1.Matt 2.James 3.Alan 4.Steve 5.Leo 9.Gareth
Before I begin this report, I have some bad news to tell you. Michael Jackson has died. I know this will come as a shock, and you probably won’t believe me until you see it confirmed on the news or the rest of the interwebsphere, but I thought it was right that I tell you first. It’s your reward for reading this blog. Scoop!
This report is dedicated to that man. He loved his ‘soccer‘, and was in fact a secret The Molly Maguires fan, never mind Uri and Exeter. I used to call him every four weeks or so, and update him on how we were getting on, that we kept on losing our matches, and that we were all bitching at each other, and he just kept saying to me “Oh, you guys are so funny. You just need to love each other, man, hee-hee”. He was so positive and inspirational, and he made me smile. He always asked after you guys, how was Gareth doing, had he become a man yet, was it too late?
Michael first exposed himself to me when I was about 16. Euro Disney, Paris had just opened. There he was in all his 3-D glory on the screen as Captain Eo, although my abiding memory of that epic musical sci-fi drama, was the blonde back-up dancer next to him with the 3-D multiplied by ten breasts. My smooth criminal - I beat it.
Tonight’s match followed last week’s heartbreaker of a defeat against Shake N‘ Bake. A perfectly balanced, formationally strong line-up, that had a defensive backbone stronger than a British female tennis person, and a Gareth-inspired attack of verve and nerve stronger than an insipid Gareth attack from a few weeks back. It took ages for either team to open their account (not surprising given the credit crunch, ho, ho), but two hunting probes from our boy wonder paid dividends putting us into a two goal lead, before a clearly annoyed Matt let one of their shots get the better of him, at the death of the first half, as we went into half-time 2-1 up. An exciting change of situation for once. We had defended ourselves with gusto, reducing the opposition’s shooting to long-range and high and wide off the wall. Our shots however were much more accurate, giving their stocky keeper plenty of work to do, but like the stockpiled cakes were sticking to his thighs, so was the ball, barely giving us the chance to follow shots up.
The second half was just as frenetic a thriller, and having conceded the lead, eventually Leo’s close range smashed shot/tackle/interception, drew the team level to 5-5, before a jinky too many off the side wall from Steve, conceded unmarked possession to the paunchy bald guy to jab home their sixth. We tried to find the second equaliser, and despite our speed demon occupying their markers to create space for the rest of us to press forward, it never came. Our best performance in a long while, especially that first half - even Gareth said we were doing good - was unfortunately just too blue-balling.
This week, we were back to the bad old fashioned second half collapse against the team just above us. 6-4 down at half-time. 7-6 down within seven or eight minutes of the second half. 12-6 down at the end of the game. There’s some sort of psychological distortion that goes on in our heads. Many of us blamed the muggy heat, and our re-instated one substitute policy. Some would blame a systematic collapse of formation and patience - me chief culprit. Don would blame a lack of Nathan as an alternative problem maker to Gareth, and Don’s opinions are always right (eyebrow raising emoticon). I think it was a combination of all these factors -it isn‘t that black or white. But another part of me blames the absence of Robbie, and his ‘lack of babysitter’ excuse (look, Michael was having a fucking heart-attack - he just couldn’t make it).
For whatever reason, Robbie continues to have some sort of weird deal going with Mephisto, that manifests itself in conceding the fewest goals whilst he’s in defence - six in the two previous weeks, and one of those was in front of Rob, emergency keeper with no gloves. Of course we still lost those matches, but clearly Robbie’s soul wasn’t worth enough for actual victory.
We certainly proved dangerous initially, James replacing Robbie’s defensive knack, with powerful shooting attack. Alan, rib-pain free, got back on the scoring sheet with some really good power play, and Gareth flirting between defenders whilst deciding whether to stick or twist with his available attacking options. Free-kicks were all the rage as boots and shoves were being thrown around like bandwagon eulogies. James smashed in some class shots from the right wing, and Steve curled home a signature curling corker that hit the upright stanchion and went out.
Shame then, that the heat, Matt’s coincidental decision to switch ends, and a general lack of concentration conspired to rob us of any semblance of a close result, and left us finally at the bottom of the league table. Despite our appalling win-defeat ratio over recent months, it’s actually hard to remember the time when we propped up the table - we’ve always relied on drop-out teams to cover our shortcomings. Relegation truly beckons.
