Nannas 7 plays 3

Attendance: CB, CG, JH (MOM), RH, TH, TW

So it had been a bad week. In fact, it had been a bad month, a shit month in fact. And I am sure it had something to do with the fact that I hadn’t played for the Nannas in all that time.

But before I was able to let a month of frustrations out on the court, Hinkley and I went to the pub and things started to turn around. Even though I had to pay for the big man’s beer, it is amazing how much I missed him. It was great to discuss my horrible working arrangements, golf, and other most interesting stuff, and then we turned our attention to the game. We were playing the bottom placed side, and, as Hinkley said, it would be a good test of where we were at in the competition.

Well, the other team weren’t bad. A few of their number had some nice moves and one shot on goal from one of them was particularly impressive (beating Gilla at the near post). Having said all that, they hardly ever broke us down. The Nanna defence was tight and what’s more, we were holding onto the ball very well. To be sure, this was a strong team that the Nannas put out on this evening. Yes, Coach was sick (with what I don’t know), Chassy only had on one knee to run his two legs, Tao was in a fighting mood, and I was grumpier than a young bull during mating season, but we held it together pretty damn well.

I don’t really remember the goals in the first half. I am pretty sure Gilly got a couple of long range efforts, and there was talk of one by Chassy from a Tao pass, or was it the other way around.

Anyway, I think we were in front at half time, 3-2.

The second half is all about me. I know I am being a little self-indulgent here but I think I am sort of justified. I remember thinking as we ran on to the field after the break that I might not have the legs to run out the second half (after so long away from the game) but then I forgot about that and got busy scoring goals. The first was a long-range effort after I picked up the ball in midfield and was given a bit of space. I tried the toe poke, and it came off perfectly. I caught it just on the outside of my foot and I got that sweet that it curved inside out and into the top left corner of the goal. I got a big congratulation from one of the opposition for that one.

Next, I got the ball close to their goal but with my back turned. I heard various cries from my brother Nannas to pass it but I thought fuck it, and pushed the ball out to my left and had a crack. I am not really sure how it went in but I think it got a deflection or two. No matter; now we were 5-2.

After that, Gilla threw a long one, which he made bounce up for my left to follow through on and guide past their keeper and into goal. That one was particularly satisfying it has to be said.

Afterwards, we went for burgers at some place, somewhere north side (the city really does confuse me these days). Gilla brought out the blonde (I think) and from there the night got particularly hazy. It has to be said though, I did have one of the nicest rides (to the train station). The bike path from East Brunswick, through Carlton past Princess Park, Royal Park Golf course, and the Zoo is terribly agreeable at around 9 pm on a balmy night after blonde, burgers and beer. It is very smooth, mostly downhill, although somewhat dark and ominous in places. I almost fell off only once.

Apparently the other Nannas went for blonde later too. I think there might have been ice cream involved. Hard to say.

vs Men in Black (lost 4-7)
CB 1, DC 2, RH 1, AW, TH, CG(gk)

Birthday week.
Not just me.
Paul, Fiona, Me, Alice, Jim.
Consecutively.

Anyway. I drove. Picked up the tropical coq and ventured through the industrial badlands of Outer Coburg to the shiny new venue. Hells yeah! Soft and slippery that vinyl. The viewers are a little removed from the action lending a more gladiatorial feel to the court. Just players and the ref. Not even subs on court unless subbing.

So we were up against the Men in Black. A couple of them are as young as they are portly. One of them is as old as a Nanna, while looking older than a Nanna (though he did manage to outsprint this Nanna down the wing and score). For the record, dude is 43.

Ref blows his whistle. Men in Black kick off. It’s on. It’s nil all. For quite a while. Then they get a goal. Then Gill tries to rearrange his nut sack and inadvertently pulls his calf. Full flagellation of the veal. He’s whimpering. He’s limping. Wait! He’s doing a zomby impression. Or is it a new dance? The Nannas avert their collective eyeballs. It’s embarrassing. Or is it? Is it funk that is so deep, so raw and so nu that it can’t be perceived yet? The forward funk? The future of the forward?

Umm, no. None of the above. Giller is actually injured. He leaves the court. Nannas are down to 5. Coach steps into the goals. We concede more goals. Then we get some. I pass it to Cocky and he finishes it cleaner than a box of dishwashing powder. Cocky passes it to me and I get a delicate little whisper of a shadow of a flicker of a touch to the ball and it goes in! Oui! Oui! Oui! There was another goal and another and you know what? The scoreline is 4-5 to them. It’s close, very close. Close like Glenn. But then. Oh then. Dang it to the very rim of the anus of Fiona Craig’s cow Lola; they scored two more goals. 4-7. Men in Black have rinsed the final chunks of faecal matter from their collectively victorious bowel with the brown cleansing enema fluid of Nanna defeat.

So then we took it to the local. The Post Office Hotel. Wagyu burgers all round. Apart from Tom who was having too much fun and decided to bring it down a notch by having a blackbean burger. And Gill who was delirious, thought he was at the Embassy and ordered a ham and cheese sandwich. And Cocky who needed the belly of the pig. All washed down with Coburg lager. True.

But later. The next night. The real Nanna A took it to the forum to see Steve. And then to Mr Melville to have hugs with Steve and let him suck the vape. Cocky had the first lips-on-vape after Steve so he pretty much kissed Flylo. But I hugged him. Shio took us there. She is part of Nanna A now. Best gig this year fools! If not ever!!

Peace out>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Bitch.

7-8 v No Snow White – 9.20pm Coburg
DC(3), CG(gk,1), RH, TH,TK, AW, TW (nb: other goal credits still to be confirmed)

Old King lion is king of the jungle. He lives there, in the jungle, with all the other animals that he is the king of and all the plants and trees and insects and all the other shit that lives in the teeming jungle. But in the wastelands, where there is nothing, nothing but ice and sleet and sharp rocks and more ice, there lives another animal, forgotten and lost, wandering for months in the arctic winter. Sad and desperate, in a kind of amnesiac post traumatic fugue state the lone wolf traverses the polar wilderness in search of that which he has unremembered…

And then one day everything changes. The fugue state lifts, memories of the savannah come flooding back in a synaesthetic deluge, an avalanche of meaning and substance. Inundated with purpose, density, mass, weight, shape and structure the lone wolf begins his journey back. With each degree of latitude comes new awareness, a steadily increasing sense of collectivism and self organising complexity. Like a kind of highly evolved slime mould his very cells begin to realign and transmogrify, shifting and changing. As the mighty equatorial plains of Africa unfurl before him he finds he is no longer the lone wolf, lost in the wastelands of the north, but part of a greater whole, a unified system of the world.

He is once again a part of old King Lion. He is home.

vs Coconut Soldiers
won 13-12 (on aggregate and after extra time)
score 8-10 (for the single game)

TW 1, RH 3, TH(GK), CB 1, DH 3
CB MOM

First, we didn’t think we had a team. For a final! This beggars belief. Once upon a slice of time there were an abundance of mighty Nan-men tendering their good qualities to upper management for the chance of making the hallowed company of the magnificent seven. But now we don’t even have five starters. Then mighty D-HEN stood up so tall he put a hole in the roof of Carolina.

Second, I put my hand up to play goalie due to my unmentionable genua. It was a desperate situation, I had no choice. Then old man T-HO gets on the blower and pours all manner of sweet nothings, slippery commendations and honeyed words into my ear. The upshot was: “you’re not playing keeper son”.

Third, Tao and I are upstairs getting changed. Kamahl asks to join the Nannas. He says he finds our teamwork inspiring and he just hopes that he can be as….

Goals CB 2 CG 1 MOM RH against table leaders?

What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?

I’ll tell you what happens, the unstoppable force does really well for the first half and then falters a little until the immovable object wears the force down and it is rendered stoppable and theneventually stops and then after a while actually starts to move back in the opposite direction, making it an unstoppable force once again – but in reverse.
Except
There is no right direction in space so even thought the unstoppable force has bounced off an immovable object and was, for an instant, stationary, it is now moving again and ready to blunder throught the universe with nothing able to stop it, because it is now travelling away from the immovable object.
So we owe a great debt to the punks that beat us because now we are once again travelling at great speed.

The game itself was tight and hard, an oxymoron, or perhaps a slice of perfection.

Chassey cut them up with fine running through the middle, Gilla scored a classic, I say a classic keepers goal with the mighty left, cocky showed why he is the coach of the new millenium and
A NEW NANNA WAS BORN.

that is right, Matt, the worlds unfittest man played for the Nannas, never has a ref showed so little ball skills.

He is not part of the unstoppable force

To nanna

The Nannas first birthed a colour
A child from the union of man and sport
That colour then birthed a team.
Ten children bound by one colour.
The Nannas now birth a word.

And one night did bring this word forth.
One night of unholy union.
One night so bright, so strong, so powerful.
That it split a noun in two.
The night that split a noun.
The night that birthed a verb.
A word to convey an action.
The night that defined what it is.
to nanna

When shards of frozen steam dive downwards from the heavens
When blood boils from every pore
When the screams of the last ever death have long since been silenced .
When hope has been buried in Hades beneath the rotting corpse of dreams
When the sun has devoured the earth and the moon and the stars
When all traces of light have been removed from the universe.
Then and only then
Will Nannas stop running.

