Att: CB (1), DC, CG, JH (MOM, 3), RH (1), TW, AW

Nannas 5 play Lieutenants 6

There was a point deep in the second half, with the Nannas down 4-6, which summed up last night’s match. The brown men had just mounted an attacking raid, which amounted to a throw forward, the ball ending swiftly in the opposition’s keeper’s hands. Their keeper when he took the ball, dropped it at his feet and waited for us to come get him.
Yes, with a three or four minutes on the clock, they had the advantage and could afford to do this, but its effects were multiple. One, it slowed down the game. Two, it pulled the Nannas forward toward their keeper who had the ball, opening up the court. Three, because they had opened up the court with their keeper with the ball, it was effectively five on four.
The Captain after the game made the point that the Nannas are one dimensional (he’s such a great motivator), arguing we only kick the ball to the corners and try to bring it back centre. He christened this the ‘Nanna move’.
But I must disagree with the Captain on this point. It’s not that the Nannas perform this move more often than not, it’s more we have several areas we could work on, which restricts what we can do. First, is our positional play. We need to look around more, see where we’re bunched, where there’s space and importantly, try to hold opposition players or drag them to areas of the court to create space. Secondly, there is a lack of movement. This was very evident last night. Chassy made some very fine runs (and I fvcked him several times by not getting him the ball when I should have) but he seemed alone in this. Third, and the final piece in the puzzle, we need to hold the ball more. This starts with Gilla a lot of the time, but the Nannas do have a tendency to go hard and fast, first time, every time. James M does this very well: he holds the ball, looks up and weighs his options. And last night we had time to do this.
The other thing that was obvious last night was their style of play suckered us into thinking they weren’t potent, when they were. The first five minutes of that game was slow. In fact, a lot of the game was because they made it so. But when they went, a lot of the time scored, catching us out.
Moments from the match:
Jim’s hat trick. Yet another. Is that three in the last little while now (does he take the striker mantle?)? And another backheal. Yes, it’s not Rhian’s patented move anymore. That one felt good.
Cocky, a striker in name only at the moment. I don’t know what happened last week, but Cocky seems short of a gallop, and not threatening the goals either. Having said that, I feel like he will emerge from his funk soon. His passing, especially to Jim early in the game, should have netted us a goal, if Jim had not sprayed over the top.
Chas. A very good game. Was all legs and running last night. Did score the goal of the game. It was the first of last night’s contest. He sat deep, on their back post, with just enough room between him and his nearest opponent. Gilla picked him out with a brilliant chip. Chas found the opposite far corner.
Hinkley and his goal. For the life of me I can’t remember it, and no one helped out on the flurry this morning. So sorry Cappy.
Tao and his options. As a ball approached about neck high, Tao thought to himself, shall I head it? Shall I take it down on my chest? Or should I just get my foot up there, and meet it with that? You know what he did, right: none of the above. Instead, he tried all three at once, which was beautiful (but also strangely weird) to watch. He did feed me a lovely ball for my first touches of the game, which I managed to score from. He also worked on his positively in the second half, which is to be commended.
Mr Wong. They call him Mr Dependable. While he probably could take a touch more often when on the ball to better unleash that right foot of his, what I have noticed is his work in D. He is challenging Tao in the hussle stakes. When the Nannas are on the backfoot, he’s our glue.
Gilla, our man at the back. Did his usual of, I am going to make some incredible saves, which he seems to do effortlessly. His pass to Chassy was equally outstanding. But the thing that really got me about Gilla last night was the state of panic (he called it fun) he induced in himself about five minutes into the game. After, he said he felt calm inside, but you tend to wonder what’s really going on for him in those moments.
Afterward, we ate Turkish. Lovely.

Nannas 3 plays Sporting Kunse 5

Att: CG, JH (3, MOM), RH, JM, AW, IZZY, TW

It started with the perineum. Actually it didn’t start there but for the sake of argument that’s where we’ll begin.
Hmmm, how did we get on to the perineum again? That part eludes me, even this close to the event.
It was funny though. James made a crack about Bendigo being in its general vicinity. I guess you had to be there.
Anyway, we lost. It really didn’t feel like that. The score 5-3, that means we were defeated but the happiness of being on court, the freedom of it probably meant more.
I could really dig Andy tonight. Playing shoulder to shoulder with his son. Izzy, a massive game. I’d never seen him play before but the speed, the footwork, the strength and poise on the ball, the vision. He’s quite good. On another night, he would have buried that last toe poke, we would have been four each and that would have been a fair result.
But as it happens, they got the last one after Gilla, with twenty seconds on the clock, tried for all or nothing. It looked good for a second, the last roll of the dice, after about six or seven attempts when we in control and were really coming. The one before Gilla’s from Izzy who went round a couple of dudes, steadied, hit it (super) sweet with his right toe, maybe straight at the keeper (I was in the sideline at the time) but man it looked good even if it was stopped.
Before that another attempt by me. I loitered at the back of the court with James in front of me on the ball, I ran past him. Like we’d been doing all night he slid it my way, I went past one, then two, but they were closing in. The second dude came again. I got past him but had lost control by that stage, the third dude mopping up.
That was after we’d gone a goal down in the second half, making it 4-3, their way, with about eight on the clock. I can’t remember how that happened. Actually, I don’t remember many of their goals. I recall the one in the first half down the right side when both Gilla and I heard a whistle. Maybe it was GHBG, perhaps it was the shrill noise, resembling authority maybe. For a second we forgot what was happening because of our collective fugue state. That’s when their goal scorer, from an acute angle out on our right, scored.
I remember our goals. That’s because I scored them.
The third. That man James. I don’t remember the lead up. I ran deep right, classic back post. James had the ball on the left hand side mid court. Like he’d been doing all night he had his eyes up and spotted me. The ball came cross court. I had a vision in my head. Hit it first time. First time. So I did. It missed inside the right upright by a a millimetre, just like Gilla squeeeeezing past the lady of stern face in her big SUV, who refused to acknowledge us as we existed the car park after the game.
Our second. In my humble estimation the goal of the night, my favourite, in other words.
Just after half time. According to Tao it wasn’t our kickoff but somehow I remember it different. Anyway, James was on the ball again and I had slipped deep inside their front quarter. This time left. Does James not ever not look up? It’s that skill of scanning movements and being one step ahead. For a second I believed the ball coming my way too good to be true. Similar to a screw gauge perfectly calibrated it hit me in the sweet spot. When it arrived I had only the keeper in front. I steadied and found net.
Preceding that I got our first goal. They had three on the board at that stage. The Nannas sucker punch. The Brown backdoor ambush. That’s when you slide under the perineum, and find the vicinity close to the outer rim, almost like Bendigo, but you never get there because your ultimate goal is all mesh. I found that, nutmegging the keeping and his perineum.
It would be remiss of me if I didn’t point out that yes, we did come back from three nil down. We held them there at three apiece for around ten minutes until they scored their fourth and in the last seconds of the match with Gilla off his line searching for an all or nothing miracle they got a fifth.
Notable mentions go to:
Gilla: immense in goals. Some exceeding good saves (as per usual) and nice distribution.
Tao: great defence and hustle but shouted too much.
James and Izzy: exceptional.
Hinkley: only put one foot wrong: could have done better with a golden opportunity early in the match.
Andy: solid alongside said son. A lot of pride in that family tonight.

