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

Nannas 7 plays Pop City FC 5

Things to consider when reading this match report:

• Gill got no votes on account of the non-posting of a match report from the week prior.
• We scored six goals but were awarded seven. The opposition were only four but had a ringer, so the ref deemed this a violation and gave us an extra.
• Chas probably should have won MOM. He was that good.
• Cocky did leave the arena for two to three minutes mid match.
• Cocky also did return. And returned to the field of play too.

When members of the public will look back on this game they will notice three things. First, Chas was on fire. Second, the Nannas had no right to win this game. Third, the opposition were a team is search of their best player, who they substituted with another player who was probably better.

Chas on fire

Chas, knees last week preventing him from playing, this week was on fire. His last goal, the clincher. Such majesty. I saw him get the ball from the left, turn inboard in front of their goal and shoot, attended by at least two outfield opposition. The attempt was just too hot for their keeper, who seemed surprised at its ferocity. But in fairness, this is how Chas had been for most of the game. Leading with his shoulder, getting down and dirty when was ball was to be won, and also finding some very nice passes. One in particular that will stick long in the memory banks was the fierce cross to Jim from a side put in. Chas smashed it. Jim saw it, thinking, I can’t get my head to it or my feet. The velocity of it seemed prohibitive for any of those eventualities. In the end, Jim thought fvck it, I’ll meet with my chest. The impact was solid, but if Jim knows how to do anything it’s how to puff out his nipples, which he did manfully. Thankfully Jim was standing at the back post of their goal, and the ricochet bulged the back of their net.

Chas really should have gotten MOM.

The Nannas and a game won

For the first time in the Nanna’s history one of their players packed up his gear, mid game, said ‘fvck you all, I’m going home’.  It was Cocky. He was bugging out and going home.

Read that again.

I think it’s safe to say that in our storied twenty five year history, no Nanna, not during a game, not during a final, not even when having a kick around in park, has just upped and walked. And for Cocky to do this. Cocky, an original, one of the spiritual leaders of the Nannas, he’s the left ventricle (arguably the most crucial part of the human heart [the left ventricle has the thickest walls, enabling it to generate the force needed to pump blood throughout the body]) of a brown heart that beats as one. For him to say fvck this, and fvck you guys. Wow!

Now, there are probably some of you out there who might think I am making more of this than is necessary. Or that what Cocky did can be explained away by outside circumstances (and maybe that’s true, I don’t know).

But for those yellers among you, and at times most of us have been guilty of this (I know I have), I think you need to consider why we/you play. Is it to win silverware? You are a buffoon. To beat a team who don’t like or for some misguided one-upmanship? K!ll yourself. To feel like you still got it? Eeeeeeeeeeejit. Because you love the game? Perhaps I’ll grant you that one. To stay fit? Yes, there’s an element of that. For friendship and the camaraderie? This is why I play, and why I’ll drive an hour and forty each way in the middle of winter, usually getting home close to midnight and with a crappy sleep afterwards to boot.

So at the end of that, to be yelled at (and to be yelled at with venom, and let’s be frank, last night, and for weeks previous there have been examples of this) seems point blank ridiculous/ludicrous/dickwad-ish/fvckface-ish/arseholeric/nob jocky-ish/cvnt-ish, not to mention totally counterintuitive to why you’re playing. But it’s also expecting your brother Nanna to open wide while you loom over him and slide a massive dirty, slimy, blackish turd down his throat.

So, yes, it’s good we won (and thankfully we did). But should we have? After Cocky walked off, I had my doubts we’d deserve it. I also had my doubts over the Nannas continuing not just the game but as an entity afterward. Not even the Captain has the (supernatural) powers of leadership, which is what it would have taken, to overcome that.  

To his immense credit, Cocky returned, and at half time gave a hug to the one who was all yelling and we moved on. If I could have given him all my votes, I would have.

The opposition

The opposition are a lot like us. They’re solid. They’re usually tight on defence. They’re not overly quick or skilful. And very similar to the Nannas when we get someone with a bit of skill, some pace, with an eye for goal, they are transformed into a much better team. Last night our opposition had lost their main man, but had picked up the dude in a United Ronaldo shirt. As discussed with Cocky sideline, he did befit that outfit. He had moves, he had a shot to match it, and he did score four of their five goals (even Gilla who got his hands to a few of his shots couldn’t cope with their power).