And until that day
All Nannas will nanna.

The Triumph

fly, unloved losing streak, till thou run out thy race;
Call instead upon the lazy leaden-stepping one hit wonders,
Whose speed is but the heavy plummet’s pace;
And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And merely mortal dross;
So little is their paltry loss,
So mighty a victory is our gain.
As when the single carriage bestrode the path;
Quintuplicate solidus gather’d within prodigous girth.
For when, as each bad pass and miskick hast entomb’d
And last of all thy greedy self consumed,
When injuries steer us not from thy truest quest,
And rightous Shots on Goal thus manifest.
Then long eternal winning shall greet our bliss,
With the ardent seven fold kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us, as a flood,
When every thing that is sincerely good,
And perfectly divine,
With speed, and pace, and possession, shall ever shine,
About the supreme brown throne
Of those, to whose happy-making sight, alone,
When once our golden-gilded soul shall climb,
Then all this earthly grossness quit,
Attired with stars of brown and gold, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over our vanquished foes, and thee, O losing streak!

‡
 

lost 3-5 vs Spartans?
CB MOM 2, RH 1, TH, TW, GF, CG

Yo people, we had a game that we lost. Let’s have a closer look. The final score was 5-3. They scored 5 goals and we scored 3. Here’s the thing. We started at 0-0 and in the first half of the first half (the first quarter if you will), it was like the Nannas were not quite fully on. You know the low power consumption fluorescent globes we all have these days. You turn them on and they seem a bit dull and not very bright and then may be 10 minutes later they are significantly brighter. As bright as you would hope a light should be.

So this is the Nannas. The game starts and we are on. We’re definitely ‘on’, but we’re just a little bit dull and dim. And while we’re in our slightly dim state the opposition score a couple of goals. Now, the opposition are a team that the Nannas have not played before and they have a style of play that is quite different to what we are used to. They are delicate and gentle with the ball and don’t go in for big body contact. They have footskills, they have fluidity. They’re not whip crack sharp but they’re slightly bewildering. Their style is something new.. a fusion of other teams’ styles that we have played. I call it the ‘banana style’. It’s slippery, delicately flavoured and it has the potential to make a cake out of the Nannas.

But. The big but. Somewhere around the first quarter mark, the gradual brightening of the eco-Nannas has suddenly reached its zenith. And we are on. We are bright. We are glowing. We begin to decode the bewildering banana. It no longer goes around us. Perhaps the Nannas can make a cake out of the banana instead of the other way around. The writer gets a goal. Which the writer can actually remember for once. Perhaps the online brain gym is actually working for the writer. Ok here it is.

“I get the ball.. I’m in front of the oppostion’s goals yet quite far to the right. I line up the shot. I see the bottom far corner of the goal. It looks good. It looks open. I’m thinking.. I’m gonna put it there, right there. And then I shoot. The ball hugs the floor, crosses the goal mouth and goes right into that bottom corner.”

At half-time we are 3-1 down. We pretty much repeat the pattern of the first half. Start dim, lose a couple of goals, brighten up and then fight back. The second half is actually a draw 2-2. The writer gets another goal (which he can’t really remember) and the Captain also gets one (which unfortunately the writer cannot really remember either.. suffice to say that it was awesome and banging and a classic captain’s special).

Personal apologies must go out to Tao. Sorry for calling you a name Tao. There is no excuse for it and I will try to be a bigger man this week.

After the match we took it random styles to the Thornbury Local. The Captain was happy with the reduced hipster factor but equally dismayed by the wall mosaic and the feral factor. There was live music. The label mogul shook his thing but remained seated. His impassive countenance revealed little and it seems unlikely that there will be any new signings. He did think about photographing the Dr Poppy sign until he realised it was an ad for ganja. Speaking of ganja, Coach and the funky nanna were seen departing the Thornbury Local for some unknown purpose and later seen re-entering the Local with noticeably reduced bombast.

PS A note on passing and shooting. (Basic tip #1)

I have been thinking a lot recently about the importance of looking at your target before you shoot or pass. And after a lengthy discussion with Tony Brown (head of coaching at FC Clifton Hill and no relation) on the subject, I feel sufficiently vindicated in my personal musings to bring them to the table of basic tips.

Here is the sequence.

1. Look at the ball.

2. Look at your target.

3. Look back at the ball. Kick the ball.

This may seem quite straight forward and simple but it can make a huge difference to your aiming. Often what happens is one sees the target/ person they are passing to in their periphery and then attempts to make the pass or shot.

YOU MUST EYEBALL THE TARGET

This enables your eye-brain-foot calibration to work. It’s a wondrous thing.

CB, TH, AW, JH, GF, RH(MOM), TK(MOM)

Anger produces an instantaneous surge, which causes your eyes wide open, blood pressure to elevate and your heart to get excited. Let’s get our hairs on the back of neck stand up. We are ready for action. We’re born with a capacity for anger. Anger isn’t something that has to be learned or earned, like other such such ship. It is blasting 50 Cal. Just need better control like someone started to use telescopic sight on top of it at Falkland Crisis. Charge the anger till the time you release.

vs a team that no longer exists at a place that isn’t there anymore.

Once, about 13 years ago, there was a man, and he made a little baby lion by pleasuring an older she-lion with his sperm, and despite what you may think you know about genetics, the little baby lion didn’t come out as half man-half lion, it came out to be all lion. Now the man, as men were want to do back in those days, went about his business without much regard to for the baby lion, but the she-lion, as mothers have been want to do throughout the ages, cared for her little baby lion. As the little baby lion lay suckling at the hairy teat of the she-lion she whispered in it’s little baby lion ears; “As the product of both Man & Lion you are destined for greatness for you will possess the finest attributes of each of them. You will have the strength and savagery of Lion and the wisdom and guile of Man, but you must also be wary for the worst attributes are want to manifest as well.”

Sure enough the little baby lion grew great and powerful. Those who saw him coming feared him, for his jaws were gleaming razors attached to titanium vices, his paws were spiked clubs attached to hydraulic wrecking arms, and his roar shattered the bowels of those who would stand in his way. As he aged he became more powerful, he fought and slew creatures much more powerful than he. He bested foes against whom he had no realistic chance. His legend was total and all bowed before him and called him sire for he was Old King Lion.

Then the man who fathered the Lion felt a stirring in his loins. He thought of his progeny, he wondered what had become of him, he had heard stories from far off lands of the mighty Old King Lion, and he was curious whether Old King Lion might be his offspring. So he journeyed far, seeking Old King Lion, looking for a mighty warrior, a fighter afraid of no-one, besting all who he came up against, but there was no sign of such a beast. The man thought many times of giving up, but the desire to see his scion burned strong within him, so he traveled further and further eventually crossing the river that divided the lands to the South Side. A side where depravity and vice were strong; where hedonistic pleasures were routinely taken at the expense of other less fortunate beings; where sickness and perversion were so pervasive as to be more present than the air being breathed; where moral turpitude festered upon souls of the inhabitants like a cancerous bile duct spurting gangrenous pus onto a duendena; a place lousy with licentiousness, lechery, prurience, and obscenity. There he found what had once been Old King Lion.

He found what had once been Old King Lion camped out in a puddle of his own piss gumming off prostitutes. Old King Lion had hit rock bottom, he was a hooker’s hooker. His fur was mangy and bescabbled, with rancid bits of indeterminate matter coated around his rectal area. His johnston had been rubbed raw in some sort of onanistic dementia, as though in some part of his mind he was still the king and he was getting some. But he wasn’t, and he wasn’t. He was nothing. Opponents who used to fear him in battle barely even bothered fighting him, they’d just rock up and take a shit on his head and laugh at him, or make him drink petrol for cigarette butts, or watch him while he self harmed his own testicles with mouse traps and car jacks, or bend him over and have their way with him, cracking him across the back of the head with a bit of old 4 by 2 with a nail hanging out of it while what had once been Old King Lion maniacally laughed green snot bubbles out the hole where his septum used to be, wailing ‘still the king’ repeatedly in an out of key falsetto.

The man cradled the broken Old King Lion in his arms as a creamy discharge from one of the broken Old King Lion’s pustulant sores slowly wept into the man’s brown cardigan. “I’m getting you out of here,” said the man as a tear rolled down his cheek, “I’m taking you Northside, where you can be king again.” And parts of the Old King Lion were like: “Hmmm, I dunno maybe”, and other parts were whiny like: “But this is the only place we know”, and one particularly recalcitrant part was like: “its a bit harder for me to catch a train from there”. And the man said: “For fuck’s sake! There’s Hampton shit in your hair, and a mousetrap on your nuts. Pack up your kit right now we’re going!” And so they went.

And went they did, deep Northside, further north than any of the parts of Old King Lion believed was possible to go. And as they traveled Old King Lion’s strength returned, his sores healed and his mind sharpened. He knew he would have to fight again, for real this time, no back down, no surrender. And when he stepped into the ring he saw a fearful looking opponent from the east, but pretty much 30 seconds into the fight it turned out it was just a tiny little puppy dog in a bow tie with a pink ballon with kitten on it. The Old King Lion roared and the tiny little puppy dog fouled itself, and the Old King Lion raised his once again mighty paw and brought it down upon the tiny little puppy dogs head with the maximum power available and thereupon repeated the action until the little puppy dog was just a stain on the court.

