1997 Turtles Match Reports
(authored by Captain Stevie
"Rat" Hambleton)
Match Report - 5 April, 1997
Turtles: 2 (0), University III: 1 (1)
The Fabulous Turtles started the 1997 season in typically
successful fashion on Saturday at Nairnville No. 1. Conditions were difficult, for several
reasons:
- the wind.
- Snout (our goalkeeper of many years and nearly as many fat
rolls) turned up on time but had forgotten his boots, so had to go home for them. Kick-off
was delayed for him, thus ruining our careful pre-match preparations.
- Spratty turned up on time, but a bit pissed from a business
lunch.
Anyway, after my team talk (rated a paltry 3/10 at the
after match stats session), we got started. To be honest, it was all pretty scruffy. The
youth of University ran around like headless chickens, totally up-setting the
traditionally composed Turtle style. Cooky got through on goal twice but predictably
blasted wide. With the Turtles on top but unable to score, the inevitable happened - the
oppo snivelled one at the other end. I'm not one to point fingers, but Blobby did confess
to getting "the last touch". Shortly after that debacle, controversy at the
other end. Phil (Hooter) Langridge crossed in from the left, the Varsity keeper missed,
and it seemed to have gone in. Phil said yes, others were unsure, and Davey J, the most
indecisive ref of all time, said no goal. Much swearing and shaking of heads.
So one-nil down at half-time, and on came the sprightly
trio (combined age 107) of myself, Dodge and Spratty, now more sober. Ten minutes in, and
more trauma. Terry, a new signing, and the only current player with a goatee, is barged
into by one of the oppo's thugs, and lands badly on his hand. His thumb is dislocated, and
looks pretty gruesome. Angered, the Turtles get moving.
A sweeping movement down the left sees Nick overlapping and
Stu finishing with finesse and much stomach wobbling. 1-1. Spratty dances drunkenly
through the centre of their defence, falls over, and Davey gives a dubious pen (Were you
there Stevie? It was my dive in front of goal - Webmeister). Spratty takes it, and scuffs
it wide; pathetic. Quickly sobering up, the next time he gets the ball, he turns, and
smashes it into the top right corner from twenty yards.
The remainder of the game is memorable for Wal running
around a lot, and the Turtles missing some easy chances.
So the Turtles juggernaut splutters into gear for the
season. Not pretty, but we'll take the points.
Match Report - 12 April, 1997
Turtles: 10 (4), North Wellington IV: 1 (1)
It was with some trepidation that I drove to the ground on
Saturday.
Dodger, sitting next to me in the Clap, proposed an early
candidate for the weather condition stat.- radiant, but that did not describe our
prospects as I saw them. The FTFC were putting together a bit of a scratch side. Out with
injury or absence were Spratty, Simon, Stu, Gazza, and possibly Terry; and Nicko was
arriving late from golf. Boy was drafted in, and Davey J was playing with iffy achilles.
And, in a positional change which was greeted with universal derision, I decided to play
up front.
When we arrived, some of the oppo were already changed and
warming up ! Add to all this the fact that at 31 Don and I were the youngest in our
starting line up, meant I was a worried skipper. Thankfully the oppo were shite. As it
turned out, they had been in Open E last season, and had been put up to our grade for
reasons known only to the FA. They also started with ten players.
Joy at our good fortune was short lived however, because
Boy got the first goal, a hairy back deflection from a corner. This was followed by an
excellent shot by Davey J, and a clinical finish from moi (take that). A high level of
incompetence from Snouter in dealing with a Dodge back pass gifted them one, but that was
basically the only time they got out of their own half all game.
In the second half Nick arrived and ran rings around them,
Don and Wal ran riot, and the goals were shared around. Snout had a run up front for the
last ten, and showed pace and skill. However, the comment was passed by Dodge that the guy
marking him must have had two broken legs.
Anyway, a good old fashioned drubbing, and indeed a radiant
day. Unfortunate for Nth Wgtn IV, who shouldn't really be in our grade, but nice for our
goal average.
Match Report - 19 April, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), North Wellington III: 0 (0)
Picture, if you will, the scene. Raroa Park, an exposed,
grotty little zit in an otherwise lovely suburb (I live there). Overnight there had been a
pretty wild storm by even Welly standards, but things had seemed to calm down a bit by
lunchtime. 1:52 pm, and the southerly hit. As the Turtles arrived for a 2:30 kick-off,
Raroa Park looked about as attractive as Snout in a rubbish bag (a long story).
As with last week, the Turtles were decimated again by
injuries and unavailability. Boy retained his place, GT was called in, and Wal's tennis
partner (?), the exotically named Oscar, was debuting. Myself and Steve Langridge, the two
slightly injured subs, watched anxiously, huddled under brollies, as the bedraggled sods
kicked off. Could the Turtles overcome adversity and play with their usual controlled,
expansive style? Frankly, no.
Davey J's appalling pre-match talk, (rating :1) didn't
help. Early on, Snout twice came off his line (!!), and was beaten badly. Dodge and Boy
came to his rescue with goal-line clearances. At the other end, Wal showed pace, and got
through, only for the keeper to make a great diving save. Soon after, that same keeper
fumbled a long shot, and Wal snaffled the only goal. The Turtles looked totally miserable
at half-time, so I made a tactical change, moving Dodge into a defensive mid-field
position. He obviously mis-heard me, because he spent the rest of the game at right wing.
The second half did see us gain some control, with Wal,
Oscar and Don doing well in the middle, but despite numerous good shots, nothing would go
in. Chris (M-o-M), did lots of good stuff on the right, and had at least four shots at
goal, easily his quota for the season. With 17 minutes left, Steve went on to try out his
new knee. This meant Blobby going up front to accompany Dodge, who was now masquerading as
a striker. Simon, poncing around on the sideline faking injury , was not complementary
about this new strike-force - "we aren't going to get any run-away goals are
we".
So the Turtles continue on their winning way. Not pretty,
but look at the scoreboard.
Match Report - 26 April, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), Petone Celtics: 0 (0)
For the first time this season, the Turtles faced what we
knew to be a tough game. This Petone side had been regular opponents over the last few
years, and we had aways been evenly matched. Still, we were top of the table, and playing
with good form so far. After the obligatory wait for Chris Mathieson to arrive late with
the jerseys, we got changed and rushed out, eagerly anticipating the pre-match talk, this
week from Dodge. The boys had been waiting all season for a good motivational rev-up. And
the wait goes on.
Davey, playing his 100th Turtles game, called the toss, and
in keeping with English sporting tradition, lost. The game got underway, the Turtles
playing up-hill. Early action was centered on Snouts' goalmouth, but he was equal to
anything, despite wearing a cap with tits on it. After about 20 minutes, Wal was given the
ball on half way, and pretended to be young by flying down the right, out-pacing several
defenders, cutting inside the box, and squaring to quite portly Stu Robb to finish.
