By way of introduction (and making up for reports unloaded), it was a very proud dad-moment to play on the pitch with my offspring, Izzy. It was something I’ve been dreaming of, hoping for that father-son-game-crossover before that dirty R-word (retirement) which must be fast approaching. So there we were, Izzy had rocked up to watch the game and unbeknownst to me he had his Nanna top on under his hoodie. Once this became apparent some general cajoling ensured from the surrounding huddle of nanna seniors. And next thing we know we got a 11 year old on the court (and 7 months). He’s been finessing his skills since very young. Soccer is pretty much his entire waking focus; six games a week, indoor, outdoor plus lunchtimes. With greater fitness and ball skills than my own, the Nanna’s succession plan is well and truly underway. It was a super special moment to play together. I nearly shed a tear of joy. There’s much that he hasn’t mentioned in his report, mostly of his pure excitement in playing and inclusion into the game, but I’ve left it raw as his version of events.

From Izzy below:

My first game for the Nannas… and I scored! I think the dark chocolate and the juggling outside helped me to prepare for the game, I didn’t actually know I was playing until the last few minutes when Andy noticed I was wearing the kit.

Chazzy scored a hatrick, one of them Dan rolled it back and Chazzy smashed into the net, left footer. My goal was in the bottom right corner and the goalkeeper just got a touch on it but then it rolled past him and in, I also had another chance were I ran it up and then shot but it hit the post and rolled out behind the keeper. The other goal was scored by where I nutmegged the defender and finished it off bottom left. The end scores were 7-3 our way, WE WON!!!

After the game we went to LaxaKing for dinner, ( I didn’t have any because I had already had tacos before the game ), I ordered a lemon lime bitters and Chris gave me some of his tea, Andy and I tried counting how many people worked there and we figured out there was about 40.

CB, CG, RH, JH, TH, TK, TW, AW
5-1 win

We turned up, the bloated eight ready to go hard. But our opponents were a no-show. The previous game looked tight and the two teams exhausted, but somehow the ref talked them into playing that bunch of old guys over there. They scrabbled together a couple of players from each team. youthful enthusiasm.

The game opened, and early on there was a sensational cross court pass from Kondo over to Tao, who slotted it home at point blank. Chas worked it hard and banged home a couple. The next couple gained Wal the title Iceman. The first taking the ball right up the centre, then ducking a tackle. The goalie then diving onto the ground leaving Wal to flick one over. Shortly after Wal takes on the goalie, wins the ball, then flicks another. All in slo-mo time.

The post-game festivities then moved onto another in the quiver of Takeshi’s Korean BBQ’s, just behind king st. The nannas dined with gusto. The chilli soup was rockin. The nannas all smoked out in a bbq haze. It was pretty endless. Torrential rain outside. Positively blissful.

Iceman choose not to post-post at “the ratio” (aka Alia dyke night), instead opting for a more low-key at home bunga-bunga party.

NANNAS VS DWSFC, 4 – 1 WIN
CG, CB, DC, JH, TH, RH, AW (2)

This is one of those games I have relived over again all week. More specifically Gill coming right out of goal down the wing, and passing cross-court through an entanglement of feet. Then me just pinging the baby from a deep angle. And the goodness.

And so I’m channelling Joan Holloway, and all the are nannas suited up, pitching The Backdoor. All smoke haze and gimlets. And we’re all “working back late” in the office, slapping arse and getting carpet burn.

Don is played by Tommy, just being smooth and calm and getting the job done. Chas is Salvador, the very dapper. And so it goes, all the others nannas forming the smoothness. We’re all there. All we need is Ghee to waltz in all gangbusters and upstage the backdoor pitch with the Shadow 2000. And the client loving it.

Big props to Fi who came down for the support. We hit the Dainty after for some big plates of chilli.

Nannas VS Spartan Warriors FC, 5 – 6 loss.

Some classic greek backdoor.

I’ve wanted to for quite a while. But I waited til the wife and kids had gone to bed, and then I pulled out the laptop. Then I googled, “greek backdoor”. And I was pleasantly surprised. Then I even did an image search. The most dubious reference was a links to the “village keys”.

But there was the game. And a foggy recollection of Jim taking a corner, and not passing it nice and easy, but slamming it at me. Man that guy can release himself. And I’m thinking it’s coming too fast. Jim has just released at full throttle. And then I’m banging it into the back of the net.

