Nannas vs The Dirty Waffles

2 : 2

TH(1)-MOM, CG (1)-MOM, TW, TK, AW, CB, JH

“Shall I compare thee to a summers day?” Wrote the bard. “A rose by any other name would still smell as sweet”, he went on to say amongst other poeticisms. What I had writ before the internets eat it was of comparability with the Bard’s words. Pertaining to the first half I spoke of the struggle agin more talented and desirous opposition. I spoke of the micro-schisms appearing within the team. The bickering, the anger, the near knife fights, Jim’s woeful attempts at sledging, I wrote of it all as a rainbow describes the physics of light. I talked of our fortune at being just two goals down come the half time break, when the lord God Jesus and the lord God Buddha both concurred that we should be copping a caning reflected by a larger margin on the scoreboard. My words went on to describe how we came out for the second half – and at this stage I did a nifty thing with my words were I spoke of our pride and desire and faith in ourselves and I made it seem that we were about to come out and turn the tables using just the nobility of the Nanna and just when all your hearts were filling up with Nanna love and the Nanna chubbiness was filling up in your pants I fully flipped that shit right around and said NO! Nothing changed in the second half, we continued to play just as shitfully as we had in the first half, and there was still bickering and Nanna angst (nangst?) BUT somehow we kept at ’em. I wrote of Chassy shadowfooting and Tao’s anger was being channeled into the angry hustle, and I had this great literary montage of Gilla keeping them out against the odds in slow-mo with bitching diving saves using the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. And I fuckingwell wrote of of how we had a sub and they had none, and us exploiting that tiny chink in their half inch steel armour, in one glorious moment of literary and soccer genius where Chassy shadowfooted them right in the kajunties and drilled a pass to I, who had drifted past their tiring defense into the d where the boot orientation gods smiled upon me and I was able to make the deflection count. My words told of a second exploitation of weakness. The weakness I described was the ‘no dedicated goalie weakness, the exploitation I described was the ‘goalie attack on the no dedicated goalie weakness explotation’. Basicaly I wrote of Gilla kicking them in the underpants. The long bomb demoraliser. I wrote of our fortune at keeping them from the back of the net for the remainder of the match.

Then I wrote the important stuff. It wasn’t about goals or defense or fancy names for tricky moves or any of the action shit that seems so important. I wrote of the utmost importance of Nanna Love. A Nanna’s love for a Nanna, how we can never lose sight of that, because there were times during that game that I feared we would. I wrote that we must always smile, regardless of the circumstances, and more importantly smile at our brother Nannas, because winning or losing doesn’t count for a six foot stack of dogshit if you ain’t smiling with a man in brown.

Nannas vs The Dirty Waffles

2 : 2

TH(1), CG (1), TW, TK, AW, CB, JH

This was a very tough match. We faced off. Still with the bitter taste in our mouth of the random violence of the last time we met (chassY). We all eyeballed the big guy you tried to kill chassy with a knife last time. This time he turned out to be a good guy. It was another one of them. A geezer – one who looked at  TAO  and thought – here we go. Despite the madness no cards were shown. Despite Tao giving it his best, there was no reprimand. Also the mad told the ref that if he didn’t pull Tao up he’d punch him in the face –  still no card.

So I started to slash car tyres – still no card, Andy was eating Greek food on court – no card, Kondo was doing a nudie run – cardless, Tom was singing the Carlton theme song – unbelievably no card, Jim simulated goodtimes on a picture of chassy on his mobile – no card, Chassy showering on court – no card, but Jim showed something
Basically the dirty waffles owned us. The first half I think we entered our forward half twice. They peppered away so much I had a sneezing fit. They ended up the half with two goals – not bad nannas considering.

The ne4xt half the Nannas did a lot better. Tommy toe touching a killer and a long bomb goalie style firming the pudding.

The hand shake at the end was funny with lots of look aways and lots of grumbling, but what is sport without sweat, grunting and attitude.

The post match was hosted by Tommy “lets go to the Rooftop” Howie. We arrived (after a pussy car park) with the bouncer almost suggesting there was no room. With Tom eyeballing a massive violation we made it. We had a good view and Kondo told of his plans for this thursday – YUM!!

19 March 2009 

5-4 Nanna loss to The Hyderoos. 

CB(1), DC(2), CG, JH, RH(1), TH, AW(m) 

Despite the loss, the game was a great game. A very balanced and equal game, with goal for goal rhythm. In the end we lost by a goal. And sure it was an own goal, but all appreciated that it could have been any of us. It just wasn’t. 

