WA Over 50's - 2014 Match Reports

WA vs QLD - Thursday, October 2, 2014

To pitch a tent at the stadium and camp out, or stay up all night and go straight from a disreputable club? That was the question confronting those with a long, pre-dawn road trip for our first skirmish with an eastern foe. The Kaiser-Bol military junta had ordained that we all be fully kitted up and ready for deployment the evening before Queensland’s arrival for our 8.15am battle on the number one field. 

It was all very well for Michael “Splinter” Bilney, who was in the habit of rousing himself in the wee hours to do weird and wonderful things with livestock – and Marty “Empty Pool” Ferrari, who never-ever removed his hockey gear, and was always on standby for emergency goalkeeping duties – but for the likes of Brian “The Bollywood Bookmaker” Saxby, who had to function on Delhi time to monitor his investments, and Colin “Disco” Tyler, who had to manage his mother’s burgeoning go-go dancing career, the early start was cruel. 

Disco set up his own bed in the change-rooms and had a quiet kip while Matthew “Bol” Jones earnestly outlined his plan for world domination. Bede “Tardis” Rogers, who moves fluidly through space and time with medicos, sensibly gained his precious extra moments of shut-eye in the comfort of Dalkeith, magically materialising in a corner at about the time Bol was moving through Belgium and into Luxembourg. Somewhere beyond Paris, with the English Channel in sight, an official interrupted to present the one ring to rule them all – or at least check that our weapons were not in breach of any international conventions – and after the interloper was summarily dismissed, Bol brought his rousing speech to a close. 

Despite the 8.15am commencement, it was steamy on the turf. This should have suited the Queenslanders, but they were still trying to shake off the effects of a long weekend in Margaret River, a day trip to the Swan Valley, and several visits to a conveniently located liquor store somewhere along Stirling Highway. One sensed they had studied our hazy touring plan from a previous tournament (Yarra Valley, Mornington Peninsula, seedy Fitzroy bar). 

We were allowed plenty of possession, throwing the ball forward, across and back, giving everybody, except Empty Pool, lots of touches. Inevitably, we hypnotised ourselves and nonchalantly turned the ball over to our generally surprised opponents. It ensured the match was played in a genial fashion. 

John “Serial Pest”-ana made himself home at left half, regularly mopping up the mistakes of others and passing laconically to Grant “Doc” Carville or Craig “Hobbler” Trott, who gradually banged harder and longer until Phil “Sugar” Cain and Mark “Apps” Arnold emerged from the shadows of the pines to turn their markers and penetrate the circle. A minor hiccup occurred when Bol also penetrated, but he shook the resulting sweat too vigorously from his brow – he had been warned – and was given a two-minute rest for dissent. 

After at least a dozen bobbly short corners (Empty Pool claimed it was half this number – but he may have nodded off for twenty minutes as he had so little to do), an unscheduled variation, where Splinter pretended he had deliberately missed a shot at goal, found its way left to the Bollywood Bookmaker (henceforth to be known as “Brown Sugar” because he didn’t like all the attention “Sugar” Cain was receiving from his new moniker). Bollywood – I mean Brown Sugar – flicked for the top right of the net, resulting in a skidder passing under the leaping keeper and into the middle of the backboard. 

As expected, the floodgates did not open. Queensland, in fact, feathered in an equaliser fifteen minutes into the second half. Paul “The Puppeteer” Cartwright, playing an unaccustomed role in defence, manfully took responsibility until Serial Pest-ana stuck his hand up at the post-mortem, suggesting his calling should have been better to the midfielders. Clearly, Russell “Kaiser” Rieck, Mike “The Commuter” Hallam, Bol, and/or Disco were the true culprits, but all four claimed to be off the field at the time. I blame Paul “Goz” Scicluna, purely because I have yet to find a way to mention him in the narrative. 