Jim’s just given me the village keys and I made good use of them.

23 September: CG (mom), TW, JH, TH, AW (mom), and the good Guido (2).

I was fresh back from 3 weeks in Fiji. I was in rhythm with my natural cycles, the moon and the tide. This is a good place to be.

There’s a 90 kilo pig. I’m in a village on a remote island. And the village is keen to feast. The chief instructs to kill the pig. Humanely. He has no desire to kill it, and feigns an obligation to the kava bowl. “Knock it out first blow. Axe to the head. Then knife to the throat. Don’t fuck it up. Do. Not. fuck it up. I do not want to hear it”.

We lost 3-2. There was a lot of nanna absence. Few overseas. Few sick. Yep, it’s the tail end of Melbourne winter. Some absence is accounted for. Others are just hiding, quivering in a hole.

It’s 5am. The men dig a big hole, then light a big fire within it. Lots of volcanic rocks are thrown atop. All the fire is then removed. The rocks glow white hot. The pig is so big it has to be cut into pieces. These are then woven tight with palm leaves. Then thrown onto the hot rocks. Then covered in more palm leaves. Then the entire pile covered in earth. It steams hot for hours. What an aroma. And then we feast.

Gill saved numerous goals, and appeared to spend much of the game horizontal. In the air, arms outstretched, just saving goals like a man possessed. Guido, our latest regular ring-in, kicked our only 2 goals. And I had nearly ‘pussied’ the ring-in request.

It was strange to be back in civilisation and wearing shoes. But it was great to be back with the nannas on a court, kicking a ball.

Match report 12 August 2010

Nannas vs the other side(?)

CB, CG, DC, TK, TW, TH, AW. goals??? (sorry)

I’m in a haze of post nanna weekend. There was a (terrifying) flying fox. There was a fire. And a pig. There was some table tennis. There was some french toast. It was the best catered for weekend that one could dream. There was magic. And there were stains. Did it all really happen?

I believe it did happen, because I can’t remember anything of the game. The part of my brain normally assigned match memory, has instead been assigned basic motor skills, cleaning teeth and tying shoelaces.

The nannas were up 3-0 at half time. It was a physical game. Lots of pushing. Someone got a yellow card. Someone kicked a nice pass. Someone else got a yellow card. By game-end the entire nanna squad had a code violation. In classic nanna form, we stopped playing at half time and the opposition beat us 5-3.

Post game we drank at Meyers Place. They had no cabana platters. This topped off a dismal loss.

I’m on a horse.

Match report 18 March 2010

Nannas vs The Annual

CB, DC, CG, JH, RH, TH, TW, AW(m)
Apologies, I’m unclear on the goals. But we won. Convincingly. Was it about 6- 3…?

This was one of THE best games I can remember in a long time. I don’t know how I stole the mom. I wanted to vote for all nannas. The team was playing like a well lubed machine.

All I can say to the opposition generally, is that I am sick of you all bringing your hot young girlfriends to watch the game. Time after time, you try and just fuck us up mentally. Thinking that the nannas are too old and too gay to be distracted by the other flesh. Well you are wrong. Your strategy is working. It’s upsetting me, and this time you pushed me too far.

On this occasion you bring along your Liv Tyler look alike, all pouting and panting by the side line. I am going to go all karate Chi inverse-energy style on you, using the rabbit-dodging-hyena move, and using your own strength and momentum, I am going to channel that fresh young thing on the sideline, and I am going to reverse fuck you. Me and Bernardo Bertulucci.

It was great to see the Captain back on the court, super fresh, and channelling his own demons into a positive strength. I had a great angle on a near-goal by Chas, who brought it down the line and popped it, unfortunately hitting the post. But so close. This was the only single moment I recall of the actual game. It was otherwise a blur of nanna jism.

It was a huge game. Personally I didn’t get sucked so far up the field, perhaps because I was hanging back for some quality time with Liv, but this paid off.

It was a hot and humid night. Post game we hit Brunswick st for some late night burgers. and then some pool.

26 november. playing: full nanna squad.

The ultimate showdown.

This is the kind of potential which has been talked through the eras. How would the nannas be split into two teams? tallies vs shorties, oldies vs youngies, skins vs cuts. Out on the table. Modestly prevailed and a rotating system was spreadsheeted. A nanna speciality – spreadsheeting. Browns vs golds. Poo vs piss.

