Sick As A Parrot

The end of the season kinda fizzed out and ended prematurely due to the weather canceling the final games. It meant that we were denied the opportunity to put right our penultimate result. What was interesting in our final loss, which was not recorded in the match report, was the performance by Ludwik. The man single handily gifted wrapped the match to the opponents by providing two assists to the opposition. He would have had three assists had our keeper, Mr Dependable - Faud, not given away a free kick by handling outside the area in order to cut Ludwik's defense splitting pass, sorry I mean bungled clearance. Why all of this is relevant now is that the Spring season is starting in two weeks and Ludwik has decided to leave the ranks of the B league brethren to show case his talents with the big boys in the A league. We're a team scorned but I'm not sure the A league are ready for his perverse sense of fair play so elegantly illustrated in our last loss. This is the bigges...

We lost and I blame Martin - of course. I don't know what he was on but he was giving us some serious lip through out the game. Constantly having a go at us for not getting back to help the defense and when we got there banging on about not getting forward to help with the attack. Interestingly on more than a couple of occasions I noticed that while he was screaming at us to get forward I was 10 yards ahead of him. I reckon he must have downed a huge bowl of aggro flakes for breakfast. On reflection I came up with a couple of other theories as to why the normally mild mannered, albeit slightly lippy, bloke would suddenly explode into a raging beast of aggression: 1. Roid rage. I'm not saying he's on the juice and I really do not want to get too close to look for other signs of steroid abuse. 2. Lack of Saturday night action. On top of that he took off early from the game to catch a plane but I reckon he was making like a rat leaving the sinking ship. Of course we would not ...

When you score a goal you have bagged one. When you get two goals in a game that's a brace. Three goals and it's a hat-trick and you get to take the match ball home. I've no idea what four goals scored in a game is called. This weekend I achieved none of the above so it's all rather academic. However I did do something which is possibly just as satisfying as scoring and I'll wager a large sum of someone else's wedge that Martin hasn't done this. Playing at right back I'm up against a technically superior and arguably quicker attacker. Let's call this fellow Jerry. Jerry beats me around the outside which at least is halfway decent defending on my part. Show the attacker the outside and don't let him get inside of you. If he has to go around the outside he has to cover more ground so you get a chance to catch him if he goes past you. So Jerry has gone haring around the outside and is bombing towards the goal. I turn to give chase and at some point ...

I didn't play on Sunday since Rosicky was injured and I wanted to wait by the phone in case Arsene Wenger called and needed to draft me into the squad. It's a long shot I know but you've got to have dreams and I'm sure he's an avid reader of this blog so is fully aware of my prowess on the field. Anytime Arsene mate, I'm ready to go. Seriously, give me a call. Given my absence Martin was supposed to file a report of the match and although I got the verbal report nothing in writing has been forthcoming which naturally casts doubt on the validity of what he told me. Supposedly we won 3 - 1, supposedly he scored and supposedly, and this is sheer brilliance on his part since it supplies the needed credibility to the report, he missed an absolute sitter from about three yards out. What puzzles me, as I'm sure it does you, is the consistency of his scoring when I'm not around. We've got two more games this season plus a pickup game this weekend and I'm...

It is often said that a good referee is one that you don't notice. Today I put in a performance that the greatest referee's would have been proud of. A picture of anonymity a portrait of invisibility. I arrived late due to a clash with telly. In a man vs. telly battle the telly always wins. It's one of the rare exceptions that mates allow another mate to stand them up. Worship at the temple of the CRT/LCD/Plasma has a dedicated following. In a woman vs. telly battle a man will side with a woman and then after a while (on average 2 mins) return to the telly. It's the laws of nature and you cannot deny them. Perhaps my general malaise was due to my late arrival but I couldn't get into the pace of game. I had barely arrived when I sub'd in for Fuad whose injury streak continues unabated. The score was 1 - 1 when I arrived and I missed seeing Martins equalizing goal. His goals are taking on the status of a falling tree in forest when no one is around or some other e...

