Former uber-webmeister and violent thug Don produced an analysis last year of the word count for the first match reports of each year, stretching back to when these reports first started in 1997. The implication of the steadily climbing trend was that the reporter concerned was getting a bit carried away with the keyboard, and producing increasingly bloated, irrelevant drivel.

Like any long-running, successful publishing business, Jetplane Press listens intently to its customers, even the ones at the sloping-forehead end of the evolutionary scale. 

We just can't afford to alienate potential readers, lest our sponsors get nervous and pull back (drink Guinness, for a smooth, rich movement the morning after).

So this season, even more than last, the writing of these match reports will be spread around. You'll be entertained, informed and, in the case of CJ, bored senseless. Back by popular demand will of course be Wal, who will once again reveal just what your average sales executive thinks about whilst locked up in a Seattle hotel room at two in the morning. Dodge will abuse those who deserve it, and Weasel will talk nicely about those who don't. Muzza will reveal for the first time what he really thinks about playing for the Turtles, and Big Si will reveal the secrets of man-breast reduction. PK will talk about journeys, and GT will do one in Cantonese. There will also be guest writers - a tinker, a tailor, a US Defence Secretary, and an Al Qaeda field operative. And naturally our new leader, Snout, will get his PA to bung something up in her lunch hour.

Whether these scribes will actually reveal any details of the games themselves will be part of the excitement of logging on each Tuesday morning. Or Wednesday maybe, depending on Telboy's technology. As to whether any of our beloved readers actually want to know about the games themselves is doubtful though, because, as many of you know, The Fabulous Turtles are now in, wait for it, Masters Div 2!!!!

Last season's bottom placing in Div One ensured our relegation, much to the delight of all concerned. A gentle, slower game appealed, after a season of chasing around after a succession of ex-top league players. To appropriately signify this change, the AGM of 2004 dumped the racy, erratic leadership of Wal for the portly, middle-aged comfort of Snouter. Initially this move appeared to have back-fired. Manager Grunter immediately shot off to Noosa with the team funds (having had the cheque co-signed by his brother), and there were rumours that Snout had employed himself, at $900 an hour, to wrap up the Turtle organisation and liquidate its assets (three flat balls and $4.35 in cash). But with just two days to go before the first game, a lovely little email came out inviting all and sundry to play, and "bring the family, there'll be a bouncy castle and a sausage sizzle, and a black-tie cocktail party in a marquee beside the pitch directly after the game".

On arriving at Crawford Green, there was much jolliness. The lads felt sunny and breezy, much like the weather. Our mood was further heightened by noticing that the opposition seemed to have the slight edge on us in the grey hair department. As for our own average age, the return of two former players chopped that back considerably. Gordie was returning after a season with the Wanderers. Rumours of him playing for Brodie's team turned out to be nothing more than the product of a drunken conversation between Brodie and Spratty (quite how they those two a business together is a mystery). Gordie was attracted back by the suitably of Masters Div 2 to his growing waist-line. And returning from overseas was the former boy-wonder, Glen (Rat III). Almost 20 years after his pubescent Turtle debut, Glen was signalling his resignation from all things youthful and ebullient by becoming a father, and joining his older and less talented brother in the Turtle midfield. Weasel has been drinking slightly more heavily than usual in recent weeks to mask the resentment of being back in his younger sibling's shadow.

With these two freshly qualified Masters, the mood was sprightly out on the field. For the first four minutes we stroked it around like spring chickens, laughing and cajolling each other, calling out "Ole" when PK did his first drag-back, and generally having a good time. Then we went one down, and last season's gloom descended.

Playing with the blustery wind, Seatoun had the first few attacks, and from one of these they got a corner. It was curled in at pace to the near post, where Steve Langridge rose majestically a full two centimetres off the ground to get a slap-headed skim off the top of his head, and over Snouter into the goal.

Stunned silence. Somewhere in the distance a child cried. A seagull circled. Or was it a buzzard. A cloud passed over the sun, and from across the street a strangely dressed man approached the ground strumming a mandolin. His sweet, high voice carried across the ground as he sang:

"They came to play another season of dross;

these Turtles who look like they'll suffer another loss;

can they really take more Saturday's of woe;

surely they know now it's time to let go.

With a hey, and ho, and a hey nonny no..."

