Sunday 2nd September 2012, Flack Park Port Melbourne
Old Melburnians 3 - Central Park 4
Central Park out of juice as Old Melburnians put out of misery.
Rod's unusual request for a 'bottle opener', of all things, to be brought to the final game of the season had many scratching their heads.
But it wasn't 'baby-brain' or the rigors of a long season taking full effect on him, no, the rumour mill was in full swing amid the possibility that Rod would be bringing a slab of fancy European beer for the lads post match. Though that wasn't strictly true either - after all, Rod did confess to paying the penalty of Sorbolene abuse rendering him out-maneuvered by the humble domestic beer 'twist top'.
I've made the joke now, so i'll stop crapping on.....
Whilst the beer chilled in the carpark, the Central Park lads hoped to play some champagne football, made possible by a pitch Eddie Charlton wouldn't be out of place on. Talk about saving the best for last, a miracle ANY pitch could be in this pristine a condition at the tail end of a Thirds competition. Central Park won the toss and elected to break....
Not even the FFV would be OM's saviour this time, as Central Park dominated from the outset. Blustery conditions and being acclimatised to a bogans wet dream (the noise of 8 lanes of traffic plus a go-cart track) the only things being in OM's favour.
A southerly of different kind would keep the match interesting - OM trying to avoid relegation, all the while Central Park trying to finish on a high with a win and possibly a leap into the top half of the competition.
Not a great deal had changed since the last encounter however, OM's still had the same 3 or 4 stand out players to keep them in the contest, and Central Park going about their business and rarely being threatened.
Reincarnated centre-forward Richard Owen started strongly, at times gallivanting across the veteran friendly surface like a gazelle enjoying the African sun - could he be auditioning for a contract with OM's ala Hendy, Phillips and Byrne?!?!
Still no goals, despite a barrage of scoring chances as Nick, Rich, Alex, Steve and even bloody Rod! used the adjacent shipping containers as target practice.
Frustrating as all hell that the deadlock couldn't be broken given the half was played mostly behind enemy lines.
Testament to both being this end of the season and age bracket, regular changes were made for both sides on what was an unusually hot day. John came off the bench for a wounded Gaz and instantly bullied his way through the centre in typical fashion. Stu 'turn-style' Fleming provided spark of the pine allowing Rich a spell and opportunity to burp a child or two whilst catching his breath.
Zip all at the break (somehow), as the boys chewed on grass for sustenance in lieu of oranges nowhere to be found this week. That was the least of their worries, as a mild concern set in over not having troubled the scoring attendant.
"Alright, no more f*cking around!" was the basic message issued to the lads, keen to get on with things and hoe into the Peroni's. A raspberry fizzy drink was all young Tom needed as an incentive to get on with things, a native to this pitch evident as he skipped around opponents and played the wind to his advantage on the corners. As Richard Owen went agonisingly close to benefiting from one of them, Tom then took it upon himself to whip a doozy in that found the back of the net for the opener.
A collective sigh of relief could be heard from the red and black who started to warm up and replicate the first half. Rich wouldn't be denied this time as his next opportunity was one for the family postcard, the Owen clan on hand to (possibly) witness old Dad move a step closer to the Golden Croc and score - God help them if they didn't, we all know how he gets...
With Tim N working on his tan (which regularly skips a shade straight to scarlet) in goals, he was suddenly prompted into action as a sleepy Central Park defence allowed a bouncing through ball to find it's way into the path of the OM's forward. Tim converged at pace, but with one hand metaphorically already grasping on a chilling Peroni, could only get the other to the ball as an unconvincing clearance found it's way goal. The job not done, and OM's with a sniff.
Having had the snooze button hit on them, Central Park sprung back into action, once again Tom on hand to save the day. A terrific passing movement found the feet of Tom, who, this time was promised a shandy, finished brilliant to give Central Park some breathing space.
The game began to peter out as interest in football waned, as much as desire for beer and off season recovery loomed. A fourth then went in thanks to a stunning volley courtesy of Alex from the wrong side of the 18 yard box. Central Park really did seem like they were playing pool as the cue went well and truly in the rack and OM's managed to scramble in two late sundries just for shits and giggles.
A final score of 4-3, closer than it suggested as OM's moved to greener (if possible) pastures, Division 4.
