Dive of the Match 22/7/10

5:7 Lyndhurst Boys 22/7/10 7.00pm

Won 12-9
Matt, Leo1, Alan1, James4, Nathan6, Ginge

5:5 Gills FC 8/7/10 7.45pm

LOST 10-8
Leo, Gareth, Alan, James, Nathan, Matty

5:2 Stratten FC 17/6/10 8.30pm

Won 8-7

Matt, Leo, Gareth, Nathan, AnotherMatt, Ginge

Yeah, it's been a fair few weeks since Leo and I returned from Japan. We had a swell time visiting Americatown, battling robo-geishas, and drinking curry from a can. The inevitable return to Britain was as unwelcome as a racist English flag billowing from council estate balconies, under some bullshit jingoism disguised as patrotism. What exactly have we to be proud of in this country? Britain's got talent? Yeah, for cackhanded coalition governments, prostitute serial killers, and meter-running mass murderers.

Still, no-one will give a toss about anything else but football, till England's inevitable knockout on penalties in the second round. Bet on Lampard fluffing a third in a row.

In Mollyland, its all change again, with more setbacks than tiny Theo getting shafted on his mobile phone, whilst playing 9 holes of mini-golf. The windmill is the closest he'll get to propellers. Our personnel decimated in a flurry of activity that saw bionic Steve finally dip below the threshold of sustainability - hip, thigh, knee, ankle, arm all jipped to the point of almost no return. Alan suffered further twinges of his ankles or ribs or something, that saw a brief cameo comeback before mistress football was finally given the boot by his good lady wife. Alan still had time to upset Jason by wildly suggesting that the boy wonder should use his phenom shooting skills to smash goalwards, rather than charitably fudging a return pass to a less than mobile teammate. With Jason subsequently nowhere to return, and Robbie Shirkington doing what it says on the tum, the squad lost four players in a big swoop. Add in Richard's need for business time on a Thursday evening, and the team has had to draft in at least three ringers, of which one, AnotherMatt has taken up permanent residence.

Two weeks into the new season, and some semblance of order is being restored to what has otherwise a chaotic few months.

Matt's exploration of alternative venues for the sake of saving some coinage failed to materialise anything noteworthy with JD Fives, Pitch Invasion and their ilk, all of a monetary muchness or inconveniently dayed. So we were stuck with playing in the same overly aggressive league, reffed by incompetent cowards. It was no surprise to find us on the end of a slightly unjustified defeat last week against Carson FC (formerly Celtenham FC - seriously who gives a damn about your name change?) with Terry Thomas bottling the important call to reduce then to 4, after Nathan got some slap and tickle from their small man syndromed small man.

Our poor marking, lack of cover backing, and some really poor choices to run straight into a tackle found us trying to catch up against a team, who possessed the odd player or three who could grip the ball with their toes, and drive beyond our defence. Matt's useless non-diving didn't assist either. At least with the sun in full bloom, we can expect more of Don of old, to come out and wind up the opposition, berate the ref, and renew some much missed catchphrases.

This week Nathan managed not to incite anyone to flail their arms at him in wild gesticulation for a forcible studs-up backside-in challenge. Gareth impressed the ref enough with some sterling ball work to put Aaron Lennon to shame, winning the MOM award. Leo continues to grab his one obligatory goal a game, from hanging off the D positions, and AnotherMatt manages only to score in the opposition net for a welcome change. Throw in another ringer, Ginge - a bulky, shaven Butterbean lookalike - a minority of brickhouse mass not seen since the inaugral days of Mike, and the team put in a show of devastating finishing, hapless shennanigans, and then steely resolve, to pip Stratten FC by 8 goals to 7.

Stratten FC are the current benchmark for our team. They are poorer in every department to us - comfort on ball, power of shots, incisiveness of passing, yet we've contrived in the past to run through the entire spectrum of draws, defeats and wins, depending on whether it was James' time of the month, or Matt's being blinded by the sun/floodlights/eyelids closed, failing to extract the ball away from his far posts.

Today we started with a useful verve, finishing the first half 6-2 to the good. A flobby penalty was dispatched by Nathan with his usual precision, only following the obligatory discussion with the ref about whether he was too far away to strike the ball with one step, and then putting his right foot in, his right foot out, as he teased the keeper before slotting home.

At the back, AnotherMatt was seemingly holding the fort, but with an ambitious drive to plow forward all the time, that puts the team formation into a blender without the lid on, and spew our players all over the place, with Leo and Ginge often found up top, whilst Gareth and Nathan hung back quarterback.

Good interchange from the forwards, smash n' grabs down the wing, charging behemoths through the middle, some defensively sound blocking, and winning the majority of 50-50 balls, duly saw us dominate the first half.

The second half was a crock of crock, with Matt cancelling out his precision long throw assist to Leo, with another similarly precise throw direct to the oppositions' feet, who didn't return the favour, and hit it back to Matt where he couldn't reach it. Throw in (as Matt did) an innocuous rebound off his head that looped into the air, and came down at a one degree angle into the goal, and the fact that Matt only jambalanied seven goals is testament to something. Probably the oppositions' mediocre shooting.

We got lazy - not so much in effort, as in thought - Gareth's long range from kick-off shooting was atrocious, and Natahn's attempts to score from angles tighter than a dormouse's arsehole saw shots flying into the back board like the dirty offspring of Lampard, as we got pinned back, and almost mugged of our victory. Where's James' unmarking goalhanging when you need it? It was a nervous finish, losing the ball with regularity, and letting sloppy passes get punished with the simplest of exposures of Matt.

Still, can't deny the victory that kept us in the hunt for the Champions League places again this season, was sweet. Only a scintillating thrashing of Algeria by the homeland at the World Cup could top off a fine week.... Hmm, perhaps Rooney will end up in that caravan after all.

With the other important tournament of 2010 mere weeks away, Leo and Matt are slowly coming into form, whilst the likes of Alan, Robbie and Richard need to re-pick up the pace sharpish to have any hope of making the final squad. And none of them are comparable to Walcott's girlfirends' bulbous nose, and even that's done more runnng lately. Even Steve is dreaming of a late July comeback. And dreaming means you're still alive, and not dead in your sleep. Die with your boots on, they say. Did Afghanistan qualify for the World Cup?

Final Stats Season 4

4:12 Celtenham FC; 4:13 Stratten FC; 4:14 Thatcher FC

vs Celtenham FC 20/5/10
WON 9-8
Matt, Leo, Nathan, James, Gareth, AnotherMatt

vs Stratten FC 27/5/10
LOST 11-5
Matt, Leo, Nathan, James, Gareth, AnotherMatt

vs Thatcher FC 3/6/10
WON 12-6
Matt, Leo, Nathan, Gareth, Another Matt, Dave

4:11 Leggers 13/5/10 7.00pm

DREW 8-8
Matt, Leo1, James2, AnotherMatt1, Nathan4

4:10 The Gills FC 6/5/10 8.30pm

LOST 13-4
Matt, Leo, Alan, James, Jason

4:9 Salmon Leap 29/4/10 7.45pm

WON 5-3
Matt, Leo, Gareth2, Nathan, James1, Jason2

Gaffers Gob 8th April – Stratten FC – Won 13-7

Matt, Alan (1), Gareth (2), Jason (5), James (5 MOM)

Well what a difference a week makes. The horrors of last weeks performance have been put to the back of the mind with what has been roundly as the best game the Mollies have ever played in. Those with long memories and service would pitch it around the level of our 10-1 win over Park FC in about 2006. Yes we were that good. The match saw the thumb printed Robbie making himself unavailable leaving us with 4 players and begging Jason to fill the void. With only 5 players the Gaffer was wondering if the law of the sod would mean that he would have to end up on pitch as one of our outfield players had to go in goal through injury. But, alas his dreams of scoring a Thursday night hat-trick have again been neatly sidestepped by fate.

So to the match, and an action packed, event filled goal fest it was with seemingly both teams avoiding defensive duties to have as many shots in as short a time as possible. Still, at least the Gaffer was able to help Stratten by letting their very first shot go through both his gloves and then legs. An inauspicious start indeed. But this was not the lowest point of the Gaffers woes with the second half finding him completely misfielding a throw out to toss it gently to a waiting Stratten forward who would fire it into the back of the net.

