The Ravin' Idiots

Once upon a midnight dreary, while we played, weak and weary,
With many a quaint and curious pass of standard poor
While we plodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a clapping,
As of some one gently slapping, slapping hands for praise of chore.
"'Tis some Colours," I muttered, "clapping praise of skilful chore.
Only this and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak November,
And each separate woeful Green wrought his ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my chances surcease of sorrow, sorrow for the loss in store,
For the rare and radiant goals that the Greens were want to score,
Absent then and evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each Green bib
Thrilled me, filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"Shout for it lads, we need to score.
Mark a man and let's have a midfield core;
Step it up and give it more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Tor," said I, "or Fraser, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was grieving, and so gently you came weaving,
And so faintly you came heaving, heaving through the colours core,
That I scarce was sure I saw this"--here they passed the ball on floor
I fecking missed; no change in score.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Plonker?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Plonker!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Darker still with shadows looming, hands on hips and faces brooding,
Heavy-headed Greens grew leaden, leaden from their skill-starved war,
And so it was with whistle's blowing, dejected souls felt dark foreboding,
The colour's danced in victory their might now set in lore.
Their crucifying greatness the Greens could not ignore.
"Bollocks" I say, and nothing more.

But what came of that eerie clapping, likened once to hands a slapping,
Regularly it did come passing, passing into ears now sore,
What cursed bell was damned tolling?; what beast from nadir's depths was calling?
This infernal racket I did intrinsically deplore.
"'Twas the feckin Colours clapping praise for every score.
Only this and nothing more."

Pippo'd to the post

Under 10's lined up against over 50's tonight on Pitch A at the Sportspark.

The young un's defence was marshalled by Tiny Tim, ably assisted by Terrific Tayo and occasionally aided by Tremendous Tor. The incisive pass and move football came, as usual, from Magic Geir supplying the ammunition from midfield, Tigrish Tom on the left with mazy runs into the box and Liverpool Joe doing his best to 'stick it in the net' upfront.

Surprisingly this team of young whippersnappers could only produce three goals all night, the pick of which was a super solo effort from Tigrish Tom who beat 114 players on the edge of the box before firing home through a crowded penalty area.

Stalwart Shaughen and Business-Like Lee could be the reason the young uns could only muster a meagre tally of three. Their steadfast defending prevented the ball from crossing the line on more than 6 occasions. The Awe-Inspring Guy and the Stupendous Stefan in midfield provided enough for the green strikers to go at. Fabulous Fraser and Dazzling Darren helped on both wings and Gutsy Gallagher was always putting his foot in for a tackle to win the ball back.

'We've Got A Brand New Manager Called Paul Jewell' Tim was an all-purpose player too, and it was he after the game who likened Rich's performance to Italian legend Filippo Inzaghi...

"What you mean I oozed pure class throughout the match and took all my chances with aplomb Tim?"

"No you were bloody shit for 89 minutes, but you popped up at the end to score the all important winner."

OK he didn't quite say it like that and I actually scored 60% of our five goals tonight but I'll still take comfort from the fact that Pippo has made 57 appearances for Italy scoring 25 goals in the process...not bad for an AC Milan duffer on his last legs eh?

Where did the picture go?

MAN OF THE MATCH

A game whose outcome was distorted by the injury to the shirts' Marmadu (spelling?) ... This was a result that didn't do justice to the efforts of the old lags.

The shirts took an early cominance, but when the Irish wizard arrived for the greens, things were shaping up to be pretty equal. Some slick moves, some good goals, but it all fell apart (just like That Other Team) and the roof fell in, when The Man in Brown twisted an ankle. That Other Team night have been missing Terry, Owen, Rooney, Ferdinand, Cole and Heskey, but their loss was piddling compared to the damage done to the colours on Friday night.

The greens showed no mercy. They poured forward with one touch pass-and-move like some Croation creation. The lags huffed and puffed and, in Guy's words "did bloody well under the circumstances" ... But the end result was as predictable as the lifespan Steve McQueen in the England job.

