Date: 3/10/07 Time: 20:30
Line-up: 5.Leo (c) 6.Robbie 7.Dean 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam
“Made a mistake. I made a mistake. I wear the scars to show my shame. What should I do? What should I do? When I’m the one, hey, to blame”
Ouch. Some few days on from throwing myself around like an epileptic sack of spuds, and the aches are starting to feel more pronounced. I’ve even developed one of those mediocre limps in my right leg and my radial reach has been temporarily reduced. Never again will I criticise our goalkeeping gaffa and his stalwart brilliance between the sticks.
I was talking to myself and trying to recall what the worst pain I had ever suffered was. I don’t remember the circumcision; falling off our bicycle seat’s onto the frame is a rites of passage; the bust lung was more an inconvenience; hockey stick to the face was a temporary stun; and I’ve thwarted my fear of needles.
I guess it boils down to my constant battle against the super flesh-eating eczema, and my dislocated finger, received on my last outing in goal, in a friendly kicking with kids and old people. Ironically, it was my return to goal tonight that inflicted hurt once more. Knowing you are literally the last line of defence, and still get scatter-boomed by fifteen goals is as crushing as it gets. So unlike Given dethroning Harper in the Newcastle C*ntpies goal last weekend, this swap was more akin to swapping Robinson around with James. Ballsups are guaranteed regardless.
Tactics went straight out of the 57th floor window when it became clear that the Molly personnel do not have the cognitive functioning to play in a restricted zonal marking system, that, gawd forbidden, requires tracking back. With Robbie only playing his second game in months, looking like a jellyfish out of water, lining up alongside Adam, with the mobility of a Kia on bricks, this wasn’t a defensive performance for the purist. With Dean upsetting the balance in whichever position he played, and Gareth and Nathan on an attacking see-saw, with neither wanting to push down first, we were in for a world of hurt.
In the weeks leading up to this match, Hank & Clive had proved themselves adept at scoring goals by a post-strike sackful, whilst the Mollys’ defence had easily outclassed their attack. Only half of the previous statement would apply to tonight’s game. With Hank & Clive able to fire shots goal-ward at will, seemingly given limitless space and countless options, their shots either resulted in brilliant goals, hapless goals, stunning outfield blocks, or narrow misses.
Without Steve’s calm comatose passing out or Leo’s more panicky but pacey clearances, the Molly keeper was getting his bluff called too often, and having forgotten how to save shuffle-sideways, with body behind the ball, or to dive without a limp wrist, the goals conceded flowed without let up, as the team went three down in record quick time. On the positive, Leo’s distribution was high on speed, accuracy, and right on an attackers toes, and this route one action was getting us goals from Nathan and Gareth to try and drag the team back in it.
Unfortunately, whilst the front men were risking everything, the link-up play between them and the rest was non-existent, like a bunch of strangers passing thorough a shopping centre, desperately trying to avoid the bib-wearing clipboard wielder. No real surprise the result, given the personnel actually featured more attackers then defenders for the first time in ages.
Half-time saw us 8-5 down, but it could’ve been so much worse. With so many shooting opportunities afforded to the opposition as they won the 50-50s, they had enough shots to at least hit the ball out of the pitch on at least three occasions, and Leo did save a few efforts on goal, and so the advantage of having him in goal, rather than just sodding it and playing him in defence without a keeper, made sense.
The second half continued the continual attack policies of both teams, but the Mollys continued to compound their errors – Robbie and Gareth both losing the ball too soon in front of goal, to leave the keeper out of position for the simple passing shot, and Leo getting a rebound off his back for an own goal. With Robbie passing the ball to the opposition with the frequency of bungs, and Adam passing the ball to the wall, before the opposition picked it up, getting out of our own half was like climbing up the Spinnaker Tower dressed as Spiderman – wearing a football shirt, doesn’t make you a footballer.
Leo could afford to correctly let in an indirect free-kick without touch, but no other real luck was coming as the goals continued to raze past him. Where’s the mad jock to come running onto the pitch, tickle my embarrassed chin and make me collapse like a punched outside Junk nightclub, when you need him?
Nathan scored the ultimate route one goal, as a thunderous Hank & Clive strike rattled off the bar, looped all the way back down the pitch, for the glory-hunting goalhanger to tumble into the net; Gareth scored the most delicious angled thundercrack to get even the opposition applauding; and Dean managed to get on the scoresheet without the need for a surreptitious pen and small downward stroke.
The game finished 11-15. The attackers had got their act together, but the defenders had a disappointing evening, and it’s the divisible line between that continues to plague the Mollys progress. Why can’t we have a pretty face, smart brain, and great curves in one package? And no matter what people say, losing by four goals, and conceding 15 in the process is not close, especially after grand declarations of shutting out over two-thirds of that. Still the result actually drops the team down by just one, into third place, which is still way too close to possible promotion, so perhaps another off-evening would be a welcome respite from all the winning.
The return of the gaffa and Steve should ease the selection process once again, and so Matt can take back his lovely denim purse (complete with hoity-toity Adam’s fee) now that his latest Megabus promotional photoshoot is complete.
Having got to the end of this report, I’ve suddenly realised I was being a little economical with the truth earlier. I have played goal in a competitive match since my finger got caned from its socket. In March, I conceded five in a first half against The Mighty Ducks and was so thoroughly ashamed, I swapped with Aneel for the second. Oh, to only concede five… I also said I’d never criticise Matt again. Fat chance.