Enough of this negative nonsense. I need to eat. I feel like toast. With jam.
This report is dedicated to that man. He loved his ‘soccer‘, and was in fact a secret The Molly Maguires fan, never mind Uri and Exeter. I used to call him every four weeks or so, and update him on how we were getting on, that we kept on losing our matches, and that we were all bitching at each other, and he just kept saying to me “Oh, you guys are so funny. You just need to love each other, man, hee-hee”. He was so positive and inspirational, and he made me smile. He always asked after you guys, how was Gareth doing, had he become a man yet, was it too late?
Michael first exposed himself to me when I was about 16. Euro Disney, Paris had just opened. There he was in all his 3-D glory on the screen as Captain Eo, although my abiding memory of that epic musical sci-fi drama, was the blonde back-up dancer next to him with the 3-D multiplied by ten breasts. My smooth criminal - I beat it.
Tonight’s match followed last week’s heartbreaker of a defeat against Shake N‘ Bake. A perfectly balanced, formationally strong line-up, that had a defensive backbone stronger than a British female tennis person, and a Gareth-inspired attack of verve and nerve stronger than an insipid Gareth attack from a few weeks back. It took ages for either team to open their account (not surprising given the credit crunch, ho, ho), but two hunting probes from our boy wonder paid dividends putting us into a two goal lead, before a clearly annoyed Matt let one of their shots get the better of him, at the death of the first half, as we went into half-time 2-1 up. An exciting change of situation for once. We had defended ourselves with gusto, reducing the opposition’s shooting to long-range and high and wide off the wall. Our shots however were much more accurate, giving their stocky keeper plenty of work to do, but like the stockpiled cakes were sticking to his thighs, so was the ball, barely giving us the chance to follow shots up.
The second half was just as frenetic a thriller, and having conceded the lead, eventually Leo’s close range smashed shot/tackle/interception, drew the team level to 5-5, before a jinky too many off the side wall from Steve, conceded unmarked possession to the paunchy bald guy to jab home their sixth. We tried to find the second equaliser, and despite our speed demon occupying their markers to create space for the rest of us to press forward, it never came. Our best performance in a long while, especially that first half - even Gareth said we were doing good - was unfortunately just too blue-balling.
This week, we were back to the bad old fashioned second half collapse against the team just above us. 6-4 down at half-time. 7-6 down within seven or eight minutes of the second half. 12-6 down at the end of the game. There’s some sort of psychological distortion that goes on in our heads. Many of us blamed the muggy heat, and our re-instated one substitute policy. Some would blame a systematic collapse of formation and patience - me chief culprit. Don would blame a lack of Nathan as an alternative problem maker to Gareth, and Don’s opinions are always right (eyebrow raising emoticon). I think it was a combination of all these factors -it isn‘t that black or white. But another part of me blames the absence of Robbie, and his ‘lack of babysitter’ excuse (look, Michael was having a fucking heart-attack - he just couldn’t make it).
For whatever reason, Robbie continues to have some sort of weird deal going with Mephisto, that manifests itself in conceding the fewest goals whilst he’s in defence - six in the two previous weeks, and one of those was in front of Rob, emergency keeper with no gloves. Of course we still lost those matches, but clearly Robbie’s soul wasn’t worth enough for actual victory.
We certainly proved dangerous initially, James replacing Robbie’s defensive knack, with powerful shooting attack. Alan, rib-pain free, got back on the scoring sheet with some really good power play, and Gareth flirting between defenders whilst deciding whether to stick or twist with his available attacking options. Free-kicks were all the rage as boots and shoves were being thrown around like bandwagon eulogies. James smashed in some class shots from the right wing, and Steve curled home a signature curling corker that hit the upright stanchion and went out.
Shame then, that the heat, Matt’s coincidental decision to switch ends, and a general lack of concentration conspired to rob us of any semblance of a close result, and left us finally at the bottom of the league table. Despite our appalling win-defeat ratio over recent months, it’s actually hard to remember the time when we propped up the table - we’ve always relied on drop-out teams to cover our shortcomings. Relegation truly beckons.
Enough of this negative nonsense. I need to eat. I feel like toast. With jam.
