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 you are indeed an uncoordinated halfwit that couldn't manage something that my zimmerframed half blind great great uncle could have done, is merely reinforced by the fact that now you seem to have had time to stop and consider one of a thousand possible ways to put the ball in the net. Yet somehow you choose the one option that sends the ball into orbit when you are 6 yards out of an open goal.
I can't even blame the pitch for this one - it's perfect.
Back to the goal. As mentioned by Phil "3 lungs, what an engine" I managed to slot the ball to the left hand corner of the goal having received the ball from the left, great pass by Aaron, at the top of the box. The goalie, sensing my ability to slice the ball in the face of a genuine shooting chance, was already moving to the right so had no chance. I even managed to get over the ball so as to keep it down, unlike what occured later, and it positively sizzled into the lower left corner. PICK IT OUT!
Having scored of course means you want more so, naturally, I wasn't packing it in just yet...so...one more half and more of the same please. Except, football gets to slap you down in something like the following manner. Charge through the middle to link up with the attack, drop off the defenders to the 6 yard line to pick up scraps from the defensive melee, ball duly arrives and the keeper is nowhere. The correct option is to side foot the ball into the corner. But remember I'm a goal machine now, apparently the laws of physics don't apply so how about this. Lets lean back and hit the ball as hard as you can. Yeah great idea, that'll be one for the scrapbook. I think the shot put the frighteners on a passing 747.
"I hope that's in the blog...." or something to that effect could be heard in a Phil like accent.
It is, sigh.
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 you are indeed an uncoordinated halfwit that couldn't manage something that my zimmerframed half blind great great uncle could have done, is merely reinforced by the fact that now you seem to have had time to stop and consider one of a thousand possible ways to put the ball in the net. Yet somehow you choose the one option that sends the ball into orbit when you are 6 yards out of an open goal.
I can't even blame the pitch for this one - it's perfect.
Back to the goal. As mentioned by Phil "3 lungs, what an engine" I managed to slot the ball to the left hand corner of the goal having received the ball from the left, great pass by Aaron, at the top of the box. The goalie, sensing my ability to slice the ball in the face of a genuine shooting chance, was already moving to the right so had no chance. I even managed to get over the ball so as to keep it down, unlike what occured later, and it positively sizzled into the lower left corner. PICK IT OUT!
Having scored of course means you want more so, naturally, I wasn't packing it in just yet...so...one more half and more of the same please. Except, football gets to slap you down in something like the following manner. Charge through the middle to link up with the attack, drop off the defenders to the 6 yard line to pick up scraps from the defensive melee, ball duly arrives and the keeper is nowhere. The correct option is to side foot the ball into the corner. But remember I'm a goal machine now, apparently the laws of physics don't apply so how about this. Lets lean back and hit the ball as hard as you can. Yeah great idea, that'll be one for the scrapbook. I think the shot put the frighteners on a passing 747.
"I hope that's in the blog...." or something to that effect could be heard in a Phil like accent.
It is, sigh.
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There's ice in those veins.