A period of frustration ensued, as Noel “Chunky” Morrison, the Kaiser, Brown Sugar and others too numerous to mention missed open goals. Eventually, Disco panicked as a loopy raised ball trampolined off the turf in front of him. The spinning orb collected the underside of his stick as he closed his eyes to fend it off. Fortuitously, he was in the circle and the ball bounced over whoever may have been in the way (I don’t know – I had my eyes closed, remember!) and into the goals. We were two-one up and all was well with Bol’s master plan. 

Appropriately, or perhaps ironically (I’m not sure anymore as lack of sleep has taken its toll), Sugar Cain finished the men in maroon with a sweet shot from straight in front. 

Only one other teensy incident of note occurred in the final minutes when the Kaiser and his better half, Allison “Bananas” Rieck, managing the bench, quibbled over the number of players we needed on the field. Apparently, two players subbed off, but only one man re-entered the fray. It was just long enough for Queensland to win their only short corner; just long enough for Disco to be rugby tackled by an officious official as he trampled over three others to be the one to even the numbers; and just long enough for Bananas to remind the Kaiser of whom was really in charge despite his delusions of power and status within the ruling elite. 

Result: WA 3 – QLD 1 

Goal scorers: B. Saxby, C. Tyler, P. Cain 
Best player as voted by QLD: C. Tyler 
Best player as voted by WA : C. Trott 
Cards: M. Jones (green)

WA vs VIC - Saturday, October 4, 2014

It is not easy being the leader of a military junta. Pretend telephone calls must be taken to fabricate the illusion of importance (and to initiate cunning vanishing manoeuvres from tedious Aquinas functions). Those from west of the freeway are often losing their heads, or at least their hair. Your first and second bananas “accidentally” leave peel here and there in the forlorn hope that you will slip up so they can lead your grudgingly devoted monkeys astray. There are corrupt schemes to be plotted, too, in order to finance abseiling adventure holidays for the family, and wondrous excuses to be imagined to deflect outcries of nepotism and cronyism. There is also the consideration of just how free the press can be allowed to be. 

Bol Jones takes it all in his slightly pained stride. He did not panic when Tardis Rogers took the day off to fight the green death, with Dr Pertwee and Jo, somewhere in south Wales, circa 1973. Bol knew that a glamorous debutante, Kevin “The Happy Camper” Knapp, was frocked up and ready to strut his stuff, having declined the opening encounter, favouring a Singaporean jaunt to purchase sequins for the evening gown he will model at the next team cocktail function. Happy Knappy would have worn the gown to the 8am parade on the catwalk of the South Perth foreshore, but being a highly strung fashionista there was an issue with the sunny morning and glittering Swan River shifting attention from his diamante heels and glo-mesh handbag. 

Happy Knappy did not let his illustrious leader down. After the debacle against Queensland, where we only managed one unintentional goal from an estimated 47 short corner attempts (Empty Pool Ferrari continues to dispute the incontrovertible, unverifiable figures), today Happy nailed three himself, presented one on a platter to the Kaiser (to B2 or not B2?), and no doubt had a hand in Brown Sugar Saxby’s goal and the penalty stroke that Chunky Morrison won and slotted. Stopping tackles before the Vics could trouble Splinter Bilney and Hobbler Trott, subtle touches to Commuter Hallam, 75 metre overheads onto the sticks of unmarked forwards in the circle (most of them our forwards, such as Sugar Cain and Apps Arnold – and sometimes even in our attacking circle!), Happy Knappy did it all. Bol was beside himself with restrained joy, so much so that he was pushing out at short corners and then trapping at the top of the D himself to ensure that Happy only received quality service. 

Meanwhile, east of the freeway divide - where life is tough, raw and real – Serial Pest-ana was forced to plead his failings as a mere mortal. Unlike glorious leaders, he couldn’t mark from in front, remain fully aware of the three opposing strikers circling behind, and communicate to all nine team-mates ahead to swing left, swing right, stay central, drop ten, press up, pirouette and do the hokey-pokey. The lone Victorian goal was not taken lightly by Bol. A brutal example needed to be made, and a demanding standard set. A hapless, innocent accountant and weekend foot soldier became the scapegoat. The Puppeteer Carty was thus moved to left half for longer periods, where his superior pace, too fast even for his elderly mother’s camera to capture (her words, not mine), extinguished any flicker of Victorian hope that they might score through the same channel again. So desperate did they become that they even attempted to sneak a twelfth man onto the turf for the start of the second half. 

