Category Archives: match report

Match Report – 10 Nov 2016 – On Winning & Haircuts

 

trump_cocktail

DC 3 mom, CG, JH 1, RH, TH, TK, TW 2, AW
6-2 | 6:40pm v Nunan Street Boys | Brunswick secondary

This week it was all about winning for the Nannas™. Not the sociopathic, narcissistic, megalomaniacal, misogynist, racist, bullying and xenophobic kind of winning where you openly cheat and grab the ref by the pussy. No, the Nannas™ left that kind of winning to someone else*. Instead the Nannas™ stepped from the court with the kind of win that leaves a warm fuzzy glow in your socks and a pleasant lactic aftertaste in the mouth.

We went behind early on but came back with a peach of a volley from Le Coq. Wal had managed to sneak a pass through the hustling attentions of two opposition defenders, it bobbled and bounced into the left corner where he-of-possibly-the-worst-haircut-ever (and I’m not referring here to The Donald®) with his back to goal on quite can acute angle, pivoted and smacked it into the top right corner of the goal. Their goalie didn’t even move! Raucous jubilation ensued on the touchline from the sub-10 year old cheer squad. The Nannas™’ second was a tap in after some nice lead-up play from the Captain and Jimbob. At half time it was 2-2 but shortly after kick off we were back on top following some tasteful footwork from Le Coq – if he does say so himself. But there the score remained for most of the second half. They threatened a few times and the Nannas™ came close on occasion but it was entering SAF’s squeaky bum territory when Tao toe poked the-most-quickly-taken-free-kick-of-all-time through the eye of a needle near post gap and we could breathe a little easier. Jim then did something illusory with his head, it might have been his new bob haircut (putting the bob back in Jimbob) but it appeared to the author as though the ball made contact about half a meter behind Jim’s head ? either way it went in. The rout was sealed in the dying seconds by another sweet strike from Taoser.

In other notes, Kondo was imperious in defence, The coach yelled himself hoarse and Giller didn’t have much to do but did stop one cracker in the top right from very close quarters, accompanied by a sharp fleshy skin slapping noise.

There was also a rather gnarly moment in the first half when one of the opposition went down howling in agony. Literally screaming like a south american howler monkey in labour who’s had both legs blown off by an IED. A suspected dislocated knee! It looked like he was going to be ok once the dust had settled but those initial animal screams were really quite confronting… It should also be noted that late in the second half one of the opposition opined to me (shortly after one of his buddies had shoulder-barged me off the ball) that “you guy’s are the dirtiest team we’ve played”… wtf ???… anyway.

It should also be noted that the ref had a howler and quite clearly doesn’t actually know a number of the basic rules of futsal, and all the nannas yelled at me for not playing the whistle… like hashtag tots whatevs.

Afterwards we went to a new mexican joint on smith street to eat ceviche, drink corn syrup coke and postulate on exactly how much he-of-the-orange-face-and-candy-floss-hair can fuck the planet and it’s inhabitants. The general consensus was to quite a fair degree !

The only consolation in this otherwise profoundly depressing election was the widespread legalisation of university cigarettes.

*you should be very, very careful of what even only a the tiniest little part of you wishes for.

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Match Report 26 Oct 2016

DC, EC, TK, CG, RH, AW

i know, i know. I’ve forgotten everything. I almost forgot the most outrageous near goal ever. author passes to captain, it’s a bit bouncy, a bit shit, but the captain back-heel volley chips his marker, the author running through realising he’ll never control it opts instead for the flying volley see RvP circa ’06 , and holy shit Jay, it almost went in, cue random bystanders losing their minds… ah well.

datestamp: Monday 7 November, tomorrow is the US election and the world teeters on the edge of a freaking apocalypse. I know it’s wrong but there’s a very small and perverse part of me that wants to see what happens when Drumpf is elected and late capitalism finally gets what it deserves… i know, i know.

Match Report 2016_10_16

Vs Unathletico Madrid
loss 9-1 (second half loss 2-0)
CB MOM, DC 1, TK(gk), TH, RH, AW, JH

Goodness me!
Lads of Unathletico Madrid!
You are actually quite athletic.

What does this mean?
Is this irony?
Is this the end of capitalism?
Engel warned us.
Did he not?

It could be like
Gilla calling himself Unfunky,
Or Taozza calling himself Ugliest
Or if we started calling Cocky Vagina.
Speaking of Vagina,
Cocky was the sole penetrant
Of the opposition’s
Goal Mouth.

And with nine seconds to go
Their goalie threw the ball away.
It was our corner.
Too late
We cannot take
That corner.
That seems unsporting good sir!

May be..
They should change their name to
The Good Sports Madrid.

Match report 28-07-16

Attendees: CG, JH 2 (MOM), RH, TH, AW, TW

Result: Nannas 2 plays Dery 1

Another week, another victory for the mighty Nannas.

The Nannas are definitely on a roll. We haven’t won every game over the last four weeks but we haven’t lost one either.

And so it was this week too. We put six on court, in spite of Chassy being off somewhere (seeing something that is best left unsaid; when I was in boarding school there were these two guys who were really into this band, I think they were called the Cure, I never really got what the big deal was, especially seeing that these two guys were into them, which is what I think about anyone who listens to this band now) and Cocky and Kondo having prior engagements.

The Nannas weren’t worried about team-mates missing. They stepped up, they ran, they fucked ‘em hard, and they came out on top.

There was Tao, all purple-faced, running here, running there, screaming his head off, getting some good shots in, giving the opposition what for.

Then the Captain, oh the mighty Captain, what strength, what pace, what fire, what a set of legs. He hasn’t lost it, especially when viewed from behind.

And let’s not forget about Wal, the MAN who all men look up to. The supreme backdoor specialist, and these days one of the Nanna’s best in defence.

The Coach, well, what can you say about him, except that he has the heart of a lion, the balls of a stallion, and the toe of Ronaldo.

And last but by no means least there is the Gilla. Oh Gilla, still the finest keeper in the whole of the APISC, and the worst distributor but slowly but surely working out when to play the percentages or pepper the opposition’s back wall.

These brave Nannas took the lead with an early strike by yours truly. They weren’t really marking up, and I came lumbering up the centre on a corner. Coach rolled one into my path and all I had to do was hit the target.

We almost had another by exactly the same method a few minutes later but Tao didn’t quite make out my immense figure flying through on goal until it was too late, and I snatched at it.

From then, it was end to end stuff, with both teams trying to make inroads but not quite hitting the scoreboard.
They did pull one back after a mis-kick from one of their players that put off Gilla, robbing him of a clean sheet.

I then, duly, stepped up and finished them off. Rhian got the ball just in their half on the left, he whacked it over to me. It came off my elbow, not my hand but, in any case, my arms were by my side. Everyone thought it handball except me and little ref, who said play on. And so I did. From the resultant ricochet off my appendage, it fell to my left, and I was able to steady and bury it.

Then we went to Howler to mix with some very young people and talk about the impending Beach Box.

Match Report 21 07 16

3-3 Draw ? maybe or 4-3 loss – realistic. RH(MOM) JH(1) TH PHIL(2) CG TK TW

First game played in the new Strip (by one player). Phil donned the sample uniform sporting the funk 45 label as requested by the Gilla. Phil looked fine in the brown and gold, his creamy thighs riding seamlessly across the silky fabric as the beads of warm sweat ran smoothly from his heaving chest.

The game itself was pure example of Nannas working together as a team, breaking out to a 3-1 lead until the middle of the second half, tight defence, and even tighter offensive defence, like a nun with no candles in reach.It was really our offensive pressure that hurried the opposition who were younger, stronger, fitter, firmer and gleaming in the harsh fluorescent light that highlighted their every sinew.
Phil was surprisingly eager to please, running freely with the ball and shooting plenty, it may have been the new strip – it probably was the new strip. He teamed nicely with Tao and Jim upfront, working the diagonals and drawing extra defenders with some Ronaldo-esque foot work.
Defence was led by Tom, strong as ever and almost impenetrable, like a leather Hymen requiring skill and determination to pierce.

Post match discussion focused on possible alterations to the new uniform including some colour alterations, before switching to the looming beach box. Debate was heated and questions of location were tabled, stick to the tried and true or move to Mount Martha for a change. The question was left open but post wrap flurries pointed towards a trial run at Gilla’s where the secret “top bedroom” has secrets yet to be discovered. Lets just say that it’s a large family and you don’t get a large family without some tricks up your sleeve, or down your trousers.

match report 2 June 2016

v some newbies @ brunswick
dc(4,m), tw, rh(m), cg(m), ring-in Nif(1,m), ring-in Elliot C(1,m)

ah yes, the match report written over a week after the fact, always difficult. It was a 5 way MOM so I suppose all 5 MOMS figured at least one of the others would scribe a report, figure again foolish suckers… Two of the other MOMs were ring-ins and the remaining two were Rhian and Giller neither of whom has written a report in at least 4 years so like that was ever going happen.
anyway I can’t really remember much apart from the Captain initiating a 1-2 drill during the warmup, the old give and go and shoot, and what do you know he and I then proceeded to score 3 goals that way during the game… I swear, priming is an extremely powerful tool. we also had a last minute random ring-in by the name of Nif, who we’ve played against a few times (notably giller winding him with a full arse slam last week) who was a welcome addition to the Team. As was Elliot, making a return to court of the nanna, and a scoring goal. Some of his tracking back left a bit to be desired ( as Tao was at pains to point out) but there was some nice footwork and a couple of very tasteful passes. err… what else.. Giller totally kept us in it at the end. We were meant to have the bus firmly parked at the back with less than a minute to go, but what do you know, 2 times they were 2 on 1 at the back, one shot went wide and the other was saved by a shoulder-meets-goal-post save from the Funky Nanna™. And of course the highlight of the entire match was the author scoring a pair of braces…
tight is right.

