April 7th:
Turtles 0 (0) - Kapiti Hearts 2 (2)
by Stevie "Wolfman"
Hambleton
The great diva pushed back from her dark red mahogany desk, and turned to look out the tinted, double-glazed window. Her view was of the centre courtyard, and over the other side several nurses could be seen hustling the last stragglers out through the archway to the waiting mini-bus. As usual, the nurses were getting pinched and slapped regularly, each time they got too close. As Malvina watched, one of the newer, less experienced ones seemed to lose concentration for a second, and was set upon by Telboy, who wrestled her to the ground and was half-way out of his trousers before the sub-matron stepped in and quashed his enthusiasm with a deft flick of her night-stick.
Every Saturday was the same during the winter. The unruly departure, followed several hours later by the dreaded return. If the mini-bus driver succumbed to the usual bribes, the lads got in a couple of hours at the pub before return, and were virtually uncontrollable. The extra (male) security staff were jostled and abused, and any female unlucky enough to be within sight was subjected to the most fearful tirade of filth imaginable.
It had all started so innocently, 20 years ago. A simple letter had arrived on Malvina’s desk that fateful Monday morning in March, asking for a little sponsorship money for a local soccer team:
“…we have decided that it is now time to move into the Masters Grade, and what more appropriate name to have on our shirts than your excellent establishment…”
After a quick look at the team’s website, Malvina was hooked, particularly after seeing Tel’s player profile picture, and wrote out a cheque the next day.
About a week later a meeting was arranged with the team captain, vice-captain and manager. They were an impressive looking group, in their dark suits and grey zip-up slip-ons, and Malvina couldn’t help but feel a little flushed as the captain, Wal, started to turn on the charm.
“We are of course delighted that you have decided to do business with us. And might I just say that your blouse is very nice and full. We at the FTFC have a vision, and I’m sure you will share that vision after seeing this.”
Wal reached into his pocket, and pulled out the most magnificent pointer that Malvina had seen in years.
Grunter set up the data-show, and Snouter sat poised over the laptop. The lights were dimmed, and Snouter pressed a key. Over the next ten minutes, Malvina was treated to a dazzling presentation of corporate schmooze, with soaring projections and joint venture capital gains. Wal played her like a circus audience, waving his wand and reciting all the right buzz words – “strategic fit”, “synergies”, “value adding”, “results driven”, “lets put this one to bed”. By the end, Malvina couldn’t wait to sign the contract.
The lads walked out of there with the most lucrative sponsorship deal since Michael Jordan and Nike – in exchange for having The Fabulous Malvina Major Retirement Home Turtles emblazoned on their playing shirts and shorts, and on the front page of their website, the FTFC would receive:
· $25,000 each year for 30 years, to be revised up each season in line with inflation and market influences
· use of the Home minibus every winter Saturday for 30 years
· after hours access to student nurses
· preferential options on units in the Home (or future affiliated Homes) for all teams members on turning 60, plus 45% discount on purchase costs
Malvina watched the mini-bus depart, sighed, and buzzed her PA for tea. For the millionth time she cursed the FTFC under her breath. They tormented her, made the life of her staff hell, and made running the business at a profit all but impossible, but, damn it, she still loved them.
So how did the first game in Masters go, I hear you ask in a bored and patronising tone. Well, it wasn't pretty. The lead in to the season had been chaotic, and touched with a canine tragedy. For some reason Wal took on the captaincy, after a Zimbabwe election-type campaign at the AGM, and immediately showed his leadership style by sodding off for two weeks prior to the season opener. In his absence Dodger decided to sort out the squad in the only way he knew how - with a deluge of excessively verbose emails. The result was a squad of experience and width, and at the last practise before the season opener the signs were encouraging - a decade high attendance of 12. Then things started to go wrong.
The knee bandage parade
Dodger broke Stevie's arm in an off-the-ball incident, putting him out for at least a month (the less said about that the better), and then the next day came the terribly sad news that our mascot of many years, Cassie, had died on Wednesday night. Wal, Cassie's friend and personal trainer, was grief-stricken, as was the team, and indeed all Turtle fans the world over. The British Royal family released statements expressing their sympathy, and insisted that Cassie be mentioned during the memorial service this week for the Queen Mum. The day before the match, Dodger advised that Trudi had been invited to the opening of a bottle of wine in Napier, and that he was going along too. And then match day itself was wet and cold, not ideal conditions for Turtle football.