Further east, Goz Scicluna took one in the eye for the team, and had to be removed from the field of play. Goz used his extended bench time productively, at least, to dress like a pirate. He was last seen heading to His Majesty’s in the city to audition for a popular Gilbert and Sullivan musical. These are the sacrifices the ordinary multitudes must endure so that leaders like Bol are unencumbered by trivialities and can devote precious hours to philosophising on the bigger picture. 

And yet, finally, Disco is left contemplating the advantages and disadvantages of a home town tournament. It is early evening. Rain is forecast. He has a small courtyard on the south side of his villa. The washing line is in shade for 360 days of the year, sometimes 367 depending on cloud cover. He has a playing uniform to wash and dry before departing at 1pm on the following day for a 2.30pm fixture. He is not accommodated in a Quest apartment, hidden in an industrial park, somewhere between a crematorium and a cemetery, and therefore has no dryer. He looks wistfully at the darkening sky and convinces himself leaders of military juntas have no time to waste on the everyday concerns of their battle weary minions. Bol will surely be working late into a candlelit night, quill in claw, crafting an inspirational speech that will once again fall on hearing aids with low battery life. 

Result: WA 6 – VIC 1 

Goal scorers: K. Knapp 3, R. Rieck, B. Saxby, N. Morrison 
WA best as voted by Vic: M. Jones 
WA best as voted by WA: K.Knapp 
Cards: Nil

WA vs WAC - Sunday, October 5, 2014

WA vs SA - Tuesday, October 7, 2014

As happens with once great and golden empires – the Romans, the Han Dynasty, Hutt River Province – cracks are appearing and widening rapidly within the Kaiser-Bol military junta. Bol’s second and third bananas continue to undermine him with populist decisions, such as spontaneous cancellations of long planned, strategic morning briefings and fitness workouts. It was during these highly caffeinated gossip sessions that Bol had previously managed to gauge the mood of his people and purge the first stirrings of non-conformist ideologies, usually brought back via the inter-planetary travels of Tardis Rogers. 

Furthermore, several underlings are now revolting. Goz the Pirate, taking a leaf from the Hong Kong Umbrella Movement, has openly displayed his own symbol of revolution, wearing a subversive white bandana, representative of covert pirates the world over. It is clearly a ploy to attract attention and divert votes from our besieged leader. Also revolting is Puppeteer Carty.  
Gobsmacked by being used as cannon fodder during defensive corners, the Puppeteer has been blatantly giving plenty of lip. Consequently, Bol has ordered Tardis to stitch him up. 

Tardis, fresh from an adventure into the near future, however, has his own schemes. He hijacked the pre-match oration, encouraging those who would be national players to put themselves first and play as individuals: no running, no great skills, no goals – just do nothing so that you can’t be blamed for turnovers. He also demanded that midfielders be ejected from the attacking D.  
Fortunately, the team found a way around the problem of removing our most reliable source of goals: allow defenders such as Hobbler Trott and Happy Knappy to by-pass the midfield and explode from the edge of the circle. 

Brown Sugar Saxby has again succumbed to his post-match ice addiction and appears to have dragged Disco towards the abyss, too. Disco has been behaving erratically and has overseen a dramatic decline in the standards of the free press. References to third rate popular culture and undergraduate humour have permeated once accurate reports. Thinly veiled political satire has given way to cheap shots from the left, something all too easy to achieve under the current regime’s right wing policy. 

