Picture the scene. It’s 5AM, it’s raining, you know you left the car windows open and the central heating is broken. It’s going to be a bad day. You pull the duvet up, ignore the straining 40 year old bladder conspiring against your sleep and hope that the day just melts away.
That challenge of getting up and facing the world with a smile is very much like trying to find inspiration for a match report dressing up a 7-2 loss. I could give you the facts, we scored a couple (Rix – glancing header, John John – speculative cross). I could give you the drama, yours truly heading the ball back to the keeper with the strength of an arthritic caterpillar. I could even wax lyrical about the referee playing an odd rule book drawn from the basics of Rollerball and Aussie Rules but I’ll stick to paths well trodden.
The beauty of the English language is the ebb and flow of words and phrases that are just plain interesting.
Whelmed. Did you know ‘whelmed’ means ‘submerged’ or ‘engulfed’. So which prancing clown decided to be extra-whelmed. “I’m so whelmed I’m over-whelmed” whined some Victorian Hipster whilst he tapped his cane on his ladies’ bustle. I’m more than engulfed? The need to add additional words to extra explain things is, I’m sure, the root of all our failing societies, but in an effort to hot-tamale I’m going to join the extra word gang.
Therein lies the root of our football failure this weekend. We were double-whelmed. We had lots of notlong-comings but the plain truth of the matter is we were shit-dire. Defensively we were crapshambles, the midfield was pissytackle and the forwards were pony-scuff.
Let’s take the positives, we had a nice new kit. We all turned up and we didn’t get on each others backs. Medusa didn’t turn anyone to stone with his ‘disappointed’ look, Colin had fun on the line doing a modern interpretation of disco semaphore. Spavo did a foul throw, Pete borrowed someone elses legs for a sprint and John scored with a shotcross that I’d wager Phil’s boots on him kicking off for a throw 9 times out of 10.
Until next week, I’ll be studying whether rugby tackling the goalkeeper is an acceptable approach to winning.
MoM : Connor – Endless running, great hair.
Monkey : Ref – Even Martin couldn’t turn him with a look.