Nannas 4 plays Exports 9

Att: CB (sustained an achilles tendon injury half way through the second half), SB, DC (1), CG (K), JH (3, MOM), RH, TW

The night started with the realisation that 23 May is not 30 May, a further insight became evident after this too: the game for 6:30 pm was not the time for this week either, the Nannas stood on the side of the court feeling rather stupid wondering what possessed Tao, he would later say, and I quote, ‘Why did no one see that?!’
All was not lost, after Cocky did some mental arithmetic about how much time he could squeeze in doing more artistic endeavours in the period before kickoff (not much), James suggested Sushi 10 for a meal before the game, can you imagine? and so the Brown troop chuffed off in search of sushi, Change Set Speed, and good times pre match, with the Captain revealing he had stood in dog shit (I have to admit this confused me; who on earth takes a dog to the sports ground, and who lets it shit, and who wouldn’t pick that shit up? I felt for Rhian).
In the vehicle back toward Carlton conversations were had about novellas, novelettes, and 10 mm errors, upon arrival at the vicinity for repast Change Set Speed was engaged in, with Cocky refusing, a decision I feel was probably in his favour but maybe not for the forthcoming match.
The banquet was at first cold, as we had to seat ourselves outdoors, with visions of Hinkley picking canine faeces out of his shoe, but upon the leaving of various patrons we shifted inside where there was warmth (and no more shit picking), not just in the air but the general atmosphere, our host shifting various tables to accommodate first six Nanna but then seven and a Nanna youngling.
After we supped, the meal still of an incredibly high standard (how do they do it, every-single-time?), Sol suggested we stroll to get our digestive juices flowing, but it also gave rise to flowing conversation this time about bowels: first we again discussed dog shit, a certain Maremma did, after a course of antibiotics when sedated at the vets, loose his bowels dropping what the vet described as something similar to a horse’s pad, second, Cocky was forthright in his knowledge that one shouldn’t sit too long on the shitter as a colonoscopist said this was bad, third, James took a short cut through a park, which brought back bad memories for our beloved Captain, still thinking of dog shit on his shoe as he was.
After a night already had, the Nannas descended on the footsal stadium, we were early, and Change Set Speed really started to pump as we kicked the ball around and watched our adversaries from weeks past play, the Craic was good, as was keeping the ball in the air, I did wonder how Gilla was feeling at this point, as my body felt sluggish, somewhat floaty, but at the same time my left foot felt a certain twinge of happiness to once again collude with its brother Nanna feet on the field of battle.
I started not on court, and suddenly I remembered our opposition from having watched them in weeks past, they are us from twenty years ago (somewhat scraggly, free flowing hair, a few talls, a few shorts), but only with better foot skills, and even though they were one below us on the table, the Nannas were up against it.
The early exchanges revealed the Nannas would have to be on their game defensively, something that last night I’m not sure we entirely managed, at about midnight last night trying to get to sleep I recalled their goals, there were about three or four by that tall skinny guy with dark hair, he could bust a few moves, and he could hit them with substantial power and precision, there two that were unlucky as James tangled with one of their dudes from a corner/side ball which wrong footed Gilla, there was also another like this late in the match, which Tao shook his head at, and there was that one goal where they had about five one-touch cross-court passes with a clinical finish (which was one of the goals of the match, but not the goal of the match), apart from these there were also a couple where Nannas were caught ball/player watching as their players ran with the ball up the field leaving our magnificent keeper (who did again did make some stupendous saves), now there is a very quick point I will make here, yes by all means yell at your team mates to pick up a man and run back when the opposition steals the ball midcourt but please don’t yell at them after the goal has been scored especially if you too weren’t running but standing there caught ball/player watching but yelling at your brother Nannas to run back.
Now to our lovely goals, there were four of them, three scored by James and one by our striker, I will get to the hattrick first, Change Set Speed was kicking in by this point, and making me feel curiously hungry to kick hard, to compete hard, to be hard, I was feeling it, I must have had a least a dozen shots on goal, and I think I did put half of them on target (I thought I was particularly unlucky with one which I struck very sweetly only to see it saved by an outstretched hand high and right, they may not have had a dedicated goalie but they were good in goals), the first goal came from a pass from Sol, somehow I found myself deep in their half down the right side (I don’t remember how I got there or the play leading up to it), I took the ball turned and kicked hard, as unlikely as it sounds, it managed to nutmeg the defender on me and their keeper as well, the second, again I don’t remember the preceding play only to say it was a corner (I have sneaking suspicion the corner came from a shot I had from a restart which their keeper tipped over the bar, but am not 100% sure on this), anyway, so I was wrestling on the front post with one of their dudes, the ball was played to me, I heard shouts of pass, I thought yeah I probably should, but something possessed me and I hit with my heal, backward, a backheel, I turned expecting the ball to be in play somewhere and to feel sheepish about attempting this but everyone was congratulating me and their keeper seemed flummoxed, yay! and for my final trick Gilla threw me a long one, we were looking for the tip on (our patented move) but somehow (again I couldn’t tell you how this happened) the ball seemed to spin against my face for a split second until it dropped, whereupon I popped it past their keeper and in the back of the net, I did think my goals very special but that was until Striker got the ball deep in their half on the left with one and their keeper to beat, Striker upon receiving said ball seemed weirdly uninterested, his head down almost like he’d noticed his shoe untied and thought to himself, Geez, I’ll probably need to fix that at some point, as he used his left to skip past his man, flipping the ball over the defender’s outstretched hoof he still had this same curious countenance, but like his head and body were unconnected, his legs drove him toward goal whereupon he produced another fine piece of skill to sumptuously slide the ball home, I was on the sideline communing with the ref at this point who said, and I quote: ‘You did have the goal of the game, but that one, wow!’

Lost 4-6 to Wandering Wanderers
CB/AW Joint MOM
CB 1, AW, TW 1, CG 1, DC 1, SB

You know that feeling when a wave takes you? Or when you catch a wave? I think it’s more accurate to say “it takes you” because at the point of catching or being taken you really lack any control over what is to come. You’re flowing with it. Flying. Surfing. But meanwhile the mind is strangely calm.. “Wow I’m floating, I’m flying. I’m in the air. Does this mean I’m about to get badly injured? Am I? Will I not get up from this? Is this the end of my Futsal career? Will I be going straight to hospital after this?” All that thinking in the fraction of a second spent flying through the air. But then.. bam, crash, rolling, sliding, coming up for air. “I’ve grazed my elbow. That’s it. I’m OK.”

Dear reader, I shall not trouble you with the details of the post-coital exchange. Let’s just say there was a yellow card (not for me), verbal hostilities followed by handshakes and shoulder clapping. It ended well. Although we lost the game 4-6. The scores had been tied at 3-3 and 4-4. But in the end the Wandering Wanderers were the better team on the day. It was a forfeit so we got the points. But the game was played in the spirit of fierce competition not a “friendly” by any stretch. All Nannas put in maximal effort and commitment.

Some highlights. Wal blistering the back door with a stunning shot just wide of the goal from a pass from Sol. Chassy’s cross court pass to Tao who completed a complex Irish jig before expertly nudging the ball into the goal with his knee. Gilly’s bedroom bossanova moves to save countless goals. Cocky winning the ball and slamming the goal into the net. Sol’s composure on the ball when gaining possession and making the pass.

Afterwards we took it to sushi ten for raw fish, rice and cold Japanese tea. A balmy afternoon turned into a cool evening and we retired to the footpath outside out Red something on St George’s for a beer and a blanket for Wal from the Emasculator.

ABKIT.

