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.
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?
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