June 12th: Turtles 2 (2) - Wellington Olympic 1 (0)
Fines session at The Turtle Lounge
Grab your Oxford English Dictionary and look up ‘Olympian’:
1.a
celestial, magnificent, condescending, superior.
Ah, yes, the great Olympic spirit. A world of attainment, almost super-human and mystical life.
Look up ‘turtle’:
1 n much used for soup.
’Nuff said.
Dark, moody, Mediterranean, Karori Park. Saturday. Just after lunch. Storm clouds brewing. Wind, gusty and threatening. Ground, puggy and sapping. Phildo and Bobby, smoking cigarettes and watching the rest of the team put up the nets against the elements - good work luds.
Enough scene setting.
A cancellation last week, the Cops whip the students in a catch-up game and the first half of the season is complete. Turtles on top of the table, but with injury, the ski season underway and other factors (not, it should be noted, the absence of the skip and fatslowpom.com being overseas), the tough game in prospect became even tougher.
The changing room before the match is glum and confused. If New Zealand beat India but South Africa beat Australia by more than 40 runs, or a 2% currency movement over a period of one fiscal quarter (excluding any influence from the Federal Reserve), Nuie will get through to the semi-finals of the cricket World Cup on larger average breast size in the 25-34 year old age group (transvestites omitted) as long as they have a better runs rate after spicy Indian curry from the south-east and eight pints of regionally differentiated lager. Unless ….
Ominous.
No such confusion about Captain Don’s team talk - same as last week:
“This game
will decide the season…. blah, blah, blah
(next week we have lowly Stop Out - Don,
we expect better).
Game on.
Captain Don wins the toss and is immediately flustered.
“Eeerrr, fuck it. We’ll kick off.”
“You must choose which way you’re going to go”.
“Why?”
“It’s in the rules.”
“Oh. Eeerrr, we’ll change around.”
Just the
decisiveness we need. Stevie, where
are you? (rhetorical)
We could have been up after 45 seconds if Nico’s boot length equalled his much vaunted willy size. A lunge that scraped his boot just needed a slightly weightier touch. The oppo could have been 1-1 after 90 seconds if they weren’t being playing a quick game of “You, shoot”, “No, really, it’s your turn” in our box.
The game settled. The Greeks seemed taller than last time (or perhaps we were wider) and some good footie was played by both sides.
At last, after what seemed an age but really wasn’t, Nico scored after some good work down the right by some folk in the team (might have been Wal, might not have) that this short-sighted correspondent couldn’t see. At least I think it was Nico. Anyway 1-0.
Welcome to cliché-ville.
“It’s still 0-0” “We need more”. “Dig it in Turtles”. “What happens to Zimbabwe if the Nuiean breast size is too small?”
Sometime later Gordie scored from what looked like a move similar to the first goal. Much rejoicing. It might have been Nico, but I think it was Gordie. Perhaps Gorco scored both goals? Or Nidie? Who cares. 2-0.
Welcome to cliché-ville.
“It’s still 0-0” “We need more”. “Dig it in Turtles”. “What happens to Zimbabwe if the Nuiean breast size is too small?”
Spooky.
What transpired was a game of few chances, but much opportunity. Bobby probably had the best shot on goal, but shaved the post for a corner. <Webmeister note:- our esteemed author has neglected to mention that his near miss was at our end of the paddock>
Olympic were getting rattled - the Turts, except Gordie who thought they were still speaking in Greek, took solace form the fact the oppo started abusing each other in English – there are few sadder, yet funnier, sights than a groups of grown men nagging each other.
Snout made a couple of fine saves, we had some good passing movements, but all in all, a hard fought battle, and at this point a game of one half. (refer cliches above).
Of note, was a new injury to the ageing, balding, parental Zil. Put into space by a lovely ball from the wayward Tony (allegedly playing as sweeper - Don and Stevie, never, ever do that to us again), Zil put in a quick meander and then succumbed to the famed bunny-hop off as his hammie played Pavarotti and hit top ‘C’ - ‘Ping’. GT came on, quickly giving young Cashel his water pistol, making the Turts the only armed team of the afternoon.
Half time, and some curious tactical changes - Phil switches sides to get away from the vicious ‘Bay 13’ of Turtles support (his Dad, Grunter, Big (and getting bigger) Si, Cashel aged 3 ½ and the injured Zil). He takes no further part in the game as no one passes to him for 45 minutes. Same goes for Simon G. - lots of chasing and the only time he gets the ball, more or less, Referee Bastard calls him for off-side - a point hotly disputed by the Turts on principle, even though Dodger was correct (send me to a Sanatorium). Tony totally refutes the position of sweeper and buggers off up-field for the rest of the game.
A quick acknowledgement of the Scottish chapter of the FTFC (Och aye!)- Gordie has introduced the Turts to a new saying - instead of “ Foul throw”, we have all now learned to yell (with frothing at the mouth optional) “Fo shi”. The oppo understood it better than we did.
The second half was classic Turts - an inspirational half-time talk from Don (“Don’t dive in like I always do”) Guthrie and we were away.
Now most teams when two-up, would quickly pop in another goal, make it safe and toy with oppo like Brazil for the remaining minutes.
How drab.
Put up the barricades! Have seven in defence (but no one in position)! Clap wildly for every corner conceded! Where’s me hair-shirt! I want pain and so do the madding throng of supporters (5).
Best thing to do in this instance is to let the oppo have a goal. So we did. 2-1.
Ah! Give me siege mentality over creative football any day.
Referee Dodger held control of a potentially volatile game with aplomb (kind of a fat word ‘aplomb’ wouldn’t you say?) doshing out his decisions with that slightly bent wave of the arm as he looked down at the ground and walked away from potential danger. Most of the decisions were fine, but this did not stop the increasing distemper of the Olympic folk who got hotter and hotter under the collar as the half went on.
After the game said they would complain to the WSA about the quality of refereeing. Much hilarity ensued – complain about the quality of the referee as a person, yes (and indeed most Turts would counter-sign the letter), but the fat old cripple actually did an okay job despite the torrents of Grecian abuse.
Turts of old will remember the days of Durrie and Gorsuch - when the abuse started flying then, not only was your parentage and sexuality questioned, so was the whole fabric of the team.
So what joy to see the oppo systematically tear themselves apart with a torrent of collective self-flagellation. Even orally-Anglo impaired Gordie must have understood the oppo weren’t happy with each other.
Despite themselves, the oppo played quite well, and if they had concentrated on the game might even have made scored more, indeed, the Turts were a little bit lucky to hold on.
But after referee Bastard blew the whistle for full time (at least he didn’t do to us what Cookie did against the Ankhors), Gordie put it as succinctly as anyone. Pointing to the clubrooms he was heard to bray, “Weay the fark’n punts gonna?
Couldn’t agree more. I think. Jimmy.
Points to ponder …..
El Tel didn’t injure himself - does that make him unavailable for next week?
Why hasn’t Bill Pillock (of the Scottish FTFC) replied to Bobby (I miss you so…)?
But to the essence of the game - the old fable says the turtle will always beat the hare.
Yip.
And what’s this! Hark! From the Oxford English Dictionary (q.v).
Olympian 2 n person of superhuman calmness and detachment.
Not.
2-1. Top of the Table. Read and weep.
Postscript:
You’re right Stevie - you can write most of the match report before the
game.