MATCH 10 vs. West Germany FC 11/7/07 21:15
Didn't Fucking Lose! 9-7
1.Matt (c) 5.Leo 8.Jon 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Nobby 15.Aneel
Goal Scorers: Jon 1, Nathan 2, Gareth 3, Nobby 1, Aneel 2
Match Ratings: Matt8, Leo7, Jon7, Nathan7, Nobby8, Aneel7
MOTM: Nobby
Wednesday, 11 July 2007
Wednesday, 4 July 2007
Match 9 - Season 2 (summer)
MATCH 9 vs. The Mighty Ducks 4/7/07 20:30
Lost 8-16
1.Matt (c) 3.Don 4.Steve 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam 14.Nobby
Lost 8-16
1.Matt (c) 3.Don 4.Steve 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 11.Adam 14.Nobby
Thursday, 28 June 2007
Wednesday, 27 June 2007
Thursday, 14 June 2007
Match 6 - Season 2 (summer)
MATCH 6 vs. Jason's Helmets 13/6/07 21:15
Lost 1-18
12.Mark 4.Steve (c) 7.Dean 8.Jon 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Nobby
Goal Scorer: Dean 1
Lost 1-18
12.Mark 4.Steve (c) 7.Dean 8.Jon 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Nobby
Goal Scorer: Dean 1
Saturday, 9 June 2007
Caption Competition
"Jacqui Markie needs me - I just need to change into my super hero outfit - ni@@*"
Wednesday, 6 June 2007
Match 5 - Season 2 (summer)
MATCH 5 vs. Sniffers FC 6/6/07 19:45
Lost 10-13
12.Mark 3.Don 4.Steve (c) 5.Leo 7.Dean 9.Gareth
Lost 10-13
12.Mark 3.Don 4.Steve (c) 5.Leo 7.Dean 9.Gareth
“Na-Na-Na – that dat don’t kill me, can only make me stronger. I need you to hurry up now, ‘cause I can’t wait much longer. I know I got to be right now, ‘cause I can’t get much wronger”
Wow, for me that was certainly an interesting and informative week.
On Monday, the ten-pin bowling league team I play for, posted the necessary victory in the final match of the season to cement second place in an 18-team league, and with it all the kudos, and prize fund money that goes with it. On Tuesday, sixteen random women were forced to share the space directly in front of them, with me, for four whole minutes. On Friday, a small handful of the Mollys squad, and erstwhile colleagues, descended on the 2007 Southampton Beer Festival for an afternoon of supping on dirty ale and Magners cider. And I’ve still got a Sunday barbeque to attend with work-equivalent people, so the conversation’s gonna be brilliant, and I’m hoping for a ride on my neighbour’s giant train set.
References to some of the above events may be dropped like it’s hot, into the following match report, so if it appears I’ve gone off on a sharper tangent than usual, you’ll get why.
Of course, on Wednesday, this match took place. A superb highlight of the week. With Matt, tanning away on some Med island, pretty as a beached whale at Great Yarmouth, vice-gaffa Steve’s enthusiasm for football, infectiously managed to gather a handful of players together, despite Nathan and Nobby seemingly lost in the land of false dreams and forgotten hope. Looking at the line-up above, you’ve got to wonder why this wasn’t a huge rout of plague-like proportions.
How did we score double figures without Nathan and Jon? How did we concede only 13 goals with a defence aged 100yrs added on top of that? Could Leo afford to shoulder the blame of another defeat whilst playing in attack? Could a six man squad really survive the painful 40 minute fitness test? Would Dean’s spongy ankle excuse buckle under close scrutiny? Would Gareth be able to contain his frustration at having to go it alone up front? How can Mark shamefully wear a keeper’s jersey with two left feet, two left hands, and an inability to dive?
Steve bucked tradition to start from the outset, and never saw unfit to leave the pitch as he put together a brilliant display of motivating leadership, selfless endeavour and tactical smarts to inspire this rag-tag band of players, who couldn’t give much shit about watching Beckham and co. aspiring to be idolatry gods, by exacting Eurovision revenge.
