A pill was swallowed on a balmy spring evening last night. It was a pill called ‘Humility’ and by god it tasted bitter. For the first time in a few weeks, the GTF were forced to admit that they had been outclassed, outperformed and outmuscled on the Astroturf of Woodlands School. The opposition, who the GTF had beaten earlier in the season, seemed far more up for the occasion and a pervasive sense of lethargy seemed present in much of Turbo’s play.
The evening got off to a fractious start when Rob Summerton turned up to the match having conveniently left his wallet in his car… again. After bragging that he couldn’t have paid anyway, as he only had a £20 note on him, club captain Griffith exploded in a rare show of aggression (at least off the pitch) towards his teammate. After the payment issue had been sorted out the usual GTF warm-up commenced. It was Griffith’s turn to yelp like a mentally-handicapped farm hand attempting to milk a horse, in turn of the century Bavaria, and boy did we laugh at that. But soon the laughter would die out, and the dulcet tones of comedic wit and incisive cut downs were replaced by the bitterest of recriminations and ear-piercing barking of Butler – trying to gee on his team-mates like a man who has taken his vocal delivery lessons by listening to Hitler’s Nuremberg speeches over and over again.
If you haven’t noticed, I have forgotten a lot of what happened in the match so I am using extended, unnecessary and unfunny metaphors, analogies and similes to pad out the word count. Also lists of three – for when one word just isn’t enough.
The GTF were on the back foot from the get go, but they have become adept at playing on the counter attack over the course of their time in the Powerleague, often bossing the score line while remaining the minority shareholders in the stock market of possession. Yet on the menu of the match the GTF served up a starter of indifference, a main of misplaced passes and a dessert of missed tackles. So much of the what the GTF usually do well, especially in recent weeks, was conspicuously absent. The energy of Evans, so often the driving force behind many of Turbo’s attacks, seemed wasted as men struggled to find space. And the weaknesses of a few players on the team (Summerton’s lack of confidence, Robbins’ ability to maintain possession, Hills’ being unable to tackle without fouling and Sturgess’ awareness [when he hasn’t eaten a kebab]) were being shown up with ruthless efficiency.
In what wasn’t a high-scoring game, Turbo crafted a few decent chances, though these usually came a result of mistake from the opposition as opposed to any nice build-up. Robbins scuffed a shot early in the first half that he should have done better with, Evans attempted the cheekiest of backheels (though only because he had no passing options) that drew a fine save, and Griffith went agonisingly close with a lob that seemed to veer away from the bottom corner at the last second. The bar was also rattled on two occasions, but it simply wasn’t a good enough attacking performance, and too often a misplaced pass but the boys straight back onto the back foot. At this point massive amounts of credit should be bestowed upon the opposition who hustled and harried, competed and challenged, fouled and complained – almost as well as the GTF usually do themselves. At one point it threatened to boil over after Evans heard someone drop the C-bomb on him (for those who don’t know what that means… someone called him a cunt). After a push in the back, Evans turned and squared up to his attacker and the ref was forced to move from his well-worn sport to break the two players up.
Surprisingly, before this, spirits had been high between the two teams, all sharing a good laugh at Rob’s expense when, for some inexplicable reason, Griffith mullered the ball out of the court after the whistle had blown and Summerton was forced to fetch it. With all the attention was on the willowy winger, the opposition noticed he was wearing gloves – on the hottest day of the year so far. It was like Christmas Day 1915 – when both sides of the war laid down their arms to play football. Only in this case, both sides stopped playing to all laugh at Rob. Similar really when you think about it.
Maintaining the military theme, General Griffith was his usual authoratitive self, and did well to ride many challenges that aimed to scythe him down. Unfortunately, he was incapable of avoiding a bullet (keeping the theme alive) shot that struck him square in the bell-end as he explained when he limped off. Despite the score being 4-2 at half time, the GTF’s habit of letting heads drop after conceding stuck again, with 3 goals coming in quick succession, often occurring after the first break down in play from their resulting kick-off.
While a couple of the goals conceded were soft – including one through Butler’s legs – there were also a couple of high-quality goals, including a stunning volley that left Butler wrong-footed and unsighted. This wasn’t enough for Summerton who proceeded to berate the helpless keeper. There was an improvement in the second half, and when the boys played with a bit of confidence and conviction the difference was there to see. But, on the night, they deserved to lose. Too many errors, too little pressing, and too much intra-team bickering led to the downfall.
Match “high”lights:
Butler conceding through his legs, though this time it was slightly less funny than it is usually.
Tom Hills’ absolutely stunning cynical last man challenge that certainly saved a goal. We all can learn a lesson from his ability to stop his man – whatever the cost.
Ross once again living by his ‘if in doubt…’ policy, and also taking the time to stop mid-attack to boot a ball from another pitch back.
Sturgess’ mind-blowing revelation that he doesn’t like getting tackled
The fact that, as much as it pains everyone to admit it, the team misses what Gomersall brings to the team.
The absolutely abysmal justifications for awarding man of the match these days – though it was hard to single anyone out on the back of this performance.
Griifth winding up the opposition –after the match – with his ‘thanks for watching’ comment
Definitely not a highlight, the casual racism on display from a few nameless members of the team. I’ll give you a clue, their names rhyme with Bonthan Cutler and Yobby Bummerton – and it perhaps proves that racism is sexually transmitted.
Man of the Match – Nick Robbins
Because, after 3 seasons, and countless games, he actually attempted to dribble the ball and had a few more shots than usual – but still didn’t score. Apparently he also tried to keep morale up (probably by being laughably shit) and chased a few lost causes. A hollow award, coming as it did in a losing cause, but the stoutly-built substitute will take it nonetheless.
Dick of the Day – Rob Summerton
In a rare case, everyone who voted for Rob did so for different reasons. Wearing gloves, not having the money, being casually racist, blowing off a girl a ridiculous reason, taking a phonecall in the pub, driving his convertible with the top down, being the first to let his head drop and double-fucking-teapotting after every minor mistake.
Turbo GTF F.C: 6-a-side novices 