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

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.

 

MATCH REPORT 17 JANUARY 2020

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?
Entropy.
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
Competition
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 !

anyway.

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.

MATCH REPORT 12/9/19

NANNAS vs BENS BABES

3 v 4

TH, CG, CB, EC, GM, SJG (MOM)

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.

MATCH REPORT 190801

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
MOMs and GOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAALS
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.

MATCH REPORT 190627

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.

Sorry

I love you

PLUS I FORGOT WHO GOT THE GOALS – WHAT AN ASSHOLE

Match Report 2019_05_23

1-5 loss to Dynamo Tehran

CB 1 (MOM), DC, RH, TH (MOM), TK GK (MOM), TW

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.

LET’S GET BACK TO BEING A LOVELY 3.5MM JACK!

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.

Passing
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
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.

xxx

 

 

match report 190523

1-5 Loss to Dynamo Tehran

CB 1 (MOM), DC, RH, TH (MOM), TK GK (MOM), TW

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

ATT: CB, DC, CG, JH (MOM), RH
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.
Prelude:
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.

MATCH REPORT – 14 Feb 2019 – VALENTINE’S DAY MASSACRE

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

NANNAS 3 versus CHEFFY FC 5

 

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

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.

Match report 9.8.18

‘‘Twas the night before Friday, a sacred night. The only night in the week that is not, not Thursday. This particular not, not Thursday was the not, not Thursday of brown pride, of victory, a display of raw power that has not been seen for the past Millenia. 8-3. Double plus 2. This night shall go down in history as one of the greatest conquests in modern history. This monumental game shall never be forgotten. The numbers eight and three were burned into the retinas of every individual who witnessed the game.

Who knew so much power could be squeezed into such a small booth.

-Vistor [elliot]

Match report 22 06 18 part 2

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.

2018_06_16 Match Report

CB, DC(1), JH ((2)MOM), RH ((1)MOM), TK(G), TW ((1)MOM), AW

Having more than one MOM really is a race to get the report done or one is just repeating everything that’s already been said. What more can I do now that the wordsmith Jim Hannan has come before me? It’s not like I get paid to write anything.

As Jim say, it was a well fought game against a worthy adversary. The most class of Nanna’s on this night. Passing was tight and right. The ball was hitting the back of the net at both ends and few unworthy ones of theirs were getting through (except for their equaliser that was my fault 😢).

21 June ‘18 triple MOM match report—part 1

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.

14 June ‘18 in memory of Pat Hannan match report

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.

31 May 18 Goalie point-of-view match report

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.

Match Report – Minor Final – 17 May 2018 (by Elliot)

🕗 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.

Match Report 2018_05_10

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.

Match Report 2018_04_19

4-6 Loss Vs Perspolise
DC (2), JH (1), RH, Principal, TH (G), TW (1(MOM))

Against a mighty good and, may I say, gracious team the Nanna’s were outclassed but managed to hold our own and save face a lot better than our first meeting with these semi pros.

Some extremely tasty passing by the Nanna’s helped us slot away 4 goals to keep us within a snifter distance of victory but alas it was not to be that kind of a glorious night.

Not that we should hang our heads in shame. No not at all. The top team are a team worthy of being beaten by.

Post game the captain took my daughter in his car and, as if he knew I was going to get there before him, and though he knew there was a rock star park out the front of the decided upon venue for eating and drinking, he sent me to the wrong venue to keep that rock star park all to himself. Well played captain, well played.

There was nothing going to dampen our spirits on this night of nights with the news we had all been waiting for was upon us. Jim was finally leaving the Nanna’s…. for good. Alas this was not to be. Instead we were greeted with even better news. Another Nanna will be brought into the fold. A new little Hannan will be coming into the world. Hooray for Jim……… and Christiana I suppose. Love and Kisses brother.

team photo – 12 Apr 2018

 

Super dodge digital photobooth at The Penny Black on Sydney Road following a ‘cancellation’ due to lack of electricity at Brunswick secondary. 5 Nannas and 2 ring-ins.

1x Nanna left in huff
1x Ring-in left because he didn’t have any ‘going out’ clothes
1x Ring-in left abruptly due to parenting emergency
4x Nannas drank beer, GHAG, listened to live music and played pool ! Giller and The Coach where literally on fire for the first round, then it all went downhill, then we took a team(booth)photo.

Match Report – March 8th 2018 – by Elliot

прошлый четверг нанны сыграли матч против Гарри Поттера. Риан забил хет-трик, а нянцы выиграли 5 – 2. Гарри Поттер пытался пробить шестнадцатилетний (он был очень зрелым). После игры мы съели самые изысканные тако.

Match Report 20180301

5-8 Loss Vs Bens Babes
TK (G), DC, JH (3), TH, RH (C), TW (2(MOM)), AW (AC)

Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, Sorry, for yelling at my fellow Nanna’s and at the ref (though I think I only did that the week before and not so much on this night)

It was a well fought game against a pretty good side. They did start to tire near the end but then again so did we. Their shots on goals were mostly good but it could’ve been a bit of a tighter game if not for some less than tidy defence on our behalf. We know we can be good in defence but when we’re not we really pay for it.

The captain said to me post game he thinks we could beat them. This may be a little optimistic but you never now. Probably on our best day we could when we all work together, run together and don’t leave each other hanging. We need to look for and use each other when we can. Holding onto the ball for too long tends to have the one outcome, giving the ball to the opposition (and yes I am guilty of that).

So in our next game let’s try and be nicer to each other, encouraging rather than angry. Let’s get faster passes, especially from any free shots. Don’t wait for the ball to be brought to you, run in grab it and get the shot out there before the opposition have time to regroup. Our best shot is to get the ball up our end while the other teams are runnings back. Fast turnarounds is what we need. And running down the opposite side when someone has a run on the ball. There should always be back up. The ball may be passed to you or you might find yourself with a rebound to take advantage of.

Let’s climb that ladder of glory Nanna’s.