Matt, Leo, Alan, James, Rob, Nathan
We were almost there last time in our 6-5 defeat. We were but the bridesmaid, as a game we trailed 5-3 at half-time to level it up with barely a few minutes to go, before the crushing inevitability of being put back on the shelf. But never is there a greater truism than catching the bouquet and the consequences thereof, and so this week we finally married lady victory, threw her onto the bridal bed, put a ring on it, and declared "I'm your mister eleven, baby!" before sinking our {EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT}
With Skinner FC dominating the attacking options, it was left to Team Leo (sod your Edwards and Jacobs) to do the primary defending, and Matt to let in the long range shots.
It was cold, my car wouldn't start, and some serious hat and glove wearing was going on amongst the team, as we took on FCUK, who had a reasonable pedigree of beating teams in the lower half of the table. They were young, they had pace, and they popped the ball around along an invisible border in the final third, as we defended goal side of them like a Bengals back line.
The opposition's insistence on all out attack, exposing their inadequate keeper to some comical fumbles (and a throwout that bounced out off our front man squirming back into the net easily making Danny Dyer's Desperate Christmas Cash-In Cock-Ups), played into the hands of the Skinner machine, the eight-legged V8-engined beast finally looking like something that would give Tetsuo a problem, and less like the individual plastic components of a Constructicon Gobot. Alan and James led the front line like single moms at a River Island sale, whilst Nathan and Rob were happy to snipe targets further back - both smashing in corking long-range belters that even moving the goal back another 20 yards would have done little against. Indeed, our attacking arrogance was much in evident, with Nathan consistently laughing off the opposition's attempts to nibble at the ball, and Rob declaring he was the master of the universe, and the one time previously that his shooting was dogshit, was just that - one time.
At the back, defending was going on. It was a blur really. We were standing off the opposition a fair bit to entice their shooting (and then counter them, as is our way) but getting the short range blocks in. However the long range stuff saw Matt watching the shots sail by him into the corners. Still any game where Matt concedes less than double figures against a team above us is normally, on balance, a good match for him, and that was despite him allowing a ball to bounce in off him at his near post, and Leo toeing in (another) own goal. So really, actually, the defending from front to back was actually actually pretty good actually, with enough pace and energy in the side to turn a half-time lead, into a one goal deficit back into a two goal victory.
You know its been a long time coming for a win, when Mrs Alan tells you that her husband finally comes home beaming with happy pride, the bed springs getting a suitable workout. But like any marriage, we still need to work at it, and one night of glorious honeymoon passion, doesn't really guarantee more than a bi-monthly cop-a-feel of lady victory's amazingly w{EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT}
With Skinner FC dominating the attacking options, it was left to Team Leo (sod your Edwards and Jacobs) to do the primary defending, and Matt to let in the long range shots.
It was cold, my car wouldn't start, and some serious hat and glove wearing was going on amongst the team, as we took on FCUK, who had a reasonable pedigree of beating teams in the lower half of the table. They were young, they had pace, and they popped the ball around along an invisible border in the final third, as we defended goal side of them like a Bengals back line.
The opposition's insistence on all out attack, exposing their inadequate keeper to some comical fumbles (and a throwout that bounced out off our front man squirming back into the net easily making Danny Dyer's Desperate Christmas Cash-In Cock-Ups), played into the hands of the Skinner machine, the eight-legged V8-engined beast finally looking like something that would give Tetsuo a problem, and less like the individual plastic components of a Constructicon Gobot. Alan and James led the front line like single moms at a River Island sale, whilst Nathan and Rob were happy to snipe targets further back - both smashing in corking long-range belters that even moving the goal back another 20 yards would have done little against. Indeed, our attacking arrogance was much in evident, with Nathan consistently laughing off the opposition's attempts to nibble at the ball, and Rob declaring he was the master of the universe, and the one time previously that his shooting was dogshit, was just that - one time.
At the back, defending was going on. It was a blur really. We were standing off the opposition a fair bit to entice their shooting (and then counter them, as is our way) but getting the short range blocks in. However the long range stuff saw Matt watching the shots sail by him into the corners. Still any game where Matt concedes less than double figures against a team above us is normally, on balance, a good match for him, and that was despite him allowing a ball to bounce in off him at his near post, and Leo toeing in (another) own goal. So really, actually, the defending from front to back was actually actually pretty good actually, with enough pace and energy in the side to turn a half-time lead, into a one goal deficit back into a two goal victory.
You know its been a long time coming for a win, when Mrs Alan tells you that her husband finally comes home beaming with happy pride, the bed springs getting a suitable workout. But like any marriage, we still need to work at it, and one night of glorious honeymoon passion, doesn't really guarantee more than a bi-monthly cop-a-feel of lady victory's amazingly w{EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT}