Some worthy performances on a night when conditions made handling difficult for the keeper ... oh, yeah, there was no keeper ... just like That Other Team. There were some outstanding candidates for Man of the Match. Chibb was tireless and lead by example, superb tackles, terrific runs, and one sliding effort that deserved more than the near miss it resulted in. Geir was moving through the gears with his usual composure and grit. Frazer was dishing out passes that would have landed on Crouch's eyebrow. Guy was defying his age yet again, dribbling and slotting in passes like a contender. Keith was defiant as a lone defender. Barry looked unbeatable whether pushing forward or folding the fort. Rich was here and there, a constant threat.

But there can only be one real Man of The Match ...

Frank Lampard.

Liquid Football

Recently, this leather tankard owning blogster, has earned a reputation as a late comer. This is rather undeserved and my better half will adamantly attest to my consistency for being on time or premature! The forthcoming ejaculation of text will represent two blogs in a row for me and this it seems is the penalty for arriving late.

I at least was not alone in appearing at 5.30. Dan was eqaully tardy and so it was that we manifest on the pitch with the score at 1 up for the colours. Dan added his skills to the colours while I donned a bib and joined the greens.

In stark contrast to wednesday's game the structure of the teams and calibre of passing was at a functional level. In fact, moments of wonderous passing were evident from the Greens. Billy at his humble best played down his part in a magnificent pass that split the colours defence and had Lorenzo sprinting after the ball. Beautifully placed, the ball had just a fraction too much pace for a finish.

For the colours, Guy gave an imperious display that was only marred by his routine hobbling by Taha. Piers was maintaining his well earned reputation as a defensive midfielder. With Shaughen at right back he was given some freedom to venture forth and get stuck into the advacing colours. Scott at the back was a legend. He was reading the game like it was a Peter and Jane book and seemed to head every ball that came in back out to the middle of the pitch.

Fraser seemed to be roaming at will but always managed to appear in the right place at the right time. He had attempts on goal and also furnished his team mates with some wonderfully crafted passes. I personally benefitted from a resplendant pass that resulted in a very rare left footed flick into the net. It was a beauty of a goal but I should counter it with my effort at a free. In moment akin to a Dave Clifford corner I aimed for a perfectly positioned Fraser but sent the ball miles beyond anyone. Fraser I'm sorry I could not return the favour of a glorious pass.

The key man up front for the Greens was Zac. His wizardly skills conjoured many goals that saw the greens win by 4 goals. It's been a while since I recall a convinving win by any team but friday's game became one sided.

So what went wrong? The colours had great players. Geir, the Norse God of Passing and Midfield Marshall of the Valhalla 11, seemed to be passing the ball into the box with ease but the finishing touch was not their. Sometimes of course Scott was their rebuking any such deliveries into the box. Rich, the Scarlet Pimpernel of soccernight, usually stalks the pitch, elusively evading defenders and scoring fabulous goals but tonight's game was different. He was seen on the wings trying to turn provider rather than being the finisher. Dan the newcomer has quickly earned a reputation for talent. His crowning moment was a fabulous headed goal from a corner, I think. It went straight to the top corner.

I'm not sure what went wrong. Admittedly the greens looked at sea for a while after I joined the game at 5.30 but somehow the dynamic changed and people were continually finding and occupying spaces as they observed them. they filled gaps left by the fellow team mates that ventured forward. Fluid football and it seemed to work.

Given time the Colours would have found there way and would have brought an even stronger contest.

No matter. The history books will record one thing: The greens won by 4 goals.

H5N1 found in Sportspark Footballers

Arriving late to tonight's game I saw a scene not unlike that presently going on in Diss. The numbers were very high and with no bibs everyone looked the same. I was immersed into this quagmire of confusion....Who the feck do I pass to? I was not alone in my dilemma.

En masse we looked like a frantic flock of Turkeys trying to avoid the hands of the blood thirsty cullers. The late arrival of Derby 'how do you spell relegation' Tim heralded the provision of the bibs. In an instant we had clarity of team members and a consequent realisation that our hectic display was not solely dependent on the absent bibs.

