Tonight's featured game. Thursday League 2. Real come from behind and see out a well fought victory.
Real Reserves v Donkey Kong
The opening moments of the match saw both teams have an equal share of possession but neither creating any real goal scoring chances.
However then on the 10 minute mark, Leo of Donkey Kong put his side ahead when his well hit shot made its way through the 'keepers legs.
Donkey Kong well on top now and enjoying the majority of the possession. Alan would live to regret striking the crossbar when he was through on goal as moments later Real equalised through Martyn.
Even though Real Reserves had got themselves on the scoresheet it was Donkey Kong who were still on top creating several chances but unable to convert until Leo finished off a good move to put his team 1-2 up.
Donkey Kong would again rue missed chances as Real went up the other side and equalised through an excellent flick finish from Chris.
The remaining 10 minutes of the first half saw both teams share the possession and create some good chances, but it was Real who were first to score their third through Alex. This lead did not last long, though, as Donkey Kong got back on level pegging almmost immediately when Alan slotted home from close range.
And then with seconds remaing Nathan gave his side a half time lead of 3-4.
HT: 3-4
The seond half started the opposite to how the first ended as it was Real Reserves who were dominating in possession and made it count aswell when Martyn scored a double in quick succession to complete his hat-trick and give his team a 5-4 lead.
Real were flying now with Donkey Kong struggling to contain them, you felt Real could definitely put this game beyond the reach of their opposition if they could capitalise on this sustained pressure.
And they did, when Martyn scored yet another hat-trick and Alex bagged his second to take the score to 9-4.
The final 5 minutes saw Donkey Kong mount an unlikely comeback when Alan and Mike both slotted home from close range. However a well worked goal from Real finished off by Alex secured the win.
FT: 10-6
Friday, 10 February 2012
Wednesday, 8 February 2012
Leo's foot injury 2/2/12
After a week of healing - a boot blade stamp from a Cruise Liner Survivor
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Team photo on Goals Facebook page June 2011
Friday, 23 July 2010
Thursday, 8 July 2010
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
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?
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?
Sunday, 6 June 2010
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
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
Thursday, 13 May 2010
Thursday, 29 April 2010
Saturday, 10 April 2010
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.
Saturday, 3 April 2010
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!
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!
Thursday, 25 March 2010
Friday, 19 March 2010
Friday, 12 March 2010
Wednesday, 10 March 2010
Salmon Leap: An Incomplete History pt4
LOST 4-9
11/8/05 22:00 Match Nine vs Benfica Chicken Tikka
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?”
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
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
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