Game 5. Season 35 Gummy Women Shattered Testicle Blues

The low sun shone brightly down the pitch as the match kicked off.  It was sure to be a factor in the first half, as it was very difficult to see the ball in the air.  Keep your positions (particularly in the midfield!), keep the ball on the ground, and deliver it to feet was the message to the players before the game.  Yeah right!  

The long grass presented further challenges, as the players are now accustomed to the artificial turf where the ball rolls so easily.  Those capable of it opted for the aerial speculator.  The remainder, of less strength and co-ordination, regularly underhit the ball causing it to slow in the grass. At least the surface was soft and cushioned the falls, of which there were many. 

At half-time, the score was 1-0.  I can’t remember who scored, or how.  In the second half, despite repeated and entirely justified calls for offside, handballs and incorrect throw-ins, the game flowed more.  There were numerous chances to score as the midfield predictably opened up, but only one shot found its mark to level the scores. End result – a very unsatisfying 1-1 draw between Grade 11’s Onslow Imrans and WU Hungaria.

Later that day, as the sun set, the childrens’ footballing fathers and grandfathers met at Anderson Park as North Wellington Onslows fought the University Bombers.  In an almost identical match, of only slightly lower quality, no quarter was given, and no stone left unturned in search of victory.  Indeed, two of your correspondent’s stones were badly injured in a poorly judged challenge, though in truth they were in poor condition already. 

The highlight of the game was undoubtedly Sceatsy’s levelling strike in the second half, immediately after a masterful substitution from Doc.  Replacing Stent on the pretext of a life and death emergency phone call, Sceatsy dropped into right midfield. While Stent arranged his Hurricanes tickets for the night, the ball fell unexpectedly at Sceatsy’s feet.  With the goalie out of position, he hammered home a goal. The type of goal that sticks in the memory for about 3 ½ days.  As I write this 5 days later it’s a glimmer. I think it was good though.  Several other almost goals (which are a real thing in Masters 4) went to John Boyd, John Ragg and Danny Morgan.  I remember Danny’s and JB’s well – seconds to go, Danny right in front with only the keeper to beat. Hit the bloody cross bar!!!!  JB with a header on the rebound.  Yes! No! Cleared off the line by a ghost defender !!!.  1-1 it ends.

None of the Grade 11 Imrans were in attendance, as it’s “just old men running around swearing a lot, and its boring!”  No gummy women watching on this week either. Marky Mark those pliers were a good idea, but never mind.

Next week – IBU Internationals. Played 5, Lost 4, Goal Difference -15.  Please don’t let it be rained off (tough shit. ed) Come on Bombers!  Lets listen to the old guy in the yellow shirt that keeps coming to our games.  Keep your positions (particularly in the midfield!), keep the ball on the ground and deliver it to feet and we’ll bring the fans back. 

Season 35, Game 4. Losing in the Sky with Diamonds

With the game scheduled for Harcourt Park in Upper Hutt, the boys were prepared for a big trip.  A last minute reschedule to marginally closer Maidstoned Park didn’t sway us – we were already tripping. Tiberius, ever the showman, thought a journey to the upper reaches of the valley was not far enough so embarked on his own version of the Lundy 500 after getting Stoned in Palmerston North.  Stent put in a transcendental contribution from Sydney.  He was there in our minds (as was Mrs Colin), which made them there.

Marky Mark, who is just the man for a long trip (so far it is a continuous 58 years excluding foetal exposure), set the tone. He was heard to comment on how beautiful the autumnal colours were. The depth of the purples, the richness of the chartreuse and the vividness of the beige were something to behold.  Danny thought the strangely intricate details on surfaces, richness of sound, brightness of colours, and complexity of his mental processes were due to a visitation from God. Meanwhile, under the effects, the strength of Mingus had quadrupled to be equal to that of a small boy.  

There was not a fat belly, grey hair, nor receding hairline to be found.  We were euphoric, expectant, our bodies were a-tingle and full of comaraderie and goodwill. Our skills were silky and the fantastical became common-place.  Even when Skeatsy kneed the opposition keeper in the head – drawing blood - the Assistant Gardener was overcome by a fit of giggles. 