Noticeably absent was any westside presence. There was talk of heavy thumbs. There was talk of dark clouds. There was talk of dark and heavy thumb clouds, and inevitable and impending cool change coming in from the west, and we had all better laugh and snigger whilst The Great Dark Thumb had not (yet) unleashed it’s true power. 

Fortunately I took notes after the game to remember all the little details of the game, the goals, the passes, the saves. All that sweet nanna poetry. 

Unfortunately I totally lost my notes. And having so heavily relied upon them I remember nothing. Apologies. 

The only single moment I recall was my own cross-court fast pass which snaked through 4 pairs of legs, across to an anticipating Cocky, who banged it home for a perfect finish. Gold. And boy have I been reliving that one all week. 

Ahhh. The nannas. More than a team. It’s a lifestyle. 

And after 9 years of eating post-game chips at pubs the nannas have again stepped it up a notch. The expansion of our post-game repertoire. We move from the Maori clubhouse, to The Windsor, into unchartered waters. 

Gilla had booked us into The Horn in Collingwood. 

It looked like it was not only going to be entertaining but also educational. Being a whitey I had always imagined that the ‘horn’ was the bottom tip of Africa. Stupid. Ignorant. white boy. The map on the wall informed me otherwise. The Horn I realised was the most eastern tip which resembles a rhino horn. 

The Horn comprises Ethiopia, Yemen and Somalia. Ethiopia’s population is 85 million. This could be contributed to the average fertility rate of 6.12 kids per every female. Average. 

The Harar beer was I have to say a beer which was really agreeable with me. Crisp and clear. Just the way I like it. And the label was a beautiful picture of a fort building in a sandy desert, all orange. The barman talked them up as “organic” beers, although the labels did not appear to confirm this. The other beer was the Dashen, with an equally tantilising label with beautiful red script font. 

I returned to the bar for another Harer. Took a sip, and thought this really doesn’t taste like beer. It tastes like water. Drank half the bottle. Yep. That’s water. Back to the bar. They gave me another. Cheers. Although that too tasted like water. Umm, this beer tastes like water. Gives me another. By now I was just too embarrassed to not to just accept as beer. 

I did feel like a real hard man saying hey this beer tastes like water. 

Those Horn heads. They’re not focussed on the beer. Their biggest trade export is coffee, accounting for 80% of all exports. 

Their second biggest export item is Qat, accounting for 10% of all exports. Qat is a controlled/illegal plant. It is chewed, and contains an amphetamine-like stimulant which causes “excitement, loss of appetite and euphoria”. Within the Kenyan elite, it is also used to cure hangovers. 40% of Yemen’s precious water supply is used to irrigate the Qat plantations. 40%. 

When they’re not making coffee, they seem to be chewing. And when they’re not chewing, they’re procreating. 

Australia controls the importation of Qat, but with a permit one can import up to 5 kilos per month. That seems like a lot of chewing. The number of Qat permits issued in Australia is 294. (It is illegal in New Zealand). 

But I digress. 

The food was amazing. So flavoursome. It was tricky trying to eat sans cutlery, with only the right hand. Gilla had arranged us a table right in front of the band, The Blow. Much of the fanbase were bald men with ponytails. The nannas felt young again. And much like the Thumb Cloud, the nannas giggled initially, then understood that it’s approach was also inevitable. That will be my look for the Finals. 

I had imagined that the dining line-up would crescendo gradually throughout the season, the alphabet peaking out with the W’s at the Flower Drum. But the Gill really stepped it up to such a new height, that really we almost have to bring it back down to just chips to level it back to reality. 

Parts of the Horn are scary. Apart from the pirates, there are 84 airports in Ethiopia, and only 15 have paved runways. 

Gill and Chas continued onto into the night. The other soft-cocks went home. Wal hit Alia for dyke night to touch the “the ratio” treats. I road-tested my new line: hey ladies, how bout we “make like the Horn” and up the fertility rate. Seemed to bamboozeel them sufficiently to get some walmartin signature. 

7-3 vs Vagabundos Da Praia
DC(4)(mom), TW(mom), CB(2), JH(1)(mom), CG(gk)

2 weeks have passes and………… I can’t remember shit. I do remember 3 out 5 Nannas were voted Men of the Match. Is that to say the 2 left behind weren’t worthy of the honour. I say no. The tight five were equal in brilliance on the night and we blew the Vags away.

time has passed……..