Match Report 2016_05_12

vs RMIT

loss 4-12

CB 1, RH 2, DC 1, TH, TW, JH, CG

 

We lost, respectfully, to a team of skilful and fit young men who were prepared to sprint constantly for the full thirty six minutes. The only thing they lacked was more than a decade and a half of shit-talking, planning, meeting, beach boxing and many other bonding activities too numerous to mention. And that is why I have it on good authority that not only did they not have their AGM that night, they have never actually had one. Their win-loss, our loss-win.

Jim had geared us up for a game of gentle talk and positive reinforcement. And it probably was the mellowest we’ve ever seen Taozza so it must have worked. We got four freaking goals man! What can one say? They whipped our arses. But. Not without a challenge. We made them work for it.

And then we took it to the Pinnacle for the inaugural “Pre- dinner drink”. Followed by the TH (Thomas Howie) Tramway Hotel for some tasty yet overpriced junk food and over flavoured beers. But the real item on the menu was of course the Annual General Meeting. The AGM. Which also sounds a little bit like “Gay Jim”.

I was laughing quite a bit so perhaps it should fall to the more grim faced Nannas to report the true minutes of the meeting. There was talk of new uniforms, prepaid Nanna subscriptions and “wanking ring-ins”. It was noted that there was considerable pleasure to be had in voting for things. The act of raising the hand and declaring “aye” or “nay” is even more fun than voting in online polls.

Tight is right and tight is out.

Match Report – 5 May 2016 – the 60% Nannas


DC 2, TW 1, JH, Andrew, Tim MOM

Well, what do you know, a match report, who would have thought eh. Like the Tasmanian Tiger, or Myspace, such things were believed to have vanished from sight a long time ago… but no, here one is before your very eyes. Generally the match report is written by that Nanna deemed most worthy by his brethren to wear the badge of MOM, but, in a grave and telling sign of the times (with a nod to Prince, RIP) it is instead being written by one not so deemed as, in fact, that honour was given to a ring-in. And not even a real ring-in, a ring-ins ring-in, someone the Nannas had never met in their lives until moments before playing. Tim, who stepped into goals in place of Phil, turned out to be pretty good, good enough to take the MOM, but surely it is something of a Nadir in the documentary history of the Nannas when the match report is itself a ringing.
So how did it come to this ? Well, it starts with the flurry and the first 6 responses being ‘out’. Not the ideal start to the new season. In fact it was a miracle that from this tidal wave of apathy 3 brown heros emerged, JH, TW, DC. Add to this Andy the ring-in with the ancient chelsea top and phil/tim the goalie and what you have is not a team but a gathering of people with fading memories of the good times they used to have when they got together on a Thursday with their friends and played futsal. Admittedly never that well or with any real skill but at least as a team… And so it went.
The first half I think saw the Nannas, or the 60% Nannas, have only a single shot on target. Midway through the 2nd half we were 7 goals to the worse. Tim was real good in goals, young and extremely enthusiastic and vocal but theres only so many one-on-ones he could stop. Then they started to run out of legs a bit, or lost interest, and the 60% Nannas managed to sneak in a couple o goals near the end. Final score 3-9, a goal to TW and a brace to DC. Which was kind of good because as we know from the economics of organic memory we only remember how long something took and how it ended.
After the game Jim pedaled off into the night and Taoser and I went to the Retreat for fish and chips and beer. Andy – the legend Walmartin – turned up for a beer and did a great job of hiding his disappointment upon discovering that only 2 nannas – the 40% Nannas – were in attendance. The three of us then proceeded to talk about the golden age of television and which television shows we had and hadn’t watched. This would have been a dead give away of how unengaged with the world and how uninteresting we were as humans but luckily no one was knitting nearby so it was OK. My lack of knowledge of High Mainataince was met with gasps of disbelief but I can safely say that i am now up to speed… Qasim,pure genius!
As for the 100% Nannas, who knows. Jim got out his death bell and started knelling it pretty loud on the forum which may or may not have lead to a vastly higher percentage of ‘ins’ this week. we’ll see. I’ve re-mooted the idea of a season pass to cover the cost of ringins and hopefully encourage a greater turnout, that seems to have gained some traction but let’s see.
In the meantime, the new 2016 kit delivery timeline took a hit when it was realised that the preferred supplier was planning to place their logo front and centre on the shirt. Donald Trump is republican candidate. Bill shorten is proving very popular in Townsville. Leicester won the premier league. I tested UHD playback for the first time on a 4K Sony TV and was extremely impressed. It’s freaking cold and Miri insists on keeping the back door open all the time.

MATCH REPORT 2016_03_10

7-3 loss to a very skilful team

RH 1,TW 1,GUIDO 1,JH , CB, DC,PHIL (GK)
Mom RH,CB

It was good to have Phil in the rear. He’s just so good back there. His balls are great too. No disrespect to Gilly and Kondo, who are also tremendous back there. It’s just a bit unusual to have Phil back there so it adds a little sparkle.

Guido stepped up too and really helped the Nanna cause. Not quite enough to make victory, but certainly steered us a little closer than we would have been without him.

Special mention goes to the Cocky support machine and the full family cheer squad.

There was no going out afterwards which much be some kind of record for lameness. Cocky was dragged home (not exactly kicking and screaming.. perhaps just silently and inwardly whimpering). Jim ran away to “catch a train” (whatever that means). Hinkley choreographed himself out of the picture. Tao and Guido were talking up a beer at Tao’s. I assume that got out of hand. I had to go “learn some lines” (whatever that means).

MATCH REPORT 10.03.16

7-3 loss to dudes in white

RH 1 TW 1 GUIDO 1 JH 1 Mom RH CB

Phil in goal, a couple of lose ones got through but his composure at the back made up for it as well as his tasteful distribution. Guido returned with some silky moves up front, scoring one, setting up another. Chassey was feisty, showing no signs of the dicky knee that has hampered him recently. Jim showed up. Tao arrived late. Cocky didn’t score any goals, but:…

This was Nanna gold, pure and simple. A very strong  nannas performance, good goals, hard running, tight in the defense, yet still we lost. What does this mean? When the Nannas go hard, play well, score goals but still lose.

Is it a spiritual problem? Or an emotional one? We have focused so hard on altering our physical game that we’ve left everything else behind.

When did a Nanna last tell another Nanna that he loved him, or needed him, or thought of him? When did a Nanna last hug another Nanna, and hold him, and really get in touch with him?

Easter is nearly upon us, a time of spritual renewal, with Trump winning in America and the weather being so hot and humid here need to think of ourselves. Hug yourself and hua Nanna.

 

match report 3 March 2016

2-5 v FC Dalles
Brunswick, 8.00pm
dc1m, cgm, two, rh, th, aw

The game pretty much went like this… run run run gasp stumble jog charge drop-kick punt hurtle stumble pelt trot strike pelt hurry charge hurtle punt trot scurry trot trot pant breathe heavily scurry bolt trot pelt dribble toe-poke stumble charge run hurry hoof boot rush pelt trot race interception tackle gallop jog scurry gallop miskick run pelt jog scamper scamper career stumble hurtle scurry trot stumble tear attack tackle pelt stumble dash career drop-kick gallop zip scurry rush pant rush bolt stumble career attack interception walk stumble trot scamper kick drop-kick run hurry race scurry drop-kick trot hurtle zip jog boot charge rush belt belt scurry walk zip scamper attack tear tear scurry walk challenge attack hurry stumble hurtle sprint bolt career bolt charge tackle rush hurry walk zip breathe hard pant like a dog run rush walk zip challenge attack race scamper zoom race sprint belt dart scamper kick zip hurtle hurtle charge scamper sprint race gallop drop-kick punt stumble career hurry bolt drop-kick hoof bolt pelt walk hurry strike scamper dart walk dash walk run zoom sprint challenge dart rush scamper hurtle breathe heavily rush trot jog stumble strike walk trot scurry career sprint race walk zip sprint hurtle jog tear interception trot scamper dash jog jog charge run trot hoof hoof scurry bolt tear hurtle kick hoof race scurry belt sprint drop-kick kick pelt zip scurry scamper miskick sprint walk jog scamper toe-poke rush stumble sprint zip pelt career sprint sprint run jog belt dart dribble strike belt rush hurtle race challenge tackle hurtle tear trot stumble sprint walk trot stumble toe-poke strike zip stumble rush hurry hurtle pelt dart walk pant zoom dart bolt career hurry dash bolt stumble hurry scamper pelt sprint bolt rush charge run drop-kick walk hurry race hurry scurry tear zoom belt wheeze pant bolt hurry bolt race pelt rush belt zip miskick toe-poke charge dart stumble scurry charge stumble jog pelt dribble miskick zoom sprint hurtle belt miskick dribble race zip career career jog pelt race hurtle toe-poke shoot dash scurry jog gallop gallop dash jog career hoof hoof sprint run dart pelt kick drop-kick gallop hurry trot career punt scurry tear run gallop zoom stumble gallop hurry attack tear tear zoom hurry rush sprint zip dart miskick miskick jog jog scurry career hoof boot career sprint scurry tear pelt bolt dart hurry pant wheeze sprint tear pelt dart challenge trot gallop sprint scurry miskick dart hurtle zip zoom drop-kick hoof scurry charge jog charge sprint rush scamper bolt boot dart gallop dash gallop race hurtle stumble gallop bolt zip scurry stumble huff and puff breathe heavily zip stumble trot rush breathe hard walk walk jog dash breathe heavily scamper hurtle run bolt hoof run gallop stumble zip zoom hurry run walk breathe hard breathe heavily belt rush rush hurry toe-poke rush run pelt pelt pelt race trot race punt kick stumble tear stumble scamper pant pelt trot career run tackle jog charge bolt dart breathe heavily stumble trot stumble scamper belt gallop hurry zoom block block belt zip race dash wheeze gallop zip walk gallop strike dash stumble trot hurry block challenge tear career run jog huff and puff… basically do a hell of a lot of running interspersed with gasping and the occasional shot/tackle/pass before finally stumbling from the court on the verge of a heart attack.

