The Turtles strikers put pressure on the Wests defence

The game kicked off in sunny conditions. We know that because we could see the ground. Nothings gets me cursing Allah as much as a cloudy Saturday in Welly, but so far the season has almost been completely cloud-free, a bonus for the viewing public. From the looks of recent results, this Wests side would be pretty good, as they had recently accounted for the good Island Bay team. Also, my sources on the ground in Wellington had confirmed that they had quite a few ex-top level players in their ranks.Could the Turtles rise to the challenge again. My hopes were lifted during the pre-match kick around, as I could see that both Gordie and Spratty were there, surely meaning that a few goals would go in. Also, Tel seemed to have recovered from his groin thing of the previous week, and Wal was back from Seattle (and believe me, those rumours are all true about what they get up to on those trips).

The early part of the game was tight, as both teams stroked it around. The surface was probably ideal for passing football, as few mistakes were being made. Wests obviously had a lot of good players, as they passed it around at will when in possession, but Snouters goal remained unthreatened by the early pressure. And from one of the Turtles first movements forward, the first goal came. Daryl advanced up the right, and centred on to Gordie on the edge of the box. A little flick back behind him left Phildo in space, and the father-to-be advanced purposefully on the ball, as indeed he had nine months previously on Kerry. Like the seed of his loins, his right foot strike also hit the target, as it curled over the keeper into the roof of the net, giving birth to joyous celebrations.We jumped out of our seats, and danced around the little cave. You'll excuse us a bit of a jig, I mean, the last eight months haven't exactly been a stroll in the park for Al (Qaeda) and me, since you know what. Ever since 911 we've been hiding out in this cave, high up in the MacGillicuddy Reeks, Killarney, Ireland. At first there were nine of us, but gradually the rest have succumbed to the attractions of Ireland. One by one they drifted off - two are now barmen in Killarney, three married wealthy old ladies, another runs a successful kebab shop, and the last to leave, young Mushy, now goes by the name of Suki and frontlines a drag act in Dublin. It all started back in the mid-'90's, when one of my brothers-in-law met up with Charley Haughey, the former PM of Ireland. Now old Charley is as bent as they come, having lined his own pockets grandly while running the country, and since losing that job has kept the income up with regular shady deals. My b.i.l. did one with him whereby the investment of a couple of million quid in a rural airport in South West Ireland was rewarded with 9 Irish passports. Those valuable little booklets were stashed away for a rainy day, and it doesn't come any wetter than last September. 

Cleanly shaven, and looking all the world like a bunch of Middle East execs arriving for a boozy conference, t'lads disembarked at Cork airport on the afternoon of September 10, and got the first bus to Kerry. Now you wouldn't know it, looking around the sleepy tourist town of Killarney, but Kerry has always been a bit of RA hotbed, so plenty of discreet assistance was available. But we knew that the next day even the RA wouldn't help us, so after hiring a mini-bus we set off for a lovely trip around the Ring of Kerry. The bus, containing nine cadavers courtesy of the local morgue, met a spectacular end at the bottom of a hundred foot cliff, and we set off up the mountains to our cosy new home. Over the previous year, using the "purchased" passports, many of the lads had made regular trips to the Killarney mountains, posing a trampers, but always leaving behind more than the odd discarded can of Bulmers cider. Highly sophisticated computer equipment was transported there from around Ireland, and programmers and engineers put it all together. Amongst all the techy stuff, set back against the largest of the cave walls, was our window to the world, the screen. Indeed most of the time it was the world, or a satellite view of it. Sometimes we'd put on some camel racing, picked up from Sky (the bill, in the name of Paddy Murphy, was always paid on time) but mostly it was used for surveillance. There are numerous satellites circling the Earth, and each is run by encoded messages from its controlling organisation, be it a government body or a private company. Any hacker worth his soup can get into those systems, and basically take over control of a satellite. People in charge of billion dollar satellites aren't generally stupid though, so you have to make them think that their precious hardware has malfunctioned, and who is more likely to believe that than the Russians, who haven't made anything decent since the Kalishnakov.