The man smiled, Old King Lion was back.

4-7 v Real Madredful – 6pm Wesley
CB, DC(3,mom), GF(1), CG, RH, TW – supporters OTG, PTG, SB

All the talk was of Preston this week. From my perspective it was all to do with an ill fated house purchasing scenario just south of Bell St, what a freakin’ nightmare. From the Captain’s perspective it was all about Hoddle Street/Punt Road and how we might avoid the weekly monoxide nightmare it has come to represent. Apparently they have spare places in a Preston comp on a Thursday … we’ll see. I for one am up for it but I do harbour grave fears for the structural integrity of the Nannas™ if we were to attempt a move. Morale is low, commitment is lower, the thursday night impromptu has not been see in the wild for a very, very  long time. A move at this point could prove disastrous.  On the other hand it could be just what the brown brothers need to kick start that old  joie de vivre that is so sorely missing… perhaps we should put it to the voter®… or a forum poll perhaps.

The 6 o’clock game is fucker, or if you are the coach, a fister. It played absolute havoc with our transportation ( more grist for the preston mill). I met Giller and the Captain oustide Clifton hill station ( is that a first ? a pickup from PT ?) after a frisk and wriggle with the met police.  We made better than expected time on boulevard of evil and arived… wait for it… 32 mins… that’s right…32 mins early, which was odd. Visitor© and Brown© arrived a little closer to kickoff but no sign of teh Nannas whose names stat with “Ta” so it was a Tight 5 for the first half until Bestlooking© managed to fight his way through the traffic, making us 6 for the second half. Cheezles opened the scoring with a deftly placed shot which was followed quickly by one from the author (a rather novel event) putting the brown and gold 2 ahead after about 5 mins. By half time it was 2 all and 4-7 at the final whistle. We played pretty well for the most part with some good passing, nice running and a great goal at the end (if I do say so myself) but they were killing us on the counter and had a couple of footskills too many. ah well.

The standard post 6 o’clock game full impromptu failed to materialise due to total nanna nannalyness leaving giller and the author to go to Huxtaburger for a mandate ( and full props to huxtaburger fro remembering the forgotten burger), followed by a brief tour of smith street’s artistic output, we were even planning to have a look at Alice’s opening… dirty… but then the tram arrived, so the author didn’t get to… but giller did.

– – – – – – – – –

Preston #1, the one that got away…

Preston #2, the harsh graphic reality…

vs South Melbourne
loss 5-10
CB 2 MOM, JH,DC 1,TW, TK(gk), AW, GF, TH (coach)

Tom set the tone with his excellently selected tie. Papou came along to support us.

We started the game with a little jolt of confidence as we appeared to be holding the opposition well. This little jolt is actually not what we need because it weakens our resolve and opens up our vulnerabilities.

So there we were with our vulnerabilities gaping wide open and telling our homeboys we were scoping. And that was enough encouragement for the frenchy opposition to take us to school. And not in a walking bus.

One day we will win again.

5-4 v Left Footers

CB(2), RH(1)(MOM), DC(MOM), AW, TH, CG

There is something satisfying in hitting rock-bottom, it is solid, it’s grounding, it provides a platform.
Because rock bottom is where the Nannas find themselves. It’s not that we played badly for the entire match, in fact we were all over them for much of the match.

What the Nannas can’t do is finish a match well, we can lose from any position.

We started well, good goals, Chassey slamming one from halfway, some great set-ups allowing me to pop one home we were confident and moving well. Bit Then. Self doubt, nervousness a lack of cohesion, splintering in offence and defence, a static foward line, simple mistakes. These problems all point to an issue with our mental game, we have lost any belief in ourselves and unfortunately when we’re against the wall we stop working together and try to individually solve problems rather than working as a TEAM. That is where the nannas are at their best.

.

5-5 v Blue Steel

DC(1), RH(2), GF, JH(2), AW, TW, TK(M)

Fear. When the fear crawls up to your ear. What is your action?

You may feel some fear when you see a man with a knife who you don’t know resting beside your bed when you wake up. You may feel some fear when you suddenly see zombies 10m away in dark. You may feel some fear in unfamiliar combat you don’t feel good about.

We know what to do before the negative conditions drive us to uncertainty, fear, panic. We always manage this well and we love this moments as there are no script writers, no excuse, no time to wait, no time to say words. So we just perform twice more accurate, 0.9 – 1.3 times faster how ever you feel comfortable.

Nannas was leading the game. The score was 5-2. 2 minutes to go. Lost 3 goals. The score was 5-5 at the end.

Thinking about the next game against this team? Yes me too. I remember the last 2 min.

PS. great goal the Nannas.

1-2 v Hamptons

DC(m), CB, RH, GF, JH(1), TK, TW, AW

Holy crapsticles, what a day. What a freakin’ week !

Thursday the 31st of January 2013 as pointed out by the Visitor™ has rather a nice symmetry to it. Not only that but it has a deep significance for the author as it was on this day that he marked his 40th complete revolution of the sun. That’s right, 31.1.13 was a big day.

For the Match Report™ I was planning to do something of a comic book photo essay detailing the activities of the day from rise to crash but after starting it all seems a bit too much given Wal is picking me up in less than two hours.

After a brief sleep in I got out of bed, opened cards from the young children and received apologies for lack of present from the wife. Breakfast involved lovely (very pink) company and great coffee but a rather shit breakfast. I definitely don’t recommend the bacon, fig and onion chutney from penny farthing at all, more than a slight suggestion of mince on toast from the Tokaora tea rooms !

Lunch, now this is where it started to get good. I brief whip into the studio was followed by PT into the city to meet up with the Captain and Brown at Gills Diner. After some rather delicious local beers (it’s the year of the IPA according to the Captain) and a round of coffin bay oysters ( and discussion about excessive decorative rock salt use) I had the porterhouse (grass fed) with triple cooked chips and heirloom carrots. My colleagues had the free range pork coteletta with Italian coleslaw. I felt slightly guilty getting the steak as it seemed a bit bland, you know how restaurants always seem to have a nice safe steak with straight up veges for the Dad to get ‘cos he doesn’t like that fancy shit. Any way after some discussion with the waitress about ‘very rare’ v ‘blue’ I ordered rare… of course it came out medium (idiots) but i didn’t have the heart to send it back, and it did taste fantastic… as did the fig salad and the continued IPA drinking.

Leaving Gills, we went in search of bar. Unfortunately our groovy new secret underground back alley bar knowledge has accrued about 15 years of rust so went to the rooftop bar. Points in it’s favour: the view – Points against: No shots ??? and a group of flouro-vested-middle-aged-tourists gawping at the jobless patrons. Ah well, the sun was out and Chassy spilled a $16 margarita while talking us through it’s purchase. We were quite tipsy by this point and the concern was mounting on the forum.

From curtain house we jumped on a tram with the notion of having enough time to squeeze in one more drink. No sooner were we on the tram than the heavens opened up with ‘red on the weather radar’ level tropical downpour. There was much laughter and Photostream™ commenting as we trundled down St Kilda Rd. A crazed dash through the rain had us in the Belgian beer cafe sipping on Patron and noting the whiskey like flavours of a high quality tequila.

And then to the game. There was much mockery and laughter but the 3 of us were pumped, except that i had no kit due to a family stuck in traffic north of the river. That’s where the brotherhood of the Nannas really comes into it’s own, from nowhere came a pair of shorts and a top. No Caoch (due to his new role as a Land Lord) meant no sub sheet. Having so badly fvcked up the last one i was determined, even through my patron haze, to get this right, and I did, but forgot how it worked before running on. Subbing chaos ensued including 2 re-drawings (in one of which the Captain wholly omitted Wal from the lineup) but no matter as we were one up thanks to Jim. I’ll admit, the game is somthing of a blur, but we were doing OK. There was some nice passing and some nice running, but it was freaking hot, three of the on court players and been drinking since 1pm and our defence began to fall apart. I had a couple of runs on goal which could have ended better, Brown could have converted his penalty, we could all of had some slightly better finishing. In the end it was somewhat deflating draw. but no, not only had we veered off script when i didn’t score the winner in the dying seconds, in fact we had lost ! WTF ? In any case the Nannas were magnanimous in the extreme, awarding the birthday fool the MOM.

Saying goodbye to the entirely selfless Miri (who had driven 3 children through peak hour traffic to watch their foolish father’s fortieth football fumblings) we headed to the Waiters. The captain and Brown had lost a little of their pre-game pizzaz but the Author was determined to keep the good times alive so gratefully accepted a peroni while contemplating another plate of red meat. Everything pointed to the sardines, but there weren’t any on the specials board. Te fall back would of course be the Porthouse with pepper sauce but I’d already had one of those only a few hours earlier so I opted for the Fillet Mignon. To be honest it was pretty rustic following Gills but that’s the joy of the waiters right. It should also be noted that the Funky Nanna had by this time joined the party. Bestlooking threw Osso Bucco all over himself and then it was time to find a bar. But not of course before a partaking of mildly discombobulating reliefer downstairs from Waiters. Suitably bewildered we headed into the city. Giller, unlike relier in the day, knew where we should go and soon the nannas were ensconced in a hipster bar looking only mildly out of place. The bar man somehow convinced the Visitor and I that some kind of fancy Jose Cuervo was actually better than Patron (idiot) so it was that and some beer I can’t remember. Brassy also came to the party at this point with some of the black magic of which Brassy is so fond.

