PREFACE
I awoke on the morning of Wednesday 2nd of March to the warmth of the god sent sun across my left cheek and heavenly rhythmic beats coming from the kitchen. Like a calling from the Sirens (
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siren) I wandered downstairs to witness Beyonce rapping his heart out, yet today something was different, Beyonce was no longer singing to the rhythmic blues of Stevie Wonder or Cee Lo fucking Green, instead he was spitting lyrics to Tupac and Biggie anthems (good rest their soul -
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ML6tUJwIaW8). This is when it hit, this is when I realised, today was not your average Wednesday, today was not your average day in the life of an Owens Boy, today was anything but another Wednesday. After last weeks emphatic and elation filled victory over Loughborough in the quarterfinals of the cup, we were now in the semi-finals of the cup. Today was not just another Wednesday; today was the opportunity for the Owens boys to get a shot at writing their names into Owens History and more importantly AU bound immortality. Victory today would warrant the Owens boys license to patrol around fallowfield donning a swagger that would make Clegg’s hamstring swagger look like a mere limp. So what was it to be Owens boys, would we bottle it like we did against Hallam (rent boys) or would we finally get our balls out and play like we know we could. Only time would tell.
Our opponents today were the mighty Birmingham 2nd XI, whom boasted an impressive records going into today’s game, having won their league comfortably including notable home and away wins over Loughborough. After close analysis of their fixtures live page, they were lacking one key trait, which the Owens boys have, in abundance – beaver spirit. Many desire such a characteristic and yet few are blessed to possess it. The Owens boys don’t care how good you are, what pitch you play on, what wank England U16 stash you turn up in, how many hair bands you’ve got or how many goals you’ve fucking scored – you’re going to need to have the game of your life if you want anything out of the Owens boys at the fortress Armo.
Birmingham brought all this and more, with pre-game speculation – provided by fellow Trent College Syndrome sufferers – suggesting they had brought an entire team of ‘supporters’. As it turned out during the warm up, these ‘supporters’ consisted of a seven strong rabble of suit wearing mutes. (Please note. It actually turned out in the second half that they weren’t mute but were firm believers in the saying, “you can’t polish a turd” and hence kept their mouths shut during the first half.)
FIRST HALF
The clock struck one and Birmingham pushed back, with their incredibly trim centre forward thinking he could go straight at us from the push back (hahahahaha do one mate – I don’t care if you can down a pint quickly you ain’t getting past me on the hockey pitch, especially not from the push back - arrogant bell), he quickly realised he was misinformed and this arrogant U13 village bull shit would not be tolerated at the Armo, even if we weren’t on our usual pitch.
After a frantic opening exchange with the Owens boys playing some spectacular counter-attacking hockey the Owens boys had a corner deep in Birmingham territory, thanks to some excellent wizardry I fired in a rather anti-social mid shin high rocket towards the back post were C. Brooke was waiting (with bated breath). From nowhere however, Andy ‘Freddy Flintoff’ Rusbridge came in and deflected it in right of the sweet spot (if they even exist) half way up his stick. Boom 1-0.
Birmingham have now learnt how to take a push back properly and have reverted to the convention pass back to centre-mid. Wise.
2-0 Owens, from a short corner, no one really knows what happened, least of all the umpires and I, however the Birmingham boys are protesting in the distance as they think it hit something or me. I haven’t got a clue/don’t care, they are speculating, we are celebrating and visions of a champagne shower are already clouding my mind.
It is clear I’m not the only person with clouded judgement at this point… On the next attack the Cow makes a brilliant tackle to dispossess the Brum forward of the ball, yet instead of deciding to push/slap/hit/dribble/blow/nod/kick/fuckinganything the ball away – like a BSE infected cow caught in the headlights of the abattoir truck, the cow decides the best move would be to ariel the ball away/straight into a Birmingham head. Cow, I really don’t know what the hell went through your mind at this point, I’m sure you don’t even know what went through your head at this point but if I can give you one piece of advise (after stop losing everything that’s extremely important to you), it’s don’t ever have those thoughts again. Short Corner. Birmingham messed up their routine, got some luck, deflection off the post, not sure what happened 2-1. Para.
HALF TIME
I proceeded to tell everyone we had 45 minutes to be heroes; I’ve watched ‘A night in Istanbul’ too many times. If anyone is unaware of what significant thing happened in Istanbul – please see me asap.
