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.
Einstein didn’t get too many things wrong.
‘For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction’ is neat and tidy but does not accurately reflect the chaos in Futsal. If one side takes unwarranted physical action upon a player then the equal reaction would be to retaliate with a similar amount of physical force – but no. Better than that, a better retaliation is to score a goal that ties the match with 11 seconds left on the clock and leaves said opposition in fits of rage, too angry to even shake hands.
But then again, time is relative and does not follow a linear path, this was proved when said opposition returned to the time just after the match finished to shake hands but found that the Nannas had already left the sporting arena and were gasping for air on the lawn outside. The moment that normally proceeds directly after the full-time whistle had been shifted temporally and physically to a new space, a warp in the time space membrane which can surely only be caused by an enormous shift in gravity. The joy of the draw had swollen the collective Nanna’s mass to such an extend that time itself was being forced to follow in our path.
Or was it that the Nannas had moved so fast in the closing seconds of the match that time had slowed down for them but not for the opposition? Thus the point that existed at the end of the match for the opposition coincided with a point many minutes later outside on the lawn for the swift moving Nannas? The opposition weren’t being rude when refusing to shake our hands, they were actually still playing the match, the final whistle not yet having been blown. This would prove that playing futsal for the Nannas makes you younger.
3-3 Draw ? maybe or 4-3 loss – realistic. RH(MOM) JH(1) TH PHIL(2) CG TK TW
First game played in the new Strip (by one player). Phil donned the sample uniform sporting the funk 45 label as requested by the Gilla. Phil looked fine in the brown and gold,
his creamy thighs riding seamlessly across the silky fabric as the beads of warm sweat ran smoothly from his heaving chest.
The game itself was pure example of Nannas working together as a team, breaking out to a 3-1 lead until the middle of the second half, tight defence, and even tighter offensive defence,
like a nun with no candles in reach.It was really our offensive pressure that hurried the opposition who were younger, stronger, fitter, firmer and gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light that highlighted their every sinew.
Phil was surprisingly eager to please, running freely with the ball and shooting plenty, it may have been the new strip – it probably was the new strip. He teamed nicely with Tao and Jim upfront, working the diagonals and drawing extra defenders with some Ronaldo-esque foot work.
Defence was led by Tom, strong as ever and almost impenetrable,
like a leather Hymen requiring skill and determination to pierce.
Post match discussion focused on possible alterations to the new uniform including some colour alterations, before switching to the looming beach box. Debate was heated and questions of location were tabled, stick to the tried and true or move to Mount Martha for a change. The question was left open but post wrap flurries pointed towards a trial run at Gilla’s where the secret “top bedroom” has secrets yet to be discovered.
Lets just say that it’s a large family and you don’t get a large family without some tricks up your sleeve, or down your trousers.
7-3 loss to dudes in white
RH 1 TW 1 GUIDO 1 JH 1 Mom RH CB
Phil in goal, a couple of lose ones got through but his composure at the back made up for it as well as his tasteful distribution. Guido returned with some silky moves up front, scoring one, setting up another. Chassey was feisty, showing no signs of the dicky knee that has hampered him recently. Jim showed up. Tao arrived late. Cocky didn’t score any goals, but:…
This was Nanna gold, pure and simple. A very strong nannas performance, good goals, hard running, tight in the defense, yet still we lost. What does this mean? When the Nannas go hard, play well, score goals but still lose.
Is it a spiritual problem? Or an emotional one? We have focused so hard on altering our physical game that we’ve left everything else behind.
When did a Nanna last tell another Nanna that he loved him, or needed him, or thought of him? When did a Nanna last hug another Nanna, and hold him, and really get in touch with him?
Easter is nearly upon us, a time of spritual renewal, with Trump winning in America and the weather being so hot and humid here need to think of ourselves. Hug yourself and hua Nanna.
Goals RH 2 JH 1 TW 1 ? Mom Rh
You can sleep with Jim Hannan and there’s a chance you’ll get hard enough at some stage to create some friction.
