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.
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....
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