8:8 Athletico Becks 17/12/08 9.15pm

WON 10-0

By default

Anonymous comments (Best Since Best 10/12/08)

Matt's away and I'm hoping he doesn't see this comment which might spoil his well earned holiday. The differnce between the two teams was easy, the goalkeepers. Matt had a poor game long range shots went by him with ease and he did not cover his near post at all, had words but the truth of the game was there for all spectators to see.You may not believe it as I am slightly biased but I truly beleive the mollies had more possession than the other team they became dirter in the second half and were shoving and pushing us before and when we were in possession. The ref. failed to attend our see any of their poor sportsmanship and we have to change our tactics if we play them again. I narually had a few words with the two main culprits after the match to no avail.But I truly believe we can beat them if we play them again,we must go to ground when they shove and push us its either that or serve up some of their own medicine, I'm happy to come for a couple minutes during the match and even up the odds,it would dishonest tosay I hadn't a score to settle with the little fat man who said after the match "You didn't think you would win did you" No but I did expect you to play fairly I retorted.

8:7 Best Since Best 10/12/08 8.30pm

LOST 5-14
Matt, Leo1, Steve, Alan2, Mike1, Gareth1, Robbie

We're approaching the end of Season 8. Not even the Sopranos, or Buffy The Vampire Slayer made it this far. Yet here we are once again standing on the cold astroturf kicking a frozen ball around on a blister cold pitch, as we attempt to negotiate our way through another game in a season, filled with the usual tragedy, heartache, romance, betrayal and subterfuge.

Numbers can be deceptive. Like bra sizes. Like gross salary. Like score-lines.

5-14 might suggest a dog day afternoon evening of a performance, and it's gonna take a few more of these cheap tricks of defeat, before we find our pretty woman of victory. But in fact, effort on our part could barely be faulted tonight, and I'll even keep stum about Matt's possibly less than Artois goalkeeping - in case the replacement of him next week doesn't go according to the come together loving plan.

So where did we go right - like winning an ugliest baby contest? The opposition were predictable. Predictable like AIDS. We knew what was happening, but couldn't do much to stop it. Scoring like a lottery-winning heroin addict, Best Since Best (personally I've never rated Leon Best as any good) were simply too immeasurably potent, for our stomachs to take. They ragged on us for most of the match, and displayed shooting power and accuracy so clinical that not even Matt, if he'd eaten the team bus, could stop the decimation. The key word, of course, is 'most'. I could dwell on their infuriating ability to pass it from the back in one-twos; their dribblers who liked to run straight down your throat and then play chicken with your mistimed tackle; their 'little man syndrome' running his mouth off as much as his legs; and their golem centre-forward, with a weight and size, and illegal palming off technique, that allowed lay-offs into easy shooting opps. But I won't.

Instead, I'll sing the virtues of our team, ironic like X-Factor contestants sing Britney. The opposition were happy to stand off us, and gave us time on the ball - they weren't hack merchants, just body checkers - but we had to get possession of the ball first, and with their frequent forays into our half producing goals, this wasn't easy without the ref's whistling intervention. When we did find ourselves in scoring positions, we seemed incapable of blasting the ball anywhere than straight into the keeper's arms, despite Don flirting with him during the second half, to supposedly distract him.

At the back and through the middle, the usual suspects of brittle bones, old age, and spirited doggedness - Leo, Steve and Robbie, were trying to comprehend the sheer movement that was bearing down on them from all angles. And in goal, was Matt.

The last time Steve faced this opposition he had impressed them with his keenness to hack away at the legs of anyone near him, finally winding up the golem, with an objectionable swipe, much like hacking at a Redwood with a surgical scalpel. Verbal abuse had followed, and the hilarious taunt that Steve was a "dinlo". This time, Steve was spared such ignominy, but the monolith was still up to his usual arm and elbow up, stand on ball, lay off play. And reacting to it was what we had to try to do, without overly double-teaming him or else allow the other sneaky sons of bitches to slide past us into open space.

