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

3:9 Millbridge 14/1/10 7.45pm

WON 13-7
Team: Matt, Leo, Robbie, Steve, Alan, Dan, Gareth
Supporters: James, Nathan, Jason, Don

This report very nearly didn't happen. It nearly didn't happen because it was touch and go (incidently the technique for feeling up girls in crowded nightclubs) whether I was going to well enough to play tonight. The match very nearly didn't happen because no one seemed capable of saying yes when Matt was pleading for players. I'd already planned on putting together a filler report about how to look good with mucus and migraine, packed with descriptive delights of the various colours that snotted out of my nose - green, black, hint of blood, vimto pink, lemsip yellow. I've often thought that when I come down with a cold, I should empty my sinuses into a pint glass, and fill it up, then take pictures of it, and post it on the net. But in the end, the match took place, and I played.

Having been afforded a generous lift by Steve to the ground (as my buggering car's battery has died from frostbite), and sucking up the warm atmosphere of being sealed in a comfy coffin rolling into the flames, we arrived at Goals to find not the just-about-enough-players to make up a squad, but almost the entire Molly back catalogue from the last couple of seasons, with only Richard and Rob the only noticeable absences. Those selected to play whiffed of Molly Classic, an old school line-up with the only exception of Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan. Dan! Dan! Dan! Dan! DAN! DAN! (Alan Patridge reference you pitchside morons...). Robbie's window salesman wedding photographer friend returned to play only his second game for the team since almost this time last year - see Gaffer's Gob match report 4/2/09 - to throw useful shapes on the right wing.

So with an enthusiastic cheerleading squad hurling supportive insults, including an injured James, with a wrapped up thumb damaged in a drunken mong, the Mollys took to the pitch against a relatively new team, with expectations not to f*ck it up too much. We were aided in no small part by playing against a team who had no real designated keeper, who gave away a needless direct free kick on the edge, and a penalty; and having that over-officious referee again, who missed his opportunity to warn our team and Gareth, in particular, that he wasn't gonna take any s*it, like the trumped up facist he was.

First half, was a closer affair than needed to be, ending 6-5. We were trying to find a compatible formation for the personnel at disposal, and whilst it was straight forward to shift Dan onto the right wing, and Alan on the left, and Robbie rooted at the back, everyone else needed to hone into a position. With Gareth being the focal point of a lot of our attack play, we produced some excellent twitch touch football, that saw Dan and Alan linking up with the no longer teen wonder. Dan was his usual competent self, but again seemed reluctant to pull the trigger when the head shot opportunity presented itself, whilst Alan was actually keeping the ball down, and putting the outside of his right boot efforts into the back of the net, with some glorious pass and go forward play.

The second half, we shifted through the gears, with Matt desperate to have his half a clean sheet, as the opposition initally probed without success. We still were occupying their backline, even Steve was utilising the freedom afforded to him by Robbie's human anchorage, as he at least twice stepped over the ball in his own half, fooling his marker, before stumbling to an inadequate conclusion. Leo was favouring the more direct approach, just hammering shots goalwards with his patented right side foot, and coming in off the left back position with scoring usefulness.

Eventually we suffered a mini-collapse (mini like a baby boy's winkie), the opposition scoring two whole goals in quick succession, that for once left us fretting over nothing, as the margin of our lead, and the comfort on the ball we displayed saw little of the panic normally associated with the Mollys. We were even scoring goals that weren't being connected with properly, bouncing and fumbling into the net, as our luck and their keeper made crap-saving babies.

It was a good, solid victory against a rookie opposition, and the feeling of elation of another fine team effort producing victory was again something that needed to be duly savoured. A fine cameo from Gareth allowed the team to flow through the moves, without the constant pressure of our attacks breaking down and the back foot always being the most heavily tread. Now if only we could put three wins in a row together....

7th January 2010

3:7 F.C.U.K. 17/12/09 9.15pm

WON 11-9
Matt, Leo, Alan, James, Rob, Nathan

We were almost there last time in our 6-5 defeat. We were but the bridesmaid, as a game we trailed 5-3 at half-time to level it up with barely a few minutes to go, before the crushing inevitability of being put back on the shelf. But never is there a greater truism than catching the bouquet and the consequences thereof, and so this week we finally married lady victory, threw her onto the bridal bed, put a ring on it, and declared "I'm your mister eleven, baby!" before sinking our {EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT}

With Skinner FC dominating the attacking options, it was left to Team Leo (sod your Edwards and Jacobs) to do the primary defending, and Matt to let in the long range shots.