I've been giving Martin grief for wearing white boots and this week I turned up in white shorts. Apparently this comes pretty close to a Sunday league footballing faux par. Thanks to Ryan for pointing that one out. Faux par excused Ryan set in a motion a chain of events that culminated in a once a season event. Ryan to Gui to Martin to me. Ok that's the supporting acts out of the way on to the main event. Taking the ball on my left side, just past the halfway line and slipping between two defenders, I made Martin's pass look great. In fact bearing down in a one-on-one situation with the keeper I made it look even better. Add to that a move to the right of goal thus giving me the angle to try to chip to the left (of the keeper) and now Martin's pass is looking like freaking gold. The keeper got a hand to the chip but it continued on towards the goal, along with me and the fast charging defender. The ball was basically over the line as I got there first to give it a final...

[Note: This weeks post comes courtesy of the sartorially gifted Martin] So there comes a time for every team - when they have to take to the field without their talismanic leader - Celtic without Larsson, ManU without Keane, Arsenal without Viera and on this Sunday ... Team-B8 without Kimbo! Yes unfortunately our coach/coordinator was unavailable. So the team took to the field lacking the inspirational belief embodied in our very own Roberto Carlos!. It should also be noted that we were a depleted force with no subs a few borrowed ringers and no chance of the periodic five minute breaks that normally accompany our coordinator's defensive clearances - as one of our team typically takes that much time to fetch the ball from the adjacent zip code! The first half saw a good number of chances spurned at both ends due to a combination of pirouette-style finishing, excessive greed in attack, and sniper-sized sand-pits as well as B-3's tendency to focus more on protesting infringements...

I was involved in a game on Sunday that was one of the most one-sided games I've have ever witnessed. One sided not because the opposition were rubbish rather because it was a game in which everything came together. Precision passing, pacy overlaps, unexpected goals and individual flair. A symbiotic relationship built on mutual needs of the team and the individual, where the sum of the parts exceeded the whole or something like that. A game played in the manner of how football should be played. A game for the purists. I can't claim to have played a major part in the game but just being there is sometimes enough. About 6 hours after that game I got up off the couch and headed out to join up with Martin and the lads for our Sunday hack around. I wouldn't say we were inspired by demolition job Arsenal did on Reading but our game mirrored the earlier game in at least one aspect. It was so one sided that we played most of the game in the opposition half. Martin put on one of his...

Martin was recently voted best dressed man around these parts. I mention this not because I'm jealous, however I will concede that perhaps deep in my psyche maybe I am, but that he joyfully announced this fact to me in person. He did the classic 'but I think you should have won' routine which is the ultimate rubbing your face in it. This routine is best employed when your team soundly thrashes another, preferably your mates, and you both know it. It allows you to appear to be acting in a totally sporting fashion but inside there's a brass band and ticker tape parade going on. What has all this got to do with the game this weekend? - good question and the answer is probably nothing except that having won 3 - 0 at a canter we probably could have trotted out the above routine except that the game was more one sided than the score suggests. This kinda crosses the line of decency. In addition Phil, James and Paul unfortunately were not amongst the opponents so the effect wou...

I was playing at left back and in my fantasy I'm an Ashley Cole or Roberto Carlos type defender. This means being light on the heavy defending stuff but having a penchant for bombing forward up the wing exchanging one-twos with the left midfielder. Having set the expectations here's what unfolded... Picking up the ball somewhere deep in our half, via an interception or a lucky bounce but definitely not from a crunching tackle, I set off up the pitch. For some reason the way I was moving and/or the position I picked up the ball meant I had a clear run up the wing till somewhere inside the oppositions half. I lack subtly so I'm bombing up the wing at pretty much full speed and now find myself get deeper into the opposition half with one of their mid-fielders attempting to close me down. He in an inside position and as I go past him and he turns to give chase. OK now I'm haring forward at full speed, I've overtaken all my team mates and can hear the footsteps and brea...

In brief: The opposition take a goal kick and I'm standing near the halfway line as the ball comes towards me. In a rare moment of thinking of doing something and it actually working I head the ball sideways to Martin. Normally heading the ball leaves me in a state of borderline concussion because I pretty rubbish at it, however this time I'm still standing and clear headed and I marvel as the move unfolded. Martin does some flash stuff with his feet, like putting one foot in front of the other, and moves forward with the ball before pinging a pass out to Pawel who is on the right wing. Pawel advances down the wing and sends in a cross to Ronaldo who has taken up a position outside the six yard area about level with the left hand post and hanging off the back of the defenders. The ball sails over the defenders and finds Ronaldo perfectly but the defenders react and attempt to close him down. Not wasting time to trap the ball Ronaldo executes a low scything scissor kick, wit...