We then went to the Retreat for a quiet one.

Match Report 2016_02_04

RH 2, CB, CG, TH, TW, JH, DC

CB MOM

vs ??

Lost 2-4

I think all of the Nannas rode to the game except Cocky who flowed there in his maxi turbo diesel (of which he is so fond) and Gilby who fluttered in in his Emasculator (of which he is so fond).  Possibly JimBOB came on foot. It matters not.

I joined the peloton of hard, riding hard-riding Nannas as they slid down Glenlyn Road in Brunswick. Always a pleasure to be in the saddle beside one’s brother Nannas, if only to prove to the general population that it is possible for middle aged men to ride bikes in a pack without wearing lycra and looking like a Nut Bagging Sac Fucker. It is in the Nanna DNA to find small ways to subtly and grossly subvert the mainstream paradigm in which we paddle.

We arrived at Brunswick Secondary College to find the gates locked. Phil. When he arrived, on instruction from Gilby, we rewarded him with a slow golf clap for his tardiness and he responded by tossing sachets of hot chocolate? from his vehicle.

The game itself was not hugely memorable nor outstanding. The captain boxed a pair of goals. Straight to the wank bank.

Cocky was looking super straight and wide awake from the sobering influence of professional art angst.

The writer found that his left foot wasn’t able to allow the right foot to kick the ball unassisted. Instead the left foot kept popping in for a little nudge while old righty was in midswing. Unfortunately due to the poor processing power of the over holidayed writer, the message that the ball had moved didn’t reach said writer’s central processing unit until after the resultingly ignominious kick.

At which the straight as a die cockpillow was compelled to pronounce upon the writer’s ineptitude. To which the over holidayed writer could only seethingly retort through the stifling clouds of his own humiliation.. “I didn’t do it on purpose buddy!”

Tao was there and he looked bloody purple at the after match so he must have put in. Jimbino skerricked away post match still sporting his “compression bandage”. The coach was dynamic.

We lost but we looked dangerous when we were working the diagonal cross court angles. They got some very good goals. Gilly was huge in goals and as committed as always, even requiring an embrocation of liniment mid-match.

There was an unprecedented post match mutiny. The writer was designated cook and after informing the Nannas of his venue (Dojo Ramen), the People rose up and squashed his idea flat. They complained that it was too inexpensive and instead we should go to Mess Hall and have a banquet. It was actually pretty good (the food), although with a few jugs of IPA under the belt and inhibitions shed, we realised that the interior design was a bit crap.  The main criticism: trying too hard.

And then all the Nannas went home to bed except for the two Nannas who bear Christ in their names. These two brave souls took it to Belleville and witnessed an absolutely outstanding performance by Mara TK. Yeah!

 

 

 

 

Match Report 17 December 2015

//Nanna Match Report Generator
//Dec 2015

var matchStats= {
'loc':"Brunswick College",
'date':"17th Dec 2015",
'oppName':"a team who's moniker fails to materialsie at this juncture",
'gameTime':"8.40pm",
'scoreNan':10,
'scoreOpp':3,
'apres':"a place who's name I fail to recollect"
}

var Tao = {
'nickName':"Best Looking",
'nickName2': "He of the purple head",
'generalPlay': "some fine play and the usual high quality hustling",
'specialMoment': "the-most-perfectly-weighted-from-a-crazy-accute-angle shot",
'anecdote': "illicited some extreme (yet very humourous) language form the opposition due to completely-justified-use-of-pushing",
'goals':2,
'mom':false
}

var Giller = {
'nickName': "Gilby the whack arse Bilby",
'nickName2': "the Funky Nanna™",
'generalPlay': "not a whole lot of work to do, but stopped a couple of rippers",
'specialMoment': "scored a pearler (though it must be said the opposition goalie made a total hash of it)",
'anecdote': "took award for first Nanna to see JJ’s new Star Wars",
'goals':1,
'mom':false
}

var Rhian = {
'nickName': "The Captain®",
'nickName2': "The Kurgening",
'generalPlay': "some fine link up play, great hustling",
'specialMoment': "a couple of very deftly executed ‘dummies’…",
'anecdote': "Touch it",
'goals':1,
'mom':false
}

var Tom = {
'nickName': "The Coach™",
'nickName2': "Coach Colonel Judge Colonel Coach Judge Coach Judge",
'generalPlay': "some fine form to turn up half way through the first half and coach the brown brothers",
'specialMoment': "yelling a lot",
'anecdote': "didn’t play due to the fact that his kit was being stored beneath a small sleeping child",
'goals':0,
'mom':false
}

var Takeshi = {
'nickName': "Kondo",
'nickName2': "The Tokyo Terror",
'generalPlay': "great positioning on court and penalty box poaching",
'specialMoment': "poking home from close range in the secong half",
'anecdote': "was fully kitted-up and ready to roll in goals until GtWAB arrived",
'goals':1,
'mom':false
}

var Daniel = {
'nickName': "Le Coq Sportif",
'nickName2':"Cocky",
'generalPlay': "some solid if energy-conserving work up front",
'specialMoment': "scored a rare hat-trick following a semi-stupaboot shot from a goalie clearance with said goalie wildly off his line…",
'anecdote': "had a strong tatse of coffee in his mouth for much of the game owing to excessive comsumtion in a bid to stave off sleep",
'goals':3,
'mom':true
}

var Andy = {
'nickName': "WalMartin™",
'nickName2':"The BackDoor Man",
'generalPlay': "kind of outrageous running in the heat to keep the ball in play",
'specialMoment': "stopping the ball with less than 3 µm before the sideline",
'anecdote': "was forced to retreat from the field of battle late in the second half",
'goals':0,
'mom':false
}

var Jim = {
'nickName': "Jim Bob",
'nickName2': "The Communications manager (get it )",
'generalPlay': "strong running and robust challenges",
'specialMoment': "An absolute cannon from wide on the left ",
'anecdote': "continued to update the Nannas on the inner workings of Tinder®",
'goals':2,
'mom':false
}

var team = [Tao,Rhian,Jim,Takeshi,Giller,Daniel,Tom,Andy];

if (matchStats.scoreNan > matchStats.scoreOpp) {
var teamName = "The glorious men in brown™"
var gameDesc = "winning"
}
else{
var teamName = "Nanna B"
var gameDesc = "losing"
}

var conj = ["did ","showed ","made ","had ","displayed ","presented ","exhibited ","was "];
var praise = ["kind of OK", "incredible","mindblowing","fucking staggering","breathtaking", "outstanding"];
var add = ["It should also be noted ", "On top of that ","In addition ","That was followed by "];
var damnation = ["pretty crap", "total rubbish","rather muppet-like","appalling","abysmal", "one of the most pathetic events ever witnessed by a Nanna"];

var reportStartString = "a new season at " + matchStats.loc + " and a return to " + gameDesc + " ways for " + teamName + ". " + team.length + " true heroes of Nanna stepped to the court to do battle with " + matchStats.oppName + ". ";
var reportBodyString = ""
var reportEndString = "And that was about it, the" + praise[Math.floor(Math.random()*praise.length)] + " " + team.length + " brown men then went to " + matchStats.apres + " which was OK, all things considered" ;

for (i=0;i< team.length; i++){
var t = team[i];
var randAdd = add[Math.floor(Math.random()*add.length)]
var randConj = conj[Math.floor(Math.random()*conj.length)]
var randPraise = praise[Math.floor(Math.random()*praise.length)]
var randDamn = damnation[Math.floor(Math.random()*damnation.length)]
var comment = [randPraise,randDamn]
var randComment = comment[Math.floor(Math.random()*comment.length)]
if(t.mom==true){var momString = "and due to the extreme brilliance of his overall play was also awarded the highest Nanna honour of MOM"}
else{ var momString = ""}
reportBodyString = reportBodyString + t.nickName + " " + randConj + t.generalPlay + " and " + randConj + t.specialMoment + " which was also " + randComment + ". " + randAdd + t.nickName2 + " scored " + t.goals + " goals " + momString + " and " + t.anecdote + ". " ;
}
alert(reportStartString + reportBodyString + reportEndString)

17 dec 2015 long

Match report 22 10 15

Goals RH 2 JH 1 TW 1 ? Mom Rh

You can sleep with Jim Hannan and there’s a chance you’ll get hard enough at some stage to create some friction.
You can smoke synthetic drugs and there’s a possiblity that you’ll get high enough to forget that they might kill you.
You can get a low-carb burger with no cheese and you’ll probably be less hungry than you were before.
The truth of the matter is that there’s no substitute for the real thing and winning a game with the Nannas is as real as it gets. It’s possibly the most real thing there is. It’s the sort of real that gives a man a purpose and something to hold onto when all else falls apart.
Thursday night was real.

The opposition are not new to us, we know their game and they know ours. They’re a bit shit and a bit slow but occasionally they can forget it together and they’ve got one guy who can kick like a donkey. The good news for the Nannas is that they’re a bit slow, substantially slower than pretty much every other team in the comp. It was this slowness that the Nannas cunningly used to their advantage.

First goal. The Walmartin in full flight down the wing, lays a delightfully timed through-ball to the captain who is on holiday on the wing. The captain has time to brush the crumpet crumbs from his lap, pack away his breakfast dishes, receive the pass, put the kettle on, make a strong English breakfast tea with a dash of milk before slotting home a goal from very close range.

Second goal. Gilla feeds a superb long ball down the middle to the captain who is catching up on some paperwork at the edge of the circle. The captain tidies away his papers, clears his desk, taking care to file his receipts and not leave them in a messy pile, before once again slotting a goal from very close range.