You can smoke synthetic drugs and there’s a possiblity that you’ll get high enough to forget that they might kill you.
You can get a low-carb burger with no cheese and you’ll probably be less hungry than you were before.
The truth of the matter is that there’s no substitute for the real thing and winning a game with the Nannas is as real as it gets. It’s possibly the most real thing there is. It’s the sort of real that gives a man a purpose and something to hold onto when all else falls apart.
Thursday night was real.
The opposition are not new to us, we know their game and they know ours. They’re a bit shit and a bit slow but occasionally they can forget it together and they’ve got one guy who can kick like a donkey. The good news for the Nannas is that they’re a bit slow, substantially slower than pretty much every other team in the comp. It was this slowness that the Nannas cunningly used to their advantage.
First goal. The Walmartin in full flight down the wing, lays a delightfully timed through-ball to the captain who is on holiday on the wing. The captain has time to brush the crumpet crumbs from his lap, pack away his breakfast dishes, receive the pass, put the kettle on, make a strong English breakfast tea with a dash of milk before slotting home a goal from very close range.
Second goal. Gilla feeds a superb long ball down the middle to the captain who is catching up on some paperwork at the edge of the circle. The captain tidies away his papers, clears his desk, taking care to file his receipts and not leave them in a messy pile, before once again slotting a goal from very close range.
Third goal. The opposition goalie takes a throw-in from the side, he goes long, very long, very very long. Long enough to be super – safe. Super safe except for the fact that Jim Hannan receives the ball. The man who had the scud missile named after him, known for his power and accuracy. Jim receives the ball just north of the wittlesea RSL, in a flash he fine tuned his radar and sends the ball back with a finesse that he rarely uses while clothed.
Fourth goal. I can’t remember. But it was so great.
An all round strong game from a Nanna side that needed a win.
This was the return to form that the Nannas needed (I think) (It has been a while)
When the chips are down, and have been trodden into a beer soaked carpet it’s hard to scrape them up and reshape them into something beautiful but that’s what the Nannans are best at. It’s no secret that ‘Nannas’ and ‘Adversary ‘ share three letters but if you dig a little deeper you’ll see that exactly half of Nannas exists with in Adversary. The Nannas are built half from Adversary with the other half all N’s – Nnn – National Retail Properties on the New York Stock Exchange – a proven performer over the last 5 years paying a high 4% dividend yield.
It was a great victory although I did wake up with a hangover again which is strange and seems to have very little to do with how much I drink. My careful use of the scientific method points to dehydration and I think that the first two drinks of the evening should be H2O rather than IPA. This is not a new idea and is a classic example of my weak will power in the fight between what I know is good in the long run and what I need in the next 5 minutes. It is possibly a metaphor for the Nannas game plan, sacrificing long term positional gameplay for instant gratification.
Back to the game at hand, nothing short of a great game. There were Nannas, and Phil and Stan and some others and sweat and yelling followed by Beer and food and a hangover.
Goals CB 2 CG 1 MOM RH against table leaders?
What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?
I’ll tell you what happens, the unstoppable force does really well for the first half and then falters a little until the immovable object wears the force down and it is rendered stoppable and theneventually stops and then after a while actually starts to move back in the opposite direction, making it an unstoppable force once again – but in reverse.
There is no right direction in space so even thought the unstoppable force has bounced off an immovable object and was, for an instant, stationary, it is now moving again and ready to blunder throught the universe with nothing able to stop it, because it is now travelling away from the immovable object.
So we owe a great debt to the punks that beat us because now we are once again travelling at great speed.
The game itself was tight and hard, an oxymoron, or perhaps a slice of perfection.
Chassey cut them up with fine running through the middle, Gilla scored a classic, I say a classic keepers goal with the mighty left, cocky showed why he is the coach of the new millenium and
A NEW NANNA WAS BORN.
that is right, Matt, the worlds unfittest man played for the Nannas, never has a ref showed so little ball skills.
