August 10th: Turtles 1 - Western Suburbs A  4
by Darrin "Zil" Wilkinson

"Gidday Wal, Phildo here. Just letting you know I can’t play on Saturday. You know how it is."

"Not really. What’s up?

"Working Saturday morning and Kerry’s relatives arrive in the afternoon. Don’t want to let her down. It’s tough raising kids these days, and I am a Sensitive New Age Guy."

"That was last decade, Phildo. No excuses. We need you for the game against Wests ‘A’. They haven’t lost since we beat them 4-2 in the first round. You scored with that great chip, remember?"

Sorry Wal, gotta go. Kerry’s calling. Good luck for Saturday". Click.

(Translated) "Wal, it’s Gordie. Can’t play Saturday – big interclub golf match at Paraparaumu. Who are we playing by the way?"

"Wests ‘A’, Gordie. Please reconsider. You own those guys, remember? You scored that great hat trick at Endeavour Park in the first round."

"Sorry Wal. Golf is more important to me. The Scots invented the game don’t forget."

"Makes sense. The Poms invented rugby, and they can’t play that either." Angry click.

"Wal, Spratty here. Just got back from my World trip yesterday. Who have we got?"

"Great to hear from you, Spratty. We’re playing top of the table Wests ‘A’ at Benburn."

"Er, actually, the body’s still not quite right. Remember that hammy problem I had?"

"Jesus, Spratty, that was seven weeks ago. And it was your groin."

"Groin – that’s it. Still hurts, Wal. And I picked up a few illnesses coming back through ‘Nam. Cholera, Typhoid, something like that. Really laid me out – I couldn’t drink for six hours. Better count me out. Probably won’t make it to the game, either. Good luck." Click.

Now Chris and PK have just bailed like rats leaving a sinking ship. The situation appears hopeless. I have but one choice available to me.

"Dodge, Wal here. I can’t play this Saturday. Going skiing in Queenstown with the family instead. You’re now the captain."

"Thanks for nothing, Wal. I have a game of indoor cricket on Saturday night, and didn’t really want a full game. What gives?"

"Under pressure from the family. Whatshername reckons I’m not spending enough time at home, so I’m taking her and the boys to Treble Cone for a long weekend."

"Fee."

"No, I’m not charging them."

"Fee is your wife’s name."

"Oh… right. Good luck for the game." Click.

"Hello, Dodge, Pieman here. Can’t play on Saturday. I have a cold."

"A cold? You just had a cold, you useless soft bastard. You sound all right to me."

"Oh, I can assure you it’s a cold. Merran works at the hospital. She’s good at diagnosing these things."

"I’m sure radiographers are well trained at detecting the common cold. You’re not bailing because we’re playing the top team, are you?"

"Are we playing the top team? I had no idea. Besides, just because we were the last side to beat them doesn’t mean we can’t beat them again."

"Who told you that? I certainly didn’t."

"Whoops, must go. Is that your other line?"

"Lucky for you it is. Get lost. Click. Hello?

"Dodge, Daryl here. Can’t play on Saturday – I have to work."

"Marvellous, just fucking marvellous."

Dodge: "Computer analysis requested."

Computer: "Recording"

Dodge: "Provide combined season goal tally of our strikers PJ, Lance and Frank."

Computer: "One goal scored".

Dodge: "Provide combined season goal tally of midfielders Sean, Zil, Murray, and Lawrie."

Computer: "One goal scored".

Dodge: "Fascinating."

Computer: "You can say that again."

The situation appears hopeless. I have but one choice available to me.

"Hello, Rat-a-deux? Dodger here. A wee problem has arisen for Saturday. I have, er, seven consecutive indoor cricket matches on Saturday, and can only play the first half. I propose to go through the motions of captaincy, then shower and depart quickly, leaving you to pick up the pieces at half-time and take full responsibility for our inevitable loss."

"Why me?"

"You have prior captaincy experience. Besides, I feel we need some right brain thinking to get us through this."

"How bad does it look?"