"Yyyyyyeeeeeessssss", screamed Davey from somewhere nearby. The rest of the
first half was notable for some excellent defensive headers by Terry and Bobby, and the
foul of the season by Dodge, who followed it up with some high-quality abuse. Terrific
stuff from the fat, balding defensive maestro.
After an appalling half-time drink (blamed on the absence
of the Boss), the game continued with a similar pattern, that being our defence tidying up
everything efficiently, and the attack promising much but lacking a finish. Stu's
"header" on the far post didn't hit his head at all, but did connect with chin,
stomach knee and hand in that order. Spratty had a run, replacing Simon (who apparently
had been playing up front) but by his own admission "didn't know what the fuck he was
doing". Nick provided some entertainment by kicking, baiting and then out-running
their best player.
So, a tough one indeed, but a gutsy result. 4 from 4 and
still top of Open A.
Match Report - 3 May, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), Lower Hutt Utd: 6 (4)
It may appear from the above scoreline that The Turtles got
their arses kicked. Sometimes in soccer you can get a final scoreline that does not truly
reflect the game - this is not one of those times.
Having said that though, Snout's prognosis at half time
that - "they're going to get 30", was probably a little pessimistic. Things
started OK for us, ie. we found the ground, out in deepest Lower Hutt, almost Taita. But
when one of our balls was run over by some bogun boy-racer during pre-match
shooting-over-the-top practise, the day was sliding down-hill. The game itself looked
ominous early on, when Lower Hutt displayed youth, pace, skill and aggression. Oh dear.
Their first was a cross which Snout missed, but to the
surprise of all present, we got an early goal too, even more surprising for the fact that
I scored it. However, normal transmission was resumed, with more action at the other end,
including a curler into the top corner (cheeky little shit), and a Chris OG. Terry landed
on his dodgy hand twice and went off, and things were looking bad. Wal had done a good job
on Troy, their playmaker, but this limited our attacking options. At half time, a record
defeat was a possibility, but the next goal took about 20 minutes, as we competed a lot
better. Simon made a big run at one stage, but never made it back, so after that they ran
rampant through the middle, only some good last line defence from Dodge, Boy and Bobby
preventing a rout. Wal attacked more later on, and some half-chances resulted, but nothing
very likely to threaten the outcome.
Steve Langridge had a late trot for a by then completely
invisible Simon, and had the last chance of the game at the near post after good work by
Chris. It sliced gently off his toe for a goal kick.
The whistle blew - thank fuck, lets get out of here.
Match Report - 10 May, 1997
Turtles: 4 (2), Wellington United Orange: 1 (1)
Not an easy victory by any means. To say we started slowly
would be like calling Dodger a bastard - he's much more than that.
Once again we had no Turtles under 30, the rule rather than
the exception these days, and we looked like pensioners for the first 15 minutes. Not
surprisingly they went one up, a goal entirely the fault of lethargy in general. Being one
down awoke the Turtles from their afternoon nap with a nice cup of tea and two hokey pokey
squiggles, and things started to get moving. That svelt attacking machine of Cooky and Stu
combined to free Spratty on the right, and he took it as you would expect.
Soon after that, major drama. A Turtle corner produced
goalmouth action in the form of Cooky falling over in a screaming heap clutching his knee.
His wife and kids arrived just in time to see him getting carried off, and Jessie was
heard to ask her Mum "is Daddy not playing any more ?". Ange, ever sympathetic,
"no, but it doesn't matter because he's crap anyway". Paramedics rushed him to
hospital amid speculation that it could be a major injury, but it turned out to be only
damaged ligaments. Chris came on, and I went up front, amid much dissent from my
"loyal" team.
Two minutes later I silenced them with a breath-taking
goal. Breath-taking because it brought a lot of laughter. Spratty flicked one over the top
for me to run on to, and I got clear. The ball bounced nicely and I shot in the general
direction. Unfortunately that meant straight at the keeper, but, being a nice bloke, he
kindly let it go through his arms and dribble tamely over the line. Five minutes later a
cracking shot from 20 yards from Don went inches wide.
So one up at half time, but we didn't feel totally on top.
The second half was pretty even, with them having slightly more of the play, but we still
created a few chances. Davey was playing some nice touches at right half, and then got
some space and curled an exquisite ball over the defence for me to run onto, and this time
I finished it properly. This seemed to deflate them a bit, but as is the fashion with the
elderly, we were tiring. Stu limped off, and Boy came on for his 100th appearance (no
shout yet). Gazza, coming back from a knee injury, had the last 10 minutes.
Five minutes to go, and somehow one of their forwards was
all alone on the penalty spot with only Snout to beat. Not wanting to upset us, he hit it
wide. Next time we got the ball, Chris jigged down the right and passed precisely into
Spratty's path for the last goal.
So a slightly flattering scoreline in the end, but stiff
shit. Easily the highlight of the day came later in the clubrooms when Dodge (150 games)
and Davey (100) shouted a few beers. A good warm up for FA Cup night next week.
Match Report - 17 May, 1997
Turtles: 3 (2), North Wellington II: 2 (1)
A big day for the Turtles.
FA Cup night to come, so a win would set a good mood, but
the oppo were a police team, ie. violent, arrogant thugs. In our favour was that we were
playing on our beloved Ben Burn, and feilding pretty much one of our strongest line-ups.
In the oppo was an ex-Turtle, Mike McCarthy, and he showed that in his heart he still had
a lot of love for us by scoring an own goal to open our account.
They got one back, netting a rebound from a Snout save
which will be talked about for years to come (in his bathroom). Phil restored our lead by
slotting expertly on the far post, an event witnessed by his parents, regular Ben Burn
attendees, and girlfriend, a Turtle debutante. The half time talk was all about
determination, and Spratty was getting fired up.
Shortly into the second half they drew level, and the
record crowd (29), were getting nervous - "the boys look tired", "the tide
has turned", "lets go to the pub". But the Turtles weren't ready to lie
down and be strip-searched and hand-cuffed. Nick and Don were doing a lot of running in
the middle, and this was starting to create space. The defence, solid again, and not just
in stature, were pretty well controlling everything back there, despite Terrry having to
receive attention for knocks to both his big and little head.
With about ten to go, Spratty got a chance and fired in
from the edge of the box. He seemed to enjoy the event, and signalled this to members of
the opposition with a friendly gesture or two. Some anxious stuff caused a bit more grey
hairs in the last five, so by the time the whistle blew Snout looked like a ninety year
old.