With the referee being Jess, there were high hopes that at least the contest would be called fair, and it was. Defeat not laid at the feet of bad refereeing decisions, nor the people who couldn’t turn out, just simply a couple of avoidable mistakes that got punished. Another case of another team, that next time, we have the ability to beat.
With Mark and Gareth having brought some girlfriends (presumably theirs) to watch them in action, their performances were going to be the ones to watch. The thin line between impressing and trying too hard, was about to be walked, crossed, hassled, weakly thrown and incapable of being held. Not since the last time Don brought one of his Merry Wives have the Mollys had touchline totty. Caution of course, for those players who actually saw them, because the operative words of ‘touch’ and ‘tot’ with these girls would get you a long stretch in the big house.
Some suspect keeper warming up would only hint at Mark’s preference to use his feet to save shots, rather than to bend his knees and catch the ball; his decision to stretch his legs across, rather than dive to the other side of the goal; his choice to throw the ball straight down the centre to the opposition without even a polite shout to Manon. Mark’s full first cap in goal was respectable without being brilliant, but when a team’s begging for keepers, then one shouldn’t be churlish when we get volunteers for that sharp end of the wedge.
At least Mark’s inability to hold onto the ball, paled into insignificance to Adam’s inability to hold a commemorative terrorism pint glass. Having earlier on Friday, made one faux pas, by initially choosing a half-tankard to sip beer from, Adam undoes all his good recovery work, by drop shattering his subsequent man-sized glass later that eve, all over a park pavement. Dead squirrels on your conscience be.
Gareth, on the other hand, had a quite frankly barnstorming match, with the most destructive, energetic, powerhouse display of running, tracking back, shooting and tackling, and a second half performance of sheer zenith. Someone got laid that night.
His father, meanwhile, continues to defy expectations. I would have serious concerns about my own dad just jogging to the front door to collect the latest Which? magazine, but Don challenges grandpa prejudices every time he steps off that pitch alive after a match, let alone the sheer guts and energy it takes to even bother to walk onto it. Any praise would be pretty worthless if Don doesn’t continue to contribute to the side, but again did so with another TNA tag-team belting assured display alongside Steve that allowed the more youthful runners the chance to attempt a fight back against the stacked odds. Odds that would prove tougher than the perilous con of the “Every 1s A Winner” beer fest tombola, that professional complainer Gerry, of all people, managed to beat.
For the opening gambit of the first half, the Mollys took it cagey, with a slow dawning that this was our lot, and no reinforcements were coming. Two complete different tactical approaches to the match from the two teams. The Sniffers were all-out attack merchants utilising their pace to run beyond the ball, and pick-up the pass on the wings. The ball was played short from the keeper, passed into a more central position, from which runners on either wing would pick up the pass. This was calculated one touch football that the Mollys would have to zonal mark, and let the ball come to them.
The Mollys played with a mostly flat back two, with Leo or Dean and Gareth providing the pace on the flanks. They were trying to turn over the ball in central length positions and counter-act a less than impressive short-stack of a keeper, and on a couple of occasions it worked. Leo breaking clear of the last man, with head down thrashes into the corner for a quick brace. Gareth grabbed himself a goal too, before the whistle blew us into a half-time 6-3 down. We’d been exposed defenceless on the D a couple of times, and Mark had gifted them at least one turkey, but we certainly weren’t being outclassed
Steve had pushed himself to the brink of physical oblivion, playing with style that recalled the very best hardmen defenders of yore - tumbling over his opposite number to stop them running away, sneaking in a cheeky handball or two, and falling down under the weight of challenges. Steve was certainly more down than a certain cockney wide-boy and his name checking of the NWA (not the Neo-White Alliance nor the Neighbourhood Watch Association). A solid encouraging team-talk looked to reinforce our positive play, and to really let rip at the piss-weak keeper - until it became clear that they’d just changed their keeper into someone an extra two feet taller. Perversely this actually encouraged the Mollys to shoot freely at a clear second choice keeper.
