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July 15th: Turtles 5 (2) - Petone Celtics 0 (0)Being
the supporter of a football team is an unforgiving pastime. Loyalty may be
rewarded with glorious goals, promotion and cups for some, utter shite and
regular relegation for others. What is it that compels a hard working family man
to go and see Doncaster at home to Macclesfield on a Monday night in January?
The writer of this report knew a chap in London who went to away games on
consecutive weekends in Plymouth and then Carlisle. Mind you, this chap was
known as Colin "Bomber" Harris, after the Monty Python character who
wrestled himself and lost. You could explain away the behaviour of the average
English football supporter by mentioning tribalism, alcoholism and Nazism, but
not so the average NZ football supporter. People who go to watch footy in NZ are
generally there because they have a family connection to one of the players,
hence the rarity of any sort of crowd of more than 50. And that is at the top
level. The level at which the Turtles play would struggle to attract a myopic
pensioner and his dog, and yet the stats record that our record attendance is
26. Apparently this was the occasion of the famous Spratty vasectomy hat-trick
at Wilton Park. On
Saturday, we were privileged to have on the sideline 23 supporters. Granted a
lot of these were kids who spent more time playing on the swings than watching
the game, but there were still a fair few diehard Turtle fanatics. Among these
were Don Langridge and Terry Wilkinson, who have both had two sons in Turtle
colours over the years. Every father must secretly hope that their son will grow
up to score a try for the All Blacks, a goal at Wembley, or a century in a Test
at the Basin. One wonders if it fills you with pride to see your son trot out in
the famous black and white (with a little bit of red) onto Ben Burn. Probably
does. Of
the four Turtle offspring of these esteemed gentlemen, only Weasel was on the
field for this game. Phildo Langridge would have played had the game not clashed
with some fabric shopping he had to do with his fiancee. A pretty soft effort
from the ex-hippy who now panders to the whims of wealthy holiday makers. Back
from last week were lots of short people, including Wal, who spent the previous
weekend with a ripe banana down the front of his trousers. The Celtics have in
the past been regarded as "traditional rivals", but this term is
starting to seem overly complimentary to them, as the term "rivals"
implies that our games are close. In recent years this has seldom been the case.
On
a day that you would be pleased to get in the middle of summer, never mind the
middle of winter, the Turts put on a display of sparkling football in the first
half, and although the Celtics competed better in the second, we ran away with
it at a canter. The possession stats for the first half read Turts at 85%, and
for much of it we were camped inside their half. Everyone was passing well,
thanks mainly to being allowed plenty of time on the ball as the shell-shocked
Celtics stood back and watched. Livi and Tony in the middle were either running
into gaps, or holding it up and spreading it wide, where PK, bravely playing
after being attacked by a sapling that morning, and Steve had a lot of ball to
put down the line or cross into the middle. Terry was making a lot of runs from
the back, obviously benefiting from not having gone to practise during the week.
Before the game Spratty had predicted that he would probably pull something or
throw up within the first ten minutes, but when he saw how much time on the ball
we were getting, he decided to stay on and take the piss at every opportunity. The
first goal came about 10 minutes in, when Livi took off round the left of the
defence and squared it for Spratty to slot on the far post. The second, about 10
minutes later, was a mirror image of the first, with Wal making one of his many
runs around the back of the defence on the right and squaring it for Nicko to
tap in from close range. This was a fitting way for Nicko to mark perhaps his
last game of the season, as he is off shortly for a golfing trip in Texas.
Weasel later doubted that Nick would actually play much golf, as, in his
opinion, Texas has the highest number of large breasted blond bimbos per head of
population anywhere in the world. The rest of the first half saw us miss several
half-chances, as well as their keeper making some good stops. At Snouters end it
was pretty quiet, giving him time to construct a lovely little dirt castle with
a moat around it beside the near post. Halftime
saw the introduction of Gordie. As usual he had turned up late, this time
because he had played another game before ours. His commitment to the team seems
to be flagging, and may be helped by him being held down and given a jolly good
kicking. A more influential change was made by the oppo, who brought on their
short Irishman. Apparently a steward with Ansett (but certainly not gay, no,
no), he injected pace and enthusiasm, and suddenly the game was quite different.
He tormented Stevie, and kicked Weasel a couple of times, and the rest of the
oppo fed off him. Snouter had a close call when he just managed to get off his
line in time, benefiting from attending practise during the week. It looked like
there may have been a contest on, but our third quietened things down. It was
one of those Spratty - Gordie - goal ones, which are all starting to look the
same. 15
minutes in, and just as Tel was looking for a volunteer to give GT a run, Weas
set off on a hopeful run towards the goal-line. For some reason this was too
much for his recently healed hammy, and the ping was audible. Weas limped off to
the sideline, where his Daddy was watching and offered some consoling words,
"You are old and useless. Not a patch on your younger brother". Then
began of short period of ludicrous misses. Two were by Spratty, whose legs had
by now stopped operating properly. Both were at the left post, with no keeper in
front of him, and about five yards out. Gordie also brought some glee to the
near record crowd by slotting one clinically into the side netting from about
the same spot. By now these two were definitely in take-the-piss mode, and did a
lot of standing around trying for little touches. The defence meanwhile was
still getting a bit of a workout, and only a desperate lunge by Steve stopped
the Irishman getting away on goal. We also had several corners to deal with, but
Terry was having a blinder in the air as well as on the ground, and cleared most
of them. The
last two goals went something like, but probably not exactly like, this: 1/.
Nicko chipped a ball into the penalty spot to Gordies feet. After he initially
appeared to have lost sight of it under his overhanging belly, he managed to get
control, drag it to his left to beat a defender, and smash into the roof of the
net. 2/.
A ball over from the left was headed down
by Nicko into space. Spratty began complaining that it was a complete waste, but
it just beat the last defender, and Gordie pounced, controlling it with his
first touch then putting it across the keeper into the far corner. |
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