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.

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.

vs Harchester United

5-4 Victory

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

SB MOM

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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.

ATT: CB, DC, EC, CG, JH (MOM), RH, AW

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.

Doris day said it first in 1952
‘The melon on the vine is ripe, mr Tap Toe’

It’s easy to gloss over such a lyric as a simple rhyme to
‘Sharper than an old tin-type, Mister Tap Toe’ but if you take the time to unpack these simple words you find a truth that cuts to the heart of the Nannas.

What Doris wants us to see is that when anything is in its prime it needs to be capitalised upon or it will fall to the ground and rot, attracting insects and vermin. What Doris would have seen on the 21 July 2018 is a group of men PEAKING. A team reaching its zenith, a tightly honed unit that needs to be picked from it’s vine, peeled and presented on a platter.

It is our time, it is our place, this is our year and our season. I feel plump and juicy, squeeze me and feel the ripeness.

ATT: CB, DC, JH (MOM), RH (MOM), TK, TW (MOM), AW

Nannas 5 plays Green guys 5

This was one of the best games that I can remember the nannas playing for a while. We really should have won but it was one of those things: we went behind, we fought back, they fought back, we weren’t going to let them best us, they kept coming.

Early in the piece it did feel like the Nannas were in for a long night, as we easily gave up possession in mid field and the boys in green strung together about four or five cross-court passes only to find the net at the end of it.

This early goal, however, only seemed to steel the Brown Men to their task. After that we held the ball (the control was huge as compared to the previous week), we passed effectively (hitting our targets time and again), we ran our socks off (Coach would have been proud), and we defended stoutly (about half a dozen times the Green Boys found it hard to find a player).

Then we got our first; I received the ball just outside their area with my back to goal, one-on-one (can’t remember who fed it to me). I turned my man and put in the far corner.

Then the Captain got one. Their keeper was slow clearing his lines, Hinkley could sense it and was on the hunt. He shut him down, the ball spilling to his feet and then he slotted home.

I can’t really recall most of the opposition’s goals but I am pretty sure the pattern was, after those first three goals and we went 2-1 up, they would equalise only for us to pull ahead again.

Anyway, so then it was Tao’s turn to shut down the keeper. Again their shot stopper was slow to clear, and perhaps underestimated the power and fury of his opponent, for as everyone knows Tao can bring both in abundance. Tao got in his face, read the direction he was going to go and when their keeper tried to hoof it downfield and to safety Tao was all over him and from the resulting ricochet the ball found the back of the net.

Next up was the Cock, who I was trying to coerce more movement out of (channelling the Coach). He must have heard me, because, in the very next moment, as I turned to my head following the ball, he had slipped under the radar to position himself perfectly in front of goal. When the ball was duly delivered, he, very stylishly, back heeled it for our fourth.

Cocky also laid on our fifth, with a perfectly weighted ball down the right. I was actually running to the middle and had to change direction and for a minute thought I wouldn’t get there but the pass was millimetre perfect: it drew the keeper out but at the same time allowed me enough time to slip it past him and into the bottom right corner.

Notes:

Note to Chassy: not sure why no one voted for you, you played okay, but probably best not to give me a big hug so close to kick off, you almost had me in tears.

Note to Kondo: some great distribution and fine shot stopping (as per usual); we just have to work on you drawing the man.

Note to Wal: keep making those backdoor runs, it’s always a delight to see you convert from that position.

Note to Hinkley: make those headers count; that’s the second you’ve missed recently.

Note to Cocky: stop looking so hang-dog, it really doesn’t suit you.

Note to Tao: thanks for some great post-match hosting of the Socceroos game, and just thanks for everything.

ATT: JH, TH, TK, AW, the two Jameses (the Headmaster and Mr Mercer)

Nannas 4 plays RMIT 12

At the end of work, I must admit I was thinking of going home. I was feeling pretty shit. Then I left work and it was a crappy outside too. It was dark, well windy, and it had that feeling that it might piss down at any moment (more on that later).