Attendees: CB 1, DC, JH 2 (MOM), AW 1, CARL 1 (MOM), JOEL (GK MOM).
Score: Nannas 5 plays Sporting Kunse 2/3 (?)
The game’s afoot: follow your spirit, and upon this charge cry ‘God for Brown, ABKIT, and The Mighty Fighting Nannas!’
So, here I was, with a stomach filled with a packet of chips (at about five p.m. wandering out of work I suddenly felt peckish, and the Seven Eleven, like a Siren, called to me. I spied donuts, chocolate beckoned, as did many fizzy drinks, but I thought a small pack of crisps would do it).
They did indeed! After the briefest of warm ups, we turned to face our foes, and whereas two minutes previous I had butterflies, now the fried potatoes sitting in my stomach hung heavy.
I ran, but it didn’t feel good. Lumbering more than sprinting, I felt a snail barely discernible in its movement, but there was Cocky taking off down the right side. I knew I’d never get to the mouth of goal, so meandered to somewhere near its front. I’m not sure how the Cock saw me, but he crossed and I thought, sheesh, I’m in the right place at the right time, how on god’s green earth did that happen? I hit it with the right. It struck the left upright, the net billowing soon after.
1-0.
The Nannas were passing well, our substitute keeper held up his end (he and Gilla would do well to discuss distribution, as Gilla could learn one or three million things from him). Carl used his foot skills (sublimely), and Chassy ran (hither and dither).
I would have thought him (the Renking Penis of Lady Chastity) a worthy MOM last eve. He still sometimes is too much action when a breathe and look up would better suit, but his shoot first, ask questions after did produce our second goal.
We were winning the battle of the midfield. For the most part our passes stuck. And they, while young and somewhat faster than us, were feeling pressure.
In the middle of the half, our enemies lost it in their back third (as they did a lot), and Chassy popped up and without a second thought struck deep and true (yes, I know what you’re thinking, and you’d be right). The net billowed.
2-0.
By this stage, the crisps dwelling in my guts were settling, and my legs were propelling me slightly faster, and like the Nannas, I went into the break starting to get on top of things.
Oranges were administered at the interval, as were words of encouragement, and I went off for the first two minutes of the second half.
I’m not sure if it was my absence (it probably was), or the oranges and what was said (not likely), but in those first two minutes after break, we gave up two goals and our lead.
2-2
So, I had to come on again, which wasn’t easy for me all night. I’m not sure Cocky knows this (probably best not to tell him), but he is difficult to dislodge from court. You can yell at him, ‘Sub Cocky!’ He looks like nothing’s happened. You scream again, ‘COCKY sub!’ He stays on the far side of the court, his eyes avoiding yours. And once more you shriek to the depth of your lungs, ‘COCKY, you motherfvcking, motherfvcker, drag your sorry arse to the side of the court.’ He keeps playing, with a hand shielding his face, so you can’t see what he’s looking at.
Eventually, after getting the ref to stop the game, I had to walk on court, tap him heavily on the shoulder, at which point he turns, like he’s deaf, and says, ‘What, me?!’
Anyway, once I came on all was right in the world. My stomach had managed to coat said crisps in some intestinal juices, and move them toward the intestine, and again, we controlled the midfield, our marking and defence stifling most of their attack.
Carl and his sublime foot skills once more appeared before me, in the enemy’s half of the court. I could see Carl thinking, how can I turn my opponent (more on this in a bit), but as I stood behind him I softly called to him, ‘Carl, I am free.’ Duly, he fed the ball back, where I duly slammed it low and hard, to once more billow the net.
3-2.
Players were beginning to tire, and the game had opened up. One of their men had some moves and speed (and rather a strong shot. From one free kick he managed to almost fell me, after kicking it straight at my nuts. I had both hands covering the testis, but it still felt like my balls needed to retreat in the recesses of my lower guts) and threatened but Joel (let’s call him second string) had it under control.
That’s when we put them to bed. First, Carl and those sublime skills found himself in their half of the court, with his back to goal and one man to beat. Sublime skills turned that one man, and he found himself one v one with their keeper. His left foot billowed the right side of their net.
4-2.
And then there was Andy. I haven’t mentioned the Andy yet, and this is not because he didn’t play well, or wasn’t integral to our win, he was (I was just saving the best for last).
The match was no longer in the balance. We knew we were better than them, that we would score more, and Andy kept popping up left side close to their by-line looking for an opportunity to finish with a flourish.
I got one to him, but he was blocked out by two of the enemy. The next time he found himself in a similar position, two of them would only be one, their keeper. Andy toyed with him: the feints, the step overs, the drop of the shoulder, it was all there. And just when he’d tied the keeper up in knots, and finally sat him on his arse, Andy picked his spot, shooting high into the net, for the most prestigious and exclamation point billow of the night.
5-2.
I don’t remember how they scored their third, or if they even did. It mattered little. We went happily to the NSC to eat steak and talk of separation packages and energy.

Sol, Chas, Andy, Jim, Gilla, Frasay, Cocky (2)

8 – 2 Nanna win (via forfeit)

MOM to Reacharound

“A warm welcome to Guy Fraser, as he returns to these shores and can bring his Reacharound knowledge to all of us now, as he performs on the court yet again. We dedicate this next single to him, and his return, it’s Stinky Jim…”

– Chris Gill, Triple RRR 17/08/2023

With my good name besmirched and being scribbled down on sex pervert watch-lists all over Melbourne, I had nothing left to lose, except my life. And I went into battle fully knowing that I may die that Thursday gone. And like anyone who’s about to truly die, my life as a Nanna flashed before my eyes…the first game ever where all our faces went purple because we hadn’t done any exercise for 10 years. That time I accidentally sodomised a player on the field, repeatedly. The time we played on the grass because the indoors were being painted. That same time Cocky turned up with the O belt haircut. All those car rides to the games with cars packed full of nans. All those shaving variations of our interpretations of police respect. The Book. All those insane fucking saves Gilla did…you know, if life really is like a Cinema Paradiso movie, some old man will one day come up to Gilla and tell him there was cctv filming every nanna game, and the old man, let’s call him Bertie will present an edit from the CCTV footage to Gilla of every goal save he’s ever made for the Nans. And Gilla will chuck that tape into an old vcr, and take a trip of a lifetime down memory lane, watching thousands and thousands of goal saves. And he’ll cry like only a legend can cry. And yes, in the last game, Gilla probably saved 30 more to add to the tape. Cocky had a hell of a game racking up two certifiably insane goals. Andy was solid as Andy always is. Sol and Chas were tight on field, and lovely hosts off the field. Jim looked kinda like a reanimated zombie out there, where the reanimation serum was actually Chassie’s jizz, administered rectally into Jim. I’m calling this new Jim thing, “JizZombie”. No idea what this means, but it’s been manifested now and there’s nothing I can do about that now JizZombie. I was running on fumes by second half and really just phoning it in, but I lived to tell the tale. We all did. Post match we looked at art and ate Korean bbq. It’s been a hell of a 23 years Nans, and I wish I’d been around for more of it, but thanks for the good times. A-B-K-I-T – Always be Keeping it tight.

THE NANNAS vs DYNAMO TEHRAN

4.        v.        4

DC (1), RH (2), CG (1), TW, JM, CB

We turned up thinking we were playing the top of the table unbeatables and we realise that through a Joelism we were playing our old foes. A team we played and beat only two weeks ago. Oh how we love to battle again Ray and Big Chest, and their mates…..Oh and add in a new new white shorts to the mix, he had a spin twist move that proved slipp

Of course we began on top. The captain sank the boot into one early and we were away! Tnen they got two sneaky ones and we went into half time at 1-2.  They snuck one more on the board to put us under a bit of heat. But then there was a BROWN AVALANCHE, splurging all over them with us bussin’ at 4-3. In the last two seconds they scored the equaliser which kicked us in the nuts and actually both of us as there really was no winner today. Tao the bravest Nanna redid his same calf muscle tear from 3 weeks ago and then one of the Dynamo Tehran soldiers POPPED his calf rather a little worse it seemed.

Tao was the first Nanna that I drove home that night. I cradled him home then suckled him to sleep.

Chassy was the next Nanna I drove home that night. Both of them with their bikes in the car. Two cycle knights down! Chassy’s back but he will be back.

Nannas were brave, some say braver than others.

Nannas 5 play Harchester United 2

CG, JH: 3, TK, TW 1, Prince, Jerry

Playing with the Nannas last night was like slipping into an old forgotten glove: at first glance it looked old and wrinkly but felt so smooth once slipped on.

And the question came to me on my long drive home last night, are the Nannas ageless?

Admittedly when playing indoor, the court is small. Like infinitesimal in comparison to eleven a side. The distances travelled miniscule, the ball, flat and heavy, a reflection that to move too far in one direction you’re soon likely to reach a sideline or the end of a court.
Still, there’s lots to be said for operating in small spaces, seeing tiny expanses stretch before you, from which the scope of play is measured in half yards.

While the Nannas might not be able to zip through these half yards like youngers anymore, they know how govern them like men in their prime, with puffed chests, feet still large and moving in the correct direction to intercept any through ball, and sculpted legs spread at just the right angle to display loins potent but far past procreation.

The first half was even. The Prince found himself down the left hand side early on and made it count.