 In July last year we infiltrated the Russian Defense Ministry's computer system, and fed it data to the effect that the Sovoy 8 Satellite had experienced a sudden and total systems failure. The telemechanical diagnosis of the problem by Soviet scientist was intercepted by a cave in Ireland, and the lads have a new toy. As a treat on a Saturday night, we have a few lagers, a curry, and then sit down to watch the Turtles. The Sovoy 8 Satellite is a surveillance tool, and is equipped with the best visual enhancement hardware and software available. I can watch President Bush scratch his arse if I want, but watching the Turtles is so much more fun. I mean, they are just so funny. The way they trot around is comical really, but they sort of grow on you after a while. Even with my distorted, elevated view, I've got to know the players and their bald patches. By reading the match reports on the website, then replaying the games from tape, I can see it all as if I was standing there. So anyway, after Al and me had calmed down a bit, we sat back down and took a swig of herb tea. 

The next thing you know, we're up again, but this time in distraught horror. Wests were pressurising down the right, but there didn't seem to be too much to worry about, even as a short cross came into towards goal. However, none of the Turtles reacted as quick as a Wests attacker, and he snuck in front of Snout to touch it in. And then, not long after that, another innocuous looking cross into the box was put away by a Wests forward, who beat some tired looking Turtles to the header.Al was on his knees, pleading for some divine intervention to turn around this appalling state of affairs, but it didn't look good. Wests were completely in charge, and the Turts looked as sluggish as a Taliban soldier in a titty bar. And then Tel limped off, no doubt with more groinal problems. But from somewhere, who knows where, the Turts found some reverses of character, and fought through it. Perhaps that is why they are so good to watch - they're whole is bigger than the sum of their parts. And also they have Gordie up front. The lad has a finish like a thirsty ho. Phildo this time was the provider, feeding Gordie out on the left, and the podgy striker jinked past a defender before shooting low to the keepers left. The keeper did a Suez harbour bridge, and it was 2-2.Shortly after that a rogue cloud drifted over Endeavour Park, and it took Al 15 minutes to re-allign Sovoy 8. I took the chance to make some more tea, and heated up some of those vegan pies that Mrs O'Flatully down in the village makes - they really are very good.

The Turtles clear the ball from a corner kick

By the time we got back in view it was the second half, and I'll just have to assume we didn't miss any goals. Wests were still doing most of the attacking, but seemed to lack the last touch. The Turtles defensive screen at the edge of the box was effective, and Snouter was generally untroubled, except for a few high crosses and corners. I could see that Chris and Si were working well, and Murray was tracking away as usual. (Can I just add here that me and Chris Lavis are not the same person, as alluded to in a match report earlier this season, and I hardly know the guy. Although he is a second cousin).GT was having a good half, doing a lot of covering work on the right, and Daryl came back to help out as well. 

With all this action in the Turts half, it is not surprising that the Wests half was pretty sparsely populated, and this enabled the Turts to threaten on the break. Daryl's pace troubled them, and he combined with Gordie to create the crucial next goal after about 20 minutes. Gordie headed off towards the right side of the box, and finished clinically across the keeper into the opposite corner of the net.Five minutes later, and the fourth goal sent me and Al into a happy hug. Gordie and Spratty headed off from halfway together, a testament to the improved state of Anglo-Scottish relations in the past few years. Gordie led the charge, but was kind enough to include his senior partner by leaving him the opportunity to assist. Spratty obliged, holding up proceedings whilst Gordie set himself, and gave the return ball. Gordie's goalward strike took a lovely deflection off a defender to loop over the keeper. Surely now the lads were home, but it was a tense last 20 as the siege continued. Everyone seemed to tire towards the end and the pace slackened, which is understandable, as it looked like a hot day. With just a couple of minutes to go, Phildo epitomised the fine defensive effort by getting in the way of Wests's tall striker when he was finally given a heading chance close to goal. Phildo took it square in the chest and cleared to safety, no doubt getting a nice red mark for his trouble (I've been hit in the chest by mortar fire more than once, and it can jolly well sting).

Phildo confuses the sting from the ball with phantom labour pains and cries out for a nurse

Good stuff, and as always we look forward to next week. Al switched off the satellite link, and turned on that awful Arab news channel. I stepped outside to watch the sun come up, taking time to reflect on some of the questions that trouble the worlds most wanted terrorist (yours truly): can the Turts make the top six, and how will Ireland go without Keano in a couple of hours.