It was cold, my car wouldn't start, and some serious hat and glove wearing was going on amongst the team, as we took on FCUK, who had a reasonable pedigree of beating teams in the lower half of the table. They were young, they had pace, and they popped the ball around along an invisible border in the final third, as we defended goal side of them like a Bengals back line.

The opposition's insistence on all out attack, exposing their inadequate keeper to some comical fumbles (and a throwout that bounced out off our front man squirming back into the net easily making Danny Dyer's Desperate Christmas Cash-In Cock-Ups), played into the hands of the Skinner machine, the eight-legged V8-engined beast finally looking like something that would give Tetsuo a problem, and less like the individual plastic components of a Constructicon Gobot. Alan and James led the front line like single moms at a River Island sale, whilst Nathan and Rob were happy to snipe targets further back - both smashing in corking long-range belters that even moving the goal back another 20 yards would have done little against. Indeed, our attacking arrogance was much in evident, with Nathan consistently laughing off the opposition's attempts to nibble at the ball, and Rob declaring he was the master of the universe, and the one time previously that his shooting was dogshit, was just that - one time.

At the back, defending was going on. It was a blur really. We were standing off the opposition a fair bit to entice their shooting (and then counter them, as is our way) but getting the short range blocks in. However the long range stuff saw Matt watching the shots sail by him into the corners. Still any game where Matt concedes less than double figures against a team above us is normally, on balance, a good match for him, and that was despite him allowing a ball to bounce in off him at his near post, and Leo toeing in (another) own goal. So really, actually, the defending from front to back was actually actually pretty good actually, with enough pace and energy in the side to turn a half-time lead, into a one goal deficit back into a two goal victory.

You know its been a long time coming for a win, when Mrs Alan tells you that her husband finally comes home beaming with happy pride, the bed springs getting a suitable workout. But like any marriage, we still need to work at it, and one night of glorious honeymoon passion, doesn't really guarantee more than a bi-monthly cop-a-feel of lady victory's amazingly w{EDITED FOR EXPLICIT CONTENT}

3:5 Thatcher FC 3/12/09 8.30pm

LOST 6-5
Matt, Leo, Robbie, Alan, James, Nathan, Richard

26th November – Cunning Stunts – defeat 10-2

The return of the Gob

After a long lay of many months, and the associated holiday of Lungboy who confessed that he has been “sorting my shit out”, I decided that I should dust of my typewriter and actually ensure that an article was on the decidedly inactive Mollies blog.

Despite the lay off, the same old problems still affect the Mollies. All told last night was a decent defensive performance against (cue sense of déjà vu) a younger, fitter, quicker and more skilful team. And this is at the root of the continued bottom feeding of the Mollies. We are currently sat at the bottom (*alongside and unassigned team) of our division on zero points with only the upcoming two games against unassigned teams to gift us six points. It’s like Wednesday all over again.

To be fair we have played the top two teams in the last two weeks conceding 21 goals and scoring 9. The majority of the team felt that this was a good showing against two teams that on paper should have completely mugged us. The Gob would agree with this but the red marks dotting my body from being a human dart board show my wish that our marking and tackling would improve just a bit. We have had a tendency in the last couple of weeks to allow attackers to get behind us and move into the corners all unawares. This has led to a number of crosses attacking the top of the D which in previous were infrequent occurrences.

Not so much the week before, but definitely last night, we couldn’t hit a barn door in anger. We have improved our ability to hit the ball with the introduction of Rob and Nathan. Also with the return of Lungboy there was a sense of optimism that we actually our strongest side available with an ability to jeopardise the opposition goal. Strangely, with the glut of shooting ability available, we could only aim at the back board rather than the net. It was not as if the opposition keeper was brilliant (as he threw one of our two goals into his own net). Had we been only slightly more accurate the score line would likely have been much more flattering. It is positive that James has been scoring much more regularly of late but with greasy pitches for the last two weeks, long shots should have allowed a following attacker to hit a rebound or saved shot.

Also the issue of substitutions reared it ugly head once again. An apoplectic Steve chiding the rest of the team for only allowing him 4 minutes of pitch time in the first half. However, a slightly different and amused take would be that “Chopper” was defending with muscular approach employed by your average prop forward and would likely result in a sin binning. As it stands his second half performance had him crawling of the pitch on his hands and knees before coming off, but the Gob was able to see him grabbing shirts and irritating the opposition attackers with great regularity. No doubt this led to the opposition throwing the ball away on our free kick in the last minute when they were 10-2 up. Sportsmanlike indeed.