Despite this negative beginning the game had some fantastic moments and great battles. Man of the match was unquestionably Gerry. His Gandalf-like 'though shall not pass' performance was the perfect counter action to the ever present threat of Stefan. His magnificence was worth 6 or 7 goals. Little Tim was his superb defensive partner and the colours were engaged in far too many goal line scrambles but they seemed to handle most of the onslaughts.

Other performances were harder to pick out in the throng of players. The superfluid passing of recent games was not evident tonight. The game was fractured with disjointed interplay between team members.

Some contentious calls were made for handball. Taha was aggrieved at such accusations made against him though this may have offset his Dida-esque performance after a tussle with Stefan.

As for my own performance, I can honestly say that I just about managed a sweat after 50mins of play and was lucky enough to touch the ball on several occassions. My only saving grace was a nicely placed pass to David 'Ginola' Clifford in the last seconds of the contest. Despite some nice passes into the box earlier in the game Dave conjoured a miss in front on goal that left the teams on level pegging at 5 each. I was bemused that the colours has managed a draw as I was ready to accept a loss. On reflection however, I think Gerry's masterful display deserved the hard fought draw at the very least.

This friday vaccinations against bad passing will be available. I for one will be taking the jab and all subsequent boosters. Hopefully we can avoid displays of fractured passing in future games.

A Floody marvellous match!!!

Pre-match conversation revolved around the fact that Tim and Rich's schools were closed today because of the likelihood of flooding in the Yarmouth and Bungay areas this morning. Consequently, they had a day of doing bugger all apart from concentrating on their pre-match routines before Friday afternoon's big match. Surely, this would them a distinct advantage over the other Soccernighters who had done a full day's work before play commenced.

When we arrived at the hallowed plastic of Pitch A, we were distressed to see another bunch of lads warming up ready to play. Negotiations for them to "get off our land" and go to another pitch did not go well initially. Fortunately, the ever-efficient Guy was able to produce his booking slip which persuaded them to piss off to the non-hallowed pitch B.

We got off to a decent start - 6 vs 6 of the coldest night of the year so far. Plenty of running ahead, I thought. The sides were evenly balanced and a good five minutes of football ensued. Then, Darren turned up! (traditionally, the role of "late-comer to make the sides uneven" always seems to fall to Jas, but he was obviously unavailable this evening!!!)

So, 7 vs 6 it was then. The Colours, consisting of Shaughen, Rich, Tim, Simon, Guy, Tony and Piers would surely make the extra man count against the Greens: Chibb, the two Joes, Darren, Geir and myself. The Colours got off to a good start, dominating possession and scoring the odd goal here and there to take a deserved lead.

But suddenly, out of nowhere, the tide turned. The Greens started to play flowing football and produced wave after wave of attack. The Colours' defence was proving leaky as the Greens surged ahead for the first time in the game.

However, the Colours could not be stopped. 3 down with 5 minutes to go, the Greens seemed to have run out of steam and suddenly it was much harder to "KEEP THE BALL" and play it "SIMPLE"! The Colours scored two in quick succession and then an equaliser with the last kick of the game in about the 17th minute of time added on. (maybe it was the fourth!)

So, numerically the score was a draw, but the Greens were morally victorious, having played some great stuff, battled resiliently when they didn't have the ball and didn't resort to launching the ball twice from their own half to a lone striker standing two yards from the goal line to tap it in whilst playing with an extra man. (I'm not bitter or twisted!)

showertalk

Body count; 3

Gel used; High end Norwegian revitalising tonic, green, (Tor), Boots own brand with yucca supplement , yellow, (shared Darren, Guy)

Themes; Tors defensive worries, Tors long ball concerns, Tors anxiety at the return of the Rock, has he given his injury enough time to heal?