SECOND HALF
Firstly Id like to pass on a note of thanks to the two Brum lads who told me, “it is crucial that if you want to win you need to score first”. Thank you very much chaps for that insightful item of wisdom which I had not comprehended, I do hope however that you took on board my reply for future reference “we are going to win anyway”.
Opening exchanges were frantic and the Owens boys were toiling in the arid Armo heat. We were under the cosh and it was at this point that their ‘supporters’ were revitalised and blessed with the gift of voice (but not chat). The shower of rancid banter and songs began. Certain individuals were picked out, certain individuals raised their game and made the Brum boys look silly. Kieran even took part in a game of reverse stick cross bar challenge, mid–game, illustrating some casual arrogance from my son (N.B. Birmingham – only engage in casual arrogance if you can back it up – thank you).
I’m afraid to say that I cant really remember the 3rd goal to make it 3-1. No doubt it was sick and involved a shit load of one touch, reverse stick finesse, only to be finished off with a top bin tomahawk.
Such one touch finesse was how illustrated in a later chance which lead to a 2 vs 1 between Mr Brooke, Myself and the Brum keeper. I being the retard that I am, managed to recreate ‘that’ David Beckham penalty (
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t1eXnY7Mofg), falling over, seeing my ‘shot’ float wastefully over the bar. It was at that point I knew I’d better try and remember what happened in today’s game, Dick of the day, was to be my new title.
Next came a short corner, in which I finally got the call. I shall not disclose what it was as we are under threat of Exeter espionage. However it worked gloriously and boom it was 4-1. I went off my bean and had one eye on Wembley (Sheffield).
Final Whistle 4-1.
POSTFACE
Another game Owens Boys where I am proud to have played with you all, tremendous Beaver spirit was shown throughout. I can’t wait for the final in two weeks, it will be the pinnacle of my Owens career, regardless of the score. I would like to leave you with a few closing remarks however.
Owens boys, this is your chance to not just be Owens boys, this is your chance to be the Owens Playboys. Victory will mean immortality, victory will mean Robbos bowing the fuck down to us, victory will mean our own roulette machine in Will Hill on a Wednesday afternoon and victory will mean the greatest Full Moon Party you’ve ever been too (that includes you Bieber).
But most importantly, victory will mean a successful season with the Owens boys; a team of legends.
If I can leave you all with one thing ahead of the big game it is this, from the late Bill Shankly:
“First is first, second is nowhere”.
Train hard boys - we are bringing this cup home.
17/11/10 Liverpool John Barnes, (H).
John Barnes came to fortress armo hoping for a second giant killing after beating hallam last week, unfortunately their hopes had a similar fate to the person who posted a note on the entrance to OP cluster asking for their lost iphone back. These chances resemble the person in the red shorts in the following clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbv7T1LMGyg&playnext=1&list=PL2AA1E9DD15CAC7B1&index=3.
Manchester has been either cold, wet or windy in the past few weeks, today we were treated to all three, it was Baltic and it wouldn’t have been a great surprise has a tsunami been witnessed, however not even that would have stopped us recording our unbeaten run.
At meet time (or just after it) there were murmurings of discontent as pikey pulled a late sickey, some even thought that he may be following in the footsteps of this character, probably already hated by some members of the team. http://www.caughtoffside.com/2010/08/23/liverpool-midfielder-mascherano-goes-on-strike-refuses-to-play-against-manchester-city/
The team talk had all the usual chat, Shayne ward having all the answers to dred’s questions. We had a little telling off about punctuality, but it says on the website 11.45pm so it’s a good bloody job that we were all around 12 hours early!
Unfortunately, my imagination is poor and therefore there is no story time, but as it turns out, a breakfast I can recommend is crunchy nut corn flakes (or sainsburys own) with ice cold milk, followed by a bacon sarnie, (sauces optional). Brunch seems to be Jam Doughnuts according to cleggy, and I must say it treated him well.
The game – a solid starting line up was announced, no whispers of an economically stricken EU nation who want their drachma back.
The first half was hard fought, tough tackling, beaver intensive sort of affair with both sides trying to gain the initiative in the middle of the park. Both teams wary of the oppositions speed in attack, the one speed that made the difference in the first half was anticipation and stepping in front of flat footed John Barnes forwards. They could get out a eventually the pressure told, a neat move found the ball to the left of Charles, it’s a good job it was there otherwise the houses on Moseley road would have been in danger, but as it wasn’t, he tomahawked it high into the roof of the net, bread and butter for that lad.