So on to the clubrooms, then The Bristol, restaurant, back
to The Bristol, then Steve's place for the FA Cup. Highlights of the evening include
Spratty saying he was truly sorry for being a prick on the feild for the last 15 years,
Boy shouting loads of drinks, Brodie's girlfriend's pierced navel, Dodge winning $150
bucks on a sweep, Trudie spewing off the balconey (3rd Floor), and Spratty missing most of
the game due to being asleep.
(The author would like to apologise for any errors in the
above report, these are due to a hangover).
Match Report - 24 May, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), Upper Hutt / Tararua: 1 (0)
It is a well known fact that Turtles are most comfortable
in their own environment.
A nice sheltered inlet, with a sandy beach and a ready
source of food and drink, is where Turtles will thrive and naturally play their best
football. Now this is not to try and compare Karori No. 4 or Ben Burn with Lanzarote or
Club Med Noumea, but there are similarities (which space precludes me from going into
right now). So, dear fan, it is understandable that when the Fabulous Turtles are required
to venture away from their natural habitat, they, occasionally, may not play at their
best.
Saturday was one such occasion, as we ventured once more
into the Valley Metropolitan area. Tararua had been regular opponents for us for many
years, and a reasonably easy win could normally be expected, but an amalgamation with
Upper Hutt had altered their personnel (carrier) greatly, and although always fit, they
now had some excellent players, with nick-names to match, like Dog, Radar and Buckles.
The Turtles by comparison looked sluggish. Simon, just back
from a bonking holiday in Aussie, was out of breath and out of place in midfield. Steve L
at left back was also short of condition after little recent play, and Spratty up front
was hampered by a severe bout of drinking the night before. So it was with great surprise
that we went one-up, Terry nodding in a corner for his first Turtle goal. The oppo were
doing a lot of running and stretching our midfield, but Dodge and Terry were being
efficient, and this coupled with some crap work by their attackers kept us ahead until
half-time. It could have been by more if Spratty had been sober, two easy chances going
west like so many pints.
The Turtle subs and supporters were actually deriving more
entertainment from the violent thuggery going on on the adjacent field, which we were told
later was a game of League. A half time switch saw Davey going on up front, relinquishing
the whistle to their coach (or something) a pratt of the highest order. The pattern of the
first half continued, but a defensive error saw them equalise after about ten.
For the rest of the match our midfield and defence
exercised a modicum of control, the clearer chances falling to our forwards, including a
Davey shot being well saved by their keeper. But the game never reached the great heights
of the previous week, due very much to the appallingly rough surface, which made control
difficult.
A draw was a fair reflection of the game, but in general
the boys were pissed off not to take away a win. Especially Nick, who had to take away the
gear for washing. Not a pleasant task, as the socks are widely rumoured to be infested
with fleas.
Match Report - 31 May, 1997
Turtles: 2 (1), University Jets: 1 (1)
There is a certain certainty about playing a University
side - for a start, if any of them have arrived at the ground longer than 20 minutes
before kick-off, its a miracle. Secondly, while the shirts may be green, the rest of their
attire, I’m sure it’s written in their constitution, must not, under any
circumstances, match.
So when University Jets, or Kaleidoscope or
Something-or-other, turned up in tried and true rabble-ness, it was a relief.
Well, the traditional Turtle beginning - lackadaisical,
sloppy, disorganised.
Varsity scored first with a very well taken goal from
outside the area. Snout in goal did his best Italian goalie impression - standing
stock-still like a stuffed museum piece looking as the ball flew past him off the bar and
in. Never moved a muscle.
It would be nice to say that the Turtles improved there and
then. However for much of the first half, there was bit of a stunned mullet/’Run
away, run away’ mentality as we competed for very little, and applauded ourselves
when they missed shots at goal. It should be said we had our chances, and when we did
compete, we actually scored
The writer of this missive, in the absence of the skipper
(there was much rejoicing) was, alas, at the back all day (a selectorial oversight for the
228th game in a row) and being rather short sighted has had to take some of the following
on spec from those who can see.
However, there was no mistaking Stu Robb, as he coolly
slotted the first after some fine build up from people I couldn’t see. Yep, even at
distance ol’ Lard Arse is unmistakable as the person who truly shows the elasticity
of a nylon/poly-cotton blend.
Second half was different. This season has been
characterised by digging deep and gutsing out one goal wins (baaarrfff!!!). Whereas in the
past we were not satisfied with anything other than a 10 goal drubbing of the oppo, now
we’ll take what we can get. And we applaud ourselves for doing so. Rather sad really.
We had much the better of the half , and a clinical
Lineker-like strike from a couple of yards by Don sealed the win.
Man-of-the-match went to Steve Langridge who despite only
playing half a game, and admitting he only touched the ball about four times, came from
nowhere to save a shot off the line - in his new boots - we are still awaiting the cheque
from Mizuno as that will surely be the pic they show on the TV news.
Two other bits of news - Terry, the new Toblerone head of
central defence, took one too many on the boko (including a couple on the chin) and subbed
himself off to cloud cuckoo-land. This unfortunately meant Spratty decided he would move
to the back. Now positionally, Spratty enjoys a roving role - not exactly what was needed
when one goal up into the wind with 30 minutes to play. Having drunkenly confessed, on FA
Cup night, and apologising for a being ‘a bit of bastard’ for the last 15 years,
Spratty held court with a barrage of silky skills, poor positioning, terrier like running,
fine tackling and incessant commentary - I never thought I’d say this, but
‘Bring back Dodger’. I still can’t believe I said that.
Davey Johnson claimed two assists for the game - he
rescinded his position later to two assist-assist-assists or at least a consultancy role
in both (okay only one) of the goals which was also doubtful.
A last thought which characterises the day. The other
trouble with playing University (other than youth, fitness and finesse) is just as they
turn up late and introduce themselves, they also start late - not good on Super 12 final
day. Late in the second half, one asked plaintively if the rugby would be on at the
clubrooms afterwards -"Yes of course, come down" We went to the warmth and
comfort of the Cook house. They entered Injun’ territory. Losers.
Match Report - 7 June, 1997
Turtles: 5 (4), University II: 2 (1)
It has often been said that soccer is a game of ninety
minutes. Big red bollocks.
The Turtles were well matched with their scarf-dragging foe
for 89 minutes on Saturday, but for one minute late in the first half the Turtles played
with class, scored three goals, and the game was over as a contest. As we normally do, the
Turtles started the game in dream world, but this time there was a reasonable excuse. Wal,
in taking his turn at the pre-match speech, had promised topless models, including Elle
MacPherson, providing blow-jobs for the boys in the changing rooms after the game,
providing we won. There was no reason to doubt him, as he has, by all accounts, a pretty
sordid history. So at a time when the heads and feet of the Turtles should have been
receiving the most blood, an area in between was receiving a dis-proportionate amount of
it.