With about five-ten minutes to go, I said to him, don’t score any more goals for them. Thankfully he duly obliged.

Nannas 7 plays Orangers 11

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

And so there I was, sitting behind this dozy woman who proceeded to fill up her tank with petrol extremely slowly. The ETA on the map clicked over to three minutes past the start of the game.

And my feelings turned to anxious. Seeing a free bowser two lanes up, I went to reverse and backed up a few yards only for an angry horn to parp from behind. I had to wait.

And so there was I screaming down the freeway winding back the ETA. I had the vehicle on cruise, the speedometer said 118 KM/H, whereas the velocity provided by Google clocked me at 115.

And eventually I pulled into entrance of the school. Now five minutes early, most Nannas had arrived.

And there in front of us was the team in orange who I had played on my last visit to indoor. They beat us 11-3 on that occasion.

And once again I thought: the administration of this comp leaves a lot to be desired.

And there I was on the sideline as the game began. The orange ones were having fun, while the Brown men were flailing around in their wake. They had us two goals down in as many minutes.

And Andy was subbed in.

And then I yelled at Cocky to drag his sorry arse from the fray.

And was it really me who got our first goals? They were two by that stage.

And I can’t remember either if it I scored first from the corner, or the pull down from the Chas long ball, turn and bang home. After the latter (if indeed it did come after) the ref sung my praises.

And my goals provided the inspiration for a mini-Brown-valanche. We went to four. They remained on two.

And then I heard Cocky say, somewhat foolishly, we’ve got this. That’s when the oranges hit a few and pegged us back to remind us that we didn’t really have anything.  

And we went to half time, although I am unsure what the score was.

And on the other side of the break we re-commenced battle. They pulled up apart, passed around and through us, and scored many. For our part, we did offer them up the ball exactly where they would have wanted it (in midfield with our defence not set), but we also scored more too, just not as many as them.

And I remember a couple of Chassy goals. The one where he had an open net but whacked it at their keeper, who managed to hit it into his own goal, was memorable. So was Cocky gagging for me pass it to space in an open forward line. I did as much and he scored.

And they were better. But we were quite good. If we can control the ball a little better, and perhaps take a moment and size up a better pass instead of giving it away cheaply, we will improve and test many teams.

And I think that has been said for at least twenty years.

And afterward we went to the Union where a happy birthday was sung in my honour. I felt honoured.

And honourable mentions go to Chas. They call him the man in form. But also Kondo. His shot stopping was immense.

Nannas 3 plays Calcorp 11
ATT: CB, DC(MOM), JH (MOM), RH, AW, Joel.

Tao put the kiss of death on us before the match had begun. Curiously, he declined to say why he wouldn’t play. Was he terrified? That’s how I read his messages in the lead up to the game.
There were six heroic Nannnas, though, willing to weather the Calcorp storm. They dress in orange. They are younger than us, and certainly a lot more skilful.
We lined up, and within five or six minutes it appeared it would be a procession just as our frightened Tao suggested. They scored one, then another, a third and fourth for good measure. They have sublime foot skills, can change direction on a pinhead, seem to find each other without even looking, and a couple (most) of them can really hit a shot.
There we were, Tao frightened, hiding at the thought of these people and unable to face them. While on court, those Nannas courageous enough to face the Calcorp were staring down the barrel of a heavy defeat.
But a glimmer of hope appeared.
As I stood astride the right-hand touch line, marked by the big dude with the dreads, Joel threw a long ball to me. As is Joel’s want, he threw it hard at my feet. There was no thought on my part. I simply turned and suddenly my marker lagged behind, the ball spitting out in front, and their goaling rushing towards me. I sighted a glimmer on the keeper’s right (my left), and that’s where my toe poke was aimed, finding the back of the net.
Then there was the Cocky. Oh, the Cock walloper. After my moment of glory, he thought he would one up me. And he did, almost. Like on the slopes of Kashmir, he did slalom beating one, two, and a third, after which he just had to deal with the keeper, which he did.
Chas got a third, and for the briefest of moments we had control of the ball, and were starting to threaten, find balance in the force, and look capable of matching it with the Orange men of magnificent foot skills and deadly shots.
They did score one more before the break and we stopped there for a breather 5-3.
In that pause, I did try to instil in the Nannas some wisdom of holding the ball and not trying to play through swathes of opposing, very practiced feet. I also gave a brief tutorial on marking people who are faster and more adept than you.
Despite my pleadings the Nannas only know one way. And like in the first half, there were moments when we were over ambitious, could have played to friendly, open feet, instead of trying to play through hostile skilful ones, and made them work harder to gain possession.
And the price we paid for our profligacy? Six more of the best.
From the Browns, we hit the post at least four time in that second stanza, so we were unlucky. But the better team won.
One of their goals was particularly special. After a Nanna lost the ball, they pushed forward, delivering a long pass to one of their Orange in a forward position. Like he’d done most of the night, Joel came forward to try to snuff out the danger. But the Orange seemed to know this, and with his back half turned, managed to lob Joel having the ball drop just under the crossbar and into goal. A very special goal.

