Sunday 29th July 2012, Macleay Park Balwyn
Boroondara 2 - Central Park Rangers 4
A geezer short of a sixpack
In 1965's classic 'Like a Rolling Stone', Bob Dylan famously, and somewhat provocatively asked: "How does it feel?"
Fast forward to 2012, and it would be a fired up Central Park football team begging the same question of the paisley clad Boroondara. In fact one might assume that their violet (that's violet, not violent) ensemble (which i personally will NEVER get tired of talking about) might subscribe them to more peaceful and free loving times, not dissimilar to what Dylan was spruiking in his day. Don't be fooled though, as looks can be deceiving and this game had plenty of spice.
An early game was the last thing that the lads from Central Park needed after a night on the tiles. Just hours earlier, many of the guys had said their farewells to favourite son Mark Coulter, heading back to the motherland to be put out to pasture after an impressive AC Malvern/Central Park career. You'll be sorely missed Sparky!
The oddly scheduled 10.30 kickoff didn't sit well with most, so it was something of a welcome relief when the match was pushed back to 11.30 after overnight rain pretty much washed our entire pitch out to Vermont. The next best possibility was the likelihood that the match would be cancelled - music to the ears of Steve and Tim N who were operating on 4 hours sleep after wearing out the welcome mat of one of Melbourne's more salubrious suburban late night brasserie's.
Now i don't now about you, but i have pretty iron clad pre-match diet that i rarely deviate from, so i was somewhat alarmed at the following verbal exchange between Steve and myself:
me: Steve, it's time to go - you want some toast?
Steve: nup
me: right, ah, you're English - some porridge then?
Steve: nup, thanks.
me: cup of tea?
Steve: nup
me: banana? take a banana for the trip?
Steve: nah, i'll puke it up
After more or less holding a gun to his head, Steve managed to be convinced into downing a powerade en route to the game.
As Daniel upped the ante from platter to 'tasting plate' with his artistic array of oranges, the lads talked tactics. This was a very winnable game, a 2-1 loss last meeting in a match we really should've taken the points in.
With just one on the bench, the lads started with a bang, ignoring a quagmire that seemingly had it's own diving board and lifeguard that was the right wing. Instead, Rangers played a slick brand of passing game that had Boroondara chasing tale, Tim C and right hand man Alex linked up regularly to cause all sorts of chaos. Playing a much wider role, Gaz was causing all sorts of problems, dragging the last defender to the corner flag and somewhere along the way miraculously missing the easiest of opportunities in front of goal. Chewy on the boot Gaz?
Boroondara couldn't hold possession for more than a couple of passes, and when they did, wasted it with a long ball game that was simply not going to be a factor as a sharp Rod and co at the back coolly disposed of any such traffic.
Most impressive was Central Park's hardness at the ball even as Boroondara tried to work their way out of their own half. Tom Davies playing well above his weight and chasing the Eagles winger like Pacman in pursuit of that stupid sodding little purple pac-pellet, not afraid to end up with a face full of mud - there was plenty for all to go round.
The famous purple caped 'Geezer' we've grown to 'love' over the years was obviously fighting crime elsewhere on this day, however his distinguished ear-bleeding wordiness was pretty well replicated by a frustrated Boroondara skipper who seemed to be playing a lone hand. He had a dip, and a couple of chances ensued but Central Park held sway.
After going agonisingly close with a header from a corner, Alex finished off another fine pass movement to open the scoring. Boroondara had barely skipped back onto position when they were stripped of possession and under the gun once more. The purple army stood back probably awaiting some more pinball wizardry to come their way, but instead it was man-mountain Nick, who off one step and pretty much with his back to goal unleashed one of his famous canons. In a scene reminiscent of the Gun's of Navarone, the rookie Malvernian blasted another hole in the enemy's armour for Central Park's second.
With morale at a game low, Boroondara were fortunate not to concede another as a glancing header from 'wet-weather-specialist' Richard Owen went inches wide from yet another corner.
2 nil at the break - Would the late night see the boys run out of steam? OR would the referee's belated arrival prove the difference due to a shorter scheduled match?
Boroondara came out as a much more competitive equation, and their frustration at not being able to get into the match was beginning to show through niggle off the ball and some pretty clumsy tackling from a few of their guys. The fuchsia-laden no. 12 was actually a half decent player only that nobody ever bothered to teach him how to pass.
John then got in on the action injecting some much needed muscle and worked well with Colin down the flanks. Despite having some more energy about them, strikes on goal continued to be at a premium - "floats like a butterfly, shoots like one too" is what they once said about the great Steve McManaman. Well, flick him a purple jersey and voila - one Boroondara Eagle.
A question: Can a headache get a headache? Steve Creswell is probably most qualified in answering that one, as his already throbbing head was then nearly decapitated in a nasty clash of the scons where Steve bravely intercepted a corner in preventing a likely goal. Stirring stuff.
