Piste, or pissed....you decide

With half the team off-piste and off pissed in New Zealand, AC fielded a new/old-look 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

the cup did runith over.....with rain and spite!

Grumble, grumble……now much has been made about the lack of content, or void in people’s lives as a result of failure to post a regular and timely update on AC Malvern’s performances. Countless letters, such as the example below, flood my inbox daily:

“Dear Gumby,

What is going on? Why do you do this to me? You know my life (and that of my hot friends) revolves around reading the tales of the striking bunch of lads at AC Malvern and their successes on the pitch.
Now, on the topic of striking footballers; when are you releasing your swimwear calendar of you and the boys?

Totally yours
[Name suppressed]”

Match day:
Karma’s a bitch. In recent weeks I have reported how Mother Nature was in fact that, a bitch, and how she rained down upon thee with great fury. Well, I have learnt a valuable lesson that I’ve been told for years, but have never listened and that is hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You see, payback is a bitch and Mother Nature unleashed some of her best work on the lads as they arrive to battle it out for the McRopod Cup. Teaming rain, howling gales and cold conditions waited all those brave enough to take the pitch. In fact, in the shadows of the start of the Premier League season we were kindly reminded of what our country’s “founders” would have to deal during an English “summer”. I now offer an official apology to the lovely, and importantly, ever present Mother Nature.

Now, on with the match report……

The lads of AC were fighting two battles on a day more suited to staying indoors in front of an open fire. Battle one was winning a trophy to salvage something from this car wreck of a season, and two was to free themselves from the embarrassment of relegation. So, plenty rode on this week’s game, with a draw, at worst, a must!

You know what, such is the pain that the memories of this match release, that my psychologist forbids me to “re-live” them in any form. So I will keep the details as brief as possible in order to reduce the pain and ultimately the medical bills.

With rain pouring onto the pitch slowly turning it into a swimming pool (pictured left), the plucky older gents of Rangers managed to drive a wooden stake into the hearts of the adoring fans slotting home two first half goals. The usual suspect was responsible; Lars, the gifted Swede who dealt the killer blows in the first leg.

Annie once sang “The sun will come out, tomorrow”, but today it came out for the second half and with it the hopes of AC rose.

With the crack of the dominatrix whip, the power had shifted and AC pulled their collective heads out their a** and managed repeated attacks on goal. With effort comes reward and young Hendo, the hater of the Glaswegian Rangers, began his enslaught. The now familiar tune would play through the stands; “he went this way, then that way – they went that way, then this way. Hail to the goal score, goal scorer man” and Hendo duly slotted the ball into the back of the net. Spirit and passion was re-ignited and the ball was hitting the AC box like planes crashing at Pearl Harbour. Soon enough the impenetrable defence would let up and another would get through………well the laws of statistics would suggest so.

With time and light fading and the Rangers tiring, Pricey gathered the ball in side the half, strode down and barrelled in a cross. A deft header by Dennis flicked the ball onto the awaiting Hendo who had no problem slotting it home, ultimately proving the geeky statisticians right. 2-2 with five minutes to go. Would it be long enough?

Tensions rose as the end was near and Twinkle Toes Tim found himself at the end of some hefty words and threats on his life from the irate spittle spreading dragon that was Rangers number 10.

Unfortunately for AC, post entanglement between Tim and #10, time did run out and the draw wasn’t enough to relinquish the McRopod Cup from the steely grip of the Rangers. Such was the confidence of the Rangers though that they didn’t even bring the cup to the ground for it to be presented.

Post match Tim & Co were forced to hug it out Ari Gold style in order to maintain the cuddly and warm relationship between the clubs.

Now every cloud has a silver lining and despite the fight, the draw and the rain the boys of AC managed to confirm their place in the division for another year.

AC Malvern 2 – 2 Rangers
2 He who hates (Glasgow) Rangers

I now put my cap in hand and ask for donations to pay for the four extra sessions required to get over re-living that.....Cheques can be made payable to "the plastic fantastic"