With half the team off-piste and off pissed in New Zealand, AC fielded a new/old-lo
ok side for the clash with title-chasing Booroondara.
Into the side came ring-in revelations Jason and Col, Duncan Winton who has abandoned us for a Masters club (he wants to play with some younger blokes) and AC’s second-favourite purveyor of haggis and kilts, Brian McChristie.
Yet again, the game began with a howling northerly wind and AC were quickly into our customary backs-against-the-wall siege mode.
It wasn’t pretty, but the back four’s cunning mix of wild hacks, skewed clearances and flailing legs affected Booroondara’s composure and the game settled into a pitched battle in AC’s last eighth.
Inevitably, the home team found the net - sparking a booming motivational monologue from their skipper-cum-Eastend fish-monger. It was a deflating end to a period of sustained pressure and no doubt the shivering handful of spectators sensed a goal tsunami was on the way.
However there are two things that AC can promise in any given game. One; JT will tell an opponent how very ugly he is, (in this case, a chap whose bright orange hair clashed awfully with his purple Booroondara strip) and two; going a goal down will break the shackles of apathy.
And so with Jason B and Duncan dominating the midfield, AC put together a slick move that culminated in a superb finish from Simon.
1-1 and the tiny crowd was witness to the rarest of sporting moments – a warm high-five between a Celtic man (Hendy) and a Rangers tragic (Brian).
Our equaliser not only motivated our opponents, it sparked a strange change in the referee who began to act, and officiate, in a disturbingly erratic way. This previously-genial silver-haired gent began to argue with players, waited several minutes to call fouls and then hallucinated a handball on the edge of the area.
The resultant free kick was duly converted, but with our midfield humming and Ralpha providing a masterclass in the art of subtle deflections, flicks and back-of-the-scone headers, we felt we were good for an equaliser.
No-one, however, could have predicted the quality of the answer. Latching onto yet another Jason B pass, Hendy performed a series of jinks and feints that left their defenders with what the South Americans poetically describe as ‘twisted blood’.
It was clearly the goal of the season and answered some lingering questions regarding his origins. Hendy is clearly the bastard love-child of Rudolph Nureyev and Harry Houdini.
After such a spectacular high, the final stanza of the first half delivered a succession of corresponding lows. A corner that drifted serenely into the net while we all stood watching was followed by their only truly legitimate goal which was then followed by us hitting the upright twice in five minutes.
At half time, the moral scoreboard read AC 3, Booroondara 1. The far more annoying actual scoreboard read AC 2 Booroondara 4.
The purple ponces began the second half with the swagger of a team that believed it had the points in the bag. The fact they were right doesn’t mean it wasn’t annoying though, and we launched into the last 45 with renewed vigour.
Our cause was boosted by the on-field appearance of AC’s resident hard-man and scholar of arcane mediaeval history – JT.
We’re still waiting for the day that he combines his specialities – ‘you’re uglier than a latrine vassal in the court of King Richard the 3rd!’ – but had to be content with his uncompromising attack on the ball.
While JT added some steel on the wing, JB was pure silk in the midfield. Having initiated a passing move at the halfway line, he brilliantly followed through to side-foot us back into contention.
He was again at the heart of our next scoring move – an incisive probe down the right wing which was followed by a swinging cross, followed by something I can’t remember, but culminating in a bulging net.
Suddenly it was 4-4, the crowd had stopped watching the cricket match on the adjoining ground and all was set for a spectacular climax. A few moments later, Richard Owen cracked home another – his 17th of the season he later reported – only to have the ref rule it out.
While we continued to attack, our adrenaline tide was receding and the toll of such an end-to-end game was extracted. First, man-of-the-match Jason B went down with what looked like a serious knee/hammy.
His countryman Col was next to go with a groin/thigh and JT was clearly hampered by his old Achilles/calf. Over on the left wing Brian was afflicted by age/no stamina.
Sadly, and against the run of play, Booroondara scored their fifth, prompting Con to deliver a fiery sermon to Ren. Then JT looked the wrong way at an opponent and the now clinically-insane ref pointed to the penalty spot.
In it flew and out went any chance of sharing the points.
During the gloomy post-mortem it was decided that our main problem was not failing to train, fitness or the absence of most of the team; it was that unlike our opponents, we don’t have a club song.
Just imagine the thrill of not only winning, but getting to huddle in a stinking mass to sing a soaring victory anthem such as Wind Beneath My Wings, Tainted Love or Nine Inch Nails’ Closer .
So; the challenge of the next fortnight is clear: earn enough points to avoid relegation and come up with a song to fuel our 2010 campaign.
AC Malvern 4 - 6 Eagles
Goals: JB 2, McHoudini, Simon T