Trivia; To lighten the mood Darrren showed us a photograph detailing his leather pitcher collection

The Return of The Rock

Players,

The history of western civilisation is bespeckled with tales of the homecoming hero. Some mythical, some factual. All inspirational. From Odysseus' famous return in Homer's Odyssey, through Simba the Lion King returning to Pride Rock, all the way to ET going home and the fantastic journey of the Salmon as it returns thousands of miles to the place where it was spawned. Well now you can add one more to that list: Keith 'The Rock' Porter is back. Like the Homeric hero of Greek literature, Keith arrived fashionably late – not the ten years of the Greek warrior, but a mere minute – and the players strained their eyes in the gloom to see if they could still recognise him. He bestrode the hallowed green turf of the sportspark like a colossus (in the strictly metaphorical sense), imbibing a sense of awe and dread in equal measure amongst the younger members of the gathering who had only heard of him talked about in hushed, reverential tones by the more senior players who had known the pleasure of sharing a back four with 'The Rock'. Keith took a deep breath and surveyed the green expanse before him – a majestic vista triggering memories of so many former triumphs and mistimed tackles. Yes, the hero was back alright – and you should see the battle scars!

Your correspondent picked the teams, surprisingly well given his track record in that department. It turned out to be something of an oldies vs youngsters affair with The Rock reforming his fabled defensive partnership with fellow greens Tim, Peirs and Shaughen. Guy, Mark and Dan filled up the midfield and Pistol Pete and Stubbsy headed upfield to worrying glances from the opposition back line that consisted of Joe and Tor. That was all. In front of them Chib, Geir, Darren, and Joe's mate. Ploughing a lone furrow up front for the colours was Red Joe.

It didn't take long for the game to find its pattern; a continuous assault on the green goal from all sides that would have had Michael Caine and Stanley Baker quaking in their boots wishing they were back at Rourke's Drift with the Zulus bearing down on them.

Such was the ferocity of the bombardment. The greens fought a terrific rearguard action with several last ditch tackles on Joe, Chib, Geir et al as they seemed odds-on to score. The colours took an expected lead with Joe and Chib notching goals. The Greens dug deep and with the ever-steadying influence of Guy Armando Myhill strolling through the middle of the park, they began to dictate play. Pistol and Stubbsy fought for everything, Mark weaved on the left and hassled like a terrier but Tor and Joe were making life difficult. Constant pressure paid off though and a rush of goals came seeing the greens surge ahead. Suspecting the worst, a tactical change was made by the colours, fearing that age and guile would trump youth and inexperience, they went back to basics and launched an all-out aerial assault that would have been more at home over Dresden in Feb 1945. Cross after cross came in, green defenders being dragged all over the park. The inevitable happened and Joe was beginning to score for fun, sneaking in at the back post repeatedly – too much watching Benayoun Joe!

The game ebbed and flowed with both teams too polite to take the lead. Entering the final few minutes, disaster struck. In a rush of blood akin to the memorable Zaire team's unorthodox defending of a free kick http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sw8_LY6xajc Mark inexplicably batted away a corner with his hand. The greens were down. Still, someone once said football was a game of two halves and within minutes Mark had surged down the left, into the box, battled off two defenders and rifled the ball into the roof of the net. A goal fit enough to win any match and it exemplified all that is great about the English game – win it, run with it as fast as you can, and twat it really hard. I mean REALLY hard. But it was too little, too late. Keith had played a blinder but ended up on the losing side. But then every tale of the returning hero is tinged with an element of tragedy... it has to be that way.

Welcome back The Rock! It's good to see you again.

I'll leave you with a quote from that famous footballing philosopher Albert Camus, the Pete Doherty of soccer: All that i know most surely about morality and obligations, i owe to football. You know it's true. Live it.

The return of Marc Overmars

The teams lined up 8 vs 8 under the lights at the Astroturf. On paper it was agreed that the sides looked evenly matched. The first goal took a little while in coming for the greens as Billy broke the 'offside trap' on the right hand side and he lashed it into the back of the net for 1-0. There seemed to be momentary confusion about whether the ball was in the area when it left his boot, but it was soon agreed that the goal would stand.