Second half saw the Mollys come out fighting - Dean played like his usual super smooth ice-chilled self, yet with the added vigourance of a man on day release, Leo shouted vocal encouragement and insults, pacing the left wing, and Gareth literally chased down every last ball, every last man, in a manic whirlwind of frenetic energy.
A brilliant spell in the second half saw the Mollys tear the Sniffers a new orifice, Gareth at the pinnacle of the attack was finally lashing in the goal shots – including a brilliant poach, shifting the ball beyond his marker, and curving it into the bottom corner, and a brilliant steal aka ‘turnover’ as a lazy back heel from their centre kick, was jumped on and whalloped into goal, as the Mollys pulled it level to 9-9. The spell probably lasted about four minutes, just about the same right amount to judge a woman’s attractiveness based on their huge chin, independent eyes, crow’s feet, love of Maroon 5, or being a self-appointed maths geek.
At least one error by Leo, clever as curry popcorn, having to drop deep to pick up the ball from the keeper’s throwout, and getting robbed and immediately punished, saw the opposition finally make enough of a lead to pull away, as the team finally finished beardless, with a 10-13 loss. Of course, now that I’ve come to the end of this report, Sunday has long since gone, and the promised ride on the garden miniature railway, won’t materialise for at least another two decades. Somehow in light of the last week, I’m strangely not disappointed by either result. Take the victories when you can, however small.
Goals scorers: Leo 3, Gareth 6, Steve 1
Match Ratings: Mark 7, Don 8, Steve 8, Leo 7, Dean 7, Gareth 10
Wow, for me that was certainly an interesting and informative week.
On Monday, the ten-pin bowling league team I play for, posted the necessary victory in the final match of the season to cement second place in an 18-team league, and with it all the kudos, and prize fund money that goes with it. On Tuesday, sixteen random women were forced to share the space directly in front of them, with me, for four whole minutes. On Friday, a small handful of the Mollys squad, and erstwhile colleagues, descended on the 2007 Southampton Beer Festival for an afternoon of supping on dirty ale and Magners cider. And I’ve still got a Sunday barbeque to attend with work-equivalent people, so the conversation’s gonna be brilliant, and I’m hoping for a ride on my neighbour’s giant train set.
References to some of the above events may be dropped like it’s hot, into the following match report, so if it appears I’ve gone off on a sharper tangent than usual, you’ll get why.
Of course, on Wednesday, this match took place. A superb highlight of the week. With Matt, tanning away on some Med island, pretty as a beached whale at Great Yarmouth, vice-gaffa Steve’s enthusiasm for football, infectiously managed to gather a handful of players together, despite Nathan and Nobby seemingly lost in the land of false dreams and forgotten hope. Looking at the line-up above, you’ve got to wonder why this wasn’t a huge rout of plague-like proportions.
How did we score double figures without Nathan and Jon? How did we concede only 13 goals with a defence aged 100yrs added on top of that? Could Leo afford to shoulder the blame of another defeat whilst playing in attack? Could a six man squad really survive the painful 40 minute fitness test? Would Dean’s spongy ankle excuse buckle under close scrutiny? Would Gareth be able to contain his frustration at having to go it alone up front? How can Mark shamefully wear a keeper’s jersey with two left feet, two left hands, and an inability to dive?
Steve bucked tradition to start from the outset, and never saw unfit to leave the pitch as he put together a brilliant display of motivating leadership, selfless endeavour and tactical smarts to inspire this rag-tag band of players, who couldn’t give much shit about watching Beckham and co. aspiring to be idolatry gods, by exacting Eurovision revenge.
With the referee being Jess, there were high hopes that at least the contest would be called fair, and it was. Defeat not laid at the feet of bad refereeing decisions, nor the people who couldn’t turn out, just simply a couple of avoidable mistakes that got punished. Another case of another team, that next time, we have the ability to beat.
With Mark and Gareth having brought some girlfriends (presumably theirs) to watch them in action, their performances were going to be the ones to watch. The thin line between impressing and trying too hard, was about to be walked, crossed, hassled, weakly thrown and incapable of being held. Not since the last time Don brought one of his Merry Wives have the Mollys had touchline totty. Caution of course, for those players who actually saw them, because the operative words of ‘touch’ and ‘tot’ with these girls would get you a long stretch in the big house.
