Match Report 2024_02_01

Lost 4-6 to Wandering Wanderers
CB 1, AW, TW 1, CG 1, DC 1, SB

You know that feeling when a wave takes you? Or when you catch a wave? I think it’s more accurate to say “it takes you” because at the point of catching or being taken you really lack any control over what is to come. You’re flowing with it. Flying. Surfing. But meanwhile the mind is strangely calm.. “Wow I’m floating, I’m flying. I’m in the air. Does this mean I’m about to get badly injured? Am I? Will I not get up from this? Is this the end of my Futsal career? Will I be going straight to hospital after this?” All that thinking in the fraction of a second spent flying through the air. But then.. bam, crash, rolling, sliding, coming up for air. “I’ve grazed my elbow. That’s it. I’m OK.”

Dear reader, I shall not trouble you with the details of the post-coital exchange. Let’s just say there was a yellow card (not for me), verbal hostilities followed by handshakes and shoulder clapping. It ended well. Although we lost the game 4-6. The scores had been tied at 3-3 and 4-4. But in the end the Wandering Wanderers were the better team on the day. It was a forfeit so we got the points. But the game was played in the spirit of fierce competition not a “friendly” by any stretch. All Nannas put in maximal effort and commitment.

Some highlights. Wal blistering the back door with a stunning shot just wide of the goal from a pass from Sol. Chassy’s cross court pass to Tao who completed a complex Irish jig before expertly nudging the ball into the goal with his knee. Gilly’s bedroom bossanova moves to save countless goals. Cocky winning the ball and slamming the goal into the net. Sol’s composure on the ball when gaining possession and making the pass.

Afterwards we took it to sushi ten for raw fish, rice and cold Japanese tea. A balmy afternoon turned into a cool evening and we retired to the footpath outside out Red something on St George’s for a beer and a blanket for Wal from the Emasculator.


At sushi ten


Nannas vs Direct Rudboys

6. v.  8

CB2, DC2, TW1(ish), EC1, AW, CG (mom)

wow – it has been a minute. Some say the longest brown break in a decade or two. On Wednesday night The Captain was wondering which nanna would come closest to his maker. Putting my hand up here as it appears that asthma has taken over me in the last fornite. I had to leave mid first half to find an inhaler for good reason. I found that and bobbed back. I also forgot my shorts and so played in a (tastefully tan or shall I say light brown) pair of pants. So maybe this mom is a bit of a mercy mom.

the DRs were pretty handy. One year above El from his high school they certainly could pass and turn and run and shoot and score. The Nannas responded to the initial heavy onslaught from the DRs. We scored in the first half. It was only 1-6 at half time. Things were looking grim. Yet ok.

they were good to play against as in fair and tough. Matching is in our vigour. The second half was a brown avalanche WHICH WE WON!! Some hot hot goals on a muggy evening which was probably best seen by Tao’s toe knuckle hair goal which whisped a ball into goalas their goalie got cocky (by the nuts) and went for a run leaving the goals gaping.

we were really pressing them at the end as they ran out of puff, keeping in mind that as we are in our 24th year of playing that is longer than all of our opposition had been alive. Ever.

The Northcote Social Club took us into their bosom and we suckled on the teat of their sweetness.

Match report 5 October 2023

Attendees: CB 1, DC, JH 2 (MOM), AW 1, CARL 1 (MOM), JOEL (GK MOM).
Score: Nannas 5 plays Sporting Kunse 2/3 (?)
The game’s afoot: follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry ‘God for Brown, ABKIT, and The Mighty Fighting Nannas!’
So, here I was, with a stomach filled with a packet of chips (at about five p.m. wandering out of work I suddenly felt peckish, and the Seven Eleven, like a Siren, called to me. I spied donuts, chocolate beckoned, as did many fizzy drinks, but I thought a small pack of crisps would do it).
They did indeed! After the briefest of warm ups, we turned to face our foes, and whereas two minutes previous I had butterflies, now the fried potatoes sitting in my stomach hung heavy.
I ran, but it didn’t feel good. Lumbering more than sprinting, I felt a snail barely discernible in its movement, but there was Cocky taking off down the right side. I knew I’d never get to the mouth of goal, so meandered to somewhere near its front. I’m not sure how the Cock saw me, but he crossed and I thought, sheesh, I’m in the right place at the right time, how on god’s green earth did that happen? I hit it with the right. It struck the left upright, the net billowing soon after.
The Nannas were passing well, our substitute keeper held up his end (he and Gilla would do well to discuss distribution, as Gilla could learn one or three million things from him). Carl used his foot skills (sublimely), and Chassy ran (hither and dither).
I would have thought him (the Renking Penis of Lady Chastity) a worthy MOM last eve. He still sometimes is too much action when a breathe and look up would better suit, but his shoot first, ask questions after did produce our second goal.
We were winning the battle of the midfield. For the most part our passes stuck. And they, while young and somewhat faster than us, were feeling pressure.
In the middle of the half, our enemies lost it in their back third (as they did a lot), and Chassy popped up and without a second thought struck deep and true (yes, I know what you’re thinking, and you’d be right). The net billowed.
By this stage, the crisps dwelling in my guts were settling, and my legs were propelling me slightly faster, and like the Nannas, I went into the break starting to get on top of things.
Oranges were administered at the interval, as were words of encouragement, and I went off for the first two minutes of the second half.
I’m not sure if it was my absence (it probably was), or the oranges and what was said (not likely), but in those first two minutes after break, we gave up two goals and our lead.
So, I had to come on again, which wasn’t easy for me all night. I’m not sure Cocky knows this (probably best not to tell him), but he is difficult to dislodge from court. You can yell at him, ‘Sub Cocky!’ He looks like nothing’s happened. You scream again, ‘COCKY sub!’ He stays on the far side of the court, his eyes avoiding yours. And once more you shriek to the depth of your lungs, ‘COCKY, you motherfvcking, motherfvcker, drag your sorry arse to the side of the court.’ He keeps playing, with a hand shielding his face, so you can’t see what he’s looking at.
Eventually, after getting the ref to stop the game, I had to walk on court, tap him heavily on the shoulder, at which point he turns, like he’s deaf, and says, ‘What, me?!’
Anyway, once I came on all was right in the world. My stomach had managed to coat said crisps in some intestinal juices, and move them toward the intestine, and again, we controlled the midfield, our marking and defence stifling most of their attack.
Carl and his sublime foot skills once more appeared before me, in the enemy’s half of the court. I could see Carl thinking, how can I turn my opponent (more on this in a bit), but as I stood behind him I softly called to him, ‘Carl, I am free.’ Duly, he fed the ball back, where I duly slammed it low and hard, to once more billow the net.
Players were beginning to tire, and the game had opened up. One of their men had some moves and speed (and rather a strong shot. From one free kick he managed to almost fell me, after kicking it straight at my nuts. I had both hands covering the testis, but it still felt like my balls needed to retreat in the recesses of my lower guts) and threatened but Joel (let’s call him second string) had it under control.
That’s when we put them to bed. First, Carl and those sublime skills found himself in their half of the court, with his back to goal and one man to beat. Sublime skills turned that one man, and he found himself one v one with their keeper. His left foot billowed the right side of their net.
And then there was Andy. I haven’t mentioned the Andy yet, and this is not because he didn’t play well, or wasn’t integral to our win, he was (I was just saving the best for last).
The match was no longer in the balance. We knew we were better than them, that we would score more, and Andy kept popping up left side close to their by-line looking for an opportunity to finish with a flourish.
I got one to him, but he was blocked out by two of the enemy. The next time he found himself in a similar position, two of them would only be one, their keeper. Andy toyed with him: the feints, the step overs, the drop of the shoulder, it was all there. And just when he’d tied the keeper up in knots, and finally sat him on his arse, Andy picked his spot, shooting high into the net, for the most prestigious and exclamation point billow of the night.
I don’t remember how they scored their third, or if they even did. It mattered little. We went happily to the NSC to eat steak and talk of separation packages and energy.

Match Report – 28 September 2023

3-2 v Dynamo Tehran

CB, SB (1), DC (2, MOM), CG, AW, TW (Ass)

Jim, all swagger and bravado, until the heavy yoke of domestic duty thwarts his unrealistic ambitions, yet again, leaving the nannas high and dry like a 13 year old virgin at a blue light disco. And Mo, having his hair cut especially for the Nannas but unable to adjust quick enough to changing circumstances, leaving the Nannas in the lurch, like a prehistoric reptile standing up his fresh faced young (yet in fact much older) mammalian date. Which left only five THONs (plus one ass Coach who is also technically a THON). It’s always slightly daunting, the tight five, 36 minutes of running without respite, but it also brings a coherence to the Nannas game which has certainly been lacking in some recent ring-in-heavy games. Also in the pros column fro the match was the opposition, our old buddies Dynamo Tehran, also well into the masters division and known for being physical but without any fuckery. And so to it… about 10 seconds in I had very pointy weasley  elbow to the ribs from a Tehranian in a yellow shirt I didn’t recognise, what the? And then a little guy in tight shorts who I wasn’t sure I recognised either was doing a lot turbo bustling. He wasn’t without foot skills,  or a turn of pace, but he was also quite keen on the mustelid elbows – fuck off mate –  and put them 1 up early into the half. The Nannas were pacing themselves and putting together some nice passes, but little white shirt was harrying like some kind of terrier which was annoying as hell. The Nannas were getting fractious, Sol had to remind Dj Renkin Penis that receiving advice on dealing with a situation whilst the situation is still live is never really appreciated. I’m pretty sure I have yet another ABI after heading a long ball (from a pretty decent goalie throw, nice one giller) , it would probably behove the Nannas to cease all headers from here on out… just saying… dementia and shit, you know. In any case, the Nannas started working their way into the game. Sol got us level with some sweet approach work and swept finish, then the MOM tucked away two tidy toe pokes. The Toe Poke eh, it is so maligned, the desperate stab of the technically ungifted, but when it works, hell it can really generate some pace in a tight spot, there’s also a lot to be said for the lack of rotation required in an old leg dubiously rigged with tendons nearing their expiry dates. All was looking pretty good at 3-1. Our defence was holding firm. Giller put in some amazing stops, as is his want, including a double stop the second of which was performed sitting on the floor, arms perfectly raised above his head, like some kind of goalie yoga. Andy had misplaced his kit so was trialling a new away strip of navy shorts (very fetching, note to the kit design committee) and putting in some very sweet raking cross court switch balls, though he did miss a gilt edge sodomites chance at the back post early on. Tao = Ass Coach = THON = freaking legend who comes to games even when injured because he loves the Nannas. And finally back to Chasbenis, perhaps the talking point of the game, which I actually failed to witness… the little white shirted terrier (who, it turns out, had a massive Conor McGregor full chest tattoo so may actually be an MMA pipe hitter) apprently , according to the Lady Chastity, tried to dislocate her arm, matters were taken into their own hands and a yellow card was issued to No. Brown upon which was remarked by the Son of Brown , ‘geez mate, you should practice what you preach”…. Burn. anyway. They got another, we won 3-2. We went to the Taco Truck for tacos because Giller still hates the Union (but still hasn’t found somewhere else to eat) the tacos were pretty good, especially the bonus chips and guac. Finding out that Four Tet was playing in Melbourne and we weren’t there was kind of a RIP but Andy hosted a most excellent fireside soiree on the way home complete with mini magnums and glowing green solar battery control panel lighting. ABKIT!