Full team nannas rocked up deep west to the Scray. We had a court beside the cricket. In nine years, this was the first time we had ever played in nets, continuous off the ‘walls’. It took us a while to get into the flow. The understanding that if you miss a pop at goals, it bounces back, and you just keep popping. It was physically intense as there was no down time. No little pauses. And no subs.

We played 4 quarters of ten minutes each. The freshly turned 40 year old Wal was fucked after the first 5 minutes. Sweating like a nanna, this was super intense. But the nannas just keep kicking goal after goal after goal. This was too much fun. Employing snooker tricks, and bouncing the balls off the wall. Some gold cross-court passing. Final scores were 59-61.

I had a very sleepy Izzy on the bench, and so had to leave early, unfortunately missing the dinner. But most nannas would have slept well this night.

But we must do that again. If for no other reason, than for the rebirthing experience. That was tight.

All Victorian nannas in attendance.

What a night. I’m glad we only do that once a year because it took a week to recover. Seriously. After an impromptu date change we actually got all 9 nannas in a beach box. mid winter. I started with 9 layers (1 tee, 1 thermal, 6 wool jumpers, 1 hoodie) and ended up in just in a t-shirt. The music was totally rocking. The brothers all real and warm. Absynth. Charlie. Tequila. Gimlets. Oh the gimlets.

The night was too big. This report simply focuses on The Lessons. A new component of the beach box. Each nanna had to ‘make like the maestro’ and teach the others something. Anything. The numbers game determined the following sequence, interlaced between poker and the smell of a bumper crop.

My very blurry memory of The Lessons:

Lesson 1: the spoon by Weis.
A real hands on lesson, tao even brought power tools. He had kindly preflattened the spoons. We just had to design a layout for the hole cut-outs. then drill. Then file off the rough edges. Then we poured absinthe over the sugar cube, drained through the colander spoon. Things began warming up.

Lesson 2: tablesoccer by Kondo
This started looking real scary when takeshi racked up a line of tequila shots. We cleared the table of Gimlets and split into two teams. Takeshi showed us how to play soccer with just 3 coins dribbling through the other pair. There was a generous amount of drinking. It appeared that when you scored a goal the other team had to scull the tequila. The night was already getting confusing.

Lesson 3: moon dumplings by The Captain
We wiped sand and spilt tequila off the table and hinkley pulled out a can of mussels. Also some little dough wraps. He taught us the art of the moon dumpling. By pinching and overlapping the wrap a crescent shape was formed. We placed them to the side with the intention of frying them up for breakfast. Very hands on. Lucky the Health Dept didn’t raid the box that night.

Lesson 4: grammar by Hannan
Another corker. It started off with jim passing around a note reading “chas”. I was hoping he was going to finally go the tongue, but it was all a dummy. It turned into a grammer lesson. I thought it was going nowhere, like the time jim didn’t know which bar to take us to. But it all suddenly warmed up, where I was taken into an upper plateau of grammar. Where does that possessive apostrophy go?… Chas’s ball. The nannas’ balls. Boys ware department. I was struggling now.

Lesson 5(a): north point by Cocky
Another gem. The night was really warming up. Face the hour hand to the sun. then half way between the hour hand and the twelve is north. Simple. Never in all my years at cubs had I been taught such a life-saving lesson. Although all very convincing at night-time cocky. Hours later cocky realised that he had totally fucked up with the hour hand, the half-way, the north point. We were all lost.

5(b) Then cocky started banging on about 1’s and 0’s. I think he lost everyone except poor Hinkley who cocky had cornered against the wall. Companion 0’s. the pair. Another 1. 11 00 1 0001 00001 0000

Lesson 6: hangin five with Wal
We all popped outside the box for a site-specific lesson. The swell at Mt Eliza was uncharacteristically small, so we all drew a surfboard on the sand. Then wal taught the nannas how to catch a wave, paddling, push-up manoeuvre to feet, stand, walk to the front of the board. hang five. The lesson itself good to show Swedish backpackers at Bondi.

Lesson 7: I’ll get back to you by Gill
And I’m still waiting. I was hoping it was going to be some MJ tribute move, grabbing the crotch and some awwwwing. Cause I know he’s got it. he just couldn’t move by this point in the evening.

