April 15th: Turtles 0(0) vs North Wellington 3(1)
Match Report by Dodger Kinsella

Saturday afternoon, quarter of an hour before kick-off, and the Turtles were in the Alex Moore changing rooms preparing themselves for the expected annual toweling from the North Wellington Masters. Given the previous season's famous 2-1 victory against all the odds, the lads could have been expected to run on to the field with at least a smidgeon of confidence in their ability to salvage a draw or even sneak a repeat upset win, but poor early season form, an across the board decrease in fitness during the off season, and the absence of the Tartan Tadger on a fishing expedition had sapped any remaining shreds of self-belief. To make matters worse, not only was a beating on the field expected, but also some physical retribution, entirely due to an inflammatory comment made in the match report on last year's game by Rat-a-deux.

In brief, the ginger one had penned a line about North Wellington's WINO No. 3 which went "being on the winning side against f*ckwits like this is especially pleasing". This line had come to the attention of one of North Wellington's larger thugs, Big Ken, who, after his Mum (lovely woman) had read this match report to him before his bedtime, had mistakenly presumed this to be a reference to their entire squad, a sad indictment on the quality of education that was on offer in the greater Johnsonville area around 30 or so years ago. The subsequent offence taken had resulted in a series of menacing threats appearing in the Turtle Lounge on the website, the cause of the general air of unease prevailing amongst the Turtles prior to the return fixture.

Dodge had done his best to defuse the situation by logging in to the Turtle Lounge and penning a tongue in cheek apology which basically blamed the whole disastrous state of affairs on Stevie, but there was still the feeling that any of the lads could be in danger of having their major leg bones rearranged into an interesting formation new to medical science.

Stevie, who of course had the most to lose from this situation, was especially twitchy. He had vowed in advance to spend the whole game running around near the touchline far from any opposition players, and had also claimed that he would be refraining from making a single tackle, but as this basically reflected the style in which he had played his entire footballing career to date, the chances of avoiding serious physical harm were looking somewhat remote.

The lads wandered on to the field. Stevie ventured a nervous glance around the pitch, eventually spotting Big Ken standing in the middle of the North Wellington team talk, his balding dome standing out amongst his shorter teammates. God, he looked big. And violent. Very violent. His beady eyes roamed over the Turtle line-up. Suddenly he noticed Stevie looking at him. Instantly his neck started turning red, the crimson glow quickly spreading over his whole head. His fists were clenching and unclenching themselves, as if Stevie's scrawny neck was already within their grip. It certainly wasn't a look that endeared him to Stevie, and it was all Stevie could do to stop from soiling himself as a result.

The game kicked off. North Wellington were dominating early possession and passing the ball around at will, with much of the game being played in the Turtles' half. Surprisingly though, despite their pessimistic pre-match attitude, the Turts were showing a great deal of spirit and were competing well. All the oppo attacks were being defused, as crosses were cut out, tackles were made, and players were tracked. Several shots were fired in from outside the box, but were either well off target or else comfortably dealt with by Snout. Not only that, Matty Cantwell was having a rare off day up front, his normal sure footed touch seemingly having deserted him.

Neither was it all one way traffic. The Turtles were playing the ball constructively back up the field, and several opportunities were being created as the likes of P.K. and Wal displayed some rare pace and skill in the attacking third. From one such raid, a cross was floated over from the right to be met by a well directed header from Glenn back across the goal. The disappointment in the ranks was palpable as the ball struck the crossbar and was cleared to safety by the North Wellington defence.

The game was also being played in pretty good spirit. The only rough stuff directed at the team seemed to be coming from the oppo No. 17, a neighbour of Stevie's in Khandallah North. This lard arsed yob was proving to be very handy with his shoulders and elbows, repeatedly shoving players to get to the ball, irrespective of how much actual chance he had of doing so. Not only that, he'd taken to obstructing Snout on the goal line at each of their corners, either shoving him, obstructing him or at one stage standing on his foot, with none of this being picked up by the myopic home ref. The pressure eventually told late in the half, with a close range header being powered into the net as yet again Snout was being impeded. 0-1.

