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Match Report 080403

match report

TH(GK)(MOM), CB (1), DC (1), JH, AW

11-2 We went down to Dead Dead Skilfull

An extract from my personal journal I would like to share with all the Nannas out there in bloggerszone:

Thursday the Third of April, 2008

Dear Diary,
Today I found out miracles really do come true and how awesomely akbah is indeed allah, because today, dear diary, I won the highest honour and respect of my sweet Nanna brethren despite letting 11 goals go by. Today, dear diary, I felt for once the Nannas finally respected me for who I am as a person not just how shit I am on the soccer field and that makes me feel really good. Dear diary today I feel like all the good in world is finally happening to me for once, because how is it possible that such an honour should fall to such a one as me….(&c, &c)

Anyway it goes on like that for a couple more pages and I basically just piss my pants ‘cos I’m so happy and humbled by this honour etc etc whatever. So the crux of it was we got caned pretty hardcore. We had our moments for sure, but we let a few too many soft goals in. Sure I got nutmegged once (maybe twice) but I also got a bit of a boning from a couple of own goals and a few occasions where they were just lining up to have a shot, and you can’t let a side as good as them do that without expecting a bit of a fisting. I think Cocky got a goal by taking the high ball interpretation to that place where there’s just enough doubt in the opposition’s mind that they stop for a second and not quite enough doubt in the refs mind (cause he’s liking you today) to pull you up. Perhaps it is fair to say the scoreboard wasn’t an entirely true reflection, we seemed to hold them quite well for periods, then they would avalanche us. We lacked a bit of luck/finesse/finishing power in front of goals too, on a couple of occasions we were one out with the goalie and probably should have made more of our opportunities. Perhaps it is also true we lacked a bit of the elixir from the week before. Who can say from where comes this elixir, and why the Nannas should be drunk upon it one week and parched for a taste the following? Probably some sports psychologist I guess

I would leave the Nannas out there tuned in on the internets reading this blog with the following personal journal extract:

A.M. Thursday the Tenth of April, 2008

Dear Diary,
Last night I had the strangest dream, I was locked in a room with all my dear Nanna brethren, we none of us were sure exactly what we were doing there. It was a little peculiar, but I feared not, because my brothers were at my side. Slowly we became aware of a strange noise. Quiet at first, it gradually increased in volume. Somewhere between the drone of a partway demented automaton and the cry of a frightened fowl, it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Louder it grew, and with it the concerns and agitations of myself and my trapped comrades. All of us being brought up on the mythology of the Star Wars, we started to get that feeling we had felt as children, in the pit of our belly when we could not help but place ourselves in the garbage compactor with Luke et al. The noise grew louder still, verbal communication became impossible. Terrifying. We none of us had any notion of how to combat this situation, how to extract ourselves from this hell room, nothing in any of our experiences had prepared us for this. The noise reached an intensity that was doing permanent damage, it started getting darker, the smell of death began to permeate the room. We all of us realise it will end shortly and end badly. Then hope. Someone, I don’t know who, maybe all of us together, become aware of a thin crack of light way above us. To high for a man to reach, it seemed as first as though it would offer no salvation, then the Nannas started to organise. Without any prompting or apparent guidance, the tall men of the squad formed a circle, the hands of one man firmly grasping the shoulders of those on either side of him. On top of them scrambled the medium sized guys, similarly forming a circle of strength. Finally as the sound started to affect the internal organs of the Nannas, the smallest Nanna clambered up the backs of his fellows and punched mightily at the sliver of light. The sound stopped, a light of a most brilliant golden bathed us and I woke with words of Tenacious D in my ears: “That’s fucken teamwork”

MATCH REPORT 080228

Uncategorized

THIS IS A TEST OF THE EMERGENCY MATCH REPORT SYSTEM (Not a test really. This is for real. This is what we’ve trained for.)

