6—4 vs Dirty Waffles

JH(gk), TW(2), AW, RH, DC(4)
MOM: dc, jh, aw

Well, I do not really remember much about the last Nanna outing, my concentration, or perhaps nervous tension, kept me so focussed on shot stopping (not getting whacked) that half the game seems to have gone unregistered by my memory banks.

Well, the Nannas were lacking, in personnel that is. Coach and Gill gave no explanation for their non-appearance and Chas, with arse hairs flaring, proudly announced that he was off to bask at the beach—so much for the brown brotherhood.

Well, we were a paltry four until Tao, gulping at a V, ran in to save our bacon. But then the question, who would deputise in goals? Captain put forth that I was a natural choice, shouting proudly that my ball skills were impeccable, flawless, unblemished. So here I was trying to figure out what the Captain and my ball skills had been up to, and more importantly what the Chasm would think about it, when the game started, with me standing in goals.

Well, AWong, the very bravest of MOMs, was in a very scything mood on this evening. Sure he might not look like anything like Roy Keane but fuck me does he do a good impression of the former Man U hard man’s ankle–knee–groin grind. He was bringing people down from behind, poaching balls from in front, and then, just for fun, threatening to grab all and sundry’s gonads: AWong a true mountain of strength and stamina. As the Captain noted post game, the patented ‘Nanna crumble’ never came about, and that was due largely to AWong.

Well, Tao, angry, ever vigilant for even the slightest insult or knock, lay into his immediate opponent at every opportunity. Yes, it would not be a Nannas’ game without our man of fury tearing up the court, cutting a swathe through any hope the opposition had of a civil, friendly fixture. To be fair, Tao did almost recreate his magical volley from the grand final a couple of seasons back, but this time he only found an opponent instead of goal. But he did manage a cracking strike getting contact with the top of his foot, angling the shot upwards and into the roof of the goal.

Well, then there is Striker. Striker was in full flight for all of the game, not only toward goal but also defending ours. Apparently he scored four goals but what was really evident was his passing and movement. Usually Striker has some difficultly with distribution. Some people put it down to a subconscious fear of teammates, myself I think it is more to do with a lack of practice. Whatever affected him in the past did not on this evening, he was all side-foots, back-heals and running, lots of running.

Well, last but by no means least is Captain. While I know Captain did play, I don’t actually remember him being on court. And this, frankly, is the way it should be. Captains in my opinion should be invisible, spreading themselves like glue throughout a team with quiet pats on the backside, rants at errant team members, and lots and lots of shouting to build morale. It was all there from the Captain, well so I imagine.

6-2 vs Dirty Waffles (or was it 6-4?)
JH(gk), TW(2), AW, RH, DC(4)
MOM = threeway = dc + 2? (no gearstick ripping or sheepskin back of the calf* brushing involved)

Dirty Waffles ?, is that the scatological equivalent of a soggy biscuit ?

Anyway, the flurry yet again revealed a lack of commitment from various sections of the nanna brotherhood. I won’t go into it further but let’s just say that some nannas need to take a long hard look at themselves (Jim, I don’t mean it like that). But one Nanna with full commitment was Tao, rising from his hospice bed to cough and yell for the full 36 minutes demanded of a tight five. He even managed to slide a couple into the back of net. Jim “the gear stick” Hannon is also deserving of the highest kudos for stepping into goals. With legs of steel, impeccable timing off the line and some fine distribution Jim’s skills belied his 5th string rating. Our defense was mainly solid with only a couple of slip-ups but the midfield was where it was all happening. At points the passing cross court was woeful but generally there was some of the tightest ball movement seen in a while, one-twos, back to the goalie and opening up down the flanks, slicing open the defense through the middle. Up front a couple of finishes were decidedly poor but a couple were struck pretty sweetly too. The opposition had some ball skills but they didn’t really have the hunger and it has to be said that we would have been pretty crap to have lost.

cut to the Windsor and there has been a change of menu, the ribeye now comes with a ‘jus’ and no mash. The portabellos were pretty tight but it required the insight of the nannas resident life coach Andy wong to realise that chips were also required. Interestingly enough I was surprised to see that when the chips arrived Andy went for the ‘spray sauce all over the top of the chips’ technique. I have always favoured the ‘dipping’ model, arguing that this keeps the chips crisp and you don’t end up with that gluggy mess at the end. But bowing to Andys superior understanding of the natural order I expect there is something I’m missing, or perhaps there is some witty link back to gluggy mess/soggy biscuit/dirty waffle at the beginning of the report – thomas ?

ok lastly on a more chronologically fixed note. After nearly two years of avidly consumed rumours and hearsay, the Canon 5DII has finally been announced, looks like the mingin’ shit and even shoots 1080p but the HDMi out would appear to have overlays (soggy shitcakes) but it only gets crazier, Jim Jannard has announced that the specs for scarlett have totally changed, same price, same delivery date but heaps better ?! I need it so bad.

