TH(GK)(MOM), CB (1), DC (1), JH, AW

11-2 We went down to Dead Dead Skilfull

An extract from my personal journal I would like to share with all the Nannas out there in bloggerszone:

Thursday the Third of April, 2008

Dear Diary,
Today I found out miracles really do come true and how awesomely akbah is indeed allah, because today, dear diary, I won the highest honour and respect of my sweet Nanna brethren despite letting 11 goals go by. Today, dear diary, I felt for once the Nannas finally respected me for who I am as a person not just how shit I am on the soccer field and that makes me feel really good. Dear diary today I feel like all the good in world is finally happening to me for once, because how is it possible that such an honour should fall to such a one as me….(&c, &c)

Anyway it goes on like that for a couple more pages and I basically just piss my pants ‘cos I’m so happy and humbled by this honour etc etc whatever. So the crux of it was we got caned pretty hardcore. We had our moments for sure, but we let a few too many soft goals in. Sure I got nutmegged once (maybe twice) but I also got a bit of a boning from a couple of own goals and a few occasions where they were just lining up to have a shot, and you can’t let a side as good as them do that without expecting a bit of a fisting. I think Cocky got a goal by taking the high ball interpretation to that place where there’s just enough doubt in the opposition’s mind that they stop for a second and not quite enough doubt in the refs mind (cause he’s liking you today) to pull you up. Perhaps it is fair to say the scoreboard wasn’t an entirely true reflection, we seemed to hold them quite well for periods, then they would avalanche us. We lacked a bit of luck/finesse/finishing power in front of goals too, on a couple of occasions we were one out with the goalie and probably should have made more of our opportunities. Perhaps it is also true we lacked a bit of the elixir from the week before. Who can say from where comes this elixir, and why the Nannas should be drunk upon it one week and parched for a taste the following? Probably some sports psychologist I guess

I would leave the Nannas out there tuned in on the internets reading this blog with the following personal journal extract:

A.M. Thursday the Tenth of April, 2008

Dear Diary,
Last night I had the strangest dream, I was locked in a room with all my dear Nanna brethren, we none of us were sure exactly what we were doing there. It was a little peculiar, but I feared not, because my brothers were at my side. Slowly we became aware of a strange noise. Quiet at first, it gradually increased in volume. Somewhere between the drone of a partway demented automaton and the cry of a frightened fowl, it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Louder it grew, and with it the concerns and agitations of myself and my trapped comrades. All of us being brought up on the mythology of the Star Wars, we started to get that feeling we had felt as children, in the pit of our belly when we could not help but place ourselves in the garbage compactor with Luke et al. The noise grew louder still, verbal communication became impossible. Terrifying. We none of us had any notion of how to combat this situation, how to extract ourselves from this hell room, nothing in any of our experiences had prepared us for this. The noise reached an intensity that was doing permanent damage, it started getting darker, the smell of death began to permeate the room. We all of us realise it will end shortly and end badly. Then hope. Someone, I don’t know who, maybe all of us together, become aware of a thin crack of light way above us. To high for a man to reach, it seemed as first as though it would offer no salvation, then the Nannas started to organise. Without any prompting or apparent guidance, the tall men of the squad formed a circle, the hands of one man firmly grasping the shoulders of those on either side of him. On top of them scrambled the medium sized guys, similarly forming a circle of strength. Finally as the sound started to affect the internal organs of the Nannas, the smallest Nanna clambered up the backs of his fellows and punched mightily at the sliver of light. The sound stopped, a light of a most brilliant golden bathed us and I woke with words of Tenacious D in my ears: “That’s fucken teamwork”