Ok I just took a moment to visit the backyard and have a little you know what and now I cant remember even less than I could before. This has to go down as one of the shittest reports ever……. sorry

7-3 vs Vagabundos Da Praia
DC(4)m, TW, CB(2), JH(1)m, CGgk

Unlike previous weeks where anywhere up to 10 nannas were to be seen striding the hallowed halls of wesley college, it was a tight five that took to the court last thursday. A very tight five, arguably the tightest five. And it seemed to work pretty freakin’ well. A diamond formation, Tao hustling up front, Chas and Le Coq Sportif in the midfield (left and right respectively), Iron legs Jim in defense and the funkiest of all nannas in goals. There really is a lot to be said for the tight five. A whole lot of running for starters, but also a real sense of cohesion and communication. Admitidley our opponents weren’t really up to the challenge but they did have some skills, and some pushy arms, not enough body mass behind the arms however to stop LCS from barging his way into the first goal. from there on it was all slick passing and some freakin’ nice shooting. The first Earl of Martindale slotting in a couple of sweet strikes. A couple of very fine saves from Senor Gill and some nice delivery. Jim doing that great kind of scary threatening jumping stompong defense intimidation thing. The last goal of the game was a rather laughable reboundy scrabbly stumble in that should almost be called an own goal, but it won’t because I got it !… erm , what else. Oh yeah it was my choice of eat/drink location. On some dodgy advice from a work colleague I picked a bar (too late for eat) just off chapel street “tyranny of distance”. It’s probably great if you like hanging out at in Prahran but it wasn’t really the nannas cup of tea. Still chassy and LCS took it to the next level with an extended nightcap at joes on the way home which included several beers, some fine whisky (a nod to don draper) and some grown up conversation, freakin tidy action if I do say so myself.

ps. it’s my second to last day at ACMI for ever ! Global financial crisis, huh ? 
pps. touched a RED One for the first time ever yesterday (not mine unfortunately… but soon…) got to love that 10mm Ultra Prime…mmm….

match report (26 Feb) from the walmartin

5-5 v Boomin Back Atcha
DC m 2, CB 1, TW 1, JH 1, AW1m, TH, CG gk, TK 

My ninja nannas, 

poetry on court inspired 

some haiku for you: 

a battle it was, 

Gilla outstanding in goals, 

tiger reflexes 

Post-game venue change, 

dinner at Fitzroy beer hall, 

nannas in high times, 

Chas, Gill, Wal and Cock, 

Continue onto Black Cat, 

Whole lotta young things, 

Backs to the mountains, 

musical chairs for the sights, 

views to the valleys, 

And such young valleys, 

So tight, so pert and teasing, 

nannas choking beer, 

twins’ flesh pressed up close, 

mouthing we want you right now, 

Chas, hip hip hooray, 

Wal to cap it off, 

to Alia for dyke night, 

she said not the front, 

the game had much sweat, 

thankyou Jim for the cross-pass, 

Wal backdoored once more. 

Nannas Vs Hydeoos

Score: 4-10

GF, CB, TK(GK), TH(1), DC, AW, TW(1, MOM), JH(2)

Was it hot??? F^%* yeah it was hot. Was it a good enough excuse to lose to the dirty Hyderoos?? F^#$ NO!!!! Not to mention we had two more subs than them. Shame Nannas, shame.

It seemed to be a very confused and rattled Nannas that hit the almost liquified court that night. Luckily the children were taken outside so not to witness such a miserable display.

Were the Hyderoos better than normal?? I for one think they might have been. Possibly they have imported some talent?? Maybe we need to take the Hyderoos to the tribunal and check that there has been no breech in the salary cap. An inquiry is what’s required here.

None the less it was a giant effort from the brown men to even take to the court after all the warnings in the news not to do any exercise in such weather. Did this deter us…….. no I say. Nothing but another challenge for the brown men. Going on this and past hot weather performances it may have to be said the Nannas play better in the cold. We are men of the snow not of the desert.

Special mentions should go out to some face saving goals from Jim, Tom and myself and some excellent work in goals from Kondo after being let down by his defence.

Sorry Nannas, I know it’s a bit negative and all but on a lighter note the dip in the bay after the game was a good call. Well organised and Dan was well shafted with having to get the fush and chups. But hey would we have got the extra sauces, including the tartare, had anyone else had gone. Also had it been Gee that had to go, as it was supposed to be, then we wouldn’t have got any potato cakes because he believe them to be impure. Even though he ended up eating most of them. Stop Tao, stop dwelling on the negative. The sand was hot but the water was cool and the the beer was cold and that’s what matters the most.

match report 15 january 2009

5-1 nanna win.