• as of going to print no member of the Nannas yet has an iPhone
• Obama is back in the lead
• the global financial crisis deepens as the US federal bailout is meet with market skepticism
• damian hirst has a ‘primary’ auction and sells £170m worth of ‘meaningless’ art on the same day Lehman Bros folds
• the liberals no longer have a wombat as leader
• david foster wallace Dies at 46
• david rosetzky exhibits the first work of australian video art shot on red
• chassy says ‘fvck ads’
• thomas goes to yet another primavera opening
• otis, elliot and lucien all attend tennis training camp for the school holidays
• the mighty gunners go top of the table
• 30 Rock is very funny (even have discussion with random stranger about how great Alec Baldwin is)
• art angst reigns as the supreme bringer of bad times in the life of the author
• daughters smiling and practicing mongolian throating singing is the bringer of the good times
• 2GBs + 4 off-peak really doesn’t cut it when you don’t have supplemental governmental access
• putting 70GB uncompressed files from a MAC onto a PC formatted disk proves pretty much impossible

ok that will probably do

Yes, for those Nannas present on this glorious evening there was only beauty to be beheld. Beauty in a Nanna line up whose efforts in attack were only matched by the magnificence residing in their shorts.

Yes, the Nannas were well hung and didn’t we know it. The brown men strutted onto court legs akimbo, bulging in the trouser: men of virulence ready for any manly challenge ahead. And while the surface to be played on was greasier than Guy Fraser’s underwear after a long stint internet gazing, our control and assuredness under foot was never in question.

Yes, while there were examples aplenty of Nanna pace, power, poise, passing, purpose, presence, persistence, pugnaciousness, penetration and execution, the following (in chronological order) were the standouts.

Yes, Striker took possession of the ball, just on our side of halfway. Like only a striker can he ignored every plea of support from his comrades and took off in search of goal. On his way there he encountered every player for the opposition. Did he fluently and fleet-of-foot step around and through their challenges I hear you ask? Not a bit of it. Instead he was intent on running into them, using his pure manliness to force the ball down field. One by one they fell by the wayside until he was one on one with the goalie who, in a panic, wet his pants. Striker picked his spot and found it.

Yes, AWong found himself streaming down the right hand side after a ball that had come loose of Nanna possession. Just before he reeled it in he stole a glance across court. To his left a group of players were waiting: Nannas expectant for the cross, the opposition scheming a defence. But AWong is known as the backdoor specialist and with good reason—once a fellow tastes the sweet delights of the alternative avenue to goal he will never want it any other way, and so it was on this evening. Reaching the ball his brain had already computed the angle and pace that he would have to strike, and strike he did, threading the eye of the needle so perfectly that one Nanna went into fits of ecstatic joy the moment it left AWong’s boot.

Yes, Gill had been pinging away at goal for most of the match and his efforts were, for the most part, powerful and penetrating, rendering his opposite number a slobbering mess at the other end of the court. But just for sport he laid the ball at his feet, held his hand high in the air, and then took a few steps back. When everyone was ready he strode surely forth, cocked his leg and swung swiftly, sending a distinct smack throughout the arena. Such was the pace imparted on the projectile that it held its height, barely a metre from the earth, as it curved from left to right, as lefties are wont to do, toward net. The crowd gasped as Gill and his opposite number raised their hands in anticipation, but at the crucial moment Striker materialised out of thin air sticking his right hoof into ball’s path, shifting the trajectory out and away from gloved hand and into goal.

vs Dirty Waffles 4-4
DC 2, CB 1, RH 1, AW, JH, TW, TH (GK)
MOM CB, TH
YC TW

I don’t know whether it was the Swedish Math Metal played en route in one of the Northcote Camrys or the focussed pre-game drills or possibly Jim driving the company car but whatever the Hades it was; the Dirty Waffles hadn’t laid a single syrupy digit on the ball when (after barely a minute of play) we had our first taste of the back of their net.

We had picked the Waffles for arrogant and it was therefore good for the Nannas to get that early psychological edge. Unfortunately that edge was blunted with two loose goals by them in quick succession. Some loose marking (CB guilty once) gave TH little chance of stopping some shots from too close in. 2-1 to them.

TW got a Yellow Card for throwing the ball away. The vibe was getting edgy and desperate. Rhian executed an Acute Sweet Poke (ASP) that was third time lucky after two close attempts by AW and DC. 2-2 scores are tied.

DC got another goal and then they got two more and at 4-3 down and with only minutes left on the clock, a loss for the Nannas looked imminent. CB received the ball in front of goals and sweetly poked it high and into the back of the net for the mighty equaliser.

Special mention goes to the esteemed TH who was massive in goals.

A draw. 4-4. A big game. Strong work Nannas.

The night for this brown Nanna started in the car and Striker busting out the fake cigarette. Coach said ‘look out! It’s the fuzz‘ but Striker wasn’t fazed—he was way too high to worry about some bitches with some phoney respect.

Anyhow, Striker offered the fake ciggy around the car. First coach took it and then after some time I put my doing two things at once ability to the test. Needless to say that you never mean to get totally high but sometimes even the slightest puff can put you out of your mind, as Vic-roads would have it.

Anyhow, the game started slow and Gilla is right our D was of the highest order—no bitches would penetrate us until the very last minute.