Timestamp: the world continues to fvck out, Gippsland has bush fires AND flooding, at the same time! and the No campaign and their atlas network advisory fvcks are looking terrifyingly close to winning, racist muthafvckers!… but it isn’t all bad , Collingwood won the Granny.

Match report 17/8/23

Sol, Chas, Andy, Jim, Gilla, Frasay, Cocky (2)

8 – 2 Nanna win (via forfeit)

MOM to Reacharound

“A warm welcome to Guy Fraser, as he returns to these shores and can bring his Reacharound knowledge to all of us now, as he performs on the court yet again. We dedicate this next single to him, and his return, it’s Stinky Jim…”

– Chris Gill, Triple RRR 17/08/2023

With my good name besmirched and being scribbled down on sex pervert watch-lists all over Melbourne, I had nothing left to lose, except my life. And I went into battle fully knowing that I may die that Thursday gone. And like anyone who’s about to truly die, my life as a Nanna flashed before my eyes…the first game ever where all our faces went purple because we hadn’t done any exercise for 10 years. That time I accidentally sodomised a player on the field, repeatedly. The time we played on the grass because the indoors were being painted. That same time Cocky turned up with the O belt haircut. All those car rides to the games with cars packed full of nans. All those shaving variations of our interpretations of police respect. The Book. All those insane fucking saves Gilla did…you know, if life really is like a Cinema Paradiso movie, some old man will one day come up to Gilla and tell him there was cctv filming every nanna game, and the old man, let’s call him Bertie will present an edit from the CCTV footage to Gilla of every goal save he’s ever made for the Nans. And Gilla will chuck that tape into an old vcr, and take a trip of a lifetime down memory lane, watching thousands and thousands of goal saves. And he’ll cry like only a legend can cry. And yes, in the last game, Gilla probably saved 30 more to add to the tape. Cocky had a hell of a game racking up two certifiably insane goals. Andy was solid as Andy always is. Sol and Chas were tight on field, and lovely hosts off the field. Jim looked kinda like a reanimated zombie out there, where the reanimation serum was actually Chassie’s jizz, administered rectally into Jim. I’m calling this new Jim thing, “JizZombie”. No idea what this means, but it’s been manifested now and there’s nothing I can do about that now JizZombie. I was running on fumes by second half and really just phoning it in, but I lived to tell the tale. We all did. Post match we looked at art and ate Korean bbq. It’s been a hell of a 23 years Nans, and I wish I’d been around for more of it, but thanks for the good times. A-B-K-I-T – Always be Keeping it tight.

Nans at Mt Eliza



4.        v.        4

DC (1), RH (2), CG (1), TW, JM, CB

We turned up thinking we were playing the top of the table unbeatables and we realise that through a Joelism we were playing our old foes. A team we played and beat only two weeks ago. Oh how we love to battle again Ray and Big Chest, and their mates…..Oh and add in a new new white shorts to the mix, he had a spin twist move that proved slipp

Of course we began on top. The captain sank the boot into one early and we were away! Tnen they got two sneaky ones and we went into half time at 1-2.  They snuck one more on the board to put us under a bit of heat. But then there was a BROWN AVALANCHE, splurging all over them with us bussin’ at 4-3. In the last two seconds they scored the equaliser which kicked us in the nuts and actually both of us as there really was no winner today. Tao the bravest Nanna redid his same calf muscle tear from 3 weeks ago and then one of the Dynamo Tehran soldiers POPPED his calf rather a little worse it seemed.

Tao was the first Nanna that I drove home that night. I cradled him home then suckled him to sleep.

Chassy was the next Nanna I drove home that night. Both of them with their bikes in the car. Two cycle knights down! Chassy’s back but he will be back.

Nannas were brave, some say braver than others.

match report 13 July 2023

the lamest match report ever.

Tao scored a header

Chasby slotted one into teh top right corner

The author scored 4, for the third week in a row.  Thers a geometric metaphor in there soemwhere and I was going to draw a picture to illustrate but didn’t.


but suffuce to say we schooled some very fast young students, which is alwasy pleasing for a bunch of greay haired middle aged old men.



match report – 7 July 2023

“To meet violence with violence is to play to your opponent’s
strong point and your own weak point.”
Hanan Ashrawi 2004

A trio of Crooks stole the show with some sublime interplay, movement and finishing. The real miscreants, though, were the three opponents who took so badly to being plundered that they physically attacked our two teenage players!

Owing to the difficulties of navigating a busy Glenlyon Rd on the long journey from East Brunswick to Brunswick your correspondent missed Lu’s apparently excellent opening goal. The scores were at 1-1 and the game tight when I arrived. A few ‘robust’ challenges from Gilla gave the opposition a couple of set-piece opportunities but all the silky stuff was from the gowns of brown. Sebastian, the fill-in, had two lovely feet and combined marvellously with Elliot, Lu and Cocky twice to put the Nanna’s into a 3-1 lead and in the ascendancy.

With around 4 minutes left of the first half, another tasty passing movement led to Lu being one-on-one with their goalkeeper. As he was in the process of going around him, the keeper grabbed his hips, pulled him to the ground and held him down. Clear penalty. Elliot ran over to remonstrate with the goalkeeper about the foul on his younger brother.

I think we were all aghast and dumbfounded by what followed. The goalkeeper pushed Elliot over and took a swing at him. A second player grabbed Lu by the throat, forcefully. Cocky rushed in to extricate his boys from the melee, quickly followed by Gilla as peace envoy. Quite how three of their players were seething with rage and apparently indignant with the injustice of the situation was utterly incomprehensible.

The young referee then in charge of the game offered little control of the situation. The fella with the chest like the Heidelberg Tun must have heard the commotion as he came over from the other pitch. To restore some calm and order he suggested we abandon the remainder of the first half and persuaded the opposition to play on for the second. Yes, somehow a few of them didn’t want to play on! No penalty was taken. No red card.

And, breathe…

Thankfully, the passing and movement from the Nannas scaled new heights in the second half. A controlled left footed volley from Cocky – in off the near post from an insouciant chipped pass from Lu which followed earlier good work from Elliot – was a particular highlight of six second half goals. There were even a couple of cheeky goals from me. I think talk of how good they were had already gotten out of hand by the time we got to the pub. Thankfully some footage has emerged of them (here and here ) so you can judge for yourself.

And so, to the Union where Elliot and Lu were being encouraged to reflect on the pitfalls of violence by not only leur pere and the other Nannas, but also Miri and the sage advice of their Grandparents who had also witnessed it all. A debrief, and an attempt to piece together how any of that had happened, seemed necessary. If anything, it became more baffling as apparently the opponents (approx. 10 years younger than the average first generation Nanna) are apparently fathers to young families! Also, all the stories we swapped of the individual reactions we witnessed confirmed that they largely remained angry and in denial of any wrongdoing throughout the match.

The Nannas schooled the Bad Dads on the pitch but the bigger lesson for all of us was in the triumph of non-violence. Peace, love and the jogo bonito, people.



report by James Mercer

Nannas 9 – Bad Dads 2
JM 2 (MOM), LC 2, EC 1, DC 4, CG (GK), Sebastian the courtside ring-in



4.               vs           9

DC1, CB, TW1 , AW (Mom), TK (MOM), CG (mom) 2

We ended with an incredible team goal. We were cheered off by a growing sideline crowd but unfortunately they assumed we were the 9 with how good we looked. It was a long throw to the left side with Rhian heading it back across the goals  for Cocky to tap it in.

Panthera FC are actually our new nemesis RMIT B TEAM who wanted a little more respect than just being a sloppy seconds. THey opened with a roar in the first half. We were a little shell shocked. But we won the second half. THey were 6-0 up in the first half. I camme in my jeans for the start of the second. Sorry Jim, I know you hate it when people come in their jeans, its so uncouth.

ITs always hard after making the finals, the Nannas seems to slump a little. But onwards an upwards gentlemen. Remember we get the country boy back with his BIG LEFT FOOT and his power stance ready to firm us up again.

Dinner proved at the Northcote Social Club and their cheap steak night. Not for the captain’s last match for a while though, he went full Maryland on us all.




0           V.       7

DC, CP, RH, TW, CB, CG (mom)


Chassy remembered his Nanna Onesie.

The last customer of the day, after I told him of the impending match 37 minutes before kick off said to me, wow, did you see the episode of Ted Lasso last night? The latest one? No, I hadn’t, he proceeded to tell me of the lowdown and how the keeper in the TV show suffered a really horrible and grotesque broken nose.

Then he left the store with me mouth agape. I stepped onto the court nervous AF with a constant hand hovering over my beak for the whole match.

Playing against a VERY STRONG opposition the match began in a fiery manner. Tao being ragdolled and cock offered then massaged in the chops. No card, no matter. They really really won because they were so young they thought that we were so old that when we joked about our age being 35 they thought that that was so old, and so far from their age, that it might be close to where we are. They really were destined to win this one. We never got close. There was a penalty shot by us but their keeper was pretty goooood. Chassy was an injured nanna and limped off and is still limping today.