CB, DC(2), GF, CG, JH, RH(1), TH, TK, AW, TW(1)
(apologies but who got the other goal?…JH?)

Fuck fuck fuck. I’m upside down. I’m underwater. I don’t know which way’s up. I’m caught in a oxen stampede and I’m just lying spread eagled just taking it. This is not a good situation. There is an immense amount of pain. There are no words. My balls have been kicked up deep inside me. I’m writhing on the side-line trying to find inner peace. I’ve been taken to a higher level. I’m up on the ceiling looking down on a small man in a lot of pain.

The siren sounds. The game is over. A 5-1 nanna win.

Some guy is saying I’m sorry. And I’m saying no worries. It’s ok. And I’m trying to be zen about it. You freakin idiot. Punk trying to kick a goal from mid field. At least connect with the ball you freakin freak. Instead you have used myself to give myself the human enema. But in hindsight, it may appear to be a short-cut manovourve to take the MOM off others more deserving.

It’s 40 degrees outside. Half of the state is on fire. Trains are melting. This kind of heat always encourages me to go looting. I don’t know why. I’m thinking the world’s ending, and instead of going out looting and rooting, I’m trying to remember who kicked the ball two weeks ago. I hope the world doesn’t end quite yet because Chaz and The Coach have called the semi-impromptu on the annual fish and chips tomorrow night. lip smacking.

As for the game. For me one of the match highlights was a Gilla long throw out of goals which landed on the foot of Jim, then flew across court to Hinkley, who with one touch just slotted it home. Absolute gold. I still can’t believe that any of them actually had their eyes open.

There was the ever tenacious Tao who ran up court, and just pushed on through and into the net. Simalarily Cocky who gathered momentum to pass by all, and ping one true. Two actually. Ghee played some magic with some standout cross court one-two action, but upsetting all those who were expecting the signature. Chaz as graceful as ever and still with the youthfulness to run the full court. Howie ever present. and vocal. Kondo fully doing the splits to keep a clean slate.

And the full team sub at half time. Classic nanna mind tricks.

And the pain. I’m left with greater mental scars than physical.

What was touching for me was not the nannas helping a brother back up to his feet. But the outpouring and genuine offerings of the groin massage. Genuine offers. Initially I relied on gravity alone, but I soon succumbed to the bombardment of enthusiastic text offers. Thankyou brothers. I still respect you.

1-1 Draw to Los Pitufos

GF, CB, CG, TH, JH, AW, TW(1)(MOM)

Well Nanna’s, once again unbeaten so far in the season, but can we keep the momentum up?? One might say we should have one this one and I might be that one. Especially when I was the one that should have got a free kick for a behind only to have it turned around on me and turned into a goal. Am I harbouring any bad feelings towards the ref?? Me?? Never. Even thanked him at the end of the game.

All that aside the Nannas played very well and managed to hold there own. Some very good defence from all with a special mention to the reach around (still waiting to see that famous move once again). Gill once again saved the game from defeat with some superb saves. Jim made a ripper pass that allowed me to just lift my leg ever so slightly to give the ball the deflection it needed to slip past the goalie as he tried to rush me.

So all and all not a bad effort for the first game of the season and the last game of the year. Now it’s time to get serious and take this new season and year by the balls and squeeze so hard that the veins are bursting with brown pride and finishing with a happy ending.

9-1 Victory vs The Annual

DC 3, JH 3, CB 3, TW, AW, TH Gk (MOM)

Let this week’s match report take the form of an analogous tale.

There is but one king that is king of all the vast African plains and savannahs and that king is the Lion. The King Lion fears no-one for he is king and everyone better do whatever the fuck he says or he will kill them. The other animals cannot touch him and the only thing he must keep is eyeballs on in terms of trouble is the upstart young lion bucks who would usurp him. These little prince lion upstart juniors will hang out on the edges sniffing around waiting for the opportunity to attack and try to steal the mighty King Lion’s lion kingdom from him. If the King Lion is not 100% percent ready and committed to fight he will be humiliated and the coach will have to give him a royal dressing down and remind the King Lion to “counteth not thy fucking chickens before thy fucking chickens hatcheth”, but by then it is too late because the young prince lion has a ball gag in the King Lion’s mouth and is riding him like a bitch and screaming ‘you’re my bitch now bitch’. To make matters worse every other lion in the joint now wanted a piece of the King Lion and for week after week he was savaged and demeaned in the most derogatory and cruel of ways, all but the last shreds of his dignity were vilely stripped from this once proud King Lion leaving just a weeping king lion husk weeping bodily fluids.

