1:2 Shake n'Bake 30/4/09 8.30pm

LOST 12-5
1.Matt 3.Alan (1) 4.Steve 5.Leo (1) 6.Robbie 8.Rob (3)

I was sat in the cinema last week, and contemplating what would happen if someone came crashing through the doors coughing and spluttering over everyone, shouting “I’ve got the swine flu, die you fuckers”. I wanted to know what would’ve happened in that confined area; whether there would be mass panic and trampling for the exit, whether the Cineworld staff would have the speed to shut tight the doors and quarantine us infected; whether the carrier would’ve got his head kicked in. Then X-Men Origins: Wolverine started, and I fell asleep.

Playing for The Mollys is like some surreal dream. Only we can make a song and dance out of playing football. Only we can make drama queens out of adult males. Only we can turn a 5-5 draw into a 12-5 defeat in the space of ten minutes.

With the addition of Rob, in another useful cameo appearance, to a stilted line-up, Matt for the first time in ages (if ever) was actually our youngest Molly player tonight, and against a team of youths, for whom Shake N Bake is probably a reference first heard in Talladega Nights, whilst for the Molly team, many probably actually bought the crispy skin coating product.

First things first, and Steve once again handed out his 9p bottles of energised tastes-like-fruit coloured water, in the hope that such nutrients would improve our performance, short of knocking out our opponents by throwing them fully loaded at their heads. We were assigned pitch 5 - the graveyard, and it gave us an excuse to watch the pretty girls playing football on that pitch, with accomplished effort. I’ll hold onto my piece as a refrain from sexual innuendo, but query this - why do the biffers always play in goal? Why do girls always seem to have an extra stage between pulling their leg back, and kicking the ball? There’s a weird extra stutter - it can’t just be me, someone else must notice it…..

Once we got on the pitch, Steve was scared witless by the prospect of having to wear the red bibs. Deep in his psyche is a war wound or a childhood horror about this. Best not open that can of worms. With bibs duly donned, one of me looked svelte. Some of us looked like we were wearing boob tubes. Others of us looked like we were wearing bras. Even so, the hideousness of Matt’s latest keeper’s jersey - green and black - won the most needed visit from Gok’s Fashion Fix.

We started the game really well. We were focussed in our ambition, our formation and our tactics - Rob and Alan would do all the running, and the rest of us would prattle around a little bit. We scored first, as Alan carved himself a beautiful opening, taking one touch to drag him back inside from the outside right, smashing home a sensational barnstormer.

They scored in reply, before Leo then got a lucky loose ball off the back wall, actually controlled it first, before smashing it into all four angles of the far post with Torres-like precision. The opposition then got a couple more to take the first half into a 3-2 deficit to the Mollys.

The opposition came across as fairly decent young lads, with a perchance for disliking our somewhat more rough-house, manly tactics in levering them off the ball, or just kicking them in the foot, or just running straight into them. We’d like to think this a deliberate attempt to rough them up a bit, and not our general inadequacies at winning the ball back. They played with a very obvious pass-and-go triangles style, that was easily met by hard-working, never isolated, four man wall of red bibs, propelling away all invaders. Although I think Matt let another goal slip softly under his bollocks (it happens every week now, it deserves it’s own weekly show on ITV2, right after Celebrity Juice), he was having a pretty good half, and his short and long distribution was as well as his limited options allowed him.

Up front, there was no less effort from the Skinner brothers, running dead into the left channel, the right channel, and at least two other channels that quantum physics has yet to discover. At the back, Robbie and Steve were doing their usual facing up to the opposition, hoping they didn’t run fast at them, whilst Leo was marking space, in the useful way, dropping into holes to intercept passes from.

Half-time. Lots of civilised, genuine praise for effort. But as we were losing we should’ve had the right to choose whether to change ends, and we didn’t want to. The opposition of five, weren’t particularly happy with us subbing on their ball, when their keeper had possession, nor having to cover the oncoming sub who could position himself straight into a dangerous position (we were kicking towards the door, radio listeners). So the ref made us swap, under the pretence that a floodlight was out in their corner, and it wouldn’t be fair for them to continue with that disadvantage. Seriously, even me just relaying this information makes me sound like a bullshitter.

Second half, and Rob came into his own, taking off his shirt and just wearing his bib, in the closest approximation we’ve had to bringing sexy back. Rob took the game to the younglings, grabbing a hat-trick, including a beautiful isolated turn on a central through ball straight from Matt’s throw out (yeah, I know, that happens so rarely, it deserves it’s own annual national holiday day), and taking a penalty with a cheeky two stutters, and then one step forward, that the ref called good, after their keeper slid out of his box. Matt would get away with something similar, like he does every week, but he was in the dark corner of the pitch.