For one of the first times in the match Central were wishing they'd packed the ice-skates as a goalmouth scramble allowed the hardworking Boroondara to pull a goal back against the run of play. "DON'T YOU DARE!" demanded the finger pointing cranky pants, that was no. 12 for Boroondara. Forever loving a challenge (and basically because he's a cheeky little shit), Tim hoofed the ball away in an attempt to stall the resumptions of play. A rather nasty shove was paid out for Tim's troubles, something the ref unfortunately missed but would not be forgotten.
With the game suddenly close and the very real possibility of Central Park losing their lead, things started to get very prickly between the warring parties. After some off the ball treatment unwelcomed by Rod, the Boroondara centre forward decided to get close enough to examine the pores of Rod's face, and then offered "i'll break ya f*cking nose". Nice.
Richard Owen then broke free and was brought down unceremoniously, taking 3 or 4 defenders with him, one of them viciously headbutting Richard's boot - another testy melee was extinguished as the spot fires continued to break out.
The game suddenly threatened to explore in a flurry of purple punches, and it was Central Park who refused to get sucked in by the acid tongued individuals of Boroondara (some, certainly not all) wanting to go on with it. Shortly after the usual Boroondara protagonist offered yet another piece of football 'philosophy' this time directed at Daniel, Central Park went on another rampage, reclaiming their two goal buffer with a third goal. The boys lined up to offer a riposte or three to no. 12's earlier verbal spray that was still cooling on the window sill, and it was Daniel (who ironically reprimanded Tim earlier for his tongue-lashing after being pushed) who gave it out deluxe to a sheepish looking no. 12, with the before mentioned: "oh yeah! how does it feel!!!"
A victim of bad timing, Rod was to cop the wrath of a frustrated little man, who threw his elbow into Rod's windpipe. A fine way for Rod to celebrate fatherhood. Worse still, was that the peanut technically assaulted a legally blind man as Rod was sans contact lenses. Gutsy.....
An extremely patient referee had seen enough and gave the lad his marching orders, the walk of shame complemented by an assurance that a referees incident report would be to follow - Nice to be on the right end of these things for a change!
The heavens opened and a scrappy final 10 minutes played out, Central Park putting the result beyond doubt with a fourth to <insert name here> (i was too tied up by the niceties to remember who bagged it). Boroondara were able to pull one last goal back, somewhat dubious as their linesman's chose an unusual time to demonstrate his flag waving flamboyance in putting up and then suddenly down, his flag in the blink of an eye. Only a man in purple.....
Solid display, and the boys keep bouncing back despite the truly bizarre anomalies Sunday football continues to throw up.
Best: Nick/Richard
The Rest: too many to name!
Boroondara 2 - Central Park Rangers 4
A geezer short of a sixpack
In 1965's classic 'Like a Rolling Stone', Bob Dylan famously, and somewhat provocatively asked: "How does it feel?"
Fast forward to 2012, and it would be a fired up Central Park football team begging the same question of the paisley clad Boroondara. In fact one might assume that their violet (that's violet, not violent) ensemble (which i personally will NEVER get tired of talking about) might subscribe them to more peaceful and free loving times, not dissimilar to what Dylan was spruiking in his day. Don't be fooled though, as looks can be deceiving and this game had plenty of spice.
An early game was the last thing that the lads from Central Park needed after a night on the tiles. Just hours earlier, many of the guys had said their farewells to favourite son Mark Coulter, heading back to the motherland to be put out to pasture after an impressive AC Malvern/Central Park career. You'll be sorely missed Sparky!
The oddly scheduled 10.30 kickoff didn't sit well with most, so it was something of a welcome relief when the match was pushed back to 11.30 after overnight rain pretty much washed our entire pitch out to Vermont. The next best possibility was the likelihood that the match would be cancelled - music to the ears of Steve and Tim N who were operating on 4 hours sleep after wearing out the welcome mat of one of Melbourne's more salubrious suburban late night brasserie's.
Now i don't now about you, but i have pretty iron clad pre-match diet that i rarely deviate from, so i was somewhat alarmed at the following verbal exchange between Steve and myself:
me: Steve, it's time to go - you want some toast?
Steve: nup
me: right, ah, you're English - some porridge then?
Steve: nup, thanks.
me: cup of tea?
Steve: nup
me: banana? take a banana for the trip?
Steve: nah, i'll puke it up
After more or less holding a gun to his head, Steve managed to be convinced into downing a powerade en route to the game.
As Daniel upped the ante from platter to 'tasting plate' with his artistic array of oranges, the lads talked tactics. This was a very winnable game, a 2-1 loss last meeting in a match we really should've taken the points in.
 |
| Fair dinkum Daniel, you're just showing off now.... |
With just one on the bench, the lads started with a bang, ignoring a quagmire that seemingly had it's own diving board and lifeguard that was the right wing. Instead, Rangers played a slick brand of passing game that had Boroondara chasing tale, Tim C and right hand man Alex linked up regularly to cause all sorts of chaos. Playing a much wider role, Gaz was causing all sorts of problems, dragging the last defender to the corner flag and somewhere along the way miraculously missing the easiest of opportunities in front of goal. Chewy on the boot Gaz?
