May
12th: Turtles 12 (5) - Wainuiomata 0 (0)
by Sniper Hambleton
2am FA Cup night - Pizza, Port & Whisky at Don's. Linda last seen heading
for bed with earplugs.
Spratty & Tel intent on staying awake.. but it's all a bit
much for PK.
Remember those old tellys that had a “contrast” button. Now what the hell was all that about. It’s only purpose seemed to be to muck up the picture when you played with it. To get a good picture, you had to have it on the middle bit, and to move it to either side just made the screen too dark or too light. Why they gave you a button at all is a mystery. Some design genius at a TV makers convention finally asked why it was there, from that moment it disappeared.
Sometimes it seems that there is still a contrast button on the big box of life, and occasionally some silly bastard decides to see if it does anything, and stuffs up the picture. Most people, once they have got through the silliness of drinking excessively, travelling, and shagging people they wouldn’t want to look at in the morning, settle down into their own little comfort zone. This may involve being Queen of England, the Pope, or the guy who cleans the gutters at 4 in the morning, but they are all zones, and whether you like it or not you are in one. When someone fiddles with the contrast, people get outside their zones. This may be in your working, social or sporting life. Possible examples include: a sheet metal worker trying to give a Powerpoint presentation on the five year business plan to the Board of General Electric; the Hyphen-Smyth family of Rama Crescent going to the Canons Creek flea market on Saturday morning and then on to Burger King for brunch; or a bunch of kids from Wainui coming to play the Turtles at Ben Burn.
The contrast button was already way off line half an hour before kick-off, before any Turtles had even turned up. The oppo were out on the ground doing drills (??!!), under the guidance of a coach and an assistant coach with a clipboard. The Turts pulled up, many in the wife’s car (for fear that theirs may prove too attractive and end the day burnt out on the wrong side of Wainui Hill) and had a jolly good laugh at the spectacle out on the park. To emphasise the age contrast, this was Spratty’s 200th game, being played against a team whose oldest member was 2 years short of being half his age.
Soon after kick-off the contrasting skill levels of the two teams became apparent. The oppo’s youthful exuberance couldn’t cover their lack of passing skills, and despite playing up the slope and into the slight breeze we had the best chances in the first 15 minutes. Twelve chances in fact, all of which were missed. Livi, Paily, Spratty and Wal did all the grunting and groaning in build up, but all that came out were a few squeaky farts, and there was no paper work to be done just yet. Although the posts and crossbar could have done with a wipe, having been hit regularly. After a while the oppo started to notice how badly we were playing, and with the help of Don’s hangover and Livi’s early signs of boredom, which gave them space in the middle, they showed signs of enthusiasm and gave the Turtle back three a few worries.
Tel squeaks a ripper header over the post.
Now readers in the know will be stroking their chins at this point and saying to the screen “but surely the Turts always play with a back four, apart from that ridiculous experiment in 1998 when Stevie tried a central 3 with two wing backs and a packed midfield. But that was a disaster, and shit here comes the boss (Alt.Tab)”. And you would be quite correct - we did have four backs on the field, but Tel and Si together could hardly be counted as two. Tel was regularly swanning forward, and on each occasion whipped out his body-building photos to show to the nearest person before doing sideways star-jumps back into position. And Si, well he was just crap. Snouter claimed not to have seen him at all, and it was merciless release when he fell on his sword (feigned injury), and limped off after half an hour. In the meantime Snout had some work, making a fine save from the oppo’s only decent player, and also showing interesting judgement by letting a corner curl onto the near post.
At about the 20 minute mark the contrast button was given another flick, the goals began, and the contest was over. It started, probably, with Paily chasing down a hopeless cause up in the right corner, cutting back in towards goal, and getting all set up for the shot before Livi took it off his foot and scored. After a brief lull, Paily got one, and from the kickoff, Paily won the ball, Spratty and Livi were involved, maybe, and Paily scored. From the kickoff, Paily won the ball, Spratty and Livi were involved, maybe, and Spratty scored. Shortly before halftime Spratty and Livi took the piss inside the box and Livi tapped it in to ease his obvious boredom. The only hiccup amongst all the goals was Paily twisting an ankle and being carried off. At first it looked bad, but he was later walking, so, at his age, we would expect him at practise next week.
At halftime PK was dragged again. The number of half games he is getting is starting to irk the chubby little teddy bear, and he retaliated by getting completely plastered later (FA Cup night) and spewing butter chicken in and around Don’s bog. The second half was like a Spratt benefit game. He stood around in the middle attempting little flicks and defence-splitting through balls, most of which failed, and every ten minutes wandered forward to get a goal. Livi played in similar fashion, but took casual to the extreme by setting up a camp stretcher bed just beside the cricket pitch area, and taking short naps between bursts of activity.
Up front for the second half, Wal was having the game of his life. It was shades of Simon Garrett as everything he touched turned to shite. If he’d been given a tap in from 6 inches it would have gone over the bar. Others took turns in the limelight: Steve was given a shooting chance on a plate by a Livi through ball, had, in Don’s words, a total neural shutdown, skuffed it, tripped, fell over; Weasel spent half the game on the sideline stitching up his boots with a foot operated Singer sewing machine, and when he was on the field was nearly tackled by Cassie (mascot); and GT narrowly missed scoring a great own goal when he tackled Snouter outside the box, and escorted the ball towards goal before slicing a clearance just past the top corner.
All the second half goals looked similar (a few passes, Livi, Spratty, goal), except two. Weasel was given a shooting chance on the left of the box, and curled it into the far top corner. This was a remarkable piece of finishing, considering that by this stage he was wearing two bits of leather held together by sticky tape on one foot, and a hand-made chamois leather glove on the other. The other goal of note was pure tragedy. With time almost up, Weas gave Spratty a lovely through-ball that left him with one defender and the keeper to beat. The defender fell over, and we could all see what was going to happen next. PK was reffing, and with a single peep could have finished the game and avoided the following: Spratty’s fifth goal, MoM, honours board, an evening of drunken ravings about how good a player he still is, and how useless everyone else is, including Maradona and Pele, and then molesting a various Turtle ladies, including Matt’s girlfriend Lara, who is new to the scene and unlikely to be seen again.
But no, PK let play go on, with tragic results, and normal transmission was resumed.