The Little Green men responded soon after, with their best player beating Jim down their right to place a sideway firmly erect shot searing past Gilla.

The Greens as I recall them were a better bunch than what they turned out last night. Their best player is still there, long red locks and all, but their other threat from the days gone by absent. He was tall, with dark hair and good foot skills, and could shoot too.

Apart from the dude with the long red locks, AKA their best player, no one else in their team seemed capable of much. In fact, the brother of said red locks, AKA their best player, seemed to provide as much trouble for his own side as red locks, AKA their best player, was a plus. The brother could pass, but that was about it. For the most part he concerned himself with trying to push Nannas over and subsequently fighting with the ref, and getting chewed out by his brother, red locks, AKA their best player.

Anyway, we found ourselves starting the second half, and I did think, would the Nanna wilt like had happened so many times before? Our second halves post 40 years of age not a strong point.

The answer: a polite no.

We went on to score four, while Gilla at the back continued to defy time, his creaking back and any assault on his goal. Three times he pulled off multiple saves (one that turned into a goalmouth scramble), which a much lesser keeper would have had trouble getting a finger nail to the initial strike.

As to the goals. I got the mighty, most hallowed hattrick.

The first from a free kick, blasted past the marker and keeper. The second from some lovely crosscourt passing between Jim and the Prince, with Jim finishing. And the third from Jim, from the right moving onto his favoured left, squeezing his shot onto the inside of their back post, which turned in from the rebound (a truly lovely and most satisfying goal).

And then there was Tao, ageless, wrestling with the Green’s best player over the ball close to their goal. Like he so often does, he won the battle, and then all he had to do was toe poke under their keeper, which he did with ease, for a fine goal.

They got one late, but by that stage the Nannas knew they had it won, Gilla wisely letting them have one to let the Greens think there was something in the match, but in truth there was only team that was going to win.

In6-4 Win
CB(2)   EC(1)   DC   CG   RH(2)   TW(1)
Mom Hinkley

First game back for the captain after an injury plagued summer, and what a way for the Nannas to welcome a captain back. The big take-away from the game being that some moves need practice, it is an often quoted line – “practice, makes perfect” and in the case of the Look Away Backheel In Attack (LABIA) it could not be truer.

In the past I have come under some criticism for being too LABIA focused, too quick to go for the LABIA when the circumstances haven’t possibly been appropriate. Team members have talked about more conservative approaches, asked me to put the LABIA away and focus on the team game more. Thursday night was my validation the night that I could unveil the full beauty of my LABIA under the dim and gentle lighting of the Brunswick High School sports Arena. I will quote the perfumed and eloquent words of Chris Gill in the description of how the LABIA unfolded as he was best placed to see it in its entirety.

“Then it happened. Ball start in the center Dan gave it to Chassy. Then the captain ran all along the right flank streaming towards goal. He looped from near the sideline to directly in front of goal. Chassy saw the opening. From the center he slid a ball towards the captain that was perfect, the Cappy did not break stride, in fact he did a look away as the ball came to him.
He was gracing across the goals and was looking up over the refs head but his foot was all business, producing the BACKHEAL LOOKAWAY !!! The goalie was wrong footed and could only look on in helpless slo mo as the ball curled into goals in a painstakingly slow manner. Continuing, Hinkley did not break stride as he didn’t even look behind him, knowing exactly what was happening he jogged slowly back to the half again,
People roared. People cheered but every member of their team applauded. It was brown poetry. Never to be forgotten. Etched in the minds of all present and now in the folklore of Tapatalk…… the tome of truth.”

But in truth this was a true team affair. Gilla super strong at the back, on his knees, on his arse, on his game, saved several one-on-one scenarios, delivered some beautiful long balls including one to the captains head that resulted in the opening goal of the game. The Crooks duo lit up the forward line with some exceptional cross court ball movement, putting the family back in familiar. Chassey ran like a gazelle across the Savannah, spurred on by his young buck on the sidelines and Tao avoided tangling with any saplings on his way down the well groomed Brunswick slopes. Goals to Weis, Brown and Crooks(junior) with a brace for the captain.

The evening was followed by a simple dinner of burgers where the Walmartin surfaced with some inciteful critiques of the melbourne gelato scene.

vs Harchester United

5-4 Victory

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

SB MOM

On thursday we may not have had all the numbers, but the nannas commited to the game and each and everyone of us wore our hearts on our sleeves we played immaculate futsal, with hard dedication, great passing and several finesse finishes. It was a great game and we won by only a few goals but those goals mattered the most.
Chris Gill scored an amazing finish. I scored 2 great goals, Si scored 1 good goal and Tom scored 1 goal as well. Overall it was a really fun game and i think its safe to say everyone really enjoyed the match.

The Nannas v White line Fever

4 v 3

SJG, CG (mom), DC (2), CB (1), TW (1)

One of the greatest victories of these tight Brown fucs.

Not a sub in sight, so fear not, the Nanna’s didn’t. First half was not our finest. They turned us, they burned us. They got two in the whole hole. We stood in the half time huddle at 0-2 and yet the Nannas were calm and realised we were still in this.

Si was TREMENDOUS. His ability to be the last defensive touch was outstanding. So many times his little toe was in their way. It was a physical affair, played in good spirits and I must say, from my point of view, everyone was smiling. Chassy was using his arms as his clearing zones, sort of like a snow plough, but with arms. The ref, Stan, agreed that it was all above board. Dan was a powerhouse up forward using his old man cunning to outwile those younguns. Tao kept running all games, he was like Rob De Castella without the Commonwealth Games medal around his neck.

After the abominable start I think we got four goals in . It was pretty fine. Then with 5 minutes on the clock they started to press. Their baby legs had all the energy. We were like erotic sloths.  Being extremely conservative in judging when we would run. There were not many times in those last five minutes that we did run, at all. We had no subs. We nearly didn’t make it. There was an absolute avalanche on our goals in the last two minutes and I’m quite sure used my face right on the line to stop their last shot. I think I kissed it off.

special mention to the Nannette’s too. They always provide constant belief in our sort of abilities.

Si saved me and Tao from going to another pub for dinner with his reference to Howler’s asian fusion menu. Howler decided that tonight was BURGERS ONLY. But it was enough, even though our opposition dinned there as well. We were winners that night.

Nannas 3 plays someone 5

Att: CB, DC, CG, JH (MOM), RH, TH, TK, AW (MOM)

A night of nostalgia. That’s what it felt like looping in with Gilla for the 8:40 game. The drive from north to south was hot. There was traffic too. Gilla skirted it with ease (something I am not sure he would have done 15 years ago). We crossed the Yarra, feeling like it could have been 20 years ago (has it really been that long?).

Then we arrived, not at the Pits, but at the Maori Chief (would have done it the other way around in the past?). It was open (though) at that time of night, so we took pictures to send to our brothers in arms, and walked in. The place was the same, albeit, it had more screens, and less people (not sure how it stays open). We ate (steak sandwiches), we drank (well, I did), and played pool (I took the first game, but from there it was all downhill, as Gilla sensed himself challenged and firmly rubbed that challenger [me] into the dust).

So, we got to the Pits, about half an hour early. It was hot and still, and the moon (half mooned) hung cold and distant in the sky. Underneath, little groups of mixed teams hung around (it could have been 16 years ago, and a Sunday).

Other Nannas arrived in dribs and drabs. First Chas and Kondo, and then the riders: Cocky, Coach and Captain. We had ourselves a team (I am remembering it like it was 17 years ago, except for the loss and greying of hair). We kicked the ball around, we bought gatorades and sugary snakes, talked shit, and waited for the game to begin (definitely 17 years ago, but without the butterflies we had back then). And, and, Andy, turned up late (pick your date) but didn’t play.

The game started at 8:40, seemed like an appropriate time for the Nannas given our history, except now, most of their children can look after themselves, our wives/partners (mostly) aren’t eagerly awaiting our return (to help with said kids), and (most) Nannas aren’t exhausted from getting up at 5 am each morning.