However, the depths of the Gaffers errors only served to heighten to seeming calm and fluidity of the (unusually) young Mollies outfield who were frequently slowing the game down and passing it to each other in all areas of the pitch. The introduction of Jason seemed to take the playmaking pressure from Gareth and gave him an extra lease of life and freedom to create chances up front and defend in depth. Alan was his muscular self running up and down the pitch and shooting as best he can. Although he scored one goal, it would appear that he was actually aiming for a raking pass to the corner and miss hit it to go in. James was chuffed to bits to be given his MOM award, benefiting from the space given to him by the running of Jason and Gareth so that he scored as many goals as I can remember in a match. And the Gaffer made up for his earlier errors to save a penalty with his toe after being sent the wrong way by the striker.

All round, I may as well retire as I can’t see us playing so well again. And the Mollies have seemingly nailed themselves into third place in the league.

Gaffers Gob -1st April 2010

Celtenham FC lost 16-2

Matt (MOM), Alan, James (1), Mark, Gareth (1), Robbie

This will be a very short post today. This has to go down as the worst Mollies performance in the Gaffers living memory. No communication or tackling leading to a lack of shooting chances. It is a shame to have 3 wins in a row tarnished by such a poor all round display. The poorness of the defensive performance can be measured by the gaffer in goal being awarded man of the match honours despite letting in 16. Truly shocking stuff. nuff said!

4:4 Leggers 25/3/10 7.00pm

WON 6-3

The Documentary - Trailer

4:2 Salmon Leap 11/3/10 9.15pm

WON 10-4
Matt, Robbie, Alan, James, Gareth, Nathan

Salmon Leap: An Incomplete History pt4

LOST 4-9
11/8/05 22:00 Match Nine vs Benfica Chicken Tikka

1.Matt 4.Nobby 5.Leo 6.Robbie 7.Dean (1) 10.Dave (1) 11.Steve (2)

LOST 0-8

18/8/05 18:30 Match Ten vs Buffalo Bills

LOST 3-16

25/8/05 21:00 Match Eleven vs Salmon Leap

1.Matt 4.Nobby 5.Leo 6.Robbie 7.Dean (2) 10.Dave 11.Steve (1)

♫ And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me, for all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me, if I fall, if I fall ♫

Struggle to sleep as the conscious mind throws shapes. Slowly killed by a stress that seeps through the veins. Finding no rest as senseless dreams induce violent paralysis. Breathing hard as the chest crackles within. All ills can be medicated by the thrill of the win, the elation of rewarded skill, the charm of luck, and the glee of camaraderie. The psychosomatic therapy for the psychotic - the social event for the sociopath. I’m feeling real sick right now.

Fellow geeks will have deduced the high concept theme of this match report. I’ve written it three times in big letters above. It is what this team has become. On the pitch, in our heads. The fall from Grace. The race to Space. It’s easy to become. I guess the best way to describe the team at the moment is as a dispirited group of individuals, surviving a plane crash, castaway on an island, dumped into the middle of the Bermuda triangle, fighting polar bears beamed down by aliens, hiding dark secrets, fearful of the religious allegory of the invisible magical beast that tears down the trees*. The heavy-handed Lost metaphor hints at a greater truth. The sum of the parts never as great as the whole. Reluctant leaders, teenage runaway, injured deadweights, in. camp. traitor.

With a squad stripped to its bare knuckles for the last three weeks, the same array of seven would contest the above matches, with a paltry half a handful of players for match ten having to throw in the soiled towel of default defeat. PG-rated (Post Gareth) horror shows either side, contained plenty of gun shot residue but nary a close-up of a blood splattered bullet hole.

*****

The first match was lost on the weakness of our convictions. The first half against Benfica was a war of attrition, as their players laid siege to our goal, battering Matt like a Turkey Twizzler. He was throwing himself around his area as if possessed by the spirit of an epileptic frog (a crazy frog, if you will), confident the pounding his body was receiving would help firm up the loose flaps of skin, the by-product from all the weight he’s shed.

Man of the match, Matt kept the team in the game, as we hung on by the fingernails of one hand, as our undesignated strike force failed to do the required damage at the other end. Dave was drawing blanks from his forays down the left, while Leo was raining shots from the right wing, running onto through balls, but caning only a quarter of them on target.

In the end, it was our set pieces that ticked the required box. But don’t get too excited. Both set plays couldn’t have been any closer to the goal, without actually being in the goal. Firstly, a penalty, handled with responsibility, by Dean, in the absence of our star striker, lifting his shot into the goal’s right hand side, for the easiest of goals. Secondly, a beautifully placed free kick by Steve, sweetly curved through the gap of the two-man wall, with a right foot that can quite literally open a tin of spaghetti hoops. Incredibly handy when sucking mush through a straw is the best you can manage nowadays.

Leashing our opponents down to a 2-2 draw at half time was a brilliant achievement, when there was no let up in their attacks. We couldn’t hold up the ball in their half, even if we’d been allowed to use our hands. Unfortunately, in the second half, we just couldn’t sustain the energy, and found our positioning off skew. We couldn’t tread water forever.

Dave dropped back deep in order to pick up the ball facing the right way, leaving Nobby upfront as the long ball target, and Dean running mindlessly around a very fractured team shape. Nobby continued to play with his back to goal, laying the ball off to the forward runners with the firmness of warm butter. Despite further goals from Dave and Steve, we were losing the battle for the ricocheting ball in the middle of the pitch, and we were getting ruthlessly counter-attacked with two-pass manoeuvres from keeper to striker, reminiscent of the way Division One teams used to tear us apart. The combined defensive acumen of Robbie and Matt was not enough to prevent further smash and grabs, and a final deficit of 4-9.

*****

The second match was lost on the authority of the Gaffa and by circumstances beyond control. Despite the early kick-off time, a number of withdrawals or unavailabilities meant the squad could only boast a team of three players, and Jeff. Even allowing for the fact that those three players are the bedrock of The Molly Maguires defence, even bypassing the inequality of the Bills possessing more players, the prospect of Robbie and Leo blocking shots in front of Matt for 50 minutes, while they wonder where Jeff’s disappeared to, was only appealing if ..…if….., no wait, I can’t think of anything worse.

No great loss to concede defeat against the top team, who would’ve hammered us by more goals anyway, and we saved the kitty money for the inevitable curry forward slash drinking end of era blowout.

*****

The third match was lost on sheer inability. Don’s attendance (sans son) as cheerleader was exceptionally heartening, but if he was looking to report back from his scouting mission about the attractions of re-signing for the team, we may well have seen the last of his boy wonder, a long time after he first dazzled many of us with his frightening skill in the narrow sports hall of the Institute or on the double wide badminton courts of St Marys.

Again the limitations of availability ensured the team that took to the field against Salmon Leap was the same unbalanced, shot shy, paceless, leaderless, luckless, deathly quiet team that had failed two weeks previously. The blood, sweat, guts and jeers of the cookie-munching forgotten man Jon, has been much missed this season - the necessary link-up man for Dave and Gareth, the ear-bashing potty-mouthed midfield general for the rest of us.

We could continue to wallow in the dirty bathwater of the absentees or the could’ve beens, but some players did turn out for the team, continuing to show the same kind of hopeless, futile loyalty that gets suicide bombers killed.

Upon arrival at the match, Dean was immediately keen to let everyone know about the lucky ‘undercrackers’ he was wearing – a black, tight trunk number, supportive and soft on the skin, from the pioneers of quality undergarments, Marks and Spencer. Such psycho-illogical superstitions are at the core of the Molly team’s existence, from the required choice of starting ends, to the curse of pitch one. Unfortunately Dean’s nether regions are about as interesting as it got for this match (and surprisingly mentioned at least half a dozen times throughout the history of my match reports…).

The same unresolved problems in the Molly team’s shape and design meant ball possession was 9/10ths of the Leap’s. We hassled and harried, but the speed and passing movement from the opposition, from the off, just destroyed us. They had the fitness to pass the ball, and move for the return, scything their way through our outfield, embarrassing our keeper with long range bloomers, that Matt made look good with ineffectual reaction times.

In the outfield, no-one took any responsibility for forward movement, we were static and standoff-ish, coaxed into rash and rubbish tackles that failed to connect. Their players easily held us off, blocking our path to the ball, while laying passes off to the runners. We paid them too much respect - Leo, a huge culprit of not sticking his boot in. With Dave giving up the ghost up front, the burden of the team’s expectations finally taking its toil on the shoulders of our father figure, Nobby and Dean had to try to be the aggressors against a comfortable defence playing their way through us, down the wings.

