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

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

7-3 loss to a very skilful team

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We then went to the Retreat for a quiet one.

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

CB MOM

vs ??

Lost 2-4

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goals RH 2 JH 1 TW 1 ? Mom Rh

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry.

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Goals CB 2 CG 1 MOM RH against table leaders?

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

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

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

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

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

He is not part of the unstoppable force

To nanna

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

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

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

And until that day
All Nannas will nanna.

The Triumph

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

‡
 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here is the sequence.

1. Look at the ball.

2. Look at your target.

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

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

YOU MUST EYEBALL THE TARGET

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man smiled, Old King Lion was back.

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

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

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

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

– – – – – – – – –

Preston #1, the one that got away…

Preston #2, the harsh graphic reality…

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

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

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

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

One day we will win again.

5-4 v Left Footers

CB(2), RH(1)(MOM), DC(MOM), AW, TH, CG

There is something satisfying in hitting rock-bottom, it is solid, it’s grounding, it provides a platform.
Because rock bottom is where the Nannas find themselves. It’s not that we played badly for the entire match, in fact we were all over them for much of the match.

What the Nannas can’t do is finish a match well, we can lose from any position.

We started well, good goals, Chassey slamming one from halfway, some great set-ups allowing me to pop one home we were confident and moving well. Bit Then. Self doubt, nervousness a lack of cohesion, splintering in offence and defence, a static foward line, simple mistakes. These problems all point to an issue with our mental game, we have lost any belief in ourselves and unfortunately when we’re against the wall we stop working together and try to individually solve problems rather than working as a TEAM. That is where the nannas are at their best.

.

5-5 v Blue Steel

DC(1), RH(2), GF, JH(2), AW, TW, TK(M)

Fear. When the fear crawls up to your ear. What is your action?

You may feel some fear when you see a man with a knife who you don’t know resting beside your bed when you wake up. You may feel some fear when you suddenly see zombies 10m away in dark. You may feel some fear in unfamiliar combat you don’t feel good about.

We know what to do before the negative conditions drive us to uncertainty, fear, panic. We always manage this well and we love this moments as there are no script writers, no excuse, no time to wait, no time to say words. So we just perform twice more accurate, 0.9 – 1.3 times faster how ever you feel comfortable.

Nannas was leading the game. The score was 5-2. 2 minutes to go. Lost 3 goals. The score was 5-5 at the end.

Thinking about the next game against this team? Yes me too. I remember the last 2 min.

PS. great goal the Nannas.

1-2 v Hamptons

DC(m), CB, RH, GF, JH(1), TK, TW, AW

Holy crapsticles, what a day. What a freakin’ week !

Thursday the 31st of January 2013 as pointed out by the Visitor™ has rather a nice symmetry to it. Not only that but it has a deep significance for the author as it was on this day that he marked his 40th complete revolution of the sun. That’s right, 31.1.13 was a big day.

For the Match Report™ I was planning to do something of a comic book photo essay detailing the activities of the day from rise to crash but after starting it all seems a bit too much given Wal is picking me up in less than two hours.

After a brief sleep in I got out of bed, opened cards from the young children and received apologies for lack of present from the wife. Breakfast involved lovely (very pink) company and great coffee but a rather shit breakfast. I definitely don’t recommend the bacon, fig and onion chutney from penny farthing at all, more than a slight suggestion of mince on toast from the Tokaora tea rooms !

Lunch, now this is where it started to get good. I brief whip into the studio was followed by PT into the city to meet up with the Captain and Brown at Gills Diner. After some rather delicious local beers (it’s the year of the IPA according to the Captain) and a round of coffin bay oysters ( and discussion about excessive decorative rock salt use) I had the porterhouse (grass fed) with triple cooked chips and heirloom carrots. My colleagues had the free range pork coteletta with Italian coleslaw. I felt slightly guilty getting the steak as it seemed a bit bland, you know how restaurants always seem to have a nice safe steak with straight up veges for the Dad to get ‘cos he doesn’t like that fancy shit. Any way after some discussion with the waitress about ‘very rare’ v ‘blue’ I ordered rare… of course it came out medium (idiots) but i didn’t have the heart to send it back, and it did taste fantastic… as did the fig salad and the continued IPA drinking.