Speaking of going down, we went one down pretty early. I
can’t remember anything about it, so who cares. We started to get back into the game,
but didn’t seriously threaten to score for a while, until the aforementioned minute.
It started with Phil playing one down the left for me, and I crossed to Spratty on the far
post. He nodded back in, and Stu rose, like a walrus on heat, to head over the keeper and
in off the bar. Seconds later we came down the left again, and Stu met a low cross to
smash in. Back at the kick-off, they kindly gave us the ball, we gave it to Spratty, who
went back in time 10 years to beat five players and place it in from the edge of the box.
The students were completely shocked by this display of lethal finishing, and started to
sulk and suck their thumbs. Suddenly everything was green and rosey in Turtledom.
The absence of Don and Nick, the traditional source of 80%
of our running, was not a prolem, as Davey was having an excellent game in the middle, and
Spratty had shaken off his hangover. Simon has got fitter (no hangover), and subsequently
was able to make some tackles. Towards the end of the first half, I played a ball through
for Stu to run on to and complete his hat-trick. Much satisfaction at half-time, tempered
slightly by the (unusually named) lemonade drink.
In the old days the Turtles would have gone on in the
second half and got double figures, but those days are now as rare as Dodger complements.
We had numerous goalmouth chances, notably to Steve L, who wrapped up Tit-Of-The-Day with
his miss. Boy also cocked up a chance, and I showed all the finishing skills of a
makeshift forward by hitting directly at the keepers’ cods with only him to beat. Wal
seemed to be getting pissed off with Varsity’s habit of barging into us about a hour
after the ball had gone, and this resulted in him running the entire length of the field
at high speed several times for no apparent reason. The oppo got a goal when Snout
cleverly tricked Dodger by calling for the ball when he had no chance of getting it, and
whilst they discussed the merits of that call, the student who scored celebrated with a
display of "look at me I’m a fuck wit".
We got a final goal when a Wal mis-kick came to where I was
standing about two yards from goal. Thank you. It is a sure sign that a game is heading
for the end when Bobby moves up front. Fin.
PS. Wal was not telling the truth.
Match Report - 14 June, 1997
Turtles: 2 (0), North Wellington I: 1 (1)
We approached this fixture with a well-based pre-conception
about the oppo.
Over many years the Turtles had encountered numerous North
Wellington teams, and almost without exception they were peopled by vicious blue-collar
thugs. So it surprised me greatly when, at half-way for the toss, their captain introduced
himself as "Lynley". Trying to keep a straight face, I reported back to the boys
that we were to play uphill first half. Regular readers of these match reports know what
happens next. Sluggish start, go one down, stream of abuse from Dodger.
The game took shape, and it soon became obvious that
although we were playing badly, this particular Nth Wgtn team were a far worse side than
us. What was also surprising was that they seemed quite good natured; as it turned out
this was only because they thought they were going to win. The first half saw little goal
mouth action, as the game was bogged down in mid-field. The ground was heavy, and good
passing was difficult.
On turning around at half-time, we knew that with the slope
and breeze behind us we should be able to win. Spratty and Terry came on and immediately
added some control, and we started to create chances. Simon went close with two headers
from corners, but with only twenty left things were starting to look desperate. Yet
another corner, and this was cleared beyond the far post to where Stu was standing
watching. Crossing it back into the middle would have been logical, but he decided to
shoot, and somehow squeezed it in between a defender on the post and the post. Surely the
winner would come now. The oppo knew this to, and started to show their true colours with
some pathetic tackles and mindless abuse. Cooky was ref though, and his long history of
violent encounters with their club came back to haunt them as he made some excellent calls
in our favour, including a possible pen to them.
For another ten minutes we pressed hard, and with only
about five to go, another corner. Simon challenged, and it dropped back for Spratty to
bury it from about ten yards. From the kick off, one particular dork who seemed to take
exception to Spratty scoring, barged into him. Showing the skill of a Manchester pub
fighter, Spratty immediately got the guy in a head-lock and offered him the option of a
punch in the face. His response to this offer is not known by the writer of this report,
but it probably did not include the word "Please".
The last five minutes contained a few chances for us and
one for them, but most of the action was verbal. The Turtles, being a witty bunch, enjoy
this immensely. After the game they stood around beside the pitch having a beer. As I
walked up to them to ask if they would be coming into the club-rooms for a drink, the
whinging was audible. I'm not sure if it was about losing, or having crap lives in
Newlands.
PS. A special greeting this week to Rebecca, a fan of
unknown location, and also to Steve, who is in San Francisco this week and made a point of
telling me that he would be popping in to a cyber-cafe to check out the game report (what
a wanker).
Match Report - 21 June, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), Karori Wanderers: 4 (2)
Everton - Liverpool. Man United - City. Arsenal -
Tottenham. Inter - A.C. Great derbies all, played in some of the world's great stadia. Now
can be added to that illustrious list Turtles - Wanderers, Karori 2 (transferred), 12:40.
In the week before this long awaited fixture, the media
were in frenzy, splashing headlines across the back pages in bold print - "Wanderers
Over-Confident ?", Spratt Promises Fighting", "Law Molests Under-Age Girl
in Alive Concert Grabfest !!". Despite requests for comment, the two Captains were
keeping personnel and positional tactics secret. In desperation for a story, one scruffy
tabloid rang former Turtles megastar CJ at his country residence in the Manawatu. He had
no comment, but his son Nicholas was glad of a chance to speak to the press, and provided
the basis for a two page analysis of the best way to clean your teeth.
As for pre-match preparation, the approaches of the two
teams varied. The Wanderers stuck to their regular Wednesday gym work-out, whilst the
Turtles experimented with a training method espoused by former All Black fitness guru Jim
Blair, that comprised of rushing to the pub after work and getting pissed whilst playing
pool.
The day dawned fine, but disruptions soon began. The
intelligencia of the WSA had decided that, despite being dry and firm, Karori 1 was in no
fit state to handle two senior games, so moved us to Number 2, a kiddies ground. (These
are the administrative brains who cocked up their finances last year and fixed it by
adding $20 to our subs). Then Stu, in lethal scoring form, decided to go to the rugby. And
minutes before the game, we were forced to wear the away strip.
Any student of Turtles history well knows that we always
lose when wearing a new strip. So in spite all of this, we decided that, as we had
bothered to get out of bed, we may as well have a run around. Confusion about who was
wearing what resulted in their early goal, when a harmless ball in to the six-yard area
was ignored by Snouter and numerous Turtles defenders as it was heading straight to a
player in black and white stripes. Oops.
