Someone really went to town on the thesaurus....
Thursday, 21 February 2008
Match 13 Season 4 vs. The Granite
20/2/08 9.15pm
Aneel, Leo, Robbie, Gareth, Nathan, Alan, Martin
LOST 4-10
Scorers: Gareth 2, Nathan 1, Martin 1
This was sure to be a whip-cracking, rollicking boy's own adventure, with our latest gaffer's superb motivational techniques, positive attitude, and his rip-snorting jokes, that always start with him laughing at them himself, like portable canned laughter. Braving the email system to recruit his fellow adventurers, carrying a pen and paper to note who'd paid, and even digging up a dusty relic in the form of a surprise cameo from The Sheriff.
The Molly team against the table topping The Granite, had a real veterans' feel to it, with the old men Alan and Martin, mixing company with the old guard of Robbie and Aneel, in a line-up designed to put together the team's fifth win on the spin. Of course when I say designed, I mean thrown together with gay abandon. This is the kind of unpredictable line-up that only Rafael Benitez could toss out there, but only after he'd rotated the fuck out of his first team, that it spun into the reserves, into the youth team, through the tea ladies and programme sellers, into random scouse strangers, down the country into the South of England. Assuming Liverpool win the Champions League again (and do Wanc Utd over in the process), expect the likes of Nobby and Dean to be wearing the famous red shirt after Benitez's 12,989,627th game in charge.
With a stylish defence of Leo, Aneel and Robbie forming the 'spine' or arse-end of the team; the Sheriff and the Principal floating round midfield, attacking or defending, depending on whether they were breathing in or out; and Nathan and Gareth doing what comes naturally (below the knees), this could have been a crowing glory unlike any before it in recent memory. Alas despite a superb goal from Gareth that thwacked the bag behind the net in the first 30 seconds, we then struggled to punch our way out of a unstructured formation.
First, of course, before the match could start already late, Aneel had to take a short jog back around the block to pay our match fee (which he had assumed could pay itself?). You ever see that scene in Kung Fu Hustle where the hero runs away with Roadrunner-like legs? Nothing like it.
Wearing yellow, like the diuretic shit stains they were, (and the odd white, and orange) The Granite are the typical archetypal wanky team, where winning is everything, all ref calls are challenged, every mistake is howled at, every variation of a foul is performed. Much like Park FC before them, this is the team you don't begrudge getting promoted, just so they can get their asses handed to them by the real men of the league above. The ref was competent enough with the high ball calls, but really should’ve sin binned at least one of those shitbags for a verbal rebuke directed at him, and failed to call any number of hand-offs and scythes.
They played mainly in a 2-2 box formation when they had the ball, almost a quarter pitch square zonal system, which left Nathan frequently having to hunt the ball down from either defender, as they passed it around at the back and through the keeper, waiting for the long angled openings to shift it forward. A solid man-marking system would've worked against them, but we don't do that high-brow nonsense, rather the guns ho! all caught up upfront shit! chaseback 'system'.
Our shooting was adequate without being spectacular; most shots on target found their keeper; some clear opportunities were hashed – Alan air-kicking an open goal shot like the carpet had been pulled from under him; Gareth and Nathan frequently drew two defenders onto them, ploughed straight through them, but found the angle beyond them too tight for clear shots; Martin frequently found his turning skills wasted, when pressed against the far wing back wall. Too frequently we ran into dead ends, too frequently we gave the ball away centrally, inviting immediate pressure - pissing too close against the wall and getting soaked in the backsplash; the best passing option in front of goal, was ignored for the worst shooting option instead.
Having said that, Gareth did score another aplomb shot, and Nathan lashed home the closest possible range direct free-kick after he was professionally fouled from behind, and had time to set up Martin with a stonking cross-field ball along the edge of the D, but as it was, the luck wasn’t with us. It was running onto the pitch at Lyon in the 87th minute.
At the back, Leo was doing his intercepting best, whilst Robbie trolled along, but even though the angles were cut to the finest grain (hardly the defence teeing them up as suggested by the gaffer), the shots unleashed by The Granite were astute in the power and accuracy, and careened past Aneel into the corners he couldn’t reach without a week’s advance notice. And a map. The gaffer did put together one mind-blowing save from out of the top corner, when it mattered least and we were already too many goals gone to mount another sensational comeback. At least it still proved that his shot-stopping was exquisite, even when the throw outs were powerless – never in a month of Matt’s will you see more short balls being distributed in a Molly match, and arguably our effective direct counter-attack was blunted by this tactical shift.