Leaving Gills, we went in search of bar. Unfortunately our groovy new secret underground back alley bar knowledge has accrued about 15 years of rust so went to the rooftop bar. Points in it’s favour: the view – Points against: No shots ??? and a group of flouro-vested-middle-aged-tourists gawping at the jobless patrons. Ah well, the sun was out and Chassy spilled a $16 margarita while talking us through it’s purchase. We were quite tipsy by this point and the concern was mounting on the forum.

From curtain house we jumped on a tram with the notion of having enough time to squeeze in one more drink. No sooner were we on the tram than the heavens opened up with ‘red on the weather radar’ level tropical downpour. There was much laughter and Photostream™ commenting as we trundled down St Kilda Rd. A crazed dash through the rain had us in the Belgian beer cafe sipping on Patron and noting the whiskey like flavours of a high quality tequila.

And then to the game. There was much mockery and laughter but the 3 of us were pumped, except that i had no kit due to a family stuck in traffic north of the river. That’s where the brotherhood of the Nannas really comes into it’s own, from nowhere came a pair of shorts and a top. No Caoch (due to his new role as a Land Lord) meant no sub sheet. Having so badly fvcked up the last one i was determined, even through my patron haze, to get this right, and I did, but forgot how it worked before running on. Subbing chaos ensued including 2 re-drawings (in one of which the Captain wholly omitted Wal from the lineup) but no matter as we were one up thanks to Jim. I’ll admit, the game is somthing of a blur, but we were doing OK. There was some nice passing and some nice running, but it was freaking hot, three of the on court players and been drinking since 1pm and our defence began to fall apart. I had a couple of runs on goal which could have ended better, Brown could have converted his penalty, we could all of had some slightly better finishing. In the end it was somewhat deflating draw. but no, not only had we veered off script when i didn’t score the winner in the dying seconds, in fact we had lost ! WTF ? In any case the Nannas were magnanimous in the extreme, awarding the birthday fool the MOM.

Saying goodbye to the entirely selfless Miri (who had driven 3 children through peak hour traffic to watch their foolish father’s fortieth football fumblings) we headed to the Waiters. The captain and Brown had lost a little of their pre-game pizzaz but the Author was determined to keep the good times alive so gratefully accepted a peroni while contemplating another plate of red meat. Everything pointed to the sardines, but there weren’t any on the specials board. Te fall back would of course be the Porthouse with pepper sauce but I’d already had one of those only a few hours earlier so I opted for the Fillet Mignon. To be honest it was pretty rustic following Gills but that’s the joy of the waiters right. It should also be noted that the Funky Nanna had by this time joined the party. Bestlooking threw Osso Bucco all over himself and then it was time to find a bar. But not of course before a partaking of mildly discombobulating reliefer downstairs from Waiters. Suitably bewildered we headed into the city. Giller, unlike relier in the day, knew where we should go and soon the nannas were ensconced in a hipster bar looking only mildly out of place. The bar man somehow convinced the Visitor and I that some kind of fancy Jose Cuervo was actually better than Patron (idiot) so it was that and some beer I can’t remember. Brassy also came to the party at this point with some of the black magic of which Brassy is so fond.

And then at last, the highlight of the evening, Daytona. Not only did i not fuck up and find myself solo racing (and yelling at the staff) as usual (though both Brown and the Captain did somehow manage this act (I’ll admit there was the tiniest touch of schadenfreude)) but we even worked out how to buy-in after the race has started… Ahhhh sweet car racing games, they really are a disproportionate amount of fun.

From here, we started to lose people. Like 2 giant solid-fuel booster rockets Brown and the Captain peeled off, returning spent to earth as their precious payload continued it’s stratospheric journey into the night. Bestlooking also left for much more pragmatic reasons. Nam Loong provided some questionably hygienic pork buns before we went to troika for a quiet one, a beer I believe, more Peronis perhaps. The Visitor™ recorded some candid camera video with his highly prominent new iPad Mini before himself disappearing into the evening shortly after midnight leaving Thefunkynanna, Wal and I to ponder dessert.

John Saffran wasn’t there and we didn’t get the big plush leather seats beside the Return of the Jedi™ window but jesus christ, the supper club really payed the dessert bills. Crème brûlée, sticky date pudding and a lemon tart. All washed down with a glass of Pedro Ximénez (interestingly, the only one on the menu (and completely unknown by our waiter (idiot))). boom. unfortunately i did at one point inhale some of the PX which was a really bad thing to do, for a long moment i thought i was either going to throw up or pass out or both.