Some semblance of order and discipline has been maintained by stoic captain Chunky Morrison scoring twice and selflessly denying himself a hat-trick (and therefore the purchase of a carton) by not claiming to have sea-gulled Sugar Cain’s goal (when he clearly did). Apps Arnold, the Commuter Hallam, Serial Pest-ana and Doc Carville have been doing the hard yards to support their wise, but frustrated old leader; and guns for hire, Maddie and Lauren, have been playing their part to tend and mend the wounded and soft. 

Nevertheless, the signs cannot be ignored. Splinter Bilney scored at the wrong end, Empty Pool Ferrari was powerless to stop him, and Happy Knappy was obliged to sit in the naughty chair for a couple of minutes. Bol says we are “building, building, building,” but as time takes its toll, just what shape will this erection take and for how long can it possibly last? 

Result: WA 6 - SA 1 

Best WA player as voted by WA: N. Morrison 
Best WA player as voted by SA: M. Jones 

Goal scorers: N. Morrison 2, P. Cain, C. Trott, C. Tyler, K. Knapp 
Cards: K. Knapp (Green) 

WA vs NSW - Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Caligula, Attila the Hun, Genghis Khan, Vlad the Impaler and Ivan the Terrible are perennial favourites on internet lists of the cruellest and most evil rulers of all time. Perhaps, however, they are simply the victims of historical revisionism. Perhaps they are horribly misunderstood and unfairly maligned movers and shakers. Perhaps their only collective crime was to be born outside the hegemony of the Oxford, Cambridge and UWA educated aristocrats who are viewed so favourably by the conservative guardians of western historical texts. Perhaps they have been subjected to culturally insensitive stereotyping from the power brokers of the American motion picture industry. Note how the British knighted Frankie Drake, while to this day Latin Americans refer to him as Drake the Pirate (a distant relative of Goz Scicluna?). One country’s freedom fighter is another nation’s terrorist. 

The question we ponder today, then, is how will history remember our Kaiser-Bol military junta? Will Bol Jones be viewed as a firm but fair patriarch with a humorous blob of bird poop in his fringe, a bit like the “kindly uncle who accidentally spilled red wine on his scone and forgot to wipe it off” look of Mikhail Gorbachev; or will he be condemned to ignominy, like Empress Wu, who was believed to have been so ruthless in her quest for power that she killed her own daughter, and later her eldest son, to frame rivals and secure her ascension? Will Kaiser Rieck and Bananas Rieck (the real authority behind the throne) be regarded as loyal and faithful servants who were accidentally admitted into the top echelon of society because they were fundamentally a warm, decent and endearing couple, a little like Flo and Joh Bjelke-Petersen; or will there always be a question mark hovering over their allegiance, having departed their home state on a secret mission to poison Sandgropers with dangerously high levels of potassium hidden within Queensland’s fruity emblem? 

Prior to the tussle with our arch rivals from New South Wales, Bol seethed and muttered, ground his molars and frothed at the mouth. Several foot soldiers missed the team calendar shoot. Two accidentally elastoplasted themselves to massage tables, causing an interminable delay in proceedings and therefore an abridged version of the Miltonesque epic that had been penned in blood for the special occasion of the lunar eclipse. “Time” became the theme of the opening refrain. “Time” was ticking – like a bomb. 

Boom! Tardis Rogers transported himself at will to any point in time and space on the number one turf. Unpredictable, guidance from any lord or master was unlikely. Bol had set the team on a direct route to gold, but Tardis’ apparent lack of direction took Bol and the team where they needed to go as opposed to where they wanted to go. In fits and starts, Tardis bunny-hopped through the defensive zone of the enemy. Winning corner after corner, he eventually had to possess the spirit of a brother in arms in order to kick start the scoring, helping Goz launch a missile into the back of the net. Tardis then raked in a wayward, long range pass from Disco, turning it magically into a killer ball that could be converted from the baseline. Next, Tardis sliced through ten or eleven befuddled full-backs to release Chunky Morrison for an easy put away that almost became a long corner, short corner and penalty stroke before mysteriously spinning across the goal-line. 