But, I dragged myself up to see Jezza. The last couple of weeks, he’d been a bit down himself with his broken leg and all but tonight he was somewhat better and it was good to see him. We went through our usually pre-game ritual; things started to turn around.

For a start, the ride from the Great Northern over to the game was ah-fucking-mazing. It was downhill most of the way, I had the wind coming over my right shoulder, and I was h!gh as a k!te sailing through Princes Park, down past the Juvenile detention centre and then up near the Coach’s old house.

I arrived at the end of the first half of the game before ours and one of the Dynamo Tehran boys asked if I either Andy or I would come on, as one of their players had gone down injured. After my ride, it was exactly what I needed; to get out and keep moving, and get rid of some of the pent up sadness that had been accumulating over the previous week.

I hit three goals for them. Issy on the sideline kept telling me to save it for the Nanna game but the ball kept rolling my way and I kept shooting. That first game ended up 8-4 in our favour.

Then the Nanna game started. I was feeling similarly into it but unlike the previous game we didn’t have as much control, and, crucially, the opposition was somewhat better. On about six or seven occasions we gave away the ball in mid court/our back half and they gratefully accepted the invitation to score.

One gets the feeling that if we weren’t so sloppy in possession we would have been a lot more competitive.

Afterward, we went back to the Great Northern to watch footy (Port versus Dogs). As per usual, I had to leave prematurely to catch my train home. Tommy came out with me, as he had put my bike on the roof of his car, and as we walked to where he had parked the heavens opened.

I was in a quandary: I couldn’t not go, but in that downpour I was going to be soaked within a minute or two, so I asked Tommy if he would give me a lift. Tommy did hesitate, mainly because him, Gilla and I had just visited the funk hole outside only minutes before, and I think he was a bit unsure of how he would handle driving in his state in a torrential rain storm.

He wasn’t the wrong. The windscreen wipers were on full tilt but were only half getting the job done. There were little rivers running over the road, making the lines almost impossible to see. And Tommy was playing some melodic, brain messing Stinky Jim tunes, which were making things only more confusing. But then there was the Nissan Micra of Safety. Oh thank fuck for that little white car that drove slowly just in front of us, leading us all the way down Rathdown and into the city, by which time the water falling from the sky had lessened. And thank fuck for the Coach too.

In loving memory of ‘Pat’ Patrick Francis Hannan: 25-12-1943 to 6-6-2018.

ATT: CB, DC, EC, JH, RH, TW

Nannas 3 plays New Team 5

Yes, I was selected to play in goalie on this evening, given that I put my hand up to do it.

We were pitted against the New Team. They were dressed in white.

The Nannas were six: five regulars, with the reliable Ides filling the now customary vacant sixth spot (I’m sorry if that seems like a negative statement; it’s not meant to be).

The game was decided in the first ten minutes; the New Team swiftly scoring four goals. This was mainly the result of marking leaving our fourth string, and somewhat clumsy, keeper exposed.

After this initial flurry we did tighten up our defence significantly but the damage was done.

The new team only got one more goal, which was the last one, sealing the result.

We got three but were largely ineffectual in attack.