By the time we caught the cab home, I was so fucking full I had a little shelf just below my sternum, not a Robert Crumb fantasy butt shelf you could rest a cup of tea on, more like a rest your 0.2mm pilot fineliner shelf.

I finally crawled into bed about 1.30am irritating Miri with the led light on my phone as I tried to finish off my “a man turns 40” video diary… holy crapsticles, you only turn 40 once right !

* illustrations to follow

JH(1), GF, DC(1), CB, TW(1), TH(coaching)

The Nans have never been hotter than we were on this day. It was 40 in the shade, and about 45 in the arena. We were hot, and that’s all that really matters. That’s what we tell people.

Tom hadn’t brought his insoles, so unfortunately he couldn’t play, but he did watch, and in watching, I think we all felt the support his eyes gave us.

First half we seemed to be dominant, but then Gilla started chucking the ball away, every fucking time Eddie, and it made it hard to find rhythm. The rhythm, the rhythm…The rhythm.

There was some good passing, and some good setups for goals, and a lot of post shots, where luck was a bit more with the fucken opposition that it was with fucken us. But in the end, that’s footy.
Right at the end Jim stepped up and got a sweet shit-hot penalty kick. And that’s what happened kid. True story.

4-10* v South Melbourne AMC
DC(4,m), GF, RH, TH

A TRUE HERO OF NANNA

That is the mantle that sits proudly upon the shoulders of 4 of the finest Nannas to ever wear the brown and gold. Twas the first game of the New Year and most nobly did they enter the battle a full man short of a team. That is not to say that Gilla is a full man but it is to say that he deserted his brothers when they needed him most. Admittedly it was the 10th birthday of Northside and there was a veritable ocean of pert young ladies dashing their nubility upon the white cliffs of the proprietors eyeballs… but… no, we were pretty sure as we drove off without him that we were alone… so alone. Yes, we could have hired some sellsword to step into the breach, but locating the number of single futsal mercenary was beyond us so early in the year. I for one had been in the country less than 24 hours. And thus it was that we rode onto the field with Bish* the ref  as our goalie (will we ever learn?, the ref never goes in goals !). Our opponents, saxons amongst them, were far from the stiffest, ahem, we have come, ahem, up against and the nannas were well matched to the task. Alas the second half came around, the nannas ran out of juice and Bish stopped stopping the ball going in the net. It was unattractive.

After the game we went back to an empty house in north fitzroy (apart from the chickens) ate malaysian, drank beer, chatted with brassy, drank Oban and generally got pretty trashed. We were joined by Wal with a slab of beer direct from Croajingalong. Near the end of the evening Frasay took the opportunity to outline his ambitions for the Captain and I to star in a high intensity martial arts action film which we promptly began rehearsing.

* actual score was 4-14
** Not sure exactly what the refs name is

Jim has pretty much said it all, well I’m assuming he has because his post looked really long (though I haven’t actually read it). So instead I have spent my time uploading a few old team photos… nothing special, but for the record – innit.

The Visitor Lights the Captains Fart
Old King Lion as backdrop
BPDP against the boards

But what is kind of special is the Nannas Ornaments font, a set of ornament glyphs (or dingbats if you prefer) based on the Nannas iconography. It’s not quite ready for public release but here’s a sneak peak (click image for the Character Map)… boom.

– – –

RH MOM – we lost, I think I got a goal, maybe someone else did.

Picture This –

A man, a botanist, a man who has spent his life amongst plants of all varieties. This man finds himself traveling through a desert, for many years, a desert only sparsely populated by withered, dry cacti. A cruel hot wind blew incessantly accross the mans face, burning away any remnants of moisture from his lips. One day, let’s say it’s his birthday, maybe his fortieth birthday, he struggles over an especially high sand dune and in front of him is a forest of unimaginable beauty. A forest full of every plant he has ever seen, all the plants from his memory, and many he has forgotten all layed before him and arranged in such beauty that he almost cannot look at it. This man races down the sand and frolics in the forest, removing his clothes and becoming one with the flora. He spends many days and nights in ecstasy, soaking in the plants, the flowers, the leaves. He discovers that this forest has been planted by his friends, he is lost for words, he cannot believe that his friends would do such a thing and create something of such beauty. After some time his friends return  and ask this man to add to the forest, using only what he has……

This is where I find myself dear Nannas, how can a man, even a captain, write a report when all the reports of a lifetime have been placed before him and presented in all their perfection?