Third goal. The opposition goalie takes a throw-in from the side, he goes long, very long, very very long. Long enough to be super – safe. Super safe except for the fact that Jim Hannan receives the ball. The man who had the scud missile named after him, known for his power and accuracy. Jim receives the ball just north of the wittlesea RSL, in a flash he fine tuned his radar and sends the ball back with a finesse that he rarely uses while clothed.

Fourth goal. I can’t remember. But it was so great.

An all round strong game from a Nanna side that needed a win.

Ɱẚṯƈẖ Ṟḗᵽ⍥ṟʈ 0ȼt 1ϟṱ 2015

2-3 ˅ ?
ďĉ (ṃ), ṛҥ, тķ, ẗш, ȶḧ, ćʛ – ?

Ĭ ẘøųʅȡ π○ᵵ ḫẵⱱḕ Þĩȼҟɐƌ ȉṱ, ṃɏ ġẹẗŧȉɲġ tɧḗ ⱮȬⱮ. Ɱӯ ◌▿ḝṟώẖẹḻʍȉᴨɠ ₥ḝɱ⍥ṝӵ ⍥ƒ тẖḝ ḡẫṃḗ ώἇƽ Ƅḗȉŋԍ ӵḗḻḻḙḋ ᾇt ϙűɨŧḝ ẚ ɓĭŧ ʍ○ṝẹ ʈɧậԓ ųšůḁɭ. ⱮẚұƂḗ įt ὧẵş Ƅḗȼʌυȿẻ ϯнɘ ∫⊍ʟ| ⌠⍺ϻɨḻƔ ҫὃᴨⱦ¡ɲʛɘῄt ҫ⍺ʍҽ ṱȭ ƨᵾҏҏ○ŗ† ? ъ⋃ʈ Ϯḥɇᴫ ᾷɠ△¡ῆ шɐ ⍶ʅ| ʟẻƭⱦ ъẻ∫ὃʀḗ †ħɇ ȉ₥⍴ŗὃ₥Þṱ⊔. Ὃʀ ɱàƔҌɇ ȋṫ ɰ⍶ȿ ʛűɪ|† ὃ⋂ ϮҺɇ ṗàṛẗ ○ӻ ẗḫ◌șḗ ᵰẵṉᴨᾇš ψḥȭʍ ńȭ ɭ○ṉɠḙɾ ẉṟĭƫḕ ṃẵṯȼɧ ʀḗƥ◌ṝтš ? Ʈɼᵾɘ Ĭ ђ△Ԃ ǝ ↄøųҏʟɘ ɵ∱ ɣẻʀү-ȵḗᾷʀ|ұ-ʛɾҽ△† ḡ○ᾷʟϟ Ϧ⊔ṫ ɪ†’ʂ ʈḧẻ ǝҫ†⊍△ʟʟƴ-ᶃṝɇà† ɵɲɘʂ ṭħᾷṱ ᵾșûàʟ|ү ƈȭυπʈ. ÀᴫƔɰǝƴʂ | ψʌȿ Ҍὃϯђ ρɼɵûᶑ ǝпḍ нø⋂ø⊍ŗɐᶁ ṫɵ ʀẻᴄɇϊ√ẻ ɫҺɇ ħϊḡҺɇșɫ ᾷҫҫʟ⍶ϊϻ ȭ∫ ϻƔ ḟẻʆʟøѿ, ʌɭʙẹĭt űṉȼ⍥ɱɱ⍥ńḻӵ ▿○ćẵʅ ȉﬣ ᵵḧḕĩɼ ḑȉșᾇᶈƥŗ○ⱱḁʟ ⍥ғ ɱӯ ǥḁϻḗ, Пẚᴫᵰḁƨ. Aʾƽ tɵ tɧḕ ᶃ⍺ϻɘ ϊṫʂḗ|ᵳ, |ȋ†ɫʟḕ ɼɇʍʌȋ⊓ȿ ɨῄ ₥ӱ ϻҽ₥ɵʀƔ ⍶ṗàŗт ḟɾὃʍ ɵṇẻ ◌ƭ ṯħḕ ˅ḗṟӵ-ԓɘẚṝɭӵ-ǥɾẹậƫş. Ϊт ώᾇƽ ẚ čṝ◌šš ĉ⍥ȗɾт ɓᾇɭḻ ƒṛ○₥ ɫнɐ ҫȭàↄҺ ɼȉᶃҥ† ĭπṭȭ †Һɇ Ƅὃχ ψȉɫħ ѿħɪҫḫ Ϊ ʌʟᵯɵȿϮ-√ẻɼӌ-πɇᾷṟұ ҫøἧ⊓ẹƈṭẻ₫, ẵ ϝʅӯĩʼnɠ ϟŧẵǥ-ʅȉҟẹ |ḝẫƿ, ɾȉʛẖт ʅḝᶃ ŧḥṛůƨt ᵳ◌ṝⱳʌṝɗ (ȉẗ’ƽ ȵɵt ậ ƽʆīḋẹ ĭƭ ɏøȗ’ṝḙ ɪñ ṯḫḝ ậȉʀ)… š⍥ ȼ|◌ƽḗ. Įt ẘøůḻḓ Һẵⱱḝ Ƃḙḙῆ ṫҺẻ ḕʠυᾷʟɪʂɘŗ ǝȿ шḗʅʅ… šȶīʼnƙ.
Ḁƒʈḝṛ ṯҺẚẗ ṫḫḕ Ɲᾷȵḁԓȿ ẘḗȵƫ ƅẵↄҟ ᵵ◌ ƁḝşϮΓ○ȭḵĭԓʛ’ȿ ᾇﬨԀ ⱳᾇŧͼẖḝƌ †ɧḕ ńḙώ/ȭʟƌ Ƨᵵɇƥḣḕñ ℃ḥὃώ ӻȉʟᵯ. Ṭɧḕ ғįʀʂṫҌȭŗπ △ᴫԀ Ϊ нɵϣɇɣɐɼ ҥǝđ ʆϊ†ɇʀᾷʟ|ү ᴊυʂ† ʀɐ†ᵾɼȵɐđ ∱ɼɵṃ ḁ ṃậššȉⱱḗ ṟὃẚḓ ᵵŗĩƥ (ƽḥ⍥◌†įñġ Ԃĭƨȕşḝḋ ɼḁĩʅɯẚӯ ɭīńḙȿ) ᾇńɗ ƈȭǜʅďᴨ’ŧ ᴊ○īȵ. Ậṗṗẫṛḗńϯḻӌ īt ⱳậš ġ⍥⍥ḓ, ƫɧḗ ṃ⍥˅īḝ ṱḫᾇƫ ĩş.

ᵵĩʍḙƽȶἇᵯƿ:
Ƨɭȉġḥṯḻϒ ◌ʅ ḏ ﬨḝώş ʙůẗ Α͂ᵾȿṫɼ⍺|ϊà ђἇȿ ¡Ϯ’ƨ 4ϯҺ Þɼȋϻẹ ₥ɨῄīȿɫḕṛ ĩń 5 ұḗᾇṟȿ (ȭɴɭӌ 1 ⍥ƭ ⱳḥȭᵯ ϣἇš ḝɭḕčŧḙḋ). Ƃ⋃ƫ ŧђẫṉҟ ǥ⍥ḓ ŧҥḙ ẫʀṱş ƥøṟᵵƭɵɭȉὃ ḫậƽ ъɐɐ∩ ṝɐʌḻʆɵҫᾷ†ɐԃ. Ƨɐʆ∫ Ḧҽʆ ῥ þʟ△ƴҽđ ṭħҽɪʀ ⌠ɨŗȿϮ ṗʀɵᵳɐʂƨī◌ᵰἇɭ ɠīġ. Ŧҥḗ Ḁṛʂҽ⋂ǝ| ϐɘẫɫ Ɱ⍺ἧ⋃ŗɘ 3-0 ƨҫὃŗȋȵʛ ᾷ|ʟ Ϯḣẹɨŗ ɠ⍥ḁʟƽ ĭﬨ |ḗşȿ ẗḥẫń 20 ᵯĭñȿ… ○ḣ ƴẹş.

Match Report : 150910 : Jim’s Confusion

 

13-2 V Cussi Betaes
CB, DC(1,MOM), JH, TH, TW(1), AW
6.40 pm, Brunswick

What to say about the first game back post beach box. All Jim seemed to be able to say was ‘confused’. He kept repeating it like a broken iPod, both at half time and after the final whistle.  I’m not sure the beach box had much to do with Jim’s confusion, given he only drank half a shandy, and I’m not sure the Nannas as a team were that confused either. Disjointed and lacking in general foot skills but not really baffled as to what was going on. I will admit to a certain befuddlement at the coach’s first attempt at shot stopping. He put his foot where the ball was going but somehow the ball seemed to pass straight on through ? Chasby made a a rare but warmly welcomed (and outwardly lucid) return to the court with some great intercepts though his shots on goal were, shall we say, gentle. Taoser wasn’t showing any signs of Jim’s alleged perplexationment and scored an absolute screamer, running from the right of midfield into the left corner before arrowing a trademark toepoke from a crazy acute angle at the near post. Neither did Andy Wong appear particularly bewildered, picking the pockets of our fleet footed opponents on a number of occasions and laying off a couple of the Nannas’ few decent passes of the night. The author perhaps was the second most disoriented of the team after the Titular Tinder Devotee but I speculate that may have been more anger issues with his shit week than any discombobulation from the 15 beers he drank at the beach box. Either way he managed to score a not too bad goal on about the 4th attempt, their goalie was really freaking good. Actually most of their team were pretty good, I guess that’s why they scored 11 more goals than the Nannas… or maybe we really were as confused as the TTD™ suggested, a theory that is certainly given credence by my being awarded the MOM.