We’d got it to 5-5 with relative ease, but then our usual can of faults reared their ugly heads out of the woodwork. As we tired, our hitherto excellently balanced formation took a nosedive, with Alan and Rob dropping deeper, we were getting schooled in constant attack waves, which forced Leo higher up the pitch, and even onto the dreaded left wing, in an attempt to keep the opposition busy.

They instead changed tactics completely, running straight at us, forcing us to not to tackle and foul them whilst they then siphoned the ball wide for close range shooting against Matt. As we were too deep, we were static in our defending, and their individual dribbling skill was smashing straight through our too straight back line. When they pulled ahead 8-5, we abandoned all hope ye who entered here, and went on some suicidal rampage up top, our attacks breaking down so swiftly, without occupying their keeper, that they countered us in numbers, overlapping us in a devastating spell of five goals in barely the last four minutes, most of which put Matt one on one against the striker, and Matt failing that particular task.

So a respectable majority performance was sullied by a shabbily naïve last few minutes. The story of The Molly Maguires. Still we had fun….

I write this report a week after the event and with the benefit of hindsight. Or is it foresight? If I know something now, that I didn’t know then, but am writing from a past perspective…I should write an episode of Lost. Hopes are high, for me anyway, that the squad numbers can return to a more manageable level once again, with the threat of the return of Molly stalwarts such as the Boy Wonder, the Water Carrier and the Silver Fox. Am I still asleep? Is this X-Men Origins: Wolverine?

1:1 Discovery Yachts FC 23/4/09 7.45pm

LOST 11-2
1.Matt 3.Alan 4.Steve 5.Leo 6.Robbie 7.Nathan (2)

“We are ready for the siege. We are armed up to the teeth”

The day the football died. The day Southampton FC spun off into the financial abyss and League One oblivion, never to return.

For The Molly Maguires however, this was a new beginning, a new day of the week, and new challenges.

New challenges, like finding a gawd damn parking space - in a disabled bay, on a grass verge, on a petrol station forecourt. Like not passing comment on Alan’s black and white goatee - ask him to pucker up and you’d be looking at a badger’s bum. Like not laughing at Matt’s bumblebee costume, worn for comedic effect, or to draw goal shot fire; a living breathing Simpsons’ character - the ’bumble’ true enough. Like integrating another new member of Alan’s extended genepool, freshly cloned, youthful and pacey. Like getting used to seeing tight cycle short on leggy girls, and the peek of bra straps, other than those belonging to Matt.

In football terms however, it was same shit, different day.

With James still suffering whiplash from the British version of Speed - brakeless double-decker mounting pavements at 25mph for 100 yards- he was nevertheless an excited spectator alongside a ‘ready if needed’ Rob.

Having abandoned Wednesdays, for the greater likelihood of having to play opposition every week, the chance to gawp at footballing ladies, to boost squad numbers, to watch Champions’ League matches uninterrupted, we were in uncharted territory, with every team a mystery to solve. Our first opponents were less like the retired yacht builders Steve had hoped for, and more like spunky cabin boys.

So we tried to implement a better tactical system that would play better to individual strengths; Leo’s intercepting skills, Robbie’s foot first tackling and blocking; Steve’s long-sighted short-range passing; Alan’s incessant running, and Nathan v2.0’s aggression and smash-shooting.

Playing the game in daylight and being able to see our team mates was an obvious bonus. However, a soft referee and some tetchy initial coming togethers sparked off a few bruising running battles. The Mollys played a quasi-defensive formation that drew fire toward Matt’s goal, but enabled us attempts at the counter-attack. Unfotunately those attempts were insipid and androgynous.

Long story short: Alan held the ball up well as our escape-route frontman, but his soft n’ slow lay-offs produced little crunch and deserved even less credit. Steve produced another inspired one-two passing move that saw him bundle his way through the centre midfield, but his resulting shot was tame and claimed. Leo played his sweeper role well for much of the match, until an obvious failing of the team playing too deep and producing little bite in attack saw him press further forward, isolating himself from his team-mates, who will remain nameless, incapable of playing accurate passes from the back.

