Match Report 20110421

3-4 loss vs the nuts (with Giller’s bro in them)
CB, DC(1), JH, TH(gk/MOM), TW(2)

First we listen to the gospel according to Pegazus and those deserter Nannas take careful note of these most powerful lyrics.


Yes that’s right Pegazus you truly know:
Brothers stand as one
And never surrender
Until we shed blood
Where the heroes fight and fall
Bravest warriors standing tall
Never surrender
The Crusade.

Cockdangger’s back was just useless muscle sort of sellotaped to his spine. He still played – and he’s a TRUE HERO OF NANNA
Jimmy Hannanberry’s last day of freedom before he goes to live on the plantation. He still played – and he’s a TRUE HERO OF NANNA
Taoser’s been drunk and high non stop for a week since the family went old country. He still played – and he’s a TRUE HERO OF NANNA
The Chasvestito parked in Reservoir. He still played – and he’s a TRUE HERO OF NANNA
Coach Judge Coach had tickets for some other shit or something. He still played – and he’s a TRUE HERO OF NANNA

Yes these are the annointed men of herodom’s most valiant hall of mirrors. When they look around there they see the best Nannas, on the back of a giant winged horse who is so tough he spells his name with a motherfucken’ Z. They aren’t so scared they go to Queensland. NO they go and kill Saracens on a Crusade on a giant winged horse etc. TRUE WARRIORS STANDING TALL! NEVER SURRENDER! THA CRRRUUUUSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADE!!!

Anyway we kind of metaphorically surrendered to the Saracens by kicking a couple of own goals which really jags a broadsword right up in your curry hole. This was pretty indicative of the luck we were having – technically probably the better team on the day, but too many shots at the goalie, into the crossbar, wide of the mark – in short, unable to convert.

TRUE. HEROES. OF. NANNA. then shot, skinned and gutted a fat yak on the fucking battlefield fools and had giant fucking fat yak legs sitting on the cadavers of their defeated enemies with yak fat dribbling down their bearded chins and over their bloodied fists or they eat bespoke pasta at Fat Yak – don’t go getting technical with me you weren’t even there.

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