Sunday, January 07, 2007
vs Chickempron Submarine
So the mood was much like the first game of the new season in the premier league. Players coming off a massive festive season doing none other than getting smashed, depriving themselves of sleep and in general, vast amounts of activities that only the devil himself would approve of. Still, the Jan 7th date for the first game back from the break was as much as atoning for the bad deeds of the weeks just passed as it was a chance to get rid of those nasty cobwebs... both in the body and in the mind.
Interestingly, the flavour of the new year was a cocktail of food and metal. Of chicken and a ship that sails underwater funnily enough. And their style was exactly like that. Well, poultry if you extend the symbolism to that of a headless chicken running around, and the submarine being the steel and grit of something sturdy. Yep, make no mistake of it, our more stocky opponents definitely had a lot of that thing called cardiovascular fitness and did run around like wild chickens and they did have a lot of steel and grit about their play. Bang up the ball to the forwards, hard tackles... a contrast in styles if you could call it that.
Our greater technique meant we controlled play for long periods. Passing the ball confidently in defence looking for the opening, our attempts on goal were stifled as our overelobaration at times gave them the opportunity to scramble back. And is always the case, we conceded with some soft defending on a counter attack that had us doubting what it was that we were doing wrong. And so the contest developed into an dour struggle between skill versus determination and grit.
It was a heavyweight contest with nobody really getting ahead on the scoreboard. A turn-and-shoot effort drew us level but some lazy defending from Chops and Dave led to a few embarrassing goals conceded. But to the credit of the team, there was plenty of heart from the team lacking steel on field. Henry continually ran forward to provide options and had a few half chances on goal, only hesitating by checking back and letting the submarines swamped him in the process. Dave was providing some drive from the back up to the wings and Heng was his usual put-a-foot-in-everywhere self. Quoc was creating some golden opportunities and spurned them straight into the keeper. Simon was the usual workhorse and machine gun up forward, firing in numerous attempts but without luck. Derek saved all that he could possibly; the goals conceded weren't his fault.
In the end, we toiled a lot and had the greater control of the play, passes, open shots, golden opportunites but just could not convert. Credit to our opposition, they made the most of their chances. We did not. In the words of one deloitte soccer player, "doesn't it piss you off how many times you are easily, the more skilled team, but you lose to the shitter, fitter team?"
Score: 3-4
Goals: 2 Chops, 1 Heng
Man of the match: Nobody
Smart ass award: Quoc, who else? [For his "why don't you give him a yellow ref for kicking the ball away...? So I'm going to kick the ball away now... (yellow card) Fuck off ref."]
Interestingly, the flavour of the new year was a cocktail of food and metal. Of chicken and a ship that sails underwater funnily enough. And their style was exactly like that. Well, poultry if you extend the symbolism to that of a headless chicken running around, and the submarine being the steel and grit of something sturdy. Yep, make no mistake of it, our more stocky opponents definitely had a lot of that thing called cardiovascular fitness and did run around like wild chickens and they did have a lot of steel and grit about their play. Bang up the ball to the forwards, hard tackles... a contrast in styles if you could call it that.
Our greater technique meant we controlled play for long periods. Passing the ball confidently in defence looking for the opening, our attempts on goal were stifled as our overelobaration at times gave them the opportunity to scramble back. And is always the case, we conceded with some soft defending on a counter attack that had us doubting what it was that we were doing wrong. And so the contest developed into an dour struggle between skill versus determination and grit.
It was a heavyweight contest with nobody really getting ahead on the scoreboard. A turn-and-shoot effort drew us level but some lazy defending from Chops and Dave led to a few embarrassing goals conceded. But to the credit of the team, there was plenty of heart from the team lacking steel on field. Henry continually ran forward to provide options and had a few half chances on goal, only hesitating by checking back and letting the submarines swamped him in the process. Dave was providing some drive from the back up to the wings and Heng was his usual put-a-foot-in-everywhere self. Quoc was creating some golden opportunities and spurned them straight into the keeper. Simon was the usual workhorse and machine gun up forward, firing in numerous attempts but without luck. Derek saved all that he could possibly; the goals conceded weren't his fault.
In the end, we toiled a lot and had the greater control of the play, passes, open shots, golden opportunites but just could not convert. Credit to our opposition, they made the most of their chances. We did not. In the words of one deloitte soccer player, "doesn't it piss you off how many times you are easily, the more skilled team, but you lose to the shitter, fitter team?"
Score: 3-4
Goals: 2 Chops, 1 Heng
Man of the match: Nobody
Smart ass award: Quoc, who else? [For his "why don't you give him a yellow ref for kicking the ball away...? So I'm going to kick the ball away now... (yellow card) Fuck off ref."]
# posted by Chops @ 11:30 pm 