Holy sh1t Nannas there i was in my kitchen holding the modem/router going this piece of junk doesn’t fit in the toaster (ie it’s toast), ie the whole friggen internets is gone just up and fvcked off from my bedroom. Then I attempt a remote login, but the server is not recognising me. I’m hacking command line like a lesbian at a rug grooming convention but nothing. (Some of the less poindextrous of the Nannas may be lost about now) I’m right in the citrix kernel of some secure apache server deep under the Nevada desert in an old salt mine, zero’s and one’s just flying by my eyes like some bad hyperspace effect from the 70’s, but nothing. Ixnay on the postskay. What is a Nanna to do when faced with such an obstacle to his sworn duty? Order another mojito and say ‘so it goes’? No! He places upon his head his resourcefulman’s hat and offers up results and not excuses. So hereby goes the match report for last week so that all may see and be satisfied of it’s existence and that it may be posted to it’s rightful place as soon as my internets comes back or I work out what ‘command line’ means.

MATCH REPORT 080228

TK(GK) TH(MOM) DC(1 GOALS) RH TW AW JH

9 – 1 (We went down)

Man you should have been there, it was flippin’ hilarious! Captain rocked up with his right foot hanging on by half a tendon and some matted leg hair going “I’m right to play, really” as though it were naught but a bad Monty Python sketch. Then Cocky the prodigal Rudcock was like, “you’re schtick is weak. I’ve been in the old country too busy to write match reports, because I have been working on a whole bunch of new material that centre’s around sh1t dribbling out of my arse most of the time and then occasionally exploding forth in an hilarious punchline of fecal eruption”. And the Nannas were in agreeance that that was indeed some funny sh1t. The joke’s didn’t stop there, in fact they continued apace onto the field and sustained an uproarious hilarity for the duration of the match.

OK we went down. They avalanched us a bit at the end, and I reckon we were about 4-1 at one stage and not entirely out of contention. Teamwork was not in great evidence. Obviously if I am in contention for the MOM then our stars are not shining so bright. We were beat by a better team on the day who played a heap better than us. That is not to say we cannot beat them. We got a goal and kept our pants and that is something.

Match Report 080221 (Part 3)

match report

Nannas Vs Thursday Nights

0-9

RH(MOM), JH (MOM), AW (MOM), TH(MOM), Oz the Lebanese ring-in.

On four.

Four is the only number in the English language for which the number of letters in its name is equal to the number itself.

Four is the number of brave Nannas who turned up for the 640 game at MacRobertsons

Four is the smallest composite number, its proper divisors being 1 and 2. Four is also a highly composite number. The next highly composite number is 6.

Four is the number of MOMs voted to the brownest of honours at the completion of said game

Four is the second square number, the second centered triangular number.

Four is the number of tennis balls equivalent to Andy Wong’s testical size.

4 is the smallest squared prime (p2). It has an aliquot sum of 3 which is itself prime. The aliquot sequence of 4 has 4 members (44,3,1,0).

Four is approximately the number of own goals James converted

The prime factorization of four is two times two.

Four is the number of Purple Hearts Rhian would have been awarded if he had sustained his injuries fighting for the US Military.

Four is the smallest composite number that is equal to the sum of its prime factors. (As a consequence of this, it is the smallest Smith number). However, it is the largest (and only) composite number n for which (n - 1)!\ \equiv\ 0 \ ({\rm mod}\ n) is false.

Four is the number of diseases I was inoculated against prior to the game (Typhoid, Hep A, Tetnus, Diptheria)

Four is a Motzkin number.

Four is the number of hours prior to the game that the nurse inoculated me.

In addition, 2 + 2 = 2 \times 2 = 2^2 = 4 . Continuing the pattern in Knuth’s up-arrow notation, 2 \uparrow\uparrow 2 = 2 \uparrow\uparrow\uparrow 2 = 4, and so on, for any number of up arrows.