Bol valiantly attempted to wrest back control during the interval by “borrowing” a line from a recently retired guru: “It was a good half of hockey, but only one half.” However, many were not listening, overcome by the exhibition they were witnessing. Doc Carville was even seen posing for selfies with fresh-faced Joondalup veterans who wanted to be near someone who knew the man who had set the stadium alight. 

After the break, Tardis relentlessly infiltrated the attacking circle. Surge after surge overwhelmed the Blues, who cracked so badly that Chunky slid another past the custodian, Apps Arnold received just reward on the scoreboard for his persistence, and even Disco added to the Tardis inspired tally. 

So, was it all part of the Kaiser-Bol military junta master plan to unleash the Tardis? Was it the flaring nostrils and terse pre-match address through clenched teeth? Or was it sorcery, under a blood moon, with souls being promised to the devil? How will historians interpret this crushing victory? Will it become merely a footnote to be forgotten, or a key chapter to be pored over by academics as they endeavour to understand the significance of this new and brutal movement in Over 50s men’s hockey? 

Result: WA 6 - NSW 2 

Best WA player as voted by NSW: B. Rogers 
Best WA player as voted by WA : B. Rogers 

Goal scorers: N. Morrison 2, P. Scicluna, B. Rogers, M. Arnold, C. Tyler 

Cards: K. Knapp (green), N. Morrison (green) 

Semi-Final WA vs SA - Friday, October 10, 2014

In the style of Canadian songstress Sarah McLachlan, the Kaiser-Bol military junta has had the peasantry building a mystery. Meanwhile, our national broadcaster, Aunty ABC, has been building towards World Mental Health Day, which is today. All week, Aunty has been programming under the slogan, “Mental As”. 

It now appears relatively certain that we have been subconsciously affected by Aunty’s promotional material and the subliminal messages buried within the programmes, websites and merchandise. Bol Jones, trawling the depths of the “ABC Splash” educational website (who knew one existed!), became obsessed to the point of red-eyed madness over the “Gold Rush” page. “Bananas in Pyjamas: The Adult Version Luxury Edition Boxed Set of DVDs” has been on endless repeat in Kaiser Rieck’s chamber. Bananas Rieck, on the other hand, has been disappearing frequently into the war room to watch “Lateline” and “Q & A”, studying the form of Julie Bishop, Tanya Plibersek and Jacquie Lambie, as she charts how to leapfrog them in the race to become Australia’s next female Prime Minister. Happy Knappy has been rolling on the floor in spasms over “Ready, Steady, Wiggle!” And Splinter Bilney can’t make it through a day without his hit of “Bush Telegraph” on Radio National. 

Some are born with a predisposition to psychosis. Certain events, such as stress and substance abuse, can trigger episodes. Is it possible, though, for an entire squadron of middle-aged hockey players to lapse simultaneously into such a confused state? Could a mass chemical imbalance have been induced by an overdose of post-match, banana-based potassium? Have we suffered the consequences of the win at all costs decision, under the blood moon of Wednesday’s lunar eclipse, to “Round about the cauldron go; / In the poison’d entrails throw”? (Apologies to Bill Shakespeare and his witches.) 

Our performance in the semi-final encounter with the South Australia/WA Invitational XI exhibited a range of worrying symptoms: disordered thinking, delusions and hallucinations. Brown Sugar Saxby paced agitatedly behind the bench - there’s no ice machine at pitch number two! Bol and Sugar Cain stubbornly careered into and occasionally through brick walls all day – even afterwards, in the change-rooms, just for fun. Worse, the Kaiser had an unexpected reverse lunge from Chunky Morrison cannon into his stick and then into the goals – handily for us for a short period - but this only resulted in later delusions of grandeur when a stroke was awarded and the Kaiser ran manically to the penalty spot before anyone could stop him from rolling the ball playfully but harmlessly into the keeper. 