Lesson 8: French insulting by Monsieur Chas
The night was now by now in full swing. I’m guessing it was about 2am? Chas had already stripped off nude and gone for a swim. Chas was standing on the table in tights. Almost indecipherable with his thick French accent. Killer. Wet my pants. A lot of falling about. We actually learnt a french phrase to chant at our opposition, coupled with a fist gesture. Chas passed out soon after.

Lesson 9: bottle opener by The Coach
The beach box was by now levitating. Chas was asleep on the floor. It’s all about leverage. Thomas grabbed a plastic bottle and somehow ? with brute force and this thing called leverage, he popped the top of a beer bottle. A wonderfully simple, yet life essential lesson.

The night was too much fun. almost excessive. The Lessons were just one small component of a much bigger and finely orchestrated night that is Beach Box. Muchos Respectos to all.
 

I came out $8.25 up.

Match report 7 may 2009

4 or 5 to 2 (nannas went down hard)

CB(1), DC, JH(m), RH(1), TH, TK, AW(m)

The Captain showed us how the hassle is done. Moving right up to the goalie who had the ball and rebounding it off him back into the goal. Nice. And reminded us all why we still need him.

The other gaol was some classic 1-2-3 action by the Chas and Co. This was real wonder stuff. A blurr of nanna magic, some amazing passing, and a convincing goal.

The captain later took us to The (Maori) Chief, the original stomping ground of the nannas. Well it looked as though it may have returned to old form, with a couple of stray dogs at the bar, and only one other table occupied. Classic Chief emptiness.

Out of seemingly nowhere Jim took the moment to ‘lie on the couch’. His eyes glazed over. He decided to open up about what it’s like to grow up in boarding school. Took me back to scout camp, making fire sticks with Ah-Kay-La. We dob dob. I did get my tent badge in record time.

Anyway. It was a cold winter’s night and Jim had wandered into his neighbour’s room to warm up a little. He’d snuck a little bowl of crème caramel out of the dining hall to share together. Jim opened the door. Fast and without warning. The fat guy was going for it hard, painting the ceiling. And working up a real fat boy arse-sweat. I mean, it was strange that Jim didn’t knock. It was almost like he waited til he heard his breathing quicken through the walls, and then just pounced in.

They shared the pudding warm. Crème dribbling down their fat chins.

Coincidently the following night on SBS was the “ Search for the Perfect Penis” which had numerous interviews with a wide spectrum of tossers, and their various techniques. One guy talked about the 2 slices of ham in a sock. Another raved about the mango between the couch cushions. I just can’t believe they hadn’t interviewed Ghee and the shadowpump 2000.
 

Apologies to Jim if I may have enhanced some of the details.

19 March 2009 

5-4 Nanna loss to The Hyderoos. 

CB(1), DC(2), CG, JH, RH(1), TH, AW(m) 

Despite the loss, the game was a great game. A very balanced and equal game, with goal for goal rhythm. In the end we lost by a goal. And sure it was an own goal, but all appreciated that it could have been any of us. It just wasn’t. 

Noticeably absent was any westside presence. There was talk of heavy thumbs. There was talk of dark clouds. There was talk of dark and heavy thumb clouds, and inevitable and impending cool change coming in from the west, and we had all better laugh and snigger whilst The Great Dark Thumb had not (yet) unleashed it’s true power. 

Fortunately I took notes after the game to remember all the little details of the game, the goals, the passes, the saves. All that sweet nanna poetry. 

Unfortunately I totally lost my notes. And having so heavily relied upon them I remember nothing. Apologies. 

The only single moment I recall was my own cross-court fast pass which snaked through 4 pairs of legs, across to an anticipating Cocky, who banged it home for a perfect finish. Gold. And boy have I been reliving that one all week. 

Ahhh. The nannas. More than a team. It’s a lifestyle. 

And after 9 years of eating post-game chips at pubs the nannas have again stepped it up a notch. The expansion of our post-game repertoire. We move from the Maori clubhouse, to The Windsor, into unchartered waters. 

Gilla had booked us into The Horn in Collingwood. 

It looked like it was not only going to be entertaining but also educational. Being a whitey I had always imagined that the ‘horn’ was the bottom tip of Africa. Stupid. Ignorant. white boy. The map on the wall informed me otherwise. The Horn I realised was the most eastern tip which resembles a rhino horn. 

The Horn comprises Ethiopia, Yemen and Somalia. Ethiopia’s population is 85 million. This could be contributed to the average fertility rate of 6.12 kids per every female. Average. 