From the back, Robbie was incapable of playing passes accurately, getting his foot caught under the ball and being turned over too regularly. The defence’s tackling was up to snuff, but, again, -broken record- Matt’s rushing the edge of the D didn’t help him with the angled corner drives. Nathan appeared to have no faith in his own passing ability or running at defenders from deep, as the inordinate amount of back passing to Matt was eventually punished with a penalty awarded against us, and duly dispatched. Practising saving those will be needed for the August tournament, believe me. Alan’s shooting was haphazardly off the mark, Leo’s shooting was straight at their goalie. Only Nathan had the gumption to drill past the Yachts’ admittedly half-decent keeper.

At half-time we were 4-1 down, and Steve suggested tactical changes. Leo disagreed, believing we could build on our efforts and pull the deficiet back. We lost the second half 7-1. Go figure. There was little positive to take away from this match. We looked out of our depth, against fitter, faster opposition, and these guys weren’t even that good. Robbie continues to show me his bruises like they’re medals of valour, but even his brick wall defending won’t save us from a succession of defeats this season.

Wednesdays: Seasons 1-10: Final Player Stats

*Accurate only to the data available

10:3 SEC 15/4/09 9:15pm

Won 10-0

By default

Live long and prosper

http://www.trekyourself.com/?mId=29880975.2

10:2 Athletico Becks 8/4/09 8:30pm

LOST 2-10
Matt, Leo, Steve1, Robbie, Alan, James1

“Opinions are like arseholes. Everybody’s got one.”

First things first. Cards on the table. I hold myself partially responsible for the resignation of two players in the history of The Molly Maguires - our bald-headed Sweden top wearing winger, who was caricatured as an aggressive skinhead; and Mr Chucklesworth, who was described as a shit keeper. So I know how to dish out criticism to such an extent, that no matter how much you didn’t really mean it, that you were being light-hearted, that you were just exaggerating characteristics for comedic effect, someone can take it personally, and be offended. Therefore, by the same token, I can tell the difference between constructive criticism, and malicious bile-spewing vitriol.

Of the current squad, and yes, we still have enough players for that word to be used, only myself and Robbie have been there from the start. The Molly Maguires, stupid oversized green polyester shirts and all, were formed because a bunch of work colleagues, and relatives of work colleagues, enjoyed playing the odd bi-annual kick about at the Institute, or at St Mary’s, and wanted it more regularly. We wanted to play football. That’s it. There was no grand scheme about climbing onto podiums. No thoughts about shiny medals. Quite frankly we were not good enough for that. Our first season at Vida saw us shoved incongruously into the top division, where for seven games straight, we got decimated, or as that dickhead Alan Pardew would say we got “raped” several times over - a particular low point being an 18-0 hammering. We should have packed up then.

Instead we stuck it out. We played for many seasons, experienced various highs and lows, played with some really good players, and some not so good - Gareth‘s ‘keeps goal with his feet’ friend; Jesus-look-a-like ‘one to ten’ Ben; and the mythical Mr X. Never once did we step onto the pitch with the intention of losing. Not once did I deliberately let some chav punk-ass pass me without attempting to proverbially ‘punch his clock‘ in the tackle.

I don’t remember the defeats. I only remember the sweet victories. The awesome 7-1 shutout against Park FC; the amazing last minute winner (by me of course) to beat Benfica Chicken Tikka 5-4; and our first ever league victory against Roystone Rangers 8-5. I don’t like losing, but some teams are just better than us. I don’t like losing, but I still sleep sound at night. I know, as the ultimate critic, whether I did my best. And whether everyone else who played did the same. You don’t have to accept my match rating of 2/5 for your shitty performance, but if you really hold my opinion in such high regard, maybe you should go kill yourself because I’m telling you to.

We’ve had this ‘crisis’ before, and it wasn’t even a crisis back then. but that man Hatton’s project, was clear even back then. Our previous gaffer cited the basic principles of why the team was formed in the first place, to play football and to enjoy it. Of course, part of the fun is winning, and it shouldn’t be suggested we don’t try to achieve that. Otherwise, we’d all just stand around like bollards, hoping someone would reverse into us.

We disbanded the team once before, for over a year, because of injuries and lack of enthusiasm; lack of players; and because we took it too seriously for a meagre status. Downloading Flo Rida’s latest album illegally does not make me a hip-hop record producer. Kicking a football about on a synthetic pitch doesn't make me Pele. We are just a bunch of guys who get together to play competitive matches of football for the fun of making that last second block, making that diving save, smashing that goal in from the half-way line, putting a opposition player onto his arse. All of which contributes to us trying to win the game.

