traffic. Leo even had the audacity to follow up a sky rocket shot to the moon, with a half way long range caner that squirreled under the keeper’s body as the Mollys took a 5-0 lead without reply.
With Steve and Nathan fighting to take the free-kicks, the Mollys played with a reasonable high line, we counter-attacked them with rapidity and accuracy, as our strikers frequently found themselves through one on one with their last man. And Matt was barely troubled until the end of a rapidly over first half when he soiled a potential clean sheet with a dirty doo-doo of concession. As the Mollys put down the tins of whitewash at half-time, was there talk of the inevitable second half collapse? Had we scored enough distance to absorb a potential fightback? Did we make whooping noises, and imitate sexual thrusts? Well, something snapped, something got triggered, as the Mollys went from Banner to Hulk, only in reverse. Which is an appropriate time for my other other half to take over.
PISSPOORFUCKWANKSHITCOCKBOLLOCKSCRAP.
Final Score: 7-9
Match Ratings: Matt 6, Nobby 6, Steve 6, Leo 5, Gareth 5, Nathan 5
MOTM: Matt
*Steve was kind enough to inform us that this was the only pink he would be in this weekend, without giving his missus a month’s notice. Ooooh suits you sir.
**Utterly more plausible than anything Jon and Robbie ever came up with. 2 for 1 Orange cinema tickets, indeed?!
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