Grunter, arriving late as usual, took the corner off the main road too fast, mounted the curb, and ran the troubadour over. The laughter drowned out the poor chap's screams as his pelvis shattered under the weight of Grunter's front tyre, and the match got back underway.

The Turts settled down to some more decent passing. Muzza and Chris in the middle facilitated expertly, with Weasel and PK doing the hard yards up the sides. Weasel had a serious battle with Rob the physio on our left. In a one man good-cop/bad-cop performance, Rob frequently applauded good Turtle play, and the next minute trampled roughly on the Weasel's heel. A couple of Turtle corners got us going, and from the second of these Weasel sent over a measured ball to the far post. What was needed was a man; a big man; an inspirational man of presence, charisma and no little skill. Did we have such a man? Well, no, but Tel arrived, rose, and sent a header goalwards. It was blocked, and Tel netted the rebound with aplomb. We were under way, and the grey mist of season 2003 lifted.

Gordie came on, and it felt like the old days. Only slower. PK bamboozled a couple of defenders up the right with an overly complicated serious of three-point turns, sent in a low ball into the box, and Gordie scuffed in a back-heel. It all felt quite jolly, but there was still work to be done at the back. With Telboy striding away whenever he felt like it, Muzza and Chris did a fair bit of cover. There was plenty of threat - the oppo had a really good central chap who pulled the strings, and a big guy who carried it forward up the left. Snouter had to pull off one solid save, and Dodge and Steve L both made several last ditch tackles to stop threatening movements.

The big change from last year was the extra time we had on the ball, and as a result there was lots of flowing passing. Even across the back four, for goodness sake. With Gordie and Glen holding the ball up, and Lance having some success with his turns, it all looked very nice. Weasel put a cross on Lance's head, but his effort went straight at the keeper. PK came in from the right and shot just across the front of goal. Little did we know then how many more times that was to happen. Another Turtle goal came later in the half from a move that has been lost to Alzheimers, although we think Glen scored it.

In turning round with the wind at our backs, the result didn't really seem in doubt once the initial efforts of the oppo had been repelled. There was a minor alarm when Snouter trotted off his line to prod hesitantly at a threatening loose ball, and Big Si later elected to leave a ball that came into the box, just to give the lads around him a bit of practise, but otherwise the play was mostly up the other end.

There was room all over the park, and our relative youthfulness started to tell. The primary channel was through the middle, and where Phildo and Glen had all the right touches. PK out on the right got regular ball, and soon enough started shooting. The poor chap had played 68 games without scoring before this one, a Turtle record. It just has to be mentioned that even Tripod Carruthers managed one goal in 53 appearances. The resurgent PK is so fit that he is always going to find space in this grade, so surely the goal would come. Shot after shot was scooped over or wide. By the twenty-minute mark, a shot clock had been employed - within 24 seconds of receiving the ball, PK had to shoot. This he did 12 times. 

This one-man comedy act was punctuated with goals from those who knew how. A Glen through ball was tapped under the keeper by Gordie. Muzza rampaged into a gap and blasted brutally over the advancing keeper (rumours that Muzza followed up that goal by shouting obscenities and flashing his willy were later discounted). A free-kick from out on the right was curled in delightfully by a mystery Turtle, and nodded powerfully home by Big Si.  Glen and Gordie combined to create havoc on the edge of the box, and Glen delivered the last touch around the keeper into the bottom corner. And finally Gordie almost certainly tapped in a simple chance from a good passing move somewhere around the place, but no-on can really remember for sure.

Injury-wise, Big Lance was the unlucky one. In making one of his turns, the poor chap had his foot stood on by a beaten defender, and he badly twisted his knee. He was inconsolable as he limped away in search of ice. And beer, which can help.

All the while, PK's shots rained in, to a chorus of "unlucky PK", "it'll come mate", "for fuck's sake, not another one", and "get him off someone". Others who had wayward shots, notably Stevie H and Weasel, got off scott-free by comparison. Snouter later promised that PK will take the pens this year, should we ever get one, regardless of the game situation. A sign of his touchy-feely, tree-hugging, cuddling-teddy-bear style of leadership.

So the season was under way in fine style. A false dawn? Let’s hope so - we certainly don't want to win this league and get promoted.