Some suspect keeper warming up would only hint at Mark’s preference to use his feet to save shots, rather than to bend his knees and catch the ball; his decision to stretch his legs across, rather than dive to the other side of the goal; his choice to throw the ball straight down the centre to the opposition without even a polite shout to Manon. Mark’s full first cap in goal was respectable without being brilliant, but when a team’s begging for keepers, then one shouldn’t be churlish when we get volunteers for that sharp end of the wedge.
At least Mark’s inability to hold onto the ball, paled into insignificance to Adam’s inability to hold a commemorative terrorism pint glass. Having earlier on Friday, made one faux pas, by initially choosing a half-tankard to sip beer from, Adam undoes all his good recovery work, by drop shattering his subsequent man-sized glass later that eve, all over a park pavement. Dead squirrels on your conscience be.
Gareth, on the other hand, had a quite frankly barnstorming match, with the most destructive, energetic, powerhouse display of running, tracking back, shooting and tackling, and a second half performance of sheer zenith. Someone got laid that night.
His father, meanwhile, continues to defy expectations. I would have serious concerns about my own dad just jogging to the front door to collect the latest Which? magazine, but Don challenges grandpa prejudices every time he steps off that pitch alive after a match, let alone the sheer guts and energy it takes to even bother to walk onto it. Any praise would be pretty worthless if Don doesn’t continue to contribute to the side, but again did so with another TNA tag-team belting assured display alongside Steve that allowed the more youthful runners the chance to attempt a fight back against the stacked odds. Odds that would prove tougher than the perilous con of the “Every 1s A Winner” beer fest tombola, that professional complainer Gerry, of all people, managed to beat.
For the opening gambit of the first half, the Mollys took it cagey, with a slow dawning that this was our lot, and no reinforcements were coming. Two complete different tactical approaches to the match from the two teams. The Sniffers were all-out attack merchants utilising their pace to run beyond the ball, and pick-up the pass on the wings. The ball was played short from the keeper, passed into a more central position, from which runners on either wing would pick up the pass. This was calculated one touch football that the Mollys would have to zonal mark, and let the ball come to them.
The Mollys played with a mostly flat back two, with Leo or Dean and Gareth providing the pace on the flanks. They were trying to turn over the ball in central length positions and counter-act a less than impressive short-stack of a keeper, and on a couple of occasions it worked. Leo breaking clear of the last man, with head down thrashes into the corner for a quick brace. Gareth grabbed himself a goal too, before the whistle blew us into a half-time 6-3 down. We’d been exposed defenceless on the D a couple of times, and Mark had gifted them at least one turkey, but we certainly weren’t being outclassed
Steve had pushed himself to the brink of physical oblivion, playing with style that recalled the very best hardmen defenders of yore - tumbling over his opposite number to stop them running away, sneaking in a cheeky handball or two, and falling down under the weight of challenges. Steve was certainly more down than a certain cockney wide-boy and his name checking of the NWA (not the Neo-White Alliance nor the Neighbourhood Watch Association). A solid encouraging team-talk looked to reinforce our positive play, and to really let rip at the piss-weak keeper - until it became clear that they’d just changed their keeper into someone an extra two feet taller. Perversely this actually encouraged the Mollys to shoot freely at a clear second choice keeper.
Second half saw the Mollys come out fighting - Dean played like his usual super smooth ice-chilled self, yet with the added vigourance of a man on day release, Leo shouted vocal encouragement and insults, pacing the left wing, and Gareth literally chased down every last ball, every last man, in a manic whirlwind of frenetic energy.
A brilliant spell in the second half saw the Mollys tear the Sniffers a new orifice, Gareth at the pinnacle of the attack was finally lashing in the goal shots – including a brilliant poach, shifting the ball beyond his marker, and curving it into the bottom corner, and a brilliant steal aka ‘turnover’ as a lazy back heel from their centre kick, was jumped on and whalloped into goal, as the Mollys pulled it level to 9-9. The spell probably lasted about four minutes, just about the same right amount to judge a woman’s attractiveness based on their huge chin, independent eyes, crow’s feet, love of Maroon 5, or being a self-appointed maths geek.