The Wanderers celebrated with what we were told later was a
mocking Turtle activity, but it looked more like a release for their latent homosexual
tendencies. The game settled a bit, they got a second, and then from a corner, Don flicked
on and Spratty tapped in, making up for missing an open goal ten minutes earlier. It was
now proving an even contest. Don was doing a lot of the tackling, although his technique
prompted a few tears from those dis-possessed. Simon was winning a lot of ball in the air,
and also took every opportunity to inflict pain during tackles. But creating in midfield
was almost impossible in the cramped space, and as a result very little good ball came to
Phil or the two makeshift attackers, Wal and myself. Half-time, and another set-back.
Orange & Mango! Today of all days.
Ignoring the taste in our mouths, we started well in the
second half, and a couple of corners. From one of these the ball went past my attempted
flick at the near post and rolled straight across the front to Bobby on the far. He
missed, they cleared and scored from a shot which was mis-hit and therefore wrong-footed
Snout. Everyone knew this was the turning point. Terry, who claimed to be okay at
half-time, now looked a complete mess, and after standing and letting the oppo walk past
him for the fourth goal, wandered off to die in a corner. From then on we continued to
compete, but scoring was unlikely. Spratty had a dynamic half, and Snout kept things
respectable with numerous age-defying saves, but the contest was over.
John Motson, covering the game for the BBC, rounded up the
game thus whilst looking down from his commentary position high above the West Stand,
"an enthralling contest, played out in admirable spirit by two teams of players not
good enough to clean Ronaldo's laces".
PS. The writer would like to apologise to her-in-doors for
the content of the pre-match speech (rated 4). It was said in jest dear. Honest.
Match Report - 28 June, 1997
Turtles: 2 (1), Petone MTS: 1 (1)
Don't you just hate it when you get completely polluted on
a Saturday night, get home, fall asleep with your contacts in, wake up two hours later
with sore eyes, have to scrape the contacts off, get back to sleep, spend the whole of
Sunday feeling like cat sick, lying on the couch moaning, whilst her-in-doors, who feels
fine, dances around you telling you it's your own fault.
And then, just when you are starting to feel a little
better, you have to go and write a match report on a game which wasn't particularly
inspiring. Sometimes the whole world is against you, which is probably how Snout felt when
he let a gentle cross drop between his legs to concede our goal. Prior to that, several
other examples of gross incompetency. Spratty had the kit, and 10 minutes before kick-off
he had not arrived. Simon called him on his mobile, and reported back that Spratty had
thought it was a late game, and was still in the Hutt. Minor panic, and Steve L rushed off
to ask the club secretary if he had a spare kit. After a slight pause, Simon said he was
only joking, and that Spratty was in fact only about 2 minutes away. Steve was called
back.
This little episode just goes to show what a close knit
team the Turtles are, when a team mate will do something stupid to take the attention away
from an equally stupid act of another. This trend continued when Boy, reffing, ask the
oppo captain which hand the whistle was in - one of them was open, palm down. Sometimes
the toss doesn't really matter, but on Karori 4 the sun gets very tricky in the second
half. So plenty of candidates for Tit-of-the-day even before we started.
The early part of the game looked quite good, as both teams
passed it around confidently, although it was pretty slow motion. The first real action
came when Phil put a lovely ball down the middle and I lobbed the advancing keeper for the
first goal. Chris then showed the benefits of having time to warm up properly before the
game by straining a hammy, and then Cooky stretched out and promptly realised that he
wasn't quite ready to come back after his knee injury (see match report May 10).
So down to the basic eleven, with several of those feeling
a bit fragile. Anyway, Snout's cock-up as described earlier evened the score, and things
were looking a bit ropey. A blatant foul by Boy in the box was a definite pen, but our ref
so hah! piss off. At half-time, the game was very even, but the drink was trusty old SNO,
and as always this gave the boys new reserves of energy.
Davey had a good second half, doing a lot of chasing and
even a tackle or two. Phil did some good work with his space on the left, and Spratty made
a lot of good runs but was let down by some sub-standard stuff by myself and Glen up
front. Our defence was excellent, and was the unlikely source of our winner. It came with
about 25 to go. Dodge was up for a corner, and played a ball back out to Steve wide on the
left. He crossed, but not very well, as it curved away from the waiting Turtles in the
box, and into the top corner, aided by a pathetic attempt by their keeper.
The rest of the game was not vintage, and I even heard the
normally impassive Don Langridge on the sideline complaining about something Davey did.
And so to bed, feeling grotty.
Match Report - 12 July, 1997
Turtles: 1 (1), Wellington United Blue: 0 (0)
Mortenson, Eusebio, Pushkas, Pele, Charlton, Greaves, Law
(no, not them), Best, Zico, Maradona. The greatest goal scorers of all time, now all old
and past it, if not dead.
To that list I add, without hesitation, Spratt, because he
too is old and past it. It's just so annoying, then, that he keeps on scoring our winning
goals. As usual, it wasn't much to look at. You know the story - got the ball on the edge
of the box, fumbled his way to the left, thanks to some inept defending, and drilled it
into the bottom corner. Yawn.
But as usual, I'm ahead of myself. Sharp eyed Turtle
supporters, having studied the fixtures in the paper on Thursday, would be crying out at
this stage -"you plonker, you were supposed to play Marist Villa on Saturday."
Well, dear friends, you would be right, but the Catholic faith being what it is, Marist
thought it would be prudent to default rather than receive a thrashing at the hands of the
Turtles, a bunch of Protestant supremists. Luckily, Tararua Army, who were due to play
United Blue, got called away to save a stranded goat in Whitemans Valley, so the boys at
the WSA had a brain wave and got us to play each other.
A crucial game, and no mistake, as this would pretty much
sort out some final league positions, with the much rumoured about play-offs looming
(allegedly). Karori 1 was in good shape for mid July, indeed the weather was again superb.
Losing the toss, the Turtles played downhill first half. Enjoying plenty of space out on
the right, Wal was creating the best chances, one of these early on shooting across an
open goal, but Stu could only get a chubby big toe to it, and it went wide. We were having
much the better of the game, but unfortunately the oppo had an excellent keeper, who dealt
with numerous dangerous corners in a way that is totally alien to Turtle keepers.
Don had a good chance to test him, but decided to try and
get it in the river instead. Spratty then scored. Davey and myself, enjoying the sun on
the sideline, got mildly excited, but were really too busy talking about his wife’s
impending birth.
The half-time drink was by all accounts appalling, Grunter
getting away with it by virtue of shouting loads of free piss that night at his 40th
birthday party. The boys dug deep in the second half, but found nothing. Fortunately the
oppo were not of the super fit kind either, so it was an even contest. Having said that,
Don was covering a lot of ground, and Terry, despite 3 hours sleep, was was getting
forward to make a difference. Don and Simon had opportunities for fights, but as Cooky was
too far away, nothing happened. Snouter pulled off a great save late on, and the final act
of the game was Spratty missing from two inches, claiming the pass was behind him.