With Leo again denied his favourite position as sweeper, instead having to make up the numbers up front, playing with his back to goal, his shooting was almost accurate, but incredibly weak. Only Steve managed a decent arrowing shot to give us a first half goal, but our passing was found wanting. HARDER, FASTER, FIRMER passing was required to slip it past the speedy opposition. The Molly defence was going to pot, Robbie surely wishing to forget this performance as quickly as the opposition danced around him. Our shots ratio barely hit double figures, but at least Dean’s lucky pants appeared to be working, as he snuck two good plants past the keeper in the second half after nominal work from Nobby, clearly now a burnt out supernova this season.

The referee was intent on ensuring his favourite team (not us) won this match comfortably, and even took time out to chat to his ugly missus, and say good night to his cute kid (two negatives do make a positive), whilst awarding a penalty and other debatable decisions against us. The game ended with a harrowing 3-16 defeat that effectively crushed many a will to play, losing us much impetus to finish this season with some winning pride.

Four straight defeats, all without the tag-team pairing of Dave and Gareth upfront, has meant the team must surely be floundering about in the drop zone, in the final season before an enforced hiatus due to players’ more important commitments. On a recent excursion out, I received a number of questions about how the Mollys were getting on, from women no less (that’s right, they talk to me sometimes), and had to break it to them that the team was being disbanded, as I choked back the tears, and they cooed in sympathy. To be forever associated in the public consciousness with The Molly Maguires is surely the ultimate epitaph. One of them did go so far as to quiz me about my defensive heading skills. In a five-a-side match? But she was a Saints fan after all, so perhaps couldn’t be helped.

Three games left to maintain the legacy of The Molly Maguires. Three games left to find what once was lost.

Salmon Leap: An Incomplete History pt3

07/07/05 22:00: Match Four vs Salmon Leap
1.Matt 5.Leo 6.Robbie 7.Dean 9.Gareth 10.Dave

“Looks like it all went wrong. What am I to do? What am I to do?”

Centigrade 7/7.

It’s rare, if never, that this author censors himself within the pages of his own match report but sometimes the warning to not cross the streams should be heeded. Into the bin goes an entire busload of topical jokes, metaphors and social satire about the G8 summit, the London Underground and suicide bombers that would’ve normally infused this football report. Just as you’ve never been able to watch the likes of Passenger 57 as in-flight movies, despite kids still being able to watch films with explicit sex and language at the push of an armrest button, so you won’t hear any remarks about football being more important than life and death, amongst all the explicit insults and irreverent chastising.

Furthermore, despite some painfully funny comedy gold by some of the squad at the expense of a mystery person, this author has decided that such japing cannot be printed, for fear of said mystery being solved. While there’s a possible readership of some 15 people (twelve Molly squad members, one probation officer, Steve’s daughter and Matt’s ‘girlfriend’), there are also those unknown elements, who usually read this thing whilst it’s stuck up on a wall. Hello to all of you.

In my two jobs, as report writer and defensive lynchpin, I have tried to avoid using this piece of journalism as a political soapbox, brainwashing propaganda or moralistic judging. With some current affairs already reeking of rot – Live 8, London 2012, Michael Jackson’s unequivocal innocence, Steven Gerrard’s equivocal loyalty, there is nothing left to do then plough on with the actual match reporting.

The ten o’clock kick-off, and the current injury to Jon, meant the team effectively picked itself, with Nobby subsequently crying off, travelling to the exotic farmyard of Wales, hoping the door didn’t hit him on the way out. Leo (season 3’s most indispensable player) put behind him his snapped toenail injury (with good use of callisthenics), and limped into battle with a badly bruised little toe instead, linking up with Robbie for the A+ defensive partnership. Gareth and Dave remained the undisputed gold star attack partnership, with Dean (season 3’s best average rated player) making a talismanic cameo appearance to put last week’s softcore centre to shame. And finally, Matt provided the finishing follow through on a mouthwateringly meaty line-up.

With Don fearful of potentially blustery conditions and bemoaning the absence of his Molly shirt, he was not prepared to remove his jacket, and suit and boot up as our 7th man. Instead, the team remained engrossed by his continuing Adventures in Babysitting, as Leo’s ‘paternal’ quip within Don’s punching reach, received a suitably dirty look, while pansies Dean and Robbie backed away to a minimum safe distance hoping to rubberneck an explosion. For the record, in my humble opinion, Don is one of the toppest living Geordies I have ever known (after Jimmy Nail and Anthony from Big Brother). With little Aaron clocking up some serious hours past bedtime to watch the Mollys play, another true supporter has emerged. Start ‘em young, and you can fleece them for merchandise money later on.

The enemy had been spotted around the area, but with all good spoiling tactics, decided to keep us waiting for a good four minutes, while we picked our favourite far end and warmed up, before the testosterone whiff of arrogance was finally upon us. Despite suggestions that we were brown paper bagging the referee and despite the Leap having a half-dozen supporters (mainly frothing teenage girls), and a full complement of substitutes, the Mollys were assured in their approach, and up for the challenge. No-one plays a ten o’clock match simply to hide.

This result would be our first victory in four attempts against the youth and spunk of Salmon Leap. Purveyors of ball control and attacking options, but completely one-dimensional, unable to adapt, and lacking any noticeable tackling ability. With the Mollys understanding their roles, and for the most part, clearly defined as attack and defence, with Dean as a membrane between the two, Salmon Leap were taken back to school (just six hours after their last home time) for some harsh lessons in teamwork.

With Dean away at another gig next week that again conveniently falls on a Thursday (it’s easier for him to recite the barcode number on the back of an album cover than describe any of his favourite bands’ sound to normal people), the Gaffa was eager to impress in his first run out for over a month. It’s his sheer unselfish workrate that helped plug any gaps, the substitute medication, the methadone script to the heroin of Gareth or the crack of Dave. Dean’s ‘shooting’ defies its very definition, but his feel-good motivating presence could never be duplicated.

The first half was a tight sordid affair. Robbie took his sweet time to settle, ballooning the ball up and out, off his toe in the opening exchanges, as he anchored the defence, with Leo floating just in front of him to attempt the odd long range lucky potshot, or to cover the inevitable runners. The Molly’s attack displayed their usual flair, making the correct snap decisions to take the ball on their own, or switch the play across the pitch, with some real unselfish pass and move.

We pressured their last man at all times, and rarely was a Leaper without his own personal Molly shadow. They liked to play it out of defence and down the wings; rarely would the back man bring it forward himself, and with possible circulation severely restricted by a disciplined Molly team, they rarely penetrated the Molly’s final third without a barrier. We made the most of the harrying in the first half, Gareth exploiting a quick hat-trick with some fantastically taken close-range efforts. On at least two occasions, Gareth reacted with impeccable timing to rebounds off the keeper or back wall, getting first to the ball, and fending off the marker to smash the ball home. Their keeper must’ve had hands of straw, as he didn’t have enough power to push the shots away, and they rammed into the net with that satisfying thud against the bags behind the goal.

At the other end, Leo and Robbie were displaying some of their best work to stem a white tide that knew nothing but attack. When the ball went into the corner, the Leap rarely got it back, with either a Molly shepherding it back to Matt, or the ball being intercepted in midfield for a swift counter-attack. Admittedly, the defence were standing off the ball pos(sess)er a lot, ready to react to the pass, and instead this encouraged the Leapers to shoot from distance, with Matt again proving, that even he can’t get his body down quick enough to stop some rasping drilled shots into his corners. If you dropped a ton of feathers and a ton of Matt off a high rise building, which would hit the ground first? Some would call these kind of concessions soft, but Matt’s close range skills more than make up for some of his more eccentric stooping saves.

With a cautious defence, in no hurry to run around looking for the throw out from Matt, the keeper was pressured into sending the ball either very long, or very short. We had enough confidence to pass it about our back line, and when necessary pump the ball forward for our strikers to try and beat their markers, and rarely did we over-egg the pudding. Our football was our usual direct, missile-lock, target-acquired stuff. If any Mollys (i.e. Dave and Gareth) were dribbling across the width of the pitch, I sure don’t remember it.

Leo’s Top Tactical Tip no.78 When defending a free-kick very close to the edge of the goalkeeper’s area, deploy a TWO man wall. An attacker’s natural instinct is to shoot directly at goal from the free-kick, but this instinct will immediately be curtailed by the presence of a TWO man wall. A one man wall is just a man. Once the freekick has been played, the TWO man wall will need to break quickly to close down the second ball. This is EASY.

The first half finished 5-4. I’m still not clear if we were a goal up or down. All this psychological gamesmanship we seem to indulge in confuses even me. Dave provided the calm and calculated team talk – firmer passing, look for the man - and the Mollys were ready for the expected onslaught, as we would inevitably tire with our six strong squad.