At least one error by Leo, clever as curry popcorn, having to drop deep to pick up the ball from the keeper’s throwout, and getting robbed and immediately punished, saw the opposition finally make enough of a lead to pull away, as the team finally finished beardless, with a 10-13 loss. Of course, now that I’ve come to the end of this report, Sunday has long since gone, and the promised ride on the garden miniature railway, won’t materialise for at least another two decades. Somehow in light of the last week, I’m strangely not disappointed by either result. Take the victories when you can, however small.
Goals scorers: Leo 3, Gareth 6, Steve 1
Match Ratings: Mark 7, Don 8, Steve 8, Leo 7, Dean 7, Gareth 10
MOTM: Gareth
Thursday, 31 May 2007
Wednesday, 30 May 2007
Match 4 - Season 2 (summer)
MATCH 4 vs. Hank & Clive 30/5/07 19:00
Drew 9-9
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 8.Jon 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Nobby
“I’m a fire, and I burn, burn, burn tonight”
Jeez, I must have drifted off. How long was I asleep for? Is the cup final still on?
It feels like fourever since I last played football four the Molly Maguires. Quite fourtuitous really that I didn’t play in that last outing. Can hardly be held accountable four that particular fourgone conclusion. And while the undeserved promotion to League One controversy continues, those of us players, whom isn’t a cry-baby, nor whom now dote on a crying baby, will just have to pull their socks up and get on with the fight.
As time swills around my feet like sloping out at a slaughterhouse, questions before the start of the day fluttered around in my cranium. By the end of the day, those questions would be answered. When would the man they call Nobby, and his mono-coloured fleece, return to the squad? Who on earth is Michael Bradshaw? Do I still give a damn about Big Brother? By how much is Scott Parker not worth £8.5M of West Ham’s blood money?
And so to everyone’s favourite part of the proceedings - the gaffa’s bizarre and ludicrous team selection process that’s worthy of a report; blog; website; information super highway, all of it’s own. With Matt’s short term memory so failing to retain any information about Robbie’s fatherhood, that the Turk is expected to literally leave his missus holding the baby, and then making travel arrangements with his replacement and Jon, that would make a taxi driver suffer a guilt trip. And shit, there was even a call-up for David Beckham too.
Once again, the Mollys chalked up another 9-9 draw – the fourth in the last ten effective matches. But this was a tale of two keepers, a thousand shots on target, and a half time team talk of brutal truth. The ref would’ve needed a scoreboard to keep goal track had either keeper been less than their best. This all begs the question: scoreboards at football grounds - why? The clock’s purpose I can understand, but a scoreboard persistently and continuously reminding you of the two teams you’ve paid money to watch, and of a score that’s hardly going to be ramping up into double figures that you’re going to lose count? Oh wait, I get it – for people like eh, whatshisname…….. Matt.
Wow, it’s just as well I don’t get paid for this shit, or have deadlines to meet, because I’m seriously failing in my journalistic responsibility to convey to you the events of Molly Maguires football matches. I’m gonna have to stop writing half a report, and hoping I get inspired to finish it… so here come some random factual bullet points instead.
-Echoing the England team’s fortunes, the Mollys were buoyed by the return of the legendary Nobby, leaner and with flowing Robbie Savage locks; the quintessential water-carrier slipped back into the side as if never away.
-The opposition, Hank & Clive, were deceptive in name, and unfortunately not a couple of gay, motorcycle-riding, piano-playing chefs.
-With a strong defence, and even stronger attacking frontline, this looked a formidable Mollys side on paper. But until the personnel got their tactics right in the second half, we were actually decimated 5-1 in the first half.
-One goal to show for the first half, barely explains away the number of great chances that the Molly front men conjured up, shots on target were overwhelming, but the opposition’s keeper was absolutely superb in blocking Gareth’s and Nathan’s efforts. It’s worrying for any Molly fan, when the opposition pay loud sideline tributes to Matt’s efforts in goal, in reality thinly veiled self-congratulatory big-ups for their own attacking skills, and Jon attempts to counter the argument with his own praise for Hank & Clive’s keeper.