Four (hundred) is the number of times I thank the Lord Jesus Christ every day for being part of the Mom Four

A four-sided plane figure is a quadrilateral (quadrangle) or square, sometimes also called a tetragon. A circle divided by 4 makes right angles. Because of it, four (4) is the base number of plane (mathematics). Four cardinal directions, four seasons, duodecimal system, and vigesimal system are based on four.

Minus four is the number of times Oz worked it back into the D.

The smallest non-cyclic group has four elements; it is the Klein four-group. Four is also the order of the smallest non-trivial groups that are not simple.

Four is the number of minutes Tao would have got to play if he had continued getting changed after he realised it was the second half.

Four is the maximum number of dimensions of a real division algebra (the quaternions), by a theorem of Ferdinand Georg Frobenius.

Four is the number of centimetres Rhian’s half volley from the old over the head dob missed by.

The four-color theorem states that a planar graph (or, equivalently, a flat map of two-dimensional regions such as countries) can be colored using four colors, so that adjacent vertices (or regions) are always different colors. Three colors are not, in general, sufficient to guarantee this. The largest planar complete graph has four vertices.

Four is the number of millimetres to the right required for OZ’s shot to have not hit every post in the goals and instead sailed into the back of the net.

Lagrange’s four-square theorem states that every positive integer can be written as the sum of at most four square numbers. Three are not always sufficient; 7 for instance cannot be written as the sum of three squares.

Four is probably two more legitimate chances than we actually had.

Four is the first positive non-Fibonacci number.

Four(teen) is the number of dollars it costs to play when only four Nannas front for a game. (Or maybe $17.50, I forget)

Each natural number divisible by 4 is a difference of squares of two natural numbers, i.e. 4x = y2 − z2.

Four is the number of times it took me to get my t-shirt on the right way around for the second half.

Four is an all-Harshad number and a semi-meandric number.

The Mom Four

Match Report 080110

match report

2 – 5 vs Gash Backs

TH (Mom, GK), DC, AW, JH, CB

I don’t know if any of you were in Stalingrad circa WW2 when the spaghetti hit the fan. That shit was fvcked up. The Germans were the sophisticated, well drilled, experienced hard men and the Russians had nothing except for about 20 times as many men and a bitch of a winter. Basically you had no chance, if the cold or the starvation or your own secret police or the enemy or dysentry or the tuberculosis didn’t get you then you died from drinking anti-freeze for the high. You were stuck between two megalomoniacal egos refusing to back down. That’s kind of how it was for us. Them with there fancy skills and the ex-australian rep ref playing for them and little iron crosses hanging around their necks, and us with the glorious will of the Soviet people.

Simplest way to understand it is to think of me in goals as the Volga river, nothing can get past, that’s not even an option, but fritz is still going to shell the shit out of me day and night. Jim was the October Tractor Works, a lot of bad shit happened there, men eat horses if they were lucky. Cocky, as always, was the poster boy magnificent sniper division getting all the food, all the press, and all the ladies. Chas was the 5 million strong Red Army troops who the Hun could not conceive of existing over the other side of the urals with their T-34s ready to die in wave after pointless wave. Wal was frostbite, eating Jerry whole and turning his flesh black. Tao was of course the generals who never showed up for the fighting but invented new medals for the dead soldiers to wear.

So despite what history tells us we lost. But we drew the second half, and if you take the two goals that the ref got out things don’t look so bad, plus I was in goals and that sucks harder than having the Romanians on your flank. Then my bicep got ruptured and it took a week for the bruise to come out. Amen

Nannas Match Report 071108

match report, Uncategorized

Nannas vs The Team From the Bottom of the Ladder That Hung Around After Their Previous Game and One Traitor Nanna
DC CB CG JH AW TH
Mom TH/AW

