June 19th: Turtles 5 (1) - Stop Out 0 (0)
After-match trough-outs: while Snouter tucks into a Hutt Antipasto Platter...
...the next generation of Coppersmiths carries on the tradition of gluttony.
The
day dawned fine for the rematch between the league leaders (that’s us, for
those of you not used to that term), and Stop Out.
In the first round we gave them a fair old walloping (10-0), so the lads
looked forward to more of the same this time.
Due to large amounts of rain, we were transferred from Hutt Raceway to Te
Whiti Park. A nice soccer surface,
to be sure. The scenery of
beautiful rolling hills was a delight to those of us watching from the sideline.
Unfortunately, it was a particularly run-down area of the Hutt, with many
slummy houses surrounding the ground. Dodger
emerged from one of these and made his way to the playing area, pausing only to
urinate in the stream across the road.
The
team came together in the huddle some ten minutes after the scheduled start
time. The delay was due to Donaldo
having problems with a starting eleven. The
computer programme he wrote to handle this mundane task crashed, leaving him no
option but to work it out with his trusty slide rule.
The team waited patiently in the meantime, linking arms and telling
motivational stories to pass the time. Eventually
Donaldo got through it, and eleven players took the field.
At first glance the team was a strong one.
That assumption was based on Stevie still being overseas.
Looks can be deceiving though. Big
Si returned from his strained nipple injury.
Cooky had fully recovered from his fortieth birthday bash. Dodger was back, figuratively and literally.
Podge (as his indoor cricket teammates affectionately refer to him)
initially declared unavailability due to a clash with the national bagatelle
championships. Unfortunately, a bad back tragically ruled him out of defending
his title. He decided to struggle
through a game of footie instead. He
prefers wide open spaces these days after receiving numerous death threats from
the psycho Greeks all last week. Dodger’s
usual lack of mobility was hampered further through the bulky bulletproof
vest he wore throughout the match. Constant
glances over his shoulder also
affected his customary levels of abuse output.
The
game, predictably, began. The
Turtles quickly settled into their favoured patternless play.
Five spectators left almost immediately, having seen enough.
It quickly became apparent this was not the same Stop Out we played in
the first round. Not recognising
any of them rated a strong clue in this regard.
They were definitely better (twice as good, as it turned out).
The early exchanges were forgettable (I certainly forgot them), marked
only by numerous turnovers and a Wal airball in front of goal.
Suddenly Gordie received the ball in a dangerous position.
He surged forward, but became momentarily confused in front of goal with
only the keeper to beat. The greedy
Scotsman took decisive action by surging off towards the corner flag, reaching
the byline, beating several players and shooting from his favoured acute angle. The ball rebounded off seven defenders and into the goal.
Jubilation ensued.
For
the remainder of the half, Stop Out pressed forward, looking for the equaliser. The Turts defended stoutly, in keeping with our defender’s
generous proportions. Their one
clear chance produced a brilliant Snouter save from close range.
A great effort from one so sedentary.
Phildo’s parents arrived to sign autographs and pretend to watch their
son. They missed Donaldo setting up
the beak man with a pin point pass. Phildo
proceeded to lay waste to the last line of defence, and then pat a feeble shot
at the keeper. Typical.
Halftime
arrived. Donaldo spent more time
fluffing over playing positions. Tony
G was struggling with a groin injury. Cooky
was struggling with a recurrence of the party hangover.
The game restarted with Tel inserted in central defence and Dodger moved
to right back. He had a quiet half, more fixated with a suspicious looking
olive tree near the sideline. GT
replaced Tony up front, freeing him to plan his social life via the cellphone.
Stop Out continued to battle gamely.
Big Si tried to make it interesting by gifting a ball to the oppo just
outside the box. They couldn’t cash in.
Then Snouter made another great save RUNNING and diving to tip the ball
over. It looked bad for the Turts,
so I started drinking. Then the
greedy Scotsman decided to score, and he did.
Then he scored again. A nice
pass from Wal this time. Gordie
obliged the adoring throng by ripping off his trousers, and vowing never to pass
the ball again. Ever.
GT
created the next chance. In a
bullocking run, he fell over the ball three times, only to recover his poise and
leave defenders prone behind him. An
attempted pass fooled the final defender and left him with just the goalie to
beat. How GT never even got the shot off will be debated for years
to come. The keeper simply picked
the ball up, patted GT endearingly on the head, and cleared. GT wasn’t finished though.
Minutes later Phildo passed superbly across goal.
GT lined up the shot and missed it completely.
Anticipating the miss, Gordie swooped and smacked it in.
With TIT safely in the bag for another week, GT retreated into relative
obscurity for the remaining minutes.
Gordie
distinguished himself with a few moments of absolute greed later in the match. On one occasion attempting a shot from another impossible
angle with two unmarked men in the box. One
of them was GT, admittedly. Big Si
injured his pinky at just the wrong moment - during a match.
Cries for assistance from both sides fell on Grunter’s very deaf ears.
Eventually a loud hailer was discovered up Dodger’s arse, and Grunter
was summonsed to the scene. By this
time the injury had turned gangrenous, requiring additional jet planes from the
emergency supply. Grunter was
unhappy having to move (it runs in the family) and didn’t take the criticism
of being too fucking slow very well. Lucky
the Turtles resist change, and the manager’s job is safe - for now.
Tel scored the fifth and final goal with a cracking shot that became even better after taking a massive deflection. Phildo claimed the assist, but it was too late - his parents had left. Bobby chimed in with a few jibes taken totally the wrong way towards fulltime. Good to see this man making regular contributions on the field.
The Turts win again. After showering with luxurious Cleopatra soap (the girls love it, don’t they Tel), we retired to the relative comfort of Jackson’s Bar for a few pints of good cheer. The Coppersmiths decided to sample the local fare, and ordered a Brontoburger apiece. All in all a satisfying win. The boys were pleased, even though it wasn’t a vintage effort. They awarded themselves a six out of ten, which this writer considered an act of delusion. The Turtles didn’t play well, but they know how to win.