I have received the perfect gift, some say it’s impossible to conceive of the perfect gift, others say you can think such thoughts but never produce such greatness in reality. The Nannas have thought the unthinkable then built the unbuildable. For this I am, and always will be, eternally grateful.

The most beautiful part of the present is that it is only volume one – and five days after presentation the Nannas return to the court and the story continues.

We lost, again, but we ate and drank and abused each other, and that is the true Nanna story.

3-4 v Pornstars

GF (2 MOM), DC (MOM), TK (MOM), CG, JH (1),TH, AW

there’s not a lot I need to add to the visitors report (apart from how much it sucked to lose to these guys) so I’ll just add some date stamps.

the big news is the discovery of an elementary particle that would bear all the hallmarks of the Higgs Boson. I’ve tried wrapping my head around the numbers a few times with absolutely no success but there is a cool little animated ‘for dummies’ guide which i’ll try and fine the link for. | erm, what else. The 70-200 finally arrived and partially alleviated my buyers regret | The forum is in the doldrums | teh captain has returned from his carriage ride around ausrto-hungary | Chaspergers has headed to the old country with his son and heir | bestLooking took eldest daughter skiing for the first time, boom | The visitor got high mid portrait and then disappeared into a neutral vortex | It’s really freaking cold

3-1 v Th aHampton street Phase Wannabes
DC 2m, GF, CG gk, JH 1, TK

Ok, thank god the planets are back in alignment and I get to write a match report about winning… it was the Nanna A team… what else was going to happen. In fact it turned out to be quite a comfortable win for the super tight 5 Nanna A, quite in contrast to the last second arrival of the emasculator.

The tight 5 is the shcnizzle, especially against a team of phase wannabes who were lacking their regular goalie and really didn’t seem up for it. There was a bit of the usual argey bargey but nothing excessive, perhaps the fact that BestLooking wasn’t playing had something to do with it? The Nannas were stringing passes together and the first 2 goals fcame rom nice build up play including a couple of long cross-court passes. Both Kondo and Cheezles had clear opportunities and Jim powered 1 in from a free kick at close range. It was also good to welcome back Giller, fresh from high fiving Marion Goodman in Kassel and looking very large in goals. And finally to finish off, a mathematically elegant triangular MOM vote – 1, 2, 3, 4 and a super tight 5 for le coq sportif.

Should also mention the support – 3 young nannies, Otis, Poppy and Elliot.

Dinner was postponed due to said supporters and public transport issues.

date stamp:
Spain beat Portugal on penalties to progress to the final | the 70-200 ƒ2.8 II finally arrived with a dented box, a cloud of doubt and possible purchase regret | The Nannas have their first official apple developer… look out for the MOM voter in the itunes store any day now | Poker this saturday, there’s some big talk so let’s so who does they walking…

2-6 v Red Peppers
CB ass, DC 1 mom, GF, JH 1, TK, TW

In a strange turn of events I’m writing a match report after a game we didn’t win, so there goes that opening line, but we could have won it.

The Nannas™ started brightly with some nice ball holding and movement around the court. The Red Peppers (apprently – but they looked just like St Kilda, the opposition from the last grand final (that we were in)) are a very skilled team, in truth a couple of orders of magnitude above the Nannas™, but we were well and truly holding our own. They got the first but we pulled level with an acrobatic lob from the author. Turns out jimbob was putting in a lofted pass to Andy in the far left corner but I jumped like a gazelle, poached it from mid air and somehow guided it into the top right corner of the net. The Opposition got another just before half time but the Nannas were in a fighting spirit. The Ass coach was doing a fine turn as the inspirational coach and we led into the second half full of ambition. A wee way in we were level through the powerful left foot of big Jim. It was looking good, then something happened and … what for it… the nannies folded ? yes indeed. I’m not quite sure what happened, we were still playing pretty well but they just keep putting them in the net, Kondo was left on his own at the back a few too many times but even so, it was odd. ah well.

after the game we went to Korea, no one was eating, well maybe a little snack, well actually maybe a full meal of bbq meaty good times. dang that shit is super fine…

date stamp: talk of Japan 13 is on the table – Tao is also talking Mt Hotham but there is currently no snow – Hamiltonian Paths are the shit – the 70-200 II still hasn’t arrived – smoke detectors are threatening to confound the poker night