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