As to the beach box, another resounding success. Slow dancing with Giller and a massive erection was probably the highlight, but given I can hardly remember anything past the 2nd hand that’s not really that illuminating. Micro table tennis with tequila boxes for a net = highlight. Chzasny/Brenda’s hair = highlight. Kondo’s osso bucco = double highlight. Wearing swedish survivalist gloves, bathrobe and a bow tie didn’t really compare with the coach judge colonel’s full-mil-spec period costume but was better than Tao’s no-costume-at-all-even-though-I-had-a-week-in-melbourne-to-sort-one. Erm… what else, I can’t remember, literally, except for those vaguely guilty morning suspicions that i was being a dick… damn it. Oh yeah, hallah french toast is freaking legitness !

Match Report – 23 July 2015

8.00PM @ Brunswick
6-4 v The Little Refs Team
DC(3, mom), TH, TW, RH, AW, CG(1), JH(2)

23s eh. They can go either way. More often than not it would seem they go the way of death and destruction. 23 people killed in bus crash, 23 tonnes of agent orange dropped in one day, 23rd of December 2012 the world comes to an end, that sort of shit. But every now and then you get a goody and last night was one of those. 23rd of July 2015 will go down as the day we comprehensively took out the table leaders. A huge testosterone infused display of brown masculinity. From the very outset the Nannas stepped to the little refs team and proved that age and a lack of skills are no barrier to freaking awesomeness. They had the mad floppy flipper-like foot skills, the well convincing step-overs and the bursts of large-mass speed but the Nannas had something else. I’m not sure what that was but we had it and it counted. Maybe it was team cohesion, maybe it was Tao back from an overcrowded European sojourn, maybe it was Jim’s Tinder buzz or Wal’s illness, perhaps it was Giller yelling ‘just push him’ 5 times in a row, the Captain’s composure… who knows, but whatever it was, it was fucking legitness!

Good old 23 even came through on a personal level for the author, with a hatrick and a MOM. Well that was the heads part, unfortunately tails is the other side of the old 23c coin and that meant going down hard – like Gary, the best actor on broadway – from a bullshit goalie tackle and triple fucking my shoulder. Praise you and curse you 23.

timestamp: Bill Shorten is a dick, Tony Abbott is a total dick, Guardian readers are getting their jollys over the end of capitalism and Arsene Wenger may be poised to drop 100 big ones on a striker, Karim Benzema anybody ?

 

Match report 4 March 2015

This was the return to form that the Nannas needed (I think) (It has been a while)
When the chips are down, and have been trodden into a beer soaked carpet it’s hard to scrape them up and reshape them into something beautiful but that’s what the Nannans are best at. It’s no secret that ‘Nannas’ and ‘Adversary ‘ share three letters but if you dig a little deeper you’ll see that exactly half of Nannas exists with in Adversary. The Nannas are built half from Adversary with the other half all N’s  – Nnn – National Retail Properties on the New York Stock Exchange – a proven performer over the last 5 years paying a high 4% dividend yield.

It was a great victory although I did  wake up with a hangover again which is strange and seems to have very little to do with how much I drink. My careful use of the scientific method points to dehydration and I think that the first two drinks of the evening should be H2O rather than IPA. This is not a new idea and is a classic example of my weak will power in the fight between what I know is good in the long run and what I need in the next 5 minutes. It is possibly a metaphor for the Nannas game plan, sacrificing long term positional gameplay for instant gratification.

Back to the game at hand, nothing short of a great game. There were Nannas, and Phil and Stan and some others and sweat and yelling followed by Beer and food and a hangover.

Sorry.

 