The Harar beer was I have to say a beer which was really agreeable with me. Crisp and clear. Just the way I like it. And the label was a beautiful picture of a fort building in a sandy desert, all orange. The barman talked them up as “organic” beers, although the labels did not appear to confirm this. The other beer was the Dashen, with an equally tantilising label with beautiful red script font. 

I returned to the bar for another Harer. Took a sip, and thought this really doesn’t taste like beer. It tastes like water. Drank half the bottle. Yep. That’s water. Back to the bar. They gave me another. Cheers. Although that too tasted like water. Umm, this beer tastes like water. Gives me another. By now I was just too embarrassed to not to just accept as beer. 

I did feel like a real hard man saying hey this beer tastes like water. 

Those Horn heads. They’re not focussed on the beer. Their biggest trade export is coffee, accounting for 80% of all exports. 

Their second biggest export item is Qat, accounting for 10% of all exports. Qat is a controlled/illegal plant. It is chewed, and contains an amphetamine-like stimulant which causes “excitement, loss of appetite and euphoria”. Within the Kenyan elite, it is also used to cure hangovers. 40% of Yemen’s precious water supply is used to irrigate the Qat plantations. 40%. 

When they’re not making coffee, they seem to be chewing. And when they’re not chewing, they’re procreating. 

Australia controls the importation of Qat, but with a permit one can import up to 5 kilos per month. That seems like a lot of chewing. The number of Qat permits issued in Australia is 294. (It is illegal in New Zealand). 

But I digress. 

The food was amazing. So flavoursome. It was tricky trying to eat sans cutlery, with only the right hand. Gilla had arranged us a table right in front of the band, The Blow. Much of the fanbase were bald men with ponytails. The nannas felt young again. And much like the Thumb Cloud, the nannas giggled initially, then understood that it’s approach was also inevitable. That will be my look for the Finals. 

I had imagined that the dining line-up would crescendo gradually throughout the season, the alphabet peaking out with the W’s at the Flower Drum. But the Gill really stepped it up to such a new height, that really we almost have to bring it back down to just chips to level it back to reality. 

Parts of the Horn are scary. Apart from the pirates, there are 84 airports in Ethiopia, and only 15 have paved runways. 

Gill and Chas continued onto into the night. The other soft-cocks went home. Wal hit Alia for dyke night to touch the “the ratio” treats. I road-tested my new line: hey ladies, how bout we “make like the Horn” and up the fertility rate. Seemed to bamboozeel them sufficiently to get some walmartin signature. 

match report (26 Feb) from the walmartin

5-5 v Boomin Back Atcha
DC m 2, CB 1, TW 1, JH 1, AW1m, TH, CG gk, TK 

My ninja nannas, 

poetry on court inspired 

some haiku for you: 

a battle it was, 

Gilla outstanding in goals, 

tiger reflexes 

Post-game venue change, 

dinner at Fitzroy beer hall, 

nannas in high times, 

Chas, Gill, Wal and Cock, 

Continue onto Black Cat, 

Whole lotta young things, 

Backs to the mountains, 

musical chairs for the sights, 

views to the valleys, 

And such young valleys, 

So tight, so pert and teasing, 

nannas choking beer, 

twins’ flesh pressed up close, 

mouthing we want you right now, 

Chas, hip hip hooray, 

Wal to cap it off, 

to Alia for dyke night, 

she said not the front, 

the game had much sweat, 

thankyou Jim for the cross-pass, 

Wal backdoored once more. 

match report 15 january 2009

5-1 nanna win.

CB, DC(2), GF, CG, JH, RH(1), TH, TK, AW, TW(1)
(apologies but who got the other goal?…JH?)

Fuck fuck fuck. I’m upside down. I’m underwater. I don’t know which way’s up. I’m caught in a oxen stampede and I’m just lying spread eagled just taking it. This is not a good situation. There is an immense amount of pain. There are no words. My balls have been kicked up deep inside me. I’m writhing on the side-line trying to find inner peace. I’ve been taken to a higher level. I’m up on the ceiling looking down on a small man in a lot of pain.

The siren sounds. The game is over. A 5-1 nanna win.

Some guy is saying I’m sorry. And I’m saying no worries. It’s ok. And I’m trying to be zen about it. You freakin idiot. Punk trying to kick a goal from mid field. At least connect with the ball you freakin freak. Instead you have used myself to give myself the human enema. But in hindsight, it may appear to be a short-cut manovourve to take the MOM off others more deserving.