If the King Lion is lucky he will get a second chance to fight the upstart prince lion and a second chance to redeem his honour and his respect. Fortunately in this story the King Lion gets a second chance. For the King Lion once again entered the Lion Dueling Arena with the young junior upstart prince lion, and this time he knew not to counteth any fucking chickens. While the first half was relatively even, in the second half he just stepped right up and started chewing on that junior prince lion’s face, and he chewed that fucken’ junior prince lion’s face right off right of its fucken’ skull. Not content with a facefull of face he turned his attention to the genitalia of the young prince lion junior. Now, there are two ways for one being to take another being’s genitalia in it’s mouth; one is with a mind to pleasure the other being to the heights of ecstasy, or, quite conversely the second is with mind to savage and bloodily neuter the other being so that it is reduced to eunuch status. The King Lion took to the junior prince upstart lion’s genitalia with no mind to satisfy, please rest assured it was strictly the latter of the ways that the King Lion went after the junior prince lion’s junk- he fucken’ munched down on it hard, it was all teeth and no tongue, and he fucken’ got in there and fucken chewed and chewed, and gnawed away, masticating every last little piece of genitalia into the smallest pieces possible, all the while his powerful King Lion saliva was breaking down the matter at a cellular level so that there was no possible way at all you could just wack it on ice and chopper it off to the microsurgeon for the old addadictomy and somehow save the manhoodliness of the young lion upstart prince.

And when the King Lion was sated all but one of his constituent parts went to the pub and had a beer and some dinner (except for another one of his constituent parts who only had chips), and King Lion reflected on where he had been that Lion Dueling Season, from the king of everything to a piece of shit nothing, and finally -thanks to some ball blood on his lips- back to a modicum of respect . And then the Lion King reminded himself that it was not over yet, all the other Lions who had so royally fucked him needed to get their faces chewed off too, and some of those Lions were tough motherfucking Russian lions who fucken’ sliced babies wide open in Chechnaya for fun, so he would certainly have his work cut out for him, but if he can only stand up and fucken’ tough it out, and fucken’ fight with a fucking psychopath’s desire for the taste of scrotum in his King Lion mouth and win three more matches, then he will be; THE FUCKING KING AGAIN!

Nannas versus Vagabundos Da Praia

6   :   6

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

MOM: CG & JH

BY the skin of your teeth nannas, by the skin of your teeth.

Vagabundos Da Praia  have been a team that in the past the nannas have owned mentally. This time they bought in the Aryan Nation man…..he had a weapon. I’m not talking about anything insidious – I’m talking about his right foot. (probably his left as well) He was really the difference. Never spotted before, and hopefully never again.

About from him, the nannas would have ruled supreme…..like an Iron chef up against a kid making mud pies.

The goals were shared around, but the Nannas were not the menace that they were in the start of the season.

The game is a bit of a blur, but as we walked off the ref said “good game”. Mamoud is a man of few words, so when he drops a pearl, put it on your necklace…
I believe there was a first as well during the MOM voting. Chris “vodaphone” brown busted a very cheeky move, or was the fault on the part of Dan “musical cock chairs” Crooks? Almost a code vialation, but who do we give it to?

5-7 Loss to Golden 40s

Goals JH 2, CB 1, DC 1, TW 1, AW 0, TH 0(GK)

MOM TH

I don’t remember how it started but I will NEVER forger how it ended. Unbeknownst to the rest of the table Wally Wong had been using the extended time between ordering food and receiving food to get the old ‘Wally Wong Magic Hypno Eyes’ going on a couple of ladies at an adjoining table. I think even he was a bit stunned by how well it worked, because one moment Nannas were happily having a gay old time laughing about something (probably Chassy tearing his pants again… tore it in the crotch again if you were wondering) and the following moment these two ladies did the ‘Mega Panther Pounce’ and landed at our table with some pretty crazy maneuvers. Pretty much straight away the Irisher of the couple was practically mounting Wal’s shoulder, Wal’s head was roughly the colour of borscht, and the rest of the Nannas egged her on, desirous to see if there existed in the old visible colour spectrum a red deeper than the deepest beetroot red that could be made to manifest on Wal’s head. There was and it duly manifested itself as the ladies tried to get Wal outside for a ‘drink’. Let that be a lesson to all Nannas to beware the seductive power of the ‘magic hypno eyes’ and not to blythly use it just because you are bored of waiting for your steak to arrive.