Yet, inexplicably, some Nannas appeared exhausted, disinterested even (no timestamp here). They were statues, standing, rooted to the spot for the most part (I won’t put a time stamp on this, as this has been happening forever). Chassy said afterward, well I think he said this, that on court he is constantly aware of his surroundings, and where everyone is, so he can move in accordance with the game and be ahead of it (well, that’s what I took him to mean).

As Dan Carlin would say, Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm, but the Nannas would do well to follow his perception.

We were better than the opposition. I don’t remember them really getting the better of us, in terms of their skill or their play or tactics (sort of like the Nannas, pick your date). Yet, they hustled and bustled (the Nannas of five, maybe ten years ago). They took their opportunities (sometimes, sometimes not for the Nannas). They also were constantly after us, locking us down (again, sometimes, sometimes not for the Nannas).
The Nannas on this night wanted to play with smiles on their faces (timestamp here is on and off, as this is not really the Nanna way, unless we are winning). But the question should be asked, does shit football make you smile? Oh my god, I am so sorry, but there was some pretty shit football out there. We really should have done better.

On recent previous occasions (that I have played, at least) we have had possession and used the ball well (no time stamp here, as this is relatively new for the Nannas), we have had cohesion, even teamwork (multiple timestamps here, as backing our Brown Brothers has never been in question), we have even played skilfully (intermittent timestamps here). Not on this evening.

Maybe the heat had overcome us. Maybe the directive to play with a smile on our face was making us feel fake. Maybe the inherent anger that would be our lot if we offered (offered is probably not the most accurate word) a teammate criticism (even if there was also congratulations and encouragement mixed in with this) was overcoming us, clouding our judgement. Maybe it was Tao, who didn’t want to play (because, apparently, he had been so angry last time and needed to go have a long, hard look at himself), had made us feel like we were missing something, something from our past (fierceness, ferocity, fury perhaps)?

Sure, we have to temper (pun intended) that and him (and me alongside him), but just saying, outright and arbitrarily, to always play with a smile on our faces, is just stupid. We are Nannas with emotions, especially on court; it’s how we use these emotions to our best advantage, or bring them back from negativity, is the trick.

Anyway, after, we tried to go to haunts of times past, but the Chief was shut and the Railway was shutting, as was the next place. It did seem like the Bars/Pubs of Melbourne were saying to us, ‘you have too much history, we can feel your dark, downtrodden, mixed feelings from here,’ and closed their doors to us.

Nannas 3 plays Copa Cobana 5

Att: CB, CG, JH (MOM), RH, TH, TW

So, 5:30 pm and we were waiting for Otis. He needed a haircut but, wait for it, he was late. A teenager late, to his own haircut, I hear you say. Fuck off! No, it’s true.

Gilla was looking at his phone, looking at me, looking up the street, scrutinising every tram but where was he? Finally, he figured out what the communication device in his hand was for and called his tardy son. Soon enough, walking like Sarah down the street, the young man arrived.

He sat himself in the chair, as Gilla instructed the hairdresser: 20 minutes, you’ve got 20 minutes, OKAY! Well, 15 minutes was all she needed to bring out a left leaning rats tail and a young man befitting his station.

After he was dusted off and the cut hair removed, we piled into the Emasculator, as Gilla wound it and himself into a frenzy. Speed humps: he doesn’t slow for them. Oncoming traffic: ever heard of Chicken? Sidestreets, tight squeezes and chances: he took ‘em. Drivers going at least 20kph below the speed limit: he got up their arses. Yes, my heart rate was raised by at least 30 BPM, and we almost collided with at least three cyclists.

When we got there Phil, the moustachioed one, wandered into the bathrooms whilst Gilla was in a stall, doing his business. The door was ajar, and as he stood to pull his strides, the moustachioed one looked in. Well, all that was heard were: ‘I can see your penis! I can see it!’ He was visibly shaken.

Obviously not shaken and stirred enough, or maybe he was rising to the occasion, if you take my meaning.

Either way, the Nannas should have done better.

Jim in the first moments had the ball at his feet, with only Joel in front of him, stranded, feet rooted to the spot in goals. Both Jim and Joel thought, fuck! Jim kicked it into the post. It came back to him. He kicked it again, directly at Joel. Cocky said the second ones are always the hardest but he should have buried the first one.

Jim, though, did redeem this lapse, slotting the first for the Nannas, when the opposition were loose at the back, and he did swoop and shoot truly, this time, from an acute angle.

As the game progressed the Nannas were finding space. Every time I looked up I saw a Nanna running, without an opponent in tow. I remember hitting Hinkley, Coach and Tao in such a fashion. And there was a moment when Tom was one out up front, where I had the ball from a side kick in, but he refused to turn his head back to see if he could get on the end of it. I yelled at him (sorry about that).

There were other chances too. I spurned a second one. I found myself out left and in on goal. I toe-hacked (see Hinkley!!!!). It came off the post and back to my right instep. I hit it again, it bounced off one post, off another, and then back onto first one (told you so, Hinkley). I’m pretty sure it went in (just like Andy Wong in the good old days). I thought the opposition was going to concede. The goalie whacked it out. A second one called play on.

In fact, this was a pattern of the game. We had the better of it. We held the ball well. We passed and created chances but couldn’t finish. Gill was right. He said pre-game Cocky was a big loss. So it proved: Tao was off colour; Chas and Hinkley regularly hit side betting; Gilla, although low (no Andy not low like that), blasted wide again and again.

Maybe Cocky is the ballast that keeps us upright, maybe he steers the ship, leading us through the choppy waters of Division 2 with hair that all Nannas recognise as suitably Cock-like. Whatever it is, we truly missed his two, or three on this particular evening.

Afterward, Gilla and I sat on a step and contemplated how h!gh we could get in five minutes, and then we went ate Greek, listening to Tao complain of a busted rib and Jim talk of a working bee.

Att: CB, DC, CG (2), JH (1, MOM), RH (1), TH, TW

Nannas 4 plays Harchester United 3

You had that feeling that we were better than them, that they weren’t going to rip us open.

It felt like we were on top right from the get go. They had the solitary dude who has something and the angry geezer, he held the ball well.

We held it better. There was Nanna work there tonight. Very strong Nanna work. They hardly went around us, through us, over us.

We went past them, through them, over them on a number of occasions. This was the most in control I have seen the Nannas, in terms of holding the ball.

We passed, we ran, we found space (mostly).

Cocky showed us the way. He was our man in mid-field. He ran the lines. He ran the middle. He held the ball up and then duly delivered time and again. He was unlucky not to get one, two. His full, elongated beard, an inspiration to anyone that sighted it.

Chassy, the immense Chassy. Cocky’s co-pilot. The prowler of mid-field. He got there first a lot tonight, coming from behind (no Andy, not like that). Those surprising long legs, that he’s able to get like, high. He was a cat, pouncing, scratching, purring, meowing, lapping, hissing.

The Captain has regained his speed over the first ten to fifteen. His bum still hangs down but when it’s wound up, slugging away , as his legs pump forward, there is no better sight in world football. His work down the right, with the Cock, getting on the end of one, was a great team goal.

Gilla is bending them, from range too. Twice, twice, after some gentle coaxing (he does take encouraging to ping from distance), he plied his skills, striking twice, twice from halfway. Low and hard, that’s what they call him, low and hard (no Andy, not that kind of low and hard).

Tao likes getting in people’s faces. No really, and he’s fucking irresistible. Hard, doesn’t cover it. Competitive, just a word. Crunch, sort of comes close. Smack, almost gets the job done. Thump, very close.

Tommy, the immovable object, Howie, again showed us his awesomeness, how the greatest player ever to play goes about it. He didn’t score this week but he could have, if he had accepted my invitation. I laid it on a platter for him but like the true gentleman he is, he left it for me.

And so, onto me. I was surprised to get a full eight votes (seven and a half would have been fine). Was it my toe hack from the sideline, squeezed in tight at the back post (Andy, if only you had been there, you would have appreciated the angle, the penetration, and how quickly it happened)? Was it my running through the angry guy right on full time provoking him to throw the ball in my face? Was it like the Coach last week but only it was this week, and everyone appreciated how in the zone, on top of the world, like Superman on steroids I was?