Up front, Alan, Gareth and Mike were doing their best to cause trouble. Gareth opened the scoring for us with a neatly executed skimmer that slid under their golden boy keeper's body, and Alan came out fighting, brutally wounded and mortally offended at the harsh words of the 'anonymous commentator' and the feared realisation that after last week's pretty damn good performance without him, his roadblock running down the left could be expendable. The skinhead managed to take less than five touches in his attempts at goal, suitably rewarded with two scores, one of which was a plum outside of the foot, inside of the near post job.

Mike huffed and puffed his way through the match, every shoddy shot or struggled control met with a frustrated grunt, it was like watching Wimbledon women, but without the panty upskirts. Or the tennis, erm... He still managed to get on the score sheet as a shot fired across their D, and rebounded off him into their net. Any closer to it and he would've been in the net himself, any further away, and the ball would've probably flown up and hit the moon. On it's way down. {grunt}

The first half ended with us 7-4 down, which was actually a fricking brilliant situation. If Matt had, well, you know, hmm, then even that tight score-line could've been even tighter. Beyonce in latex, I'm looking at you. Even Don had nothing negative to say. And Hell froze over (still warmer than earth, mind).

As Don would sappily say, in a one for all, all for one mantra, we were playing for each other, passing much better, substituting appropriately and defending like a cohesive unit. We were closing down like Woolworths, but still the opposition’s ability to shoot, by anyone from anywhere, pretty much on target every time, was making Matt, wearing his shorts over his trousers, look comic, but not in a superhero kind of way.

In his long forgotten return, Robbie looked not out of place, as the Mollys’ two up, two down formation was working as best it could, but even he couldn’t help getting bounced off by the physical game of the opposition. Using every trick in the hand(off)book, they were stronger and harder than us, not yet aggressively so. Hell they even apologised on occasions, when they thought they’d crossed the foul line, in a competitive but reasonably fair game. They needn’t have worried too much, because the referee wasn’t blowing for shit. Never mind not having ever seen his penis, he’d clearly never seen his elbow, and was obviously confused when said body part was being used as an offensive weapon in the game of FOOTball.

And so bodies hit the floor, as players got tangled up and tired, as the game drew to climax. Leo got decked onto his arse in the top left, as the ref blinked for about ten seconds, but got to his feet in time to see Steve rob the opposition, and send him away for a counter-attack, to drill home a beautiful stunner into the cornerest of the far corner. Leo even had time to follow it up with the exact same shot moments later, but their keeper stuck out a toe to deny him our second of the half.

As the final whistle blew, it didn’t feel like double figures against; it didn’t feel like only five for. We walked away from the match with our heads held high, our chests puffed out. We’d played to our strengths, and limited them to mostly long range shooting that you’d expect Matt to save {cough}. A well-deserved xmas break to warmer climes for the gaffer beckons, leaving behind a kitty dry and unloved. Didn’t Buster go to Spain?

With no Mollys’ Christmas do this year, I plan to celebrate the festive season by visiting lapland - but not the one that has a chained up reindeer, or resembles a muddy car park instead of the North Pole. Though, there are poles where I’m going.

What the goals website said.....

Gaffers Gob - The Elite 3rd Dec 08

To twist another saying to my ends, lasts night match can be summed up by "what a difference a Gareth makes".

Kudos to any player who stepped onto the pitch last night in what were almost arctic conditions.

Building on the improvement of last week, Gareth returned to the team to add an extra dimension of aggressive running and trickery with the ball. If he can just remember how to shoot straight he could be a heck of a player for us!

Nathan returned to form by not making the journey from Newbury and not letting me know until the match had kicked off. It was only luck the we still had 6 players as Leo was set to hang up his boots for the night. Despite Nathan's assertion that he had acceptable work related reasons, one wonders if this is clouding a return of Netball related excuses favoured by other team members.

The introduction of Gareth helped balance the link between attack and defence which has left us either overstretched at the back or painfully unable to score goals in recent weeks. A situation which is reflected in our lowly league position. Last night saw Leo, Steve and Mike breaking up attacks and harassing attackers who previously ran through our defence with ease while Gareth and little Mike were able to consistently harass the opposition defence and Goal. If only we missed the post less and hit the net more we would have won the match by 2 or 3 clear goals. That situation should improve as Gareth and Nathan return to form and fitness. Alongside this, i would like to repeat my assertion that the 6th and winning goal should not have stood due to being over height. Such a travesty should surely be avoided by the use of assisstive technology, although looking at the state of the patchy ball, Goals may not be able to afford such things (or even a competent ref!). I say that as i was struck in the face last night and that wasn't called over height either when by definition alone it was over chest height as it smashed me in my right eye socket.