And then at last, the highlight of the evening, Daytona. Not only did i not fuck up and find myself solo racing (and yelling at the staff) as usual (though both Brown and the Captain did somehow manage this act (I’ll admit there was the tiniest touch of schadenfreude)) but we even worked out how to buy-in after the race has started… Ahhhh sweet car racing games, they really are a disproportionate amount of fun.

From here, we started to lose people. Like 2 giant solid-fuel booster rockets Brown and the Captain peeled off, returning spent to earth as their precious payload continued it’s stratospheric journey into the night. Bestlooking also left for much more pragmatic reasons. Nam Loong provided some questionably hygienic pork buns before we went to troika for a quiet one, a beer I believe, more Peronis perhaps. The Visitor™ recorded some candid camera video with his highly prominent new iPad Mini before himself disappearing into the evening shortly after midnight leaving Thefunkynanna, Wal and I to ponder dessert.

John Saffran wasn’t there and we didn’t get the big plush leather seats beside the Return of the Jedi™ window but jesus christ, the supper club really payed the dessert bills. Crème brûlée, sticky date pudding and a lemon tart. All washed down with a glass of Pedro Ximénez (interestingly, the only one on the menu (and completely unknown by our waiter (idiot))). boom. unfortunately i did at one point inhale some of the PX which was a really bad thing to do, for a long moment i thought i was either going to throw up or pass out or both.

By the time we caught the cab home, I was so fucking full I had a little shelf just below my sternum, not a Robert Crumb fantasy butt shelf you could rest a cup of tea on, more like a rest your 0.2mm pilot fineliner shelf.

I finally crawled into bed about 1.30am irritating Miri with the led light on my phone as I tried to finish off my “a man turns 40” video diary… holy crapsticles, you only turn 40 once right !

* illustrations to follow

JH(1), GF, DC(1), CB, TW(1), TH(coaching)

The Nans have never been hotter than we were on this day. It was 40 in the shade, and about 45 in the arena. We were hot, and that’s all that really matters. That’s what we tell people.

Tom hadn’t brought his insoles, so unfortunately he couldn’t play, but he did watch, and in watching, I think we all felt the support his eyes gave us.

First half we seemed to be dominant, but then Gilla started chucking the ball away, every fucking time Eddie, and it made it hard to find rhythm. The rhythm, the rhythm…The rhythm.

There was some good passing, and some good setups for goals, and a lot of post shots, where luck was a bit more with the fucken opposition that it was with fucken us. But in the end, that’s footy.
Right at the end Jim stepped up and got a sweet shit-hot penalty kick. And that’s what happened kid. True story.

4-10* v South Melbourne AMC
DC(4,m), GF, RH, TH

A TRUE HERO OF NANNA

That is the mantle that sits proudly upon the shoulders of 4 of the finest Nannas to ever wear the brown and gold. Twas the first game of the New Year and most nobly did they enter the battle a full man short of a team. That is not to say that Gilla is a full man but it is to say that he deserted his brothers when they needed him most. Admittedly it was the 10th birthday of Northside and there was a veritable ocean of pert young ladies dashing their nubility upon the white cliffs of the proprietors eyeballs… but… no, we were pretty sure as we drove off without him that we were alone… so alone. Yes, we could have hired some sellsword to step into the breach, but locating the number of single futsal mercenary was beyond us so early in the year. I for one had been in the country less than 24 hours. And thus it was that we rode onto the field with Bish* the ref  as our goalie (will we ever learn?, the ref never goes in goals !). Our opponents, saxons amongst them, were far from the stiffest, ahem, we have come, ahem, up against and the nannas were well matched to the task. Alas the second half came around, the nannas ran out of juice and Bish stopped stopping the ball going in the net. It was unattractive.

After the game we went back to an empty house in north fitzroy (apart from the chickens) ate malaysian, drank beer, chatted with brassy, drank Oban and generally got pretty trashed. We were joined by Wal with a slab of beer direct from Croajingalong. Near the end of the evening Frasay took the opportunity to outline his ambitions for the Captain and I to star in a high intensity martial arts action film which we promptly began rehearsing.

* actual score was 4-14
** Not sure exactly what the refs name is

Jim has pretty much said it all, well I’m assuming he has because his post looked really long (though I haven’t actually read it). So instead I have spent my time uploading a few old team photos… nothing special, but for the record – innit.

The Visitor Lights the Captains Fart
Old King Lion as backdrop
BPDP against the boards

But what is kind of special is the Nannas Ornaments font, a set of ornament glyphs (or dingbats if you prefer) based on the Nannas iconography. It’s not quite ready for public release but here’s a sneak peak (click image for the Character Map)… boom.

– – –

RH MOM – we lost, I think I got a goal, maybe someone else did.

Picture This –

A man, a botanist, a man who has spent his life amongst plants of all varieties. This man finds himself traveling through a desert, for many years, a desert only sparsely populated by withered, dry cacti. A cruel hot wind blew incessantly accross the mans face, burning away any remnants of moisture from his lips. One day, let’s say it’s his birthday, maybe his fortieth birthday, he struggles over an especially high sand dune and in front of him is a forest of unimaginable beauty. A forest full of every plant he has ever seen, all the plants from his memory, and many he has forgotten all layed before him and arranged in such beauty that he almost cannot look at it. This man races down the sand and frolics in the forest, removing his clothes and becoming one with the flora. He spends many days and nights in ecstasy, soaking in the plants, the flowers, the leaves. He discovers that this forest has been planted by his friends, he is lost for words, he cannot believe that his friends would do such a thing and create something of such beauty. After some time his friends return  and ask this man to add to the forest, using only what he has……

This is where I find myself dear Nannas, how can a man, even a captain, write a report when all the reports of a lifetime have been placed before him and presented in all their perfection?

I have received the perfect gift, some say it’s impossible to conceive of the perfect gift, others say you can think such thoughts but never produce such greatness in reality. The Nannas have thought the unthinkable then built the unbuildable. For this I am, and always will be, eternally grateful.

The most beautiful part of the present is that it is only volume one – and five days after presentation the Nannas return to the court and the story continues.

We lost, again, but we ate and drank and abused each other, and that is the true Nanna story.

3-4 v Pornstars

GF (2 MOM), DC (MOM), TK (MOM), CG, JH (1),TH, AW

there’s not a lot I need to add to the visitors report (apart from how much it sucked to lose to these guys) so I’ll just add some date stamps.

the big news is the discovery of an elementary particle that would bear all the hallmarks of the Higgs Boson. I’ve tried wrapping my head around the numbers a few times with absolutely no success but there is a cool little animated ‘for dummies’ guide which i’ll try and fine the link for. | erm, what else. The 70-200 finally arrived and partially alleviated my buyers regret | The forum is in the doldrums | teh captain has returned from his carriage ride around ausrto-hungary | Chaspergers has headed to the old country with his son and heir | bestLooking took eldest daughter skiing for the first time, boom | The visitor got high mid portrait and then disappeared into a neutral vortex | It’s really freaking cold

3-1 v Th aHampton street Phase Wannabes
DC 2m, GF, CG gk, JH 1, TK

Ok, thank god the planets are back in alignment and I get to write a match report about winning… it was the Nanna A team… what else was going to happen. In fact it turned out to be quite a comfortable win for the super tight 5 Nanna A, quite in contrast to the last second arrival of the emasculator.

The tight 5 is the shcnizzle, especially against a team of phase wannabes who were lacking their regular goalie and really didn’t seem up for it. There was a bit of the usual argey bargey but nothing excessive, perhaps the fact that BestLooking wasn’t playing had something to do with it? The Nannas were stringing passes together and the first 2 goals fcame rom nice build up play including a couple of long cross-court passes. Both Kondo and Cheezles had clear opportunities and Jim powered 1 in from a free kick at close range. It was also good to welcome back Giller, fresh from high fiving Marion Goodman in Kassel and looking very large in goals. And finally to finish off, a mathematically elegant triangular MOM vote – 1, 2, 3, 4 and a super tight 5 for le coq sportif.

Should also mention the support – 3 young nannies, Otis, Poppy and Elliot.

Dinner was postponed due to said supporters and public transport issues.

date stamp:
Spain beat Portugal on penalties to progress to the final | the 70-200 ƒ2.8 II finally arrived with a dented box, a cloud of doubt and possible purchase regret | The Nannas have their first official apple developer… look out for the MOM voter in the itunes store any day now | Poker this saturday, there’s some big talk so let’s so who does they walking…

2-6 v Red Peppers
CB ass, DC 1 mom, GF, JH 1, TK, TW

In a strange turn of events I’m writing a match report after a game we didn’t win, so there goes that opening line, but we could have won it.