The game finished 4-10, certainly not a rout against the top team, so we must’ve been doing something right. Our heads didn’t drop, and we battled them to the end in a worthy contest. Another positive was the acquisition of a brand new touchline totty in the form of Martin’s daughter. Expect to see her again, when we see the hop-along Sheriff again – estimated recovery time: the year 2011.
The only thing left to discuss was whether we should chance our stomachs at the burger van parked just outside (okay, technically it was a burger trailer), the name of which escapes me – Wieners? Sizzlers? Feeders? Without connoisseur Matt to aid us through the menu choices, we were reduced to sniffing the air for that processed generic meat waft, and only being able to sample the usual shit stench that hangs over Millbrook - like a bad smell. Zing!
As Aneel retreated back into hiding in his cave with Osama and Winnie the Pooh, either to sleep it off, or to hunt for god-bothering artefacts, the gaffer still managed a morale boosting “you played really well” gee-up to his comrades for a job not done, and for that alone we should be grateful. Amen.
Aneel, Leo, Robbie, Gareth, Nathan, Alan, Martin
LOST 4-10
Scorers: Gareth 2, Nathan 1, Martin 1
With Matt away at the Ideal Homes Exhibition; Mike doing something big - like eating a Yorkie in one mouthful; Steve otherwise unavailable; and Leo late back from his Adventures in Babysitting on Valentine's Day; the sacred gaffership passed to Indiana Sharma and The Man-Purse of the Bulging Kitty. The fact that Aneel even appeared for a second match in a row must mean it’s a leap year.
This was sure to be a whip-cracking, rollicking boy's own adventure, with our latest gaffer's superb motivational techniques, positive attitude, and his rip-snorting jokes, that always start with him laughing at them himself, like portable canned laughter. Braving the email system to recruit his fellow adventurers, carrying a pen and paper to note who'd paid, and even digging up a dusty relic in the form of a surprise cameo from The Sheriff.
The Molly team against the table topping The Granite, had a real veterans' feel to it, with the old men Alan and Martin, mixing company with the old guard of Robbie and Aneel, in a line-up designed to put together the team's fifth win on the spin. Of course when I say designed, I mean thrown together with gay abandon. This is the kind of unpredictable line-up that only Rafael Benitez could toss out there, but only after he'd rotated the fuck out of his first team, that it spun into the reserves, into the youth team, through the tea ladies and programme sellers, into random scouse strangers, down the country into the South of England. Assuming Liverpool win the Champions League again (and do Wanc Utd over in the process), expect the likes of Nobby and Dean to be wearing the famous red shirt after Benitez's 12,989,627th game in charge.
With a stylish defence of Leo, Aneel and Robbie forming the 'spine' or arse-end of the team; the Sheriff and the Principal floating round midfield, attacking or defending, depending on whether they were breathing in or out; and Nathan and Gareth doing what comes naturally (below the knees), this could have been a crowing glory unlike any before it in recent memory. Alas despite a superb goal from Gareth that thwacked the bag behind the net in the first 30 seconds, we then struggled to punch our way out of a unstructured formation.
First, of course, before the match could start already late, Aneel had to take a short jog back around the block to pay our match fee (which he had assumed could pay itself?). You ever see that scene in Kung Fu Hustle where the hero runs away with Roadrunner-like legs? Nothing like it.
Wearing yellow, like the diuretic shit stains they were, (and the odd white, and orange) The Granite are the typical archetypal wanky team, where winning is everything, all ref calls are challenged, every mistake is howled at, every variation of a foul is performed. Much like Park FC before them, this is the team you don't begrudge getting promoted, just so they can get their asses handed to them by the real men of the league above. The ref was competent enough with the high ball calls, but really should’ve sin binned at least one of those shitbags for a verbal rebuke directed at him, and failed to call any number of hand-offs and scythes.
They played mainly in a 2-2 box formation when they had the ball, almost a quarter pitch square zonal system, which left Nathan frequently having to hunt the ball down from either defender, as they passed it around at the back and through the keeper, waiting for the long angled openings to shift it forward. A solid man-marking system would've worked against them, but we don't do that high-brow nonsense, rather the guns ho! all caught up upfront shit! chaseback 'system'.
Our shooting was adequate without being spectacular; most shots on target found their keeper; some clear opportunities were hashed – Alan air-kicking an open goal shot like the carpet had been pulled from under him; Gareth and Nathan frequently drew two defenders onto them, ploughed straight through them, but found the angle beyond them too tight for clear shots; Martin frequently found his turning skills wasted, when pressed against the far wing back wall. Too frequently we ran into dead ends, too frequently we gave the ball away centrally, inviting immediate pressure - pissing too close against the wall and getting soaked in the backsplash; the best passing option in front of goal, was ignored for the worst shooting option instead.