And yes the ref was of the same ludicrous disposition as on our previous outings, calling fouls when no contact had been made and on one occasion calling Gilla for stepping out of his area with the ball, even though he, the ref, was a good twenty metres away.

Gilla had his revenge: from the ensuing penalty he guessed right, literally, and made a majestic save.

Anyhow, Striker slid down the right hand side, pulling a move further right and then hit one back across the goalie for one of the sweetest strikes of the year. And that was how it stayed until the middle of the next half.

Anyhow, games are oft won in the blink of an eye and on this night the Nanns went from one-nil up to three-nil up in a solitary minute, I shit you not. The first was set up by yours truly—with a chip and chase Sterlo style. Winfield Cup fans circa 1982 will know what I am talking about. Cocky, in true-strikerly fashion, finished off the move, being on hand to accept the final pass in a two-on-one situation.

Then I struck again, this time getting the final touch as Gilla launched with his left and I with my head, heading home.

Anyhow, Tao finished the scoring for the Nannas with something of the following, which I really don’t remember:

‘I passed one off to Dan who ran down with it as I ran with him on the opposite side of goals then he passed across to me and as the goalie waved his arm around in front of me a popped in passed his left side, or his right side as I’m looking at him, through to the back of the net.’

Anyhow, then it was off to Impromptu it up and apart from the Supper Inn, lashings of lager, and Gill whipping my arse in Virtual Tennis, there was some very serious talk about the state of brownness across the full spectrum of the Nanna line up. From the way I heard it one Nanna, and no names will be mentioned here, didn’t want to join the brown fraternity because, and I quote, ‘he had a busy day tomorrow’.

Anyhow, while this revelation did momentarily shake the spirits of the Nannas it was, in the words of one person present, not wholly unexpected. I think he said something like, ‘well that arse-bandit was never really fit to the lead the Nannas anyway’.

Anyhow, Striker said that he would step up and lead because he was at that moment in time the richest, literally and metaphorically, and in all honesty I think all of those present, even though they may not have wholly heard this comment, did subconsciously accept the self-nomination—I know I did.

9-2 vs X X X X
TH, JH(2), TW(1), RH(2), TK, AW, CG(GK,1), DC(MOM,3)

One word – Commitment. That’s how to win the respect and admiration of your brother nannas. By showing commitment on the ball, on the field, in the pub, in the beach-box, in the face of desiccated mushrooms and forkfuls of crunchy powder… But most importantly by showing up to play having witnessed the birth of your daughter and leaving hospital less than 48 hours previously. that is Commitment with a capital C. To be honest it wasn’t planned, I was totally reconciled to, and comfortable with, the fact that I wouldn’t be playing, but then it was 7.10 the punks were in bed, the little miss was snuggled up with Miri, the dishes were done, the bench and table wiped. Really, what was I going to do ? Go into the stude and do some art labouring? Hell no, I was going to join with my brown brethren in a classic Nannas landslide! So good. So good in fact that Nannas barely noticed the three subs. So good in fact that the Nannas were laughing. Laughing after successful flowing moves, even laughing after crap passes. There were goals aplenty and the author even managed to score a goal for each of his progeny. Ah yes, all was good in the world. So good that the Nannas even forgot to give all their votes to Tao…

Opponents: Los Pitufos
Score: 7 (Los Pitufos) – 2 (Nannas)
Attendees: TK, TH, DC, RH, JH
Goals: DC, JH
MOM: JH

Butt- reamed, rammed, arse- invaded, jam-rolled, indescribably filled, yes Nannas, this is how I felt after a non-too terrific performance Thursday night last.

Yes Nannas, questions do need to be asked. Questions like should Captain have sole control of the growing of his facial hair mid-season? Should Striker get a good night’s sleep on a Wednesday night? Does coach need more time to get his dicky knee right before entering the field of battle? And the most important of all, what is the recommended number of subs if half the Nannas are expected to be late or have an off night?

On reflection the Nannas weren’t too bad. The word that most comes to mind is soft: soft in defence, soft in the contest and fifty fifties (if I can use a couple of footy phrases), and definitely soft in the first half. Well more like asleep in the first half.

The first stanza was were we lost the game, for before we knew it we were about three goals down and it all seemed perfectly harmless, almost like, oh well we’ll get it back somehow. The thing is this sort of attitude only works in the event of a landslide if we can get to our opponents and really put them off their game. The nannas Thursday last were never going to do this.

The second half was better; we did find some rhythm, though not a lot. We did start to string a couple of passes together, though on most occasions the final, crucial pass was beyond us. And yes our defence did tighten up, although there were about two or three times when an opponent had his back to goal with a nanna close enough to hump him, only for the opponent to turn and take the softest shot.
All nannas please note: standing up against the back of your opponent like you have a strange urge to sniff his crack is not defence, it is a recipe for disaster.

Special mention goes to Cocky for trying to convince the nannas that winning the second half was a noble and just cause.

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

11-2 We went down to Dead Dead Skilfull

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

Thursday the Third of April, 2008

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

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

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

A.M. Thursday the Tenth of April, 2008

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