The after match fine session featured allegations of
Turtles cross-dressing and wearing make-up at Phil’s party the week before. No photo
evidence was available at the time. Good job for some (including you Stevie! You also
forgot to mention the Turtles came away with 6 points from Saturday's efforts, so now 2nd
equal on the table - Ed.).
Match Report - 19 July, 1997
Turtles: 3 (2), Island Bay: 4 (0)
News in the week prior to this game was that the WSA had
decided to call our game last week, when we beat United Blue, a "friendly",
meaning it would have to be played again. Hoping not to appear dumb, I put it to the WSA
that, as we were playing in a "social" grade, surely all our games were
"friendlies". Not so, and more importantly, they didn't want to "stuff up
our draw".
On hearing about this at the ground on Saturday, the Turtle
reactions varied, from mild swearing to severe swearing. Inexplicably, the anger that
brought out, plus Steve's limpid pre-match talk (rated 2), produced the desired mood, as
the Turtles began this game in majestic fashion. It was soon clear that the oppo had those
dreaded attributes, youth, speed and aggression. But the Turtles, relishing a good
surface, were putting passes together with much precision.
The early chance went to Cooky, when their keeper, who
resembled a pubescent Boy George, advanced on completely the wrong line, but Cooky just
missed the touch. At the other end, the pace of their attacks was causing some stress for
our back-four, as bellys wobbled frantically in pursuit. Fortunately their shooting was
poor. From a corner though, a shot did get on target, only for Snout to pull off a full
length diving save, quite exciting if you're into that kind of thing.
Soon more Turtle attacking. Spratty got good service, and
advanced on their central defender. This was too much for him, so he fell over. The keeper
was then chipped, but the cross-bar intervened. Don followed up, and nodded in the
rebound. More running around by the oppo produced little, except Dodger going off with his
groin in hand (no surprise there). Don then got around the back on the right, and pulled
back for Spratty to score.
So two up at half time, an excellent reward for one of the
best Turtles displays for a while. The passing of Davey, Wal and Spratty in particular.
But the pace was tough, and I hoped the lead would be enough. Early on they got one back,
but then Spratty got another. This time he got the ball with both central defenders in
front of him. Again one of them fell over with fright, but the other stayed on his feet.
Spratty must have done something unpleasant, because he ran away. So 3-1.
Throughout the game, the oppo had been barging about, and
generally were over aggressive in every tackle, but now it started to get silly, lead by
their number 12, a complete fuckwit. Also about now, the fitness was starting to tell, and
they scored again. Dodger was doing a good job reffing, and sent one of them off, when
Spratty was rugby tackled going clear on goal. This did not help much, as they were
starting to run a bit rampant through the middle. Twice more this happened, and twice our
pressured defense couldn't cope, Terry and Steve doing excellent impresssions of frozen
chickens. Shots were placed in the bottom corners, giving Snout no chance.
A really disappointing result, given the way the scoring
went, the fact that the oppo included several dick-heads, and also because it was the
first close one we had lost this season. A nice moment came just before the final whistle
though, when Cooky kicked their number 12 in the bollocks.
Baby News: Ex-Turtle manager Christine is with child, a
superb effort, not least by over-weight hubby Blobby.
Match Report - 26 July, 1997
Turtles: 10 (2), University "Brazil": 0 (0)
It would be nice to be able to say that the return of
Darren, former captain, fleet footed winger and gin lush, was the catalyst to the Turtles
returning to goal-scoring form. However, this was not the case.
The oddly named Uni Brazil could be more appropriately
named Uni Doncaster, for a better comparison of ability. Darren's return on a day of
double figures was purely coincidental. Prior to the game, as the Turtles were changing,
in walked a ref. As we haven't seen such a specimen for many years, there was
understandable surprise when this thing asked for our team card. Shocked into silence as
we were, he then said "come on, what part of 'team card' don't you understand
?". As he was an officious type, it took us a while to explain that he had mistaken
us for a higher grade team, but I think he got the message from "what part of Open A
don't you understand", and Bobby showing him his belly.
Buoyed by the illusion of looking like a good side, albeit
in the changing rooms, we trotted out to do the nets. A shambolic shower of shit was
milling around by the ground, probably our oppo. Hearing one of them say "who wants
to be goalie", augured well. The day was warm and sunny, the ground in good condition
for late July, but the first half did not do justice to the ambience.
We dominated from the start, but seemed to come down to
their level a bit. We had lots of ball in the attacking third, but wasted it all with the
final touches. Darren started out looking almost youthful, jinking around and putting in
accurate crosses. His body soon alerted him to his lack of conditioning though, so that
was the end of that. Myself, Spratty and Cooky all missed chances before Terry got bored,
came forward, was the recipient of a miskick, and followed suit by miskicking and
dribbling it into the far corner. A goal worthy of the game. Shortly after, their right
back was kind enough to give me the ball on the edge of the box, and I crossed for
Spratty.
Things were starting to look a bit better now, but then a
rare occurrence, a Langridge knee injury, when Phil collided with their keeper. On came
Webby, by nine years the youngest Turtle now on the field. The half ended amid much
complaining, and although I was too far away to hear it, I'm told Dodger had an excellent
half in that respect. Personnel changes saw Steve come off to join his Dad and brother
(hard to tell apart) making snide remarks on the sideline, Cooky returned to his spiritual
home of right back, and Bobby went up front, the reward for several seasons of persistent
nagging of the skipper.
Five minutes into the half Darren came off for GT (make of
that what you will). After some initial resistance, the oppo gave up, and the goals
started to come. There is little chance of getting them in order, so the highlights were:
- Spratty standing about a yard out, waving to the crowd, when
a gentle corner came over, hit him on the shin, and went in.
- I had some space on the left, and hit a dribbly shot
straight at the keeper. For some reason he tried to stop it with his knee, and guided it
safely into the net.
- Davey, who had been in goal (Snout in Melbourne), got a run
when Terry went down with cramp, which may have something to do with the fact that he
never eats or sleeps. Davey's first touch was a shot from 25 yards which rippled the net,
and made him higher than fives cokes.
- Don getting the rebound from a corner, and curling it with
the outside of his boot into the top corner.
Most of the best play came through Webby and Spratty, but
mention should also be made of Blobby, who showed some deft touches, and made a good case
for a more regular inclusion in the forward line. A case which will require extensive
debate. Maybe years of it.
Match Report - 2 August, 1997
Turtles: 4 (3), Wellington United "Blue": 0
(0)
A shabby start to the day.