We took a group photo at the end together with CALTHORP and wished them well with their ascent to the higher division with the hope of never playing against them again.

The Nannas needed help. We needed familiarity. We were broken men. We went to THE HORN. The tibs, the wot, the kitfo. We back in the food womb. the band BLOW blew us into the happy place we needed to be.

We walked across the road to the appropriately named RUNNER UP bar. I handed over my runner up trophy and he put it on the wall, next to the 15 or so other runner up trophies that had been slung to the way side.

The season felt a lot longer than 15 weeks. The Nannas we brave and brown and were incredible to get were we got. Much love to Carl and Guido and Henry and Jerry, others who had given them selves up to be Nannas.

Congratulations gentlemen on doing what we do. 23 years is a lot of funk and today I feel really sore but proud to be a Nanna.


Summer Match report 1/12/2022

  1. The Nannas 5 La Bestia 3

AW RH 1 EC 2 CB 1 TW 1

in an unprecedented dented attempt at vote fixing a pre-report was made…

2 down after 10 mins it was looking ugly, the Nannas were on point but the op had some skills and could stop and turn like really freaking quickly, what they didn’t see though, was the brown avalanche rolling down the mountainside towards them, a 3 goal Nanna lahar smashed them into halftime. The third act saw a mini revival and the scores at 3-3,  tempers were fraying, tackles were getting a bit spicy and the Nannas were on a four foul knifes edge, but a 4th brown goal hustled across the line really upped the ante, the Nannas were defending like their lives depended on it, The Lady Chatterly in particular looked at one point possessed by a small to medium sized demonic force, snapping and biting and snarling… they threw everything at us, to no avail, and then finally, after a number of earlier attempts Elliot glanced in a fifth with his pink-Modric-elastic-banded head… game over!

We went somewhere, the crofters arms? The chaplains loins ? it was a bit shit, which looked bad for Rhian, but he and I did share a jug which was quite special (ps. Andy owes Rhian a pint via me) and we discussed the white lotus and geometrically titled danish films and the socceroos and Elliot had a pineapple and jalapeño margarita just to keep it real.

Then we went home and I poured a VERY deep bath while taking to long to write this pseudo match report on my phone, so I better get MOM, bitches.





The day after the match I was standing in the doorway of Northside and Sean Deans a kiwi D&B DJ legend walked past. I told him about the nights before loss and of my sadness, even though I was standing on a rainbow, he said…..”you Aussies are so preoccupied with winning! Congratulations with finishing second, unless of course there were two or three teams in the comp.” “No, there were maybe 8” I said. To which he replied, “Well In that case you guys did really well”

What a pussy I thought as he walked away, happy with second place, happy with losing at the final hurdle, happy to receive the little trophies instead of the slightly bigger ones, happy to know what could have been ours, but we let slip through our fingers.

Everything was in place. Nanettes, flanuses, brown ties, capes and of course police resect. Tao even came with some D’Artagnan meets Game oF Thrones respect that had eyebrows raised. Andy was tall, nearly as tall as Jim. Chest puffed out and READY. Jim was ready but also excited by what lay ahead, his glory. Rhian was practicing his magical leaves before the game, Chassy was striding masculinely and my cape was flapping in the breeze. Dan was erect and ready to play. .

At half time we were ONE to NIL up. Could the unthinkable happen? We were in the drivers seat. We were unsettling the apple cart. We were beginning to dream.

Well the start o the second half was like having a glass of cold water thrown in your face and down you pants at the same time to wake you up. THE DREAM IS OVER. They jumped us and we all slowly woke up with slightly smaller trophies.

Sean Deans is a pussy.

The old forgotten glove match report: 2 June 2022

Nannas 5 play Harchester United 2

CG, JH: 3, TK, TW 1, Prince, Jerry

Playing with the Nannas last night was like slipping into an old forgotten glove: at first glance it looked old and wrinkly but felt so smooth once slipped on.

And the question came to me on my long drive home last night, are the Nannas ageless?

Admittedly when playing indoor, the court is small. Like infinitesimal in comparison to eleven a side. The distances travelled miniscule, the ball, flat and heavy, a reflection that to move too far in one direction you’re soon likely to reach a sideline or the end of a court.
Still, there’s lots to be said for operating in small spaces, seeing tiny expanses stretch before you, from which the scope of play is measured in half yards.

While the Nannas might not be able to zip through these half yards like youngers anymore, they know how govern them like men in their prime, with puffed chests, feet still large and moving in the correct direction to intercept any through ball, and sculpted legs spread at just the right angle to display loins potent but far past procreation.

The first half was even. The Prince found himself down the left hand side early on and made it count.

The Little Green men responded soon after, with their best player beating Jim down their right to place a sideway firmly erect shot searing past Gilla.

The Greens as I recall them were a better bunch than what they turned out last night. Their best player is still there, long red locks and all, but their other threat from the days gone by absent. He was tall, with dark hair and good foot skills, and could shoot too.

Apart from the dude with the long red locks, AKA their best player, no one else in their team seemed capable of much. In fact, the brother of said red locks, AKA their best player, seemed to provide as much trouble for his own side as red locks, AKA their best player, was a plus. The brother could pass, but that was about it. For the most part he concerned himself with trying to push Nannas over and subsequently fighting with the ref, and getting chewed out by his brother, red locks, AKA their best player.

Anyway, we found ourselves starting the second half, and I did think, would the Nanna wilt like had happened so many times before? Our second halves post 40 years of age not a strong point.

The answer: a polite no.

We went on to score four, while Gilla at the back continued to defy time, his creaking back and any assault on his goal. Three times he pulled off multiple saves (one that turned into a goalmouth scramble), which a much lesser keeper would have had trouble getting a finger nail to the initial strike.

As to the goals. I got the mighty, most hallowed hattrick.

The first from a free kick, blasted past the marker and keeper. The second from some lovely crosscourt passing between Jim and the Prince, with Jim finishing. And the third from Jim, from the right moving onto his favoured left, squeezing his shot onto the inside of their back post, which turned in from the rebound (a truly lovely and most satisfying goal).

And then there was Tao, ageless, wrestling with the Green’s best player over the ball close to their goal. Like he so often does, he won the battle, and then all he had to do was toe poke under their keeper, which he did with ease, for a fine goal.

They got one late, but by that stage the Nannas knew they had it won, Gilla wisely letting them have one to let the Greens think there was something in the match, but in truth there was only team that was going to win.

Match Report 2021 / 5 / 20

The Nannas vs West Brunswick Albion

4  v  14

CB (1), DC (2), RH (1), TH, TK

tonivht will always be known as the night a truly incredible goal was scored. Not one incredible form of brown brilliance from an individual  but a group movement like a glorious flash mob. We didn’t win the game but we definitely won the right to sleep at night.

The goal was in the top ten of the most brilliantly spiritual goals in the history of the Nannas.

we were bringing the ball up from the backline when we NUTMEGGED 2 of them in a row. First a pass from Chassy to Dan, then. Dan bump to Takeshi. Then he passed it to Rhian who then BACKGEELWD it into goal. That’s right, … it was a DOUBLE NUTMEG BACKHEEL.

one of the most holy of all goals. I was merely walking the sidelines as a coach. But I was bathed in the aura of the moment. I still smile about it now.

Match report 2021-5-13


Vs Ben’s Babes


CG (mom) RH(1) EC TW (1 TH TK DC (2) – CB (coach) AW (cheerleader)

The Nannas turned up early. I think we have to stop this stretching beforehand. It’s got ruinous results.

the last two weeks the Nannas have stretched out some soft tissue concerns. This week it would appear no different. The goalie limped into his Friday.

The game was signaling poorly early…. the opposition was fast, and clinical. Let’s just say at 1-4 at half time we knew we had a fight on our hands.

The youngest Nanna, this evening, Elliot signaled his intentions very early with a yellow for pure brown aggression within 5 minutes.  It set a precedent early. We played hard but slightly slowly. They moved around us and towards their goal.

ultimately the goalie picked up the ball 9 times from his net but it seems his fellow police respecters admired his pick up styles. The end of game happened and everyone looked at each other as the final whistle blew and gave each other “I wish Jim was here” eyes.

not so much for his on field brilliance but maybe more for his after game care. He was the king of helping chassy dry off after his shower. The boss of loosening toms hamstrings on the side of the court. And of course the lord of the back pat on the walk out of the stadium.

it seems the Nannas will need a bi weekly hand to be put up to give some post match cuddles. Some embryonic hugs, or some supple manipulations, anyone? Andy?

the country sweetness of Jim is sorely missed. We wait for next week excitedly and maybe just maybe we will win. Not this week though. Not this week.

thenpost match we classy, another look at the Retreat and the highlight was Cocky ordering the SpatchCOCK. That’s a lot of cock on a table. Maybe it was a seven at the end.

I left early, it will live in the world of maybe.