In fact, with our lack of options, things were very simple. While Gareth probably lasted the full 50 minutes, any other Molly coming on, as a substitute, knew exactly what position they should adopt, and our resolve to put our lungs, toes, ankles and testicles on the line for the team was paramount to a successful second half.

We continued to contain the Leap’s attacking threat and Gareth and Dave continued to punish their soft as toilet tissue tackling. It says something when even Gareth can fend off his equivalent bodyweight to rip shots at the keeper. Do none of them say to themselves, “I remember that lanky nipper. He’s good, probably their best player, we should smack him into the wall and mark him out of the game this time”? If we can identify their best player and sit on him for the last 10 minutes, you’d think some little all white scrots in all-white kits would be able to do the same.

With Gareth and Dave blitzing through the Leap’s midfield to harass a solitary defender in several two-on-one scenarios, they were indulging in their own personal battle to score the best goal against their keeper, with Gareth probably edging it with a scything outside of the foot that cannoned into the stanchion and back out again.

Gareth successfully converted another penalty to maintain his 100% Le Tissier-beating record, while Dave slowly but surely started to retreat into his own half. As every game passes, Dave appears to be going backwards, instead encouraging the likes of Dean and Leo to press forward instead. By the end of the season, I’d expect Dave to be sitting in Matt’s lap (with room to spare). Of course, it could’ve just been a big ruse for Dave to pick up the ball deep, and then attempt to bludgeon his way through the entire Leap team in his quest for the goal of the season, were it not the fact he was playing long through balls, and expecting his less fit team mates to chase after it.

Leo’s Top Tactical Tip no.13 When a right-footed player takes a penalty, he will ALWAYS shoot toward the right hand side of goal from his point of view. Therefore the keeper should ALWAYS dive to his left from his point of view. A right-footed player will NEVER shoot across himself. There’s no real evidence, but this is FACT.

We’d slowly but surely increased our lead to a margin that some firm concentration could maintain. It wasn’t easy, but we weren’t chasing a game we were winning, we never collapsed, and the safe ball to Matt was always the first option. We did let in some sloppy goals, a strike on the edge of the D, a cheap slip into Matt’s near post, and a cruel close range deflection from Leo’s clearance when the trigger switch backfired, but the hard graft at the back was paying off. Matt was emphasising his imposing figure, with a goal-keeping highlight, as the Leap’s star player got behind the back line to go one on one with Matt. Coming right out onto the edge of the D, the Leaper tried to dribble around Matt, who followed him around with some crab-like squatting movements, pressuring him to shank his shot wide.

We let them pussyfoot around with the ball in the middle third of the pitch, staying tight, but not overcommiting, and the communication levels between the outfield players, and the awareness of the opposition running was benchmark setting stuff.

Their star player was reduced to footballing foreplay, with no climax, as Leo slowly man-marked him out of the last few minutes, gaining a few inches on him to get to the ball first before getting decked or slammed into the wall, as the Leaper’s ‘momentum’ brought him crashing into the lynchpin. This didn’t stop Leo from ransacking a goal, bursting beyond the halfway line to hit ‘a too hard to stop’ shot, making up for his earlier point blank smack straight at the keeper, having been set up by Dean. Robbie, not wishing to be left out of the goal-scoring party, then had his opportunity to break down the right wing before cannoning a shot into goal from a tight angle.

Dean was having less luck in front of goal, having now failed to score since April. Perhaps Dean’s preference to swing low and free was impinging his ability to get a proper grip on the through balls coming his way. No wonder Robbie and Dean were earlier swapping stories about testicular saddle-sore, like a couple of old married men. Dean’s final act in an otherwise superb display of example leading was to miss an absolute sitter on the edge of the D, and do his ankle in as a result. So he hobbled off with a couple of minutes to go, but the Mollys held on for an excellent 13-8 victory.

We’ve clearly come a long way since our first encounter against Salmon Leap ended in a 13-17 defeat amongst much boo-hooing, and serious soul-searching. This was probably the first time we actually imposed our game upon them, and they had no response to our dictation of the pattern of play. They couldn’t break through our four man wall, without commiting more men forward, knowing that any f*ckup was going to result in the swiftest counterattack from our dangerous centre forwards.

Gareth took the referee’s Man of the Match award as the sharpest point of a shiny team star, with Leo’s blood-engorged bruised little toe running a close second. The result leaves the Mollys correctly in second place, with three wins (two of them by default) and one defeat, behind the likely division winners Buffalo Bills.

Final Score: 13-8

Goal Scorers: Gareth 6, Dave 5, Leo 1, Robbie 1

Man of the Match: Gareth

Salmon Leap: An Incomplete History pt2

"Keep Your Arms Down Blue"

Reserve Match Report (by Nobby Rau)

Molly Maguires vs Salmon Leap

Match Report - Thursday 28th April 2005 - Kick off 9pm

“You’re too shy, shy, hush eye to eye” sang Kajagoogoo and Mollys faced the start of the game this week a couple of men short as reading the teamsheet managed to get the better of a few of the squad for the second time this season. A timely appearance by the old Stanley Matthews, in the form of Don meant we could field a solitary sub, which was always going to be handy against Salmon Leap. Rainy, blustery conditions put pay to any good intentions that other potential subs may have had.

Leap were full of themselves as we prepared to kick off, perhaps forgetting the close opening match of the season – and Mollys set the early pace playing some well organised incisive football – taking the lead with a smartly taken own goal following pressure from Nobby. Gareth was our obvious outlet from the start, beating his marker time after time throughout the game, and his early goals helped create an early 3-1 lead to the obvious annoyance of Salmon Leap and their entourage.

The first half saw Mollys work their socks off to contain the skilful Leap players. Leo proving a more than capable keeper, not only making the spectacular saves, but showing good positioning sense to stop the horrible soft goals we hate so much. Don put in some crunching tackles – sometimes standing on the ball and pushing their players away. We were later to hear that a swiftly delivered elbow was retribution for an earlier effort to take the Kitman out of the game, but it wasn’t a great surprise having seen Don virtually wrestle a Leap attacker to the ground on the stroke of half time. Steve was similarly vexing the opposition, showing a growing range of skills (sometimes a little too close to our goal for comfort)

The second half started with Mollys in the lead which seemed to be closing from the start. Salmon Leap bagged a cluster of goals, with Mollys mustering a goal here and there through Gareth – but whilst it felt as if we were being overrun Mollys maintained a narrow lead as the game was reaching its end. This was greatly helped by a fortunate sin binning for swearing at the ref with Mollys making the extra man count for once, to score a couple of goals. The composure on the ball in the four minute period was in stark contrast to the usual shambles in these situations. Don was unlucky to see a shot worthy of Hotshot Hamish thump the wall inches past the post

The controversial zonal marking system held up well until the final few minutes, when Leap pressure finally paid off and an 8-6 lead was overturned. Leo’s good goalkeeping sense deserted him on a couple of occasions under a fierce barrage – gifting a couple of goals with some poor distribution, one of which was literally thrown to Leap player closest to the goal. Another shot struck the backboard and bounced agonisingly out of Leo’s reach to be tucked away from the edge of the D and as the ball fizzed around our half it seemed as if every attack would end in our goal.

In the end a sterling performance was let down by sheer exhaustion as Salmon Leap made their fitness (and full compliment of subs) count.

Man of the Match – Gareth

Final Score 8 – 10

Dean (1), Don, Gareth (6), Leo, Nobby, Steve. Own goals (1)

Salmon Leap: An Incomplete History pt1

HEAR ME ROAR

REGULAR COLUMNIST LUNGBOY SUCKS ON ANOTHER BREATHLESS PERFORMANCE

Date and Time: 20/1/05 6.30pm
Opponents: Salmon Leap
Line-up: Matt, Robbie, Leo, Nobby, Jon, Dave, Gareth, Steve

From the sublime to the substandard, the Mollys have performed with their usual inconsistent inconsistency throughout the first half of the season. Good solid defensive victories trade fluids with luck deficient defeats. Teams beaten last season now have the better of the Mollys. The defenders are outscoring the midfielders. Newbies Matt and Steve have firmly established themselves in the team, while veterans Pete and Dean rarely have the opportunity to break sweat.

Mulling through the tabloid back pages this week, fans would’ve been hit with all sorts of news. Ian, fourth choice keeper (behind Matt, Leo and a cardboard cut-out of Roy Carroll), frustrated at the lack of first team action, submitted his transfer request. In response, the management maintained a suspicious silence. Rumours continued unabated that Robbie had been caught in the act, munching on a female colleague’s “fudge”. The publicity machine for The Mollys vs The Mollyettes started to chug into life. And most shocking of all, the Gaffa has been reported metaphorically raising his voice to curb dissent in the ranks, with a team e-mail being anonymously leaked to the press.