He is not part of the unstoppable force
The Nannas first birthed a colour
A child from the union of man and sport
That colour then birthed a team.
Ten children bound by one colour.
The Nannas now birth a word.
And one night did bring this word forth.
One night of unholy union.
One night so bright, so strong, so powerful.
That it split a noun in two.
The night that split a noun.
The night that birthed a verb.
A word to convey an action.
The night that defined what it is.
When shards of frozen steam dive downwards from the heavens
When blood boils from every pore
When the screams of the last ever death have long since been silenced .
When hope has been buried in Hades beneath the rotting corpse of dreams
When the sun has devoured the earth and the moon and the stars
When all traces of light have been removed from the universe.
Then and only then
Will Nannas stop running.
And until that day
All Nannas will nanna.
5-2 loss maybe?
MOM RH and another ? maybe TK?
The sound of the waves of discontent that crashed upon the APISC shore could still be heard from the sparsely furnished Preston Girls mezzanine. Previous woes buffeting the ears of proud brown men like the autumn winds that chased the leaves in their new Northern home. But how proud they were, and strong, and resolute, protective of the fragile leather that lay between them like spent love between the sheets.
And sing the good song of Harmony these brown men did. The drum of unity driving the melody of individual flair, a symphony in motion. The mid point met us with all things equal, a game balanced on the tip, who would crumble?, who would lose their nerve?
But who is this? Surely not? The old enemy from within? Conflict, Abuse disharmony. The once proud men drop the metaphoric ball before the real one has time to reach them.
The taste of winning too rich for those used to lapping at the pool of humiliation. A game lost rather than a team beaten.
Lesson: defeat rides the thermals of hot men losing their cool
Nannas it is my great privilege to release the team stats for Spring/Summer 2012. Possibly the penultimate APISC results.
Stats have been ratified by upper management’s Statistics sub committee. The sub committee finding that the results fall within the guide lines as specified by Nanna voting code 1.
It was a tight race to the top and the tension in the counting room became too much for many of the committee members.
Congratulations to big Jim Hannan, a deserved winner of the seasons MOM award, and also to Tao and Cheezles Jal Frasey for a hard fought second place.
Not so tight a race in the Goals department – Cocky Cockshanks storming home by a huge margin, supreme effort form the big man up front.
Comittment was well spread this season, pats on the ball sack all round
5-4 v Left Footers
CB(2), RH(1)(MOM), DC(MOM), AW, TH, CG
There is something satisfying in hitting rock-bottom, it is solid, it’s grounding, it provides a platform.
Because rock bottom is where the Nannas find themselves. It’s not that we played badly for the entire match, in fact we were all over them for much of the match.
What the Nannas can’t do is finish a match well, we can lose from any position.
We started well, good goals, Chassey slamming one from halfway, some great set-ups allowing me to pop one home we were confident and moving well. Bit Then. Self doubt, nervousness a lack of cohesion, splintering in offence and defence, a static foward line, simple mistakes. These problems all point to an issue with our mental game, we have lost any belief in ourselves and unfortunately when we’re against the wall we stop working together and try to individually solve problems rather than working as a TEAM. That is where the nannas are at their best.
RH MOM – we lost, I think I got a goal, maybe someone else did.
Picture This –
A man, a botanist, a man who has spent his life amongst plants of all varieties. This man finds himself traveling through a desert, for many years, a desert only sparsely populated by withered, dry cacti. A cruel hot wind blew incessantly accross the mans face, burning away any remnants of moisture from his lips. One day, let’s say it’s his birthday, maybe his fortieth birthday, he struggles over an especially high sand dune and in front of him is a forest of unimaginable beauty. A forest full of every plant he has ever seen, all the plants from his memory, and many he has forgotten all layed before him and arranged in such beauty that he almost cannot look at it. This man races down the sand and frolics in the forest, removing his clothes and becoming one with the flora. He spends many days and nights in ecstasy, soaking in the plants, the flowers, the leaves. He discovers that this forest has been planted by his friends, he is lost for words, he cannot believe that his friends would do such a thing and create something of such beauty. After some time his friends return and ask this man to add to the forest, using only what he has……
This is where I find myself dear Nannas, how can a man, even a captain, write a report when all the reports of a lifetime have been placed before him and presented in all their perfection?