The Last Ever Match Report ?! 11th March 2020

3-11 v Harchester
DC(2,M),CG, TK, TW, SJG (1)

So that was that, possibly the last game the Nannas ever play. On Thursday it was all elbow bumps and half jokes about who would be struck down first. Joel assured me kicking goals was the best way to fight off a virus. The main concern at that point was Rhian and Chassy yet again prioritising their weekly date night over a commitment to their brother Nannas. Adding insult to injury was the Captains gas-lighting claim to have contacted Guido as a ring-in. Turns out he had been lining up a bi-twin with “Guido” in Geelong… “if you’re available ?”. But at least he made an effort, unlike the the other members of upper management who were just palming out lobsters and graceless facials. Giller on the other hand got nude in public for the Nannas, well, he got changed during a live broadcast ( the sound of his underpants and what lies beneath only mm from the mic ) in order to make it to the game. Kondo was there, Tao was there, and so was Si, the most dedicated of ring-ins. 5 True Heros of Nanna against the green hooped celtic foes of old, Harchester. It wasn’t a great game but at least we kept our pants on, 2 goals from corners and a third near the end was some small quantam of solace. After the game Giller, Kondo and I went to Miss Moses for some live funk ( careful not to touch anything, apart from ‘touching it”, obviously) and the partook of the perfect post match beverage (when you’re not drinking alcohol, like an idiot (except giller, who is not an idiot))); a lemon, lime &  bitters but with half lemonade/half soda, not too sweet, not too austere, perfect. I then finished the night with a falafel from Very Good Falafel , which was slightly crazy given I’d already had a falafel pita for lunch, but it was, as the name would suggest, very good – super crunchy without being serrated, and excellent use of jalapenos…

But what now ? The novel corana virus Covid 19 (or “the Chinese Virus” as the hopefully-soon-to-be-dead-from-it POTUS prefers) is cutting a path of destruction through the world. As at Wednesday 18 ASPIC is still open for business, but the Nannas won’t be there and its hard to guess when they will return. Is this (SARS x10) + the stock-market crash of ’87 + (the GFC x3) ? or is it the Spanish flu meets the Great Depression or is it The Walking Dead meets the Road ? Should the nannas be activating their long hatched climate apocalypse plans to hijack a Russian nuclear icebreaker and head for the oceanic hills? should they just be kicking back at home riding it out, gardening, reading great novels and playing parlor games with their just-a-joy-to-be-with teenagers, should they be scouring the internet for expert analysis and insight from religious american internet startup tech bros with all the numbers “just crunching the math”… or is it actually time to push on with that long-postponed opium addiction and just chill the freaking hell out !! who knows. crazy times.

Time Stamp: 1:40pm 18 Mar 2020:
199574 Confirmed Cases
7975 Deaths

Match Report 27 FEB 2020

In6-4 Win
CB(2)   EC(1)   DC   CG   RH(2)   TW(1)
Mom Hinkley

First game back for the captain after an injury plagued summer, and what a way for the Nannas to welcome a captain back. The big take-away from the game being that some moves need practice, it is an often quoted line – “practice, makes perfect” and in the case of the Look Away Backheel In Attack (LABIA) it could not be truer.

In the past I have come under some criticism for being too LABIA focused, too quick to go for the LABIA when the circumstances haven’t possibly been appropriate. Team members have talked about more conservative approaches, asked me to put the LABIA away and focus on the team game more. Thursday night was my validation the night that I could unveil the full beauty of my LABIA under the dim and gentle lighting of the Brunswick High School sports Arena. I will quote the perfumed and eloquent words of Chris Gill in the description of how the LABIA unfolded as he was best placed to see it in its entirety.

“Then it happened. Ball start in the center Dan gave it to Chassy. Then the captain ran all along the right flank streaming towards goal. He looped from near the sideline to directly in front of goal. Chassy saw the opening. From the center he slid a ball towards the captain that was perfect, the Cappy did not break stride, in fact he did a look away as the ball came to him.
He was gracing across the goals and was looking up over the refs head but his foot was all business, producing the BACKHEAL LOOKAWAY !!! The goalie was wrong footed and could only look on in helpless slo mo as the ball curled into goals in a painstakingly slow manner. Continuing, Hinkley did not break stride as he didn’t even look behind him, knowing exactly what was happening he jogged slowly back to the half again,
People roared. People cheered but every member of their team applauded. It was brown poetry. Never to be forgotten. Etched in the minds of all present and now in the folklore of Tapatalk…… the tome of truth.”

But in truth this was a true team affair. Gilla super strong at the back, on his knees, on his arse, on his game, saved several one-on-one scenarios, delivered some beautiful long balls including one to the captains head that resulted in the opening goal of the game. The Crooks duo lit up the forward line with some exceptional cross court ball movement, putting the family back in familiar. Chassey ran like a gazelle across the Savannah, spurred on by his young buck on the sidelines and Tao avoided tangling with any saplings on his way down the well groomed Brunswick slopes. Goals to Weis, Brown and Crooks(junior) with a brace for the captain.

The evening was followed by a simple dinner of burgers where the Walmartin surfaced with some inciteful critiques of the melbourne gelato scene.

Match Report 2020_01_23 (by Sol)

vs Harchester United

5-4 Victory

CB, SB 2, CG 1, SG 1, TH 1, DC


On thursday we may not have had all the numbers, but the nannas commited to the game and each and everyone of us wore our hearts on our sleeves we played immaculate futsal, with hard dedication, great passing and several finesse finishes. It was a great game and we won by only a few goals but those goals mattered the most.
Chris Gill scored an amazing finish. I scored 2 great goals, Si scored 1 good goal and Tom scored 1 goal as well. Overall it was a really fun game and i think its safe to say everyone really enjoyed the match.



The Nannas v White line Fever

4 v 3

SJG, CG (mom), DC (2), CB (1), TW (1)

One of the greatest victories of these tight Brown fucs.

Not a sub in sight, so fear not, the Nanna’s didn’t. First half was not our finest. They turned us, they burned us. They got two in the whole hole. We stood in the half time huddle at 0-2 and yet the Nannas were calm and realised we were still in this.

Si was TREMENDOUS. His ability to be the last defensive touch was outstanding. So many times his little toe was in their way. It was a physical affair, played in good spirits and I must say, from my point of view, everyone was smiling. Chassy was using his arms as his clearing zones, sort of like a snow plough, but with arms. The ref, Stan, agreed that it was all above board. Dan was a powerhouse up forward using his old man cunning to outwile those younguns. Tao kept running all games, he was like Rob De Castella without the Commonwealth Games medal around his neck.

After the abominable start I think we got four goals in . It was pretty fine. Then with 5 minutes on the clock they started to press. Their baby legs had all the energy. We were like erotic sloths.  Being extremely conservative in judging when we would run. There were not many times in those last five minutes that we did run, at all. We had no subs. We nearly didn’t make it. There was an absolute avalanche on our goals in the last two minutes and I’m quite sure used my face right on the line to stop their last shot. I think I kissed it off.

special mention to the Nannette’s too. They always provide constant belief in our sort of abilities.

Si saved me and Tao from going to another pub for dinner with his reference to Howler’s asian fusion menu. Howler decided that tonight was BURGERS ONLY. But it was enough, even though our opposition dinned there as well. We were winners that night.

MATCH REPORT 12 December 2019

the Nannas v Big Kick Enegry

SJG (MOM) 3, DC 3, TW 2, CB, CG, TH. RH (ass coach)

8.  :   2

Slow to start
Nanna’s rubbed against Big Kick Energy seemingly evenly matched.

Top bun had height, a quick turn and sharp right foot.
A few Maradona physiques in their team, but without the same chutzpah, no lo suficiente.

My memory of these moments in a hall in Brunswick at the end of 2019 is like a melting ice cream, ribbons of caramel pool on the pavement, unrecognisable from the cold desirable seconds ago.

Facts like names, chronology, order itself are flimsy raft-boats that appear when the mind sinks into wakefulness from dream state
like a ocean liner whose true story may die with its captain.

This game cleansed me.
I bathed in their tears.
Tears are many things
Water, mucin, lipids, lysozyme, lactoferrin, lipocalin, lacritin, immunoglobulins, glucose, urea, sodium, and potassium.

To say we won is to say I cried.
What did you win, what did you cry.

The compounds of this victory are equally complex and invisible.

I think about covering my body in tattoos
I want to kill the opposition
I am marking the stubby Maradona
There is peace in my heart
My mouth awash with the metallic taste of hemoglobin from the red blood cells.
My life has been wrapped in spreadsheets
Meetings with management
Moving back and forth in a square that neither expands nor contracts
But the game here moves in measured rewards and executions.
Break, turn, pass, run, split, shot, net, goal.
Repeat. Rinse. Repeat.

There is something sad about a wild horse being tamed
A wild stallion, unridable, bucking with all fury of the mountain fires.. worn down by the fences and cowboys rope.. the dust cloud settled to a trotting beast, broken and rideable shaped to mans will.
A well tamed horse is called dead broke horse.

We saw that spirit of the game pushed out.
Around 6-1 the referee put on Bohemian Rhapsody on his sound system..

We are the champions, another one bite the dust or we will rock you all would have been more apt choices from Queen.

The pain of an unanswerable question drives some philosophers to madness and martyrdom.

Why were we the better team?
The emotional transactions of our days.
6 ft above our heads the psycho-spiritual thermodynamics reigned supreme.

But of course, see?

Le Coq looks like a Greek god

Tao means the source of creation

Fish gills take oxygen from out of water
An opposing element, transmuted.
Our Gill plucks the oppositions ball from our goals and thrusts it forth with savage intention.
He slaps it. He drops 90 degrees onto linoleum. The ball is not allowed here, it is against our nature.

I had only this game to rip forth some meaning from the day, so I lean into the wind to fall and die or fly and live. And we flew and we lived

What I mean to say is victory came to us because we beckoned it
We possessed it
Or rather it possessed us
The other team did not want it
We were on fire, violent and creative.
But On our way to victory we destroyed something beautiful in the process
And it becomes abstract
A demonstration
A amusement ride
The wild horse is gone

A experimental 6 minute rock opera song sung by a flamboyant gay English / Indian man is reduced to a background music for the soccer jock in a hall in Brunswick at the end of 2019.

Match Report Nov 21 2019

6-9 v 6 guys 1 Cup – Mt Alexander College (no Dolan)
CB(2), DC(4,m), CG, JH, RH, TH, TK, TW

A rare and precious thing, 2 subs and not a ring-in to be seen… so it was on this day of crazy weather. 39 degrees and winds that were blowing large trees almost flat to the ground. The captain mused that it’s what you’d expect if the devil was put in charge of the weather. Not only was Beelzebub at wheel with infernal heater but s/he switched it up hitting the air-con mid afternoon with a cool change (and more wind, fans still on high) just to further add to overall the sense of impending climatic doom… ScuMo, eat a massive bag of salted dicks you preposterously massive fuck !


We were 6 brown (actually white cis hetero) men warming up on the ancient and glorious (yet now confusingly non-blue) wooden floorboards of the Mt Alexander College gymnasium when we were greeted by the pleasant and unheralded arrival of Mr Weis from the adlands or east gippsland. The warm up continued; long passing, short passing, 1 touch, shots on goal, a spot of ‘the old hack’, yet no sight of the opposition was to be had. Stan hobbled around the court like a 90 yr old, the warm up continued and finally a bunch of smooth faced 17yr olds in purple tops arrived. And so to kickoff.