The team started the second half of the season in 4th place, and the Gaffa announced an unchanged line-up for the first time in their history. Last week’s winning 8 would be entrusted to secure the points, under the threat of rotational jigging to come for the rest of the season.

Unhinged carnage. Absolute bedlam. Never in all my months of watching this team have I seen such a seat-of-my-pants goalfest ding-dong. Sure, the Mollys have been on the end of more one-sided tonkings than I’ve had three-way bonkings. But to be eclipsed by four goals in a 30 goal melee, reeks of random. An unnatural match, where goals were traded with superficial regularity, and the Mollys’ team shape spasmed beyond discernable control.

The match began as every recent match has begun, with ``the Mollys doing their level best to make life difficult for themselves. The starting five need to realise the advantage to be had from protecting and extending a lead, rather than playing catch-up. To impose the Molly way of play early on, to breed confidence in the players to be comfortable on the ball and play at their own pace. A mantra readily adopted by Steve, who kept teasing me to take the chalk out of my pocket and draw a line around his corpse, just before he twitches back to life.

Dwelling on the negative aspects would be very much against the spirit of the newly inscribed Five Commandments, but performing an autopsy on this match requires a brief groping around the internal workings of Molly’s desecrated body. Poor distribution from defence and keeper, lack of speed from the midfield, and slapdish shooting from the front all blended together to create a gooey mush.

Very much a mirror image of the Mollys, the Leap always threatened to take the ball from one end of the pitch to the other with the minimal of passing, but often the Mollys midfield failed to keep pace with their more sophisticated counterparts. This left the defence dealing inadequately with strikers running straight at them, who possessed enough individual skill to create space, to crack shots beyond Matt.

Up front, Dave embarked on a one-man vendetta against the back wall behind the opposition’s goal, and Gareth tried to defy conventional mathematical physics theory with shots at 179-degree angles. In defence, Matt felt the need to make as many new friends as possible by throwing the ball to the opposition; Robbie, was drunk on his own over inflated ability to pass long range, and Leo gave away needless freekicks by failing to maintain his feet, and tackling whilst on the ground. Too spread out, the midfield dynamic frequently found themselves isolated - Nobby tackling men who’d already passed him, and Jon unusually unpenetrative.

General consensus from fellow supporters I’ve spoken to is of the half-full “it was close” or “you scored a lot of goals” variety. No incisive comments about the leaking catheter of defensive lifeblood. A lack of shape, and lack of decent marking always gave the edge to the opposition. At one point, Matt was trying to throw the ball out of his area with two strikers on the edge of his D trying to intercept. Where were our players? Did we capitalise?

Whatever else can be said about our shortcomings, there was still much to praise about the performance. Dave, for all his bomb and bluster, was going to hit the net at some point, and weighed in with a record-equalling 7 goals, to help keep the pressure on the Leap right to the final whistle. Gareth and Steve continued their fine scoring form, and Jon snatched an opportunistic long range goal one touch from kickoff. All this goal scoring finally saw the Mollys crack open the skull of double figures for the first time this season, with Nobby impressively scooping out two fistfuls as the Mollys injected thirteen goals in reply (not fourteen, as the ref incorrectly counted).

Other lights (whether high or low is debatable) included Leo sitting out the last few minutes of the first half warming up his smacked up sausage and spuds. Don and Jon getting a tongue lashing from the ref incensed that Jon, frustrated at failure, had walked off the pitch, to be subbed, while the ball was still in play. Jon’s half-time team talk, aside from the “It’s good to talk” message, also threatened to be a heart-wrenching apology for all his meanie shouting at the team.

The vice-captain’s post-match press conference was equally heartstring stirring, as he praised the team’s overall effort and commitment, and singled out the performance of the team towards the end of each half, as they never gave up against the odds. Pass the tissues, I need to dry my eyes.

With the Gaffa’s recent vitriol slowly sinking in, Molly supporters can look forward to watching a team rebuilt on camaraderie, spirit, effort and fun. A back to basics approach to playing competitive football for laughs, yet still with an underlying desire to win, but not at all costs.

Final Score: 13-17
Goal Scorers: Gareth 2, Jon 1, Steve 1, Dave 7, Nobby 2
Man of the Match: Dave

In the Dressing Room

The Mollys’ veteran midfielder, Nobby Rau, writes exclusively for Good Golly, to expose the “behind the scenes” secrets of your favourite team.

“Just got home from tonight’s game against Salmon Leap. Currently sitting on the loo having a poo, but I just had to write everything into my laptop while its still fresh in my head. We lost 13-17. We played two halves. I scored two goals. Other players scored some goals too. We’re a handsome team, and we wore our blue kit. The opposition wore a white kit. Just like Rangers versus Real Madrid! We had a drink in the bar afterwards. I had an orange juice and lemonade. Then Jon went home. Then Robbie cycled home, wearing his helmet. Then Dave finished changing after his shower. Then Leo went home. Then the rest of us went home. Sitting here on the loo reminds me of the time Johnny dropped a book he borrowed from me down his toilet. He said he was getting up so he could wipe from both ends.”

Next Week: Nobby’s Scoring Masterclass part 1 of 24

4:1 Durley CC 4/3/10 8.30pm

LOST 13-6
Leo, Robbie, Alan, James, Gareth, Nathan, Jason

We interrupt this match report, for an important message.

URGENT APPEAL: MISSING PERSON

Matthew Sharratt. Age: late 20s - early 30s. Identifiable features: Ginger hair and stubble, answers to the name of Matt The (Fat) Cat.

On Thursday 18th February 2010, Matthew was last seen captaining and goal-tending for his five-a-side football team, The Molly Maguires. Matthew has had a long and distinguished career as the Molly's goalkeeper, and has an attendance record second to none. He has no social commitments on a Thursday evening that prevent his playing, and the only occasions he fails to attend are for reasons of holidays abroad. He has always communicated such plans in advance.

On Thursday 25th February 2010, Matthew failed to show for his team. His team-mates were not unduly concerned at this stage, despite no acceptable reason for his absence being provided. However he then failed to show again the following week on Thursday 4th March 2010, and the alarm was subsequently raised. We have reason to believe that Matthew has not left the country but is being held hostage in his own home. He may be under duress, coerced into manual labour. He may be attached to a ball and chain. We would urge all persons to be vigilant, and look under the thumb, to see if he is there.

You know how you're making cocktails, and you mix some abstract, exciting and complementary flavoured liquids together, with plenty of alcoholic kick, and you pour it into the glass, have a sip, and think this is fucking yummy. But yet you can't leave it alone. Perfection isn't enough. It just needs one more thing, and some pillock puts a glazed cherry on a stick into the concoction. And it's ruined. It looks like snail excretion, and tastes like dog farts. Last week's line-up was the smooth flavour. Robbie was the cherry on a stick.

We had problems in that first half that weren't easily rectifiable. Having six outfield players, and doing the two men off n' on every five minutes, inevitably led to a lack of attacking continuity, that saw nothing like the sublime pass and movement of last week's display. At the back, Robbie showed more rust than the Titanic, poking panic passes to the opposition or into dead space, whilst getting twisted like a twizzler by a cohesive frontline. The opposition frequently played it to the holding up midfield man, to lay off passes to wingers, free to hit raking crossfield shots, or bring the ball back inside. Our tracking back was less than adequate, but crucially we lacked several other things.

Defending the edge of the D was poor, and allowed rebounds and spillages, or Leo being forced out of position, to be gobbled up by unmarked vultures. Although if everyone had as heavy a touch as Alan, that's probably just as well. King of the own goal (even Leo concedes defeat for that title) Alan thumped home a back pass, cleverly disguised as a rocket-assisted smash into the net, and then tried something similar later in the match, but used his less powerful shot (normally reserved for the oppo's end) to allow Leo a hand on it.

We also lost the 50-50 balls in midfield. The amount of moves that broke down as we attempted to play through them was unfortunate, and they made every turnover count, either forcing the excellent shot-stopping Leo into action, or else bringing a screeching halt to our own momentum. It was a combination of luck, harder tackling, or just sheer desire, that saw them easily conquer and flag the midfield third.

We ended the first half 7-1 down, with Robbie missing the anticipatory acceleration to compensate for the lack of tactical know-how, as he was frequently faced down by two ball runners. Still doesn't explain why he was so often in the opposition's half - perhaps he got spun around.

