July
28th: Turtles 1 (1) - North Wellington 5 (2)
Cops Deliver Vicious Beating. Turts Unrepentant.
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| Snouter (37 years) is left looking flat-footed next to Cassy (70 dog years) who shows him how it should be done. | |
Churton Park. Once a single shit-covered farm, this immaculate suburb has sprung up quite recently, and has become one of the snootiest areas of Welly. Each new house built has to adhere to strictly snobbish standards, and potential residents have their bank balances and family tree carefully scrutinised by the residents association. One former Turtle tried to buy a house there several years back, but was turned down when it was found that his sister lived in Naenae. At last count, three current Turts have managed to buy property there. All three have produced offspring, another unwritten rule for residents. In fact, childless couples are regularly ostracised. Imagine the horror of having a used nappy left at your doorstep (in a Kirkcaldies bag) in the middle of the night. Or worse, not being invited to brunch at Herbs Cafe.
It was to the Park itself, a leafy oasis of calm surrounded by a hostile desert of urban neurosis, that the FTFC trudged along to for the last game of the season. The game in prospect wasn't enticing - with the league title safely tucked away in Le Banco De Tartaruga, minds were on golf, skiing and nappy changing, and hardly looking forward to a tough contest against our much respected Police Force. With Golden Gordie and Weasel on the piste in the South Island, Tel in Sydney for you-know-what, and Dodge declining to play due to the fact that a bad result would damage his season statistics, our attack and defence looked a little thin, in more ways than one.
On arrival at the ground, we were astonished to find it to be in excellent condition. The last Turtle match there, several years ago, is talked about as the worst surface ever (Somme-ish in the stats). A two foot layer of mud upon concrete - see Don's knee for the scar. It is also remembered for the Gary Raine mud-wrestling-sending-off incident. But since then the ground staff have worked wonders, and after a sunny week the ground was perfect for passing football. Which was a problem for us, because we never had the ball, so didn't do much passing.
From the first whistle they passed it around in a controlled fashion. This, combined with constant movement off the ball, gave them almost complete control, and we settled down to 90 minutes of chasing, making the occasional tackle. Within the first five minutes the oppo had as many chances on goal, and only bad finishing denied them the opener. The first two goals, when they did come, were kind of soft. The first came after a shot across Snouter brought an athletic dive from the portly custodian of the onion bag. He saved but couldn't hold it, and another attacker followed up to net the rebound from close quarters. The second came after GT got in to trouble down in the left corner. His solution to the problem was a lovely little back-heel. It went straight to the oppo winger standing behind him, who popped a cross into the box. It was met tamely close in at the near post, but the well directed header was too good for Snout, who quietly cursed having had a MacDonalds breakfast as it defeated him.
Somehow we managed to keep the floodgates closed, and actually got back in to the game a bit. Tony, playing centre back and actually staying there most of the time, put in some well timed tackles, and with Don getting into his work as well we started to compete. After about 15 minutes, some ball started getting up to skip, Si G and Steve L up front. Most of it was wasted, but occasionally their box was threatened. Si G was not the perky youth of the last couple of games, his appearance before the game being positively ghoulish, and as the game progressed he seemed to get whiter. Shortly after half-time he was seen dry wretching (sic) but held it together, leaving Ricky Law as still the only Turtle to regurgitate during a game <nope - Dodge did it first in '86>. Anyway, back to our attacking.
The oppo had two big steroid products in the centre of defense, so winning anything in the air was out of the question, but we managed to get down the sides a few times. This was the route of choice for our goal. Don took possession in midfield and played it left for the skipper. A little flick was all that was needed to put into the path of Steve L (new Pom), who was running wide. He finished expertly over the advancing keeper. With eleven members of the local constabulary demanding an arrest, sorry, off side, Spratty, another ex-player who now refs, told them to piss off and gave the goal. Soon after this normal transmission resumed, and our defense was under pressure. An oppo attacker got in behind Cooky inside the box, and, with assistance from Wal, he was hacked to the ground. The resulting pen was a chance for Snouter to match wits with a copper. As the pen taker lined it up, Snouter pointed out that it wasn't on the spot. Spratty stepped in and made him move it. The poor chap was now thoroughly confused, his orderly world being disturbed, and he scuffed it wide.
So we made it to half-time still in the game. Remarkable. T'lads looked hot and knackered, but were determined to finish the season well. Shortly after half-time we conceded number three. A run down to our byline resulted in a bit of panic, and the cross was deflected high into the air near our penalty spot. Their tosser of a centre forward thought he was good enough to overhead - he made reasonable contact, but it wasn't exactly Zico. Unfortunately it deflected off Tony towards the top corner. Snouter showed a complete lack of agility to get a hand to it and help it in.
This could have been the end, but before we capitulated completely there was still a bit of fight left. The skip got a ball near half way on the left, and put a long ball into Steve L's path. He finished clinically again, but was off-side this time. Shortly after this Steve jinked down the right and put a shot in that the goalie couldn't hold. The skip lashed the loose ball against the bar. Shades of '66 as it bounced down on or near the line. The ref, a Pom, was fifty yards away, and didn't have a Russian linesman to help him, so gave no goal. This will be talked about for many years to come. Apart from those chances, we struggled to make much headway over halfway, and it was good old siege time. There were numerous chances for the oppo, but their shooting was pretty awful. The last two goals were again pretty soft . Firstly a corner clearance was hit back in. It bounced in front of Snout, and up off his chest to be headed in easily. Then from another corner a bobbling ball sat up for the skip to clear. He somehow managed to knock this back towards goal, onto the head of a forward, and over Snout.
Spratty put us out of our misery by blowing 5 minutes early, bless him. So the season ended, finally. Not a great way to end, but it's a marathon, not a sprint, and a six point winning margin is pretty convincing, so there.