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OiFuto Dai Ni, Saturday 13th December
36, 40, 44, 52, 41, 42, 48, 35, 42, 23, 47. No, it's not the bust measurements of the finalists in the Miss Pneumatic Universe contest (How did the near-death anorexic Miss 23 get in there? Has Miss 52 got a MySpace page?), no, actually it's the ages for the starting line-up that the appropriately named Albion Old Boys put out in their magnificently gutsy 2-1 win over the appallingly mis-named Dutch Embassy F.C.
If you factor in the 44, 29, and 48 of the three subs who got equal game time to the starting eleven, add it all up then divide by 14 (what's going on, we had subs?), then your Casio Silent Touch calculator will tell you that the average age of the Old Boys squad was 40.8 years, down from early season since we've recently added the youthful skills of 23-year-old Cyrille and 29-year-old Sam, but still at least ten to twelve years above what I would guess is the average for the division. "So what?", you say. To which I can only reply, "Just wait till you get there."
So it's 5 minutes before 6pm on the second-last Saturday night before Christmas, the lights go on at Oifuto 2, and you're thinking "Don't you just love this new-style astroturf" and then a few seconds later peripheral vision kicks in, and the thought is amended to "I wish there wasn't so much of this new-style astroturf". Of course the "you" here is me, but these days the only time I'm happy as a defender is when we're playing 11 v 11 on a futsal court.
The game started badly for the Old Boys with a goal conceded in the first five minutes. Dutch Embassy striker So Takada launched a speculative right wing cross into the box, but Albion custodian Kouka, like his centre backs, was aiming at the penalty spot as Takada's sliced 9-iron faded in at the near post.
Now this is the point where a bad start could turn into bloody good hiding. This team you're playing is about as Dutch as natto-flavoured gouda. They're all Japanese and the university diplomas hanging out of their back pockets provide a bit of an age giveaway. They're fit, skillful twenty-somethings with an early goal in the bag and they have the scent of blood. The pitch is the size of County Mayo and your body is rebelling ("Legs to Brain: 6 pm Saturday - Why Are We Moving?" "Stomach to Brain: 6 pm Saturday - No Alcohol Yet?").
So this was the point where our younger opponents could have really done a number on us, but once again the Old Boys showed impressive levels of both mental and physical toughness. In that ten minutes after conceding the goal we didn't give them anything else to get excited about. The fire lit under them by their goal was quickly extinguished by some great tackles in all areas of the field, and it soon became obvious that when it came to the physical battles, these particular Oranje were a bit too sweet and pulpy. So when the Old Boys equalizer came along it was nothing less than their play deserved. Albion's Silver Supremo Karl Twohig won a 50-50 ball halfway inside his own half, then won another one ten yards further forward, then another one - "Get it under control Karl, for fcuk's sake!". Well he didn't quite manage that, but he did manage to slide a neat pass to Andrew Morton, who picked out a great through ball to Cyrille. The young striker looked to have been forced too wide, but his shot across the keeper had power and direction and found the bottom corner.
And after that it developed into a game of few clear-cut chances. Late in the half Kouka more than made amends for the Dutch goal with a marvellously agile save from a shot that seemed to be destined for the top corner of his goal, and halfway through the second period he did really well to dive low and prevent Takada from doing a carbon copy of Cyrille's goal, but that was the sum of the Dutch attacking threats. The Old Boys were unlucky not to extend their lead when a tremendous shot on the turn from Sam had the crossbar rattling for at least five minutes, and another good finish from Cyrille was chalked off for an offside that never was. Still, as the game rolled into injury time we were looking forward to a well-earned share of the spoils, until Neil Day decided that plundering all three points would be a nice Christmas present for his team mates. I don't know how he managed to get that wicked trajectory on the ball, but his shot looped over the keeper and under the crossbar for an unlikely last-gasp winner.
So now I'd better stop typing and stick some tissues up each nostril to stop the nosebleed I'm getting from looking down from this precarious parapet the Old Boys are currently standing on, way up on the higher floors of Division 2. Jetro and YCAC 2nds in January will be the last teams we face first time around, and then we have to do it all again. For a man who is spraying Salompas Arctic Extra Cool on his fingers between every sentence in this report, having already been through ten cans of the stuff so far today to combat tear-inducing muscle ache in places I didn't even know I had, to do it all again is a bit like Hercules going up to Zeus and saying "Job done Boss", only for Zeus to say "Sorry boy, you left a smidgeon of shit in those Augean stables, looks like you'll have to do all twelve tasks over again".
Report by Terry Cooney
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