The night started badly for the Nannas
First was the issue of a Nannas exodus. Sure it was Easter and sure a lot of Nannas be whipped by their respected misuses but this was a crucial game. It was the week before the finals. It was a week that the Nannas needed to work out combinations, settle on formation, find form.
NB: Word on the street has it that one or two Nannas were still in town on Thursday night, packing trailers or some shit. It is only a rumour mind.

There was the issue of a missing match report,which left many Nannas feeling betrayed, stricken, rudderless—one was even seen vomiting in the bin outside the stadium. The author of this report has subsequently said that his girlfriend will provide him a note but we all know what that means.

Then the ref turned up a good ten minutes late and allowed the opposition to bring on a merry stream of subs from the teams lining up to play after us. An official complaint has been lodged.

Finally our Brazilian import, who Tao promised had more foot skills than a raver on half a dozen pills, said that he would have to go to another game at eight, leaving us in the lurch for the last half of the second stanza.

The tight five
The righteous Nannas were: Tao, Kondo, Gilla, I (James) and our Brazilian import, Geido.

The game
For the first five minutes the Nannas line up against an opposition of four. We were lazy, we were sluggish, we were sloppy, and soon we were a goal down. But we hit back pretty swiftly when I (James) fed a speculative cross court ball to Tao, standing five metres out from goal. I thought he side netted but the ball, so I am told, went in.

And this is how it went for the rest of the game. The Nannas not quite with it in defence but able to rally and keep on level terms.

Our main problem was losing the ball mid court with one or two men caught up front, leaving the back outnumbered and exposed. It be a common problem for the brown men, and one that the coach and captain will need to account for come game day this week.

To be fair though, we were a disjointed outfit, with our style of play not befitting all members of the team—Geido especially. His foot skills and constant need of the ball did at times perplex us. Yet, there were a few notable occasions when we did function as a unit, holding the ball for at least one or two passes and communicating with a reasonable amount of composure.

In the end the opposition pulled a couple of goals in front and we could not pull it back.

Special mentions
Tao: for not getting into a fight but also holding the Nannas together when must of us thought we were elsewhere.

Kondo: for some inspired running, especially in defence. On more than one occasion he was the crucial stopper of an opposition move, intercepting at the pivotal moment.

Kondo: for taking us to one of the finest Japanese eating establishments in town.

Geido: for putting up with a team of soccer fools, who are not a patch on his Brazilian-ness.

Gilla: for bringing his unwashed dirty jocks to the game–such a treat.

Gilla: for keeping the opposition’s goals to only eight when it could have easily been twenty eight.

And I (James): for popping up twice for two consecutive Gilla throws: the first caused a goalie own goal; the second came off the top of my foot. Two minutes, two throws, two goals.

The tight five configuration
It was a Nanna tight five configuration. Gill in goal, Tao carousing up front, Chassy and Cocky fiddling in the middle, and I, James, sitting in behind deep, just the way I like it.

Waiting for the kick off someone was overheard to say, ‘surely this is the tightest of the tight fives.’ There was no response, except after a while, another was heard to mutter, ‘that won’t please the captain.’

Nor will it please the coach, who has spoken before in none-too-happy tones about Nanna splinter groups. The Chassy–Cocky splinter group, not to mention Captain–Coach upper management group have always created unnecessary jealousies.

The game—first half.
In the first half the tightest of the tight fives stuttered somewhat. Sure we went in 3–1 up at halftime but all of us knew we were somewhat fortunate to have such a lead. Cocky was the first to score, with what seemed like to me all hussle. But asking him about it, he shrugged his shoulders and stated, ‘all arse’.

After that, apart from some nice work from the Chasm, our passing, or should I say my passing, was very shit. But on the plus side, our D was holding the opposition in check very nicely, except for one occasion when they tore us open pretty good, and Gill was exposed and subsequently beaten.

The game—second half.
The second half was much better from a Brown point of view. The half-openings that we had managed to cock-up in the first period due to shit passing, started to come together (I know I am mixing my metaphors here but I can’t think of anything else to say). There were at least five or six times when at least half a dozen passes were strung together resulting in goals or near misses.

In the first bit of the second half, the brilliance of our play put us 5–1 up, and we were cruising. But as often happens we became a bit over confident and over committed up front. The opposition pounced and pulled a couple of goals back, to bring it back to 5–3 with about 8 minutes to go.

