BoC scaled new heights this week, conceding in both the first AND last minute.
We kicked off, lost possession, they moved it down the left, Stu intervened, backpassed to Dan, but his knee was born 147 years before the rest of him so he couldn’t kick with his right. He thought, “Oh I know, I’ll put out for a corner with my left. Oh no, that’s stupid. I know, I’ll let it roll across my body, then kick it away with my left”. Meanwhile Ash, from F+P, was thinking “I’ll just nip in here and score a goal”. And so he did. 1-0 down within 30 seconds, our revolutionary 4-5-1 was working wonders.
I can’t remember their second, but it was probably a doozy as well. We were struggling a bit, giving it away quite easily, but managed to prise one back just before half time. Stu’s goal kick evading about four defenders before Wayne scuttled onto it, toe-poking it past the goalie, in off the post. Obviously he’s wearing some swanky new boots. The last to “revolutionise” footy boots (Predator) was also an Aussie. Straya!!
Wayne had to leave at half time, but he still managed to kill another F+P bloke before he left, totally cleaning him up just like last time. But at the rememberance ceremony at work today we just rehashed the same guff from the last one, so it wasn’t such of a drag. Adam was his name. Nice knowin’ ya pal. I think it’s a reasonable tactic from Wayne, we can really thin their numbers this way.
They scored a third, a long range dribbler that snuck past Dan in goal, although probably more because his knee is 147 years older than the rest of him rather than being a wonderous strike. We then scored from a defensive mix up, some upfield pressure forcing their defender into a backpass straight into my path with the keeper nowhere to be seen, but before I could smash it over the bar Illy swooped in and smashed it into the empty net. Left footed, natch. Nice one Illy, but that was my goal, so I’m giving it to me. Heh. 3-2, game on again.
They scored another, but I don’t remember how. The drinking from the flask helps me forget. 4-2, game-not-so-much-on.
We then scored a cracker, a lovely ball from Chris to Illy, one touch and he slotted past the keeper. Left footed, natch. 4-3 game on. Again.
We then scored another cracker. Sheedy throw-in high up the left wing, Illy first time touch back, Sheedy first-time cross right onto the head of Latch, planting it across the keeper in the far corner. 4-4 GAME FREAKING ON.
We had a couple of chances to take the lead, Latch fizzing a ball across the 6-yard box that I couldn’t quite get on the end of, and then Hoff Jnr dragging a one-on-one just wide from a narrow angle.
As the hockey ladies filled the sidelines and the loudspeaker man cleared his throat for “8 o’clock all change, 8 o’clock all change”, we all knew what was coming next. A nice move down their left, crossed in on the floor, swept home from 6 yards, no problem. We had 20 seconds to equalise, and a through ball from me saw Hoff Jnr through one-on-one, but on a tight angle and with too much time to think of Modigliani’s Nu Couché he could only hit it straight at the keeper.
He admitted afterwards he thought the chance at the end was for the win, not draw, so wasn’t too fussed that he missed. Goals are goals you pricks, just stick it in the net. The yoof of today, not bein’ able to count n everyfink. I dunno. *shakes head*
