April 22nd: Turtles 9 (4) - Tawa 2 (0)

SPRATT SCANDALISES SUBURBAN SUPPORTERS WITH STRIPTEASE SHOCKER!

This was the headline that leapt off the front page of the Sunday papers at me as I popped into my local dairy for a 50 cent lolly mixture and the latest Ribald. Buried deep inside the News Of The World, a hard hitting exposé by reporter Vic Scumbag detailed how ageing Turtle legend Gary Spratt had flashed his assorted genitalia at the assembled throng of spectators on the sideline at Ben Burn Park during the Turtles' game against Tawa on Saturday afternoon.

The midfield maestro, recently returned from a tour of Old Trafford armed only with a backpack of DB Export and a box of tissues, had subbed off at halftime and headed for the showers, but it was a good quarter of an hour later that Wal's impressionable young sons excitedly drew attention to the sight of Spratty towelling himself off in the full length window of the changing shed. The crowd turned as one to be entertained at length by a lurid display of sexual depravity from the well-known Lower Hutt extortionist and slumlord. Sensing the watching audience, Spratty went on to perform a wee jig and a couple of pelvic thrusts, waved to the crowd several times, then for good measure gave himself a couple of flicks with his towel before disappearing back into the murky depths of the changing rooms.

Bystander reaction was mixed. Mother of two Gail Kirkland professed to be shocked by the incident and claimed that that one never saw this sort of behaviour in suburban Karori. When informed that it was all too prevalent in Spratty's home suburb of Naenae, she wandered away and was later heard asking for directions on how to find her way around the Eastern Hutt Valley. Turtle wife Marie Tims was more forthcoming and stated that this was just the sort of thing her Thorndon midweek ladies' tennis club were looking for and could they sign him up.

Spratty's kids had also witnessed the sordid scenes and were clearly in a traumatised state. Louisa Spratt, an 18 year old PC saleswoman and exotic dancer, was lost for words as she struggled to extract her tongue from down the throat of her latest boyfriend, but a distraught Michael Spratt, 16, dejectedly muttered that "if that's as big as it's going to get, I might as well top myself now."

When we pressed the man himself for comment, the Mancunian mental defective claimed that he'd thought the changing room window was opaque and that no-one could see him. However, this seems a rather dubious excuse to those seasoned Turtles used to Spratty's impromptu performances on the bar at the Big Easy most Friday nights.

The game itself took a back seat to Spratty's Tit winning antics. The team had at one stage looked so short of numbers that Bobby had been given a late call up, but this dire prospect had inspired several crippled Turtles to drag themselves off their deathbeds and a potential footballing travesty was averted. El Lardo did manage to winch himself off his couch to watch the game and arrived wearing a hideous multi-coloured pair of alpaca fur shorts, for which it appeared that at least three alpacas had made the supreme sacrifice.

Also absent from the playing roster was tedious Scottish correspondent Craig Gray, who'd returned home for treatment on his disfiguring facial and foot injuries without managing to make his Turtles debut after travelling half way around the world. He'd claimed his injuries were the result of bad sunburn, but it looked more like a chronic case of leprosy to the Turts, although a vicious rumour has recently emerged that he'd been the victim of a gang related napalm attack on his rundown Falkirk housing estate.

The game featured a clinical dispatch of an admittedly very good natured and accepting opposition, with the Turtles dominating all areas of the park apart from the central midfield. This was due in the main to Sean, in the crucial defensive midfield role, making the fundamental error of listening to all the positional advice offered to him by various Turtles and running around like a headless chicken as a result. The standard response in this situation is to follow Don's usual example of telling the rest of the team to get fucked and kicking three kinds of shit out of the opposition in an effort to justify himself.

Goals were knocked in at regular intervals throughout the game and the standard of finishing was of a remarkably, for the Turtles, high standard. There was time for G.T. to completely balls up a plum shooting opportunity with an embarrassing airball, but that's just his party piece and the lads weren't too flustered. The first goal eventually arrived via a surging run to the byline by Livingstone, whose cut back pass was sidefooted into an empty net by the Tartan Tadger himself, fat Gordie Davidson. A bit of route one footy saw Gordie get on the end of a Snouter clearance, but Snout was denied the assist when Gordie twice hit the woodwork with the goalie well beaten, the second rebound being blasted into his own net by a generous but incompetent defender. The lads then worked a great team goal, finished off by Spratty running onto a nod on from Gordie and burying his shot to the right of the keeper for goal number 261 in a career notable for its consumption of vast quantities of alcohol. Gordie had time to blouse a point blank header, but it soon became 4-0 when Livingstone skilfully waltzed around a couple of defenders on the left edge of the area, dragged the ball back and blasted an unstoppable shot just inside the far post.

Halftime arrived and the lads trooped off the pitch to be stunned by an absence of flavoured halftime drinks. Grunt had buggered off for a weekend of serious guffawing leaving Gordie in charge of the team drinks, but the tight Scots bastard had obviously pocketed the allocated team funds and left the team to survive on tap water. P.K. and Spratty were dragged off to be replaced by Big Si Law and the Black Hole of Assists, and Spratty headed off for his appointment with footballing immortality.

The goals kept coming in the second half, with the first beneficiary being the BHOA, whose left footed strike would have gone straight to the keeper if that unfortunate hadn't been lying prone on the deck in the throes of a heart seizure. The oppo then gifted us our sixth, with a completely cocked up goal kick manoeuvre resulting in Gordie dispossessing the goalie and scoring into an empty net. Dodge then called it a day, clearly distressed by the threat of a yellow card after being pulled up for a couple of cynical fouls by the pedantic official referee, and he was replaced by the ever more decrepit looking Hooter. It was at this stage that the defensive effort lapsed somewhat. A ball over the top saw ex-skipper Rat-a-deux once again cleaned out by the oppo's only decent player, who finished with a nice lob over Snout. The Bellymeister, unusually for him, had made the rare mistake of coming off his line, immediately regretted it, and vowed never to do it again.

This was only a temporary glitch, however, as Gordie immediately ran on to a through ball and slotted it away in the bottom right corner for his hattrick. Big Si, out of position yet again, then bloused a close range shot straight at the goalie, but later redeemed himself with a cross which cannoned off the expansive forehead of the unprepared Gordie and somehow squeezed in at the left post. Livingstone then crossed to Gordie, who ran around a couple of defenders and rolled the ball under the advancing keeper to earn himself an honours board performance. There was still time for a final defensive fiasco, yet again (so I'm told) involving our former captain, and Snout found himself diddled once more.

So in the end it was a comfortable 9-2 victory for the Turtles against a side whose main contribution to the game was the non-stop optimistic pleading for more effort by their coach, all done in a Scouse-like accent reminiscent of Davey J. at his whinging best. The MOM award was a foregone conclusion for Gordie, the five goal fat Scottish hero, but special mention must be made of the efforts of Zil, who sped round his overweight marker all day while taunting him in the Scottish accent he's recently adopted for his forays into the ethnic melting pot that is the current Wellington night scene. Allegedly.

[ HOME | 2006 SEASON | ALL-TIME | PLAYERS | LINKS ]

comments to:
don@soccer.net.nz