The Nannas were up for it. The youth may not have had much in the way of facial hair or bitter life experience but they had foot skills and pace to spare. But the nannas were rightly fortified by their collective, nearly 20 years of hive mind thinking, 2 decades of communal mental and physical labour… and that warm up.

By halftime we were 4-1 up. Goals: from a ‘stuppashin’, a free kick and some great setpieces (kind of ) Nannas running onto perfectly placed corner kicks… it was looking good. Then they swapped up their goalie at halftime and shit went downhill, fast. ah well. It was a freaking good game and the Nannas were totally boss !

Aprés Kondo suggested a malaysian joint and ordered up a storm (even without the Beef Rendang) the only downer was the warm beers… Then we headed to Joe’s on the off chance that Wal might take a break from blowing smoke up our collective hive arse, which he did, which was awesome! As we headed into the night the authors resolve, weakened by that last pint, finally evaporated and he inveigled his way into Liz Smileys tin of funk, barebacking little brassy in a high street alcove. Suitably elevated it was then on to ‘Top Shelf’ for single malts and self deluded Javascript insights… oh sweet Object, how much I love, yet how little I understand thee…

Fuck Scott Morrison, you dick !!!

A night of nostalgia, MATCH REPORT: 31 October 2019

Nannas 3 plays someone 5

Att: CB, DC, CG, JH (MOM), RH, TH, TK, AW (MOM)

A night of nostalgia. That’s what it felt like looping in with Gilla for the 8:40 game. The drive from north to south was hot. There was traffic too. Gilla skirted it with ease (something I am not sure he would have done 15 years ago). We crossed the Yarra, feeling like it could have been 20 years ago (has it really been that long?).

Then we arrived, not at the Pits, but at the Maori Chief (would have done it the other way around in the past?). It was open (though) at that time of night, so we took pictures to send to our brothers in arms, and walked in. The place was the same, albeit, it had more screens, and less people (not sure how it stays open). We ate (steak sandwiches), we drank (well, I did), and played pool (I took the first game, but from there it was all downhill, as Gilla sensed himself challenged and firmly rubbed that challenger [me] into the dust).

So, we got to the Pits, about half an hour early. It was hot and still, and the moon (half mooned) hung cold and distant in the sky. Underneath, little groups of mixed teams hung around (it could have been 16 years ago, and a Sunday).

Other Nannas arrived in dribs and drabs. First Chas and Kondo, and then the riders: Cocky, Coach and Captain. We had ourselves a team (I am remembering it like it was 17 years ago, except for the loss and greying of hair). We kicked the ball around, we bought gatorades and sugary snakes, talked shit, and waited for the game to begin (definitely 17 years ago, but without the butterflies we had back then). And, and, Andy, turned up late (pick your date) but didn’t play.

The game started at 8:40, seemed like an appropriate time for the Nannas given our history, except now, most of their children can look after themselves, our wives/partners (mostly) aren’t eagerly awaiting our return (to help with said kids), and (most) Nannas aren’t exhausted from getting up at 5 am each morning.

Yet, inexplicably, some Nannas appeared exhausted, disinterested even (no timestamp here). They were statues, standing, rooted to the spot for the most part (I won’t put a time stamp on this, as this has been happening forever). Chassy said afterward, well I think he said this, that on court he is constantly aware of his surroundings, and where everyone is, so he can move in accordance with the game and be ahead of it (well, that’s what I took him to mean).

As Dan Carlin would say, Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, but the Nannas would do well to follow his perception.

We were better than the opposition. I don’t remember them really getting the better of us, in terms of their skill or their play or tactics (sort of like the Nannas, pick your date). Yet, they hustled and bustled (the Nannas of five, maybe ten years ago). They took their opportunities (sometimes, sometimes not for the Nannas). They also were constantly after us, locking us down (again, sometimes, sometimes not for the Nannas).
The Nannas on this night wanted to play with smiles on their faces (timestamp here is on and off, as this is not really the Nanna way, unless we are winning). But the question should be asked, does shit football make you smile? Oh my god, I am so sorry, but there was some pretty shit football out there. We really should have done better.

On recent previous occasions (that I have played, at least) we have had possession and used the ball well (no time stamp here, as this is relatively new for the Nannas), we have had cohesion, even teamwork (multiple timestamps here, as backing our Brown Brothers has never been in question), we have even played skilfully (intermittent timestamps here). Not on this evening.

Maybe the heat had overcome us. Maybe the directive to play with a smile on our face was making us feel fake. Maybe the inherent anger that would be our lot if we offered (offered is probably not the most accurate word) a teammate criticism (even if there was also congratulations and encouragement mixed in with this) was overcoming us, clouding our judgement. Maybe it was Tao, who didn’t want to play (because, apparently, he had been so angry last time and needed to go have a long, hard look at himself), had made us feel like we were missing something, something from our past (fierceness, ferocity, fury perhaps)?

Sure, we have to temper (pun intended) that and him (and me alongside him), but just saying, outright and arbitrarily, to always play with a smile on our faces, is just stupid. We are Nannas with emotions, especially on court; it’s how we use these emotions to our best advantage, or bring them back from negativity, is the trick.

Anyway, after, we tried to go to haunts of times past, but the Chief was shut and the Railway was shutting, as was the next place. It did seem like the Bars/Pubs of Melbourne were saying to us, ‘you have too much history, we can feel your dark, downtrodden, mixed feelings from here,’ and closed their doors to us.



3 v 4


2,000 squeaks and blood blisters to prove it. A masculine badge of linoleum movements.

Nanna’s were all heart. Scrappy, passionate and poetic.

The other team, let’s call them The Others were economical with their defence and sexless with their attack, but like Germans their progress was methodical and inevitable.

They were younger than us, they were faster than us, they were stronger than us but we were honest, more heartfelt and sincere, but sincerity wins nothing and poetry in the gymnasium impresses less, its a game of numbers and grit.

Our trophy horse Brazilian Guido trotted, twirled and netted us some swift goals. He was unflappable.

Elliot ran with the skeleton of a teenager, his skin holding on as he darted like a weed into the Others field of orange shirts, thin, winding, inevitable and flowering into the net through his doggeded persistence.

Chris was like a funky lightning storm, capturing the flashing rain balls with his slap action defences.

I wanted to win for Coach

I felt that coach was my father

He felt everything, saw everything and knew our form missed the dynamo of connection.

We chased the game, she never came to our side, flirted with us like a summer flame but extinguished by our existential desperation.

But let’s talk about masculinity.

The fuel that dripped from The Others curly haired attacking midfielder.

Irritable and discontent from first whistle to sulked handshakes, earning a yellow card early and sat at a idling ‘strangle-you-to-death-in-a shallow-pool-of-your-own-blood’ mode for the entire match.

I had my own dance with a young fellow toe toucher and shoulder rubber. The referee bless him corrected our dance steps, sought to the tune of his repeated whistles and explanations of the rules in slow threatening tones.

We clawed back to 4-3 just before the end, and I think began to believe in ourselves. Located our weaknesses and knew our straight forward truths of the game.

We were men who had seen the world, raised children, grown flowers, buried our friends. We knew of life, and this was our strength, the foibles of youth weren’t in our loins no-longer, and we could see their awkward self expressions and need for society’s acceptance.

Their fatherhood had not come from the mountain.

We had touched the lightning, grown the child, felt the blood of a dark night and spoken to ghosts.

For a game is just a war without weapons, a schizophrenic poem of sport.

What better way to understand the game than seeing Australia’s greatest jazz pianist collapse his newest compositions in a Brunswick jazz club post match. A Sax player ripping the instrument apart, fragmenting the sound into pure physicality, beyond emotion, into swathes of colour and then just black waves moving into daylight.

Match report: 29 August 2019

Nannas 3 plays Copa Cobana 5

Att: CB, CG, JH (MOM), RH, TH, TW

So, 5:30 pm and we were waiting for Otis. He needed a haircut but, wait for it, he was late. A teenager late, to his own haircut, I hear you say. Fuck off! No, it’s true.

Gilla was looking at his phone, looking at me, looking up the street, scrutinising every tram but where was he? Finally, he figured out what the communication device in his hand was for and called his tardy son. Soon enough, walking like Sarah down the street, the young man arrived.

He sat himself in the chair, as Gilla instructed the hairdresser: 20 minutes, you’ve got 20 minutes, OKAY! Well, 15 minutes was all she needed to bring out a left leaning rats tail and a young man befitting his station.

After he was dusted off and the cut hair removed, we piled into the Emasculator, as Gilla wound it and himself into a frenzy. Speed humps: he doesn’t slow for them. Oncoming traffic: ever heard of Chicken? Sidestreets, tight squeezes and chances: he took ‘em. Drivers going at least 20kph below the speed limit: he got up their arses. Yes, my heart rate was raised by at least 30 BPM, and we almost collided with at least three cyclists.

When we got there Phil, the moustachioed one, wandered into the bathrooms whilst Gilla was in a stall, doing his business. The door was ajar, and as he stood to pull his strides, the moustachioed one looked in. Well, all that was heard were: ‘I can see your penis! I can see it!’ He was visibly shaken.

Obviously not shaken and stirred enough, or maybe he was rising to the occasion, if you take my meaning.

Either way, the Nannas should have done better.

Jim in the first moments had the ball at his feet, with only Joel in front of him, stranded, feet rooted to the spot in goals. Both Jim and Joel thought, fuck! Jim kicked it into the post. It came back to him. He kicked it again, directly at Joel. Cocky said the second ones are always the hardest but he should have buried the first one.

Jim, though, did redeem this lapse, slotting the first for the Nannas, when the opposition were loose at the back, and he did swoop and shoot truly, this time, from an acute angle.

As the game progressed the Nannas were finding space. Every time I looked up I saw a Nanna running, without an opponent in tow. I remember hitting Hinkley, Coach and Tao in such a fashion. And there was a moment when Tom was one out up front, where I had the ball from a side kick in, but he refused to turn his head back to see if he could get on the end of it. I yelled at him (sorry about that).