It’s 40 degrees outside. Half of the state is on fire. Trains are melting. This kind of heat always encourages me to go looting. I don’t know why. I’m thinking the world’s ending, and instead of going out looting and rooting, I’m trying to remember who kicked the ball two weeks ago. I hope the world doesn’t end quite yet because Chaz and The Coach have called the semi-impromptu on the annual fish and chips tomorrow night. lip smacking.

As for the game. For me one of the match highlights was a Gilla long throw out of goals which landed on the foot of Jim, then flew across court to Hinkley, who with one touch just slotted it home. Absolute gold. I still can’t believe that any of them actually had their eyes open.

There was the ever tenacious Tao who ran up court, and just pushed on through and into the net. Simalarily Cocky who gathered momentum to pass by all, and ping one true. Two actually. Ghee played some magic with some standout cross court one-two action, but upsetting all those who were expecting the signature. Chaz as graceful as ever and still with the youthfulness to run the full court. Howie ever present. and vocal. Kondo fully doing the splits to keep a clean slate.

And the full team sub at half time. Classic nanna mind tricks.

And the pain. I’m left with greater mental scars than physical.

What was touching for me was not the nannas helping a brother back up to his feet. But the outpouring and genuine offerings of the groin massage. Genuine offers. Initially I relied on gravity alone, but I soon succumbed to the bombardment of enthusiastic text offers. Thankyou brothers. I still respect you.

2-1 loss

AW(1), CB, CG, JH, RH, TH, TK, TW.

There is a saying in my trade, the construction industry…”measure twice. cut once”. And I think this could equally apply to the packing-your-soccer kit-in-a-hurry scene.

It was a Very slow day. Sometimes those nanna days are really slow. Like I’m itchy to get to the end of the day, and it’s just dragging along, totally oblivious to my pre-match excitement. And I’m 10 storeys up in my city studio, gazing out into the canyon, the abyss of concrete buildings. Daydreaming. It’s a killer view. And I’m just gazing out there, taking it all in. the concrete buildings. the cars below. the rooftops. the nude girl in the apartments opposite. The carparks. The air-conditioning plants. The Fucking What !

You can’t miss that flesh tone. It just jumps out amidst all the grey. And this is no ordinary nude girl. This is hot Asian girl. Now that is pert. And she’s just wandering around her apartment all day. Making toast. And listening to music. Calling a friend. I look at my phone, half expecting it to ring. But no. Finally she gets a little chilly and puts some red panties on. it’s like I’ve fallen into www.hot_asian_girl_doing_doing_ordinary_things.com. But without having to hand over my pin number.

Needless to say, I didn’t get a lot of work done that day. So much time gazing out the window waiting for her to call me. If only I had spent a fraction of that time double checking my soccer kit for the game ahead. Just a couple of seconds would have taken no effort. Instead, selfishly I gaze. And drool.

I turn up to the game, those pert breasts burnt into my retinas. I can barely see the court. I can’t even see the ball. I’m drunk on flesh. I get dressed. Where are my soccer boots? You are fucking kidding me. I have left them at home. Tommy comes through with a spare pair of shoes. size 45’s. It’s like I’m wearing flippers. I’m drunk and I’m playing soccer with flippers. I feel like I’m playing underwater.

Anyway. Given the circumstances I remember little of the game. I remember Chas lining up a penalty kick. He is standing there between two beautiful breasts. I want to run towards him and kiss him. I restrain myself. Chas side-kicks the ball to me. It’s sweetness. For a moment I think trap and shoot. But no time and I risk the one-touch. It finds the corner of the net. Goal.

The rest of the game is a blur of bumbling. Slurring from the side-line. And defensive play. We went down 2-1.

But I was drunk. I was underwater. I checked my phone after the game to see if she had called. a simple text ” U R my BCKDOOR MAN ”
 
 
 
 
 
 

Matchday. And the day started like any other. I’m a rituals man. And a believer in feng shui, with my back to the mountain, facing the view. Or the enemy. And i like my rituals. And match day is a big day. I don’t like to drift from the path. I like to progress into the day like any other matchday. Don’t like to shake it up or the earth may open up.