As keeper, I had an interesting view of the game. Here are some of my thoughts:
• The Nannas need to belie their name and collective age, especially early in the game and especially in defence. In those first five to ten minutes, there were some Nannas in defence that seemed to get lost on court, almost to the point of not knowing why they were there in the first place: he wanders here, he looks there, he wonders about the meaning of life, he scratches his stubble, he tries to look focused and like he knows what he’s doing but don’t let it fool you.
I tried to wake these bewildered souls up with some judicious and very loud yelling (a quick point here about my shouting: I accept that I need to tone it down and will try to do so in the future but contrary to what was said post game [that I was screaming at people in the heat of the moment and that made some confused], I would postulate that a lot of Nannas were already very perplexed and my yelling was after the fact, trying to warm these muddled souls to the simple task of picking up a man), which seemed to work after a fashion.
• Never let it be said that the Nannas will let anything get in the way of a good chin wag: before the game, during the game, after the game, at the pub, there is always something to chat about. And you’d have to say that we have this same vacuity on court, albeit in something of a different fashion. There is a collective silence when defending, so much so that the Captain actually didn’t believe me three times (check your Bible) when I said that I had told a certain Nanna to pick someone up. Then he told me to be shut it when I tried to get up someone after about three of the opposition broke free in attack. Curious. This same code of silence applies to our attack too. There is no ‘time’, ‘have a shot’, ‘bring it back’, ‘clear it’. Well, maybe I’m exaggerating here a little but I do think it’s true that the Nannas need to be a lot more verbal on court.
• There was no penetration. The Nannas have never lacked for virility, so says Chris Gill, but maybe he wasn’t talking about our probing ability, on court that is. On this evening, the percentage of completed passes from the goalie to outfield Nannas was high, something in the order of 90% (I would estimate). Yet, even though we had lots of ball, and a lot of the time this ball was in advantageous situations, we couldn’t do much with it. There are various things going on here:
-We do lose the ball a lot. This tends to be either as a result of over-eager attacking play where we try something too ambitious for our limited foot skills, or we think we have to move it on quickly and then kick to no one, or a combination of the two. We also lose it because there isn’t a Nanna who can stop and control play, knowing when to go forward, when to retreat, when to stop.
-We do not move. This was very evident in the second half (although I do remember the Captain making a number of industrious runs down the right). Coach has been on at us for ages about his, and, while Tom can be statuesque in his own play, he is right. Watch any good basketball team and the one thing you notice is that they constantly try to get their opposition out of position through continual movement. Sure, some Nannas hardly manage a trot at times but any such effort should be at the service of getting free of your marker.
-There is still a lack of cohesion about the Nannas. I know what you’re thinking: are you fucking serious? Yes I am. Even though we have played together for 15+ years we still are a bit disjointed in attack/defence/general play.

Post game eating. The Captain took us to some very reasonably priced but extremely tasty Vietnamese, where we asked Ides boring questions about his final two years of school. He was much enthused.

🕗 Thu, May 17, 2018 – 08:00 PM🔸 Brunswick – Court 1 ⚽ FC Dalles – MINOR FINAL

Coach (1), Chazzy, 📣 Captain (ass coach), Kondo (GK), Elliot, Tao, Jim, Le Coq (1), Sol (supporter)

In the first few seconds of the game a flailing fist caught me on the lower lip, blood gushed from the wound and splattered onto the floor. I stared at the man who had just injured me, concentrating hard, I reached out with my mind, I could feel his consciousness, a cold lump of unintelligence just floating there… and then it was gone. I had worked my way to his primary nerve bundles and shut off the protein chain that signals neurotransmitters to be released which immediately shut down his nervous system as messages could not be passed across the synaptic gap which rendered his entire being useless. He slumped to the ground like a life sized human statue made of jelly that had just been taken out of its mould. I had gotten my revenge. No one would ever know it was me that had put an end to his life except him.

vs Dynamo Tehran (Loser’s Semi-Final)
9-2 Victory
CB 4, DC 3, EC 2, TW, CG, TK

(To be read aloud in the style of a pirate or a swashbuckler)

Ole Big Burly Chest wasn’t there

It didn’t matter

Cos we was

There.

Oh yes we were, we were there with bells on,

Raining goals down upon them

Like a rainstorm,

An unholy tempest.

Nay we were.

’tis the truliest thing i ever spake.

Ay.

Dat’s roight.

Oh we won it.

We won it roight up in ’em.

Ah we did.

Left me happy all the next day.

Happy as a lark.

As sunshiny as a new born son.

All happy and squelchy and shiny.

Dat’s roight.

We beat ’em good nar.