It was two before HT when the story teller from last week, removed himself from dreamland, jinked into the D and directed the ball towards the far corner. I’m not entirely sure what the keeper was doing, but he needn’t have bothered. 2-0.
We were 2 up and they had 2 balls into the d and a bobbled tomahawk from a horrific angle and we were playing ‘ok’ according to dred. Cheers mate, my pass completion was in the 90s and have given away a foul every 17.5 minutes.
Second half was a story of domination, something a little similar to what was witnessed around half ten at some large indoor place in central Manchester, they threw a few attacks forward but their connection rate was poor with only 2% on target, even Audley Harrison beat that.
I put in the only on field dick of the day shout came from me, a waist high ball in the middle of the pitch and o dear, air shot! I wouldn’t have hit it with a snowboard. I had been watching the HK six a side cricket on sky yesterday where teams were creaming the ball at skyscrapers and the total were reaching a ton off 4 overs.
After this the press(ure) was all too much and their centre back went colour blind and passed to the boy wonder, and one on one the keeper dived out the way. 3-0 game over. 3 cleans sheets on the bounce too. Nice.
J. Bell came to see how his protégés from last year were progressing, i think he was impressed. Dred was so impressed with cleggy i was getting worried for the safety of the beloved claw.
We all went back to robbos, beers and jukebox. Although i am worried about the growing number of requests for westlife (Sidwell and Kieran).
MOM – Nick “nice guy” “claw” Clegg
DOD – A.Smith
Im a masters student these days and need to show some restraint, intellect and maturity as to why excessive swearing/abuse/hatred has not featured in this report, however for anonymous slating in possible future reports i will take payment in beer.
Hallam revenge next week. Big love.
Match Report vs. Sheffield (Away)
Sorry to all my fans, who have been waiting intensely for the release of my second acclaimed match report. Hopefully your love of my work is still intact and you’ll enjoy what I have to say. I thought I’d mix it up a bit and tell in more of an epic story format!
Wednesday the 10th November signalled the Owens match away at Sheffield! In a small town on the edge of Manchester a young Hobbit named Charlie ‘hairybeard’ Brooke and his Owens team mates have been entrusted with an ancient mission. Now they must embark on an Epic quest across the snakes pass to the Cracks of Doom, in the depths of Sheffield, in order to destroy its university hockey team, and save their reputation and league dominance.
John woke from his slumber, pulled back the curtains and exclaimed, “Alas, what a wonderful day this is, and one full of wonderful hockey ahead I’m sure; just at that point, a feeling of gloom filtered its way into his brain, poisoning all the warm feelings he had once felt.” We were playing Sheffield! John never enjoyed the game at Sheffield for two reasons, one, he never seemed to play well, and secondly it was always a bitterly cold and dreary place to play.
He quickly washed, ate and packed supplies for the long journey ahead. He was meeting with his comrades about a mile away, at an ancient meeting place, near the streets of Dover. After safely negotiating the Wilmslow road, he arrived at the meet, to find many, but all of his team mates huddling together for warmth near an old run down wall. He moved slowly over, and as he got close and his face became visible, all their faces lit up!
“John, welcome, you’re here”!! Everyone’s favourite player was John, and whilst being the most skilful, he was also the funniest, most caring and most amusing team member.
The group conversed until all members were present, with poor jokes from Alastair smith, such as,
“Why did the small boy study in the aeroplane? He wanted a higher education!”
And once the painful laughter had worn off, and all were accounted for, we all jumped on the coach!
John and his Owens team mates reached the gloomy province of Sheffield around 2 hours early, due to some nob-jockeys that are the lacrosse team, who never turned up for the coach!
The landscape was bitterly cold, with many of the team were blowing out their own breath, and pretending they were smoking (???) how sad!
A little way beyond the changing rooms the team made their camp under a spreading tree: it looked like a chestnut, and yet it still bore many broad brown leaves of a former year, like dry hands with long splayed fingers; they rattled mournfully in the afternoon-breeze. And under it they played many games of the legendary and ancient game that is the rouge bottom and many kick up/ headering/sick football related skills games – until it was time to change into battle gear!
The team wending its way through a maze of corridors, searching for the perfect changing room! The boys stopped at a big red wooden door, inscribed above the door , in elvish, were written the words “asdlfkljs;ladfjas;” translated means “Mens changing room” this was perfect and the boys slowly and carefully pulled the gold handle open and the chamber appeared. The boys proceeded to change.
The boys were still waiting on their head coach Sir Andrew the Great, who was travelling late with the self acclaimed star player “Peter Douglas”.