The oppo, Kapiti, had apparently finished third the previous year, so it was to be a good indicator of how well we would match up. The pre-match pep-talk from Wal was surprisingly good, and had the lads all barred up, but he then chucked that all out the window by winning the toss and electing to play into the howling southerly, thus handing all the early initiative to the visiting team. The early play showed that the oppo had a lot of good ball players, and hustled well when we had the ball.
Any Turtle taking too much time was dispossessed swiftly. Weasel on the left wing tried to get involved, but anyone reading his tea leaves that day would have seen what was coming. A late arrival (due to the old pregnant wife - kids party scenario) meant inadequate stretching, and he limped off after 7 minutes. Soon after, but not because of that, we were one nil down. Big Si surged forward and aided the attack, but when the ball was lost and hoofed towards half-way there were still three Turtle defenders hanging back. Unfortunately none of them noticed the lone oppo attacker, who was soon away by himself. Given the conditions he controlled the ball well, and approached Snouter with PK, GT and Tel puffing along behind him. Snout got a foot to the shot, but it still skimmed in.
The lads came back into it though, and Wal was soon put away on half-way. His pace took him clear all the way to the goal box, but that effort emptied the tank, his last touch was just too far, and he couldn't quite get a good shot in. Our attacks were looking promising, with new recruit Chris featuring. Now our oldest and thinnest player, Chris turned up to practise on Wednesday and our first reaction was to give him a comfy chair and a bowl of soup. But it turns out that he has quite ridiculous speed and stamina, and uses these to compliment Spratty's more sedentary style. With Murray rushing around tidying up, and Tel and Si coming forward, things were starting to look better. GT and PK were excellent at fullback and PK even overlapped up the left at one stage - quite illegal in Masters.
Then after about 25 Daryl dragged himself off, claiming exhaustion. This was a demoralising moment, considering that he is our sprightly youth. On went Lawrie, another new recruit (from the other Masters team), and the first Turtle mechanic. Then the second goal, and with it comes the new weekly readers competition - You Apportion the Blame.
Here is how it works - we give you the facts, the Turts involved, and you decide who is to blame. Vote for that person by email, giving, in no more than ten words, the abuse you would have given that scapegoat had you been present. And at the end of the week we will tally the votes. The Turtle with the most votes will then get to chose his favourite abuse, and have right of reply.
Here is what happened. Si challenged hard in midfield, about 30 yards from our goal. His opponent didn't like that, and so, as the ball dribbled away about five yards, they both decided to have another go. The oppo guy got to the ball first, connected solidly, and the ball flew off towards goal. PK summed it up quickly, and advised Snouter that he had time. This was not correct. Snouter saw the danger late, and as the ball skidded and picked up pace off the wet surface he was too late. It went under his hands before he could organise a dive, and inside the near post.
Heads dropped and bellys sagged. The rest of the first half passed without major incident at either end. Probably.
The half-time drink was a shock - juice from a box. Perhaps this was Grunter's way of saying he disagreed with the move to Masters. Si gave a few stirring words, and everyone shivered. No, that doesn't sound right. Everyone was shivering, and Si gave a few stirring words. Better.
Frankie went on for the fading captain. Frankie is just coming back from knee surgery, and sports an impressive bandage. When he runs you can see the years of knee damage have taken their toll, as the favouring of one side is quite pronounced. When watching him up front with Spratty, one can't help but think of Ronaldo.
The lads decided to siege for the first 10 minutes of the second half. The wind had dropped, and the oppo attacked with gusto. However, good last line stuff from Si and Tel denied many clear-cut chances. Except for one. A corner dropped into the middle of the box, and everyone stood around admiring it. Soon enough an oppo shot was offered, and Snouter flung himself left to push it around the post. Nice.
At the other end our attacks general petered out before they got to the oppo box, as the midfield struggled to get forward. Chris put a few good crosses in, but the oppo had two solid old codgers in the middle, and handled everything in the air. Phildo provided the best chance of the half with a surging run into space down the left that Spratty picked out. But once again the effort to get there was too much, and the finish was powder-puff.
Big Si directing traffic but everyone else has gone home
Big Si tried manfully to get some attacks going, but he was always left stranded, older Turts standing around looking at him strangely as he charged forward with gusto. The lad will have to adapt his game to fit in I’m afraid.
So a first up loss, but the oppo were a nice bunch, so never mind.