April 1st: Turtles 6 (3) - Upper Hutt 3 (2)
Sean's knee calls it a day |
 Groove it little brother! |
 The Turts defense swarms across |
 Ooooh who's a pretty girl then? |
 Niamh is not impressed |
 Shit. |
There was a real sense of change about the FTFC as it began yet another campaign to bring the beautiful game to the dullards of suburbia. The new century brought with it new leadership, in the chiselled form of Terry, whilst natural attrition has begun to see the fading of some of the brighter stars of the ancient Turtillian Galaxy. Terry's style of leadership is novel to say the least, as he decided the best way to get the season started was to bog off to Melbourne to shop for fluorescent lycra shirts. As well as him, Spratt, Cook and Murray did not make this journey north, for varying reasons. The indications are that these three statistical supernovas may now be imploding on themselves, and turning into dense lumps of unattractive rock.
There are still enough of the old guard in the team to maintain the true essence of the Turtle legacy, but the stalwarts are now being supplemented with fresh new talent. Shaun Brock (no relation), will be remembered by Turt fans for his stunning and hilariously short career two seasons back. In his first game he scored with his first touch. A couple of weeks later he was afflicted with Turtle knee at Melrose Park, and disappeared. This season he returns, with a new knee and a determination to see out the season. After 20 minutes of the season, the knee gave way, and Turtle management are looking to take legal action against a certain well-known orthopaedic surgeon.
At the time of Shaun's demise, we were looking comfortable against a feisty but untalented opposition. Our opener was scored by Livingstone, the other newcomer. The circumstances surrounding Livingstone joining the Turtles are murky, apparently including Tony G, a sleazy bar and a spicy side-dish, but he is a good player, so we don't want to delve too deep. He also has the coolest Turtle name since Oscar, although he will need to be given a nickname quickly, as calling him for the ball just doesn't sound right. Anyway, after the initial rush of this game, Livingstone's pace began to create lots of space for himself in midfield behind the attack, and the chances started to flow. Gordie was provided with lots of good ball, and given his form during the practise games last week would have been expected to put a few away early doors. Unfortunately he was on the way to having a shocker, and as early as the tenth minute was heard to mumble incoherently to himself, a bad sign. Livingstone's goal came after some simple passing up the left put him clear on the keeper, who kindly stood to one side of the goal to allow a nice easy finish. Soon after that Steve Lang got a tap-in after good lead up work, again on the left. The writer of this report would like to provide more details on lead-up to those first two goals, particularly the provider of the all important "assist", but he was too busy showing off his new baby on the sideline.
So a solid start, and there appeared to be little threat to our defence. The chances continued to come for us, but their keeper had a happy knack of being hit by all our attempts on target. Either that or we hit the woodwork, which seemed to be about three feet thick. As the frustration grew, the oppo got some ball down the other end. They didn't have any control to their attacks, but got two goals in quick time after the ball was knocked around waywardly in our area, and fell nicely for a finish over a despairing Snouter. To be 2-all was an insult, and we were losing our way a bit. Si L stepped up. This is the man who recently got married, and during the speeches mentioned that he had known Kylie for four years. His new father-in-law, in his speech, said they had known each other for only three years, so there is a year missing there. In the best man's speech, delivered with aplomb by Ricky Law, an ex-Turtle famous for some of the most severe hangovers ever to grace a football field, mention was made of "soiled sheets in the shower", and relief that "Simon had finally found someone close to his own age". The next fine session requires a few explanations. So Si thrust forward, and after a one-two in a crowded area on the edge of the box, had a tricky bouncing ball to deal with facing the wrong way. His solution was a feeble speculator that curled goalward, and, wind assisted, flopped into the top corner.
At half-time Weasel replaced Phildo, who had been treating left-back as a roving role. With the wind now at our backs, the chances continued to come, to be duly squandered by our front men. The closest attempt of the early second half actually came at our end, when a hopeful shot from outside the box was expertly judged by Snouter, who left it to hit the inside of the far post. At the other end Tony and Gordie were starting to get decidedly shirty, so when Dodge limped off with (alleged) blisters, Tony was sent into the back four, and Livingstone was put up front. This switch had no impact on the game at all. The sultry heat of the valleys was starting to sap our energy, and everyone was getting a bit tetchy, especially Gordie, whose accent was starting to slip, having not long returned from an extended drinking holiday in Glasgow alleyways. With about twenty to go we got a fourth when a defender, sick of Gordie whinging about his own play, put one in his own net to shut him up. Soon after that Gordie got one himself when a Steve Lang cross landed on his head and it went in. Shouts for off-side were waved away by Phil, who was reffing, a vocation that he may consider if he doesn't fit the demographic for the travel agency business. The oppo got one back with a nicely taken effort into the top corner from outside the box, before Gordie finally finished one with his right boot, an event that the law of averages demanded, regardless of who was attached to it.
So a win to start, despite t'lads not being too happy about their play. A season is a marathon, not a sprint, and zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.