The team has to evolve to accommodate the personnel; the loss of big lugs like Mike and Adam; the poisoned chalice position of the second striker; the lack of permanent reinforcements. We can’t have three at the back in the hope that we can bore opposition into submission. If the criteria for playing for this team was based on skill alone, we would cease to exist. If the criteria for supporting a team was based on winning alone, then no-one would support Newcastle United.

Having said all that, our last match, against the Sniffers, and the witty observations or critical assessments or personal attacks that followed masked the most important thing about it. That yes, I gave my best effort. That I believe that others give their best effort. I have been present for 99% of the games we have ever played. I have reported on almost as many. I have seen it with my eyes, standing out there in the cold and rain. I pass judgement on a player’s commitment to the team, over several games. If a person is not committed to the team, they don’t come back.

Even more most importantly, Leo scored a goal that proved he had the desire to win, as he smashed a shot too straight against the wall, then got to the re-bound first to hit another shot at the keeper, before getting his left foot around the ball, hitting the keeper, and him squirming it over the line, for a goal after his third attempt. Best effort duly made.

As for the other players, mistakes were made - James needed to focus on winning the ball, and not crying to the ref every time he got knocked off, because unless he’s sent crashing into the wall, the ref’s view of his petulant backchat will cost us sooner rather than later. Alan needed to avoid doing that weird Peter Crouch thing, of missing a shot, and then raising his eyes skyward, whilst the ball is still in play, and the action is happening behind his back. And Matt needed to stop letting through balls parallel to his goal run straight through his D to an opposing player to side foot a simple angled shot.

We showed in the second half that our heads would not drop, as has happened in the past, and we bossed that second half with better grit and tactical astuteness, winning that second 20 minutes without any shadows of doubt.

I agree with much of what the gaffer said about that match, and so it’s clear, he wasn’t “self-appointed“, he was press-gang volunteered because no-one else wanted to do it, and he’s done a pretty damn good job since, fighting absenteeism, temper tantrums and budget control, with real leadership, even if his goalkeeping itself has shown a noticeable recent decline.

And so to this evening and our first PG-rated performance (post-Gareth) against Athletico Becks, a team against whom we’ve had the full gamut of performances and results.

We walked onto that pitch determined to lose by as many goals as humanly possible without actually sticking the shots past Matt ourselves. We wanted to pay our eight quid to stand around like dummies getting butt-fucked by younger opposition, whilst a thrilling Liverpool-Chelsea quarter-final was showing in the bar. Steve couldn’t shut up about his lucky spinning shot that squirmed under their keeper’s body, and proclaimed himself the greatest goalscorer we’ve ever seen. Alan never strayed beyond the halfway line, literally linking hands with Steve, Leo and Robbie in a four man defensive line, whilst our patronising lip service to retard rights wandered around grateful that he was allowed to be among normal people. At the final whistle, we hoped the opposition would look longingly into our dead eyes as they shook our hands in pathetic pity. We trudged off that pitch having thoroughly enjoyed losing by just an eight goal margin.

All of which of course is bullshit. Except Matt throwing the ball into his own net to gift the opposition a goal. And my shouting to Matt that he was playing crap after he’d let in the fourth consecutive angled drive from the left wing without diving for it was the least he deserved.

Okay we got the tactics completely wrong. In the first half we played a certain way, and didn’t succeed, losing 7-1. In the second half, we changed the way we played, and got it a bit better right, losing 3-1. So what happened?

Our personnel dictated our tactics. Our personnel weren’t up for meeting the targets of those tactics. With Robbie rightly anchored at the back of the outfield, he nevertheless lacks the necessary speed to sweep up overlapping runners, and needs someone to either chase into the corner, or to drop onto the D whilst he goes forward to cut down the angle. In the first half, this was largely a task assigned to Steve, a player who goes from full tank of energy to a full tank of empty in double quick time.

Unfortunately through constant badgering about how old he is and therefore how he shouldn’t be anywhere near the opposition’s goal edge, and perhaps a dip in confidence brought about by his everday injury, Steve has dropped into a deep defensive position which quite frankly is a waste of his best asset - his sharp tackling. In midfield, his winning of the ball can set up counter-attacks against outnumbered opposition. In defence, his tackles come too late, and do nothing for us proactively. The number of times in the last few weeks that Steve has frustratingly cursed aloud the team’s inability to tackle or close down dribblers is down to the simple fact he’s out of his natural position and not doing that shit himself.

To push forward Steve is to bring back Leo. Robbie and Leo can work much better in tandem in defence, and on tonight’s showing the lynchpin needs to start taking back his sweeper role. In the first half Leo was playing right wingback with limited success. He was too far forward to reach Matt’s distance-lacking throwouts, and too tightly marked to get away from his marker. The simple fact is Leo has no attacking skills unless the ball is presented in front of him and he’s running at speed onto it. Without Gareth driving through the centre to create space and opportunities, Leo looks exactly like the first-touch long shot chancer he is.