ⱮǝṭƈҺ Ṟẻρȭɼt 26†ђ ℉ḕʙ 2015

ⱮǝṭƈҺ Ṟẻρ◌ɼt 26†ђ ℉ḕʙ 2015
3-14 ▿ Ĵǝɭʌṗẹñȭ ℃ħȉ№ș
Đ℃2Ɱ, ṞĦ1Ṃ, Ŧʬᵯ, ĴĦ, Ǥȗȉḍὃ

Įẗ’ş ẵ †ɾĭᴄḵƴ ⍥πҽ, ṯḥɘ ὃʅȡ ƨĭẍ ◌’ҫʆὃҫҡ ԍʌϻɐ. Ŧɧɐṟḗ ᾷʀḕ ṱҺȭȿḗ Пḁȵ⋂℁ ϣȋṭḫ ṝḕàḻ ĵὃƄș ᵵҺḁƫ ĉẵ⋂’ẗ ṃ⍺ḵҽ ȉ†. Ŧҥḗṛḝ ʌʀẹ ȭtḥḗṛ Пḁﬨῄ℁, (ⱳḗʆʆ ℀ᵵȗậʟɭӱ ὃñḻӵ ⍥∩ẹ Пᾇȵñʌ) ώĩ†Һ ℀ŧȕẵʆ ɼɇ△ʟ ᴊȭʙș ɨ.ḕ. ĵɵҌș ʈҺʌŧ fiῄȋƨḧ ⍶ṭ 5.30 ⱳҥȭ ͼ⍺ṉ ᵯᾇҟḝ ĩṫ ƅůṭ àṛẹ ℉ᵵẹԓ ƫ◌ȭ fl⍺ɠẹʆ|ǝɫɐԃ Ҍɏ ᵵҺḕ ɼůṛᾷɭ ḻ△ɓĭ⍺. ŦҺḝñ ṯҺẻɼẻ ⍶ṛḗ ᵵħḝ Пʌπﬣ℁ ɰẖɵ ԃὃɴ’ϯ ҥᾇ˅ҽ ṛɘǝḻ ᴊȭьƽ ⍺⊓ᶁ ώђȭ ҫ⍺ῄ ₥ἇƙḗ ĩϯ Ƅǜt ɧᾇ˅ḙ ŧɧɐɲ ϟûϑđҽпʟỷ ḡḗṫ ᴊȭҍȿ ẚńԂ čẵῆ’t ʍậᶄɐ īϯ. Ŧḣḕṝɇ ἇɾɐ Пᾇ∩⋂℁ ѿҺὃ ḍ○ṉ’ϯ Һᾇⱱẹ ṟḗẵʆ ɉ⍥ɓʂ ɓȕ† ĉậṉ’ṭ ṃἇƙḙ ȉ† ∫○ṟ șȭṃḗ ὃẗɧɇṟ ⊍ﬣẻχþʆ△īπḗϑ ɾẻ℁◌ń. ẪᴨԀ fiῄẵ|ḻƴ ƫɧḙṝẹ ʌɼḕ tҺ○şḗ Пẫȵπ℁ ѿįƫҺ○űт ɾɘǝʅ ĵȭϦş ϣҺὃ ȿтẫᴫᶁ ʈᾷḻʆ |īķɐ ṭḧẻ Ŧɼûḗ Ħḕṝœș ℉ Пᾇῄȵ△ tҺẵт ᵵħḗӵ ᾇṛḕ ƈ⍶ṝɾϒȉ⋂ᶃ Ϯн△ȶ ḕǝṟʅӱ ṱ⍥ɼҫҺ ℉ ḣ◌№ǜʀ ẫ⋂ḋ ℅ʍᵯį™ḗ∩т ℁ ϯḣȭ⊔ᶃḥ ϊϮ ѿḙṟɘ ᵵнḕ ʟ℁ŧ ɫҺɪпʛ |ẹ⌠ẗ ʈ○ ŧḥḕṃ ◌∩ ẗҺĭș ԍʀɨ₥ ʌṉϑ ⋃ȵҺẫ ᵽ ῥӱ ᵽɭ⍺ʼnḕᵵ. ϯḧɐṉ ℉ ℅⊍ŗƽḝ Ϯнɐṛẻ ἇṝɐ ṭḧ⍥ʂɇ Пἇᴫɴ℁ ⱳҺɵ ἇṛẻȵ’ṫ ℀ϯᵾᾇʆʟү Пᾇṇп℁ ᾇϯ ḁʆʟ, ҍȕṭ ʀĭʼnԍϊᵰʂ, ώнȭ ἇḻš◌ ȿтẫԓԀ ṃẫɉẻʂṱɪƈ ẚń ḏ ἇȵȿẉḗɾ ƫҺɐ čậʆʆ, ī⌠ ὃ⊓ʟϒ ᵳ◌ṝ ŧђḕ |℁ƫ 7 ṃϊṉųⱦɐʂ ℉ ŧħɘ ɠἇ₥ɐ.
ḁπԀ ȿ◌…
ɨ⋂ᵵ⍥ ɫҺḗ ⱱ⍺ʟʟḕƴ ℉ ₫ẻẫtђ ϟтṝ⍥đḝ ṯђḙ ˅ʌ|ɨ⍶∩ŧ 4, ḻȋҟẻ Ϯɧḗ ŗĩḋḝṟȿ ℉ тẖẹ ẚƿɵↄàʆƔᶈȿɘ… ℃ɵ∩ʠ⊍ẹʂȶ, tħɐ ℃△Þ†àϊπ, |ɘậḍɨɲʛ ƭŗɵᵯ ƫḫɐ ϝɼȭπṫ, ∱ɇȉ∩ᵵɪŋᶃ, ɫυʀῄĩᴫɠ, ƒ△ḻḻϊ⋂ḡ ẫṇď ġẻṫⱦȋɲʛ ⍶ԓʛṛɏ ьûṫ ⊍ʆϯϊʍ⍶ƫḗʟỷ ᵾᴫᾷҌʟɘ ṱȭ ʍἇƙḗ ℁ ḣĩƽ ŋᾇᵯḗšʌҟḙ; Ш⍺ɾ, ฿ҽʂṫ Ḻ◌ȭᶄĭŋḡ, △|ẘẵӵƨ ẖ℁șʆȋȵġ, ℉tҽ⊓ štàᴫḍī⊓ǥ ƅɇнȋńḋ ⱦɧẻ ○ ῥ⍴◌ƽĩтĩȭἧ ʌ⋂ƌ ḕ▿ҽŗ ȉȵ ṱҥɐ ʈҺĩͼḵ ℉ įȶ; ℉ᾷᵯϊṇɐ, Ĵϊϻϐ◌Ƃ, ʟɨḵḗ ẵ ʟḗᾇᶄӯ șɪḙ√ɐ ĭᴨ ḡ⍥⍺ḻ ӌɐϯ šтʌŗⱱȋﬨġ ᾷȶ Ϯҥẻ ɵṭḣẹŗ ḗᴨ₫ ᾷῄḍ ϻ⍺ҟϊ⊓ġ ȿὃϻḗ ϯẹɼŗĩƄʟḗ ɓ℀ḵ ҏ℁ƽḗʂ; Đɐ△ȶҺ, ʟḕ ℅ɋ, ҫṝҽǝᶄĭῄǥ ḻɨḵḗ ʌ ƽƙḝḻẻȶ⍥ṉ ⍺ᴨƌ fiﬨԂȉ⋂ԍ №ᴨ ⱳ⍶ӌ †нɼ◌ȗʛҺ, 2 ẫṟḗ ʍ⍥ʍɘȵṯƨ ℉ ɪﬣšȉᴄįᴄĭ○ṉ №ⱳнḕɾɘ ἧẻẫɼ ɐ№ůɠђ ȶ○ ȿᵵẹ₥ ẗḥɇ tįƌҽ ℉ ɠɼɇḝπ тҥậṱ ○˅ҽʀϣẖɘʆʍẻḓ †ҥҽ Пḁʼnȵ⍺ ɠẫ○ɭş. Ǥůĩḋ⍥, tҥḝ 5ṱḣ ḥὃṝƽḙʍʌԓ (ɰḣẚt ɨš ñẹẍt ẚ⌠ẗḗṝ Đҽ△ṱн ? žɵʍɓȉẻ ʀҽʂ⋃ṟŗḕᴄϯįȭἧ) ɭɪҡḗ ẵ ȥ○ʍьϊɘ ɾȉɗϊṇɠ ᾇ ʍἇƫҥḗὧ ьʌɼ⊓ẻƴ Һὃʀƽḕ ϊńĵḝƈȶḗԀ △ ᵯ⍥ʍẹṉɫ ℉ ȗʀǥẹᴨↄƔ ⍺ᵰɗ ṗẹﬨɇϯṛḁṭɨ⍥ἧ ɓ⋃ṫ ĩṯ ɯ℁ ʌɭɭ ǝ |īȶᵵḻḗ Ϯ◌ ḻḁṭɘ, Ŧẖḗ △ҏ⍥ͼʌʟӱþϟҽ ḣ⍶ᶑ ậʟɾḝḁԀӱ ɓɐԍȗﬣ.
Α͂ϝȶҽɾѿ△ṟȡȿ ɰḝ ϣɇ⊓t ṭɵ ⱦḧɐ ฿ṛ⋃∩ȿɰȉƈḵ Ǥŗẻẻᴫ ẉђīҫђ ѿ℁ ậ ɼḗғṟɇșнĭȵǥɭӵ №∩-Ƅ◌ǜṝǥɇ○ȋȿ ḙχρɇɾɪḙԓↄҽ. Ɵῆẹ ỷ○⋃ȵɠ ʆ⍶ᶁӌ ѿ℁ ○▿ḝŗҥḝàŗᶑ ȭṝԀḕṛȉñʛ ‘ẅḥᾇт ɇ√ɐʀ ȋȿ ȶнẻ čẖɐǝƿḕϟɫ’ ậɫ ŧħɇ Ƅẵṟ ҍḗƒ◌ŗɐ ʆ⍺ϯḗṛ ℁ķįñᶃ ȶɧḕ Пàń∩℁ ɪӻ тђḙɏ ḣᾇᶑ ḁῆƴ fi|ṯḙʀş. ŦҺẹṛɐ ώḗɾḕ Ɣ◌ǜ⊓ǥ ᵯɐﬨ ȼḁ||ḗᶁ Đ⍶˅ḗ шḣ◌ ҥᾇḓ ᶑʀẻậḓɭ⍥ƈҡȿ àɴȡ ẗҺḕ ₥⊍şɨҫ ℅ńȿɨșƫẻϑ ʅʌŗʛḕʆƴ ℉ 90ʂ ŗȭƈƙ. Ǥûɪḋ◌ ṟḝẚ|ḻӌ şҥȋƒтḝɗ ẗҺḕ Пẚ⋂ń℁ ȕşůẫ| ḑīῆῆҽŗ ℅∩√ɘṝϟḁṱīɵἧ ȉ∩т○ tҺɇ ⍴ȭʆȋϯīᴄ⍶ʅ šƿḧḕṛḙ, ẘɇ н⍶ƌ ᾷ№ʈҺɇŗ ƥĭпϮ ℉ ϐẻɇɼ ⍺ṇᶑ ṯḣɇﬣ ṛὃḍḗ ħ○ʍɐ. ẗḫẻ ⍺űƫħ◌ŗ ṝ○ďɐ ḍĩṛḕᴄẗ|ӵ ƥ℁ϯ ŧҥɇ ℅℀Һɇš Һɵȕšḝ ἇṇԃ ώ℁ ẗẻ₥ƿŧḝԃ ṫɵ ẻṇϙűϊṟḝ ℁ †ḫҽ ẉɧḗȶɧẻṝ ẗҥḗ ℅℀н ẘ◌ûʟḍ ʙɐ ᵾᶈ ⌠⍥ɼ ẵ ψẻḗ ₫ʀ⍶ᵯ ℉ ӻṛϊƨķƔ ʙ⋃ṫ ₫ḕƈĩԂɇḓ ƅɐṯȶḕʀ ℉ ȉʈ.
Ŧ◌ԓỷ ẴʙϦ◌†ϯ ȋš ṟẻġʀḙtϮḁƂʟƴ ϟṫȋʆʟ тҺɘ ƥʀĭɱḙ ṃĩɴȋƽʈḕʀ ἇ⊓ɗ Ŧűŗἧɓ⊍ɭʟ īș ʟ⍥ɵҟϊ⋂ǥ ₥ὃʀḙ ẵɲɗ ɱȭɼḗ şᵯᵾǥ. Ậ ʍẵȵ ɨɲ ℃ђī⋂ἇ ŗḙҫẻϊɣҽ ḏ ᵵḫҽ ώɵṟʅđ’ş fiʀȿʈ Þɘñɨƽ tŗẵ∩ƨƿɭ⍺ɲɫ ʙȕŧ ẗɧҽń ḥẵԂ ĭт ṟḝʍ◌√ḙḓ ἇᵳȶḝṟ ṯɧṟḕɐ ẘḕɘƙƽ ḑǜḙ ƫɵ ⍴šɏƈḣὃ|ɵԍīĉẫʆ ṝɇ℁ȭﬣș. Àʀʂҽᵰậʆ ʆɵșᵵ ἇƥƿà|ḻɪɲḡɭӵ ɪᴫ ʈḫẹ fiṟƽṭ ḻḝġ ℉ †Һɘĩṛ ℃ɧ⍺₥Þī⍥⋂ϟ Ḻҽἇɠȗɐ тīɐ ẘĭȶђ Ɱ◌ᵰẫ℅ Ƅůṭ tẖḝ ฿|℀ᶄ ℃ẚƥș △ṝḕ ḁɓƨ⍥ḻųⱦẹʟӌ ᶄϊ||ȋﬣɠ ɪϮ, ү⍶ɏ.

Match report 5-12-13

Nannas 7 plays 3

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

So it had been a bad week. In fact, it had been a bad month, a shit month in fact. And I am sure it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t played for the Nannas in all that time.

But before I was able to let a month of frustrations out on the court, Hinkley and I went to the pub and things started to turn around. Even though I had to pay for the big man’s beer, it is amazing how much I missed him. It was great to discuss my horrible working arrangements, golf, and other most interesting stuff, and then we turned our attention to the game. We were playing the bottom placed side, and, as Hinkley said, it would be a good test of where we were at in the competition.

Well, the other team weren’t bad. A few of their number had some nice moves and one shot on goal from one of them was particularly impressive (beating Gilla at the near post). Having said all that, they hardly ever broke us down. The Nanna defence was tight and what’s more, we were holding onto the ball very well. To be sure, this was a strong team that the Nannas put out on this evening. Yes, Coach was sick (with what I don’t know), Chassy only had on one knee to run his two legs, Tao was in a fighting mood, and I was grumpier than a young bull during mating season, but we held it together pretty damn well.

I don’t really remember the goals in the first half. I am pretty sure Gilly got a couple of long range efforts, and there was talk of one by Chassy from a Tao pass, or was it the other way around.

Anyway, I think we were in front at half time, 3-2.

The second half is all about me. I know I am being a little self-indulgent here but I think I am sort of justified. I remember thinking as we ran on to the field after the break that I might not have the legs to run out the second half (after so long away from the game) but then I forgot about that and got busy scoring goals. The first was a long-range effort after I picked up the ball in midfield and was given a bit of space. I tried the toe poke, and it came off perfectly. I caught it just on the outside of my foot and I got that sweet that it curved inside out and into the top left corner of the goal. I got a big congratulation from one of the opposition for that one.

Next, I got the ball close to their goal but with my back turned. I heard various cries from my brother Nannas to pass it but I thought fuck it, and pushed the ball out to my left and had a crack. I am not really sure how it went in but I think it got a deflection or two. No matter; now we were 5-2.