But then I got the easiest goal of the season. The opposition goalie left his line to put a ball into touch. He and all his comrades walked lazily back into position leaving a gaping goalmouth. It was here that Cocky, who had seen the opportunity, pounced. Like a man possessed he ran to collect the ball and placed on the touch line. And just as he was thinking that no other brown had had spotted the open goal, I, James, ran past all the opposition players, whereupon Cocky fed the crucial pass. The loser opposition keeper sensed the danger but could not get back in time. I slotted home. The loser keeper complained to the ref, but the ref said fair play and the goal stood.

Special mentions
Special mention goes to Chasm for being the most beautiful and busy man on court.
Special mention goes to Cocky for a four goal feast and some scintillating passing.
Special mention goes to Tao for telling the ref where to shove it, earning a yellow.
Special mention goes to Gill for putting many shots on goal, and not once hitting the roof—I suspect some backyard practice may be going on.
Special mention goes to me, James, for scoring the easiest goal of the season.

Nannas  v Booming Back Atcha

Score: 5 v 4

Attendees: JH, DC, TH, CG, TK, GF, RH, TW

Goals: JH 2, DC 1, CG 1, RH 1

MOM: JH

The evening:

Kondo was the first to turn up to a Nanna event with an I-Phone; Saskia started crawling, at the very tender age of 6 months; Cocky, disciplined for his MOM duties non-compliance, was stripped of his post-match vote; and two Nannas were faced with an hour’s drive home, setting a very dangerous precedent.

The game:

The excesses of Christmas proved somewhat befuddling; maybe it was the un-ventilated arena; perhaps it was the bloated eight, which for the first half ended up being a perfect seven, confusing us even more because Coach had pulled together the sub sheet for the former; probably it’s just the way the Nannas play these days.

Nanna skulls were fuzzy, so much so that it looked like several of us had come down with a severe case of the Chasms in D. After kick-off and then the restart Nannas sprang hither and tither like rabbits in a warren fleeing from a ferret. There were moments when every time the opposition got the ball, many a Nanna erupted in a cold fever shouting, screaming, and generally doing everything they could to upset their comrades.

Yet, while the Nannas did go briefly behind, once they got in front they were never headed.

The opposition did have skills, especially in the turning and shooting department, which Coach found out much to his amazement/chagrin just before time. But these skills were not team wide, and what was similarly evident was their lack of cohesion in defence, which came from their shit keeper who did not inspire between the opposition sticks, letting in a couple of howlers.

Gill got one from a speculative throw. Against all nay-sayers Gill continues to pepper the opposition’s goal, as well as all parts of the stadium, with a fertile foot and looping arm.

Striker kept up his goal average with a low trajectory shot. Cocky likes to preach about the merit of some golden rule he apparently heard Arsene mutter. Cocky is to be commended for the example he set on this evening—wanker.

Hinkley got one too, through a head goal, or header. This long throw to a head waiting expectantly up front has long been a Nanna sucker punch, much like Tao’s in off corner move. On a good day, when things are going for us, it goes in and everyone is happy, but on bad days it becomes an over-used act of desperation, similar to the Nanna one-touch that goes to no one.

I got two, praise be to me, though the first was a lolly pop off my right that my twenty-month could have got in front of.

Special mention must go to Guy Fraser, the pure embodiment of zeal. To see him pick out a much faster man, hunt him down like a crazed animal until the quarry falls in a heap of desperation and then perform the reach around on him is to know true brown.

Special mention also goes to Kondo for letting a bunch of never satisfied technology nerds get a hold of his newly acquired I-Phone.

Nannas v Russians

2–16

GF, TH, TW, AW, JH

The hardest game of the season; the Nannas were always going to have a tough time.

First, there was talk of camping resulting in three Nannas fucking off somewhere breaking the Nanna’s and Cocky’s heart.

Second, there was lots of champagne drunk immediately before the game.

Third, we were all high on an art opening, Andy especially.

Fourth, it was a scratch match, and we had confirmation before kick-off that we were in the finals.

Fifth, we were playing the Russians, who had on their team a player of mammoth skill, his footwork so great that most of the nannas, high and drunk, could hardly make out his constantly twirling feet, let alone manage to get in his way, or even touch him—as so many of us wanted to do, in our inebriated admirated states.