The Nannas™ started brightly with some nice ball holding and movement around the court. The Red Peppers (apprently – but they looked just like St Kilda, the opposition from the last grand final (that we were in)) are a very skilled team, in truth a couple of orders of magnitude above the Nannas™, but we were well and truly holding our own. They got the first but we pulled level with an acrobatic lob from the author. Turns out jimbob was putting in a lofted pass to Andy in the far left corner but I jumped like a gazelle, poached it from mid air and somehow guided it into the top right corner of the net. The Opposition got another just before half time but the Nannas were in a fighting spirit. The Ass coach was doing a fine turn as the inspirational coach and we led into the second half full of ambition. A wee way in we were level through the powerful left foot of big Jim. It was looking good, then something happened and … what for it… the nannies folded ? yes indeed. I’m not quite sure what happened, we were still playing pretty well but they just keep putting them in the net, Kondo was left on his own at the back a few too many times but even so, it was odd. ah well.

after the game we went to Korea, no one was eating, well maybe a little snack, well actually maybe a full meal of bbq meaty good times. dang that shit is super fine…

date stamp: talk of Japan 13 is on the table – Tao is also talking Mt Hotham but there is currently no snow – Hamiltonian Paths are the shit – the 70-200 II still hasn’t arrived – smoke detectors are threatening to confound the poker night

10-6 v The Legacy – Wesley
CB2, DC6m, GF, JHgk, RH, TW1, AW1

A mighty victory for the Nannas™.

It seems I start all my match reports theses days with “it’s been a long time between wins for the Nannas” and again this is how I should start. The old men of nanna, OMON, have been on a bit of losing streak but that streak came to an abrupt halt this evening. Well, in truth it wasn’t that abrupt. At one point we were 3-5 down and it was pretty easy to see how the game could end 4-7 or the like. But that wouldn’t have been a fair reflection of the Nannas’ efforts. They were, if not on fire, then at least very very warm. Jim was in goals with his new bike gloves, 3 beers and a couple of reefers under his belt. Apparently he had forgotten that the captain usually steps into the 4th string goalie position (and that was even before the pre game festivities). After a few soft goals he pulled it back together and kept a near clean sheet for the second half, not to mention some excellent distribution and not once kicking the ball into the wall at the opposite end of the court. Cheezles Jafrezzi, equally inebriated and thankfully not in goal, did a fair imitation of being on top of the situation before later admitting he was too hammered to see the ball for most of the first half. The author managed the incredibly rare feat of the double hat-trick. The numbers flatter him as their golie was crap and 2 of the 6 were tap-ins from some excellent assist work from Tao and Wal. Chassy was running hard and hade to deal with a number of over enthusiastic challenges (and the chastisement of his brothers) while banging in a couple of sweet shots, the first an instinctive left from an initially saved right… tasteful. The nannas passing game was also well and truly on display, the Captain, the Best Looking Nanna and the Walmartin at the heart of some very pleasing triangles, 1-2s and even some 1-2-3s…

Perhaps it was Jim’s scathing report from last week, possibly the absence of the Coach and The Funky Nanna, maybe the opposition having a really crap goalie, or perhaps merely chance, whatever the reason the sun was out and the Nannas shone! yay.

post match there was some confusion about who was cooking. without the coach to guide us (in fact we had to call him and interrupt hannah’s birthday celebrations) we went to Prudence and listened to Cheezles justify his only-child-like purchasing of pints, ate heavily cheesed and tardily delivered pizza, dicsussed topics of which i have no recollection and left smelling of long since smoked cigarettes…

timestamp: Transit of Venus, Nanna Forum kicks in and the Log Log™ goes viral, Logo V2 nears ratification – new hoodies should be sometime this decade, ARB cuts rates due to grim european economic outlook, Mit Romney nominated as republican candidate, Daenerys Targaryen gets her dragons back, le Coq Numerique orders an 8 bay raid for storing the flood of data from his Epic and also a freakin’ monopod !

4-3 Win vs The Hampton St FC Annual
DC, CG (GK, 1), RH, TH (MOM, 2),  TK (1), TW

Poor old Old King Lion – Climbed to the top of the absolute biggest mountain ever, showed everyone his massive ballsack, and promptly fell of the equivalent of the North Face smashing his face on every crag, jagging his ring on every rocky outcrop, smashing his backbone spinal column on every passing granite boulder as he fell further and further getting bloodier and bloodier and more wrecked and mangled until he landed on his neck on a bunch of razor wire that some carelessly left lying around the bottom of the drop. Pretty much his whole hind quarters were forced through his mouth lips and he could smell his own perineum directly with what was left of his shredded nose and nasal cavity. Every single bone in his body was broken into tiny shards of broken bone and his bowel came out his belly button which was were his chin used to be so essentially he had a goatee made of shit that tasted like quarter digested Gryphon. His paws might as well have been plastic bags full of rancid deer kidneys for all the good they were and his once might mane was a mess of coagulated body fluids from every conceivable thing in the body that produces fluid. If you got a budgerigar’s head and put it in a vice until the metal vice edges touched metal on metal you would have a pretty good approximation of the state of his vocal cords, the result being he had no roar to speak of. His once mighty legs had all the structural integrity of a pistol whipped junkie on the nod, because not only had every bone in his body been ground to a fine powder like I already told you once, his muscles had essentially liquefied in to a gelatinous substance from the repeated pounding they took on the endless fall from the top of what was a fucking high mountain which you might remember how fucking high from this. Through his brain was skewered a barbed and quite possibly infected piece of atrophied tree wood that had lain at the bottom of the sunless drop for years gather mould, fungus, bacteria and other extremely virulent microorganisms, slowly growing more fetid and dangerous to multicelled life and I think you get the picture Old King Lion was in an extremely bad way with no hope or any chance or possibility of a future except as hyena shit.

Yet his heart beat on, and his heart beat true.

The little children ask me: How did Old King Lion survive? How could Old King Lion walk away from such horrific injuries? How could Old King Lion play indoor soccer again? What does quarter digested Gryphon taste like? The answer to the last question is it tastes more like fresh Gryphon meat than half digested Gryphon, to which it is preferable, but it’s obviously not as good as fresh Gryphon meat. And the answer to the first three questions is: the mind.

Yes that is correct: the mind. Giller he said to us: victory today or relegation to the pits, that is what we play for. Our minds were steeled. We took to the court. Kondo scored first. I got a yellow card ’cause they pushed Rhian too much. It was a tight match. I drew the goalie out to an incoming high ball and he was pinged for handling outside the circle. For the ensuing free kick I went into a kind of fugue state where the kerfuffle of the free kick arguments around me disappeared and I could visualise the ball entering the net as though it had already happened, so much so that when the ref blew his whistle to signify game on it was merely a matter of allowing the future to happen as it already had and I sort of did a mind push kick on the ball and it powered incontrovertibly into the net, space-time rippling behind it like heat waves rising from the desert floor. Giller did some awesome saves. Giller scored another goal. I found myself in possession on the wing, opposition pushing hard up on my back, using only the power of my mind I force my way along the line toward goal, harried every step by a particularly large and nimble Hamptonian. As I approached the corner I turned and shot on goal: what happened next I don’t really know – Giller called it the greatest goal ever, but that could be gilding the lily, a bit. I think what probably happened is that I kicked the ball with so much mind power that space time was literally wrought apart, my cerebral cortex certainly shut down with the sheer mental effort, and I think the goalie’s did too, because when I came to he was only just realising that the ball was appearing from a tear in the fabric of a hyper dimension that my mind kick had ripped apart like so many polyester dresses on prom night. The goalie would have been half a chance to stop it had it been a regular kick, but this, as I said, was mind kick and the ball had travelled through parallel dimensions and space time tears and dimensionless spaces that not only cannot be physically represented they are literally beyond the realm of mathematical explanation, and where this ball had been there was no light, and no gravity, and no strong or weak electromagnetic force and no energy or time or anything, but it popped out in front of the goalie and he thought he had a chance and then it popped back into the physics-less place it had just been only to pop out just behind the goalie, and he turned and watched it roll over the line.

Then it was on. They got a goal back, it was four three and we had to defend. They through everything at us, but through a massive team effort we held them out, and I thought where the hell did that come from? I’ve never been able to mind kick a ball through a physics-less hypersphere before. And it come to me: old king lion had been brain whispering to me. Old king lion found a way even though he was smashed to shit at the bottom of death drop. And then I saw it wasn’t just me old king lion had been brain whisper mind puppeteering, it was the whole team playing with pride of Old King Lion. Then Old King Lion appeared to me in my mind and said (in all caps): YOU’VE WON ONE GAME – DON’T GET AHEAD OF YOURSELF – THIS IS EXACTLY HOW LAST SEASON STARTED, WITH A WIN OVER HAMPTON ST – AND THEN IT ALL TURNED TO 37 KINDS OF SHIT IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE. And then he was gone, just the lingering waft of quarter digested gryphon shit breathe hanging in the air.

After which Giller took us to Edye(?) bar on Lygon st and we argued endlessly about the new emblem and invented the Flonus or Flanus, a half flower half anus that quite beautifully represents a ripe blossoming male anus.

