June
9th: Turtles 5 (3) - Miramar 2 (2)
by Darrin 'Zil' Wilkinson
“Father Time has finally caught up with me”. Those were
the immortal words of the great Muhammad Ali after his fourth straight
pummelling, this time at the hands of Trevor Berbick. It wasn’t a pretty
sight. Berbick strolled around the ring that day, punching Ali with ridiculous
ease. Ali finally retired and is now enjoying his happily advanced dementia. He
fought at least three years too long. Berbick went on to enjoy brief success,
until an unfortunate encounter with a particularly violent Mike Tyson.
Which brings me to the Turtles match with Miramar on
Saturday. The meeting between the most elderly teams in Division Four had most
of the physios in Wellington salivating with anticipation. St Johns Ambulance
had assigned extra staff, and nervously waited by the phones. A brief glance at
the respective sides was enough to confirm that the best days were well behind
most of these players. In fact, some of them hadn’t even had ‘best days’.
The old wags watching from the clubrooms shook their heads and muttered amongst
themselves. The prospects for an entertaining game were not good.
Let’s delve into the past briefly and discover what it was
like being a Turtle, circa 1980s. In those halcyon days, the Turts often had
full attendance at practice, with a compulsory three jugs at the Western Park
afterwards. Friday evenings were raucous affairs of wine, women and song
(usually without the women bit). The lads would turn up to the game on Saturday
in an advanced state of disrepair. The hangover statistic always took a
hammering. Being young in those days, the only injuries suffered were usually
headaches (except for the Phildo ‘hammy’).
Fast forward to the present. Practice is sparsely attended,
at best. At 7:00 PM sharp, ‘Wolfie’ Hambleton leaves to bathe his daughter
(I won’t divulge her age). The others head down to the Backbencher for a
two-drink maximum. Any longer, and some of the boys start nodding off. Come
Saturday, and the sorry statistic of zero hangovers again raises it’s ugly
head. Even Spratty was clean. Injuries, once the exception, are now the norm.
The Turts are struggling to put eleven fit players on the field these days. This
inevitably begs the question: are the Turtles past it as a force in World
Soccer?
This was a topic for discussion at Donaldo’s send-off on
Thursday night. The hard man of Turtles soccer departed these shores on
Saturday, fuelling further speculation of an impending free-fall to the Masters
grade next season. Losing someone who usually inflicted injuries, not received
them, was cause for concern amongst some of the senior Turtles. It was a serious
topic, which prompted animated debate deep into the night. Past our bedtimes,
even. No one can remember what we agreed on, but at least we were nice to Don.
Incidentally, he’s retaining his current e-mail address overseas, prompting
him to remark ‘anything is possible with the internet these days’. Anything,
it seems, except to remain as Turtle Webmeister. Still, we wish him well. The
demand for IT people who deliver products two years late and unrecognisable from
the original spec is as strong in the UK as it is here. And they pay you
telephone numbers to boot.
To the game. The Miramar lads managed to get us on Centennial
Park. It was in pristine condition, and our zero spectators looked forward to a
wonderful exhibition of total football from the Turts. Miramar looked seriously
old, and were ravaged with injury. We knew they had some good players (half of
them had played for England, or something), but they finished their last game
with nine players (from a squad of fourteen). Their subs were two players
plucked from the Evans Bay Intermediate first team. They were the only ones
showing signs of activity before the match. The rest of the players huddled
around, trying to conserve energy.
We kicked off into a strong northerly. Some idiot passed the
ball to GT, who fell over, and suddenly we were plunged into desperate defence.
It pretty much stayed that way for the rest of the half. Miramar attacked
strongly, and in boxing parlance, the Turts were ducking and weaving.
Eventually, the injuries had to come, and before long Centennial looked like a
battlefield. Zil, Big Si, and Ross all went down. Grunter gamely attended each
injury, whilst showing obvious signs of exhaustion. One of the Miramar boys
collapsed and was dragged off, bringing on the first schoolboy. Predictably he
was fast, and even more predictably, this writer had to mark him. The onslaught
continued. Snouter was punching away furiously, making some excellent saves in
the process. To Miramar’s surprise, they then found themselves a goal down.
Paily counterpunched with a nice through-ball to Matt. After recovering from the
initial shock of receiving a pass from Paily, Matt ran hard at the defence,
stopped, and then curled a superb shot around a defender and past the bemused
goalie. Goal C in the Classic Goals Competition. 1-0 Turts.