Boroondara couldn't hold possession for more than a couple of passes, and when they did, wasted it with a long ball game that was simply not going to be a factor as a sharp Rod and co at the back coolly disposed of any such traffic.
Most impressive was Central Park's hardness at the ball even as Boroondara tried to work their way out of their own half. Tom Davies playing well above his weight and chasing the Eagles winger like Pacman in pursuit of that stupid sodding little purple pac-pellet, not afraid to end up with a face full of mud - there was plenty for all to go round.
The famous purple caped 'Geezer' we've grown to 'love' over the years was obviously fighting crime elsewhere on this day, however his distinguished ear-bleeding wordiness was pretty well replicated by a frustrated Boroondara skipper who seemed to be playing a lone hand. He had a dip, and a couple of chances ensued but Central Park held sway.
 |
| Um.... creepy |
After going agonisingly close with a header from a corner, Alex finished off another fine pass movement to open the scoring. Boroondara had barely skipped back onto position when they were stripped of possession and under the gun once more. The purple army stood back probably awaiting some more pinball wizardry to come their way, but instead it was man-mountain Nick, who off one step and pretty much with his back to goal unleashed one of his famous canons. In a scene reminiscent of the Gun's of Navarone, the rookie Malvernian blasted another hole in the enemy's armour for Central Park's second.
With morale at a game low, Boroondara were fortunate not to concede another as a glancing header from 'wet-weather-specialist' Richard Owen went inches wide from yet another corner.
2 nil at the break - Would the late night see the boys run out of steam? OR would the referee's belated arrival prove the difference due to a shorter scheduled match?
Boroondara came out as a much more competitive equation, and their frustration at not being able to get into the match was beginning to show through niggle off the ball and some pretty clumsy tackling from a few of their guys. The fuchsia-laden no. 12 was actually a half decent player only that nobody ever bothered to teach him how to pass.
John then got in on the action injecting some much needed muscle and worked well with Colin down the flanks. Despite having some more energy about them, strikes on goal continued to be at a premium - "floats like a butterfly, shoots like one too" is what they once said about the great Steve McManaman. Well, flick him a purple jersey and voila - one Boroondara Eagle.
A question: Can a headache get a headache? Steve Creswell is probably most qualified in answering that one, as his already throbbing head was then nearly decapitated in a nasty clash of the scons where Steve bravely intercepted a corner in preventing a likely goal. Stirring stuff.
For one of the first times in the match Central were wishing they'd packed the ice-skates as a goalmouth scramble allowed the hardworking Boroondara to pull a goal back against the run of play. "DON'T YOU DARE!" demanded the finger pointing cranky pants, that was no. 12 for Boroondara. Forever loving a challenge (and basically because he's a cheeky little shit), Tim hoofed the ball away in an attempt to stall the resumptions of play. A rather nasty shove was paid out for Tim's troubles, something the ref unfortunately missed but would not be forgotten.
With the game suddenly close and the very real possibility of Central Park losing their lead, things started to get very prickly between the warring parties. After some off the ball treatment unwelcomed by Rod, the Boroondara centre forward decided to get close enough to examine the pores of Rod's face, and then offered "i'll break ya f*cking nose". Nice.
Richard Owen then broke free and was brought down unceremoniously, taking 3 or 4 defenders with him, one of them viciously headbutting Richard's boot - another testy melee was extinguished as the spot fires continued to break out.
The game suddenly threatened to explore in a flurry of purple punches, and it was Central Park who refused to get sucked in by the acid tongued individuals of Boroondara (some, certainly not all) wanting to go on with it. Shortly after the usual Boroondara protagonist offered yet another piece of football 'philosophy' this time directed at Daniel, Central Park went on another rampage, reclaiming their two goal buffer with a third goal. The boys lined up to offer a riposte or three to no. 12's earlier verbal spray that was still cooling on the window sill, and it was Daniel (who ironically reprimanded Tim earlier for his tongue-lashing after being pushed) who gave it out deluxe to a sheepish looking no. 12, with the before mentioned: "oh yeah! how does it feel!!!"
A victim of bad timing, Rod was to cop the wrath of a frustrated little man, who threw his elbow into Rod's windpipe. A fine way for Rod to celebrate fatherhood. Worse still, was that the peanut technically assaulted a legally blind man as Rod was sans contact lenses. Gutsy.....
An extremely patient referee had seen enough and gave the lad his marching orders, the walk of shame complemented by an assurance that a referees incident report would be to follow - Nice to be on the right end of these things for a change!
 |
| (Loaded question: "suspended" i'd say, among other things.....) |
The heavens opened and a scrappy final 10 minutes played out, Central Park putting the result beyond doubt with a fourth to <insert name here> (i was too tied up by the niceties to remember who bagged it). Boroondara were able to pull one last goal back, somewhat dubious as their linesman's chose an unusual time to demonstrate his flag waving flamboyance in putting up and then suddenly down, his flag in the blink of an eye. Only a man in purple.....
Solid display, and the boys keep bouncing back despite the truly bizarre anomalies Sunday football continues to throw up.
Best: Nick/Richard
The Rest: too many to name!
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