Many years ago during the Kamakura Shogunate a bunch of masterless samauri roamed the lands. They were greatly feared and destroyed all who came before them. The were known simply as the Nan-Na. None could match their strength, ferocity, belief in one another or wisdom. Despite their more aged years and against younger, more nimble opposition they continued to reign undefeated because they fought hard and they fought smart and they fought with a warrior’s spirit. A group of them were wandering through the forest one day. Kokyo; the katana master, Bigu Jimu; on the bo or staff and philosophical ponderment, Cha-Chinko; fast, furious and deadly with the shuriken, Gira: makes two nun-chukkas look like about fifty, Wongauri: sneaky little knives that you don’t really see coming, and Cocho; who could only really yell loudly. They were looking to fight a young band of samauri who thought they were something, but this young band of samauri got cold feet, and fled to Malaysia so as not to have to face the awesome firepower of the feared Nan-na. This disappointed the Nan-Na greatly, who were eager for battle, so when they found a bunch of trainee peasant stick fighters who had never successfully won a battle, already weakened from a bloody skirmish they thought they could have a little sport with them. The Nan-Na should have crushed them, but they were smote utterly. Even when the loser peasant farmers were reduced to four men after Bigu Jimu’s mighty bo smacked into the tibia one of the rag wearing share croppers, they still continued to womp the mighty Nan-Na. In the end the Nan-Na were humiliated and it was a fucking disgrace of the most highest and supreme order of magnitude.

There’s not much point dwelling on the why’s for too long. Treasonry and treachery obviously played a role. Gira, normally the most loyal and honourable of Nan-Na turned traitor and went and fought for the peasant stick fighters with bits of skin peeling off their faces, but that wasn’t the main reason that the Nan-Na ended up with the severed balls of their comrades stuffed in their mouths. No the Nan-Na got royally fucked by a bunch of hick losers with wooden teeth and scurvy because they did not commit. They went at it like a bunch of French dukes fresh from a Versaille orgy waving their distended cocks around like they owned the joint, failing to appreciate that you don’t own shit unless you put your fucking money on the table, and you have to put your fucking money on the table every fucking week. Because even a bunch of illiterate scum who eat rat fur have a couple of cents and if that’s more than you are willing to pay because you think it’s a done deal you’d better stand by to taste freshly lopped ball sac.


Match Report 070913

Uncategorized

Nannas vs Vagabundos Da Praia
6 : 3
RH(C), JH, CB, DC, TW, TH, Marek the Eel(GK)
Goals: DC(2), JH, TH, RH, CB
Mom: Marek the Eel

It was Thursday, (i think), a bunch of Nannas were sitting around a home made bbq in 1998, way before the Nannas were even invented, doing hot knives at Tennyson St when the Captain came back from a foraging expedition at the Botanical Gardens. Using Daytura the Captain had sourced, and the Tinman’s intimate knowledge of the Door of Jackson, the Nannas were able to brain their way into the future… everything was strange there. The high ball was allowed, and the surface was harder underfoot than they would be used to when they started their indoor soccer careers later on in their life. While it can be fun and rewarding to engage in sexual activities with your perfect double or doppleganger, you have to be careful, as I am sure most of you are aware, to kill said doppleganger at the end of the good times lest he/she try to kill you and take over your life. Lucky for the crazy high Nans from 1998 they inhabited the same bodies as their doubles so the need for murder was obivated, but a strange thing happened: Guy Fraser had been sent to Kaptain the Cobras and it was impossible for the brave, child free, good time loving, bbq eating, pre-nannas to get back to 1996 and the strange attraction of person’s pre-cocky and current Janet. But the Nannas were only concerned with keeping that winning feeling… and keep that winning feeling they did. Pre-cocky’s unwashed stench, from 1997 so inhabited his 2007 persona that we were able to summon BJ Honeycut from M*A*S*H bought corporeal as Big Jim Hannan (it’s the initials that make it possible), even though Jim didn’t even know any of us existed yet!, and he was just a punk skater with a hash dependency living on the streets of Sydney, and not the Upstanding former police officer wannabe and Army Surgeon that he had been/would become. Then Chazzy’s young actor implant was able to do this neat trick where NO ONE saw him effetely paddle the ball out of goal because he used his 1994 hand, they don’t teach you that at VCA. The captain started making a BBQ coz that’s what he used to do/does do on Thursdays, lucky it was a penalty shot BBQ, lovingly crafted out of metal plates that stop real Nannas from falling down holes on their way to Richmond Station: nothing is more powerful than a penalty bbq made from steel and angry Nannas with broken legs. Only Marek the Eel, who didn’t really come from the past was the only one who was like, “wtf, where’s my hip flask, jesus, Dalmatia was never like this” and the Nannas were like, “Oh, you are really from the Past. Dalmatia? What is that? Are you a knight? Do you have a war mallet?”. And Marek the Eel said, “Yes”. And malleted some wallabies who were running around wearing indoor soccer player suits. Of course the Nannas are big war mallet fans and bringing one to a Nannas game pretty much guarantees you the MOM so remember that Nannas. Don’t worry it all worked itself out in the end, the Nannas drank their way back to 1998 and separated the two of their selves through alcoholic ozmosis and the current day Nannas woke up in the morning with just a HeadAche, and a the taste of burnt stainless steel in their mouths.