A second half goal by Zeus was a thing of beauty and, through dilated pupils, drew much admiration.  In fact, the chest down and volley was so sublime that we began to see the sounds and smell the colours and taste the feel. It is common, at this stage, to feel some nausea.  But Carl had the entire teams sickness covered, although it was due to a hangover from the night before rather than synasthesia.

We were collectively in a place where an $11 jug of Panhead ale was not just a possibility but a reality.  Were we delusional?  No.  Just selective.  The very young, fit and fast opposition put 7 past us.  Assistant Gardener complained that the ball was moving a fair bit, but someone was heard to comment “only a bit more than you.” this was always going to be a bad trip. I’m still traumatised and suffering flashbacks.  Marky, got any horse tranquiliser left?

Game 3, Season 35 Aye Aye Naenae. The Battle of Nairnville as seen by cabin boy Young Nick

They blew in from the north full of piss and vinegar from plundering Island Bay 7 -1.  Earlier that afternoon they had gathered at the Naenae "Fry 'n DIne".  The captain had drawn a crude  "X" on a napkin with the coordinates 41.23 degrees south by 174.78 degrees east. "That me boys" he sneered "is where we do our raping and pillaging today!"  Climbing into their tradies vans they set sail.

On Mount Kaukau a well dressed observer unfurls his telescope and trains his eye on Nairnville Park.  The first 40 minutes of action he surveys are characterised by a series of forays deep into Bombers' territory.  The Naenaeites launch salvos and twice the Bombers' hull is nearly holed.  Hansie, awake to the mounting danger, devises a tactical manoeuvre not seen in these waters before.   Instead of tackling the advancing striker, Hansie joins with him shoulder to shoulder before shaping himself into a human torpedo and, fulfilling on the prophecy of his Christian name, hurtles himself at the groin of Cap'n Gyles.  Said Cap'n folds like wet kelp.  From then on the bewildered opposition are unable to tell their transom from their poop deck nor their mizzen from their spanker. 

Half time and Cap'n Gyles issues two directives - "tighten up midships and show more mongrel!"  Our Kaukau observer witnesses a different sea in the second half as the Capn's directives are implemented with frightening efficiency and telling results. Ample possession is secured and a series of corner broadsides from Three Sheets to the Wind Mary Mark on port and Bosun O'Donovan on starboard make the difference.  T'is  just a matter of time before one such cannon does the damage. The ball floating into the six yard box ricochets from man to man like a Javanese lady boy until entering the orbit of Mad Bad John Ragg.  A man with less ballast might have knobbed the ball into the goal with a pelvic thrust but Mad Bad John Ragg bellies the ball over the line.  The tide has swung the Bombers' way.

The wind swings ten degrees to the west allowing Zel Boy to launch a broad reach down port side with all sails aloft.  Zel deftly lays the ball to Three Sheets who lobs the ball to the ship's surgeon.  With a flick off the surgeon's cranium the ball sails across the arc of visibility to land at the beakhead of Sweet Gene Vincent who ignores the flying fists of the onrushing keeper, braces his mantle and secures number two.   

The Naenaeites, now fighting a head wind and an outgoing tide, valiantly battle on and almost breach the Bombers' pristine hull but for devine intervention - Son of Neptune scythes down an attacker in the box.  Cap'n Gyles, on taking up the referree's whistle, had issued a "I call it as I see it" warning and wearing his eye patch he indeed sees only a clean sheet.

As the final whistle blows our Kaukau observer concertinas his telescope and reflects on a victory won through sound collective effort over individual flair; of savvy over swag.  

Now broken men, the Naenaeites climb into their vans and head back to the badlands where wenches and children spend the evening finding the safety of shadows.  

The Bombers empty tankards of ale and fill their tummies with fried food.  Stories are embellished and legends shaped.