All told, we benefited from the return of Leo after a 4 week lay off. However, with only one game in December, who knows what the stamina of our band of oldish men will be like come the new year. When we no doubt play another, younger, fitter, quicker and more skilful team once again.

3:4 Cunning Stunts 26/11/09 7pm

LOST 10-2
Matt, Leo, Steve, Alan, James, Rob, Nathan

So it's been many months since I last wrote a report. A combination of writer's block, Blockbuster DVD watching; and just a general despair at our constant defeats, nulled any enthusiasm I had for writing about our inadequacies all the time. Yeah, that's right, I got bored of slagging people off.

Times have changed and the squad has again metamorphosised into another beast of constituent parts, with Rob now a seasoned regular, Nathan a regular sessional, Richard an enthusiastic rookie, and Gareth an occasional cameo-maker. It was therefore a bizzare start to the evening to hear Matt dismay at having too many people in the squad, and his selection headaches, easily able to conjure at least nine players in the right circumstances, with feeder club Skinner FC now fully integrated into the set up.

Despite the economic crisis, as beared witness by my hometown's ex-Woolworths soon to be a f*cking 99p Store, the price of the match fee remains at a constant high, as treasurer Steve balances the books after the man-purse's recent financial beating. Old Steve Grumpton was in a tetchy mood from the off, pouring scorn on the notion of getting drunk on one's birthday, closer to death, loss of innocence and all that, and would later unleash a full on strop at the indiscliplined substituting that resulted in him playing only four minutes of the first half (by Sir Alex's stopwatch anyway), whilst others in the team were moving so lamely, that slugs could crawl up their backsides.

In the spirit of mutual respect, Matt had a pretty faultless game. Only conceding 10 goals against the top side, and making enough genuine close-range efforts, that Leo had no cause to shout obscenities at him, whilst the Molly's latest touchline totty, Mrs Matt watched on, with her handbag at the ready.

There was a minute's silence for that bloke who used to ref games, and play in games, here at Goals, which deserved the same respect as that German keeper who committed suicide by putting himself in front of a train. As Rob so eloquently put it, within ear shot of the ref, to paraphrase, "He's the guy that had an argument with his missus, and threw himself out of the car, smashing his brains in". Whilst heavily under the influence of alcohol.

We too played like our brains had been smeared all over the concrete (see the French film Dobermann for an excellent sequence where a character gets his face scraped along the road from a moving car). There is absolutely no discipline in formation. This isn't rocket science - James up front, Alan on the left, Nathan or Rob on the right to press forward from deep; Leo or Steve hanging in defence. What the f*ck Nathan or Rob are doing as last man when their goalkeeper begins their initial move bears no credibility. If they were hanging back to catch a breather, then they deserved Steve's wrath. In fairness, when Steve was at the back he was shockingly slow, getting caught out, as attackers ran in behind him, and putting in enough professional fouls to make Thierry Henry look like a saintly frog-eating onion-chomper. Like Thierry, Steve admitted that he was a bloody CHEAT.

Rob's powerful shooting was being undermined by his trigger, a left foot so repugnantly off-target, that he could dip his toe into the sea, and still miss the water. James' two-too-many-touch shooting saw him rapidly and regularly closed down, and we do seem to be the only team in this or any league, whose only option from the keeper is the long ball to the front man, off the wall. I dare us, knowing that i'm going to get the most shit from it, to short ball EVERY keeper throwout, barring the obvious direct scoring oppo.

Free-kicks were their usual slow and painful and inaccurate nonsense. Our shooting barely troubled their keeper, and some gilt-edged chances with wide-open goals, when we did manage to fox their keeper, became guilt-ridden f*ck-ups as they went stupidly wide, or hit the bar.

Leo's return was only half a blessing, as he was getting in the interceptions, but failing to take control of the second touch, resulting in the top-heavy opposition attack still profiting from a now split-leg, static defence, summed up superbly with him edging a long pass away from a protruding attacker, only to slither it past a wrong footed Matt for his first own goal of the season.

The opposition were the usual cretins, arguing the toss on every little foul supposedly committed against them (complaints only justified against Steve), and back-heeling the ball away from our free-kick when they were 10-2 up with a minute to go. Congratulations dickwad, your mother raised you well.

There's no improvement in the way this team plays, just a random series of events that gets thrown together, that occasionally produces a positive result through sheer luck. We have so many glory hunters in a team that really, by transference, wouldn't be capable of hunting for porn on the internet. Just once, I'd like to see some positional discipline, even if it's just for the bloody kick-off. The right wing has enough space in it to the build The West Wing. Get over there.

Rant over.