I have received the perfect gift, some say it’s impossible to conceive of the perfect gift, others say you can think such thoughts but never produce such greatness in reality. The Nannas have thought the unthinkable then built the unbuildable. For this I am, and always will be, eternally grateful.
The most beautiful part of the present is that it is only volume one – and five days after presentation the Nannas return to the court and the story continues.
We lost, again, but we ate and drank and abused each other, and that is the true Nanna story.
The stats are long overdue and for that I am sorry but they were worth the wait.
No triple crown but a double for Cocky and what a double, standout season, it’s lucky the trade window has closed.
Deserved win for the powerhouse up front, the goal scoring machine, he’s beautiful, like a flower, a tough flower, not a pansie, maybe a magnolia.
And to the mighty Ghee Frasay, Mr always-there, solid and dependable the daffodil of the Nannas.
Well done Nannas
There is disrespect and then there is disrespect.
There are those that post a report late and redeem themselves with fluent prose, this has been known to win favour amongst upper management, occasionally to the chagrin of some select players. There are those that post late and display an aloofness that somehow places them above the Nannas as if match reports have no meaning or no relevance to the author.
Then there are those that post late for no apparent reason, laziness maybe, they forget the score, the vote count, even who played and then all they have left is the meta-report. The report on reporting, a last ditch attempt to try and save some face from a seemingly unsalvageable position.
Does this third style of report have a place? Does this style of report bring a new discussion to the whole reporting process? Is this, infact, the style of report that the Nannas have been craving. A report that looks beyond facts and stats, beyond reporting even, A report that spreads the legs of reporting, lifts the reporting processes’ skirt and reveals just what sort of underwear the reporting process wears.
For a report to work, to have any place in our history it must leave more than a record of events, it surely must attempt to recapture a moment in time that escapes the confines of the physical world. Aren’t we really craving a picture of our inner selves? emotions? feelings? doubts? fears? Leave the facts to the title and the photo, embrace the words that you long to see on the page, and in doing so take the Match report to the next level.
Surely there is a time when the meta report will pass without chance of a code violation.
Greg Louganis won multiple gold and silver medals over three olympic games, he won multiple world titles and was the undisputed king of world diving for nearly a decade. His face adorns stamps and he had his own line of sporting clothing, including winter jackets, for cold days after the pool. These facts about his prowess are undisputed – but – the vast majority of people in the world remember him not for these great acts but for one lapse in concentration when the back of his head collided in spectacular fashion with the end of the 10metre spring board.
The moral of this story is that one simple lapse can ruin an entire career.
On Thursday the Nannas were not at there best, and if this game had been internationally televised it would be for this performance that our past ten years would be remembered.
It cannot happen again. Every game is important.
Greg Louganis now competes in competitive show dog competitions and has written For the Life of Your Dog with Betty Sicora Siino.
Let this be a warning Nannas, Do you know what the worst thing about competing in show dog competitions is?
Post match Cocky took us to the closest venue and won very high points for proximity, in fact scored maximum for this category, which is unfortunately only 0.1 of a mark. The beer was delicious and the noise level ideal for pleasant conversation. Fore-thought was low and originality got a 0. No food.
5-1 win over some old guys RH3(mom) CG(1) CB TH TW(1) JH AW
RH(2)(MOM) JH(1) TH(1) AW(1) DAVE (Ringer) TK
It was a game of two halves. In fact it’s more reasonable to consider it as two short games than one entity – which would make it a drawn series as we convincingly won the second game by a single goal.