Yes, the odds were stacked against us. But the Nannas battled bravely and there were moments of magic.

There was Tao on the turn, rapping the ball onto the post and into goal.

There was Tao again, going the nut and getting a red card for his efforts. At the time the Nannas were probably down 10–nil but Tao only knows one way, which is to find an opponent, whack him as hard as he can, whack him again, and then for good measure whack him once more.

There was Tommy throwing his gloves to the ground in disgust. There is some rule somewhere (which the Russians knew, mind you) that states that if you have a player sent off, you can send on a player in his place after three minutes. The Russians had a replacement to send on and did so; we did not and could not. Tommy said, ‘fuck this, and fuck you [to the Russians]’ and then stormed off.

There was Andy, all buff and shit, steaming up the camera for the post match shot. Yes Andy is a very sexual man and to hell if anyone knows it. Andy knows of course that indoor soccer is only a game but the real test of a man is his attractiveness to other men. Andy does us all proud.

There was Ghee, after a long flight, after much champagne, after much feeling up of art folk, all steel and sweat, striding onto the court. Sure his skills were a bit rusty, sure he had trouble getting to grips with the very regimented Nanna game plan but fuck me did he run, fuck me did he try.

Few things are a worse sight in sport than that of an errant team trying to find its way back to form. The Nannas fall into the above two categories: our form foul, our ways exceedingly wayward. But such is the nature of a team that continues to start badly; such is the nature of team where the starting line up is more unpredictable than Cocky’s facial hair; such is the nature of team that in recent weeks has, as Gill says, lacked any menace whatsoever—even after the coach’s roasting a couple of weeks back.
On this evening a bad start was again how we began. Like a final a couple of seasons back, like only last week, the Nannas let four goals in before it dawned on us that we were playing competitive sport, and losing badly. Yet it does have to be said that we were up against some sharp and shrewd passing and running. I recall the ball being played diagonally to just in front of where captain was backpedalling for all he was worth. The ball eluded said glorious leader but found an opponent who pasted one past Gill.
It is true that on occasion we are slow out of the blocks, you might also note that there are many sci-fi nerds who play Brown, you might even go so far as to say that some Nannas like each other too much, but never ever utter that Brown men of any ilk lack backbone. With four goals against us, so began the Nanna fightback. This time around Chassy, a man of colossal spine, led the revolt, slotting home the first. As women are to nagging, so is Chassy to opponents; as vultures are to dead meat, so is Chassy to the ball. Inspired by such brownliness, we went into the break four–two down, after I was called on to slot home a penalty—why it was awarded I really cannot recall.
The second half was won by the Nannas four goals to two. At one stage we were two in front but could not hold it. I cannot recall how our opponents managed to get back on level terms with us in the second stanza, but I am sure it was all arse and much undeserved.
Of the rest of the game, there are only fleeting pockets of remembrances.

But I do remember what occurred post match and the now infamous MOM vote. While there is conjecture as to who initiated the cock up voting for MOM the first time, when the second ballot was called for there is no doubt that Cocky became the first Nanna in the history of Nannadom to cast his vote in standard donkey fashion. For such disrespect, Cocky goes into the next match, in my opinion at least, with a code violation against his name.

6—4 vs Dirty Waffles

JH(gk), TW(2), AW, RH, DC(4)
MOM: dc, jh, aw

Well, I do not really remember much about the last Nanna outing, my concentration, or perhaps nervous tension, kept me so focussed on shot stopping (not getting whacked) that half the game seems to have gone unregistered by my memory banks.

Well, the Nannas were lacking, in personnel that is. Coach and Gill gave no explanation for their non-appearance and Chas, with arse hairs flaring, proudly announced that he was off to bask at the beach—so much for the brown brotherhood.

Well, we were a paltry four until Tao, gulping at a V, ran in to save our bacon. But then the question, who would deputise in goals? Captain put forth that I was a natural choice, shouting proudly that my ball skills were impeccable, flawless, unblemished. So here I was trying to figure out what the Captain and my ball skills had been up to, and more importantly what the Chasm would think about it, when the game started, with me standing in goals.

