May 23rd: Turtles 3 (0) - North Wellington 0 (0)
Frantic action in the goalmouth, moments before #8's head explodes
If there is anything the Turtles are famous
for the world over, it's goals. A quick glance at the player stats page will reward you
with a roll-call of some great onion-bag bulgers - Spratt, Cook, Gorsuch, Durrant, Robb,
Wilkinson. Sadly, the careers of these much feared marksmen are now dead or dying. Some
goal-scorers retire at their peak, some progress back through the team to rot at right
back until it's wheelchair time, and others shave their moustaches, rip off their friends
in dodgy business deals, and do a runner to Aussie. But there is no denying that one of
the saddest sights in football is that of a once great striker stumbling around, falling
over himself, probably hungover, and complaining constantly about everyone else.
So what does a team, used to having a cushion of five or more goals to cover any lapses in
defence, do to survive when the goals dry up. The FTFC wondered about this for a while,
and came up with a strategy that shook the footballing world. This is the strategy that,
when announced at a press conference in late April, stunned all those present (two barmen
and a wino). German coaches, on hearing the news, hurriedly arranged team meetings in the
Algarve. The British tabloid press rushed out to found a girl with enormous kajungas.
Small boys in the slum backstreets of Brazil wept openly, then killed and ate a tourist.
The Turtles were going to defend.
You're talking shite, I hear you say, as you sit there in your nice cosy office
overlooking the harbour, cup of tea in one hand and picking your nose with the other.
Well, two clean sheets in a row is the evidence. In this game, against a team who the
previous week had scored six against the cops, the Turtle defence was magnificent. And
this was with an entire back four, skip, Dodge, Bobby and Steve, out through injury,
sickness and amputation. Hmmm, is there any connection there? No, sorry, just thinking
aloud. The makeshift foursome of Wal, Tel, Si and PK were impregnable, snuffing out all
attacks. Si was particularly impressive, arriving in a brand new (company) car, which had
spent the last month or so in Sydney observing the wharfies strike at close range.
In front of this wall of relatively fit, thin men, our midfield trio of Don, Nicko and
Weasel helped out admirably, and it is the defensive work of the three players in these
positions which is making the difference these days. Up front, I'm afraid, profligacy.
Based on our control of the back two thirds of the park, lots of ball got through to the
front third, unrewarded. The first chance came to Spratty's head, about five yards out,
after good work down the right. His hangover guided it over the bar. Simon had a couple of
half-chances, but got none at all on target. Cooky, back from injury and looking
remarkably fit, created several chances with his dribbling, but was also wasteful. We had
numerous corners, and won virtually all of these in the air, but never managed a well
directed header. Perhaps we should practise those; I'll talk to the coaching staff.
At the other end, Snouter was having a quiet afternoon thinking about the interior
decorating of his new mansion. Nick interrupted him briefly with an own-goal attempt, but
it went harmlessly wide.
Halftime brought yet another drink disaster, as I forgot to shake the bottle up, and all
the sludgy stuff was still in the bottom. Boss will be welcomed back. Switching round,
with a slight breeze, and Ben Burn's marginal slope in our favour, the chances began to
flow again. The oppo keeper, it must be said, was having a good game. During the week he
had been in touch with our webmeister regarding some disparaging remarks allegedly made in
some of these reports. He had also commented on our new scoring machine, Simon G. He said
that when Simon had played for Nth Wgtn last year, he had run around a lot, but that was
about all. Perhaps Simon had read that email, because before the game he told us that the
oppo keeper was their weak link.
Simon is young, and obviously knows diddly about keeping, because this guy was excellent,
and gutsy. Numerous abysmal shots were taken from outside the box, and things were getting
a bit silly when Simon received a nice little chip from Spratty on the left. He had the
ball floating gently towards him at head height, about three yards out with the goalkeeper
stranded. He missed it completely, and there was talk on the sideline of "one of
those days".
Up step the Naz man. After arriving late, he had been waiting patiently on the sideline,
entertaining his wife and child with duck impressions. When PK came off for the oxygen
tent, Naz went up front. Soon enough he got a good ball about 20 yards out straight in
front, and shot, low and on target. The keeper was wrong-footed by the spin on the ball
and a nice bounce, and it was 1-0. Great relief. It was now time for Terry to collapse in
a heap, and he duly did so. With no subs available, we patched up his ankle with some
string, a dollop of putty and a nice piece of polished rimu, and got him back into it.
Surely now more goals would come.
Cooky was enjoying life wide on the left, especially the winding up of a couple of
hot-heads marking him. He nearly paid for this with his right knee when the oppo no.10
blew completely and decided to give A & E some business. Fortunately he couldn't even
do that properly, and only inflicted a flesh wound. Cooky retaliated with goal number two,
coming in from the wing, and slotting it under the keeper at the near post. With the game
now over as a contest, it petered out a bit, but not before a goal was scored which had
the older Turtles reaching for their hankies, their eyes damp with emotion for a thing of
beauty. The ball came through from the defence, Naz collected on the right and played it
into the middle for Spratty. Simon ran diagonally across in front of him, and, collecting
Spratty's little touch, was away. He got into the box on the right, drawing the keeper,
and slotted it in the bottom left.
Who said the Turtles can't score goals any more?
Cassie: the only player-mascot in the league
Tel's body falls apart... again