August 28th: Turtles 1 (1) - Island Bay 1 (2)
By Darrin "Zil" Wilkinson
OLYMPIC SOCCER FINAL
It wasn’t meant to be like this. The
final of the world’s most popular sport in the world’s biggest sporting
extravaganza transferred twice on Saturday morning, from the Te
Whiti Park Aquatic Centre to Brian Heath’s place in
Wainui (turns out he was expecting visitors that afternoon) and finally to
Trentham Memorial Park. The anticipated crowd of fifty thousand fans were left
thoroughly confused by the constant venue changes, with the result being not one
spectator showed up for this showcase event, if you don’t count Grunter’s son.
As an aside, Brian Heath ended up with far more visitors than he bargained for,
so his wife Ethyl had to pop round to the shops for some extra sausage rolls.
Conditions
for the gold medal match were less than ideal. Facilities scored an
unprecedented zero due to the lack thereof – we changed on a deck. The ground
condition wasn’t great either; it would later be described as “Somme-ish”. The
game started in watery sunshine that was quickly replaced by just water. The
Turtles quickly got into their stride against the 10-man Stop Out. Wal attacked
down the right, and delivered a sumptuous pass to Glenn at the far post for an
easy tap-in. 1-0, and the Turts were relaxed and confident. However, it wasn’t
all plain sailing. The defence was showing more hesitancy than usual against a
side that constantly harried the back markers. Mistakes were being made with
increasing frequency. Dodger, chief mascot and cheerleader for the back four,
tried to rally the troops: “Come on, GT, you’re not playing up to your usual
high standards. Try not to keep passing it to their number 11, OK?” he cooed.
Elsewhere, the midfield struggled to make progress in the mud. The service from
the flanks was often poor, and the strikers struggled to hit the target. Stop
Out equalized when a shot from the edge of the penalty area took a deflection
off Big Si’s boot. An otherwise innocuous shot suddenly became a viciously
spinning orb, looping over Snouter’s flailing flabby arms and dipping below the
crossbar. The oppo went ahead soon after, when a heavily contested corner fell
to an unmarked man on the far post. 2-1 behind, but no one seemed too concerned,
particularly Dodge. He continued to encourage and exhort, liberally dispensing
bum-pats to anyone who came within range.
The second
half saw the Turts again start strongly. Stop Out’s defence was placed under
severe pressure for the first fifteen minutes. They held on grimly, with a
combination of excellent goalkeeping and rugged defence keeping us at bay. The
best chance by far fell to Spratty, who received the ball unmarked in front of
goal, only to fail utterly and inexplicably to get a shot away. While most of
us shook our heads and said nothing, Dodger again became the voice of reason: “Spratty”,
he purred, “How much time do you f*cking want?” (Dodger later claimed he was
misquoted).
We continued
to press forward, but it was fast becoming one of those days. Our moneymen up
front were firing blanks for a change, with Gordie in particular re-directing
his renowned potency to other leisure activities these days. But that’s another
story (and congratulations too). Our attacks eventually became bogged down in
the Trentham mud, and a stalemate quickly ensued. About this time Stevie
decided to don his superhero outfit, prance upfield and save the day for the
Turtles. He sprinted forward to the penalty spot, leaving a rather large hole
at left back, and no instructions on how to fill it. In theory it became Zil’s
job to mark their number five, but it was all just too difficult really. The
oppo number five enjoyed considerable freedom for the rest of the match,
although he occasionally got lonely and wandered in for a chat. At right back,
PK was champing at the bit for some serious goal action. He took off for a
while, leaving Muz to wander around at the back, coping as best he could.
Meanwhile,
Stevie had found himself a nice spot inside the penalty box, unfolded his deck
chair, and waited for the opportunity to smack a couple home. Some distance
behind him, the skirmishes continued in the trenches. The heavy ground made
progress difficult, and the game deteriorated further as a spectacle.
Eventually, the Turtles made one last desperate assault on goal. We ‘went over
the top’ with about fifteen minutes to go, throwing large numbers at their
defensive line. Some forward momentum was gained – contact was re-established
with Stevie, who by this time had built himself a nice little 2-bedroom
character house with an indoor jacuzzi. Progress again stalled against a
resolute Stop Out defence. Seeing the writing on the wall, Zil subbed off for
PK. Within seconds PK made a withering run down the left, then collapsed with a
scream that would have done Jurgen Klinnsman proud. It looked and sounded bad,
particularly with the calls coming out from middle, starting with the bucket,
and moving in quick succession to a doctor, a priest, an undertaker, and finally
a shovel. Stevie, who heard the cries while soaking in his Jacuzzi while
watching Waikato thump Auckland on Sky, kindly dialed 111 on his recently
installed landline. Back at the scene, while Tel was digging a shallow grave
and Big Si delivered a moving eulogy, PK suddenly sat up and announced “I’m
feeling better now”, and walked off. Zil came back on, but as a tactical ploy
continued to steer well clear of the oppo number five. Inevitably, Stop Out
began to counter-attack. These were particularly dangerous, because we had no
one left at the back. Number five was probably involved in some of these moves,
one of which led to their third goal. The gold medal was gone, and eventually
Davey J (who had a blinder as ref) blew for time.
As the
Turtles trudged wearily back to the patio to change (except for Stevie, who was
negotiating a house sale), Brendan Telfer managed to conduct a brief interview
with the fallen skipper. The transcript follows:
BT: Well,
here I am with Snouter, captain of the brave Turtles side. Your thoughts on the
game today?
SC: I’m disappointed, naturally,
Brendan. Disappointed for the team, and disappointed with the Greek Organising
Committee for their choice of venues. To entice us to play in these Olympics,
we were promised a new Stadium and all the CDs of Zorba the Greek we could
handle. As you can see, the GOC didn’t front. It appears soccer is the poor
relation of Olympic sport these days – the IOC and the fans don’t seem to care.
We were tempted to flag this match away.
BT: Strong
words indeed. You were definitely caught between the devil and, er, a hard
place.
SC: I think
you will find the saying is ‘a rock and the deep blue sea’, Brendan.
BT:
Nevertheless, surely the honour of playing for your country is more important?
New Zealand has just won gold and silver in the same event – I’m almost positive
this has never happened before.
SC: To be
honest, we just wanted to hang out in the Olympic Village and sh*g some Major
League talent, like Inge de Bruijn, the Australian rowing eight, or that Russian
polevaulter. I could go on.
BT: But what
about the silver medals themselves? Surely they must be a source of pride for
the team?
SC: I
suspect they were purchased from The Warehouse, actually. In fact, several of
the guys have already eaten the chocolate centres. Now, if you’ll excuse me,
I’m playing Wal shortly in the Olympic Mens Tennis Final in Newlands.
BT: There
you have it folks, Snouter leaving the ground to represent his country again,
this time in men’s tennis. It should be an exciting affair, and the guaranteed
gold and silver medals will certainly help our medal tally. In fact, this will
be the first time New Zealand has ever finished first and second in the same
event…
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