There were other chances too. I spurned a second one. I found myself out left and in on goal. I toe-hacked (see Hinkley!!!!). It came off the post and back to my right instep. I hit it again, it bounced off one post, off another, and then back onto first one (told you so, Hinkley). I’m pretty sure it went in (just like Andy Wong in the good old days). I thought the opposition was going to concede. The goalie whacked it out. A second one called play on.

In fact, this was a pattern of the game. We had the better of it. We held the ball well. We passed and created chances but couldn’t finish. Gill was right. He said pre-game Cocky was a big loss. So it proved: Tao was off colour; Chas and Hinkley regularly hit side betting; Gilla, although low (no Andy not low like that), blasted wide again and again.

Maybe Cocky is the ballast that keeps us upright, maybe he steers the ship, leading us through the choppy waters of Division 2 with hair that all Nannas recognise as suitably Cock-like. Whatever it is, we truly missed his two, or three on this particular evening.

Afterward, Gilla and I sat on a step and contemplated how h!gh we could get in five minutes, and then we went ate Greek, listening to Tao complain of a busted rib and Jim talk of a working bee.

Match report: 9 August 2019

Att: CB, DC, CG (2), JH (1, MOM), RH (1), TH, TW

Nannas 4 plays Harchester United 3

You had that feeling that we were better than them, that they weren’t going to rip us open.

It felt like we were on top right from the get go. They had the solitary dude who has something and the angry geezer, he held the ball well.

We held it better. There was Nanna work there tonight. Very strong Nanna work. They hardly went around us, through us, over us.

We went past them, through them, over them on a number of occasions. This was the most in control I have seen the Nannas, in terms of holding the ball.

We passed, we ran, we found space (mostly).

Cocky showed us the way. He was our man in mid-field. He ran the lines. He ran the middle. He held the ball up and then duly delivered time and again. He was unlucky not to get one, two. His full, elongated beard, an inspiration to anyone that sighted it.

Chassy, the immense Chassy. Cocky’s co-pilot. The prowler of mid-field. He got there first a lot tonight, coming from behind (no Andy, not like that). Those surprising long legs, that he’s able to get like, high. He was a cat, pouncing, scratching, purring, meowing, lapping, hissing.

The Captain has regained his speed over the first ten to fifteen. His bum still hangs down but when it’s wound up, slugging away , as his legs pump forward, there is no better sight in world football. His work down the right, with the Cock, getting on the end of one, was a great team goal.

Gilla is bending them, from range too. Twice, twice, after some gentle coaxing (he does take encouraging to ping from distance), he plied his skills, striking twice, twice from halfway. Low and hard, that’s what they call him, low and hard (no Andy, not that kind of low and hard).

Tao likes getting in people’s faces. No really, and he’s fucking irresistible. Hard, doesn’t cover it. Competitive, just a word. Crunch, sort of comes close. Smack, almost gets the job done. Thump, very close.

Tommy, the immovable object, Howie, again showed us his awesomeness, how the greatest player ever to play goes about it. He didn’t score this week but he could have, if he had accepted my invitation. I laid it on a platter for him but like the true gentleman he is, he left it for me.

And so, onto me. I was surprised to get a full eight votes (seven and a half would have been fine). Was it my toe hack from the sideline, squeezed in tight at the back post (Andy, if only you had been there, you would have appreciated the angle, the penetration, and how quickly it happened)? Was it my running through the angry guy right on full time provoking him to throw the ball in my face? Was it like the Coach last week but only it was this week, and everyone appreciated how in the zone, on top of the world, like Superman on steroids I was?

Who knows. Chassy said it was a mercy fuck. I’ll take it.


Draw of 6/6 vs Schnicks

TH 1 Tit goal and MOM – Others

I don’t know about you losers but I’ve won MOM 3 out of the last 4 times I’ve played which I’m pretty sure is sort of a god-damned record, and none of them were charity fucks so stfu. Here’s a poem I wrote about how ball-tearingly awesome I am so go read it, or better yet have someone read it to you and think about how you could be as good as me if you tried except you can’t because I am the best.

He’s a judge,
He’s a coach,
He’s the greatest player ever to play
He’s won three MOMs in a row
He scores a goal every week
He’s on fire
He’s the best
He cannot fuck up
He’s deep in the zone
MOMs and Goals and
Goals and MOMs and
His tit got a goal
He’s Steve Smithing it every fucking day
Like a legend and a hero
And Maradonna at his peak
He’s the real Don Bradman of the Futsal World
Like the King of the Jungle
He’s on top of the world
Like a baby done a shit
He’s well self satisfied
Like a cabbage made of gold
You can’t eat him but he’s amazing
Like a koala with a sword
He can climb a tree and fuck you up
Goals and MOMs and
Everyday he is amazing
Everyday he is incredible
Everyday he fucken smashes it
Everyday he kills someone’s belief that they can be the best
Like Superman on steroids
Like Richie Rich but with more money
Like Allah but you can draw his face
Like a mid 80’s Merryl Streep
He’s the toast of everyone’s balls
A real hot debutant
Whose aceness is undeniable
In every way
Whose penis is quite sizeable
Most every day
Whose shit is remarkable
You’d have to say
And say it they do
I don’t know about you
But your jaw be on the floor every time he score
Because of the wonderful things he does
For instance:
Killing it, and
Slaying it, and
Making it dead
With true modesty and majesty
Just like the Queen
With her jewels and
A corgi skin rug
He’s a bit fucked up
But you can’t say anything
Because the bossness factor is extreme
And in excelsior
And as an earthquake shakes you
And as Cheech Marin he bakes you
And as Houdini he doth fake you
You’ll be crying on your ass

Damn straight.


5-4 v Harchester

CB, DC 2, RH, CG, JH, TH 1 (MOM), TK 

And so the earth continues its relentless revolve upon its ever so slightly wobbling axis. And so the tides continue to ebb and flow, filling then emptying the liminal lands as they done since time immemorial. And so the sun rises to shine upon the world every day as it has ever done thusly. And so another Thursday rolls around and the Nannas are found to be pulling on their boots and writing one another sexually explicit limericks just as they have done for as long as any of them can remember. 

It was on such a Thursday, after much ribald lyrical contemplation of James’ member, that the ‘shittest Nanna’ – as he was known only to himself – prepared a pre match espresso and pondered how he might improve on a particularly shit game he had executed only the week previously, in which he had played rather shitly and been aptly recognised by his brethren in the Nannas as being worthy of precisely zero votes in the most prestigious of all Nanna awards, that being the Man of Match, or MOM as it was colloquially know amongst the men who wear brown, in fact his efforts on field had been judged equally as useful as an ex-banker now living in Grey Lynn who wasn’t even aware the match was taking place, and who was most likely, rather shabbily, involved in the semi-mystical onanistic practice of shadow pumpery.

and then he ran out of things to say…………

Is it better to publish a half finished match report or none at all? The former I believe.


I love you


Match Report 2019_05_23

1-5 loss to Dynamo Tehran


Question: Have the Nannas become the audio plug equivalent of a lightning connector (ie.Software driven and a little unreliable)?

We have seen this year that when we connect,  (I mean really connect) we can make the court (aka the speakers) hum and wobble and thrum and keen with delightful sonic pleasure, we can beat anyone. That is what has put us on top of the table.

But when we don’t connect, there is nothing. No sounds. No wow. No Flutter. Just a big old floor clearing silence.


Or if you want to get fancy, a 6mm TRS jack or a 3 pin plug (male or female, Jim doesn’t mind).

Let us set this metaphor to one side. I’ll just carefully lift it up and place it in this very large container where I keep my.. whoops dropped it! Looks like it broke. Never mind. Now I’ll have to drive it down to the Yarra depot in Clifton Hill where they have separate containers for broken metaphors and analogies.

Question: What am I actually talking about here?

The basics. That’s right, the simple stuff.

Passes need to be accurate or they’re not passes.  A pass needs to get to a fellow Nannas or it’s not a pass. Some basic tips to ensure successful passing.

  1. Always look at the point you are aiming the pass.
  2. Alway use the instep. No toe hacks or outside of the foot for a pass.
  3. Practise accurate passing at home.
  4. Visualise the ball going to your brother Nanna’s feet. (this can be done anytime- perhaps try it kneeling).

Communication is very important on the court. We need to be able to communicate clearly and efficiently. I have identified several important examples of positive on-court communication.

  1. Calling for the ball. When in space or running into space you are creating an option for your fellow Nanna. You should call out “e.g.. Jim! Line.” or “Rhian! Switch it.”
  2. Pointing out an opposition player that needs marking. It is important that we follow airline protocol here in putting your own mask on first, ie. ensure you are marking a player yourself before telling others to mark a player.
  3. Praise. This can come in many forms. Here are some examples: “great pass Cocky!”, “good effort Jimbo”, “great tackle Taozza”, “you are looking really goodlooking coach!”
  4. General encouragement. eg. “come on Nannas!”, “let’s go Nannas!” etc.

Negative communication is best avoided. Dwelling on past mistakes is not useful and best saved for the video match review. Dwelling on past mistakes, questioning the ref’s decision and generally getting upset with your fellow Nanna takes you out of the moment. It disengages you from the present and makes it harder for you to perform.

Tone is important and often difficult to modulate/ moderate in the heat of the sporting battle. However we should at least aim for some modicum of equanimity in our vocalisations. A panicked tone creates a fight or flight response, stimulates cortisol and makes it hard for the player on the ball to perform with calm and composure.

In Summary

Let’s pass accurately.

Let’s communicate positively and effectively.

Let’s be in the moment.

Let’s connect.

Lovely. See you on the court my fine brown Nannas.




match report 190523

1-5 Loss to Dynamo Tehran


Imagine, if you will, an ageing water buffalo. His testicles are chock full of a horrific malignancy. A Komodo dragon bites those rancid pustular gonads clean off the old bull, but finding the taste so spectacularly awful he spits them out leaving them covered in highly septic anaerobic saliva. These fetid cojones land in a pile of leper anus’ that have literally shat themselves out of their own rectums during an explosive bout of dysentery related diarrhoea. A passing cat vomits a green bile glaze all over this malodorous mess, then it bakes in the tropical sun and maggots grow in it, until even they die and rot into little sulphurous maggot corpses because it is such god awful disgrace and affront to everything that isn’t a noxious pile of shit covered leper anus’s glazed in cat vomit with a couple of pus filled water buffalo testicles sitting on top. 