The first game in the series was not one that many Nannas will remember with pride. I’m not sure how many Nannas can remember back to the early days of the Nannas when a young friend of the Nannas – Dave was his name I believe – decided to take on a larger opponent by the name of Goliath in the car park. Dave was brave and agile and quick which is helpful. Goliath was an enormous powerhouse of strength and physical ability, skilled in all martial arts, ever, and carrying an assortment of the latest combat weaponry from the Russian version of the SAS.
At Daves funeral we talked about how he had battled hard and really given it his all but in the end had very little to offer in the way of a ‘knock out blow’. When Goliath opened up with his Armour Piercing shoulder mounted rocket launcher Dave could only really stand and take it on the chin and there’s only so many of those that a man of relatively small stature can take upon the chin.
So it was in the first game for the Nannas. The opposition may not haver been carrying any discarded russian weaponry but they were packing some tools that no Nanna has ever owned. There were Multiple goals, and the ‘M’ in Multiple is capitalised for a reason, that went past the valiant Takeshi Kondo. There were passing moves and bursts of speed more often seen at Albert Park during the Grand Prix than on a regular Thursday.
Only one Nanna stood up in that first game and kept the home fires burning – the Coach with a sizzling goal that lef t them reeling, sort of. So we left the first game with our pants on but only just and carrying some heavy scars.
The break between the two games required the Nannas to dig deep, there were strong stirring words, I think Jim said “Holy Fuck”. But it was a different Nanna outfit that took to the second game.
A decisive, fast moving, quick witted outfit. Ringer Dave opened them up early with some fancy footwork, working hard down the flanks and delivering ball after ball accross the goal face, it was only a matter of time before a Walmartin would find himself knocking on the back door with room to spare and a laser guided right foot.
The defence too tightened up, the Nans started mixing it up, laying it up at the back, sending long balls through, rotating positions. Big Jim hanging off, not plunging in, which is hard for a man with such urges. Thomas marshalling the troops, working the numbers and unafraid to take the hard knocks. Ringer Dave going the extra yard by attacking an opposition foot with his head, gutsy. It wasn’t till the final few minutes that the Captain had a run, from a kickoff, the seas parted and allowed an easy slot to find its way home.
And what to do after two short games rather than one game of two halves?
A scenic stroll through the unseen backwater that is Parkville. Thomas opening up a whole new genre in Nanna cooking by providing an insight into his ‘secret Melbourne’, the nooks and crannies that make this town of hours such a wonderful place. Alfresco Salt and Vinegar washed down with crisp clean Asahi in the night air and ‘blind mans Aerobi” to finish. A delight.
CG DC-2 AW CG JH-1 RH-1 TH(post match)
In july 1973 captain Curtis Browning of Bravo company was wounded by shrapnel 2 miles north of Pnang Ta on the Kotan peninsular. He was unconscious when dragged into an army evac helicopter and only regained consciousness in the relative safety of the hospital aboard a medical naval frigate 4 days later. His first thought was of his men and although he couldn’t walk he demanded to be returned to the jungle. In the end he was restrained in his bed for a full month. During this time he was tortured with dreams of his men caught in crossfire, aimlessly wandering in the dense and unforgiving jungle.
Finally he was released and spent four days fighting his way to the front line and his men. His first emotion upon reunion was that of relief and then quickly a sense of awe overcame him. In his absence bravo company had recaptured Hill 462 and gained ascendancy in the battle for control of the Kotan peninsular. He wept solidly for two days, the emotions were enormous, his men had reorganized themselves and fought with such skill and teamwork that he felt he was superfluous. His chickens had outgrown the nest and were now flying alone.
After two days of tears he realized that in actual fact his role in bravo company was more important than ever. His chickens could fly but now it was time to turn them into eagles so that they could soar in the clear blue skies. He took to the skies and his men followed, they flew above the trees, above the clouds and high into the nothingness above.
Its time to fly brown men and soar like eagle, don your wings and flap with me.
This is the first butt not the last