Hobbler Trott and Doc Carville, previously like the 1980s Sandinistas of Nicaragua, proclaiming, “No pasaran - They shall not pass,” to the opportunistic contra raids of those from within and over our nearest border, broke their pact to stand guard at the top of the circle and abandoned their posts. This forced Empty Pool Ferrari to cease pondering when he would be able to once again lounge poolside, daiquiri in hand, on his sunbed. Empty Pool had to do some work, perhaps not such a bad outcome, as he would be more likely to be called upon in the grand final if we could overcome our brain fades and mental chaos and actually win the match at hand. Empty Pool kept the scoresheet clean in the first half and received some higher quality practice than he would have during training sessions with his own forwards. He was eventually to succumb, though, like Gulliver to the nimble Lilliputians, when he was outnumbered and pinned down by an army of free roaming strikers. 

The second half produced a series of hallucinations. The Commuter Hallam had grand plans of making it through the tournament without one of the many pieces of his shredded hamstrings coming undone. He spectated from the bench for most of the final thirty minutes. Serial Pest-ana thought that he might be able to trap one of the Happy Camper’s bouncing exocet passes from right half to left half – and Happy thought that it might be a good idea to oblige the fantasy. Apps Arnold dreamt that he was opening the batting for Australia, a right handed, pocket-sized version of Dave Warner, and propitiously hooked one goal off his nose before clipping another over mid-on from a short of a length delivery. Tardis Rogers had visions of laying off a pass to Chunky on the spot and then receiving the ball back for a spectacular tomahawk from the baseline – but Chunky scored instead. And Disco also thought he might get a pass from Chunky as the captain ran away from the goals and Disco meandered past just at the right time and facing the right way. Chunky gathered the ball, wisely ignored Disco, twirled and put the ball in the corner of the goals, safely out of reach of the SA custodian and any WA seagulls. 

Finally, after a victory that served as an appropriate precursor to “Friday Night Crack Up”, the ABC’s fundraising television event for mental health, sanity was momentarily restored by the Puppeteer Carty. He kissed and made up with Disco, who had thrown a tantrum near the end of the match because the Puppeteer wouldn’t let him play with the ball. The Puppeteer said that Disco could still come and use his pool for the team recovery session in the afternoon. Diskette was particularly pleased as she would now get to see the polished floorboards and sparkling kitchen that were straight from the pages of “Vogue Living”. Thirty minutes later, the military junta cancelled the much anticipated outing, Disco went to sulk in the ocean with the sharks, and Diskette went home to her asthma inducing carpet and once white, always miniscule, laminex, kitchen bench top. 

Result: WA 5 - SA 1 

Best WA player as voted by WA : M. Arnold 
Goal scorers: N. Morrison 2, M. Arnold 2, R.Rieck 
Cards: Nil.

Final WA vs NSW - Saturday, October 11, 2014

Late at night, having celebrated the two-nil victory over NSW in the gold medal match, it seems appropriate to spin The Pogues’ album Rum, Sodomy and the Lash. The Irish larrikins make music for drunks. The drummer said the title of the album, “seemed to sum up life in our band.” They are somewhat dysfunctional and off-kilter. Somewhere near the centre of all their sound and fury is a wayward, untamed soul with a penchant for the bottle. Finally, the cover artwork is based on French painter Theodore Gericault’s The Raft of the Medusa (1818-1819), which depicts the aftermath of the wreck of a French naval frigate that had been navigated horribly off course somewhere near present day Mauritania. Clearly, the further one investigates the more eerily pre-ordained becomes the seemingly random choice to play some ditties to which one can scream at the top of one’s lungs and not sound too much more out of tune than the artist. 

It was a pity that Doc Carville, with the vocal styling of a Wookie in pain, had headed straight to Busselton on Saturday afternoon to play more hockey after the team’s triumph. Obviously, he had been cruising at full-back all tournament. Either that or he couldn’t get a hit because Hobbler Trott had upped the ante on the hobbling, cutting the ball off at the top of the attacking circle, where any defender with a genuine desire to be harangued by goalkeeper Empty Pool Ferrari should be. 