The Judge Coach Song

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It’s been a while since we’ve had a Nanna’s song or poem, so I wrote one in honour of myself. It’s called The Judge Coach Song.

The Judge Coach Song
(Sung to the tune of Rawhide)

He’s a Coach
He’s a Judge
He’s a Judge
He’s a Coach
He’s a Coach
He’s a Judge
Judge Coach!

He’s a Judge
He’s a Coach
He’s a Coach
He’s a Judge
He’s a Judge
He’s a Coach
Coach Judge!

Team Photo 070426

team photo

nanamation2sml.gif

Yes, I see it too.
There was a time when the Great and Most Wise Nannas Prophet and Seer Fergus Ray Gary Friendly walked among us. When he wasn’t inventing the reach-around or being the Tin Man he used to talk about the Door of Jackson, and how one day, when the time was right, and everything was just so, the Nannas would break through the Door of Jackson, and then and only then reach their destiny

Well my brother Nannas I am here to tell you that the words of the Great and Most Wise Nannas Prophet and Seer Fergus Ray Gary Friendly have come true, the time is now and the place is here. The Door of Jackson is open and our destiny awaits.

‘How’ I hear you asking ‘did we finally get The Door of Jackson open?’ Truth of the matter is no-one can ever really know. However with the invention of the animatronographic image and the patented movenating pictographogramination, we can see the precise moment this portal opened and begin to deduce the reasons for it.

Advanced computational techniques* have been applied to allow us to see deep into the Door of Jackson and reveal the following confluences that allowed it wrench it’s way through space and time, literally tearing Newtonian fabric apart in its quest to reach the Nannas.
The following parameters had to be met:
-Massive Pepysian field distortions caused by the rapid and repeated capturing of the patented movenating pictographogramination. The Door of Jackson also reveals why the coach’s nickname is ‘Bollard Johnson’
-Cocky is Cock MOM
-C. Gill spraying invective
-Chassy the Chasvestito Chasbian facing both forward and backward simultaneously. Wearing and not wearing a singlet simultaneously etc etc
-‘Magic Pants’ Hinkley doing the ‘Magic Pants’ Dance, gently massaging the aether. What can’t be captured in a patented movenating pictographogramination is ‘Magic Pants’ muttering ‘tight little brown fuck under his breath.
-A mighty focussed brainening by Walmartin

There you have it my brother Nannas, the Door of Jackson is open, only the good times remain, all hail the Great and Most Wise Nannas Prophet and Seer Fergus Ray Gary Friendly