Having said that, Gareth did score another aplomb shot, and Nathan lashed home the closest possible range direct free-kick after he was professionally fouled from behind, and had time to set up Martin with a stonking cross-field ball along the edge of the D, but as it was, the luck wasn’t with us. It was running onto the pitch at Lyon in the 87th minute.
At the back, Leo was doing his intercepting best, whilst Robbie trolled along, but even though the angles were cut to the finest grain (hardly the defence teeing them up as suggested by the gaffer), the shots unleashed by The Granite were astute in the power and accuracy, and careened past Aneel into the corners he couldn’t reach without a week’s advance notice. And a map. The gaffer did put together one mind-blowing save from out of the top corner, when it mattered least and we were already too many goals gone to mount another sensational comeback. At least it still proved that his shot-stopping was exquisite, even when the throw outs were powerless – never in a month of Matt’s will you see more short balls being distributed in a Molly match, and arguably our effective direct counter-attack was blunted by this tactical shift.
The game finished 4-10, certainly not a rout against the top team, so we must’ve been doing something right. Our heads didn’t drop, and we battled them to the end in a worthy contest. Another positive was the acquisition of a brand new touchline totty in the form of Martin’s daughter. Expect to see her again, when we see the hop-along Sheriff again – estimated recovery time: the year 2011.
The only thing left to discuss was whether we should chance our stomachs at the burger van parked just outside (okay, technically it was a burger trailer), the name of which escapes me – Wieners? Sizzlers? Feeders? Without connoisseur Matt to aid us through the menu choices, we were reduced to sniffing the air for that processed generic meat waft, and only being able to sample the usual shit stench that hangs over Millbrook - like a bad smell. Zing!
As Aneel retreated back into hiding in his cave with Osama and Winnie the Pooh, either to sleep it off, or to hunt for god-bothering artefacts, the gaffer still managed a morale boosting “you played really well” gee-up to his comrades for a job not done, and for that alone we should be grateful. Amen.
*All this rotation reminds me of that game Downfall - of which I was extremely good at.
Monday, 18 February 2008
Match 12 Season 4 vs. Testwood FC
13/2/08 8:30pm
Matt, Dean, Aneel, Gareth, Nathan, Michael, Alan
WON 8-7
Scorers: Gareth 3, Nathan 1, Michael 1, Alan 2, Dean 1
Matt, Dean, Aneel, Gareth, Nathan, Michael, Alan
WON 8-7
Scorers: Gareth 3, Nathan 1, Michael 1, Alan 2, Dean 1
Monday, 11 February 2008
Match 11 Season 4 vs. The Elite
6/2/08 7.00pm
Matt, Leo, Gareth, Nathan, Adam, Michael, Mike (jnr.)
WON 20-4
Scorers: Gareth 7, Leo 1, Mike 1, Mike (jnr.) 4, Nathan 7
Matt, Leo, Gareth, Nathan, Adam, Michael, Mike (jnr.)
WON 20-4
Scorers: Gareth 7, Leo 1, Mike 1, Mike (jnr.) 4, Nathan 7
It had been a long time coming, but true football fans finally rejoiced as the greatest central defender ever to don a West Ham shirt finally shook the monkey from his back – Leo humdinging his first goal in a decade of games. Somewhat less monumental; an actual current West ham player managed to weedle his way into the England first team, and didn’t suck, like lame duck. High fives for the number fives, all round.
Times are a changing, with the Mollys undergoing enough recent overhauls to be classified as another upgraded version. Three new recruits this season, a couple of devastating 20+ wins, half-inching victory fightbacks, and a series of successes on the Molly’s Graveyard prompts many a page turning into the next chapter.
This match had an incestuous feel about it with Matt, Mike, Mike(jnr) and the opposition’s lead striker all related by blood and spit, but there was to be no family charity. After the last two 9-8 victories, any gambling man would’ve easily plumped a schoolboy skiver on a third in a row, but then the Mollys started banging in the first few with lubricated ease. With the team showing as much restraint as Joey Barton in close proximity to literally anyone, to have conceded eight would’ve been an unmitigated folly on a par to appointing a Geordie manager you can’t sack and then appointing above him an unqualified thug as director (football).
With Nathan and Adam late to this jelly and ice cream party, big Mike adopted his converted midfield role, Mike(jnr) played up top, Leo sweeping, and Gareth playing wingback, from back to front, in what the gaffer would describe as “the pocket”. I spare you another joke about the size of Matt’s sweatpants.