Nannas 6 plays Harchester United 4

Att: CB, CG, JH (5, MOM), RH, AW, TW (1)
DC (Arse Coach)

Act I, Scene I
In a privy chamber, the game doth start. The hero’s call of nature doth demand a swift retreat, his bladder’s burden pressing hard. Lo! A large drive doth echo in the chambers of his soul. Thus returns he to the field, amidst the clangor of Tao’s voice, booming through the center.
Enter Nanna, hastening to the field.
Nanna: Oh, woe! The call of nature did summon me, And I did run, with haste to set me free. Returning now to hear the game begun, I hear the echo of the coach’s drum.
The minutes fled, the hour was ripe, And in the field I took my fateful stripe. With coach’s command, or so I thought I heard, I moved ahead, my actions swift and stirred.
Act I, Scene II
The field, a stage of glory’s grand display.
Nanna: Upon the left post, Gilla’s throw did land, A mark of poor design, but my touch was grand. A header swift did find the keeper’s net, And so, the ball in goal did firmly set.
Behold, the keeper, weakest in their lot, Did come afield, a pass so ill begot. It fell to me as if by fate’s design, And lo, I lofted it, a goal divine.
Act I, Scene III
The Nanna’s prowess continues to shine.
Nanna: Again I moved to where the ball did fly, Gilla’s left did send it ‘cross the sky. With head held high, I sent it through the post, A third triumph, our team’s honour toast.
A fleeting chance, as mid-field turned to loss, I, the forward, took the ball, did cross. No foe before but keeper, weak and slow, I struck with aim, and made the ball bestow.
Act I, Scene IV
Another Nanna bulges the net.
Nanna: In sooth, our gallant Tao did wield his toe, A mighty instrument of valor bold, With which he made the leather sphere to go A-hacking through the air, as tales are told.
Upon the pitch, where fate and fortune dance, He placed his mark with skill most deft and bright, And struck the ball with force and steady lance, To find the net’s low corner in the night.
So did he ply his trade with strength and art, And from that scene, the crowd’s acclaim did flow, For in the game’s grand theatre, he did part The curtains of our awe with that swift toe.
Act II, Scene I
The battle’s tide turns, the Nanna’s glory set.
Nanna: As half-time came, with ball beneath my feet, A forward stance, a duel I did repeat. The big mad fool did come with wild decree, Yet I with steadfast shot did break him free.
Act II, Scene II
The Nanna’s reflections on the loss of ball in mid-field.
Nanna: In mid-field lost, our kryptonite is plain, The ball in peril, a constant source of pain. Three to two, the odds did oft confound, And skillful foes did make us yield the ground.
Act II, Scene III
Gilla’s valor in defense amidst the fray.
Nanna: While I did shine with glory’s golden ray, Gilla, steadfast, kept the foes at bay. Their ire rose, for naught could breach his might, Yet low and hard, they scored, a keeper’s blight.
Epilogue
Nanna: A final word, to those who doubt and scorn, When minutes near the end, and victory’s worn, Might not we, in wisdom, hold our ground, And not in rashness, let our fates be bound?
The clock doth tick, and two goals still ahead, No need to push, for backward we may tread. As Thierry did, so let us ponder well, For sometimes backward play doth serve us well.

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!’

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.