After that, Gilla threw a long one, which he made bounce up for my left to follow through on and guide past their keeper and into goal. That one was particularly satisfying it has to be said.

Afterwards, we went for burgers at some place, somewhere north side (the city really does confuse me these days). Gilla brought out the blonde (I think) and from there the night got particularly hazy. It has to be said though, I did have one of the nicest rides (to the train station). The bike path from East Brunswick, through Carlton past Princess Park, Royal Park Golf course, and the Zoo is terribly agreeable at around 9 pm on a balmy night after blonde, burgers and beer. It is very smooth, mostly downhill, although somewhat dark and ominous in places. I almost fell off only once.

Apparently the other Nannas went for blonde later too. I think there might have been ice cream involved. Hard to say.

Match Report 2014_02_27

vs Men in Black (lost 4-7)
CB 1, DC 2, RH 1, AW, TH, CG(gk)

Birthday week.
Not just me.
Paul, Fiona, Me, Alice, Jim.
Consecutively.

Anyway. I drove. Picked up the tropical coq and ventured through the industrial badlands of Outer Coburg to the shiny new venue. Hells yeah! Soft and slippery that vinyl. The viewers are a little removed from the action lending a more gladiatorial feel to the court. Just players and the ref. Not even subs on court unless subbing.

So we were up against the Men in Black. A couple of them are as young as they are portly. One of them is as old as a Nanna, while looking older than a Nanna (though he did manage to outsprint this Nanna down the wing and score). For the record, dude is 43.

Ref blows his whistle. Men in Black kick off. It’s on. It’s nil all. For quite a while. Then they get a goal. Then Gill tries to rearrange his nut sack and inadvertently pulls his calf. Full flagellation of the veal. He’s whimpering. He’s limping. Wait! He’s doing a zomby impression. Or is it a new dance? The Nannas avert their collective eyeballs. It’s embarrassing. Or is it? Is it funk that is so deep, so raw and so nu that it can’t be perceived yet? The forward funk? The future of the forward?

Umm, no. None of the above. Giller is actually injured. He leaves the court. Nannas are down to 5. Coach steps into the goals. We concede more goals. Then we get some. I pass it to Cocky and he finishes it cleaner than a box of dishwashing powder. Cocky passes it to me and I get a delicate little whisper of a shadow of a flicker of a touch to the ball and it goes in! Oui! Oui! Oui! There was another goal and another and you know what? The scoreline is 4-5 to them. It’s close, very close. Close like Glenn. But then. Oh then. Dang it to the very rim of the anus of Fiona Craig’s cow Lola; they scored two more goals. 4-7. Men in Black have rinsed the final chunks of faecal matter from their collectively victorious bowel with the brown cleansing enema fluid of Nanna defeat.

So then we took it to the local. The Post Office Hotel. Wagyu burgers all round. Apart from Tom who was having too much fun and decided to bring it down a notch by having a blackbean burger. And Gill who was delirious, thought he was at the Embassy and ordered a ham and cheese sandwich. And Cocky who needed the belly of the pig. All washed down with Coburg lager. True.

But later. The next night. The real Nanna A took it to the forum to see Steve. And then to Mr Melville to have hugs with Steve and let him suck the vape. Cocky had the first lips-on-vape after Steve so he pretty much kissed Flylo. But I hugged him. Shio took us there. She is part of Nanna A now. Best gig this year fools! If not ever!!

Peace out>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Bitch.

Match Report 20th Feb 2014

7-8 v No Snow White – 9.20pm Coburg
DC(3), CG(gk,1), RH, TH,TK, AW, TW (nb: other goal credits still to be confirmed)

Old King lion is king of the jungle. He lives there, in the jungle, with all the other animals that he is the king of and all the plants and trees and insects and all the other shit that lives in the teeming jungle. But in the wastelands, where there is nothing, nothing but ice and sleet and sharp rocks and more ice, there lives another animal, forgotten and lost, wandering for months in the arctic winter. Sad and desperate, in a kind of amnesiac post traumatic fugue state the lone wolf traverses the polar wilderness in search of that which he has unremembered…

And then one day everything changes. The fugue state lifts, memories of the savannah come flooding back in a synaesthetic deluge, an avalanche of meaning and substance. Inundated with purpose, density, mass, weight, shape and structure the lone wolf begins his journey back. With each degree of latitude comes new awareness, a steadily increasing sense of collectivism and self organising complexity. Like a kind of highly evolved slime mould his very cells begin to realign and transmogrify, shifting and changing. As the mighty equatorial plains of Africa unfurl before him he finds he is no longer the lone wolf, lost in the wastelands of the north, but part of a greater whole, a unified system of the world.

He is once again a part of old King Lion. He is home.

Match Report 2013_11_07

vs Coconut Soldiers
won 13-12 (on aggregate and after extra time)
score 8-10 (for the single game)

TW 1, RH 3, TH(GK), CB 1, DH 3
CB MOM

First, we didn’t think we had a team. For a final! This beggars belief. Once upon a slice of time there were an abundance of mighty Nan-men tendering their good qualities to upper management for the chance of making the hallowed company of the magnificent seven. But now we don’t even have five starters. Then mighty D-HEN stood up so tall he put a hole in the roof of Carolina.

Second, I put my hand up to play goalie due to my unmentionable genua. It was a desperate situation, I had no choice. Then old man T-HO gets on the blower and pours all manner of sweet nothings, slippery commendations and honeyed words into my ear. The upshot was: “you’re not playing keeper son”.

Third, Tao and I are upstairs getting changed. Kamahl asks to join the Nannas. He says he finds our teamwork inspiring and he just hopes that he can be as….

Match Report August 22nd 2013

Goals CB 2 CG 1 MOM RH against table leaders?

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

I’ll tell you what happens, the unstoppable force does really well for the first half and then falters a little until the immovable object wears the force down and it is rendered stoppable and theneventually stops and then after a while actually starts to move back in the opposite direction, making it an unstoppable force once again – but in reverse.
Except
There is no right direction in space so even thought the unstoppable force has bounced off an immovable object and was, for an instant, stationary, it is now moving again and ready to blunder throught the universe with nothing able to stop it, because it is now travelling away from the immovable object.
So we owe a great debt to the punks that beat us because now we are once again travelling at great speed.

The game itself was tight and hard, an oxymoron, or perhaps a slice of perfection.

Chassey cut them up with fine running through the middle, Gilla scored a classic, I say a classic keepers goal with the mighty left, cocky showed why he is the coach of the new millenium and
A NEW NANNA WAS BORN.

that is right, Matt, the worlds unfittest man played for the Nannas, never has a ref showed so little ball skills.

He is not part of the unstoppable force

 

Match report – August 8th 2013 – part two

To nanna

The Nannas first birthed a colour
A child from the union of man and sport
That colour then birthed a team.
Ten children bound by one colour.
The Nannas now birth a word.

And one night did bring this word forth.
One night of unholy union.
One night so bright, so strong, so powerful.
That it split a noun in two.
The night that split a noun.
The night that birthed a verb.
A word to convey an action.
The night that defined what it is.
to nanna

When shards of frozen steam dive downwards from the heavens
When blood boils from every pore
When the screams of the last ever death have long since been silenced .
When hope has been buried in Hades beneath the rotting corpse of dreams
When the sun has devoured the earth and the moon and the stars
When all traces of light have been removed from the universe.
Then and only then
Will Nannas stop running.

And until that day
All Nannas will nanna.

Match report – August 8th 2013


The Triumph

 


fly, unloved losing streak, till thou run out thy race;
Call instead upon the lazy leaden-stepping one hit wonders,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is their paltry loss,
So mighty a victory is our gain.
As when the single carriage bestrode the path;
Quintuplicate solidus gather’d within prodigous girth.
For when, as each bad pass and miskick hast entomb’d
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
When injuries steer us not from thy truest quest,
And rightous Shots on Goal thus manifest.
Then long eternal winning shall greet our bliss,
With the ardent seven fold kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us, as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good,
And perfectly divine,
With speed, and pace, and possession, shall ever shine,
About the supreme brown throne
Of those, to whose happy-making sight, alone,
When once our golden-gilded soul shall climb,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars of brown and gold, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over our vanquished foes, and thee, O losing streak!



 

 

 

Match Report 2013_05_23

lost 3-5 vs Spartans?
CB MOM 2, RH 1, TH, TW, GF, CG

Yo people, we had a game that we lost. Let’s have a closer look. The final score was 5-3. They scored 5 goals and we scored 3. Here’s the thing. We started at 0-0 and in the first half of the first half (the first quarter if you will), it was like the Nannas were not quite fully on. You know the low power consumption fluorescent globes we all have these days. You turn them on and they seem a bit dull and not very bright and then may be 10 minutes later they are significantly brighter. As bright as you would hope a light should be.

So this is the Nannas. The game starts and we are on. We’re definitely ‘on’, but we’re just a little bit dull and dim. And while we’re in our slightly dim state the opposition score a couple of goals. Now, the opposition are a team that the Nannas have not played before and they have a style of play that is quite different to what we are used to. They are delicate and gentle with the ball and don’t go in for big body contact. They have footskills, they have fluidity. They’re not whip crack sharp but they’re slightly bewildering. Their style is something new.. a fusion of other teams’ styles that we have played. I call it the ‘banana style’. It’s slippery, delicately flavoured and it has the potential to make a cake out of the Nannas.

But. The big but. Somewhere around the first quarter mark, the gradual brightening of the eco-Nannas has suddenly reached its zenith. And we are on. We are bright. We are glowing. We begin to decode the bewildering banana. It no longer goes around us. Perhaps the Nannas can make a cake out of the banana instead of the other way around. The writer gets a goal. Which the writer can actually remember for once. Perhaps the online brain gym is actually working for the writer. Ok here it is.