Who knows. Chassy said it was a mercy fuck. I’ll take it.

5-3(?) v Harchester
CB(1?),DC(3,mom),CG, RH, TH, TK,TW(1?)

holy crap, what a game.

So the nannas came into this one on a hot run of form sitting third on the table. Our opposition were siting in second, just above us, but with an unbeaten record. Harchester are a team we’ve played plenty of times in the past, they go pretty hard and it always gets a little heated, sometimes more so than than others. The Celtic hoops have some skilful players and aren’t shy to shoot from outside the box so we knew we’d have our work cut out for us. But holy freaking crap did the Nannas stand up. We totally stepped them the fuck back. So much so that there was never really any doubt. Often the Nannas can go ahead by a couple of goals yet retain an uneasy sense of impending collapse. But not this game, not this night. We freaking bossed this shit and the longer it went on the more frustrated the opposition became, the more kicky and petulant, to the point were it actually started getting totally out of hand. Tao had his legs scythed out from under him, the Coach got slammed so hard he was doing kind of barrel rolls through the air and at one point their goalie through a ball at the author’s head! There were also some big knocks the other way, the ginger haired viking went down a couple of times, once to the sound of slippery slack jaw clacking. It was fucked up, the ref had totally lost control and the game was finally cut short by about a minute to avoid any further escalation of violence.

Afterwards we went to Howler for beer, combustion and the talking of shit. But the game had been so epic and our performance so heroic and the pints so threefold that a cohort of extra brown musketeers made a secondary push to Joe’s for another pint and a final cheeky pot. And as the night was still only young, well actually it was 2AM by this point, the MOM made a tertiary drop-in to Top Shelf™ for a last frisky nightcap and a touch of the archival vapours… suffice to say there were hangovers.

holy crap, what a game.

11-2 v The Eunuchs
cb(1), dc(8 mom), ec(2), rh, tk, tw, prince

An historic game. Not since the days of yore, whence the Nannas graced the Albert Park pits, has a goal haul of such gargantuan girth been recorded. In fact a pendulous collection of this magnitude has never before been seen in the Nannas ledger.  Until this game the most goals scored by a single Nanna in a single match was a brace of hat-tricks , the noble sextet *snigger*. A fact almost enshrined in the MOM voter that, like a standard die, only goes up to 6. A quick sweep of The Book of Nanna failed to illicit any hard proof but it is the understanding of the author that the lofty hexad of goals has been secured on only 3 occasions hence, all in the dim mists of the primordial days of the pits. There have been fours and even the odd five from time to time but nary a 6 in at least a decade. And then this. Not a 6, nor even a 7, neh, this was; an Octave, that miraculous gift of physics to music;  a Byte, that elegant and efficient binary grouping of bits; The Ogdoa, the “little holy number” of the Pythagoreans;  Infinity on it’s side! That’s right people, 8, 8 freaking goals! It was so impressive, the captain bought the author a pint of beer, chasby took a team photo* with his wet plate collodian camera and then we all went home.

*still unposted

9-2 v The Titans
DC(4m), RH(2or3), TW(3or2), AW, TK

Well, what a game. the flurry was titled The Regroup Flurry following the previous week’s abject forfeit* and what a way to regroup. With only a tight 5 in attendance there was initial concern about when we would run out of legs (as befits a team whose members are rapidly approaching the half century). But the opposition turned out to be only 10 years younger and perhaps a rung or two down on the futsal skills ladder. Those 5 – tightest of tight, brownest of brown, nannaest of nanna – freaking dominated. The goals were veritably raining in, with a goodly portion coming via the classic 2 on 1 tap-in. The author (if he does say so himself) was channelling Eden Hazard with his striking accuracy, picking corners of the net, as in actually aiming for them, and then slotting the ball exactly where it was meant to go. Like playing pool on about the 4th beer where every shot is just coming off. Of course the fact that the opposition didn’t really do a lot of running back and the goalie didn’t really come off his line… be damned, it was freaking Eden Hazard** out there. The Captain and Taoser tucked away 5 between them (I can’t remember who got the hattrick), Andy was tackling like a machine, especially their one very large aggressive ginge and Kondo was imperious as usual in goal, particularly in the close quarters hand to hand combat situations. what a game.
Après we went to curry cafe and did a lot of waiting but were finally rewarded for our well worn patience with some delicious Indian and red ales. there was talk of camping and renovations, crap black mirror seasons, flotation chambers. Nannas were shocked to discover other nannas don’t have netflix subscriptions. Brett the douchebag crybaby Kavanaugh was rightly talked shit about and Mr Trump continued to flabber everyone’s gasts. The coach spent his birthday cleaning up vomit.

commentator 1:  “It’s called a grand final”
commentator 2:  “yep”

* I think there have only been 2 forfeit’s in the last 18 years, so this was the third… those involved shall remain nameless but shall hang their heads in shame.

** I love Eden Hazard. Not only does he have the maddest skills (and a very low centre of gravity) but whenever he scores a goal instead of thanking jesus he smiles impishly and sticks out his tounge.

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

Nannas 9 plays B West 2

Preamble: it was my penultimate day at the Department, and as so often happens in this situation everyone wanted me to do something for them. To shake this off I went visiting Jezza at the Great Northern for a couple of drinks and smokes.

I did think I may have overdone it as I was feeling just a little jaded riding up to Brunswick but once I arrived I seemed to perk up somewhat. I dunno if it was the stadium, the sight of fit young men playing soccer, or just being in the presence of Nannas. Whatever it was, I started to really feel like playing.

The game: the opposition were five; there were a man down but had a ringer. We were seven. Tao had his times all mixed up and had to do the late extraction but El was more than willing to deputise, that is, after he digested his KFC but let us not hold his dietary choices against him. In those first five minutes El was our shining light. While most of the Nannas lumbered across the court, El belied his tender years and flew from confrontation to challenge, from pass to intercept, and then got our first goal. In these early stages in the match, when we went two goals down, he almost single-handedly brought us back into the game.

It was also El, displaying this same exuberance of youth, that led to a major flashpoint. It was about 10 minutes in and El was hustling and bustling this dude for the ball. Chassy was also there trying to wrest it away as well. El challenged, and then he challenged a third, fourth, and fifth time. Eventually the whistle blew and when it did there was the normal disengagement of bodies, but also the need of opponent to detach from opponent, you know, give him the good ol’ chest push. El gave him one, the dude gave him one back. This is where it would usually end with one or two parting words and a couple of dirty looks shot in the other person’s general direction but on this occasion the dude decided that wasn’t enough for him and that the throwing of blows would be a more fitting finale to their small, and seemingly innocuous meeting. He put his dukes up.

Unsurprisingly Nannas were seen hauling arse from everywhere. In fact, it was the quickest most had seen them moved all night. Phil to his credit stepped in, flashed his red card in the face of the dude and his up-pointed dukes and that was that.

The big question on everyone’s lips after this was: would the Nannas be able to make them pay? Would we hold the ball, pass it around, use the extra man to our advantage, or would we throw it away, pass to no one and just generally fuck ourselves? Well, let’s just say that it was a lot of former and a little of the latter. Yes, there were some few shit moments of play where we couldn’t seem to hold onto it, but for the most part our passing was on target, our teamwork was shit hot and we went on to score eight goals, effectively cutting them up.

Of course, their ringer decided at half time that he would desert the sinking ship that was B West, but Joel did come on for them, and so did one of those very crafty and skilful Iranians but we were too good.

I do remember some great goals: by father and son duo Cocky and El; a couple of toe pokes by yours truly; a fine ball from El setting up the right foot volley also by yours truly; but then there was the full length cross-court pass, with a header to finish.

Yes, this was the goal of the game (which probably earned me MOM) but it was a goody. Gilla fed me at the back. One of their players rushed forward to close me down but I could see Cocky in space at the other end of the court, a couple of metres to the left of goal. I pinged it long and hard, figuring that Cocky would pull it down, turn and shoot. He did nothing of the sort. He threw his sizable melon at it, connecting just at the right angle to force the ball into the back of the net. Cocky did mention after the game that their keeper was well out of position but still, it was a great goal.