The relations between the two teams may have been unusually cordial, but poor Stevie was coming in for a torrid time as he attempted to ride out the danger on the left hand touchline. Big Ken was tracking him down unmercifully as if on a personal search and destroy mission. Amazingly, none of it was being picked up by the ref, as blatant pushes, sly elbows to the ribs, cynical late tackles and one dangerous studs up tackle went unpunished. The fur was flying, both figuratively and literally. But the remaining players on both teams left them to it, with the Turtles perfectly happy to avoid any trouble while at the same time seeing one of North Wellington's more talented players too busily engaged in a personal vendetta to actually get involved in the game.

Halftime came, and the Turts gathered for another dose of SNO. Spirits were high, and every player had contributed well to the effort so far. The defensive formation was holding together well, with everyone tracking back well and always someone there to take up the slack if another player had been beaten. All that was needed was a goal from somewhere and we'd be right back in this one.

The second half got under way and the pattern of play continued as before. North Wellington continued attacking, the Turtles continued defending, their No. 17 continued pushing our players over, Big Ken continued dealing to Stevie, and Matt Cantwell continued tripping over his feet. Not for much longer though. One of their defensive clearances to halfway was picked up by Cantwell and he surged into action. Showing tremendous control under pressure, he waltzed past five attempted tackles and into our goal area before attempting to beat Snout on the left post. Our portly custodian made a great one handed save to beat out the first shot, but the rebound was clinically dispatched and it was 0-2. A single stroke of brilliance from the opposition's best player had effectively decided the result of the game.

Still the Turtles continued to fight hard, but with no reward coming at the attacking end, legs were starting to tire. With ten minutes to go, North Wellington powered forward, the attack ending with their right half hitting a shot on goal from the edge of the area. Snout seemed to have it covered, but as he went down to save to his right, his feet seemed to slip out from under him and the ball went past him and inside the far post. 0-3. Snout sat disconsolately on his goal line picking clumps of ginger fur from between his sprigs.

The game meandered on, but there wasn't much other than pride left to fight for now for the Turtles. Then it happened. With only a couple of minutes to go, Stevie was taking the ball up the sideline when, out of nowhere, Big Ken suddenly launched himself sideways at Stevie. His boots connected knee high on Stevie's leg, sending the ginger defender flying half way up the bank on the far side of the field. Something snapped in Stevie's mind. He'd had enough. Struggling to his feet, he advanced towards Big Ken, planted both hands in his chest and shoved, then swung his left fist straight into Big Ken's granite jaw as hard as he could.

The granite jaw didn't move. As if in slow motion, Stevie saw two large hands reaching towards his chest, lifting him into the air by his shirt, then a large hairless forehead coming towards him straight at the middle of his face. Boof! As if in the distance, he heard a cracking noise and then felt a stream of blood gushing from his shattered nose. He sank slowly backwards onto the ground…

"Wake up, Daddy!"

Boof!

Stevie jerked into wakefulness, his nose throbbing with pain. He heard the sound of small footsteps running down the passage as he sat up in bed. He looked down to see one of Niamh's Barbie dolls lying on the floor where it had landed just seconds after having been used to whack him in the face.

"That wasn't very nice, Niamh," he heard Bernie saying from the lounge. "You should have let Daddy get some more sleep. You know he hasn't been sleeping very well lately. He's been having some terrible nightmares this week."

"But he never gets out of bed now, Mummy," came Niamh's small voice in reply.

Stevie fell back down on the bed. Ever since the previous Saturday's game he'd been hallucinating about being beaten to a pulp by Big Ken, one of North Wellington F.C.'s more well known psychopaths. And in reality Big Ken hadn't even played that game. But he was certainly playing that game in every one of the nightmares Stevie had suffered since that day. A single irresponsible comment in a match report had come back to haunt him, and now his over-imaginative mind was suffering as a result of the tension of the anticipated reprisal, even though that reprisal had never eventuated.

Stevie pondered his options. "Perhaps professional help is what I need," he mused to himself. "But then, it didn't really work all those other times I tried it either. What to do? What to do?"

He looked at the bedside cabinet. Something on it had drawn his attention. Something round. Something white and shining. A large pill bottle. He knew it was at least two thirds full of sleeping tablets. Holding his breath, his hand trembling, he reached out towards it…

[ HOME | 2006 SEASON | ALL-TIME | PLAYERS | LINKS ]

comments to:
don@soccer.net.nz