Sometimes when it rains it pours. Sometimes so much happens you don't where to begin. Sunday yielded a veritable goldmine of material for this weeks posting and it all started before the game even began. My chauffeur rocks up to my place at around 8:10 for our 8:30 kickoff. Martin, you may recall, wears white boots and is the subject of some ridicule amongst the rank and file. Here's the rule: when you're good enough you can be flash otherwise stick with the basic tried and true gear. I'll let others decide if he can get away with wearing boots outside the norm. Anyway apparently he needed new boots so imagine my horror when he proudly displayed his brand spanking new shiny WHITE boots. The man has no shame. "Just got them yesterday" he says, "I need to break them in". Hopefully they'll get muddied up sometime soon. The game gets underway with me in goal for about 25 minutes of the first half. That just about enough time to demonstrate my full ...

When it goes down it goes down big and it goes down hard. Some might say there are none that go down better than Martin but that's a topic for another blog, and possibly not footballing related. Comments like that should ensure a higher hit rate with the search engines though. When the two footballing giants of the modern era line up against each other it's more than bragging rights that are at stake. Now I'm not talking 'Rumble in the Jungle' level of intensity here, perhaps 'Mumble in the Mud' or 'Grumble on the Grass' but it's still big. You get one shot at taking down your arch rivals per season and this was the weekend it went down. In the white corner: Martin 'Ladies Man', David 'The Rock' and Me 'No name' up against Paul 'Chelsea Chelsea Chelsea', James 'Hit man' and Phil 'Interesting'. If we could only win one game this season then this was the one. Phil throwing off the shackles, and shunni...

Martin leapt out of bed on Sunday morning and decided that today was going to be a great day. Heck what am I talking about he thought, everyday is a great day. Checking himself in the mirror - hair perfect, teeth dazzling, skin unblemished he prepared for the game. After a quick cuppa tea and some breakfast he set off, via my place, to the match . Giving me a ride is an act of charity on his part but I'm grateful to be in the presence of such greatness and it's my forlorn hope that just some small fraction of his ability would rub off on me. Having arrived early I plod towards the pitch whilst Martin does a couple of quick laps and proceeds through his warm up routine - consisting of a one man ball juggling act, shots on goal and the full array of calisthenics. I managed to tie both sets of laces and point myself in the right direction on the pitch. The game got underway and Martin, wearing his white boots, looked like he was gliding on the wings of Pegasus. He has grace but al...

It was brought to my attention this week, by a section of the readership, that I've been picking on Martin and that I should ease up on him. It appears I've been giving him a, perhaps, undeserved hard time and I shouldn't be so eager to do so in the future. This section of the readership was quite adamant on this point and delivered this information to me not in electronic form but to my face. My, these Martin devotees are a tough bunch. How best to characterize this section of the readership? For the want of a better phrase lets call them Martins female fan club. Yes, that's right, he's got the ladies speaking up for him. And know this - I will name names if I'm pressured. Since I was so roundly turned on this week, I therefore need to delay this weeks official posting till I can compose a piece that doesn't draw the ire of this fierce group of critics. Be patient readers the piece is forthcoming.

There a few things in life you need to experience in order to consider your life well lived. Amongst these is the drunken walk home with a mate proclaiming love, in a manly bloke like manner of course. Not that there's anything wrong with the other 2 blokes loving each other kind of love, but... Also a big greasy fry up the morning after... has got to be on the list. The morning after many things in fact. The big greasy fry up both kick starts and celebrates a great weekend. I suppose some sexual accomplishments should also be listed in amongst ones life achievements but yet again I'm deviating. Constraining ourselves to things of a footballing nature I reckon you want to make sure you do the following: 1. Score a goal - obvious really but there a loads of variations to this: the bullet shot, side foot, a curler, one-on-one etc. 2. Put through a defence splitting pass - ideally leading to a goal but hey you've done your bit and if those lazy mothers who call themselves forw...

For a proper background to this post feel free to read the previous post which can be found here Continuing on... Well if you haven't yet figured out that I finally scored then you've not been keeping up with matters of a footballing nature. Describing this momentous occasion in excruciating detail is actually harder than you would think esp given that this is not a regular occurrence. Time moves remarkably quickly when you score and yet when you miss a goal it slows down in direct proportion to the relative ease of the chance. What this means is that the joy of your stunning footballing ability, tactical nous that got you in the right place at the right time, the technical wizardry that allowed you to connect a foot with a ball and precision by which you slotted said ball into the only place the goalkeeper couldn't get to, all hurtles by in a fleeting moment. However, should you miss an open goal, as happened not 20 minutes later, then the horrifying realization that yes y...