The greens looked in control at this point. They were passing it around using slick one or two touch football all across the park and it came as little surprise that they went 2-0 up after a few more minutes. At the other end of the field of play the greens makeshift defence of Jerry and Rich did their best to keep the colours at bay, but after 25 minutes the colours managed to pull one back. Geir went on one of his trademark surges through the middle of the park and the greens were too slow to close him down. His killer pass found a fellow colour and it was game on once again at 2-1.

The colours failed to capitalise on this goal however, and the greens scored two more goals to make it 4-1 at the half way point. Simon had realised that the game might become more interesting if things were swapped around. He said that Geir needed a ball player to complement him in the middle of the park so Dan was switched for Dave and the game resumed. At first it seemed that little had changed as the greens bagged another goal.

Things certainly had changed on the pitch though as Billy came back into defence and Rich pushed up into his more familiar striking position. Barry was obviously worried about Rich's presence in his half of the field so he decided to push up into attack himself. That's the moment when he transformed into Marc Overmars, that Dutch left attacking midfielder who mauraudered down the Arsenal left in the late 1990's.

Super Bazza could do no wrong as he, Geir, Dan and Joe Z engineered a superb passage of play that brought the colours right back into the game at 6-6. The moves were flowing, the fighting attitude had returned and the game looked very evenly match now as super Bazza jinked his way through the colours defence on no less than three occasions to score quality goals that Robin van Persie would have been proud of. He was thwarted for a 4th time only by a block from Marcus that stopped the ball from sailing into the top left corner.

Time was ticking and it looked as if the game may end as a draw. The greens had certainly had their fair share of chances as they had three cleared off the line and Rich also hit the bar when perhaps he should have scored. A moment of inspiration between Rich and Frazer had looked to have secured a winner for the greens as Rich played a one two with Frazer deep in the right side of the field. Rich was in the area and took his time to place the ball into the colours goal with the side of his foot.

There was to be a final twist in the tale though as the colours midfield, led by Geir Almlid but supported ably by Marc Overmars scored two quick goals in succession and the colours were in the lead for the only time in the game, but the only time that matters! The greens has lost it at the death... 7-6 the final score.

This was a truly superb match, hopefully enjoyed by all involved. A draw was probably a fair result if truth be told - but the day belonged to Super (Overmars) Bazza - for the performance of the night!

THE LATE REPORT

There was quality, but not consistency. There were goals, but some of them were flukes. There was tension, but a fair bit of it was internal squabbling amongst the greens.

The colours had a tasty midfield, but resorted to long, long, long … into the box for young Joe to throw his head at. It was effective, but would you pay to watch it? The greens had plenty of age and guile, but hoofed the ball every which way.

There were culprits and there were saviours. Billy and Shaushaaughggghhhenn were slapping the ball all over the show. Guy and Rich were picking up the pieces.

It was a game of spells, but alas they weren’t the magical kind. Guy reckoned the bibs were unlucky, and Darren confessed to missing a hatful. Tony decided he's was Ian Dowey, then reverted to being Kevin Bond. Well, let's be fair: Tony Adams.

Geir gave his usual performance of composure and effectiveness. Sam continued to impress with strength and neat passing in midfield. Chibb turned in an unexpected turn at the back. Rich was getting up and down the field, trying to spark the greens into something that gelled.

Then there was Joe Z. Does anyone know what tablets he’s been taking? Talk about Transformer Man! He’s up and down, his foot’s in there winning tackles that matter, he’s going past players with ease, he delivering balls that count, and he’s getting into the D with menace. Rumour has it he’s opening a Soccer School, and I’ll be the first to sign up. Most Improved Payer doesn’t do justice to his new presence on the astro turf.

The greens did manage to stay in the game, despite the strength and pace of the shirts. Until, that is, Derby Tim magically flew up to the other end of the field and the bibs leaked four quick and sloppy goals. To their credit, the old lags dragged themselves back into contention. Tim was carrying an injury, so it was a quick re-shaping job.

At last, the game was a match, and it was now that the shirts started to hoist the ball into the D. Everyone was scrapping for every ball and the scoreline was tight. The shirts deservedly held out, winning by one.

And Taha still hasn’t passed the ball.