Following with his keen eyes the trail to the road, and then the road back towards the hill, Charlie ‘hairybeard’ Brooke saw a shadow on the distant hill, a dark swift-moving blur. He cast himself upon the ground and listened again intently. Joseph ‘formerly-fat’ fellows stood beside him, shading his bright elven-eyes with his long slender hand, and he saw not a shadow, nor a blur, but the small figures in a sparkling hatchback, 2 men to be exact- and the glint of morning on the whites of their eyes, was like the twinkle of minute stars, beyond the edge of mortal sight. It was SIR ANDREW THE GREAT and boring Pete, AT LAST!
Far behind them a dark smoke rose, in thin curling threads…..It was Time! Time they proceed to move out to the arena, the pitch and their destiny.
“BATTLE COMMENCE!”
The boys fought hard in the first half, but in all honestly all their training went out the window, they were dribbling too much, not stopping the ball effectively, and making poor decisions! The passionate and skilled Sir Pikey of Langley swung and missed the ball sending him flying onto the turf. Many of the team player laughed and sniggered as he pulled himself up from the mud – this wasn’t their day
There intentions were well meant, They are proud and wilful, and nothing but true-hearted - generous in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned – hard working, but unsuccessful! It was in forgotten years, long ago, that the young Owens men may crumble under such a performance, but alas, better was to come!
They regrouped at half time, staying strong, and set about rectifying the errors of the first half!
Now the cries of clear strong voices came ringing over the pitch. Communication was up and so were spirits! Suddenly they swept up the field with a noise like thunder, and the foremost player charged forward with ball. The ball was played through to the hobbit hairybeard and with an axe slashing like movement, a reverse tomahawk blasted the ball into the net. People were playing better and better. A perfect short corner was executed, the slip right, back into Mr Mullholland, on the P-spot, and goal!!!! This wasn’t the end of the proceedings……one more goal was smashed into the oppositions net by Mr Brooke…lad points!
Game over! At last as the game was over and a 3-0 victory was the outcome. The boys came to the side of the pitch, beside it was a great pile of helms and mail, cloven shields, and broken swords, bows and darts, sticks, shinpads and other gear of war. A true battle had been fought.
Sir Andrew the great proceeded to congratulate the team! Victory was theirs!
The True champion of the day has to be Mr Kav Jabbal. During play he had to vacate the pitch with a badly bruised hand! The bruised hand was mangled and it turns out he has broken it! With true fighting spirit Kav put himself and his stick in the way of an oncoming attacker, stopping him and the ball, and saving the team from potentially conceding a goal! Defending on the edge of out D, when Kav was playing forward/midfield is admirable; not lazily leaving it to the defence! A lovely boy, a great player…..get better soon, a team can’t be champions without its champions…Kav you are my Champion!
Man of the match: the Cow (Josh)…for kicking opposition….excellent work, more of this needed!
A great result…..a great story
And they lived happily ever after, to the end of their days.
THE END
By John Barr.
3/11/10 v Leeds Met (h)
Won 6-0
Scorers: A Rusbridge, C Brooke 3, A Smith, N Little
Today could have been a day of excuses, it wasn’t. Excuse one: Star men Tony Pike and Nick Clegg carrying a couple of football injuries and forced to shout abuse at the poly from the sideline. Excuse 2: Kieran still worrying about his poorly knee (not me for a change). Excuse 3: The normally fluid and inspirational Owens warm-up was interrupted by some groundsman who insisted we move from our favourite hallowed turf to the ‘girl’s’ pitch. Despite these adversities, we could not blame the captain for not having the right shirts, numbers 2-14 freshly washed and newly emblazoned with our proud sponsors...my only hope of not getting DOD had disappeared.
After an extra few laps in the pre-match run, clearly the skip wanting to avoid any more injuries, we were ready to go dominate the decidedly average poly. Nobody comes to the Fortress and goes away with anything other than the bitter taste of defeat.
I would like to refer to our illustrious leader’s astute summary of games against the Owens, ‘Home or away, league games will start with two semi-retarded umpires blowing their whistles, they will involve goals, relentless beavering, and the Owens remaining unbeaten, it’s just a given.’ Needless to say, these fine words were to ring true again. I would perhaps change ‘semi-retarded’ to ‘fully retarded’, I’m sure Smithy would have something more abusively profound to say about them.