This sorry picture does not adequately confer the shitness with which we comported ourselves.

On the plus side I won MOM. And I have to assume it was because of love. I showed Chassy a lot of love on the flurries (even after I was a bit cranky with him) and then he showed me a whole lot of love right back ( I think). So let’s not forget what is most important: the love a Nanna has for a brother Nanna. Love you all…

Match Report – 4th April 2019

5-3(?) v Harchester
CB(1?),DC(3,mom),CG, RH, TH, TK,TW(1?)

holy crap, what a game.

So the nannas came into this one on a hot run of form sitting third on the table. Our opposition were siting in second, just above us, but with an unbeaten record. Harchester are a team we’ve played plenty of times in the past, they go pretty hard and it always gets a little heated, sometimes more so than than others. The Celtic hoops have some skilful players and aren’t shy to shoot from outside the box so we knew we’d have our work cut out for us. But holy freaking crap did the Nannas stand up. We totally stepped them the fuck back. So much so that there was never really any doubt. Often the Nannas can go ahead by a couple of goals yet retain an uneasy sense of impending collapse. But not this game, not this night. We freaking bossed this shit and the longer it went on the more frustrated the opposition became, the more kicky and petulant, to the point were it actually started getting totally out of hand. Tao had his legs scythed out from under him, the Coach got slammed so hard he was doing kind of barrel rolls through the air and at one point their goalie through a ball at the author’s head! There were also some big knocks the other way, the ginger haired viking went down a couple of times, once to the sound of slippery slack jaw clacking. It was fucked up, the ref had totally lost control and the game was finally cut short by about a minute to avoid any further escalation of violence.

Afterwards we went to Howler for beer, combustion and the talking of shit. But the game had been so epic and our performance so heroic and the pints so threefold that a cohort of extra brown musketeers made a secondary push to Joe’s for another pint and a final cheeky pot. And as the night was still only young, well actually it was 2AM by this point, the MOM made a tertiary drop-in to Top Shelf™ for a last frisky nightcap and a touch of the archival vapours… suffice to say there were hangovers.

holy crap, what a game.

match report – March 28 2019

11-2 v The Eunuchs
cb(1), dc(8 mom), ec(2), rh, tk, tw, prince

An historic game. Not since the days of yore, whence the Nannas graced the Albert Park pits, has a goal haul of such gargantuan girth been recorded. In fact a pendulous collection of this magnitude has never before been seen in the Nannas ledger.  Until this game the most goals scored by a single Nanna in a single match was a brace of hat-tricks , the noble sextet *snigger*. A fact almost enshrined in the MOM voter that, like a standard die, only goes up to 6. A quick sweep of The Book of Nanna failed to illicit any hard proof but it is the understanding of the author that the lofty hexad of goals has been secured on only 3 occasions hence, all in the dim mists of the primordial days of the pits. There have been fours and even the odd five from time to time but nary a 6 in at least a decade. And then this. Not a 6, nor even a 7, neh, this was; an Octave, that miraculous gift of physics to music;  a Byte, that elegant and efficient binary grouping of bits; The Ogdoa, the “little holy number” of the Pythagoreans;  Infinity on it’s side! That’s right people, 8, 8 freaking goals! It was so impressive, the captain bought the author a pint of beer, chasby took a team photo* with his wet plate collodian camera and then we all went home.


*still unposted

21 March ‘19 Tight Five and All match report

Nannas 4 plays Copa Cobana 3

Time stamp:
Fletcher was officially five months on the day after the game; it had been just under five months since I had played for the Nannas.
Of the Nannas, there were five to take to court, with El taking up a sixth position. It was muted that we get a seventh but six was deemed ample (by those in the know). Yet, the sixth, El, did not end up being the sixth, as he somehow contrived to run into the back of a parked vehicle on the way to the game. Furthermore, for a moment, it did appear that Cocky would not make it either, having to tend to his injured child, but with about five minutes to spare he showed himself.
So, we were five. And what a magnificent vista of manhood we were too. At the back stood Gilla. Resplendent in his keepers kit, huffing it out nicely with his ample chest and sizable thighs. It was obvious, for anyone keen on looking, that getting past him would take some doing. At the other of the court, Cocky took his place. All pace and fury, all movement and magic, the Cock’s intent would be running himself back and forth, making the opposition pay for any look they gave him on goal. Just behind the Cock lurked the Chas. Now let me tell you a thing about the Chas. He might look ungainly, all legs a loping, but in truth they don’t call him the most beautiful Nanna for nothing. At right back was the Captain. With a fresh shave, he was a picture of sculptured sinew and monumental muscle; sleekness, out to cut a swathe through the opponents’ flank. Beside him is where I took up station. From my vantage point the court seemed small, the ball hard, the opposition slight and pink. I felt like we had them.
First half:
The early exchanges were positive. The Nannas took early touches, making favourable forays forward. We had the ball and were going to keep it. Furthermore, it was only a matter of time until we would break them down and score, and so it proved. The ball was delivered to me by Captain (I think) just inside their territory. Cocky could see plenty of space down their right flank and ran to where he hoped the ball would be delivered. I put it in front of him, and he duly slotted home. It was a fine effort given his natural right-footedness and the keeper came to meet him at the near post. 1-zip.
They got one next. It was their only good move for the entire game, opening us up with some fine passing and movement, which the Nannas were hard pressed to counter. 1-1.
Next came our second. I got the ball mid-court on their left with my back to goal. I had one dude to my back, and another loitering to my front. As the dude in front came to challenge, I slipped it passed him and turned the dude to my rear. All I had to do next was finish, which I did, hitting it low and hard, to the keeper’s right. 2-1.
I am pretty sure they got another before half time but can’t remember it.
Half time: 2-2.
At the break the Captain talked to us of pressure and keeping up our previous efforts. His masculinity and silky skin a guide and inspiration for all the Nannas.
Second half:
Chassy took this inspiration to heart, leading the way with those loping legs of his. Early in second stanza he thought he was through but the ball jilted loose, leaving Chassy to run past their goals with nothing to show for it. Yet, as their keeper threw it back in, Chas saw his chance and jumped its intended recipient as the ball rolled toward him. He stole, he turned on goal, he placed it neatly passed their keeper. 3-2.
Their next goal was my fault. The ball came bouncing through. I failed to clear it, only getting a weak touch, which only set them up. 3-3.
This last goal proved a tonic for the Nannas; we knew we were better than these young punks, we knew we could beat them, and we certainly knew we weren’t going to lose. So we pushed forward time and time hitting cross bars, skewing our shots just wide, missing final touches that would have let us in on goal until finally, during one of these attacking raids, the Cock was hauled down just outside their penalty area. He stepped up, sizing up the shot. They put three in the wall, and had one marking Chassy over to on Cocky’s left. That left me unattended, so I wondered over to the right. There I stood all alone, the back of the net beckoning me like David Beckham’s flashing boots. Cocky was given the green light to strike. He pondered his options. He looked at the wall, throwing a cursory glance in my direction. I wondered, will he kick it to me? The moment lingered, until suddenly the ball came my way; the perfect pass, expertly weighted, right in the middle of my stance. All I had to do was lean back and lash into the top right corner, which I did. 4-3.
Then came the last two minutes of the game. We felt in control, we were pushing for a fifth, the killer blow. But somewhere in all that dash and hustle, pushing forward, striving for that final pass, we gave it up, and, in true Nanna fashion, in mid-field too. Well, the opposition saw their chance, could they steal a draw from the clutches of defeat, maybe even get two and take the victory? The Nannas backpedalled, Gilla threw himself this way and that, heaving that huffing chest of his as he repelled shot after shot. Suddenly, all our control and passing deserted us, not being able to even get a touch. Suddenly we were under the pump. But the clock was against them, and we, even though we did panic a little, were resolute.
Final score 4-3.

Match Report Thursday 21st February 2019

armpit deep in shit

7-2 v Dynamo Tehran, Brunswick Secondary
CB (2), DC (5, m), CG, RH, TH, TW

2019 is really proving to be quite the nostalgia trip. Drinking beer at the Lounge; playing retro arcade games; going to ACMI. And tonight’s game of futsal totally went there with a veritably archival display from the Nannas against our old friends Dynamo Tehran. This was golden era Nannas, like David Milch was show running the game, like Vince Gilligan was writing our moves. 

It started off slow, keeping the audience expectations low, the Nannas going a goal down early on. But then the Coach, finding himself on the right of midfield with nowhere to go, opted for a scoop pass over the top. The author followed the graceful arc of the ball over his right shoulder, at which point the script called for an outlandish waist height half volley, like that was going to happen, but it’s actually the early 2000s now and the Nannas aren’t middle-aged old farts anymore and bang, in it goes, unbelievable. But to keep the audience guessing Vince now throws in a second goal for the Bike Powered Iranians. Ooooooo. The Nannas rose tinted fairytale has clouded over. But no, freaking hell no, freaking hell-will-freeze-over-before-I-wear-clothes-I-didn’t-personally-scrounge-out-of-massive-bin-and-pay-for-by-the-kilo-in-the-90s no… this is not how it is going to go. The rose tinted fairytale is going to become a vermillion saturated orgy of engorged goals, golden showers of golden era massive testicular defensive impenetrablity. 

As the credits roll on our standard definition 4:3 dreamscape the camera pans past the scoreboard. In bright red LED (because although it’s really 2003, strangely, LEDs are already in widespread use for scoreboards) we see the numeral 7 and the numeral 2. We hear the cheering of the crowd and we can almost hear the smiles on the faces of the Nannas. Like some kind of hot tub time machine the Nannas have been rinsed in the glories of the past, bathed, cleansed and spun out with the sparkling glow of a vintage win against an old and noble foe.