Just as Wal’s head had adopted the hue of that most famous of Russian soup’s as its colour for the evening, so to did the game have strong elements and overtones of the Rusky. I.e. the opposition were them. Just as some general said in one of them 50s movies about Strategic Air Command, “Were gonna be in a shooting war with the Soviets” (draw out the so part and say the viets part quickly if you want to sound like said general) so we found ourselves (although unlikely they were strickly speaking Soviet). They hit us pretty hard pretty early. Probably three goals running in hard off the corners and leaving their Nanna. From there we regrouped and never really let them get away, but the damage had been done and we couldn’t quite peg them back despite keeping the pressure on through goals and ball control.

Vs The Annual, 3-4 Loss
DC (2) TH(1) CB JH CG(GK)

MOM DC TH

It is oft said of the youth that while they possesseth the energy they possesseth not the control. Perhaps you may think back to your own youthful actionings, in the bedroom, where a great deal of excitement and exhilaration and stimulation was not necessarily able to be drawn out, or manipulated to maximum advantage, or the utmost power leveraged when needed most. Or perhaps you have experienced this recently whilst enjoying the company of someone younger than yourself. Whatever your manner of understanding, the maxim remains the same; the young, while willing, lack the experience that counts. Sometimes however it would seem that vitality and vim can overcome the knowledge, skill and know how that the decades provide, and thus it was well and fucking truly proved this Thursday past. For the Nannas arrived with “in the bag” mentality, thinking to toy with the young opposition a while, as a feral cat might toy with a caught rodent, or a well-versed harlot might toy with a trick at the limits of ecstasy. Yet despite going down one-nil early on, the foregone conclusion mentality continued to hold sway amongst the Nanna brethren, as though somehow our age, experience, skill level, ladder position and track record meant we were ordained for victory. Well let me tell you Nannas, history is littered with the fetid corpses of those thought themselves predetermined to win, the tales of old are awash with the blood of the foolhardy who believed destiny had fated them success before the battle had begun. If you learn nothing else from last week’s defeat learn this: counteth not thy fucking chickens before thy fucking chickens hatcheth.

Of course while the mindset describes the demeanour, which defines our loss it does not describe the manner. How were a bunch of pimply children with little more than eagerness to describe their soccer skills able to defy a battle hardened outfit of match fit Nannas? I will away with the verbose language and give you one word. Desire. They came with greater desire, and for that they were rewarded with a great victory. Greater desire for two things: desire to win, and desire for the ball. The desire to win is essentially what I have already discussed. A belief that you can win is a much surer bet than a belief that you should win. I hope every fucking Nanna out their in Nanna fucking land has got that in their heads, because we are about to move onto what I believe is a greater problem: desire for the ball.

You’ve got to want the ball. You’ve got to want the ball real bad. And you’ve got to put that wanting the ball real bad into practice by going after the ball like possessing it is what keeps you breathing. Not only last Thursday, but generally, Nannas are a bit soft at the ball, holding off it, standing behind the opposition and putting their head down when a pass does not miraculously find it’s way through, generally not wanting it bad enough. While I am loathe to single out an individual, I will at this juncture raise the name of the purplest and most angriest of Nannas, Tao. While he may not have the strike of the striker, nor the shadow foot of the shadow foot, nor the back doorness of the back door man, nor the Heisenberg uncertaintly principle of the man know as the Heisenberg uncertainty principle, he has a desire to possess the football the likes of which exists in no other Nanna. While he may have his moments of code violation and giving the ref an earfull, it is his willingness to go to the ball wherever it is, no matter how far away or how hopeless the situation may seem, and make a contest that the Nannas lacked this Thursday past. I want us all to take a little of Tao’s tenacity, Tao’s never say die approach, and fucking well get in there and make every ball contested. No matter you think the contest is over and you are beat, fucking well get back on the ball and make every moment of possession the opposition may have a hard fought fucking annoyance for them. This week I don’t want any excuses, I just want to see Nannas wanting the ball so bad it hurts them deep inside. I really hope I have made myself clear, because this is the area in which we acted like a bunch of nutless monkeys last week, this is why a bunch of fucking teenagers wearing girl’s hair accessories were able to bend us over and disgrace our junk.