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

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

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

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

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

Nannas 5 plays Green guys 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Notes:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nannas 4 plays RMIT 12

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nannas 3 plays New Team 5

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

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

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

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

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

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

We got three but were largely ineffectual in attack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ole Big Burly Chest wasn’t there

It didn’t matter

Cos we was

There.

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

Raining goals down upon them

Like a rainstorm,

An unholy tempest.

Nay we were.

’tis the truliest thing i ever spake.

Ay.

Dat’s roight.

Oh we won it.

We won it roight up in ’em.

Ah we did.

Left me happy all the next day.

Happy as a lark.

As sunshiny as a new born son.

All happy and squelchy and shiny.

Dat’s roight.

We beat ’em good nar.

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.

Someone 6 plays Nannas 0

Att: CB, DC, JH, RH, TH, TK, TW

Introductory comments:
The Nannas were looking to bounce back after a particularly terrible performance the week prior. It wasn’t just the score that looked miserable in hindsight but the way we went about it. Once the Nannas went behind, all our bad habits started to re-emerge: Gilla and Tao had a fight over who was take a free kick, and then carried that into the half time talk, and I had to stand between them to try to get them to focus on more constructive matters; speaking of halftime, we had three people, Gilla, Coach and Captain, all vying to try to give the pep talk (I really hate saying this but if you’ve said something the week before, and the week before that, and the week before that, and what you’ve said is not really that strategic/tactical, maybe it’s time to focus on something else, or just shut up already! I am so sorry); and then Coach and Cocky started arguing about something in the second half (I didn’t catch what they were on about but it did seem a little puerile and a lot pathetic).

So, on the day of this game, Jim wrote a long post on the flurry, and curiously he was only banished for a few minutes. Obviously, he wasn’t trying to be a smart arse, which he often finds hard to resist; instead he was honest in his suggestions that the Nannas should wake up to themselves and stop with the taking themselves so seriously and the grumpy old man routine. It had only been a month or so prior that they had been accused of being bullies, so after seeing this performance he felt compelled to say something.

The game:
Before kick off the Captain pulled everyone close and repeated Jim’s very wise words, telling all Nannas that they needed to look deep within themselves to rediscover their inner child and an Espirit de Nanna, which had been so sorely lacking on a number of occasions over the last months.

The game itself should have gone better for the Nannas. The first two goals against us were entirely preventable; our marking in front of goal from set pieces is at present wholeheartedly shit. Essentially, as happened the week before, we got behind our opposite number, leaving our keeper stranded one-on-one at point-blank range. The Nannas who let these goals in, and they know who they are, who had similar lapses last week, need to sharpen the FUCK up. It might seem obvious to say but if you are not as fast as your direct opponent, it’s probably a good idea to give that player a yard or two.

We probably should have pulled one back during this time. The ball fell most fortuitously to Jim who was standing just outside their defensive perimeter for a corner. He hit it pretty sweet with his big toe. It beat everyone, especially their keeper but cannoned off the back post.

Jim would do this twice more before the end of the game. Once when he was one on one with one of their defenders with the keeper still to beat. He thought about trying to go around the defender but once more unleashed his big toe. Like in the previous instance he beat the keeper but not the crossbar. On a third occasion, he was over to the left. He had found space. Tao picked him out. This time, he used his instep, but much to everyone’s bemusement, while the ball a third time eluded everyone, it seemed only destined to ricochet off metalwork and away from goal. The only other real chance we had was Coach trying to chest home from a corner. While he got his chest in good position, he never really found the angle or a sweet spot from his left nipple; he probably should have gone with the right but it’s a hard shot and Coach would have produced a miracle if he had of pulled it off.

Discussion
One could make the argument that had Jim (and Coach, and maybe Cocky too) converted, the Nannas might have been more competitive and I find this case compelling. It would have given us hope and would have encouraged us to pass more, as we were finding space and did have time on the ball, especially in the first half. What’s more, their third and fourth goals did come from the bounce of the ball going their way but they were able to finish these, unlike Jim.

Moreover, the further we found ourselves behind, the more we exposed ourselves trying the long or miracle ball but most of the time we only succeeded in giving the ball away, which effectively led to their last two goals.

Post match
We went to the Union and talked about Takeshi’s wedding and bucks.

Vs jalãpeno chinos
4-4 draw
Cb 3, dc 1, tw, rh, jh, cg, tk
Cb mom

“It’s a win!” pronounced the captain immediately following tonight’s game. “A draw is a win for us!” he enthused.

For the chinos it seemed more like a loss. Having been recently demoted from div 1 they didn’t seem too happy to be shaking the hands of the nannas as equals on their descent.

We certainly had to fight hard for it. They had some skills, some fitness and they were motivated. But they were up against “ole king lion” at his wiliest. And you need more than just skill, fitness and motivation to wrestle a victory from the giant maw of the king. You also need structure, vision and guile.

Where the nannas lack fitness and occasionally skill, we make up for it with structure, old man wiliness and nearly two decades of experience!

Plus our not so secret weapon. The ultimate goal stopper, the firewall, the Gillkeeper. The keeper of the gill! Sucking oxygen from the atmosphere, the mighty gill feeds its own need for oxygen while depriving the lungs of the enemy. And snuffing out their attacking firepower.

It’s supernatural. The enemy lines up a shot, smashes it in, perfectly weighted, perfectly placed. It is surely unstoppable. No human could stop that ball. But then. Dah duh-duh-duh! The Gill wobble- stretch-leaps like a jellyfish-spider-leopard in all its glory scrubbing the ball from its velocious trajectory and then landing teddy bear like, angelic, in a louche resting pose and patting said ball affectionately and with great pride, a genial smile warmly spreading across his face like the feel of urine in your own pants.

Meanwhile, the anger and frustration cracked the manly masks of the chinos leaving them whimpering and subsiding into pre school paddies and bitter “not fair”s and anguished “that shoulda gone in”s.

A draw! A mighty draw!

Att: JH, RH, TH, AW (Coach)

Nannas 0 plays Bens Babes 25 +

My day was spent at work, publishing web pages, dealing with staff and trying to walk back the Nannas from their rage over perceived poor treatment by Joel. It was an interesting conversation. According to some, the Nannas had been wronged, and the only course open to them was their continued anger and hatred toward their persecutor.
Note: those who felt most aggrieved felt themselves most justified in their position.

Before that we had spent the best part of the week trying to get subs, ring ins, pinch hitters, deputies, old friends, new friends, our kids, players from the opposing team but no one would come to our aid. And so it came to pass that for the first time in the history of the Nannas were a paltry three for a final. Of those we did have not all of us were of sound constitution—the Captain having contracted a virus of the intestinal variety in Vietnam.
Note: the Breaking of Nanna by-law #56 was almost as bad as the now infamous Chasm incident.

It was hot, damn hot. The mercury was well in excess of 40 degree c. The stadium had exhaust fans in full operation but that only brought down the temp to something in the 35–40 range.

We were able to draft in the ref to play in goals for us but he knew as we all did that we were a shadow of our former selves and nothing would prevent the pounding we were about to endure. And so it proved. The opposition had a good seven players, of which they made full made of, and of which they used to excellent effect. They had the ball, they had control, and from a couple of minutes in they had put at least five past us.
Note: the ref stopped tallying the goals only a few minutes into the game, so it is impossible to tell how many they got.

At around the mid-point of the first half, Tom’s mate, Pat, decided, in his mercy, to join our team. It did give us parity in terms of our numbers but it didn’t really help. Pat ran with us, he tried to pass to us, he occasionally took the ball off an opponent and while all of this did help, it really wasn’t ever going to affect the final result.

As the match wore on, and they put more goals past us, they become more and more confident, and we drained our energy and sweat until we had nothing left. Whereas in the first half, we put the occasional pass together, and had a shot or two on goal, in the second stanza all we could do was try not to lose the ball, but when we did the result was the back of our net bulging again and again.
Note: it’s hard to run when you’re hot, out of breath and the opposition is giving you a towelling; it can be even harder when, like the Captain, you’re recovering from severe gastro-intestinal upheaval.