5-3 v hyderoos
CB 2 m, DC 1 m, JH 2, GF, CG gk

A mighty win, a mighty freakin’ win !

Man, it has been a really long time between wins for the ageing men in the poos and wees strip. Why has it been so long ? and what was so different on this occasion ? The obvious reason is that Nanna A turned up reversing the recent lack of cohesion due to inconsistent numbers and a near total lack of game fitness. But the TRUE reason is Scrotal Shaving.

Guy had been talking it up for days on the flurry and there was much discussion in the one-car-drove. Turns out Guy didn’t actually employ a razor, instead using scissors to reduce his ‘bush’ to a 3mm stubble. Now what is most interesting is that chassy, perhaps the most well groomed member (no pun intended) of the nans revealed that he had never partaken in pubic pruning. Imagine his shock andsubsequent intrigue when he learned that the striker had, from time to time, thinned out the manly nether forest. I can’t quite remember the details of Chassy’s questioning but, alarmingly, I do remember the phrase ‘sexual pleasure’ being used. Good God man, do you really want to drive that sort of traffic to the Nannas™ blog ?! Suffice it to say that we all learned a thing or two on that drive, mainly regarding the dimensions of guys bush (or was that only Giller and I later in the evening…?).

so… the game. Chassy, all fired up on thoughts of bald scrotums punched in a couple of early goals. Frasay (or should that be Shaun ?) was running diametric to the game plan but still managed to find himself in plenty of spaceq with some excellent positional work…get it. Jim, though drunk and high, put in a barn-storming turn; hustling , menacing and even scoring with his head ! Giller didn’t have much to do in the first half but came into effect hard in the second half, particularly near the end when he rolled his impressive girth onto the flimsy toothpick-like leg of the striker, cue hyper extension of the knee joint and the nans down to 4 men. Weathering a late assault with a man down is never easy but the nans acquitted themselves most admirably and ran out deserved winners.

Post match saw Jim dropped at parliament, Chassy dropped at home for an early departure (full kudos for playing) and Giller, Shaun and the author heading to Joes for pizza, beer, blonde and shaun talking bush.

vs Hyderoos
win 5-3
CB 2(MOM),DC 1(MOM),JH 2,GF,CG(GK)

If you cast your mind way back to the start of April (April 3 to be precise and not March 3 as Cocky would have you believe from his report), you will recall that the Nannas had a win. A mighty, against the odds kind of a win to cap off a season that left the Nannas with their collective pants well and truly down. This small victory held its head high in a torrent of loss. And if it didn’t get the trousers back up on the hips, it at least kept them pants from being consigned to the metaphorical rag bag and leaving the Nannas permanently in a state of ignominious undress.

It was the Thursday before Easter and it’s possible that some religious stirrings may have contributed to the rapid up-spike in the Nannas ability to win. Or it may just have been the rather ingenious way that GF prompted a frank discussion on genital depilation on the trip to the game. It was a one-car drove situation in the mighty Camry wide body and this kind of pre-game cohesion is certainly a factor in Nanna on-court cohesion. And then there are the individuals that constituted the team that shall forever be known as Nanna A that night. One thing I notice about this particular squad is that we had height on our side (not that kind of height Jim). Gilly, Fraser, Hannan, Crooks, Brown.. all over six feet.*

Thus, numerous tangible and intangible factors contributed to this stupendous display of brown pride. I didn’t attend the post match festivities due to a short drive to the Barossa the next morning but I hear that there was much fun and laughter at Joe’s. I was still buzzing the next day as I ate a limp, microwaved pie in Bordertown SA.

*Brown is not actually over six feet physically (just in the mind).

vs United Nations FC lost 12-2

CB 1 MOM, TW, TH, AW, GF, JH 1, TK

A loss of catastrophic proportions.
A cataclysmic defeat.
We hit the floor hard and we did not get back up.

On the upside,
We doubled our ‘goals for’ from the previous week.
We played with spirit right to the end.
We drew the last 90 seconds.

When you try to play snooker with a piece of rope,
The next time you have a good, stiff cue,
You’ll work wonders.

1-7 loss vs Red Peppers
Guilty persons CB, GF, JH (1), RH, TH (GK-MOM), AW, TW

Yep we sucked the shit out of a dead dog’s arse… But don’t just take this picture’s word for it, let’s check the UNPRECENDENTED postmatch flurry debrief:

Guy Fraser started things by rather wittily noting that on this blackest of Thursdays it was not just Cockano who got double the fist up the backside, and I would add that although Cockhammer’s was obviously the more literal of the buggerizings, I don’t know that you could say he was more royally fucked than we were.

James then chimed in with this analysis / proposal (an analosal if you will [perhaps not unlike what Cocky underwent?]):

After the high of last year, when we played with such control and poise, last night we reverted to the old Nanna strategy of kicking the ball away as much as possible or coughing it up in mid-field to an opponent that on the counter had a numerical advantage (as you can tell I am still angry).
We scored one and they got about seven.
Tom was deservedly mom for keeping it to seven ( it could have been about 15).
Admittedly our defense and attack on the ball were at times soft but in light of this old Nanna strategy rearing its ugly head I would like to propose a new Nanna rule:
any Nanna who does the one touch miracle ball to no one half a dozen times or more a game, that is, kicks or heads it away when they should have taken it under control and retained possession (and I am pretty sure i am right in saying this did apply to at least two of our better players last night),
1. gets fisted at the end of the game
2. does not play next week.
Controversial I know but the Nannas have shown themselves to be better players than the shit we served up last night.
Stay angry.

Rhian piped up with the not particularly helpful, but still pertinent:

What actually lost the game was Jim declaring that we weren’t going to win before the game started.

James got defensive and mutinous:

Well the way we warmed up, we looked like losers.
I blame the coach and captain. Absolutely no leadership.
I think a double coup is order. Fraser, you want to be Coach?

Fraser went to batshit crazytown:

I’m more interested in managing/coaching, going full strategy/non playing. I’d consider doing this for one season. If we didn’t win the championship, I’d go back to normal reaching/molestation duties.

Tao wasn’t to be silenced:

Yes we played pretty bad classic Nanna’s style. Not a lot of gold last night.
I turned up with a bit of a bad belly afraid I wasn’t going to be able to give my best on the night, and saying as much prior to the game. As it turned out I was right and kicked a lot of very soft and off target passes. On leaving the court I admitted to everyone and apologised for my seriously crap play. This, for some reason, seemed to come across as being an open invitation for Chassy to then pay out on me for apparently nearly putting him in hospital.
If I learnt one thing from last nights game that is admit nothing.

And he kind of had a point ‘cos Chassy did have a bit of a dip postmatch, but to Chassy’s credit he came back with the conciliatory:

taozza i would have still hassled you even if you had admitted nothing
i must admit my frustrations were probably mainly due to my own failing body (sore calf, shoulder, hip and knee)
apologies if you felt paid out on

Which is a nice way to end it because it’s important to remember we’re all good friends and we shouldn’t stay angry.

However it doesn’t change the fact that we played like a bowl of rancid leper dick soup. While everyone raises valid points about the game*, it wasn’t Tao’s one touch passes (which on other days work and work well), or Jim’s negative pre game comments, or Chassy’s apparently failing body or any of these things that cost us the game. We may note the team as whole was looking a lot like a team that hadn’t really played together for 8 or so weeks, and we may note that the team as a whole lacked a fair bit of commitment and attack on the ball (with the possible exception of Fraser who well deserved his 2nd place in the MOM, and who is beginning to get himself physically and mentally up to the rigours of Thurs div.2 (Wesley) after so many years away), and we may note the team as a whole lacked a little luck in front of goal, and we may safely say these things will return to us with some match practice. What I continue to stress we must improve on, and what I believe cost us the game, and what indeed our opposition did well, is PLAY INTO SPACE. It is no good being static to receive a pass. It is no good passing to someone directly only to have it intercepted. If you do not have the ball, look around you, see where everyone else isn’t and head there. If you have the ball, look for your team mate who is heading into the space and pass it INTO THE SPACE. If you are neither passing nor receiving draw your opponent away from your team mates and get into space yourself. There’s a new motto for the Nannas and I’m going to write it big:

SPACE IS THE PLACE

Lead to Space – Pass to space – Make the Space.

Next week is Hampton – we step up and play like the champions we are.

Fortunately the night wasn’t a molten hot barnacled dildo mashing away on our collective quoit in its entirety – no ’twas a feckin’ sea shanty of a barnacle we encountered down Ponyfish Island where the parrots all have wooden legs and play P.E. on squeezebox ’til the wee feckin’ hours, haulin’ the sheets and weighin’ anchor and what the fuck have you, all the while cookin’ burgers (just a mite underdone for Andy’s likin’) for the lubbers afore they feck off to the Giant Theremin to ponder the mystery of the Fox – Thank ye Chasbarge.