"In my opinion, not even Captain Kirk could get us out of this one. It’s the equivalent of Klingons attacking on one side, Romulans on the other, with the Enterprise heading at warp speed in to a black hole. The situation appears hopeless. By the way, are you 71 or 72?"

"Pardon?"

"The argument raging about how many episodes of Star Trek were actually made. The bone of contention is the episode called ‘The Cage’, also known as ‘The Menagerie’. Of course, everyone knows it was screened over two weeks, but fans can’t agree as to whether it constituted one or two episodes. Where do you stand on the issue?"

"Dodge, I don’t really have time for this… besides, I’m an ER man myself."

"Fair enough, I suppose – you obviously prefer the strong storylines and subtle humour."

"Not really. Abbey gives me the horn, and Carrie is now a confirmed lesbian. See you Saturday." Click.

The team talk was witty, if I do say so myself. I tried to keep everyone’s spirits up, and no slagging. Big Si’s ribs were still giving him trouble, so he requested a cushy little number away from any threat of confrontation. I magnanimously offered him the right-half position, and Big Si was as good as his word – he avoided all physical contact for the entire match.

As the game progressed, the enormity of our task quickly became apparent. The enemy attacked us at warp speed, with our responses confined to impulse power at best. They had numerous reinforcements primed to enter the fray, whereas our resources were stretched and supply lines vulnerable. Frank’s effectiveness didn’t last long – he suffered stomach muscle damage ("pulled his fat roll" according to the Pieman). Most of our attacks went through Sean, who controlled play well and battled hard throughout.

The enemy scored a direct hit when we failed to clear. A cross from the byline (which possibly went dead but floated back in to play) was collected at the far post. The ball was passed back in to the box for a comfortable finish. We responded quickly. A Zil corner curled towards goal. The keeper and a defender made a total hash of it, and the ball deflected in. They regained the lead when a nice through ball found their striker sandwiched between myself and Rat-a-deux. The situation did not appear threatening, but he struck it first time over an advancing Snouter. An excellent goal, although I suspect he was from the 71 camp. Peasant.

My tour of duty ended at half time. I bloused off quickly and didn’t pay a fine. Vice-captain out.

We were playing uphill, upwind and looking in to a setting sun. The situation appeared hopeless, and there were no choices available to me. We held our own for ten minutes before they gained ascendancy. They attacked in waves. Our strikers Lance and PJ hardly saw the ball, and received little support when they did. Wests eventually scored their third with a sublime touch and shot from their striker with his back to goal. As a lifelong Manchester City fan, I’m used to applauding good play from opposition teams. This was from the top drawer.

Murray then foot-tripped a player in the box. He vehemently disputed the penalty call, but the decision was obvious to everyone on the park except himself. Luckily for Muz, Snouter saved brilliantly to his left. The match ended as a spectacle five minutes later when a cross from their right found an unmarked player, who was allowed several minutes to compose himself and pick his spot.

I desperately racked my right brain to get us out of this mess, and devised the cunning strategy of pushing up the left wing in an effort to provide more go-forward. I cut a fairly lonely figure up there for the last ten minutes, and the opposition totally ignored me. With five minutes remaining we received our 32^nd goal kick of the half. It was then we discovered Tel had left the field unannounced for some undisclosed reason. For the second week running we were down to 10 players.

The final whistle was a blessing. I take full responsibility for the loss.

Muz washes jerseys and gets wife to sew the arses of five shorts back together.

In summary, Rat-a-deux was totally at fault. He was shot by firing squad this morning after hastily convened court martial, attended by myself on behalf of Starfleet Command. Tel was also executed for deserting his post. His court martial takes place 1 PM Friday at the Feathers, if anyone is interested.

Commendations go to GT, Muz and Sean for courage in the face of diversity. And of course Snouter, who picked up another MoM.

Vice-captain out.

[ HOME | 2006 SEASON | ALL-TIME | PLAYERS | LINKS ]

comments to:
don@soccer.net.nz