The game...as usual we started slowly, Smith dreaming of cellars, the cow of fresh grass, Fellows of the kebabs he and Cleggy tucked into last Wednesday, Brookie of a Liverpool win, Stanley of curling girls and JB of the latest range of shammys. It didn’t take long however for us to get into our stride and Pete Sidwell was a spectator throughout bar one mistimed kick in the 2nd half!
The hockey was patient, the counter attacking was full of purpose, the defending was beaverish, the fluid moves reminiscent of Barcelona 2009, the first half finishing like that of Emile ‘O’reilly’ Heskey in front of the Villa fans. Needless to say we squandered some chances before fresher Rusbridge deflected in our first; he continues to just love life. Once we had 1 the game would surely become a procession, especially as the Leeds Met players turned their frustrations on the umpires, who hapless as the advances of Charlie Todd on unsuspecting girls in M2, decided to dish out a host of yellow cards.
Revelling in the extra space, P Diddly, drove through the middle and was assaulted by the keeper before Brooke missed the open goal but a stroke was still awarded. After Fellow’s terrible attempt last week and my return to the team, I stepped up dreaming of that top right hand corner Pike drools over at training. After a 5 minute discussion between the umpires, I was finally allowed to take the stroke....at least I hit the target. JB up you step next week son! Dick of the day decided, there was still a game to be won and if Smithy had passed the ball back to me from the next corner I would have made amends straight away but dreaming of his ‘own goal’ last year away at Durham he went for glory. Needless to say there was no glory.
There was still time in the half for Joe ‘the enforcer’ Fellows to beaver a bit too ferociously and earn himself a little rest.
Half time 1-0.
The second half was a story of more yellow cards, flair and the type of hockey associated with a side who just doesn’t know how to lose. Finally the finishing began to resemble that of Mattie Burrow’s stunning strike against Portadown, take a bow son.
The hobbit, dreaming of his hero’s hat-trick to be the next evening, duly stepped up with some trademark deflections and a lovely tomahawk. Unlike Liverpool though, we are not carried by just one man; we are a team gentlemen.
Smithy smashed in our 20th short corner.
Kieran ‘200 grand a week’ Mulholland ran rings round clueless defenders, and umpires.
Nick the Greek made the most of a slightly broken down corner to beat the runner and flick past the keeper at the end of the game to try and make up for his earlier miss. Surprised by the quality of his finish, he wheeled away in celebration towards his onlooking fan club, only to realise what a terrible impact this could have on my ability not to win dick of the day.
Full time 6-0.
Hallam won 5-1 so we are level at the top with the same goal difference. Yes Smithy we would have been top if I had scored the stroke, we would also have been top if you had passed the ball back to me or if you had been half awake in the first half away at Sheffield!
The owen’s juggernaut roles on.
MOM – Charles ‘Meriadoc Brandybuck’ Brooke – still having dreams about his Tommahawk.
DOD – Yes I live with girls, yes I coach the girls and yes I missed a stroke (the curse of) – from hero to zero.
Nick the Greek
27/10/10 v Durham 2’s (h)
A week had passed and finally Wednesday was upon us again! The phrase, ‘same shit, different day’ is starting to apply for the Owens. Home or away, league games will start with two semi-retarded umpires blowing their whistles, they will involve goals, relentless beavering, and the Owens remaining unbeaten, it’s just a given. This horse is Denman powering up the Cheltenham home straight to take the title. A P McCoy is our jockey and all the other horses are either running blind or 3 legged. Again, it’s just a given.
Our kit was a mix of Owens away shirts and Brooklands H.C. Although the Brooklands tops are associated with early Saturday morning phone calls to say you are half an hour late for a meet, after being so pissed the night before you’ve opened your house mate’s clothes drawer and used it as the upstairs toilet, today had to be a different story. We were playing at home, and at home we have a duty to uphold, losing is not an option.
The pre-match routine is starting to come together now, however, when your star player, your £200,000 a week forward, Kieran Mulholland starts to complain of a knee injury the excitement and adrenaline quickly changes to nerves and tension. The only other feeling I can liken this to is opening your eyes, realising it is only the second morning on tour in Bournemouth and your stomach tightens with the knowledge that there are two ice cold cans of lager waiting in a funnel for you outside your tent door. We we’re in a mini crisis. No physio or back room support staff were on hand to help so Kieran did what any professional sportsman would do and got jacked up on as much drugs as he could get his hands on. A pack of nurofen later and Kieran was with Ali and Josh in their little slut filled universe, riding unicorns and shagging Veronica Corningstone on rainbows.
