West End United vs Home Brand FC

All photos by me good mate Pandora Karavan (Pandy).


We're in the yellow and purple. Andrew's bum is on the left, Dorian on the right. We lost 3:2, but we managed to accumulate three injuries, two of which could not take the field again, and I also ask viewers to note the age difference between us and the opposition. The second half we played with 10 men due to the injuries.


Number 2 is Paul, our best central defender. He'd had a head to head clash with another of our own team. The other in the clash, Dennis, went home for stiches. I don't think this one went in, as I remember the first goal, and the only one in this half, as higher. I may be wrong. Yeah, that's yours truly in the goal.

A boot from Mark, who played a class game on the wing.

This was a potentially disasterous moment, but Daryl, screaming across (he's over 45), managed to kick the ball into touch.

Sean's been playing for a couple of years only so is not that much more experienced than me, but it doesn't mean one should think colliding with him is a great idea. He's a bloody solid defender.

Dorian, one of our strikers, in dribling action. The classy looking midfielder in the background is Peter, who in midfield is probalby our best player. Actually he seems to be everywhere.


Andrew congratulating Dorian after his goal. It was our second (the first was a penalty from Dennis who had to leave to get stitches in his head), and Dorian's first ever. Beautiful passing lead-up too. But no taking away from Dorian's beautiful finish.

Preparing for a corner. From left (in yellow and purple), is Andrew, me, Sean and Paul (who's bleeding had stopped, so he's taken his bandage off).

I'm pretty sure this is the second one that went in. I got my hand to it but it was too powerful and pushed through to goal. Hopefully with experience I'll be able to stop these. This was my first time in goal ever.

The worst thing about my most ludicrous moment of courage is that this guy had already been called off side.

One moment later. Me getting my neck challenged. I can still feel the bruising from jaw to collar on the right side of my neck.

Some more Daryl action. These blokes we're playing against are children.

Peter has some classy footwork. The bloke with the cool hair in the fore is Beppe, our Italian, who had an excellent game in midfield reclaiming possesion again and again.

Number 17 is Mark again. I got this puppy.

That's the formidable Sean on the right, Mark in the middle and the peep of bandaged head is Paul. I have no idea what's happening here, but it's a cool action shot. This was Pandy's first foray as a sports photographer, and I reckon she shows quite a knack.

Myself in a routine action, Mark again in the fore. For a Midfield winger he seems to be helping me a lot.

Me in some sort of existential, concentrated, action zone. I could really get to like this position, seriously.

Ok, I didnt get near the bloody ball, but this one didn't get through. It's coming from the right of camera across the goal and it went wide.

A very nice shot I reckon - well composed. Daryl again. No secret really that the blokes Pandy knows are Daryl (pictured here), Sean, Dorian and myself.

Dorian in action again. Note the dust - our home pitch is a fucking dry sandpit. Peter looking as sexy as ever in the background.

Look, I have given up this blogging thing ok? But with these pics available, what was I supposed to do? Here is our own, very grass-roots crew in action. It was a great game, these guys completely thrashed us last time, and with some serious circumstances we did really well. Did I mention we've never won a game? We're an over-35s team who were conned into an obscure open league with the rhetoric that all the teams were old and crap, and they're just not. We have a hoot anyway, and whichever way you look at it, the ball is still round.

Salud.

More Grassroots Football

What a weekend. Bloody great, bloody sore.

Saturday was one of the best days I can remember. I've put a lot of work into Jacob's team. I don't have any official status but the Coach has got me assisting him, which seems to work very well. I've known most of the kids for a long time and I'm very happy to say they respect me, so my main role there seems to be getting them to listen to the coach, who is I think quite brilliant, but (Japanese) doesn't speak English expertly and is very quiet. Meanwhile I also assist the Manager, Jim, who hasn't been around much for various insurmountable reasons so yesterday I was the acting Game Manager anyway. Yesterday, being the first game, there was a lot to do, and it was sort of my baby. That's enough introduction to my unique role with these kids.

They are the El Salvador U12s. They won 5:2. That would have made my week as is, but Jacob scored the first goal and it was a cracker. He had to race the goalie of the opposition (Hawks) for a long ball which was heading for the right corner of the box (Jacob was playing right-mid). The goalie hesitated in his run which was a fatal error, but still nearly made it. Jacob slid in for the ball and touched it once. It rolled past the goalie, and kept rolling - it was not a heavy kick - I swear it took about five minutes for the ball to roll to the goal mouth. It hit a bump and looked like it would miss. It hit another bump and found its way back on course... just. Hit the far post, and crossed the magic line.

In indoor soccer over the summer Jacob has managed to score (I think) four goals, one of which was his first ever (he has played two seasons before this one). Two of these were in one game which was pretty cool. Then in three friendlies (against U13 teams) leading up to this season he scored twice, once each in two of the games. But this one was his first outdoor goal in official competition. And it was the first goal of the season. And it was a cracker. Can you tell? I was a proud puppy.