Best: Tom
The Rest: Rod, Steve, Alex, Nick
Old Melburnians 3 - Central Park 4
Central Park out of juice as Old Melburnians put out of misery.
Rod's unusual request for a 'bottle opener', of all things, to be brought to the final game of the season had many scratching their heads.
But it wasn't 'baby-brain' or the rigors of a long season taking full effect on him, no, the rumour mill was in full swing amid the possibility that Rod would be bringing a slab of fancy European beer for the lads post match. Though that wasn't strictly true either - after all, Rod did confess to paying the penalty of Sorbolene abuse rendering him out-maneuvered by the humble domestic beer 'twist top'.
I've made the joke now, so i'll stop crapping on.....
Whilst the beer chilled in the carpark, the Central Park lads hoped to play some champagne football, made possible by a pitch Eddie Charlton wouldn't be out of place on. Talk about saving the best for last, a miracle ANY pitch could be in this pristine a condition at the tail end of a Thirds competition. Central Park won the toss and elected to break....
Not even the FFV would be OM's saviour this time, as Central Park dominated from the outset. Blustery conditions and being acclimatised to a bogans wet dream (the noise of 8 lanes of traffic plus a go-cart track) the only things being in OM's favour.
A southerly of different kind would keep the match interesting - OM trying to avoid relegation, all the while Central Park trying to finish on a high with a win and possibly a leap into the top half of the competition.
Not a great deal had changed since the last encounter however, OM's still had the same 3 or 4 stand out players to keep them in the contest, and Central Park going about their business and rarely being threatened.
Reincarnated centre-forward Richard Owen started strongly, at times gallivanting across the veteran friendly surface like a gazelle enjoying the African sun - could he be auditioning for a contract with OM's ala Hendy, Phillips and Byrne?!?!
Still no goals, despite a barrage of scoring chances as Nick, Rich, Alex, Steve and even bloody Rod! used the adjacent shipping containers as target practice.
Frustrating as all hell that the deadlock couldn't be broken given the half was played mostly behind enemy lines.
Testament to both being this end of the season and age bracket, regular changes were made for both sides on what was an unusually hot day. John came off the bench for a wounded Gaz and instantly bullied his way through the centre in typical fashion. Stu 'turn-style' Fleming provided spark of the pine allowing Rich a spell and opportunity to burp a child or two whilst catching his breath.
Zip all at the break (somehow), as the boys chewed on grass for sustenance in lieu of oranges nowhere to be found this week. That was the least of their worries, as a mild concern set in over not having troubled the scoring attendant.
"Alright, no more f*cking around!" was the basic message issued to the lads, keen to get on with things and hoe into the Peroni's. A raspberry fizzy drink was all young Tom needed as an incentive to get on with things, a native to this pitch evident as he skipped around opponents and played the wind to his advantage on the corners. As Richard Owen went agonisingly close to benefiting from one of them, Tom then took it upon himself to whip a doozy in that found the back of the net for the opener.
A collective sigh of relief could be heard from the red and black who started to warm up and replicate the first half. Rich wouldn't be denied this time as his next opportunity was one for the family postcard, the Owen clan on hand to (possibly) witness old Dad move a step closer to the Golden Croc and score - God help them if they didn't, we all know how he gets...
With Tim N working on his tan (which regularly skips a shade straight to scarlet) in goals, he was suddenly prompted into action as a sleepy Central Park defence allowed a bouncing through ball to find it's way into the path of the OM's forward. Tim converged at pace, but with one hand metaphorically already grasping on a chilling Peroni, could only get the other to the ball as an unconvincing clearance found it's way goal. The job not done, and OM's with a sniff.
Having had the snooze button hit on them, Central Park sprung back into action, once again Tom on hand to save the day. A terrific passing movement found the feet of Tom, who, this time was promised a shandy, finished brilliant to give Central Park some breathing space.
The game began to peter out as interest in football waned, as much as desire for beer and off season recovery loomed. A fourth then went in thanks to a stunning volley courtesy of Alex from the wrong side of the 18 yard box. Central Park really did seem like they were playing pool as the cue went well and truly in the rack and OM's managed to scramble in two late sundries just for shits and giggles.
A final score of 4-3, closer than it suggested as OM's moved to greener (if possible) pastures, Division 4.
Best: Tom
The Rest: Rod, Steve, Alex, Nick