Anyway, moaning aside, it cannot undo what was an awesome all round performance which pushed the promotion threatening whippersnappers all the way to the final whistle and shows that the The Mollie's are steadily returning to the dominant form we enjoyed 2 seasons ago. Gareth's return also poses a further question; now his son is back in the team, will our 'anonymous commentator' be so willing to slate all and sundry in his reviews of our games?

Anonymous comments (The Elite 3/12/08)

Quite clearly the introduction of Gareth back into the team helped to boost the team's morale.However it was also clear he was not match fit and possible should have come on for the last ten minutes of the match.I hope he will improve in the next few games.

The Elite were not as good as they thought they were!!Team wise the mollies played well and for each other a rare sight in these last few weeks,passing to each other was markly improved and there was no dribbling through on your own which can usually be broken down quite easily. Steve's tackles were good and he was rarely beaten he appears to have accepted the defenders role with ease. It must have been a big step for him and this is to his credit. " Old forwards never die they become defenders and become wiser " I am hopeful Allan will have the good grace to do likewise.Leo played his usuasl game and was in the thick of it throughtout, Matt's long throws were unusally accurate and his goalkeeping kept the scoreline down to 6, Big Mike played well and no-one could doubt his committment to the mollies.

Little Mike played his usual game refusing to come back and help his defenders out in the first half after some encouraging words at half time he did improve in the second half however, he steadfastly refused to be subbed off saying later he wasn't tired I respectfully suggested it wasn't always about what he thought, it should be about the team. Clearly if the gaffer plays him again? I wouldn't for at least a couple of matches,then he needs to act as a team member.Point of note Elite had 8 players and substitutions were regularly spaced I have suggested that our players should be subbed at regular intervals rather than putting their hand up when they feel tired or guilty?It may change our losing streak if decisions regarding subbing were made by players not on the pitch and their advisor yours truly.

8:6 The Elite 3/12/08 7.45pm

LOST 5-6
Matt, Leo, Big Mike1, Steve, Little Mike3, Gareth1

This match report has been reduced by 2.5%.

It’s been awhile, and in my lethargic absence, Anonymous and Gaffer have bravely offered alternative insights into the world of the Mollys, and long may it continue, with the Comments seemingly nihilistically negative, and the Gob overly orgasmically optimistic.

My trip up to the Steel City a few weeks back meant I lacked the opportunity to write up a match report for the game against Athletico Becks and the chance to call out the financial irregularities of our captain/manager and treasurer. The most notable revelation of that match came long before kick-off, with Matt showing off his new boots with a grandiose swagger of someone who had stolen money from a kitty trust fund man-purse to pay for them. Coincidently, Matt also announced that the kitty was no longer overflowing like rainbow end pots of gold, and had diminished to such an extent that any Christmas curry party would amount to hobo-licking the bottom of foil containers in the alleyway behind the Nat Raj.

Those of us with no imagination at all would happily accept such a turn of events, and rationally agree that a combination of a lack of players, and the use of a 14 year old, who can't afford the subs, but probably carries around £300 worth of stuff about his person (mp3 player, skater shoes, bling watch, PSP - source: ©The Daily Mail), has meant the man-purse has taken more hits than freemeganfoxnudepics.net. Roger Cook here however, wants a full investigation into any 3rd party Icelandic influences that our gaffer may be under; and any sinister betting patterns coinciding with Matt virtually throwing goals into his own net in recent weeks.

New boots for our keeper don't really assist of course, unless worn on the hands and would then provide a better grip on the ball than Matt's gloves have been showing. New boots however do assist the outfield players, and after literally 50 years of playing football with a pair of running shoes, Leo turned up last week finally having spent his own money on a pair of astro turf boots. This was a direct response to his previous wastefulness in the last game when a fistful of chances went straight at the opposition keeper with narrow game-losing consequences.