-Hell, why pass the ball to a better available Molly player, when you can hit it straight at the keeper? Early on, their keeper must’ve sussed that once our strikers had the ball, their overriding instinct to shoot, leaving him with no surprises.
-Steve was high. On crack. PCP. Viagra. Whatever stimulated him to run around the pitch like an infected Rage victim, crashing into people, and giving away needless free-kicks in awkward places.
-The half-time team talk, was a huge telling off for our superstar glory-hunting forward line, as Jon told them to pass the ball to the better placed player (even if that was Nobby) and to stop complaining about being the last defender. And Steve, with tactical genius, suggested a flat back two to counter an opposition that knew not how to hold their positions properly when with the ball.
-And fuck, did all of that shit work. With Leo realising he couldn’t operate alongside Steve in defence, and only coming on in his place instead, the flat back two – zonal marking the left and right, whether Jon and Steve, or Leo and Nobby – managed to keep the opposition attackers quiet long enough for the front men to finally find the space around their keeper.
-With counter-attacking their high line, and winning more tackles and blocks, the Mollys finally managed to play to their strengths, quick but accurate passing out of the middle of the pitch into crucial danger areas, where better composure saw Nathan, Gareth, and Jon all post terrific goals to drag the team 5 consecutive goals back onto level terms.
-Matt was still having a phenomenal game, still having to work hard, but easily chalking up his best performance in ages.
-Even when the opposition pushed further away to 9-6, the Mollys again found another second wind, to claw their way back, with Jon scoring the now obligatory behind the half-way line pot-shot. Always amazing how an equalized 9-9 draw is better than a conceded one.
-And so the Mollys gifted Hank & Clive their only point of the season so far, but came away from the match reasonably satisfied that when we get it right, we can be devastating. But do we need a full twenty minutes to work out our mistakes?
-And so to the answers. 1) Today, with a brilliant vengeance that almost made up for the passing away of that beautiful beige fur. 2) Some bloke who can’t play for the team due to child-care commitments – damn Matt, why haven’t you announced him in a squad yet – he seems ideal for your selection policy. 3) Women aren’t gonna get naked if there aren’t any blokes to impress. 4) That’s just not funny.
Goal Scorers: Gareth 2, Jon 3, Nathan 3, Leo 1
Match Ratings: Matt 8, Steve 7, Leo 7, Jon 8, Gareth 8, Nathan 8, Nobby 8
Drew 9-9
1.Matt (c) 4.Steve 5.Leo 8.Jon 9.Gareth 10.Nathan 14.Nobby
“I’m a fire, and I burn, burn, burn tonight”
It feels like fourever since I last played football four the Molly Maguires. Quite fourtuitous really that I didn’t play in that last outing. Can hardly be held accountable four that particular fourgone conclusion. And while the undeserved promotion to League One controversy continues, those of us players, whom isn’t a cry-baby, nor whom now dote on a crying baby, will just have to pull their socks up and get on with the fight.
As time swills around my feet like sloping out at a slaughterhouse, questions before the start of the day fluttered around in my cranium. By the end of the day, those questions would be answered. When would the man they call Nobby, and his mono-coloured fleece, return to the squad? Who on earth is Michael Bradshaw? Do I still give a damn about Big Brother? By how much is Scott Parker not worth £8.5M of West Ham’s blood money?
And so to everyone’s favourite part of the proceedings - the gaffa’s bizarre and ludicrous team selection process that’s worthy of a report; blog; website; information super highway, all of it’s own. With Matt’s short term memory so failing to retain any information about Robbie’s fatherhood, that the Turk is expected to literally leave his missus holding the baby, and then making travel arrangements with his replacement and Jon, that would make a taxi driver suffer a guilt trip. And shit, there was even a call-up for David Beckham too.