In the second half Jacob scored another goal, off a beautiful ball from his mate Stavros, who was also on the Indoor team, The West End Terrorists. Does being a soccer Dad get better than this? Does football get better than this? I can't think so.

Before I move on, an important note is that the team seemed much more skilled and tight than last season, and quite clearly this was coming largely from the six players that played Indoor over the summer. A lot of the kids on the field hadn't played much soccer for six months. That showed. Summer Indoor is recomended I reckon.

Today I played my second real competition game, on the left wing of the 4-5-1 formation I described in my last post. The game time had been changed at the last minute and we ended up lucky to have 11 players, so we had no subs. Especially as the game was played at 12.00 midday, it was torture every time the other team shouted, "If you're tired, sub off." We held a nil all draw 'till half time, then, largely through exhaustion (our average age is about 38) we proceeded to lose 4:nil.

For myself, I didn't embarass myself too much, and got some nice balls away. For the team, despite the comprehensive loss, we felt our strategy was as good as we could get, so we're going to stick with it. The brief from our captain at the beginning of the game was to hold the ball up and concentrate on short passes in our triangles, even if that (apparently) meant scoring less. For the season our medium term strategy is to get good at this style of play, and we actually feel it had started to gell very well in the first half, before we virtually stopped running. So we're sticking with the game plan.

It was the first time I have played for 90 minutes, and I relate to what Wayne said in a comment about lungs trying to work their way out of your mouth. And yes, it was exhilerating anyway. Once again I loved every bloody minute.

After this a few of us had some beers and in a moment of madness decided to go to the afternoon kick-about as well. Now I'm really stuffed, but I kicked the winning goal ("It's getting dark; last goal wins") so I'm happy enough.

Great weekend. I love football.

West End United

Well now there is a new dimension to this blogging business. This is to be the first instalment into the adventures of a thirty-nine year old novice playing the game of football. Humiliation, let me begin by saying, is good for the soul, though generally in spiritual circles they like to refer to the more graceful idea of 'humility'. I guess humiliation is the state of enforced humility.

Anyway, look, I'm pretty bad. I mean, I'm not really the false modesty type, in that if I was ok I'd be raving about how wonderful I was. But really, I'm about what you'd expect from a 39 year old who has entirely avoided sport for 20 years and even 20 years ago preferred individual pursuits and almost never kicked a ball.

So let me say at the outset that West End United are a truly wonderful bunch of gentlemen who have had the grace to take on a complete beginner. They rarely yell at me, and are generally encouraging and helpful. Without meaning to follow the digression they are probably fulfilling a need that I've felt growing for a few years to kind of hang out with some blokes. I've always been a bit afraid of blokes in some strange way, afraid of their competitiveness, or quite likely afraid of the competitiveness that they bring out in myself. Whatever. The point is that these guys are physical, life-loving and sexy but not overly macho or needful to assert their sexual prowess. They're good guys. At risk of leaving this paragraph a nonsense, I'll move on now.

We had our first game the Friday night before last and lost 4 nil. The thing is that this team I've joined was an over 35s team, but has now moved to a new competition where we are simply second division (of two divisions). Now this team we played (the Warriors) are boys, and are second division for the opposite reason that we are. That is, they are blokes working towards being in their 1st division team, whereas we are blokes past the possibility. They were twice as fast as us. After the game I heard one of our gun-defenders, Mark, lamenting, "there is no such thing as time, there is no such thing as an easy ball." Long balls were hopeless as if they weren't absolutely perfect the other team just got there first. Frankly, we felt we fought well, but it certainly effected the way we are thinking about our game.

Myself? I subbed on for 10 or 15 minutes in each half (the subs are more-or-less unlimited as far as I can see, which is good for us ancients). The first half I got thrown on as a right-back, which happened to be the spot that was being constantly hammered by this young team. No goals actually were conceded in that time, but my inexperience was showing desperately so I was moved to right-mid. In the second half I went on as right-mid and I did ok. No major embarassments.

Loved every bloody minute of it.

We have training on Tuesday nights and the kick-abouts on Sunday afternoons act as a less formal second training session. As an aside and a note to self, I played more atrociously than usual yesterday afternoon. I must never get on the piss the night before playing soccer. Saturday night was very fun, and another story entirely, but not beneficial to my game. Humiliation is good for the soul because it motivates one to get fit, eat well and not drink too much. So as I pour myself another whiskey, moving along again...

Life is full of irony, as I've pointed out before (in fact, when scientists finally figure out the formulaic theory of everything it will with no doubt have an I for Irony in it; something like, Everything=MC squared multiplied by the Irony of it all). The benefits of going for a bevvy with some of the less responsible boys after training is - well, was last night anyway - that you get to sit in on the strategy discussions. Mark, the hitherto-mentioned defender was there, and Sean, who is our manager, and Peter, who plays a leadership role on the field and is I guess the closest thing to a coach that we have.

