Sitting here on a grey Sunday afternoon, trying to find some kind of inspiration to get 1000 words out of yesterdays sporting events is not always easy. There seems to be a force field keeping ones fingers away from the keyboard, borne out of a general feeling of apathy. Yesterday was a downer from beginning to end. At 7:34am the rare potential for early morning nooky was curtailed by the arrival of a toddler at the bedroom door sporting a fully soiled nappy. A little over 15 hours later, fucking Matt Bourke kicked that fucking penalty, which was followed by 'er-in-doors making the usual "it's only a game" comment.

About midway between these two events, the Turtles lost out to a team that we generally out-played, but who just happened to include a very recent national league player who scored three goals and set up two others by running 50 yards with the ball at feet. So quick and powerful was this Nascar Mahommed (or some such), that attempts to kick him to the ground generally ended in a Turtle boot flailing in mid-air. Our opponents were much more successful when kicking, barging, pushing or pulling, doing it so well in fact that the ref usually didn't see it. But more on that later.

The pre-game build-up was marred by a disgraceful changing room incident. Talk of Sarah Ulmer and her golden glow was exciting enough, and when it was suggested that she may be a potential future patron for the team, one highly strung Turtle emitted what appeared to be a large portion of man eggs. Events took on an even more sordid air when this emission was then hastily rubbed into the culprit’s calf muscles.

Once out on the pitch, the Turtles calmed down enough to play some good footy early doors. Telboy closed down Nascar, with assistance from Murray and Weasel, and despite facing a strong wind, Snouter was quiet for a while. A couple of corners were innocuous, apart from the need for one solid punched clearance by the greying custodian. Weasel and Murray were a good combination in the middle, and got plenty of ball out wide for Wal on the right. Unfortunately, the skipper didn't really fancy it. Having already made the mistake of admitting before the game that he was "losing interest", and "didn't want to go in too hard, because he was off skiing next week", Wal played like a man with too much weight on his shoulders. Post-match speculation on the reasons varied from the pressures of captaincy, to pressures from his alter ego (the one that prefers to wear women’s clothing).

Or perhaps he just isn't enjoying the footy this season. And who can blame him. The Turts retired from the open grades last year to graze gently in the tranquil pastures of Masters. Generally the games have been pleasant enough, our opponents looking for a similar Saturday outing to ourselves, but just a bit too often we come up against teams that contain some really nasty fucking pricks, and Saturday was one of those. The shame is that it was only a couple of them, but they were aided and abetted by a complete twat of a ref. He started out OK, and gave us a few free-kicks when it was required, but things started to wrong about 20 minutes in. Gordie received the ball up on the edge of the box. The highland thing would usually run through a couple of defenders from there, but the poor wee mon had a touch of flu, and was playing a much more restrained (and some say better) game because of it. Therefore, he laid it through for Daryl, who slammed it into the roof of the net. The ref ignored the defender wide on the left who had been out-paced by Daryl, and gave an off-side. Fair enough, no big deal at this level, we thought.

Gordie made his feelings clear, and from then on he was a marked mon. One big defender was assigned to shove him around incessantly, whilst the others, in particular one low-life trailer park trash scum bogan, kicked Gordie blatantly whenever he embarrassed them with his close skill. The ref seldom saw anything wrong. Daryl also got plenty of treatment, but was a bit more fleet of foot and avoided most of the attention.

After half an hour, Nascar got his first. Tel went forward, we lost the ball with him stranded, a ball into space, and it was all over. Stevie made a futile attempt to close him down, but it was never a fair contest, as both he and Snout were toyed with prior to the final finish. The rest of the half was notable for a few squandered chances at Snouter's end, and some fine saves by the oppo keeper. The guy looked like he had had his fair share of vindaloo specials with side orders of lard, but he was remarkably quick and agile, particularly in getting to ground to spread himself.

The second half saw the Turts with the breeze now, and with the bulk of the forward momentum. The chances came and went, and the assaults on Gordie became more and more blatant. PK now began to over-lap down the right. The formerly chubby fullback has slimmed down remarkably of late, and is considering challenging Telboy in the Buff But Wrinkly Awards later this year. His pace got him clear for numerous crosses, but these were somehow all scrambled clear. Stevie took a string of free-kicks from the left as well, and except for Daryl putting a free header over, these came to nothing either. During all this, Gordie was being pushed and prodded and almost violated from behind.

After a while, Nascar got the ball on half-way and it was 2-0. Our pressure continued, and from another Stevie free-kick, Gordie loomed. A shove in the back saw him collide with the keeper as he punched clear. Weasel, out near the edge of the box, put a precise header back into the empty net. Not surprisingly, this was disallowed as the keeper lay prone on the ground. Turtle shots continued to rain in on goal, or rather over the top (Weasel closest with a right-footer) and also their keeper made two stops from Daryl in one-on-ones, and an amazing full-length low one from Gordie.

The defining moment was when Daryl skipped into the box, did his little flick turn, and was tripped by a badly timed boot. Nothing wrong with that apparently, and it was "play on".

About this time an exasperated Gordie started to take the piss a bit, and this wasn't appreciated by the low-life trailer park trash scum bogan, who used his prison experience to grievously assault the banking executive as he waltzed past him. This was the last straw for Wal, who tried to reason with the ref. Wal's highly tuned sales techniques can seldom have been met with so many blank vacant stares.

It just wasn't our day. Tel limped off, GT went to centre back, and Nascar got the ball on half-way: 3-0.

The Pieman and the Weasel were assaulted in quick succession, both attacks prompting a "play on".

Murray and PK both went off, and only Chris came on. Nascar got the ball on half-way: 4-0.

GT went off upfield, Dodge was by himself, Nascar got the ball on half-way: 5-0.

There. That's about 1000 words.