None of our attacking options can hold themselves up with any cred, only showing flashes of brilliance, but too frequently smashing shots into the back wall, and curling away. Only Nathan really did the necessary damage - on many occasions picking the ball with back to goal, riding the nipping feet, before crabbing his way across the pitch's width, turning and whalloping shots in for barnstorming solo efforts. Their keeper was a big loud mouthed old man, but we could never get him isolated enough to shock him into pooing his pants.

Leo's throwouts were less effective this time. His wavelength constantly being jammed, his throwouts rarely reached a player's feet, and even efforts to throw slightly to the side of a player, weren't met with any movement toward. They defended up our arses, and afforded us little space to play and spray. They compressed the field when we tried to play the ball out short from our own half, depriving us of build-up play to pull them apart, and balls into their corner always found their way back to their keeper, easing the pressure on them.

A final result of 13-6 is hardly shameful, but honestly it's difficult to remember any of our good stuff for all the tripe that fogs the memory. At least it put down shotgun early any notion that a line-up with individually skilled forward players can win any match for the Mollys, when what you really need is a calm midfield enforcer like Steve putting his foot in, and someone to babysit Robbie, when he crawls out of his playpen. We still need that finely-tuned balance of can-doers, hard-triers and did-your-besters.

Pint glass. Quarter pint of stout. Quarter of Fanta. Quarter of gin. Quarter of Benylin. Stir well. Then the cherry on top won't look so ridiculous.

3:8 (second attempt) Stratten FC 25/2/10 7.00pm

WON 11-6

Leo, James2, Gareth2, Nathan2, Jason3. And Alan2.

After last week's ignominious defeat - a 10-0 first half capitulation, coupled with a 3-3 second half respectability - the recriminations and remunations of our p**s poor first half performance could be levelled at a lack of effort, lack of fight, lack of spirit, and Robbie getting turned over more times than pancake batter on Shrove Tuesday. Gareth was losing the ball in stupid places; James was signposting his shots and hitting the first defender; Alan was striking the ball with the power of a powderpuff; Leo was performing mop up duties like a wet flannel; and Robbie was apparently on the pitch somewhere.

It all led to a shocking semi-cricled stand-off at half-time with everyone but Robbie seemingly to blame. Matt was animated like a man waking from a coma "What year is this?". Leo needed to shake the lethargy, and get his head out of his hands, and our attackers needed to get their proverbial s&&t together. Our personal pride seemed to get the better of us though, and we didn't get whitewashed, nor did we concede into the 20s, so well done us.

This week saw an extraordinary line-up of Molly players for this re-arranged from the snow fallout fixture. The lack of Matt, moving house (I could've sworn he lived on a wall) was a real disadvantage to the side. Because there's no better time to move stuff around then in the darkness of seven pm, and then perhaps catch a netball match afterwards, before partaking in a 2-4-1 cinema deal.The loss of Richard and Steve to holidays abroad would be felt too, as it left the only qualified defender, Leo, manning the space between the sticks, and our outfield line-up bursting with too much sickly attacking goodness. And Alan.

With James, Nathan (who despite having a 'hormonal' partner back home managed to come play), Gareth and Jason. And Alan all in the side, this was going to be the mother of all ding-dongs. Who could attack more? Who could pass better? Harken back to the Ossie manager days of Tottenham, when a five man attack was the only form of defence. At least Leo would have options for throwouts, if he didn't have to constantly pick it out of the back of the net.

Father figure And Alan had instilled some discipline into the side, and the team would rotate their defensive responsibilities with their lust for shooting, scoring and dribbling through an opposition side equally as youthy. It didn't start according to plan, as Leo got wrong-footed by a weak deflected shot, and then a dragged shot into the far-corner as the Mollys went 2 down relatively early. However, temprorary gaffer Leo was actually unphased, because sooner or later, the young hard bodies (And Alan) in front of him would have to stop poncing about, and do some damage to the opposition net. And boy did that happen. Leo kept his end of the bargain by flinging himself all over the D to frustrate a consistent Stratten attack, and allowed the symphony of destruction to flow through his conducting.

Everyone in the outfield was comfortable on the ball. It showed that these guys had played with each other before. The passing was crisp, the touches were deft, the movement ball-sucking, as the opposition got dragged out of position, and the shots rained in on their keeper from angles all over the shop. Thankfully with this bunch of archetypal glory-baggers, the shooting, after a initial flurry of up and overs, calmed down, and was never gratuitous. The boys, And Alan, played the better pass, rather than take the extraneous shot, and we reigned the opposition in, like Tess Daly reigns in her sextextpest husband.

For all the flashy footwork, it was the directness of And Alan on the left, and the continued tracking back of the outfield, that constantly occupied the opposition, tackles went in hard and safe, and rarely did Stratten have a free run at goal. Leo was offered more choice than Tiger, to throw the ball out alarmingly quick, either short to the likes of Jason, mid-range to Gareth or Nathan, or further afield to And Alan and James. You couldn't accuse any of our players of not covering sufficient ground, as every attack halted by Leo, resulted in an equally swift rebuke, as the opposition were kept on the toes, and hurtling back toward their own goal line.

The first half finished with the Mollys 6-4 up, which would've surprised a few naysayers, but the pitch 5 graveyard was holding no curse. It wasn't all perfect - Nathan's shooting from long-range was guff, and just dragged play back into our own half. And James missed at least three sitters when presented with the opportunity to smash the ball anywhere but straight at an exposed keeper. And some of our more fanciful moves particularly ambitious long cross field balls through the heart of the pitch got snuffed out.

Second half we dominated. We were totally up them. They may have hit the cross bar a couple of times, but that was a result of exceptional positional defending by our keeper, and it was the very top of the bar. The opposition became frustrated, and they clearly developed a sense of tiredness, as Gareth rallied the troops to continue to whip them red raw despite us being 3 or 4 goals to the good at the time. Mercy is clearly for the weak. Nathan continued to laugh off challenges from little midgets, and Gareth and Jason combined with some superb twitch wingplay. It was just as well the outfield were all wearing different variations of blue, as it would've been hard to distinguish them based on skill and passing alone, as all rose to the challenge. Even And Alan. The white sleeves of Jason, the yellow shoulders of Nathan, the white sash of James, allowed Leo to call out names, throw the ball tight to their feet, and then hurriedly shout out "Manon" as the opposition attempted to smother the threat.

We did concede two in the second half, but only after Leo had fallen awake after ten minutes of daydreaming of a second half clean sheet. Nathan attempting a long pass from his own corner, ruthlessly intercepted and smashed home, and a short pass, after Leo had triple saved a close range shot/spike/chip, which spilled away to another Stratten player. One could only imagine the Stratten players wondering why they'd been hit with a tidal wave of such attacking magnitude, but were probably saying in the bar afterwards how "their keeper kept them in it". Sure we were operating a tight and fine line, with passes flashing in front of Leo's D with alarming regularity, but once suckered in for a teasing turnover, we then punished them with relentless breaks through their backline.

Jason rounded off the scoring with a perfect flying groundless volley from so far back, even Leo could've reached out and touched it, and a superb high impact team effort ended with a nothing less than fully deserved 11-6 victory over the team just above us in the league. Even Don had a grin on his face, having watched the match through the bar window, thankfully not pulling his hernia prising himself up onto a high stool.

So we traipsed into the bar for our free £30 worth of booze to celebrate our win, and throughly enjoyed a couple of rounds - in fact owing them £2.30, on a tab with Matt's name on it. Someone on our team got the MOTM award, and free beer, but it wasn't our superb keeper, so it didn't mean jack. Leo said it would be great to text our absent gaffer with the result to show he wasn't missed, and should've been here defending his box instead of moving one. Gareth decided it would be fun to text Matt to tell him we actually kept a clean sheet, and won comfortably without him, and whilst a ridiculous 26-0 was considered and dropped, there was much to be said for Nathan's "an intense 1-0 victory" suggestion. In the end, 11-0 sounded plausible, despite the second choice keeper, and no dedicated defenders (although Robbie and Steve only barely qualify - one's more absent from his own half, the other from the pitch entirely), and Matt fell for it (heartfelt but gracious in his disappointment at not being the first to keep a Molly clean sheet).

We finished fourth at season's end, with five genuine victories, and with line-ups that fluctuated with diverse personnel, and that should hold the expanded squad in good stead to drive forward next season, and get one of those little silver stars next to our name, like wot they do on Call of Duty: Modern Warfare. Or in Matt's case, Call of Duty: Moving Wardrobe.