The coins were on the table. I've never seen this before, and it was completely fascinating. We were debating the merits of formations, given the players we have, and who would be first and second options for the various positions. Basically, the plan is to try a 4-5-1 formation. I'm not going to attempt to detail all the possibilities we went through - where we would be for corner kicks etcetera - but it was just fascinating. Here is the basic model:

The beauty of it - well, I think - is that it is outrageously defensive, yet if circumstances permit can quite quickly become 4-3-3, or, because we are playing one of our few fast players as sweeper, who in fact will often be playing in front of the true back line, even 3-4-3. Anyway, I put it here in the sincere hope that it will attract some comment from people who have played with coins, and with real people, a lot more than I have.

I liked Cecilia's metaphor of a 'spine' of the best players down the centre and this is also what we are doing. The fastest and most skilled players will be the striker, the attacking midfielder and the sweeper, followed closely (the gap isn't that great) by the other midfielders and the centre-back. The centre-back is also to be the sort of 'captain' of the defence. (In Jacob's U12 team I placed someone in this latter role in a friendly I was acting-coach for - it was just before the first United game actually - and thought it was very helpful.)

At this stage I'll be playing one of the wingers. The rationale is not very flattering. Basically, it's not a spot that will lose the game if I stuff up.

Cheers everyone. Hope we are all suitably gorged on chocolate, if not whiskey (the holy spirit), and have had a jolly enjoyable Easter weekend.

Blogging some Bollocks

Yeah, I know I haven't really been on the blog, and I know everyone is still talking about the A-League. I reckon it's cool that Sydney have been knocked out, as they deserve in my view, but I haven't been watching the games, and have been content to read the analysis from Mike, Tony, John, Cecilia and Wayne.

I've also gotten a bit involved in the discussions over at the Queensland Roar Supporter's Forum. I'll do a bit of an analysis of that one day perhaps. Right now suffice to say that when it comes to "Why I hate Sydney?" I just don't relate. I don't even think it's funny.

Increasingly I'm thinking that it is hatred that is the irrational demon in our game. For all its glory, beauty and transcendental spectacle, is is just me who can see that football doesn't mean anything at all? That is, it means EVERYTHING of course, but meanwhile it means nothing at all. That's Football's superiority as a religion: unlike other religions, there is no pretense that some universal incontrovertability is underlying it. Unlike with other religions, there is no claim that football is not an earthy institution completely contrived and constantly corrupted by humans. Unlike with other religions, at the end of the day we can have a beer and a laugh with our most bitter enemies. I don't hate Sydney. I'm just bloody pleased that they're out.

For the handful of longer-term followers of this particular blogscape, The West End Terrorists are back for their second season, which is just a snappy two months ending with a finals day between the top four on the 31st March, just in time for the winter soccer to begin. For those who have no idea what I'm talking about, the The Terrorists are the indoor soccer team my son is part of, and which I manage.

Last week they began well with a 3:2 win over The Hogz, but unfortunately this week (yesterday - Sat - morning) they were defeated with the same score, by AC Milan. Personally I blame school 'leadership' camp, where after being expected to go to sleep in cabins full of old mates at 8.30pm, the rest of the night is a bitter and exhausting conflict between adults and children, finally resolved by corporal deprivations of enforced standing still and quiet outside for hours. I remember that crap from when I was a kid and I still think it sucks. The kids got back Friday night and needless to say they were all quite stuffed.

Meanwhile the world is full of the beauty of our game and institution. For Brisbane folk, the kick-about continues every Sunday at 4.30pm at South Leagues Club. Last week we got up to 12 a side. The real over-35s competition looms, which will be my first organised competition since I was about 8. But tomorrow, for the sheer hell of it really, I'm also going to a kick about in the morning with the Roar supporters crew, at Tarragindi. Might be an interesting thing. I've learned heaps about watching the game by playing it, and for any football tragic with even a modicum of health and fitness, I think it is compulsory. You've just got to kick one of those balls occasionally.

And there is always, always football games to watch. For the last two Saturdays, cheaper than Fox and more convenient than Suncorp, I've watched games down at the local pitch at El Salvador Soccer Club. 20 or 30 fans, not including the birds, a Corona from the humble little bar run by volunteers, and some wholesome, passionate football. Last week was 'Brazil' vs 'Lebanon'. These were pretty much fully ethnic teams as far as I could tell, screaming at one another out there with their own lingual protocols. Of course I expected the Brazilians to win but they were thrashed by the Mediteraneans. This week was two 'El Salvador' teams, less ethnically based, but with some great individual skill. It was an entertaining 2:2 draw, with a red card and a bit of fire toward the end. Good stuff. You could write volumes about the worse things one could do with a Saturday afternoon.