*Except for Jim’s about me deserving to win MOM. I played just as crap as everyone else, but had the slight excuse that I was in goals where I only play once every other season.
#Also I should stress typing ‘dirty toilet’ into Google images when safe search is off, returns entirely too much information.

vs St Kilda FC
won 6-2
CB 3, CG 2, TW 1, DC, GF, TK, TH
JH (Coach), AW (Cape Bitch)
CB MOM/POF

Sorry about the disrespect. I had a few things on my plate. A diagnosis of osteoarthritis in my acromioclavicular joint, an ultrasound guided steroid injection, packing to go camping before: flying to auckland, driving to taupo bay, driving back to auckland, christmas etc, ferry to waiheke, NYE etc, ferry back to auckland, flying to melbourne for 21 hours (and in that 21 hours: recording a voiceover, sleeping, packing the trailer), driving to newmerella, driving to saltwater creek, camping, swimming, going on a mandate with tao and cocky, nearly stepping on a brown snake, maintaining a near-perfect esky bin with large blocks of ice, having kondo and becky stay for one night and eating lamb and drinking whiskey, the annual whiskey row (inaugurating the morning lie-down), the pack-up, driving back to melbourne (including toasted sanga and v in cann river, fish and chips in traralgon), the trailer unpack, one night in melbourne, driving to portsea for two nights, driving back to melbourne… and here I find myself.

Before I get down to business let me further address my misdemeanour/ crime/ disrespect in failing to post my match report within the required seven days. So it’s actually 45 days since the Grand Final. Interestingly the GF was played 23 days before the end of 2011. If I manage to post this today then another 22 days will have passed since the first day of 2012. Which would mean that I would have just scraped in ahead of the second 23 day cycle. Which is fortunate because I believe the rules state that if two cycles of 23 days are passed without the posting of a match report then the required punishment is permanent deregistration from the order of Nannas followed by castration and defenestration. Happily I will have just avoided the first two of these punishments (assuming my post goes up this day January 22, 2012) and will have to suffer only the ignominy of defenestration. And I shall obediently be defenestrated as required.

Now to the game. But first, the build-up. It was nothing if not a build-up of such surging, raging and frothing tumescence that all the power of the Southern Ocean might seem a child’s bath in comparison. It’s turgidity was such that the frustrations of seventy five fourteen year old boarding school boys (having had their porridge spiked with viagra and made to watch JH mince around naked but for a hand towel) might be barely discernible. Yes it was just that kind of deeply swollen member of a build-up that can be caused by only one thing: words! And not just any words but the mighty fighting words of our master wordsmith Coach Judge Coach. He lifted us up where we belonged with his poetic viagra, he spoke of mountains and hyenas and jackals and lions. He spiked our morale so full of mythical vibrations and the thick, hot blood of narrative that we were in a frenzy of victory-lust by the time we hit the court on December 8, 2011.

But what of our highly fancied, overwolf of an opponent, St Kilda FC? The team that had won every game of the season. The undefeated. And if I had the stats I could tell you about their points, their high scoring games and their whopping goal difference. But I don’t have the stats so I won’t. Suffice to say: THEY WERE NOT EXPECTING TO LOSE! They weren’t expecting to see a team of Nannas high on prose-induced morale either.

We stepped up and we stepped to them. A very solid overall team performance. Excellent coaching from JH. The defence was dogged and determined, the shooting inspired, the possession play text-book. And we kept on pounding them. Even when we were 4-2 up we kept on giving it for the whole thirty-six minutes. It was interesting to see a team as good as St Kilda actually begin to fall apart as they realised they couldn’t win. The final score: 6-2.

Then we went to Kondo’s for a classic six goal after match function. Steaks and an enormous daikon that we all had a go at grating. The lebanese blonde. Beers. Talk of family crests. Guy revealed that he comes from a long line of strawberry eaters. Nothing wrong with that. Strawberries are good for your teeth and they are the only fruit to have their seeds on the outside. Just like the Nannas who wear their cojones on the outside of their trousers when they smash the top of the table into the next cubicle and beyond. Perhaps, the Nannas’ finest hour!

4-3 Win vs Hampton FC in the Semi-Final
CB 1, DC, GF, CG, TH 1(MOM), TK 1, TW 1, RH(Coach)

-Let us talk of events metaphorically
It’s a helicopter shot, wide, all that is; deserts, jungles, canyons, snow capped ridges. It tracks and pans and starts moving purposefully to the most majestic peak in all the vista. Slowly the vastness focusses in on this monumental craggy outcrop of weather hardened igneous agelessness, tracking around it in a circular manner, showing its glory, revealing it’s staggering size and magnificent beauty. As more is laid bare one comes to realise that its beauty belies its hardness. What is at a distance splendid is up close devastating. What is from afar glorious is in situ a terrifying place to be. For this, dear reader, is the Mountain of Soccer Finals. As we get closer still we notice a beast, perched statuesquely on the summit of the mount gazing nobly into the distance, the wind catching its lustrous pelt and shimmering it just so. Through the technology of modern motorised pan/tilt units and gyroscopically stabilised camera heads the beast is quite nicely revealed to be a wise old lion, friend to children, bon homme, and brewery provider – but he’s not been playing with children or providing breweries lately no, for the same nifty shot that revealed the old lion to be an old lion carries on quite adroitly to reveal the scars of battle. Blood around the mouth,  scratches, nicks, viscera all mashed between the lion claws. Wise Old Lion has been fighting on Mount Soccer Finals and soon it is revealed his quarry – an hyena/jackel wearing a old lion skin(?) lies bloody and defeated at his feet. We track back up and pause on the face of this fighting lion. It is a look not of happiness, and only the merest sense of satisfaction is detectable on his countenance. No, it is the look of resolve of a warrior who has won a mighty battle but knows that an even greater fight is ahead. Now the CGI kicks in at no small cost, for we track to the eye of the lion and see what he gazes upon in the reflection of his own  retina. That’s right – he’s looking at an even bigger, more awe inspiring, nastier, finals fighting thunderdome cage match arena mountain, that’s right next to the one he just climbed, conquered and fought upon. And do you know what he sees on this war zone crag? A Gryphon – a mythical creature with the body of a lion and the head and wings of an eagle, a divine guardian and hell crazy good fighter. The old lion smiles a little smile and licks his chops, he does not know how, but he knows he must, and most importantly he knows he can, climb that mountain and smack that poncing gryphon down.

-Let us talk now a little more literally
Dear sweet sweet lord mother of Mary the innocent saviour how was that? There was talk in the dunnies and we kind of had it from there – plus the cape came to Wesley for the first time. Coach Captain coached us strongly from the get go. “Get the first goal and get them on the ropes” was his advice. I was able to do pretty much that thanks to Tao’s back heel which I was able to convert on the run. From there it was one epic struggle immensely worthy of the name semi-final. We got another one – either one of Chassys big feet from long range, or a Tao deflection. But Hampton never lay down and they got another one or two back. Takeshi nailed the most beautiful lobbed header into the far corner. Giller hell crunched a dude onto the ground whimpering. Once play resumed they slithered one in and there was a very tense last minute played out at 4-3. Sweet victory thoust is the sweetest teat at which to suckle.

Post match Captain stepped it up a notch with park cooked bratwurst and beers in Fitzroy North Park st. Then to datestamp it for Babcock’s happiness we went and partied all night at Tao’s 40th the following Saturday

Vs VJFC
1-0
CB mom,DC,TH,TW,AW,GF,CG 1,TK

I no longer drive
I do not, I arrive
It’s not part of my thing
Put it there gimme five

Shoved to the ground
By a punk not in brown
Eloquent fury
“are you out of your mind?”

Scoreless for ages
Just like teenagers
Then a big gill goal
For the gold and brown pages

Tenser than a kiwi-France final
Or a scratch on new vinyl
Just one point in it
It nearly went vaginal

Plus tard, rue des fleurs
Wal’s choice we infer
Pas mal du tout
For a night in october.

The Nannas vs (The Dreaded) ANNUAL (Hampton Street FC)

0   v    3

CG, TH, DC, GF, TK, TW, JH

hang your heads low……

It was a totally impotent performance, admittedly their goalie stopped ALL our goals, but we didn’t have a lot of shots on target.

At least Guy was doing his part. We told him at the start to definitely use your secret weapon. Don’t let it go to waste. It is known on a few continents now, its – THE REACHAROUND. He was jostling with a man and slipped the reacharound on him and low and behold the guy just spooned back into Ghee. He smiled like he had prearranged the moment.

Ghee actually looked really freaked out, I mean even training on Jim there is a moducum of on court decorum, but this…this was a new one for Ghee. Ever the Nanna Ghee kept reaching until all were finished. 15 minutes later the game resumed.

They got the first with a soft effort from the incredibly good looking goalie. More crap mistakes resulted in their crap goals. Three in fact. There were no highlights at all for the Nannas this game. Nothing to speak of, in fact a bald game it was.

Cooking was in the capable hands of Mr WEIS, now the call was for Raphs burger oint, but it was sold out, he LUCKILY pulled a SASSY outta the bag! (oh and an esky full of votes….