“I get the ball.. I’m in front of the oppostion’s goals yet quite far to the right. I line up the shot. I see the bottom far corner of the goal. It looks good. It looks open. I’m thinking.. I’m gonna put it there, right there. And then I shoot. The ball hugs the floor, crosses the goal mouth and goes right into that bottom corner.”

At half-time we are 3-1 down. We pretty much repeat the pattern of the first half. Start dim, lose a couple of goals, brighten up and then fight back. The second half is actually a draw 2-2. The writer gets another goal (which he can’t really remember) and the Captain also gets one (which unfortunately the writer cannot really remember either.. suffice to say that it was awesome and banging and a classic captain’s special).

Personal apologies must go out to Tao. Sorry for calling you a name Tao. There is no excuse for it and I will try to be a bigger man this week.

After the match we took it random styles to the Thornbury Local. The Captain was happy with the reduced hipster factor but equally dismayed by the wall mosaic and the feral factor. There was live music. The label mogul shook his thing but remained seated. His impassive countenance revealed little and it seems unlikely that there will be any new signings. He did think about photographing the Dr Poppy sign until he realised it was an ad for ganja. Speaking of ganja, Coach and the funky nanna were seen departing the Thornbury Local for some unknown purpose and later seen re-entering the Local with noticeably reduced bombast.

PS A note on passing and shooting. (Basic tip #1)

I have been thinking a lot recently about the importance of looking at your target before you shoot or pass. And after a lengthy discussion with Tony Brown (head of coaching at FC Clifton Hill and no relation) on the subject, I feel sufficiently vindicated in my personal musings to bring them to the table of basic tips.

Here is the sequence.

1. Look at the ball.

2. Look at your target.

3. Look back at the ball. Kick the ball.

This may seem quite straight forward and simple but it can make a huge difference to your aiming. Often what happens is one sees the target/ person they are passing to in their periphery and then attempts to make the pass or shot.

YOU MUST EYEBALL THE TARGET

This enables your eye-brain-foot calibration to work. It’s a wondrous thing.

 

Match Report 02 05 13

CB, TH, AW, JH, GF, RH(MOM), TK(MOM)

Anger produces an instantaneous surge, which causes your eyes wide open, blood pressure to elevate and your heart to get excited. Let’s get our hairs on the back of neck stand up. We are ready for action. We’re born with a capacity for anger. Anger isn’t something that has to be learned or earned, like other such such ship. It is blasting 50 Cal. Just need better control like someone started to use telescopic sight on top of it at Falkland Crisis. Charge the anger till the time you release.

Match Report – From Another Era Ago

vs a team that no longer exists at a place that isn’t there anymore.

Once, about 13 years ago, there was a man, and he made a little baby lion by pleasuring an older she-lion with his sperm, and despite what you may think you know about genetics, the little baby lion didn’t come out as half man-half lion, it came out to be all lion. Now the man, as men were want to do back in those days, went about his business without much regard to for the baby lion, but the she-lion, as mothers have been want to do throughout the ages, cared for her little baby lion. As the little baby lion lay suckling at the hairy teat of the she-lion she whispered in it’s little baby lion ears; “As the product of both Man & Lion you are destined for greatness for you will possess the finest attributes of each of them. You will have the strength and savagery of Lion and the wisdom and guile of Man, but you must also be wary for the worst attributes are want to manifest as well.”

Sure enough the little baby lion grew great and powerful. Those who saw him coming feared him, for his jaws were gleaming razors attached to titanium vices, his paws were spiked clubs attached to hydraulic wrecking arms, and his roar shattered the bowels of those who would stand in his way. As he aged he became more powerful, he fought and slew creatures much more powerful than he. He bested foes against whom he had no realistic chance. His legend was total and all bowed before him and called him sire for he was Old King Lion.

Then the man who fathered the Lion felt a stirring in his loins. He thought of his progeny, he wondered what had become of him, he had heard stories from far off lands of the mighty Old King Lion, and he was curious whether Old King Lion might be his offspring. So he journeyed far, seeking Old King Lion, looking for a mighty warrior, a fighter afraid of no-one, besting all who he came up against, but there was no sign of such a beast. The man thought many times of giving up, but the desire to see his scion burned strong within him, so he traveled further and further eventually crossing the river that divided the lands to the South Side. A side where depravity and vice were strong; where hedonistic pleasures were routinely taken at the expense of other less fortunate beings; where sickness and perversion were so pervasive as to be more present than the air being breathed; where moral turpitude festered upon souls of the inhabitants like a cancerous bile duct spurting gangrenous pus onto a duendena; a place lousy with licentiousness, lechery, prurience, and obscenity. There he found what had once been Old King Lion.

He found what had once been Old King Lion camped out in a puddle of his own piss gumming off prostitutes. Old King Lion had hit rock bottom, he was a hooker’s hooker. His fur was mangy and bescabbled, with rancid bits of indeterminate matter coated around his rectal area. His johnston had been rubbed raw in some sort of onanistic dementia, as though in some part of his mind he was still the king and he was getting some. But he wasn’t, and he wasn’t. He was nothing. Opponents who used to fear him in battle barely even bothered fighting him, they’d just rock up and take a shit on his head and laugh at him, or make him drink petrol for cigarette butts, or watch him while he self harmed his own testicles with mouse traps and car jacks, or bend him over and have their way with him, cracking him across the back of the head with a bit of old 4 by 2 with a nail hanging out of it while what had once been Old King Lion maniacally laughed green snot bubbles out the hole where his septum used to be, wailing ‘still the king’ repeatedly in an out of key falsetto.

The man cradled the broken Old King Lion in his arms as a creamy discharge from one of the broken Old King Lion’s pustulant sores slowly wept into the man’s brown cardigan. “I’m getting you out of here,” said the man as a tear rolled down his cheek, “I’m taking you Northside, where you can be king again.” And parts of the Old King Lion were like: “Hmmm, I dunno maybe”, and other parts were whiny like: “But this is the only place we know”, and one particularly recalcitrant part was like: “its a bit harder for me to catch a train from there”. And the man said: “For fuck’s sake! There’s Hampton shit in your hair, and a mousetrap on your nuts. Pack up your kit right now we’re going!” And so they went.

And went they did, deep Northside, further north than any of the parts of Old King Lion believed was possible to go. And as they traveled Old King Lion’s strength returned, his sores healed and his mind sharpened. He knew he would have to fight again, for real this time, no back down, no surrender. And when he stepped into the ring he saw a fearful looking opponent from the east, but pretty much 30 seconds into the fight it turned out it was just a tiny little puppy dog in a bow tie with a pink ballon with kitten on it. The Old King Lion roared and the tiny little puppy dog fouled itself, and the Old King Lion raised his once again mighty paw and brought it down upon the tiny little puppy dogs head with the maximum power available and thereupon repeated the action until the little puppy dog was just a stain on the court.

The man smiled, Old King Lion was back.

Match Report • March 21st 2013

4-7 v Real Madredful – 6pm Wesley
CB, DC(3,mom), GF(1), CG, RH, TW – supporters OTG, PTG, SB

All the talk was of Preston this week. From my perspective it was all to do with an ill fated house purchasing scenario just south of Bell St, what a freakin’ nightmare. From the Captain’s perspective it was all about Hoddle Street/Punt Road and how we might avoid the weekly monoxide nightmare it has come to represent. Apparently they have spare places in a Preston comp on a Thursday … we’ll see. I for one am up for it but I do harbour grave fears for the structural integrity of the Nannas™ if we were to attempt a move. Morale is low, commitment is lower, the thursday night impromptu has not been see in the wild for a very, very  long time. A move at this point could prove disastrous.  On the other hand it could be just what the brown brothers need to kick start that old  joie de vivre that is so sorely missing… perhaps we should put it to the voter®… or a forum poll perhaps.

The 6 o’clock game is fucker, or if you are the coach, a fister. It played absolute havoc with our transportation ( more grist for the preston mill). I met Giller and the Captain oustide Clifton hill station ( is that a first ? a pickup from PT ?) after a frisk and wriggle with the met police.  We made better than expected time on boulevard of evil and arived… wait for it… 32 mins… that’s right…32 mins early, which was odd. Visitor© and Brown© arrived a little closer to kickoff but no sign of teh Nannas whose names stat with “Ta” so it was a Tight 5 for the first half until Bestlooking© managed to fight his way through the traffic, making us 6 for the second half. Cheezles opened the scoring with a deftly placed shot which was followed quickly by one from the author (a rather novel event) putting the brown and gold 2 ahead after about 5 mins. By half time it was 2 all and 4-7 at the final whistle. We played pretty well for the most part with some good passing, nice running and a great goal at the end (if I do say so myself) but they were killing us on the counter and had a couple of footskills too many. ah well.

The standard post 6 o’clock game full impromptu failed to materialise due to total nanna nannalyness leaving giller and the author to go to Huxtaburger for a mandate ( and full props to huxtaburger fro remembering the forgotten burger), followed by a brief tour of smith street’s artistic output, we were even planning to have a look at Alice’s opening… dirty… but then the tram arrived, so the author didn’t get to… but giller did.

– – – – – – – – –

Preston #1, the one that got away…

 

Preston #2, the harsh graphic reality…

Match Report 2013_03-07

vs South Melbourne
loss 5-10
CB 2 MOM, JH,DC 1,TW, TK(gk), AW, GF, TH (coach)

Tom set the tone with his excellently selected tie. Papou came along to support us.

We started the game with a little jolt of confidence as we appeared to be holding the opposition well. This little jolt is actually not what we need because it weakens our resolve and opens up our vulnerabilities.

So there we were with our vulnerabilities gaping wide open and telling our homeboys we were scoping. And that was enough encouragement for the frenchy opposition to take us to school. And not in a walking bus.

One day we will win again.