*Discrete photoshopping used for illustrative purposes only

Team Photo 070412

team photo

nannas070412_anim430px.gif

Wow! It Moves
Poindexters and nimrods rejoice! The animatronographic image has come to the themightyfightingnannas.com with a patented movenating pictographogramination. Marvel at the Kurgen’s nimble hand gestures and simultaneous mouth puppetry. Be hypnotised by the Coach’s rhythmic head movementations. Stand in awe at Cocky’s rock like stonefaced representation of the slightly grinning granite man. Study the gentle bobbing of Gilla’s adam’s apple in the midst of a glossolalic attack. Avert your gaze from the Chasvestito’s “Eyes of a Billion Needles”, lest it be wrought asunder by this most powerful of acting techniques. Ponder the way in which Tao’s stomach grows slightly with each passing frame. Further ponder the way in which Big Jim’s mighty thatch of hair seems to grow slightly with each passing frame as well. Finally when you have drunk in the wonder and beauty that is the Mighty Fighting Nannas after a semi final win, let yourself become aroused by the relentless pounding of Walmartin’s hips as they repeatedly slam into the edge of the frame, power and penetration coupled with grace and diligence, pounding pounding pounding, continual and unabating, again and again and again…

When Nannas Wear Clothes

Questions of the Little Children

Sometimes the schoolchildren write to me and they say: ‘The Nannas are obviously a bunch of well turned out blokes, who have the best strip in the competition, right from the artistically designed and metaphorically loaded top down to the scientifically advanced sweat emulsifying socks, and they wear it with pride because they know that to be dressed as a team is to play as a team, but what do the Nannas wear when they are not in carving shit up on the soccer field?’ I will tell you what we wear. We wear our off field uniform. See:

chaswalsml.jpg
Yes, even the shorts are the same, and they both wear brown y-fronts with gold trim specially produced for us by Jockey. Only the captain is allowed to vary in this off field uniform by way of wearing a blue striped bed cover over his head (see background). I hope this answers the children’s questions. BTW Chas, I have worked it out. If pus comes out it’s a pimple, if Claire won’t kiss you it is a coldsore.

070301 – Children of the Fricken Corn

match report, team photo, Uncategorized

070301sml.jpg

Holy shit! We look like we are about to take up axe handles, pitchforks and gasoline torches, and head on into a convent to do Satan’s work. Look at Wal and Chas for Christ’s sake, are they not eyeball eating twins from some Stephen King novel. Gill is like, ‘sure I’ve killed a hundred children, and i will kill a hundred more whatever’. Even Nice Guy Hannan looks like he is only smiling because he is having a footbath in babies blood or something. Cocky and Tao look like they want to hurt someone real bad. Kondo is a dimension of pure evil hidden in the darkness, and Rhian looks an angry extra from Watership Down.

When Nannas Dance

Questions of the Little Children, Uncategorized

Sometimes schoolchildren write to me and they say: ‘The nannas are obviously a bunch of superfit guys who can play soccer really well, but what do they get up to when they aren’t carving shit up on the soccer field?”
I will tell you what we do. We dance. See:

dancing-nans0001.JPG

But sometimes just dancing isn’t enough. You have to take your pants off and dance. Like this:

nude-chas0001.JPG

I hope this answers the questions of the little children.

Ya, Das Ist Der Coachleggen – Fibulatoasten

Uncategorized

He paid the ultimate sacrifice, he gave all that he had to give, he laid down that he may walk so his brother nannas could continue the fight. Sometimes a man has to give up everything, to gain nothing at all.

nannas_leginplaster_small.jpg
This is my leg in the slightly shabby plaster cast that the kojaks in emergency put on.

nannas_leginfibre_small.jpg
Now check out this sonbitch, it’s your hybrid plaster/fibreglass puppy installed by the trueschool plaster techs at the St Vincents fracture clinic. Yes sir it is lighter, stronger, better fitting and tougher looking… hell even the photo composed itself better in the presence of this beauty. Note the distinct lack of plaster skank on the toes and upper shin when the job is done right. Note also the ‘closer to right angle’ relationship between the foot and the leg in the second cast.

Alright, enough poorly interpreted medical knowledge. Tonight seek not revenge for your smoten coach, seek victory in the pureness of the belief that only the nannas will prevail.