Lots of passes and conjuring tricks, gave the illusion of skill, but the shuffling sideways, and possession football was enough to disassemble whatever formation the The Elite had. The opposition’s keeper’s throw outs were constantly intercepted; the Mollys offered them no time, as standing balls were being whipped from them. With the team playing in front and just off, their opposite numbers, there was a absence of man-marking, and Gareth’s deep-lying presented them with a conundrum they couldn’t solve even with the constant repetition of failure. Even monkeys can be shocked into behavioural patterns. Even Will Smith can be brainwashed into alien worship.
All four Molly outfield players scored in the early few minutes, and only a couple of less than impressive lapses allowed the opposition to work Matt, but rarely was he required to reproduce ‘baby catching thrown from burning building’-like skills.
By the time Adam showed up for the latter stages of the first half to flail his limbs around, the Mollys were so far goals to the good, that any collapse would’ve needed to be of the multiple heart attack variety for the team to lose. 7-2 at half time, and the arrival of Nathan and his belligerent eye for goal, was tantamount to the hanging up to drain the blood, after the throat had already been cut.
Despite the matching costumes and the younger legs and limbs, the opposition continued to possess little skill or tactical know-how. Certainly no midfield general or trick-ass pony up front - like the chess club on a field excursion against a Mollys team loaded with disparate flavours like a box of Heroes (Adam being the Fudge).
We let in a couple more charity-box theft worth of goals, including a penalty after a blatant “paying attention ref?” run through the D by junior Mike, but no-one cared. The match lacked any real fire or fight, very rare fouls, more clumsy than cunning – the squirming of a stocked man in the gallows, and just as ineffectual.
Nathan did his best to seize his dozen goals in a half, and after initially getting pwned by their keeper in the first couple of one-on-ones, Nathan finally got his number, got him back to his place, and got his breakfast made, as he lashed in seven with barely a sweat. Either Nathan’s movement is so subtle as to ghost away isolated from the last defender, or the defence were pre-occupied with thoughts of when their soccer moms were gonna arrive for pick-up. With Gareth weighing in with seven goals also, the heat is still on for the golden boot award, whilst Mike(jnr) got off the mark with a very handsome four of his own, to rubber stamp another free-wheeling performance.
At the back, Adam, Leo and Matt were probably discussing Nietchze whilst blindfolded and holding hands, such was the non-event of defending during the match – probably the same hub of activity as at an Atomic Kitten reunion gig. The opposition ultimately put up their dukes with all the one-sidedness of a Khan vs. Beadle (RIP) fight.
So the match finished 20-4, but only the foolhardy would use this match as a barometer of progress – like boasting of keeping a clean sheet against Stern John and Jason Euell, but as we start to pick up speed coming into the end game of the season, and the win counter climbs higher than the loss column, it seems we’re getting better. Is this the new golden age? Can we consign the generation of Wills and Morris to the forgotten annuls? Will we actually see Gardner in goal?
Times are a changing, with the Mollys undergoing enough recent overhauls to be classified as another upgraded version. Three new recruits this season, a couple of devastating 20+ wins, half-inching victory fightbacks, and a series of successes on the Molly’s Graveyard prompts many a page turning into the next chapter.
This match had an incestuous feel about it with Matt, Mike, Mike(jnr) and the opposition’s lead striker all related by blood and spit, but there was to be no family charity. After the last two 9-8 victories, any gambling man would’ve easily plumped a schoolboy skiver on a third in a row, but then the Mollys started banging in the first few with lubricated ease. With the team showing as much restraint as Joey Barton in close proximity to literally anyone, to have conceded eight would’ve been an unmitigated folly on a par to appointing a Geordie manager you can’t sack and then appointing above him an unqualified thug as director (football).
With Nathan and Adam late to this jelly and ice cream party, big Mike adopted his converted midfield role, Mike(jnr) played up top, Leo sweeping, and Gareth playing wingback, from back to front, in what the gaffer would describe as “the pocket”. I spare you another joke about the size of Matt’s sweatpants.
Lots of passes and conjuring tricks, gave the illusion of skill, but the shuffling sideways, and possession football was enough to disassemble whatever formation the The Elite had. The opposition’s keeper’s throw outs were constantly intercepted; the Mollys offered them no time, as standing balls were being whipped from them. With the team playing in front and just off, their opposite numbers, there was a absence of man-marking, and Gareth’s deep-lying presented them with a conundrum they couldn’t solve even with the constant repetition of failure. Even monkeys can be shocked into behavioural patterns. Even Will Smith can be brainwashed into alien worship.
All four Molly outfield players scored in the early few minutes, and only a couple of less than impressive lapses allowed the opposition to work Matt, but rarely was he required to reproduce ‘baby catching thrown from burning building’-like skills.