The game starts and we find ourselves 1-0 down to an average drag flick. Suddenly the Durham players got incredibly vocal, started running that extra 5 yards and started putting us under more and more pressure. This must be what happens to teams like Accrington Stanley when they falsely think they can compete with the big boys in the first five minutes of a big FA Cup tie, and like Accrington Stanley, Durham can pipe down as there is still only going to be one outcome from this game. The 15 LAD squad dug deep and in just 30 minutes the Owens were 4-1 up and cruising. The game could have ended with us getting 8 or 9 but we weren’t as prolific in front of goal as we’d like to be this week, some dick even missed a penalty flick.
The game finished 4-1 and after just two league games the table is split with Hallam and us joint top with all the other muppets picking up scraps below. Post-game banter was focused all around the welcome party and I’d like to welcome all the new freshers to the club. This year’s crop is small, but brave and filled with potential. Like seeing a young Jack Wilshere in his first Carling Cup appearance for Arsenal, you know these chaps are going far. Winehouse wherever you are your great grandson is a LAD who suicides half of his pint in circle to make sure he doesn’t lose the family boat race.
All in all, it was another successful Wednesday. Although next week might be more relaxed post-game with it being reading week, socials with Netball, Lacrosse and Hockey girls before Christmas keep things exciting. The great mentor, teacher and general brilliant human being, Chubbs from Happy Gilmore put it “We’ve only just begun!” and this is very true for the 2010/11 Owens adventure.
Finally I’d just like to finish with a little message for the other teams and players in our league:
‘We are the men of Owens, and we’re here to fuck shit up!’ (just satisfying Smithy’s thirst for swear words the tit). Owens till I die!
Peace x
20/10/10 v Sheffield Hallam (a)
Our first league game and it was away to our toughest opponents. The pre-season games were done and dusted and although we had come through unbeaten, we still had a lot of improving to do.
The day started with a beautiful minibus trip through the North West countryside. Waterfalls were passed, dear were seen grazing, the sun was shining and tales of how men had tried to commit suicide off the bridge half way through snake pass were shared.
After reaching our destination my quiet plea to borrow Sidwell’s shorts, as I had forgotten my own, didn’t go unnoticed, 1st infraction of the day that led to my DOD award. Secondly after sorting out clashing shirt numbers (2nd infraction) and the problem of not having enough shirts (3rd) we got down to the powerful and insightful Dred pre-game team talk.
The warm up was uneventful, no six a side football pitches were found so the game of red arse will have to be postponed to Leeds Met away. There was a brief mutiny against my leadership however, led by Peter Douglas, about where to run on the warm up, but as the flexible and forgiving character that I am, I rose above it and the team unity wasn’t damaged from Pete’s childish act.
The importance of starting well was stressed throughout the day. Concentration right from the first whistle was a key theme that was highlighted all through Dred’s team talk, however, the Owens found themselves 2-0 down after the first 20 minutes. God knows what world Ali and Josh were in at the back, maybe they met up in their different universes to shag hookers and drink copious amounts of beer from breast shaped pint glasses, but they weren’t in the one that bloody mattered!
Some would say being two goals down away from home, against a side that had a season of prem experience under their belt was a near impossible situation to turn around but those people have clearly never played for Manchester University Hockey Club! The beaver spirit was alive in everyone and the second half saw an almighty fight back. It burns me to say but Nick Little played a hugely influential part in this come back and is why he received the MOTM award. With 10 minutes left we had clawed it back to 2-2 and proceeded to push to look for the winner and in the end either team could have taken it.
The game finished 2-2, which I think on reflection was a fair result. We weren’t finished there though. The men of Owens hit the bar, dominated the dining room table, ate most their food, drank their beer, would have shagged all their women as well if there had been any and even demolished Hallam in the boat race! A task later replicated at the AU curry when we beat the rugby team. It’s ridiculous how well rounded LADS we are.
The minibus back was a port filled one and the circle/AU that followed was one that will go down in RP’s history. Toilets were pulled out of the wall, leather seats had been ripped apart and there was body paint, piss, puke, blood, sweat and tears were everywhere. I commend Jamie Stanley and Magro for patching up the rollercoaster relationship we have with the RP’s Bar Managers and am glad to announce after a fine and community service we still have the pleasure of getting unbelievably fucked every Wednesday in that joyous location.
All in all, a good start to the campaign. We remain unbeaten, the premier league dream is still alive and I can assure all past, present and future Owens out there that this is the year we get back to where we belong. Owens till I die!