Bowing to public pressure the story continues.... The begining of the story can be found here Martin "3 halves and I'm off", living up to this weekends nickname and remember these are short halves, cleared off early having to attend a soirée. He's a bit posh of course (remember he's got white boots) so while we attend BBQ's he goes to soirées. I have an invite around to his for dinner in a couple of weeks and I'm already brushing up on my elocution Phil "3 games no problem" did the decent thing and stuck around even putting himself in goal when no one volunteered. There's an interesting phenomena with the Sunday league, which is particularly evident for pickup games, and that is that no one really wants to be in goal. Invariably 11 players trot out onto the pitch and when the refs demand that someone go in goal everyone just stands there. There's a peculiar skill, which I have almost perfected, which involves looking around but not catch...

Yep it finally happened folks and I'll leave this as a teaser until I gather my thoughts and complete the post.

It had to happen really and it follows the basic ying and yang thang, what goes around comes around, Murphy’s law etc etc etc. You give someone/thing some gip (beating up on someone, for the Americans amongst you) and they turn around and rub your nose in it. The league is over but there are still games to be played. The order of the day was pickup games whereby the format is continuous games with shorter halves to ensure higher turnover of players. No subs during the halves but wholesale changes at the end of the half if players are around. Martin turned up complaining that ankle hadn't properly healed and he had to go early. This is called getting the excuses in early and since it was apparent he hadn't read last weeks post I let it go. Waiting to come on he noted an opportunity that went begging and proclaimed that he would have been on the end of that. Remember the footballing gods folks... We get our turn to come on and take up our positions - central midfield for Martin, ...

He never made it, didn't stand a chance. I was the last to see him and he look great, normal, happy even. Giving the big up about coming along for one last effort. Poor bastard never stood (pun intended) a chance but he made a brave show of it. We had the ceremonial rolling up the trouser leg, the un-informed medical diagnosis, the what-if's, the maybes and then even the pathetic offer to be last man in our line of defense. But all along we knew he wasn't going to make for the last game of the season. Idiot didn't put ice on it like we told him. No he thought he knew better. He shunned the magic sponge and water treatment and decided to go it alone and hope for the best. A week later the ankle is still twice its normal size. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Here's how the mate's code of mate-hood works. When we lose one then we all pitch in double for him coz our mate would appreciate that. Even if your mate is a daft moron who doesn't put ice on a turned ankle. Some...

I mean who in their right mind has the cheek to exercise their dogs in a dog park. Add to that the bare face arrogance of screaming hysterically at the aforementioned footballer when all he was doing was innocently retrieving (see what I did there - stayed with the dog theme quite nicely) a ball that flew into said exercise yard. Ok maybe closing the gate wasn't the first thing on his mind esp. with 21 other blokes plus subs watching and waiting to get on with the game. But COME ON LADY, GIVE ME A FRIGGIN BREAK! Something like might have been the response but hey this is all second hand knowledge to me so the details might not be too accurate. We are open for any other suggestions that would be either more appropriate or an educated guess as to what was actually said. Bottom line: if you take 1 old lady, her dogs and a surly footballer and put this lethal combination in any kind of close proximity in the time space continuum I guess you're just asking for trouble.

Never a truer word spoken or rather a phrase uttered. 4 zip down at halftime and the game ended 4 - 1. Close or what? Probably what but here's the thing that does your nuts in: Phil hit the crossbar twice and James hits the post from a corner. Add in the numerous other decent chances and a smattering of some almost decent ones and we were a little aggrieved not to have at least drawn. The big lesson learned, and you young-uns should take notice, never execute a back heel into the path of the attacker whilst 6 feet from you own goal and not giving anyone else on your team any kind of warning. Fred is rock at the back and constantly has a go at me for trying to dribble out of defense. He's right of course; the first job of a defender is to stop goals not to lay on perfect passes to attackers by back heeling into their paths. That was the second time I failed to hack the ball out and the previous time it also led to a goal so I guess I get two assists. I'll get the hang of thi...