Being injured, and not expecting to play, I delayed my
departure to the ground, comforted by the knowledge that twelve fit Turtles were going to
be there before me and ready for action. On arrival, there was chaos. Steve didn't want to
play, complaining of a sore sturgeon or something, although what a lack of caviar has to
do with playing soccer I don't know. Terry and Chris M were nowhere to be seen, and Dodge
was claiming a half game, on the grounds that he had two games of Senior Citizens croquet
to play that night. The oppo seemed in similar disarray, so a delayed suited us both.
Finally, 22 fit young athletes assembled. They left to do
something else, and the game got started. Several weeks ago we had played this crowd in a
"friendly" and won. For some reason that game did not count towards the league,
but we thought it did at the time. So, morally, we were already victors in this second
contest. Got that ? To show their concurrence to this theory, they kicked off, gave the
ball to us, we gave it to Don, he ran forward and scored. Then they kicked off again,
pissed around for a bit, gave the ball to us, we pissed around for a bit, gave it to Don,
and he scored again.
With those preliminaries out of the way, and the result
sorted out, the game settled down. In the absence of Spratty, the Turtles played like a
team free of the shackles. A lack of abuse for anything not played to feet seemed to
inspire everybody to, miraculously, play to feet. A lot of the best passing was coming
through Davey in the middle, and out to our two wide players, Webby, a youth of skill and
speed, and Darren, an accountant. There was some lovely stuff on the left, with Blobby
getting forward, and even over-lapping. On one such sojourn he was given the opportunity
to chase a ball played into space thirty yards in front of him. He politely declined, and
strolled back to discuss the stupidity of midfeilders with his back four colleagues. The
oppo, somewhat stunned by our early lead, sat back and let us play. They gave us a few
problems when their number 13, extremely short and fast, made some runs. And also when
Paul, their rotund libero, and a work colleague of three Turtles, got forward. But Snout,
heavily insulated against the cold by four shirts, long johns and a slinky little lace
bodice, had little to do.
After about 30, Darren made a run into the box, received
the ball, and lined up a shot with his left. For years he has claimed to be left footed,
but his shot in this instance put a good case against this. The ball dribbled away, hit a
defender, and came back to him on this right foot, with which he smashed it the onion bag
(metaphorically speaking, as there were no nets). Darren is confused by many things, not
least the difference between left and right.
Then the weather turned to shit. Jim Hickey, on the TV1
news the night before this game, started out by telling us that we were experiencing the
driest, warmest winter on record. That was the good news. The bad news was the large
amount of arctic crappola making it's way up the South Island, due to reach Welly for the
weekend. Now, a lot of people doubt the word of Jim, based on many years of him being
wrong. But not any more the writer of this report. Because at approx. 1pm on Saturday,
Melrose Park got hit by some stuff which would make Ed Hillary reach for his Turtles
Woolly Hat. Fortunately, we were 3-0 up at the time.
The quality of the play deteriorated, and we stopped early
for half time, as the hail stones were causing bruising to Turtles bald patches. By the
time we got started again, the weather had improved to icey sleet. The quality of the play
was good though, with several chances at both ends. Cooky was receiving some excellent
passes from Don and Davey, and seemed to have the legs on the oppo's defenders (probably
an optical illusion). At the other end, the back four learned that trying to stop any
attacks was a waste of energy, as they were incapable of shooting on target. Chris was
having a good game on the right, but, ahead of him, Webby seemed to have lost all
circulation in his legs and brain, and looked like he was playing in quicksand.
We got our fourth when Cooky beat an advancing keeper after
a slide rule pass from Don. Terry then limped off, earlier than usual, giving Steve a
chance to get muddy. The last twenty minutes was pretty forgettable, as hypothermia set in
and nipples hardened (wet nylon jerseys, a mans thing). A lack of hot water for the
showers didn't help matters, and most of us were still thawing as the first Burtons were
being poured at the Bristol.
Apparently that was the last game of the regular season,
and I believe we finished third. A rumour of play-offs, with us playing the third placed
teams in Open B, C and D, has yet to be confirmed. I'm sure the WSA can come up with a
dumber concept by next week, if they try.
Match Report - 9 August, 1997
Turtles: 2 (1), Miramar Open C: 5 (1)
Tiger Woods and the Turtles. The similarities are endless.
Both international multi-media superstars (him everything /
us our Website), commanding massive appearance fees (money / beer), followed by a loyal
band of supporters (him 10,000+ / us 10-), dripping with sponsorship deals (Nike / The
Bristol), always immaculately turned out (trousers / baggy shorts), and with a long,
successful career a certainty (still to come / had it). Surely, you say, the list of
comparisons could go on. And you would of course be right. Because for the second time
this season the Turtles were undone by "The Postage Stamp".
Allow me to elaborate. The British Open this year was
played at Troon in Scotland. Tiger, coming off his Masters win, was one of the favourites,
but there was talk of his game not being so suited to the tight fairways and shorter holes
of this course. As predicted, he struggled, but was in touch on the second day until the
short par 3 known as "The Postage Stamp". So named for it's tiny green
surrounded by bunkers, the hole laughed at Tiger's big hitting reputation, and stung him
for a triple bogey, thus ending his hopes. In very much the same way, the Turtles,
transferred on to the minuscule Karori 2, had their expansive game stifled, and lost.
This was the first of the so-called play-offs, against the
teams finishing in the same position in the other Open grades. So it could be said that
this was an embarrassing result for the Turtles. Anyone who says so would be correct, but
also risk a punch from Dodge, who wasn't happy during or after the game.
We started ok, and had early chances. Webby broke through
and shot, but their keeper, suspiciously good for Open C, dived full-length to save.
Davey's corners were causing them problems, and from one of these Cooky, standing on the
six yard box, seemed startled to find the ball hitting his head and going in. The oppo got
one back before the break.
One of the few differences between Tiger and the Turtles is
what happens in the breaks, or in his case between rounds at a Major. Whereas he does a
few interviews, has a meal, and a choice of top-class totty before bed, the Turtles have
to settle for whatever Raro flavour Boss has found at the back of the pantry, in this case
Passion Orange (for the third week in a row !).
Suitably poisoned, we re-commenced. Blobby had a brief trot
up front prior to Darren coming on, and went off complaining about poor service,
presumably at some restaurant. After about 10, Wal had a shot which threatened to go for a
throw-in until it hit me. Whilst the oppo considered calling for off-side, I went forward
and, seeing Webby waiting, attempted to square it. Luckily it was on my right foot, so I
completely mis-hit it, and it went into the top near corner over the confused keeper. Our
lead was short lived. The oppo got very bustly, and their two skilful players started to
dominate the middle. We still had a bit of ball in the last third, mainly when Don made a
run, or Davey got some space and had time to pass or cross, but it was all very congested
and messy. Darren put in some good crosses, from one of which Webby was unmarked on the
far post. But in line with everything else he did in the second half, he fucked it up.