Peace
16.12.09 v Liverpool (a)
FinkTank Prediction: Home win: 0% Draw 0% Away Win 100%
Result: 2-3.
Liverpool had to win to stay up, Manchester have been unbeaten all year. The only thing for sure was someone was going to be very unhappy by the end of the game. Unsurprisingly it was not us. With the rest of the lads getting there far too early, I turned up at a much more reasonable time of an hour before the start which was more than enough time to see The Claw’s attempts to warm up Myles by ramming it top bag. I spent most of the warm up making the Barr chase after my shit passes, more entertaining than I thought it was going to be and having Petey D berating Fellows for being on a different Planet. Joey was later to swap places on a different planet with the hobbit. The hobbits did manage to provide on pearl of wisdom, small people are more hairy, I don’t give a shit as long as she isn’t hairy.
Right, the game, the fifth of Greeks aerials to their centre back brought rewards. Their defender fucked up a bit, Virg showed him how to do it properly in the 2nd half, but the cheerleader, quicker than he can get his pom poms out dinked it past both defenders, surely he wouldn’t make the same move 3 times, o dear their ginger keeper doesn’t think that quick, and goal time. One thing that their keeper can do it seems, is see an orange ball. Not all gingers don’t like looking at imitations of themselves it seems.
Then, a quality demonstration of why attackers shoot and defenders tackle. Attacker attempts tackle = short corner. Myles, I won’t lay into you too much but, where the fuck have u been at training the past few weeks, i don’t give a shit about the Romans, they’re all fucking dead and more importantly when the cunting ball comes towards, while you’re wearing big bastard pads, fucking use them to kick the ball away and not into the bottom corner. You fucking bell end, I am never standing up for you in needless arguments with fucking tossers outside Abduls ever again!
Then, worst decision of the game, belly took me off and they scored while I was assessing if there was any talent on the sidelines, one 8, one 7 and some fucking rotters, which means that they are on my Christmas list.
Second half, MOM, Peter Tomahawked it home not once but twice to break the scousers hearts, I assume at the same time that something else of theirs was getting broken, I’m guessing the lock of their back door.
As the 2nd half wore on the crowd turned their attentions from the model looks of number 29 and at the two old blokes who for some reason were drawing far too much attention to themselves with bright coloured tops and whistles.
In the showers we popped open a few bottles on sainsburys finest under £6 champers and got cosy in the showers. Unfortunately a J.Bell was now unable to make both circle and AU.
Talking of circle, where was the communication that RP’s is now a Bring your own Booze venue, winehouse u fucking rat, I don’t care if it’s your missus birthday and she hasn’t invited you round, go back to you little cave and behave like Anthony “second year is hard” Pike. A few final thoughts about acceptability and unacceptability. Pumps as appropriate footwear at circle, unacceptable. Waving your elephant trunked cock in Lizzy O’Hare-Little-Barr’s face, awaiting outcome of survey. Fingering a girl on the M2 dancefloor, in the words of Mastercard themselves, Priceless and very acceptable.
MOM – Pete, Tomahawked his heart out
DOD – Smithy – I got the same number of votes for MOM and DOD, obvious jealously from the other 14 Cawdor Road housemates.
You’re all fucking weapons and I fucking hate you all.
Disclaimer, if you haven’t been insulted in this report then I won’t forget you when I undoubtedly get DOD for scoring a tomahawk winner in the playoffs against Nottingham.
09.12.09 v Sheffield
Scorers: Kieran, Winehouse, Birdy, Joe ‘El Zhar’ Fellows
With a draw last week the 10 and 0 dream was over, however we didn’t want to lose the title “The Unbeatables” so a performance today was still important.
Sheffield rocked up with 20 minutes till kick off so we knew they were going to be the day’s whipping boys. Beavers H.C. started brightly, showing their dominance from the start and it didn’t take long before the first goal was scored. Just when you thought the wonder kid Mulholland couldn’t get any better he showed off his new skill of tonking the ball off defenders into the net. Should it have been a goal? Well with both umpires being as old as shit they didn’t have a clue where the ball was headed before it took the deflection, 1-0.
With the only threatening move of the first half from Sheffield rewarding them with a short corner, Birdy lined up on the post red faced after his hacking at the opposition’s stick tactic of tackling, didn’t pay off. His embarrassment increased further, after a man who prides himself on his cricket skills, edged the drag flick into his own goal, 1-1.