Empty Pool had not been completely left to his own devices this year: photographic evidence from the final suggests that Splinter Bilney paid him occasional visits, watching the ball squirt across the ‘D’ to Serial Pest-ana, who always seemed to be lurking in the rear left pocket, searching for loose change, dropped by his father, Steve, or grandfather, Ian, in their older age divisions. It is rumoured that Puppeteer Carty also flashed far too quickly to be photographed in front of Empty Pool, pinching the ball off the pads and whacking it against the concrete walls of the stadium. Empty Pool had one moment of glory all to himself, though, when the umpire decided that the match needed more drama and awarded a short so that our ironically named runners could stand idly by while NSW took aim at the bottom, stick-side corner. Empty Pool fell over just at the perfect instant, making for a save that would have looked spectacular in a photograph if Diskette, our happy snapper, hadn’t been taking pictures of her hubby scratching his groin on the half-way line. 

Dodgy groins generally abound in a team of this vintage. Only Apps Arnold, however, made any fleeting reference to a problem with that part of the anatomy. He dispelled any doubt by going hard for long stretches throughout the tournament. In the final, his twisting, turning, and dizzying runs around the opposition, the corner flag, and his own midfielders coming up the field to help, fully demonstrated his potency. Only Sugar Cain and Chunky Morrison, in fact, were more potent. Chunky kept slipping free and poked his head out long enough to deflect an incisive pass, from Bol Jones, under the oncoming keeper. Sugar Cain only had to strut down the wing and along the baseline to prove his potency. He didn’t even need to shoot. The Blues went to jelly when he entered from behind their defence. An obliging touch from a half-back, eager to make contact with Sugar, resulted in a sly pass going all the way for a winner. 

At the end of a long journey, like the raft off the coast of West Africa, opponents were rolling in the wake, while Brown Sugar Saxby and the Commuter Hallam’s ravaged bodies clung tenuously to the planks, waiting for a wave to swamp them or deliver them to salvation. Goz the Pirate Scicluna was in his element, his craggy face and humorous eyebrow underscoring his love of the battle and satisfaction in securing gold. Happy Knappy fashioned himself a visor to ward off the spotlight that had caught him in its glare and drawn the attention of the Australian selectors to his skills. And Tardis Rogers, like the surgeon Henri Savigny, a survivor who assisted Gericault with his masterpiece, went looking for two bottles of red, which was just about the only sustenance available to the ill-fated castaways. 

Crazed, parched and starved, having missed breakfast and being denied access to the bananas, due to rationing by Bananas Rieck, all because we were required to be in the change-rooms far too early again for panel-beating by our Amazons, Maddie and Lauren, 15 brave souls (plus the inhuman cyborg leaders Bol and Kaiser Rieck) dragged themselves to their feet and raised their arms to loved ones in the crowd. Some thought it was in salute, but second thoughts reveal that the collective act was like the survivors of the Medusa’s poorly cobbled together escape vessel desperately waving to the passing Argus for rescue. 

Waiting for a turn in the showers, gold draped around our necks from consecutive tournaments, “A Pair of Brown Eyes,” a single from the Irish punk-folksters seminal album, comes to mind. Thoughts turn to “Dirty Old Town” as the night’s celebrations are contemplated, but it is the sad refrain of the final album cut, “And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda,” that reminds us that our heroics will soon be forgotten, perhaps in a haze of red wine, perhaps due to the onset of memory loss as we plunge headlong into our middle ages, or perhaps because we are merely weekend warriors, amusing ourselves while the rest of the world goes blithely unaware about its serious business. 

Postscript: The Irish thing went down the toilet. We went out for Indian. The Pogues became strangely irrelevant. Even Goz the Pirate gave up on the sea-faring theme by having his stitches removed by Tardis Rogers in the restaurant. I must stop trying to write the reports before the matches! 

Love to all, Disco.  

Result: WA 2 – NSW 0 

Best WA player as voted by WA : M. Jones 

Goal scorers: N. Morrison 1, P.Cain 1 

Cards: M. Arnold (green) 

WA player of the tournament: K. Knapp