The response wasn’t long in coming. A through ball put a
Rangers player in the clear. His shot was low and slightly to the right of
Snouter, who dived down to save. Of course, Snouter is a member of the Turtles
Stout Club these days, so any dive usually means a collision with the ground at
a speed nearing terminal velocity. Unfortunately his reflexes are completely
shot, and the ball was past him before he moved. 1-1. By now, the pressure was
beginning to show on our pattern. We adopted an informal 8-0-2 formation to
combat the attacks on goal. Our sweeper, Dodger, another member of the Stout
Club, was forced to run on occasion. And make a tackle. Not bad from someone who
claimed he was sick the previous two days (bad batch of Regaine apparently). (As
an aside, Dodger attended Angela’s 60s party on Saturday night wearing a wig.
He wasn’t recognised until after midnight). Still, for all his decaying
footballing ability, the Dodge still knew how to smash the ball a long way over
the sideline. Which he did, occasionally deliberately.
Miramar continued to utterly dominate, which by definition
meant that we scored again. This time, a nice through ball from Stu set Matt
away again. He toyed with the defence for a while before smashing the ball in at
the near post. A great shot according to Grunter (the rest of us were standing
in our penalty box, and we don’t see too good these days). 2-1 Turts. A short
time later Snout blasted a kick downfield, clearing their last line of defence.
Paily latched on to it, but was dispossessed outside the box by Jim, a workmate
of Wolfie at NZ Post. Jim inexplicably passed it straight back to Paily, who
gratefully slotted it under their keeper. 3-1, and a dubious assist awarded to
Snout in the process. Boringly, Rangers went back on attack from the re-start.
They were awarded a free kick outside the box. Snout yelled at the defence to
mark their Big Guy in the Middle. The ball was crossed to the unmarked Big Guy
in the Middle, who nodded it in. Snout threw a very politically incorrect
spastic fit. 3-2. We managed to hold on to half time, some close calls
notwithstanding. Big Si (we don’t have a little Si, just a Big Si) struggled
gamely with his gammy ankle. Wolfie struggled with a few clearing kicks, one of
which went straight to Snout, while another ended up being a nice set-up pass
for the opposition. Just before half-time Dodger lumbered over to make a
regulation headed clearance. He missed it completely, and the ball dribbled just
wide of the far post. For once, Dodger had no one to blame. So he smiled and
said nothing. Honest.
At the break Ross cried off with a dicky groin. He paid the
price for going jogging on Friday lunchtime, whereas more sensible Turtles were
enjoying liquid lunches at various establishments around Wellington. Spratty,
who had a dicky everything, replaced Ross. Wolfie exhorted the players to
greater heights. His final line, “Let’s turn this good season into a really
good season”, reminded everyone why we had fired him from the captaincy
two years ago. After the laughter had subsided, Spratty read the riot act to us,
and we got serious.
The second half was more even. Miramar still launched a
series of attacks, but we were getting used to it by then. The crucial goal came
early. Stu supplied Spratty, who made space and scuffed a left foot shot towards
goal. The keeper dived, got up, and dived again. The ball dribbled over his arm
and in. 4-2 Turts. A short time later a GT pass to Matt created space for the
big man. He beat two players and pushed a third over, before slotting his
hat-trick. 5-2, and the game was ours.
A few more notable incidents occurred before the final
whistle. To summarise:
-
Snouter pulled out some excellent saves, including a dive
at the feet of the opposing striker. As Wal accurately described it, Snout
almost broke the player’s foot with his stomach (Snouter discovered his
shin pad later when showering).
-
Murray failed miserably in a one-on-one chance with the
Miramar goalie. Still looking for his first goal this season, but don’t
hold your breath.
-
Spratty collapses while doing up his shoelace. Hobbles
off without treatment from Grunter (who was receiving treatment himself by
this stage). Returns five minutes later to join Zil and Stu in a stationary
midfield role.
-
GT takes over midfield duties. Claims an assist, and
almost bags another with a superb takedown and passing manoeuvre. Miramar
double-team him.
-
Grunter attends three more injuries in the second half,
recording a PB of six for the match.
The victory consolidated our 3rd position in the
table, and took us to a respectable 6-4 record. Muhammad Ali used the
rope-a-dope tactic with success against Foreman in 1975; since 1981, the Turtles
have turned it into an art form. All you need is a couple of quick guys up
front, and you can have all the plodders you like to make up the numbers. It’s
an easy game.
Are the Turtles past it? Not on your nellie.
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