Once again, the Mollys chalked up another 9-9 draw – the fourth in the last ten effective matches. But this was a tale of two keepers, a thousand shots on target, and a half time team talk of brutal truth. The ref would’ve needed a scoreboard to keep goal track had either keeper been less than their best. This all begs the question: scoreboards at football grounds - why? The clock’s purpose I can understand, but a scoreboard persistently and continuously reminding you of the two teams you’ve paid money to watch, and of a score that’s hardly going to be ramping up into double figures that you’re going to lose count? Oh wait, I get it – for people like eh, whatshisname…….. Matt.
Wow, it’s just as well I don’t get paid for this shit, or have deadlines to meet, because I’m seriously failing in my journalistic responsibility to convey to you the events of Molly Maguires football matches. I’m gonna have to stop writing half a report, and hoping I get inspired to finish it… so here come some random factual bullet points instead.
-Echoing the England team’s fortunes, the Mollys were buoyed by the return of the legendary Nobby, leaner and with flowing Robbie Savage locks; the quintessential water-carrier slipped back into the side as if never away.
-The opposition, Hank & Clive, were deceptive in name, and unfortunately not a couple of gay, motorcycle-riding, piano-playing chefs.
-With a strong defence, and even stronger attacking frontline, this looked a formidable Mollys side on paper. But until the personnel got their tactics right in the second half, we were actually decimated 5-1 in the first half.
-One goal to show for the first half, barely explains away the number of great chances that the Molly front men conjured up, shots on target were overwhelming, but the opposition’s keeper was absolutely superb in blocking Gareth’s and Nathan’s efforts. It’s worrying for any Molly fan, when the opposition pay loud sideline tributes to Matt’s efforts in goal, in reality thinly veiled self-congratulatory big-ups for their own attacking skills, and Jon attempts to counter the argument with his own praise for Hank & Clive’s keeper.
-Hell, why pass the ball to a better available Molly player, when you can hit it straight at the keeper? Early on, their keeper must’ve sussed that once our strikers had the ball, their overriding instinct to shoot, leaving him with no surprises.
-Steve was high. On crack. PCP. Viagra. Whatever stimulated him to run around the pitch like an infected Rage victim, crashing into people, and giving away needless free-kicks in awkward places.
-The half-time team talk, was a huge telling off for our superstar glory-hunting forward line, as Jon told them to pass the ball to the better placed player (even if that was Nobby) and to stop complaining about being the last defender. And Steve, with tactical genius, suggested a flat back two to counter an opposition that knew not how to hold their positions properly when with the ball.
-And fuck, did all of that shit work. With Leo realising he couldn’t operate alongside Steve in defence, and only coming on in his place instead, the flat back two – zonal marking the left and right, whether Jon and Steve, or Leo and Nobby – managed to keep the opposition attackers quiet long enough for the front men to finally find the space around their keeper.
-With counter-attacking their high line, and winning more tackles and blocks, the Mollys finally managed to play to their strengths, quick but accurate passing out of the middle of the pitch into crucial danger areas, where better composure saw Nathan, Gareth, and Jon all post terrific goals to drag the team 5 consecutive goals back onto level terms.
-Matt was still having a phenomenal game, still having to work hard, but easily chalking up his best performance in ages.
-Even when the opposition pushed further away to 9-6, the Mollys again found another second wind, to claw their way back, with Jon scoring the now obligatory behind the half-way line pot-shot. Always amazing how an equalized 9-9 draw is better than a conceded one.
-And so the Mollys gifted Hank & Clive their only point of the season so far, but came away from the match reasonably satisfied that when we get it right, we can be devastating. But do we need a full twenty minutes to work out our mistakes?
-And so to the answers. 1) Today, with a brilliant vengeance that almost made up for the passing away of that beautiful beige fur. 2) Some bloke who can’t play for the team due to child-care commitments – damn Matt, why haven’t you announced him in a squad yet – he seems ideal for your selection policy. 3) Women aren’t gonna get naked if there aren’t any blokes to impress. 4) That’s just not funny.
Goal Scorers: Gareth 2, Jon 3, Nathan 3, Leo 1
Match Ratings: Matt 8, Steve 7, Leo 7, Jon 8, Gareth 8, Nathan 8, Nobby 8
MOTM: Nobby
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