Leo's nu-boots (which weren’t jaffy pink) brought about the same impact that Steve's magic boots had done months previously, but in a positive way, and almost upstaged Nathan's long awaited return after his foot transplant bringing an immediate touch of attacking class, unlike Guns n’ Roses long awaited return delivering an immoderate piece of lacking ass. With one of our first team frontmen back in the line-up, it was like the good old days - a decent closely fought first half, followed by one heck of a second half collapse. With Don heckling from the sidelines about Alan and Steve’s less than stellar attacking, tracking back and defending, Steve finally snapped, telling our resident cheerleader to fuck off, in much the same way our opposition have often done. Unfortunately he wasn’t the only one to blame, as we failed to play ourselves out of our own half, and gifted them so many goals, it’s probably Christmas or something.

This week, saw the return of the other half of our double-barrelled striking shotgun, Gareth (and his floppy fringe) in a match against opponents, The Elite, we failed to beat previously when they’d gone down to four. With Little Mike in on the action, in place of an indisposed Nathan, it was now a question of whether we could now start to score goals into the double figures, after the fallow years of Alan and Big Mike upfront.

And whilst Gareth made it through the match unscathed, his first touch in much of the first half was happily humanly appalling. By the second, he’d warmed up enough, and drilled home an exceptional classic from the left. Alongside him, Little Mike also stuck home a fabulous solo goal, robbing an opposite number from our corner, running through the entire length of the pitch before sliding home. He even survived a half-time lecture from Don to track back more, and not stand idly on his own up front waiting for the counter. AND a full-time interrogation from Don, as to why he never subbed himself, despite the cheerleader’s belief he was knackered many times over. These unstoppable hormone-powered 14yr olds, eh?

The level of goals conceded was a real coup for the defensive unit - Matt, Leo and Steve working well to counter the obvious threat from the opposition’s runners - Steve getting his tactics right, “LET HIM DANCE!” as their ringer tried his blatant dodge-thrust manoeuvres to get past the crusty old sea dog, and failing on every occasion that mattered. Truly delighted with his performance, this is what happens when Steve actually DEFENDS, and the partnership with Leo was their best joint performance ever. Don would be proud.

Big Mike was a “ponsy” according to Don, which I think is a cross between pansy and ponce, wearing his shell suit trousers to keep out the cold despite the fact he has the thickest thighs of us all. Mike slammed home an early goal and celebrated like it was the 93rd minute winner, even smashing the ball home again in celebratory euphoria. Shame it only counted once, and he followed that up with less a succession of his usual high and wide shots, then with constantly getting the ball trapped beneath his retarded feet, and being turned over. In fact, from the whole strike force, there was a lot of stuttering, fumbling movements, and little incisive, crisp, immediate action. Definitely not helped by cold weather that burnt the hands, and froze the toes, our movement at times was confused and overcrowded in the final third.

Matt will protest as long as time, and as loud as hell, that their winning goal was over regulation height, but when you’ve gone to ground early, and you’re looking up from your prone useless position, everything seems like orbiting the moon from where you are. If it was that high, why didn’t you save it on the way up, or on the way down? You should’ve had enough time. Yeah, I said it.

And I agree with Don’s assertions about our pitifully slow free-kick taking (as I have done for many many years). We are not Premier League. We don’t rehearse set-pieces on the training ground. LOOK where you’re gonna play the ball. Then PUT the ball down. Then PLAY it. This is basic tactics 101. The dancing around to create space at free-kick opportunities is risible, and hoping that the opposition get suckered into calling our bluff and offering up gaps is giving us and them too much credit. Teams rarely cope with the quick ball - they can’t get men back in time. We should know - we’ve been fucked over by these two weeks running now.

In the end, we just couldn’t throw enough crap at their keeper, in the hope that some of it would stick, and another frustrating defeat raised it’s middle fingers. Their resident thug had enough time to be clattered down by a combination of Little Mike and Leo, get a free-kick awarded against him for handling, and then bitch something ponsy.

We’re improving, but without a settled side, we never have anything to build on, and the reset button gets hit every week. Where is our first real win since 10th September going to come from? Next week against the team that decimated us 17-5 last time? "Dinlo" Steve has some tactics for that. Better listen to him, eh?