Football is a religion. It's not just the A-League. It's not for the elite. A part of it will always be a ball of socks on a dusty street in the sun, but it flowers and grows and articulates. It's solace, it's esperanto, it's biophilia, it's love.

A Football Day

G'day. I wasn't going to write anything today, because I missed the game last night anyway and probably won't be watching tonight's either (even though it's on Fox Sport 1, so at least the pubs will have it).

Congratulations to Central Coast though! From the media I've read, it looks like they're back in the Comp. And without wanting to sound unsympathetic to Carbone, we have at least observed the vanity of putting too much hope in a super-striker. Mike Salter over at The Football Tragic is in denial of course, and has chosen to review the fans rather than the game. Forgive me Mike - my ribbing is in good spirit.

But aside from all that A-League nonsense I had a great football day today. I've taken on the mangement of a boys under 12 indoor soccer team, called... um... The West End Terrorists.
They made the name ok, and over some mild protests from the parents, including me, they have had their way. I'm assuming those men in dark suits and sunglasses with funny hearing aids were just interested onlookers.

Anyway, we're a week behind, and some of the kids have never been on an indoor soccer pitch before or kicked one of the oversized tennis balls they use, so they lost 5:1, but they had a hoot. It is really fast and, because they're not allowed to hit it over head height and there's only five to a side on a small court, the ball work and short passing is intense. I was completely impressed, and on a first viewing can only recommend it as an off season game to keep the kids' skills up.

It is at the Brisbane Indoor Sports Centre.

That was this morning, and this evening I went for a run by myself. Look, I'm 38 and haven't tried to keep in shape for about forty years , until becoming addicted to football about a month ago, so when I say 'a run', I mean a bit of running and a bit of walking, down to the river and back.

The route I take takes me through the El Salvador Football Club, and there was a five-a-side game going on. My mate Keitch, who coached Jacob's team the last two seasons, was playing, so I stopped and watched for a bit. Reflecting as I sat, catching my breath and watching these young skilled blokes dance around one another, it occurred to me that football isn't complete without days like today. Kids and locals, kicking about, breathing the air together, with volunteer refs and more pigeons than fans. Call me sentimental. Following the Socceroos and the A-League only enhances this experience for me, just as the local experience brings the quality and professionalism of the former into proper, sharper relief.

I love football. It might have saved my life. In the words of Tim Parks, it has given me "...a new and fiercely ironic way of forming community and engaging with the sacred." (Thanks to commentor Guido for that link.)

Best of luck tonight to the two underdogs New Zealand and Newcastle. Whoever wins, I pray to Saint Johnny Warren that they all play their best football and that there are no injuries.

Cheers.

El Salvador Soccer Club

Well we tried to see the Newcastle vs Mariners game at the Pineapple Hotel, but it was packed and we were overwhelmed by Rugby League on the screens. The food was ok though. "The food was beautiful; it was so nice," is Jacob's retort.

Jacob was also on the money with the score (well, at least the draw part) so maybe his food review is better too.

But today was a big soccer day for us both, and in a way which for me is closer to the real heart of the game than the A-League or even the World Cup. It was our local club's Fun Day and Trophy Presentation, which took us from 11.00am through to 6.00pm.

The El Salvador Club has been growing almost too rapidly in the past few years. It only has one main field and two mini fields, but the club house is great, small but licensed, with a big screen and a pool table. There were eight under 7 teams this year, so that they were obliged to set up an intra-club under 7s competition. It's a bit out of control.

So there were hundreds of people there today, all ages. Parents vs kids games all day, pinyatas and other games, a jumping castle, a dead pig over a fire, free sausages and drinks for all the players and on it went. Apart from meals and drinks it was all free. The club is doing well, and although the day was long, it was joy and community.

One of the keys it seems to the success is that the parents are catered for directly. Friday night training is not a drop-off, but a chance to sit and have a drink with the other parents, with salsa music and very reasonably priced food.

I'm bloody sore after the game between us parents of the under 11s and our kids. We showed no mercy and thrashed them 5:0. Ha! "5 nil, it was not, it was 3 nil," comes from over my shoulder. Anyway, it was fun, and by the end we were all completely stuffed.

And to top it off, I am the proud parent of one of the "most improved player" trophy getters. He deserves it too.

Anyway, the point of all this? This is football. Where a community is not alienated but laughing, talking about life and love, living together in the sun on the grass. This is much more important than Australia winning international games, but it must also be said that it is greatly facilitated by Australia winning international games. I only expect that many clubs in Australia are having successes and growth, and the Socceroos are partly to blame.

And the growth and success of these local clubs can return the favour. It is this grass roots community joy in football that will, in the long term, deliver Australia the World Cup.

Salud, and good night.