Well, AWong, the very bravest of MOMs, was in a very scything mood on this evening. Sure he might not look like anything like Roy Keane but fuck me does he do a good impression of the former Man U hard man’s ankle–knee–groin grind. He was bringing people down from behind, poaching balls from in front, and then, just for fun, threatening to grab all and sundry’s gonads: AWong a true mountain of strength and stamina. As the Captain noted post game, the patented ‘Nanna crumble’ never came about, and that was due largely to AWong.

Well, Tao, angry, ever vigilant for even the slightest insult or knock, lay into his immediate opponent at every opportunity. Yes, it would not be a Nannas’ game without our man of fury tearing up the court, cutting a swathe through any hope the opposition had of a civil, friendly fixture. To be fair, Tao did almost recreate his magical volley from the grand final a couple of seasons back, but this time he only found an opponent instead of goal. But he did manage a cracking strike getting contact with the top of his foot, angling the shot upwards and into the roof of the goal.

Well, then there is Striker. Striker was in full flight for all of the game, not only toward goal but also defending ours. Apparently he scored four goals but what was really evident was his passing and movement. Usually Striker has some difficultly with distribution. Some people put it down to a subconscious fear of teammates, myself I think it is more to do with a lack of practice. Whatever affected him in the past did not on this evening, he was all side-foots, back-heals and running, lots of running.

Well, last but by no means least is Captain. While I know Captain did play, I don’t actually remember him being on court. And this, frankly, is the way it should be. Captains in my opinion should be invisible, spreading themselves like glue throughout a team with quiet pats on the backside, rants at errant team members, and lots and lots of shouting to build morale. It was all there from the Captain, well so I imagine.

Yes, for those Nannas present on this glorious evening there was only beauty to be beheld. Beauty in a Nanna line up whose efforts in attack were only matched by the magnificence residing in their shorts.

Yes, the Nannas were well hung and didn’t we know it. The brown men strutted onto court legs akimbo, bulging in the trouser: men of virulence ready for any manly challenge ahead. And while the surface to be played on was greasier than Guy Fraser’s underwear after a long stint internet gazing, our control and assuredness under foot was never in question.

Yes, while there were examples aplenty of Nanna pace, power, poise, passing, purpose, presence, persistence, pugnaciousness, penetration and execution, the following (in chronological order) were the standouts.

Yes, Striker took possession of the ball, just on our side of halfway. Like only a striker can he ignored every plea of support from his comrades and took off in search of goal. On his way there he encountered every player for the opposition. Did he fluently and fleet-of-foot step around and through their challenges I hear you ask? Not a bit of it. Instead he was intent on running into them, using his pure manliness to force the ball down field. One by one they fell by the wayside until he was one on one with the goalie who, in a panic, wet his pants. Striker picked his spot and found it.

Yes, AWong found himself streaming down the right hand side after a ball that had come loose of Nanna possession. Just before he reeled it in he stole a glance across court. To his left a group of players were waiting: Nannas expectant for the cross, the opposition scheming a defence. But AWong is known as the backdoor specialist and with good reason—once a fellow tastes the sweet delights of the alternative avenue to goal he will never want it any other way, and so it was on this evening. Reaching the ball his brain had already computed the angle and pace that he would have to strike, and strike he did, threading the eye of the needle so perfectly that one Nanna went into fits of ecstatic joy the moment it left AWong’s boot.

Yes, Gill had been pinging away at goal for most of the match and his efforts were, for the most part, powerful and penetrating, rendering his opposite number a slobbering mess at the other end of the court. But just for sport he laid the ball at his feet, held his hand high in the air, and then took a few steps back. When everyone was ready he strode surely forth, cocked his leg and swung swiftly, sending a distinct smack throughout the arena. Such was the pace imparted on the projectile that it held its height, barely a metre from the earth, as it curved from left to right, as lefties are wont to do, toward net. The crowd gasped as Gill and his opposite number raised their hands in anticipation, but at the crucial moment Striker materialised out of thin air sticking his right hoof into ball’s path, shifting the trajectory out and away from gloved hand and into goal.

The night for this brown Nanna started in the car and Striker busting out the fake cigarette. Coach said ‘look out! It’s the fuzz‘ but Striker wasn’t fazed—he was way too high to worry about some bitches with some phoney respect.

Anyhow, Striker offered the fake ciggy around the car. First coach took it and then after some time I put my doing two things at once ability to the test. Needless to say that you never mean to get totally high but sometimes even the slightest puff can put you out of your mind, as Vic-roads would have it.