Wake up. It’s Thursday. Bowl of muesli. Matchday I like to eat all day. I know I may not get dinner, so I just like to eat big. And it calms the nerves. No-one wants to fight on an empty stomach. Then Newtown for a blueberry bagel with game. Same Every Thursday. Just carbo-loading from the morning. Shortblack to wash it down.

Struggle through to lunchtime. Then its off to Waiters (club) for a big pasta. Penne calabrese. Tomato base with salami and capsicum. I pick around the capsicum. Another shortblack.

But this is where the day began to unfold. On this particular Thursday I decided to break the ritual and lunch with a friend. Most of my work friends know I’m as stubborn as shit when it comes to my lunch rituals and rules. Can’t eat last night’s leftovers. Can’t eat at the place I ate for lunch the previous day. Must eat pasta on a Thursday. Anyway, I couldn’t be bothered going all dictorial on my friend, and so we lunched in this nice little café (superfino). His choice. Nice little salami flatbread, with a portuguese tart to follow. Shortblack. All very nice. But it really didn’t fill me up the way I like.

And so I went into the game a little underprepared. Sure it didn’t help having only 4 players. And half of those sporting injuries. The prematch contraversy had also thrown the team. The game fell apart and we went down. And there niggling in the back of my mind were the words in large font, “I should have eaten pasta”. But I’ll never know. Was the dark cloud the lack of carbos? I’m a superstitious man.

Was good to ‘chief it up’ postmatch with a big steak, asparagus and mash on the side. Pepper sauce. good to wash away the postmatch aftertaste.

But the highlight was the dessert trip to Jock’s icecream. Pistachio, and Coconut Ginger in a waffle cone. Spirit-lifting.

A dirty lose cleansed by a win for my tastebuds.

Tip: Do not rely on your memory to write match report after nanna function. It doesn’t work. I remember having a swim. And before that there were some dinosaurs. And a man with a beard. And then a round ball…As always, I only have a very loose recollection of the actual game, and the buffet hasn’t helped.

It had been a tough return for wal. Starting back at work after 4 weeks off for Christmas, overlapping some beachtime with the crooks and brown camps. Hammocks and christmas puddings had taken their toll. That ‘famously’ tight body, was looking a little ‘bouncy’ on the slow-mo replays. but it wasn’t just wal who had ‘let go’.

It was a sluggish game. How I picked up the MOM is still a mystery to me??? But sometimes that’s just the way the math pans out. I think I ran around a lot, up and down…

Court conditions were proving the physics law “the angle of incidence equals the angle of reflection”. The late afternoon sun, blazing in at 2 degrees (to the horizontal), rendered much of the court as a mirror. This meant that taking any passes on the ‘lakeside’ was pretty much blind guess work.

But let me not blame the sun, mother of mothers. It was a sluggish start to our new division. And that was with 3 subs. And for some reason, I can only remember the Gill moves. I remember Gill’s head hitting the floor. I remember then Gill in a push-up position and the ball smashing into his eyeball. Then there was some crazyness where Gill came right out of goals, and danced up the court, ducking and weaving in and out of the glare and shadows, losing the ball, somehow getting it back, crossing the court back and forth. Madness. That’s entertainment.

And then there was the other madness, the other exception to the ‘angle of incidence’ rule. Obviously such rules apply in a vacumn, free of friction and magic. And it was Chas who defied the rule. It doesn’t account for spin. Chas kicked the ball from the corner at about 88 degrees. It hit the post. Rolled around the goalie, who was frozen by this madness. Walked slowly along the line, teasing time. And then curled in. Goal! Un-be-lieve-a-ble.

The rest of the game was a rather uneventful (from my perspective). Thomas fronted up, despite an injury from the week before. Chas danced the dance, and popped the first goal (unseen from my perspective, and I wish I could remember who assisted. sorry). Even Taoza could barely muster a tantrum. The Cap-i-tan was there. He could not have forseen that a few hours later he would wake up in the nude on the bathroom floor. Crooks, ever graceful, but who had some issues with passes. And Jim, who also had mutual issues with passing. And the cheersquad, always appreciated, courtesy of the Crooks Ransom posse. And there was some off-field umpiring disputes, led by Crooks, and reined in by Coach.

We lost 5-2. Hughness left Melbourne. I lost $15 at poker. I lost arm wrestling. And after a solo smorgasboard, Heath, a cowboy who represented much nanna ethos, camping, and sharing a tent together on a cold night, departed our world. It was a low week for reality.

But the lows make the highs higher.