Final Score: 11-15
Goal Scorers: Gareth 5, Nathan 5, Dean 1
Line-up: 5.Leo (c) 6.Robbie 7.Dean 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam
“Made a mistake. I made a mistake. I wear the scars to show my shame. What should I do? What should I do? When I’m the one, hey, to blame”
Ouch. Some few days on from throwing myself around like an epileptic sack of spuds, and the aches are starting to feel more pronounced. I’ve even developed one of those mediocre limps in my right leg and my radial reach has been temporarily reduced. Never again will I criticise our goalkeeping gaffa and his stalwart brilliance between the sticks.
I was talking to myself and trying to recall what the worst pain I had ever suffered was. I don’t remember the circumcision; falling off our bicycle seat’s onto the frame is a rites of passage; the bust lung was more an inconvenience; hockey stick to the face was a temporary stun; and I’ve thwarted my fear of needles.
I guess it boils down to my constant battle against the super flesh-eating eczema, and my dislocated finger, received on my last outing in goal, in a friendly kicking with kids and old people. Ironically, it was my return to goal tonight that inflicted hurt once more. Knowing you are literally the last line of defence, and still get scatter-boomed by fifteen goals is as crushing as it gets. So unlike Given dethroning Harper in the Newcastle C*ntpies goal last weekend, this swap was more akin to swapping Robinson around with James. Ballsups are guaranteed regardless.
Tactics went straight out of the 57th floor window when it became clear that the Molly personnel do not have the cognitive functioning to play in a restricted zonal marking system, that, gawd forbidden, requires tracking back. With Robbie only playing his second game in months, looking like a jellyfish out of water, lining up alongside Adam, with the mobility of a Kia on bricks, this wasn’t a defensive performance for the purist. With Dean upsetting the balance in whichever position he played, and Gareth and Nathan on an attacking see-saw, with neither wanting to push down first, we were in for a world of hurt.
In the weeks leading up to this match, Hank & Clive had proved themselves adept at scoring goals by a post-strike sackful, whilst the Mollys’ defence had easily outclassed their attack. Only half of the previous statement would apply to tonight’s game. With Hank & Clive able to fire shots goal-ward at will, seemingly given limitless space and countless options, their shots either resulted in brilliant goals, hapless goals, stunning outfield blocks, or narrow misses.
Without Steve’s calm comatose passing out or Leo’s more panicky but pacey clearances, the Molly keeper was getting his bluff called too often, and having forgotten how to save shuffle-sideways, with body behind the ball, or to dive without a limp wrist, the goals conceded flowed without let up, as the team went three down in record quick time. On the positive, Leo’s distribution was high on speed, accuracy, and right on an attackers toes, and this route one action was getting us goals from Nathan and Gareth to try and drag the team back in it.
Unfortunately, whilst the front men were risking everything, the link-up play between them and the rest was non-existent, like a bunch of strangers passing thorough a shopping centre, desperately trying to avoid the bib-wearing clipboard wielder. No real surprise the result, given the personnel actually featured more attackers then defenders for the first time in ages.
Half-time saw us 8-5 down, but it could’ve been so much worse. With so many shooting opportunities afforded to the opposition as they won the 50-50s, they had enough shots to at least hit the ball out of the pitch on at least three occasions, and Leo did save a few efforts on goal, and so the advantage of having him in goal, rather than just sodding it and playing him in defence without a keeper, made sense.
The second half continued the continual attack policies of both teams, but the Mollys continued to compound their errors – Robbie and Gareth both losing the ball too soon in front of goal, to leave the keeper out of position for the simple passing shot, and Leo getting a rebound off his back for an own goal. With Robbie passing the ball to the opposition with the frequency of bungs, and Adam passing the ball to the wall, before the opposition picked it up, getting out of our own half was like climbing up the Spinnaker Tower dressed as Spiderman – wearing a football shirt, doesn’t make you a footballer.
Leo could afford to correctly let in an indirect free-kick without touch, but no other real luck was coming as the goals continued to raze past him. Where’s the mad jock to come running onto the pitch, tickle my embarrassed chin and make me collapse like a punched outside Junk nightclub, when you need him?
Nathan scored the ultimate route one goal, as a thunderous Hank & Clive strike rattled off the bar, looped all the way back down the pitch, for the glory-hunting goalhanger to tumble into the net; Gareth scored the most delicious angled thundercrack to get even the opposition applauding; and Dean managed to get on the scoresheet without the need for a surreptitious pen and small downward stroke.
The game finished 11-15. The attackers had got their act together, but the defenders had a disappointing evening, and it’s the divisible line between that continues to plague the Mollys progress. Why can’t we have a pretty face, smart brain, and great curves in one package? And no matter what people say, losing by four goals, and conceding 15 in the process is not close, especially after grand declarations of shutting out over two-thirds of that. Still the result actually drops the team down by just one, into third place, which is still way too close to possible promotion, so perhaps another off-evening would be a welcome respite from all the winning.
The return of the gaffa and Steve should ease the selection process once again, and so Matt can take back his lovely denim purse (complete with hoity-toity Adam’s fee) now that his latest Megabus promotional photoshoot is complete.
Having got to the end of this report, I’ve suddenly realised I was being a little economical with the truth earlier. I have played goal in a competitive match since my finger got caned from its socket. In March, I conceded five in a first half against The Mighty Ducks and was so thoroughly ashamed, I swapped with Aneel for the second. Oh, to only concede five… I also said I’d never criticise Matt again. Fat chance.
Final Score: 11-15
Goal Scorers: Gareth 5, Nathan 5, Dean 1
Match Ratings: Leo 5, Robbie 5, Dean 5, Gareth 6, Nathan 6, Adam 5
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