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.