Nannas v Los Pitifos

R: 3 all

Att: CB, CG, JH, TH, RH, TK, AW

To do justice to a truly sporting and wholesome evening, the following match report will be separated into two parts.

Part one

Preamble — the following could concentrate on a sloppy game: defence at sixes and sevens; poor passing; no movement; and somewhat stilted attack. But such a report would do a severe injustice to the many events that made up this game. It is events that define a match and there were many events on this eve that were truly special.

There was conjecture before the game that the Nannas would take to the field with only five. As time ticked away toward kick off it seemed there would be only four, as Andy was nowhere to be found. The ref blew for the game to begin, suggesting that he could play for the Browns but just as he did Captain and Chas appeared. Cheers went up, morale soared, and then Andy entered the stadium — yet more cheers and happy brown men.

Chas will be remembered this game, in the early moments at least, for his supreme goal, the first for the Browns. He took down the ball down deep in his own half, dispossessing an opponent, then got round another two on his way to the keeper, who could do nothing to stop his penetrating strike. The Nannas were on their way.

Chas will also be remembered for his guile and deft touch, as he directed away, with hand, a ball destined for an opponent barely a couple feet from Gilla’s goal. The opposition raised their hands and their voices (Chassy surely would have been sent off and given away a spot kick) but the ref was unsighted. Chassy walked away. Nothing doing. His performance was such that even the opposition, who only moments before were baying for his blood, started to doubt what they had seen.

Gill had a moment too. The ref was counting down toward half time: three, two, one. He inhaled ready to blow on the whistle. If there had been a hooter, it would have blown and that would have been that. But the whistle took somewhat longer to get to the ref’s lips and in this time Gilla saw an opportunity and took it, banging out a long range shot. The opposition were already in the sheds by the time the ball hit the net but it didn’t stop the ref pointing to the spot: goal, much to the disbelief of everyone in the stadium. Gilla celebrated like the true striker he is.

Of course, the opposition should be mentioned in this report. They are a miserable bunch of sods, and deserve every bit of bad luck that comes their way, not to mention a good whacking. Their bad sports-person-ship was on display for all to see after this last goal. One went so far as to infer that the ref should be fearful for his mum’s wellbeing.

Now I shall blow my own trumpet. The Nannas were behind a goal. There was only a minute or two left. We had had our chances but we could not get the ball to disturb the back of the net. I found myself playing striker, taking every opportunity to fervently shoulder and back into their keeper and the bad sport (who had threatened the ref), looking for a long ball for Gilla. And then such a ball came. I was pushing into the keeper, trying to take him out of the contest, and when the time came, all I had to do was come out from his goal a couple of steps and head home. I hardly have to point out that there was much sweet joy at seeing the ball hit the back of the net. Sometimes it’s good to get personal.

That was the end of the scoring. It finished all square at three a piece.

Part two

At the Korean restaurant on the menu above pictures of fried chicken it says:
What we’re famous for.

What they are famous for is sticky, sweating oil, smelly fart inducing, tummy rumbling, yet strangely alluring and satisfying, tasty, tongue tickling, and extraordinarily bountiful platters of deep-fried chicken.

We dabbled in the Garlic and Marinated varieties. Suffer the Nannas who missed out on this post match sit down.