It was a rather

5-7 v ?, Melbourne Girls’, 9.20pm
CB, DC 4, GF, CG (gk) 1, RH, TH, TK
mom DC

A curious game this one. APISC pulled a late venue change on us with the game shifting to Melbourne Girls College*. A time change also proved an arse for Jim who was forced to get high and catch a train to regional oblivion. Giller on the other hand made the late pull-in, bringing our number to 7. The excitement of the generator bikes in the foyer soon wore off when we realised that there were no spare balls for a warm up, but it was okay for the Reach-around™ as he had worn some tights. A rather soft goal was conceded by the Nannas not long after kickoff but we soon stormed back into the game. Some magical cross court passing lead to the first, followed by a free kick and something of a solo run by the author. Giller was playing some lovely square balls early on but then started to kick them around a little too much for the coach’s liking who, in quite uncustomary form, yelled at the goalie… a lot.. all the way to the side line after the half time whistle blew.. and still kept yelling. Early into the second half we nicked another but were 4-5 down before Giller finally hit the target. the equaliser is always a rejuvenating force but by this stage the nannas were getting tired and the defence was beginning to gape. The man in tights was really starting to sweat, the captain was taking some wild punts, the coach was yelling ‘Fraser’ and pointing a lot, it was heading south fast and we shipped two more before the final whistle… ah well. Unusually, yet luckily for the author, his 4 goal haul was enough to pip Giller by a single vote. Then Chassy of the Triple Crown® took us to some crazy Shanghai genre mashup inspired diner disco in the arse end of Little Collins. Bong Mist was there which made it seem cooler than perhaps it was. We drank beer (except the coach who had tap water (which according to Guy is still technically mineral water)), talked about movies (Guy was there), Rhian gave props to the new museological show at acmi (well actually that was in the car on the drive to Melbourne Girls’), I tried to convince Tom that it is actually spelled reamde and isn’t just a design thing, we ate some chips and calamari and completely forgot to discuss the style guide for the blog, which was annoying.

* it was noted that a nanna progeny may be attending said institution to receive her secondary education

6-4 vs The Decepticons, Wesley 8:40pm
MOM CB,TH
TH(gk),CB 3,DC 2,TW 1,GF,AW,RH

You see, it’s all about perception. What you see, or think you see. What you feel, or think you feel. The interpretation of experience as it comes to be shared with your Nanna brethren. The inevitable progression from my mind unto yours. And the fallibility of the former as it falls prey to the corrections thrust upon it by others. And standing outside of experience confers a heightened level of objectivity to the observer. Thus, may the detachment of the onlooker swell the onlooker’s sense of righteousness. And perhaps they are correct.

I was at Monash University this week and I happened to be wearing the black woollen cap that Coach gave me during the early noughties. I was in need of a haircut and the cap does a good job of hiding and flattening the naffness of my large, billowing absence of style. Interestingly, as I approached the campus centre I was repeatedly approached by student election sprookers asking me if I were a student and whether I knew how to vote. I responded to this repeatedly, “No, I’m not a student.” To the which, a young woman (friend of one of the sprookers) announced, “Well, you’re pretending to look like one!” This made me feel a little self conscious and as I entered the Campus Centre I thrust said woollen cap into my man-bag allowing the absence of style to billow out quite unsheathed. Having eaten some foul coagulated vegan gruel from Wholefoods I left the campus centre to return to my rehearsal room. This time, not a single sprooker approached me, nor narrowed their gaze upon me, nor even glanced at me. WIth the loss of the woollen cap I was instantly and unambiguously ‘not-a-student’.

Yep, these young men we played against took one look at us and thought wow they’re not students. None of them is wearing a black woollen cap. They must be old ‘not-a-students’. They must be masters of their craft. Battle hardened but not bruised. And their perceptions manifested themselves in objective truth. For it is true that we were victorious. No less that six times did we plunder the cavity of their sacred goal. They could return the favour only four times. But we witnessed a kernel of potential in these infant-men. As Thermos wisely observed at half time.. they will improve. And they did. They won the second half.

Guy Fraser made his return to the court. In fine style. He allowed his tan to acclimatise before hitting the court. You cannot hurry these things. It can only result in a loss of face. So Frasay stepped up and pulled out some classic lumberjack moves. Blocking the ball with his snapping, lizard-tongue like legs. Spirtitually reaching around and giving the common courtesy to the metaphorical Nanna ball-sack. Fraser, we all enjoyed it and I know I speak for all (as one) when I say “Great to have you back buddy!”

Hinkley took us to the Belgian Beer Cafe which was not quite as lame as everyone expected.

vs dirty phase wannabe annual hampton park fc

4-4 (3-3?) draw DC, CG, RH, JH, TH, TK, TW, AW

Oh great lets write about another game against the Annual – that is soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo boring. Oh great I broke the blog – or maybe the blog was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo bored with hearing about the annual again it’s trying to get it’s little blog lips around both barrels of a double barrel shotgun. Shit now I’ve fucked it – I really don’t think this is going to align properly for the rest of this post – Oh well fuck it, what do you want from me – hang on it’s doing something, it’s not going to be quite right but maybe not quite as shit as I thought – I’ll just quickly preview it… Nope it worked it out, it’s all good it’s just the alignment is fucked for me while I try to write it… anyway while we didn’t exactly have them drowning on our jizz, at least we weren’t waist deep in theirs either. The game went thus: we were down, we came back, we had ’em, they got their third tinny one for the night and we were spewing. Fuck all that shit.

Anyway forget all that shit – here’s the hampton st fc twitter feed…
http://twitter.com/#!/hamptonstfc
They seem to think they played in the division 3 grand final… oh I think I get it – seems what we called the losers semi is actually division 3 semi as we play in division 2/3 ergo top four spots are division 2, next four spots are division 3 and last 4 are losers

And their facebook page
http://www.facebook.com/hamptonstfc

HOLY CRAP! has anyone used google to search for stuff before? Check this shit out:
http://www.youtube.com/user/grantrowley#p/u/15/CLoQ0PPGqZs

There’s at least one other game there but we get smashed so I didn’t post it.

Well now I’m in the rather problematic position of having to talk of the cooking, when it was my own. Has anyone won MOM and cooked on the same night before? It must have happened. With Hannah rather fortuitously in Sydney I hatched a plan to cook at my own house, which, while I knew was novel could also be boring. Then I thought ‘if it was 1997 it wouldn’t be boring – no sir, we’d be sitting around smoking bongs and eating take away pizza and drinking beer from tins, and watching Jackie Chan movies high as garaffe[sic] nuts” so I thought fucking ay right time travel bizatches (cue twighlight zone audio effects : ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyywawowhatever -schnitzels! there goes the alignment again.

3-4 vs V J F.C @ Wesley
DC[2,mom], CB, RH[gk 0.75 of 2nd half], TW[1], AW[gk 0.25 of 2nd half], Phil [1st half only, GK]

Nearing the end of July and I think this was only the author’s 4th game on court for the year! Ass coaching is all well and good (I was actually surprised at how receptive to a bit of ass coaching the Nannas are) but nothing beats being on the court of battle itself. Damn it is good. Winning is even better but just playing is at least 93% of the good times, and that’s not even counting the GHBG™ or even playing well. Actually maybe that’s a bit lower… In numerous studies the GHBG has been shown to improve situations by at least 10-15%. Feeling as though one has played to the best of ones abilities must be around 10% and let’s say winning is another 10% that leaves 65-70% good times just being on the court… and I was feeling it!

As to how things played out… well, we should have had them. We started the game sans all 3 experienced goalies which meant Phil started in goal. He was doing a sterling job but relinquished the role at half time due to an apparent conflict of interest ? The captain (4th string) stepped in and also did pretty well before stepping aside for the Walmartin to finish off unbeaten. Chassy operating on a dubious ankle managed to have his big toe broken early into the piece. An early penalty was very generously offered to the the author by the Captain, who had forgotten how freaking stressful they are, he aimed to slot it into the bottom right instead kicking it straight down the middle, where the goalie had thankfully moved. We had a few more chances. The author ran into a lot of dead ends, The opposition fumbled in a couple of ugly ones, and that was that. almost.

Then Tao took as to Long Play. We had crumbed cutlets, rib-eye on cauliflower and fennel, white anchovies and some true school mushroom gnocchi. Everyone else drank overpriced imported beers with nice labels but It’s The Winter of the Dark Beer® so I tried the Coopers Stout which was largely underwhelming. The fruity White Rabbit Dark Ale definitely has more to offer… unfortunately for Tao Chassy believed me when I said the steaks cost twice as much as they did. The beers were pretty expensive and the ratio appalling but it was overall a very enjoyable experience and I should definitely have given Tao a 5 instead of the 4 I did, Sorry Tao. You should have done Andy’s post vote spruik pre !

It should also be noted that 5 Nannas in one car drove. The captains bar is beyond compare !

It should also be noted that in the flurry this week: “Of all the questions the Nannas have faced, despite its apparently innocuous veneer, is this the most deeply profound and philosophically perplexing?”… stay tuned.

Vs Vagabundos
Lost 5-3
CB(mom),RH 1,JH 1,AW,CG 1(gk)

It was 3 all at one stage.

Jim fired in a blistering left. Hinkley took a nice deflection off his head into goal. Gilly threw one in with max force. These were the goals.

Unfortunately, the opposition got two more goals and beat us fair and square.

It was yet again a game of attrition. It is difficult to imagine a game of futsal with four nannas playing (ie.one short) and three on the sidelines. But this is how it was.