From there we moved to an EXT – NIGHT shot of bikes sliding through the brunswick balm towards a thursday porterhouse at the retreat (Tao got jibbed), pints of beer (Tao got anti-jibbed with the first round of Panhead pale ale) and a presage for the Coach and the Author of the combustion apocalypse that was going to engulf Chasbenis™ on his birthday paddle… oh dear.


ATT: CB, TW, DC(2), EC(1), CG (MOM), RH, AW (dining only) and JM



It definitely wasn’t a massacre. We were in it up til the last second.  Well, pretty much.

We walked onto the court with the newest of all Nanna’s Jason Monty. And a fine pick up he was. Fast, turning nothing into something, nearly incredible, several times.

We started with purpose until a crossbar shot of theirs bounced off our good looking goalie and then went back into the goal. A disappointing beginning. Then they got another and then the Brown Men awoke. The  change up was immediate. We realised that Elliot was probably older than some of the other players. They had a forward who looked VERY young. Maybe 16, but of course was amazing. They obviously came down from first division and hadn’t played some one who had ever seen the 70’s.

They had INCREDIBLE turning ability and put it into play often. But that didn’t stop the Nanna’s from scragging our way back into the game. We came within a goal at the end and then they got their last and they drew away. But we kept the pressure on right up to the end. We were BROWN and PROUD. A lion would have roared somewhere in the world last night between 7:20pm and 8pm.

How was Tao’s anger you ask? First game back for 2 months? He was gentle like a catholic priest. As sweet as a mother in laws kiss. And demure as David Lee Roth. It was great to have him back on the hustle. No one has the hustle like the little feet of Weis. Cocky and Captain did their thang, . Chassy tried to impress Jason (sorry Jim) and Elliot played like a 29 year old. (First year Nanna’s TM) and scored! Oh, Dan got two. Pretty much….

Post match our numbers changed as Chassy ran off with Jason somewhere….and we were joined by the recently retired (for a year) Andy “The Greek” Wong. As MOM I took it apon myself to order for the boys at the local Vietnamese, Green Fields. I got a 7.



Match Report 29 Nov 2018

7-6 v Phil with the Big Moustaches’s Pink Team from the League Above Us Due to a Forfiet

dc(3,M), ec(2), cb(2), rh, th(GK), tw,  aw(AC), sb (supporter)

Great game Nannas. It was a forfeit for so we had the points in the bag and Phil with the big moustache’s men in pink had already played a game beforehand but still, it was great game. Complete with comebacks and a narrowly averted reverse comeback draw. 3rd String Goalie Sir Coachalot was massive in goals, shutting shit down with the ancient reptilian back brain hockey goalie muscle memory. Chasbian was the hustle master, harrying and hounding those in vermillion, forcing turnovers left and right and slotting home a couple of tidy little numbers to boot. Toaser was also in fine hustling form and worked the wide channels to great effect. Elliot brought his usual youthful energy and some deft foot skills, at one point taking a long ball from the coach and turning two of the opposition in one fluid move before sliding the ball into the bottom left corner of the goal. The Captain was a constant outlet, making run after run and peppering the goal from both flanks. The MOM managed a hatrick but also a few wayward passes and a couple of should-have-looked-and-passed-instead-of-shooting-from-halfways. Sol was a vocal supporter and Wal turned up for the second half earning another badge for his Holy Order of Arse Coaches Cassock. The game was also documented in a rare moment of mid 2000s gopro flashback (followed by the mandatory day of javascript fumbling trying to write an auto-retiming algorithm)

post game we went to the Retreat for cheap steaks and some suspiciously thin Steam Ales.

post pub we went to Gello Bar ( Chasbian’s failed attempt to distract from the Slurpees that Sol and El were angling for) where Tao tried the Avergae, apparently a mix of Averna and Algae “You wouldn’t think it would work, but it does”.

meanwhile: Robert Mueller appears to be closing in on Individual One as Michael Cohen admits to lying. Labor absolutely smashed the Victorian election, which is good for  a solar rebates. Michael Kroger ( who I think might have some indigenous ancestry, which would be deeply ironic) has resigned after Jeff Kennet said he should on live TV. Knickers the cow (steer) is actually quite big and Arsenal finish top o father group in the Europa League with a game to spare. Perhaps most importantly though Andy ‘Walmartin’ Wong, the Life Coach’s Life Coach, dropped a bit of a bombshell of this own, yes, a blatant heritage violation, removing a drunken chimney from his property, outrageous. He also mentioned that his appearances on the court of battle may be significantly reduced due to osteoarthritis in his big toe. It sounds a lot like some kind of greek euphemism but apparently it’s true. Some fluid came out when Andy’s bone went in ? or something like that. In any case it would appear that Andy’s HOAC cassock and brown tie may be getting more of a workout than usual… RIP in the chat.

ps. it was Sillustani in Peru with the crazy awesome pre-incan funeral towers, but I can’t find any definitive internet proof that the name refers to the bit of land where the chulpas are located being shaped like a “toe” poking into the lake…


Match Report – 4 oct 2018

Image result for dukes of hazzard

9-2 v The Titans
DC(4m), RH(2or3), TW(3or2), AW, TK

Well, what a game. the flurry was titled The Regroup Flurry following the previous week’s abject forfeit* and what a way to regroup. With only a tight 5 in attendance there was initial concern about when we would run out of legs (as befits a team whose members are rapidly approaching the half century). But the opposition turned out to be only 10 years younger and perhaps a rung or two down on the futsal skills ladder. Those 5 – tightest of tight, brownest of brown, nannaest of nanna – freaking dominated. The goals were veritably raining in, with a goodly portion coming via the classic 2 on 1 tap-in. The author (if he does say so himself) was channelling Eden Hazard with his striking accuracy, picking corners of the net, as in actually aiming for them, and then slotting the ball exactly where it was meant to go. Like playing pool on about the 4th beer where every shot is just coming off. Of course the fact that the opposition didn’t really do a lot of running back and the goalie didn’t really come off his line… be damned, it was freaking Eden Hazard** out there. The Captain and Taoser tucked away 5 between them (I can’t remember who got the hattrick), Andy was tackling like a machine, especially their one very large aggressive ginge and Kondo was imperious as usual in goal, particularly in the close quarters hand to hand combat situations. what a game.
Après we went to curry cafe and did a lot of waiting but were finally rewarded for our well worn patience with some delicious Indian and red ales. there was talk of camping and renovations, crap black mirror seasons, flotation chambers. Nannas were shocked to discover other nannas don’t have netflix subscriptions. Brett the douchebag crybaby Kavanaugh was rightly talked shit about and Mr Trump continued to flabber everyone’s gasts. The coach spent his birthday cleaning up vomit.

commentator 1:  “It’s called a grand final”
commentator 2:  “yep”

* I think there have only been 2 forfeit’s in the last 18 years, so this was the third… those involved shall remain nameless but shall hang their heads in shame.

** I love Eden Hazard. Not only does he have the maddest skills (and a very low centre of gravity) but whenever he scores a goal instead of thanking jesus he smiles impishly and sticks out his tounge.

16 August ‘18—dukes up match report


Nannas 9 plays B West 2

Preamble: it was my penultimate day at the Department, and as so often happens in this situation everyone wanted me to do something for them. To shake this off I went visiting Jezza at the Great Northern for a couple of drinks and smokes.

I did think I may have overdone it as I was feeling just a little jaded riding up to Brunswick but once I arrived I seemed to perk up somewhat. I dunno if it was the stadium, the sight of fit young men playing soccer, or just being in the presence of Nannas. Whatever it was, I started to really feel like playing.

The game: the opposition were five; there were a man down but had a ringer. We were seven. Tao had his times all mixed up and had to do the late extraction but El was more than willing to deputise, that is, after he digested his KFC but let us not hold his dietary choices against him. In those first five minutes El was our shining light. While most of the Nannas lumbered across the court, El belied his tender years and flew from confrontation to challenge, from pass to intercept, and then got our first goal. In these early stages in the match, when we went two goals down, he almost single-handedly brought us back into the game.

It was also El, displaying this same exuberance of youth, that led to a major flashpoint. It was about 10 minutes in and El was hustling and bustling this dude for the ball. Chassy was also there trying to wrest it away as well. El challenged, and then he challenged a third, fourth, and fifth time. Eventually the whistle blew and when it did there was the normal disengagement of bodies, but also the need of opponent to detach from opponent, you know, give him the good ol’ chest push. El gave him one, the dude gave him one back. This is where it would usually end with one or two parting words and a couple of dirty looks shot in the other person’s general direction but on this occasion the dude decided that wasn’t enough for him and that the throwing of blows would be a more fitting finale to their small, and seemingly innocuous meeting. He put his dukes up.

Unsurprisingly Nannas were seen hauling arse from everywhere. In fact, it was the quickest most had seen them moved all night. Phil to his credit stepped in, flashed his red card in the face of the dude and his up-pointed dukes and that was that.

The big question on everyone’s lips after this was: would the Nannas be able to make them pay? Would we hold the ball, pass it around, use the extra man to our advantage, or would we throw it away, pass to no one and just generally fuck ourselves? Well, let’s just say that it was a lot of former and a little of the latter. Yes, there were some few shit moments of play where we couldn’t seem to hold onto it, but for the most part our passing was on target, our teamwork was shit hot and we went on to score eight goals, effectively cutting them up.

Of course, their ringer decided at half time that he would desert the sinking ship that was B West, but Joel did come on for them, and so did one of those very crafty and skilful Iranians but we were too good.

I do remember some great goals: by father and son duo Cocky and El; a couple of toe pokes by yours truly; a fine ball from El setting up the right foot volley also by yours truly; but then there was the full length cross-court pass, with a header to finish.

Yes, this was the goal of the game (which probably earned me MOM) but it was a goody. Gilla fed me at the back. One of their players rushed forward to close me down but I could see Cocky in space at the other end of the court, a couple of metres to the left of goal. I pinged it long and hard, figuring that Cocky would pull it down, turn and shoot. He did nothing of the sort. He threw his sizable melon at it, connecting just at the right angle to force the ball into the back of the net. Cocky did mention after the game that their keeper was well out of position but still, it was a great goal.