By the time Adam showed up for the latter stages of the first half to flail his limbs around, the Mollys were so far goals to the good, that any collapse would’ve needed to be of the multiple heart attack variety for the team to lose. 7-2 at half time, and the arrival of Nathan and his belligerent eye for goal, was tantamount to the hanging up to drain the blood, after the throat had already been cut.
Despite the matching costumes and the younger legs and limbs, the opposition continued to possess little skill or tactical know-how. Certainly no midfield general or trick-ass pony up front - like the chess club on a field excursion against a Mollys team loaded with disparate flavours like a box of Heroes (Adam being the Fudge).
We let in a couple more charity-box theft worth of goals, including a penalty after a blatant “paying attention ref?” run through the D by junior Mike, but no-one cared. The match lacked any real fire or fight, very rare fouls, more clumsy than cunning – the squirming of a stocked man in the gallows, and just as ineffectual.
Nathan did his best to seize his dozen goals in a half, and after initially getting pwned by their keeper in the first couple of one-on-ones, Nathan finally got his number, got him back to his place, and got his breakfast made, as he lashed in seven with barely a sweat. Either Nathan’s movement is so subtle as to ghost away isolated from the last defender, or the defence were pre-occupied with thoughts of when their soccer moms were gonna arrive for pick-up. With Gareth weighing in with seven goals also, the heat is still on for the golden boot award, whilst Mike(jnr) got off the mark with a very handsome four of his own, to rubber stamp another free-wheeling performance.
At the back, Adam, Leo and Matt were probably discussing Nietchze whilst blindfolded and holding hands, such was the non-event of defending during the match – probably the same hub of activity as at an Atomic Kitten reunion gig. The opposition ultimately put up their dukes with all the one-sidedness of a Khan vs. Beadle (RIP) fight.
So the match finished 20-4, but only the foolhardy would use this match as a barometer of progress – like boasting of keeping a clean sheet against Stern John and Jason Euell, but as we start to pick up speed coming into the end game of the season, and the win counter climbs higher than the loss column, it seems we’re getting better. Is this the new golden age? Can we consign the generation of Wills and Morris to the forgotten annuls? Will we actually see Gardner in goal?
Match 10 Season 4 vs. Our Soles
30/1/08 7.00pm
Matt, Steve, Gareth, Nathan, Adam, Michael, Alan
WON 9-8
Scorers: Nathan 4, Gareth 3, Mike 2
Reviews:
Mike - "Well what can I say - I scored 2 goals, one being the winner, what a screamer it was! What a team performance, we were like football gods"
Adam - "I scored 5, Gareth 2, Nathan 1. It was pretty much a one man (of an allegedly lummox variety) show!"
Nathan - "I scored 4, Gareth 3 and Mike 2.
After being 4-0 down and 6-3 down at half time, in truth we eased to a deserved victory. Mollys played well - Matt let the ball fly in the bottom corner when he thought it was going wide (!!) and he opted to save a ferocious shot with his "joy department" - he was told by the ref to "bend over and take a deep breath"!
Opposition players started moaning as they sensed our comeback would be completed, Mke's movement was awesome for 2 vital goals. I slotted in a penalty and drilled in a left foot shot from an acute angle when the opposition defence were stood ball watching. Gareth chipped in with a pen and 2 individual moments of brilliance. Steve and Alan ran constantly and made some important tackles while Adam ambled about with his arms flailing!!!"
Matt, Steve, Gareth, Nathan, Adam, Michael, Alan
WON 9-8
Scorers: Nathan 4, Gareth 3, Mike 2
Reviews:
Mike - "Well what can I say - I scored 2 goals, one being the winner, what a screamer it was! What a team performance, we were like football gods"
Adam - "I scored 5, Gareth 2, Nathan 1. It was pretty much a one man (of an allegedly lummox variety) show!"
Nathan - "I scored 4, Gareth 3 and Mike 2.
After being 4-0 down and 6-3 down at half time, in truth we eased to a deserved victory. Mollys played well - Matt let the ball fly in the bottom corner when he thought it was going wide (!!) and he opted to save a ferocious shot with his "joy department" - he was told by the ref to "bend over and take a deep breath"!
Opposition players started moaning as they sensed our comeback would be completed, Mke's movement was awesome for 2 vital goals. I slotted in a penalty and drilled in a left foot shot from an acute angle when the opposition defence were stood ball watching. Gareth chipped in with a pen and 2 individual moments of brilliance. Steve and Alan ran constantly and made some important tackles while Adam ambled about with his arms flailing!!!"
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