Game 2, Season 35 Hemingway's hags

A southerly was blowing at Raroa Park. JB resembling a member of the Sicilian Mafioso grabbed a chair from his boot. Plenty of junk in that trunk. It was the second game of the season for most. Ross and Gene had shown at Andersons a week earlier for a little game of their own. We peppered Gyles in goal to warm up. Son of God promoted the apple seller across the road. Marky Mark in striped leggings chose the left flank. Above at the window in Malvina Major what looked to be Norman Bates’ mother rocked in a chair.  The next time we looked she was gone. Not long after Kirk arrived in wig.

The whistle blew. Throngs of hags from the days of yore clamoured at the windows. Bloomers were thrown. Once-were-WAGs keened and shrieked. The riddle of who the women who wanted the Bombers were, was answered. The men who wanted to be them formed the opposition. Chances were squandered. JB fell over. While their keeper was writhing on the ground racked with laughter he got up and placed it bottom left. 1-0. Steve rued the day he’d invited him for dinner. Zel and Al showed up early shortly before halftime. More chances.. “There’s two of you with 19 on yer shirts” said one of the Zimmers. In 1979 the average age of a bomber was 19- nah-nah-nah-nineteen. In 2015 it was some number over 35.

At halftime subs occurred. Ross slotted a penalty. 2-0. Marky Mark had a smoke and disappeared. Fish whipped in crosses. Red-Ragg-to-a-Bull Jon went looking for trouble without luck – the opposition were gents.  Nigel saw no need to mow any of them down. Another goal came from an OD throw that the good Doctor brought down for Yakal. One post was hit four times. Hansie, promoted up field, nearly chipped the keeper. It should have been 7-2.

At the Posties I said to new boy Mike, ”Gyles could be your father”. Hell he could be mine. Probably is. JB wanted Joyce but I prefer Hemingway. The bad from two weeks ago were good. But were they good because the others were bad? Or was their goodness innate? Ponder that ageless hags as ye gaze upon the hunks of yesteryear.

Game 1, season 35. Bad Friday

Like Monarch butterflies, The Bombers tend to start ugly and become glorious as the weeks go by.  So it was no surprise to the passing cruise ship herd that the podgy boys in black lost to a sharp Stokes Valley outfit 3-0 on a public holiday when the pubs are closed and the ground is cement hard.

The match began in dashing fashion with a minutes silence* for Warren Moyes, aka the Ginger Mudlark, a Bombers original who has joined his team mate Gerry Melling in the stadium in the sky. There were few other highlights. Everyone toiled manfully but the crucial battles were lost in midfield, up front and across the back line.  The visitors from the badlands pretty much controlled the game but were only up by 2 at half time. The Asst Gardener had made a decent save or two, and the Bombers rode their luck.  In another contrarian universe, it could have been have 2-2, but that would have been wrong.

* actually 40 seconds. A second for every defence-splitting pass he made in 1982.

No-one who saw their third goal will ever forget it, or ever speak of it again.

The sun beat down, the ground was hard, Stokes Valley were committed and smart, the Bombers had clearly had an indulgent summer, Jesus was hanging on his lonely wooden tower and the pubs were closed. It wasn't 3 points lost so much as 3 points ignored.

Ross's dad was no help at all. Old Bomber BJM sauntered up and cursed his battered knees.

Someone friendly and energetic called Michael made his debut, which was jolly. Some were heard to say it was the 100th Bomber. Hard to say though. Is Mingus a whole Bomber or are we dealing in fractions ? If half a man plays half a game, how many games does he play in a decade ? There's no app for this.

Man of the Match: Zel ! He ran away with two young women before this decision was taken, possibly impressing the judges with this move.

Injuries bulletin: Brendon hobbled off with his customary 'tight' calf. Fish Boy seemed to be having a cardio issue. Ross said sorry a fair bit. 

Missing presumed dead:  Controller, Tiberius, Chromosome, Son of God, Sceatsy

Special mention: not being born yesterday, and knowing what full moons in April mean, Asst Gardener and JB bought some cold beer. Everyone drank it.

Game score:  4/10  a solid start.