Their keeper dealt with everything cleanly, casting further doubt on his eligibility at
this level. It was two each for a while, and then they got three in the last ten minutes,
making the score slightly mis-leading. All those three came from our defensive cock-ups,
aided by Simon having sore tits, and wandering around rubbing them.
Our mood was raised slightly after the game by news of the
Wanderers also losing, and the A.B.'s caning the yaarpies.
Match Report - 16 August, 1997
Turtles: 1 (0), University Open B: 2 (1)
Saturday in Welly.
Mid August, but already the chill of winter seems to have
left us, and there is warmth in the sun. A brisk little breeze adds to the feeling of
freshness in the air. Getting up early is no hardship on a day like this, and I didn't
particularly begrudge Boy when he rang at 7:32 to inform me that he was just off to golf,
but was ok to play in our severely depleted team later. As with many Turtles on a Saturday
morning, I spent several hours attending kids' sports, and had my mood further brightened
by success at soccer and netball. Even better, the kids were my brother's, so I could give
them back, and cruised home for lunch, sitting in the sun listening to the Cranberries.
Turtles across the city would at a similar time be doing the same, maybe at home admiring
the view, or in a cafe reading about the All Blacks' prospects that afternoon against the
Aussies.
According to the stats of the day, there were no hangovers
among us, so it's a pretty safe assumption that the boys all felt pretty good on setting
out for Nairnville. Wal was taping the rugby, so some convivial beers in front of an All
Black victory was only a couple of hours away. A bright and breezy day, but a major trough
was forming over Turtledom. The oppo, in keeping with the traditions of their club, were a
dreadfully unorganised rabble, and by the time we kicked off, about ten minutes late, they
still only had ten.
In the game which followed, only two incidents are worth
recounting. First up was their first goal. Dodge passed carefully back to Snout. With a
couple of the oppo forwards on their way towards him, he decided to take his time. After
trapping the ball, he looked around for a while to consider his options. For a senior
partner in a large accounting company, he strangely selected the worst of these, and
presented the ball to the on-coming forwards. Perhaps his business plan had some formulae
error in it.
Secondly, half-way through the second half, Nick collected
the ball in space for about the 200th time, and came forward. Showing wisdom beyond his
years, he decided not to pass to anybody else. A good option, as everybody else was in the
midst of a form slump. His curling shot with the outside of his boot hit the under side of
the cross bar and went in. End of match description.
After the game, cold showers. The Turtles are in the most
part a highly educated and erudite bunch, and, in preparation for the writing of these
reports, I find it useful to note some of the prevalent after-match comments to aid me:
"Fucken Shite".
Match Report - 30 August, 1997
Turtles: 7 (2), Tawa Open D: 2 (1)
Karori 2 again!!
Regular readers of these reports may be aware that this is
not the Turtles' favourite venue, and may also be aware of some resentment towards the WSA
for dumping us on such a crap pitch twice previously this season. This is, of course,
merely good natured ribbing, as we fully understand and appreciate the thankless tasks
performed by these excellent administrators, the backbone of our game. So it was with
smiling acceptance that we left the changing rooms in the direction of some small
forgotten corner of Karori that is forever shite. The smiling part was courtesy of Simon,
and his almost complete lack of hair, the result of losing a bet. This is the guy once
described as the "Spice Boy" of the Turtles, and who now resembles an extra in a
cheap prison movie. My wife, something of an authority on good-looking males, having
previously been a regular frequenter of San Francisco gay bars, admits that Simon used to
be pleasant on the female eye, but now only if that eye has severe glaucoma.
This jolly mood continued into the game, and even Dodge
seemed relatively happy with proceedings. It took us a while to get going in the game, not
least because Terry turned up five minutes late. The oppo, from the bottom grade in town,
were noticeably slower, and barely competed, but the size of the ground kept things
congested in midfield, and little constructive passing was possible. Terry at the back,
and Simon up front won most of the aerial ball, but our control on the ground was poor.
Helped by their defence, we had lots of corners, and after a few of these Darren found his
range, about a half wedge from the edge of the green, and Spratty nodded in on the far
post for our first goal.
For some reason Tawa still thought they had a chance, and
had the affrontery to equalise. Their No. 4, not a bad player, had a shot from 20 yards
which hit the underside of the bar and bounced nicely to be nodded in from two inches.
Where Snout was throughout this I'm not sure.
We got back in front when a typically optimistic shot from
Spratty lobbed harmlessly towards goal. Whilst the keeper and several defenders stood
around marvelling at this crap piece of shooting, I wandered up and skilfully deflected it
in using the bridge of my nose. The last action of any note before half-time was a shot by
Simon from about 20 yards which was curling into the top corner before their keeper soared
up and caught it, two moments of skill which sat incongruously amidst the rest of the
game.
SNO at half-time, so a big score was inevitable. But it
took a while to wear them down. Spratty scored after a while, and then tragedy. From
another Darren corner to the far post, a nod back strayed towards Dodger, and he smashed
it in. Appeals to the ref for off-side, hand ball, eye-gouging, anything, were waved away.
He, along with the oppo, thought it a fair goal. Spratty got another, and then things got
silly. Snout came out of goal, replaced by Steve. Blobby wandered forward, leaving the
half-way line behind him for good. Snout tried out right back, found that boring, and
decided to be a striker. This fearsome new strikeforce now resembled Best and Law after a
heavy week on the turps. With people wandering around all over the place, the structure of
the game collapsed, but it was entertaining. Each Snout touch was greeted with delirious
cheers from the crowd of 8. One such gave Simon a chance to shoot. He didn't, but the ball
came down off his chest onto his shin, maybe a bit of boot, bobbled across the box and
went into the corner of the goal.
The comedy paused temporarily when the oppo scored. Dodger,
defending mostly alone by now, attempted a clearance under pressure, and provided their
attackers with a nice chance to score. Steve displayed admirable Turtle goal-keeping
skills by allowing them to do so. Not long to go now, but still time for one more act of
silliness. Yet another Darren corner curled over to the far post, where the grey head of
Snout waited. The fabric of the universe broke down completely as he calmly nodded it in
like a veteran striker.
There was an end of season frivolity during the drinkies
afterwards, although there are rumours of one more game. Don got hold of a copy of The
Wanderers' so-called magazine, and their feeble attempts at copying the Turtle Trivia's
wit and class also provided a few scoffing chortles. The fine session was notable for
exposing the bizarre secret lives of two members of the back four, one of whom admitted to
going to a night-club wearing tight leather shorts and a studded dog collar, and the other
who, despite denials, had obvious rope burns on his chest. Names with-held for reasons of
safety. (Whose safety - yours or Terry and Steve's... Ooops... ed).
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