June 25th: Turtles 1 (0) - Brooklyn Northern United B  0 (0)
By "HIM"

It can be a bit of a bugger being omnipotent. When there’s a shedload of sport on, I never know where to look. Take winter Saturday afternoons, New Zealand time, for example. I could look in on some of the rugby going on, which can be pretty good, or there is the netball (although you don’t get as many hotties playing that as you used to). Of course I could take a peek in through the bedroom windows of some of my favourites, if I was in that sort of mood – and Vanda’s activities recently have been worth a look, I can tell you – but usually a supreme being wants a bit of ball action to go with his pumpkin soup and croutons.

Ben Burn Park is one of MY finest creations, if I do say so MYself. Nestling in amongst the Karori hills, overlooked by some pretty flash housing, I’ve made this an oasis of sporting mediocrity. It always brings a smile to MY holy visage when I see Big Si smashing one twenty yards over the top into the play ground, or GT putting another pass off down the road. Call ME nostalgic, if you dare, but was there ever a more wondrous sight in sport than CJ (bless him, and his wife), with all the time in world, slicing a cross into the kindergarten? Well, was there? I thought not.

As you may have guessed, I have a soft spot for the Turtles. They’ve been trotting around on MY beloved Ben Burn for something like twenty years, and given ME a fair few laughs in that time. I wasn’t best pleased earlier on in the season when they had games at Karori Park, which I don’t like nearly as much, but a visit by some small crab-like friends of MINE to the groin area of that clod at the WSA seems to have sorted that out. The Turts have had quite a good season to date, having their first loss only last week. In MY infinite wisdom, I let Miramar beat them. I usually let teams beat Miramar, due to them being whingeing Northern bastards, but in the week leading up that game one of the Turtles did something that displeased ME. You know who you are.

This week the Turtles had been good boys though, so I was prepared to smile on them from on high. I got the grass cut at Ben Burn, because the lads don’t cope well with heavy grounds any more (Bless them), and I held the southerly at bay. I did feel a bit guilty for forgetting about Christchurch and having all those rugby players get a real tempest, but it was worth it when I saw Clive Woodward’s face after the game. Brooklyn B would be feisty and difficult opponents for the Turtles, as evidenced by the dramatic 3-2 contest a couple of months ago. I inflicted a few injuries on the lads that day, but I decided to be merciful this time, because, as the saying goes, I was in MY heaven for this one.

In MY infinite wisdom, I delayed Terry’s arrival at the ground. He had the jerseys, and I wanted the lads to be a little on edge for the match, so I distracted Tel with the arrival at his house of some Jehovahs Witnesses just as he was about to leave for the game. The JWs are a bunch of tossers, but they have their uses sometimes. True to plan, the lads pre-match routine was distracted, so they got to kick-off time all tense, just how I had designed it. This meant they started better, and had parity early doors. With the help of a slight southerly the Turtles held up well against a team who had run them ragged in the previous game. Rohan was back in midfield, and his runs were the main feature going forward. A lot of play was going up the right through PK to, but he seemed a bit sluggish today, and spent a lot of time mucking around before being dispossessed. Now, I’VE got nothing against Catholics, in fact some of MY best friends are Catholics, including several Popes, but they can really get on MY tits at times. PK’s incessant twisting and turning wasn’t getting the lads anywhere, so I gave him a whack on the head later, courtesy of Brooklyn’s stroppy white-booted forward.

Anyway, for all the approach work of Rohan, PK, Chris and Gary, f’all was getting in to Gordie, who was being marked by two alcoholic Scotsmen. These three were babbling away incoherently to each other. I’M fluent in over two thousands forms of communication, but I couldn’t understand a word of it. Back down the other end the back four were having the occasional problem with Brooklyn’s stroppy white-booted forward, but they scrambled on each occasion to get a foot in. Big Si was strong on the ground, and Tel in the air, but there were still two hairy moments from Snout, when he had to make saves from close range headers. It was Tel and Si who provided the closest attempts up the other end from corners, Si in particular going very close with a header. There were also shots from Stevie H and Darrin, but really these two out on the left were pretty ineffectual. They haven’t seemed to recover from the petulant arguments over Stevie’s over-lapping last year, and now don’t seem to pass to each other at all, preferring instead to hit it up the wing for Rohan or Mark to chase.

Halftime arrived with the teams still locked at 0-0, so I took the opportunity to take a wander up north for a bit. As seems to happen a lot these days, MY fatherly gaze descended on CJ and Vanda’s house. Worst luck, they were sitting in the living room having a cup of tea, but what’s the point of being all powerful if you can’t shake things up a bit for your own amusement. CJ stood up, and for no apparent reason (teehee) said “I’m off into Palmie to buy some manila folders. I’ll be back in two hours.” No sooner had his car disappeared around the bend than two young lady Jehovah’s Witnesses, Samantha and Delilah, strolled up the driveway and knocked on Vanda’s door.

Now you may think that girl-on-girl action would be against MY moral judgement, but the sight of heavenly bodies writhing together sure is one to behold. JW’s can talk the pants off anyone, and on this occasion Samantha and Delilah did the job on the doorstep, and in no time were inside working on the buttons of Vanda’s blouse. The Turtles patron was soon down to her black lace bra and undies, and then led the two JW’s into the bedroom. Vanda sat up by the pillows, and watched as Samantha and Delilah quickly undressed then crawled up the bed towards her. “Thank you, God”, was all Vanda could say.

Naturally I averted MY eyes at this stage, and turned MY attention back to Ben Burn, where the second half was already underway. I halted the southerly breeze, and this helped the Turtles a little, but there still wasn’t much goalmouth action to keep a supreme being entertained. I decided to make a move. Si surged up the right, and I created space for Gary up ahead of him. Si made the pass, and Gary was away. He cut inside towards goal, and squared a delightful ball for Gordie, who put boot to ball on the edge of the six yard box, and asked ME for help. I guided the ball safely into the back of the net, and celebrated with a bit of a jig.

This was a mistake, because I stirred up a couple of clouds, and one of them dumped some rain on Ben Burn, making the proceedings even less entertaining. The remaining half hour of the game was pretty hard yakka. Rohan continued to make some big runs, but no real chances came of them. The one good chance came to Mark after a Gordie jink up the right, but Mark failed to make any contact at all from three yards. He later did some good work up the left to partially redeem himself in MY eyes, holding up the ball and generally pissing off defenders.

Defensively, the Turtles had to deal with a couple of corners, but otherwise Brooklyn’s fire seemed to have been put out by the shower. I knew there was a reason I did that. The stroppy white-booted forward made a few efforts to run at the defence, but even he gave up a bit, and finished up by launching into PK with about five minutes to go, to take out his frustrations. Catholics are all about guilt, so no doubt PK would have recognised this as retribution for his earlier ineptitude.

By now everyone was cold and tired, so I called time via Dodge, ref for most of the game. He’s evidence, if ever you wanted it, that I move in mysterious ways.

 

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