Final Statistics Season 3

3:14 F.C.U.K. 18/2/10 8.30pm

LOST 13-3
Matt, Leo, Steve, Alan, James, Gareth

3:12 Thatcher FC 4/2/10 7.00pm and 3:13 Casa Bonita FC 11/2/10 8.30pm

vs Thatcher FC
LOST 8-5
Leo, Steve, Alan1, James1, Gareth1, Richard2

vs Casa Bonita FC
WON 6-4 (actually 7-4)
Matt, Leo1, Steve1, Alan1, James1, Gareth2, Richard
MAN OF THE MATCH: Steve

So I write this report after the Saints vs Pompey derby. I don't know the result, I was out robbing, whilst the majority of police were pre-occupied with giving directions to the train station. Didn't get much good swag - Primark is hardly the Federal Gold Reserve. Still it was deserved retail therapy to celebrate another Molly victory from Thursday.

The evening had started with Gareth eyeing up some plump lesbian's underpants, and coercing me to have a look too. A grey stretchy number that defied the rules of physics, it was either the biggest pair of pants ever, riding high up into the breasticle area, or a one piece body stocking. It couldn't have been any less flattering, or any more fattering. Is there nothing Primark won't sell?

The team line-up saw the return of Matt to goal, displacing Leo back into the calmer waters of the defence. Having failed in his attempt to be officially crowned the greatest ever Molly Maguires keeper, Leo would just have to content with being the unofficial king instead. Titles are titles after all, paint pots and such like.

Without Matt's considerable presence last week, the match against Thatcher FC could have swung Lindsay Lohan, with an outfield comfortable on the ball to knock it about - precision shooting from Gareth and James; energizer bunnying from Alan and Richard; and Steve directing traffic like a lollipop lady. This however left us light on defensive spatial awareness, and Leo constantly wondering how close to the edge of the D, the opposition shots would be drilled unchallenged at him.

We attacked like a protective homeowner, and the zipping and fizzing dripping from our passes was a sight to behold. Balls zinged and popped across the pitch, as we created constellations throughout the pitch. It was a shame then, that their keeper was successively brilliant with his shot stopping and restricted us to a paltry single goal in the first half. Leo had conceded just the two - long range efforts through crowds of players - that, where credit due, was down to a vibrant, fresh and pack mule work mentality of the outfield in front of him.

We started the second half in blood baying mood, banging in three, like an airtight porn star, before the tide shifted back to the Thatchers, and the scores eventually rip tide to 5 by 5. We were seemingly eager to throw all our eggs into one basket, throw the basket into the kitchen sink; the sink into the bathwater, and then throw the whole lot at the opposition, whilst they snuck up behind us, and punted our exposed baby in the head.

Their goal six, was an unchallenged skimmer from the left edge of the D that Leo, super slim and svelte, slid over. Their seventh, a needless penalty giveaway from Alan that was so far into the D that his leathery hands could be mistaken for gloves. In the end, it wasn't so much a collapse, as a crumble, but it was enough to send us to our oblivion doom.

For tonight's match, Alan and Leo divvied up the substitutions on a five minute -two men on, two men off- rota to ensure we maintained balance in the team at any given moment. Gareth's idea to sub just one player every five minutes was treated with an 'aw bless, lickle boy' pat on the head for thinking for himself.

And so we began the match, against the league's bottom feeders, the scourge of the gutter, Casa Bonita FC. As we nailed four goals past them in the opening 19 minutes, with at least another half dozen chances well saved by their beardiy-weirdy keeper as Gareth, James and Alan all weighed in with some thrusting shooting. Steve had yet another opportunity to shoot his load (just the once per match) as his patented Broughton Bamboozle, saw him step over, and cut back onto the inside line, before another deftly placed goal into the far corner put the Mollys home and dry.

The team were working hard to run against and with their opposite number, as we reverted back to our 1-2-1 formation, with Steve or Leo anchoring the back; and penetrative, yet direct runs were carving up the opposition. Richard proved a useful outlet for Matt's short balls, comfortable to take it, run it down the line, or play a one-two, as we gained ground up the field, whilst still retaining the actual football.

Only a literally last second goal from an opposing player sneaking through our outfield, and shooting through Matt before the defence could close his position, put a dampner on an otherwise well controlled and disciplined first half.

Of course the ref we had was the power-mad loves himself jumped up football nazi, who proved himself so inept at keeping track of such a low scoreline, that he pronounced the half time score as 3-1. Retarded can be such a hostile word. The ref was retarded.

With James struggling to control his annoyance, and the opposition conceding the scoreline and the fact that the ref was a dick, it was still down to the team to ensure that the goal he mugged from us would make do discernable difference to our victory. Gareth smashed home a dubious goal, from a ball that ballooned up onto his arm before his deft finish, and Leo weighed in, with his patented intercept ball from the keeper's throw out to ensure we maintained enough of our supremacy. Leo was blocking nearly every shot coming his way, as their rather obvious attacking game plan was neutralised, and Richard and Alan continued to occupy their defenders down the wings.

The oppositon nearly dragged themselves from the brink. Some careless and risky business in our own half, as we tried too hard to play it out the back resulted in the opposition scrambling in two goals in the last five minutes (I should know as I was off the pitch at the time), but thankfully it was too little too late. Richard broke his winner's hymen, and the team celebrated another victory against a team we deserved and were more than capable of beating.

And that's the sad truth. The team have finally peaked. Four out of six victories against teams we should be expected to beat, for all our experience and know-how, our several years of playing, our attacking swagger and defensive prowess, is the very pinnacle of what we can and should achieve. Can we turn over a team we have no right to beat? Can we match the very best the league can throw at us, if all our powers are at their bestest?

For the record, Steve got the man of the match award free beer voucher, and Leo enjoyed the shandy goodness that doth flow from it. Steve - Man of the Match. Man of the Match Steve. The Match - married to Steve. Steve rules. Greatest player ever during 40 minutes played at 8.30pm on pitch 2 at Goals. Steve a footballing god amongst men. Contractual obligation now fulfilled (it was a tasty pint).

The Wednesday League we left behind

3:11 Cunning Stunts 28/1/10 7.00pm

LOST 15-4
Matt, Leo, Steve, Alan, James, Richard

Wow. It was hyped as something special, sonething unique. A football match in 3D. Shame then that I was watching Pompey versus West Ham live at Fratton Park, and the only ooh I could muster was when the ball came right at you, as Diamanti banged it into row Z, and the aah, from my little toes freezing off, sitting in the away stand on a cold Tuesday night, thinking this shit hole is a death trap if a fire starts, and then wishing a fire would start, so I could get warm.

On second thoughts, seeing Rooney's face right there in front of you, and then embarassing yourself, as you took an air-swing at it, was probably something to miss. As the transfer window closes, and my beloved Hammers pull the dust cover off two debatable strikers in M&M (McCarthy and Mido), quite frankly the last few days have not been the best week of my footballing year.

It was an abject display from The Mollys. Everything that we could get wrong we did - all our faults and inadequacies laid bare, by a lively Stunts team, that played the ball around our staticness, not so much creating space, as simply moving into it. They played from the back, occupied the defenders on either flank, and then popped the ball off, to a third man, who'd snuck into the danger zone. Our formation, so prevalently good in previous weeks was not fit for purpose tonight, but we were never cogniscent to change it. Matt still floundered, still surprised, at shots coming at him from distance, from the league's top scorers, who had skill on the ball, to shoot from distance, in a game, where footballs get shot from distance, at the goalkeeper, that is what is Matt.

We failed to protect the edge of the D, a fistful of goals being scored without any illusion of defending, and despite Alan's battle-cry to "call the man through", whatever that meant, we just lacked the pace, and inclination to follow our men. Leo had an appalling game in whatever area of the pitch he found himself in, throwing in a desperate studdy challenge, and a ludicrously dippy back-heel goal attempt, that saw him dragged all over, without any redeeming features. James scored the first goal of the match, with a classic counter-attacking goal-hang, but lacked any real firepower to create his own chances, or the able support to finish them. We were too isolated from each other, and we never had anyone central enough to pass through the middle - frustratingly trying to run down the flanks, but Richard, Alan, and James, finding the corner wall, and not a lot else.