In the end, it was a killing but an honourable one. We brave three were thanked by the opposition for turning up, even though we only had slightly better than half a team.
Note: according to the Coach, Bens Babes hate our guts, and want to do us harm, but on this evening it could be said that we gained their (grudging) respect.

After, we went to the Retreat, and Captain immediately began the rehydration process with pint after of pint of sugar laden drinks, water and the odd beer.
Note: the Captain did look particularly unwell mid-point through the second half.

We did return to the subject of Joel, well, I did. It was pointed out to me that Joel should have more attentive in his referring. I did try to say that this point should have been made calmly but firmly to Joel in the aftermath of the game, and if it wasn’t heeded it should be raised with his supervisor.
Note: the Nannas never really thought of this, which is somewhat surprising.

I then informed the Nannas that in the aftermath of that game they were now considered bullies, and their behaviour had caused anxiety and mental unrest.
Note: beware the GRUMPY NANNA.

vs Lieutenants

lost 2-4

CB, DC 1, CG 1, TW, AW, TK, RH, TH
MOM: CB/DC

The Lieutenants are at the top off the table but we gave them a pretty good run for their money.

In French, the word Lieutenant means place holder. That is, the person who stands in for the captain. The English pronounce it “Leftenant” because they want to distinguish themselves from the French. While the Americans pronounce it “Lootenant” which is actually closer to the French pronunciation.

But. What do I remember from the game? I remember Kondo doing a lot of powerful running. I remember Cocky scoring a phenomenal goal. Oblique angle and slotted like he really meant it. Even the ref was seen nodding his head appreciatively. I remember Gilly scoring a goal. He threw the ball down the court and their keeper tried to pick it up but it snaked between his legs and into the back of the net.

I remember feeling like I had burnt through my fuel, cracked into the reserve tank and then burnt through that. I had to go and open the external door to let some cool breeze onto my overheated system. Then I had to crush up little bits of my soul into pellets and burn those.

I would have been happy to not go on for the last two minutes and let Rhian stay on. But Coach was yelling at me to get on. And so I did.

Tao got a stitch too. So we must have been really pushing it.

I was walking through Docklands this week on Wednesday when I saw a familiar burly chest heading towards me. It was the burly chested guy from Dynamo. We both slowed, recognising each other. I knew he was. He was struggling. Thrust his hand at me and I shook it. “Jarrod” he said. “Soccer” I said. “The Nannas”. And kept walking. Didn’t give him my name.

After the game we took it to Uncle Joe’s. We got the booth. They were serving some archived remnants of Four Pines before they sold out to some big tax avoiding shareholder corporation. It was tasty. And the vibes were good. I remember a lot of laughing. And a lot of advice for Self Help. Gilly was in fine form.

Peace out and keep avoiding massive bolide collisions.

ps. Ok. I have just looked at Cocky’s match report and he reckons we scored three and that I got one of them. Mmm. Wish I could remember.

pps. And Tommy played! Funny, I only remember him coaching. No offence Tommy. I think I mixed some memory tinder into my soul fuel pellets.

ppps. Did anyone see the SBS show on extraordinary people? There is a woman who can remember the details of every day of her life. That would be handy.

19 October 2017, 8:40pm

3-4 v Lieutenants

DC (1,mom), CG (1), CB (1,mom), RGH, TH, TW, TK, AW

the postbox game. like much of the postbox week it’s all a bit of a blur. we played well though and only lacked a touch of luck in front of goal. Coach was doing more yelling than Tao but thankfully didn’t use any gifs on court. Unfortunately, at one point he was so busy yelling Coach failed to realise a tap-in had been put on plate directly in front of him, oh well. Giller really stepped up his distribution with some delightfully weighted throw/pushes (and also, according to shazza, did some equally delightful “cat” jumps). Wal turned up seconds before kickoff and is now watching whales in Byron Bay as only a truly gifted life coach can. sharon kicked a goal ( i think ?) and looked a bit puffed at halftime, rhian, takeshi and the author did some stuff like kicking the ball and running. Tao did do some yelling but not as much as the Coach (and may possibly have scored the goal that I’ve attributed to sharon). Finally, Jim ruined it all by not turning up, something about jizz in his eye… or was it on his shoulders ?

After the game we went to uncle joe’s wherein much hilarity issued. chatling drank more beer in the hour we were at joe’s than in the entire beach box, and unsurprisingly had a much better time. giller and coach resorted to the analog voter at which point giller turned into Brian Epstein schooling Self Help on the most efficacious means by which to launch an EP. more laughing and then we went home.

Harvey Weinstein is going down. Trump is hyper normally arguing with dead soldier’s widows. Turnbull says the NBN was a mistake but blamed labor while unveiling the coalition’s first attempt at an energy policy in 4 years. half the Nannas have seen Bladerunner V2.0 and a few have finished WestWorld. Do we really think, do we really have memories ? Syrian babies are heartbreakingly starving to death and a bear in Myanmar had its 3kg tongue removed in the midst of the rohingya ethnic cleansing. Incredibly Officeworks honours it’s “lowest price guarantee” on items available online from the book depository, making a plain softcover large moleskine notebook less than half price. The arid garden at the royal botanic gardens is no longer replacing cacti due to theft and the pork rolls from the bot cafe are shit. Leroy Sane is the man and Man City are absolutely monstering the premier league.

what is real ?

vs Harchester United 2-4 loss

TK, TW 1, CB 1, SB, TK, JH

Mom: SB

It was an exciting and fun experience and I had lots of fun. They were pretty chunky and big but I didn’t get bashed up too much. It was a pretty intense day because I didn’t have school cause of district athletics and then I had soccer training where we played against the under fourteens (lu’s team) and then I played for the Nannas.
Tao and Chazzy got the goals. They were both quality goals. Gillie did some great saves and was unlucky when they went in.
The squad on Thursday was;
Tao, Sol, Gillie, Chazzy, Jim and last but not least Kondo. After the match I got a steak and pepper pie from the seven eleven and it was bloody five bucks. It was revolting and had lots of fat and not much meat, I had mustard with it. Huge mistake, it made it even worse than it already was.
Kondo got shoved from one of the biggest dudes. They were really rough, fortunately they weren’t rough on me thank god. Kondo had a bit of a swollen knee. (By Solomon)

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╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╱╲╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╲╲╲╱
╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╲
╱╲╱╲╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╲╱╲╱╱╱╱╱
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╲╲╲╲╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╲╲╲╱╲╱╱╲╱╱╱╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╱╲╱╱╲╱╱
╱╱╲╲╱╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╱╲╱╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╲╱╱
╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╲╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╲╱╲╲╱
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╱╲╱╱╲╲╲╲╱╱╲╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╱╱╲╱╱╲╱╱╱╲╲╲╱╱╱╲
╲╲╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╲╲╱╲╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╲
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╲╲╲╱╱╲╲╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╱╱╱╱
╱╱╱╲╲╲╲╲╲╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╲
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╱╱╱╲╱╱╲╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╲╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╲
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╲╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╲╱╲╱╱╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╱
╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╲╲╲╲╲╱╲╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╲╲╲╱╲╱╲
╲╱╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╱╱╲╲╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╲╲╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╲╲
╲╲╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╲╲╱╱╲╱╱╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╲╲╱╲╲╱╲
╱╲╱╲╲╱╲╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╱╱╱╲╲╱╲╱╲╲
╲╲╲╲╲╱╲╲╲╲╲╲╱╱╲╱╱╱╲╲╲╲╲╱╲╲╱╲╱╲╱╲╱╲╲╲

write(String.fromCharCode(0x2571 + Math.round(Math.random())))
after*
10 PRINT CHR$ (205.5 + RND (1)); : GOTO 10

– – – –

4-5 v Harchester – CB,DC,CG,JH,RH,TK,TW
one car drove. pits weirdly dejavu. should have won but lost instead. chief after, more dejavu. chassy got high. tao = northside driving legend. self help demo in car on way home.

– – – –

*   https://vimeo.com/26472518
** https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/PETSCII