Anyhow, the game started slow and Gilla is right our D was of the highest order—no bitches would penetrate us until the very last minute.

And yes the ref was of the same ludicrous disposition as on our previous outings, calling fouls when no contact had been made and on one occasion calling Gilla for stepping out of his area with the ball, even though he, the ref, was a good twenty metres away.

Gilla had his revenge: from the ensuing penalty he guessed right, literally, and made a majestic save.

Anyhow, Striker slid down the right hand side, pulling a move further right and then hit one back across the goalie for one of the sweetest strikes of the year. And that was how it stayed until the middle of the next half.

Anyhow, games are oft won in the blink of an eye and on this night the Nanns went from one-nil up to three-nil up in a solitary minute, I shit you not. The first was set up by yours truly—with a chip and chase Sterlo style. Winfield Cup fans circa 1982 will know what I am talking about. Cocky, in true-strikerly fashion, finished off the move, being on hand to accept the final pass in a two-on-one situation.

Then I struck again, this time getting the final touch as Gilla launched with his left and I with my head, heading home.

Anyhow, Tao finished the scoring for the Nannas with something of the following, which I really don’t remember:

‘I passed one off to Dan who ran down with it as I ran with him on the opposite side of goals then he passed across to me and as the goalie waved his arm around in front of me a popped in passed his left side, or his right side as I’m looking at him, through to the back of the net.’

Anyhow, then it was off to Impromptu it up and apart from the Supper Inn, lashings of lager, and Gill whipping my arse in Virtual Tennis, there was some very serious talk about the state of brownness across the full spectrum of the Nanna line up. From the way I heard it one Nanna, and no names will be mentioned here, didn’t want to join the brown fraternity because, and I quote, ‘he had a busy day tomorrow’.

Anyhow, while this revelation did momentarily shake the spirits of the Nannas it was, in the words of one person present, not wholly unexpected. I think he said something like, ‘well that arse-bandit was never really fit to the lead the Nannas anyway’.

Anyhow, Striker said that he would step up and lead because he was at that moment in time the richest, literally and metaphorically, and in all honesty I think all of those present, even though they may not have wholly heard this comment, did subconsciously accept the self-nomination—I know I did.

Opponents: Los Pitufos
Score: 7 (Los Pitufos) – 2 (Nannas)
Attendees: TK, TH, DC, RH, JH
Goals: DC, JH
MOM: JH

Butt- reamed, rammed, arse- invaded, jam-rolled, indescribably filled, yes Nannas, this is how I felt after a non-too terrific performance Thursday night last.

Yes Nannas, questions do need to be asked. Questions like should Captain have sole control of the growing of his facial hair mid-season? Should Striker get a good night’s sleep on a Wednesday night? Does coach need more time to get his dicky knee right before entering the field of battle? And the most important of all, what is the recommended number of subs if half the Nannas are expected to be late or have an off night?

On reflection the Nannas weren’t too bad. The word that most comes to mind is soft: soft in defence, soft in the contest and fifty fifties (if I can use a couple of footy phrases), and definitely soft in the first half. Well more like asleep in the first half.

The first stanza was were we lost the game, for before we knew it we were about three goals down and it all seemed perfectly harmless, almost like, oh well we’ll get it back somehow. The thing is this sort of attitude only works in the event of a landslide if we can get to our opponents and really put them off their game. The nannas Thursday last were never going to do this.

The second half was better; we did find some rhythm, though not a lot. We did start to string a couple of passes together, though on most occasions the final, crucial pass was beyond us. And yes our defence did tighten up, although there were about two or three times when an opponent had his back to goal with a nanna close enough to hump him, only for the opponent to turn and take the softest shot.
All nannas please note: standing up against the back of your opponent like you have a strange urge to sniff his crack is not defence, it is a recipe for disaster.

Special mention goes to Cocky for trying to convince the nannas that winning the second half was a noble and just cause.

Attendees: TW, TH, DC, RH, JH.

Result: 7-1

T’was a tight five that adorned the court. Adorned? Yes adorned for there was beauty to be beheld from the Nannas on this evening.

The Nannas glided about the court doing what we pleased to insipid opponents, which was only fitting given the mismatched nature of the contest. It was almost like a prediction for the Geelong, Melbourne game to be played this weekend. Or perhaps Manchester United versus the Gunners in the title race? Maybe I am reaching on that last one.