Steve put in a half-decent display, and won a poignant tackle against their lug, before squaring for James to score in the classiest Molly move. But the attacking assertions resulted in too much fall back from the outfield, and defending balls deep invited the opposition to camp in our half, and proclaim Matt, their dartboard bitch. Richard tried to call the plays, and run the flanks, but high energy alone wasn't enough to shake the coinicidence that in five or six matches, he's always been a loser. And with Alan unable to hold up the ball, and no wing support anyway, our attack boiled down to Matt's counter-attacking throwouts, and we know how successful they are.

I'd hoped for something a little better than the 10-2 defeat last time out, but this was much worse, and a 1-2-1 formation may have made us more able to mirror their attacks with our defence, but without one of our 'star' players, we just didn't have the skill factor to occupy their defence, and catch our breaths. Sure, they pushed and shoved us a bit, and even clipped our heels, in the most unprofessional of behaviour, but the class that's seen them take 30 points from 30, was definitely in session tonight.

As for next week, Matt has relinquished captaincy, and isn't on the team sheet. Rumours that he slept with a team-mate's ex-partner, and paid for the abortion are patently untrue. My boyfriend can't get pregnant. Oops, too late to get a super-injunction for that last comment?

Tackle of the Match 21/1/10

3:10 Leggers 21/1/10 8.30pm

Won 7-3
Matt, Leo2, Steve, Alan2, James3, Jason

It was Friday night and I was watching the news, whilst drinking a Bud. And no, I wasn't at home alone; I was in one of those bars, where they always know my name, on a barstool looking up at the TV mounted near the ceiling, waiting for some random hot girl to come over and start a conversation. "Hey, Woody, can ya turn the volume up?" I said to the barman. It was all bad news: couple of evil little kids torturing other kids; mother pretending her son was ill for fame and fortune; terrorist threat alert is 'severe'. A random hot girl leans toward me, and purrs, "Gee, I wish you could give me some good news to cheer me up". And so I told her of what I did the evening before.

It couldn't be possible to win three games on the bounce, could it? Not since I put that X into the top right hand corner to win a game of noughts and crosses against my 6 year old niece, has there been a greater thrill of a three in a row victory. With Matt bemoaning a lack of response, to his call for players, in an email so stinging my eyes watered, like an onion shoved up one's bum, we had a six man squad ready to do battle against a mid-range team in Leggers, who would provide a useful watertide mark, to our sinking or swimming in this league. We'd lost at least twice previously against them, including a turgid 12-1, so we were entitled to expect nothing.

James played despite his poorly thumb, and Jason cameoed, in a role that would see him have to do the flashy stuff, on his own, without the support of a Gareth or Nathan. As it was, the formation took care of itself, with Leo and Steve finally having a near flawless game on the left and right sides of the defence - the team actually suffering if either one was not on the pitch. This was because, the 2-2 square formation played exactly to our strengths - Alan on the left, and James on the right, with Jason the all-encompassing fitter-inner.

A solid defensive display from front to back, rarely allowed the opposition to get beyond the back line, as the sqaure metamorphosised into a rhombus when needed. Indeed the opposition rarely threatened down the middle, attempting to wing it down the flanks, and getting caught up in the tangled melee that was Steve on the right, and the polarised magnet that was Leo on the left. Leo set the thumping benchmark by winning an early 50-50 tackle, that saw his opposing number jar his knee and proned crippled on the ground. To say Leo has form for disabling players, in fair legitimate hardman ways, is like boasting that..... er, that's it. Boasting. Up front Jason was steadily holding up the ball, usefully forming link-up play with Alan and James, as they galloped through the opposition who seemed to have no discernable formation, except one that got consistently neutralised by ours.

It was a while before either team got going, shots were flying wide, feelers were being put out there. Shots that did find Matt's D, found Matt's eye, as he contrived to have as near a perfect and fab game as possible. All it took was Robbie saying how great he was to instill some confidence into our already full gaffer, and his best games have kept coming.

A 2-1 lead at half-time was a result of some steady play from the Mollys - we barely countered the oppposition, because the opposition barely attacked us with sufficient speed, or over commitment to allow so. In fact, we arguably played more build-up play from the back than ever before, and because the game was played at a fair and friendly clip, there was plenty of time on the ball.

Second half, we just continued to play in much the same way, but we were getting more penetrative, and whilst Jason wasn't getting his shots into the net (despite smashing the crossbar from behind the halfway line), he was playing useful provider, as both Alan, skimming shots in from tight angles, and James finally disguising his obvious going-to-shoot body position, clocked in the goals needed to pull us away. With Leo finishing the rout, with a couple of shots served on a plate from his team-mates on the edge of the unmarked D, it was a satisfying and superb victory. A 7-3 scoreline was just dessert for an excellent team effort, and dragged the Mollys into 4th place in an arbitrary league table, that barely makes sense beyond the top two.

I relayed this wonderful story of triumph and feel-good to the random hot girl in the bar. She said it didn't contain enough jokes or sexual innuendos, and told me to fuck off. Damn; even in my imagination I can't catch a break.

Goal of the Match 14/1/10

3:9 Millbridge 14/1/10 7.45pm

WON 13-7
Team: Matt, Leo, Robbie, Steve, Alan, Dan, Gareth
Supporters: James, Nathan, Jason, Don

This report very nearly didn't happen. It nearly didn't happen because it was touch and go (incidently the technique for feeling up girls in crowded nightclubs) whether I was going to well enough to play tonight. The match very nearly didn't happen because no one seemed capable of saying yes when Matt was pleading for players. I'd already planned on putting together a filler report about how to look good with mucus and migraine, packed with descriptive delights of the various colours that snotted out of my nose - green, black, hint of blood, vimto pink, lemsip yellow. I've often thought that when I come down with a cold, I should empty my sinuses into a pint glass, and fill it up, then take pictures of it, and post it on the net. But in the end, the match took place, and I played.

Having been afforded a generous lift by Steve to the ground (as my buggering car's battery has died from frostbite), and sucking up the warm atmosphere of being sealed in a comfy coffin rolling into the flames, we arrived at Goals to find not the just-about-enough-players to make up a squad, but almost the entire Molly back catalogue from the last couple of seasons, with only Richard and Rob the only noticeable absences. Those selected to play whiffed of Molly Classic, an old school line-up with the only exception of Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan! Dan! Dan! Dan! DAN! DAN! (Alan Patridge reference you pitchside morons...). Robbie's window salesman wedding photographer friend returned to play only his second game for the team since almost this time last year - see Gaffer's Gob match report 4/2/09 - to throw useful shapes on the right wing.

So with an enthusiastic cheerleading squad hurling supportive insults, including an injured James, with a wrapped up thumb damaged in a drunken mong, the Mollys took to the pitch against a relatively new team, with expectations not to f*ck it up too much. We were aided in no small part by playing against a team who had no real designated keeper, who gave away a needless direct free kick on the edge, and a penalty; and having that over-officious referee again, who missed his opportunity to warn our team and Gareth, in particular, that he wasn't gonna take any s*it, like the trumped up facist he was.

First half, was a closer affair than needed to be, ending 6-5. We were trying to find a compatible formation for the personnel at disposal, and whilst it was straight forward to shift Dan onto the right wing, and Alan on the left, and Robbie rooted at the back, everyone else needed to hone into a position. With Gareth being the focal point of a lot of our attack play, we produced some excellent twitch touch football, that saw Dan and Alan linking up with the no longer teen wonder. Dan was his usual competent self, but again seemed reluctant to pull the trigger when the head shot opportunity presented itself, whilst Alan was actually keeping the ball down, and putting the outside of his right boot efforts into the back of the net, with some glorious pass and go forward play.

The second half, we shifted through the gears, with Matt desperate to have his half a clean sheet, as the opposition initally probed without success. We still were occupying their backline, even Steve was utilising the freedom afforded to him by Robbie's human anchorage, as he at least twice stepped over the ball in his own half, fooling his marker, before stumbling to an inadequate conclusion. Leo was favouring the more direct approach, just hammering shots goalwards with his patented right side foot, and coming in off the left back position with scoring usefulness.

Eventually we suffered a mini-collapse (mini like a baby boy's winkie), the opposition scoring two whole goals in quick succession, that for once left us fretting over nothing, as the margin of our lead, and the comfort on the ball we displayed saw little of the panic normally associated with the Mollys. We were even scoring goals that weren't being connected with properly, bouncing and fumbling into the net, as our luck and their keeper made crap-saving babies.

It was a good, solid victory against a rookie opposition, and the feeling of elation of another fine team effort producing victory was again something that needed to be duly savoured. A fine cameo from Gareth allowed the team to flow through the moves, without the constant pressure of our attacks breaking down and the back foot always being the most heavily tread. Now if only we could put three wins in a row together....

7th January 2010