In attack we had Alan and James, but where normally they would be linking up to better effect, there was a severe lack of understanding between them. Even with Alan offering himself for a drop ball back down the line, James was hitting impossible angle shots that never troubled the keeper. The key to our attacking success is how this new strike partnership play off each other, because they’re all we got, so they need to start playing tighter to each other, and be each other’s first option every time.

James wasn’t doing enough to stay close enough to their last defender, when they had possession, to be able to cut off that back line supply line. He should’ve been subtly dropping off their last defender only when we regained possession of the ball, in a way only the sadly deceased (well, he may as well be) Nathan seemed capable of doing. Otherwise, James was just waiting for a long counter ball from Matt that never came, or a high up tackle and pass from Steve, that also never came.

And Alan unfortunately found the going way too tough, frequently crowded out, despite seemingly operating on both wings throughout the game. Shots were very few and far between in the first half, with only Leo trying to smash shots at their keeper, whilst clipping in the odd kick at opposition heels and shins, James contriving to hit the post from a cross D pass, and finally Steve squirming in a spinning shot to give us our only first half damage.

As mentioned earlier, Matt let in a succession of angled drives from the left wing, all similar, all probably from the tall blue eyed blonde. Either the defence weren’t threatening the shot enough, or Matt’s ground diving skills have taken a nose dive into swill. The gaffer is still not showing enough good recent form for me to suggest anything but perhaps some Ferguson-like complacency is going on.

The second half was better and the reason why, was because Leo dropped into defence, and we pushed Steve further forward. This worked better because Leo had the pace to last second challenge almost every shot on the edge of the D in the hope of putting the strikers off, and even get some useful interceptions. This allowed Steve and Robbie to get the first kick bite of the tackle cherry, with Leo covering if they failed. The difference was much more noticeable as the panicked shots from Athletico Becks were more high and over than before.

Leo could also put his long passing off the walls to better use, setting a passing move off that resulted in James or possibly Alan stroking home a simple second goal. Our other tactic from an attacking perspective was an epic fail. But at least we tried it and persevered with it - the long throw from Matt to James EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. It only worked in the sense that James almost always got the first touch on it - he just couldn’t do anything with it; back to goal, he didn’t possess the skills to turn and shoot and had no oncoming support to lay off to. He needs to be utilised in the same way Nobby was, and actually have him take the ball on the halfway line, rather than so trapped in the opposition’s corner.

So with a hardcore survivor rate of just six players after our very own anoncalypse, we need to adjust the way we play, and in an ironic twist, the man who preached that Steve and Alan should play in defence, has, in a roundabout way, forced the team to play them further forward in order to get the defence back up to snuff. We need to attack and defend as a unit like we’re all attached to a big ole rope, a basketball formation like Hodgson advocates at Fulham, or like a Saw V deathtrap if you need imaginary pressure. I personally learnt a lot about how we can and how we should play from this game, and as chief tactician I will be looking for some implementation. It’s time we went back to the old school, when we knew what our best positions were, and we played them.

On more positive notes, several future prospects are in hand that make the future of The Molly Maguires that little bit brighter. There’s the national “employer’s” tournament in August in London, with Matt seeking approval from our overlord and master, and Steve seeking sponsorship from a coffee shop he frequents whilst leering at girls in summer skirts, or celeb-spotting David Gest, whilst fending off the attentions of a manic bag lady. Put that in your advertising slogan.

There’s the upcoming Southampton vs. Portsmouth III : The Revenging, when our colleagues in Pompey will be looking to avenge their humiliating whitewash defeat on their own turf in November 07. C’mon Hatton, take that fragile ankle out for one last suffering.

And finally, because Robbie bitched and moaned about it so much, we move back to Thursday evening, on the promise of more regular attendance from our stalwart defender, and the chance of Dan coming back to bulk up the numbers and to cadge for photography and window glazing business.

Playing for this team is never dull that’s for certain. And so, I leave you with a quote from a great black American philosopher - “When the sun shines, we’ll shine together. Know that I’ll be here forever. Said I’d always be your friend. Took an oath, I’m a stick it out till the end. Now that it’s raining more than ever, know that we’ll still have each other. You can stand under my umbrella. You can stand under my umbrella.”

10:1 The Sters 1/4/09 7:45pm

WON 10-0

By default