Some might raise their eyebrows in surprise at such comparisons but scoff no longer doubting fools. Indeed if our tight formation of five wasn’t completely focused, so insistent on grinding our foes into the dirt like the helpless bugs they were, we too may have been in awe of the eminence of our efforts.

The nannas were in the mood and there was no stopping us. Not a stuttering opposition, nor a paltry turnout (from the uncommitted), or even Cormac, who threatened all night but ultimately always undid himself with his own trickery, would hold us up.

The brown men seemed to swallow a sacred elixir of patience, poise, speed and movement before we stepped on court. But in truth this performance had been on the cards for a while; form is intricately tied with momentum, and even though we had been beaten in the weeks leading up to this night, those score lines were deeply flattering to past enemies.

It appears the new style we have been toying with for so long is finally gaining currency in our play. All the Nannas need to do now is keep up that style for an entire 36 minutes. Against lesser opponents on this night it proved easy. Against those of greater calibre, our conditioning will have to improve.

Special mention goes to the Captain for playing on the very day his baby was due.

Special mention also goes to Coach for almost keeping a clean sheet, but the goal that got him was a good one. The dirty back heal from the aforementioned Cormac.

Sport. A cruel, cruel mistress.
Just ask captain. Inquire what it was like to bust ankle. Then say, how did it feel to sprint on ankle for half hour?

Sport. A real bitch.
Just ask coach. Raise how hurling soccer ball must have been exceptional c*&^ after receiving range of crippling blows to arm thirty minutes prior kick-off.

Sport. A total waste of time.
Just ask Tao. Put, if you dare, how with only five minutes left on clock he found Nannas nine gaols down.

Sport. No point trying.
Just ask me. Exclaim, busting gut back in d only got ball on ball on ball on ball on ball ricocheting off foot, leg, appendage into own goal. Own goal. Own gaol.

Sport. A real tragedy.
Just ask Andy, who, despite best efforts, could not prevent competitive game in first half turning rout in second.

Present: DC, CB, RH, TK, TW, AW, JH

Goals: DC 2, JH 1

Opposition: DDS

Final score: DDS 5- Nannas 3

While this game ended in defeat, the Nannas will be sure to take something out of it. It showed that team brown can play a game to beat any opponent no matter how skillful.

Most times the Nannas beat opponents like DDS in the later stages of a season when we are all hyped up and our brownly manhood is on the line. We mark up, impose our immense physicality on our opposite numbers and generally worry them out of the contest.

Last Thursday’s game was an example where we used two distinct styles of play, none of which reflected the method we employ come finals time.

After a very slow start where the opposition put two goals past us that could best be described as hopeful long-range efforts, the Nannas suddenly heard the absent coach’s call to play with our heads and not our arses. We started running, defending and most important of all passing.

Yes the Nannas started to control the game, employing the adage that the ball kicked moves faster than the man running. Strangely, in our possession the ball went backward just as much as it went forward. We also demarcated a ten-metre semi-circle around Kondo’s goal that became an opposition no-go zone.

Funnily enough it worked. Cocky bagged two, yours truly curled one in from range, and the opposition could not find their rhythm, taking sporadic and ill-directed shots on goal. The browns went to half time with a one goal lead and their tails up.

It wasn’t to last long. From the whistle for play to get under way in the second half, the Nannas were caught on their heals and promptly punished. 3-3.

Then trying to regain the initiative the Nannas pushed too many forward, and our d was caught at sixes and sevens on the break. 4-3.

From there the Nannas reverted to the aforesaid second style of play. This is the game plan usually engaged when the Nannas are up against it. It is a game of long passes, misdirected one-touches, and no patience or panache whatsoever. The Nannas used the old no-nonsense straight up the guts at all times approach, thinking it must reap rewards.

The rewards did not come. The Nannas were brave, but the Nannas were also out of puff. A late goal by the opposition sealed it. Final score 5-3.

Special mention goes to Tao for trying to tell the ref that he was in a better position to adjudicate on the game, after a call when against him.

Special mention also goes to the Captain for his self-nomination as the worst player on the pitch, which seemed somewhat harsh. Such self recriminations are always to be commended, especially when they come from our fearless leader.