Our second came from a beautifully worked short corner. Charles Brooke might claim that he won the short but with his terrible fitness test score on Monday night I’m hesitant to give him any praise in this report…at least he’s given that goatee a trim. The ball was struck off the top from Birdy to the flat stick of H. Commander who nestled it past the bewildered goalkeeper, 2-0. The third came shortly after, with Andrew Bird teeing the ball into the bottom corner to turn his game around and lift the spirits of the squad going into half time.
The second half was only graced with one goal, however in hindsight it would have been insulting for that goal to have been accompanied by any other in the same half of hockey as it was that good. A delicious team move all starting with the ball at the back and after several fast paced transfers, good movement from the midfield and glorious posting up and rolling out Dougy found himself with the ball on the left hand side of the D, he tomahawked it to the right hand side of the D to Winehouse who then pulled the goalkeeper out of position, slipped it to the beaver himself at the top of the D who pummelled it home. It was Joe Fellows’ first goal for the Crest, get your pants down Chrissy Phillips and get running you hussy. What was even more beautiful was the ‘power of three’ celebration that followed, a fluid concoction of the Alan Shearer, David N’Gog and Ryan Babel all in one.
The remaining twenty or so minutes was fairly inactive. Sheffield were bravely pushing for another goal but were either broken down or picked off. The beavering got too much for their number 13 who at one point moaned like a little bitch to the umpire and reminded me of Petey D chasing his petrol money (you ain’t never getting paid Dougy so pipe down you weapon).
Again we didn’t play that that well and still dominated. We look forward to our champagne filled trip to Liverpool next Wednesday where a win will well and truly crown us invincible and will also relegate the scouse waaaaaay!!!
Man of the Match: Joe Fellows – first goal in around 6 years.
Dick of the Day: Joe fellows – since when is successful beavering punished? This is horse shit!
Ones to watch for the future: El Zhar (Liverpool), Sanchez Watt (Arsenal)
Form Guide: Liverpool: LDLWLL Manchester: WDWWWW
17/11/10 Liverpool John Barnes, (H).
John Barnes came to fortress armo hoping for a second giant killing after beating hallam last week, unfortunately their hopes had a similar fate to the person who posted a note on the entrance to OP cluster asking for their lost iphone back. These chances resemble the person in the red shorts in the following clip http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kbv7T1LMGyg&playnext=1&list=PL2AA1E9DD15CAC7B1&index=3.
Manchester has been either cold, wet or windy in the past few weeks, today we were treated to all three, it was Baltic and it wouldn’t have been a great surprise has a tsunami been witnessed, however not even that would have stopped us recording our unbeaten run.
At meet time (or just after it) there were murmurings of discontent as pikey pulled a late sickey, some even thought that he may be following in the footsteps of this character, probably already hated by some members of the team. http://www.caughtoffside.com/2010/08/23/liverpool-midfielder-mascherano-goes-on-strike-refuses-to-play-against-manchester-city/
The team talk had all the usual chat, Shayne ward having all the answers to dred’s questions. We had a little telling off about punctuality, but it says on the website 11.45pm so it’s a good bloody job that we were all around 12 hours early!
Unfortunately, my imagination is poor and therefore there is no story time, but as it turns out, a breakfast I can recommend is crunchy nut corn flakes (or sainsburys own) with ice cold milk, followed by a bacon sarnie, (sauces optional). Brunch seems to be Jam Doughnuts according to cleggy, and I must say it treated him well.
The game – a solid starting line up was announced, no whispers of an economically stricken EU nation who want their drachma back.
The first half was hard fought, tough tackling, beaver intensive sort of affair with both sides trying to gain the initiative in the middle of the park. Both teams wary of the oppositions speed in attack, the one speed that made the difference in the first half was anticipation and stepping in front of flat footed John Barnes forwards. They could get out a eventually the pressure told, a neat move found the ball to the left of Charles, it’s a good job it was there otherwise the houses on Moseley road would have been in danger, but as it wasn’t, he tomahawked it high into the roof of the net, bread and butter for that lad.
It was two before HT when the story teller from last week, removed himself from dreamland, jinked into the D and directed the ball towards the far corner. I’m not entirely sure what the keeper was doing, but he needn’t have bothered. 2-0.
We were 2 up and they had 2 balls into the d and a bobbled tomahawk from a horrific angle and we were playing ‘ok’ according to dred. Cheers mate, my pass completion was in the 90s and have given away a foul every 17.5 minutes.
Second half was a story of domination, something a little similar to what was witnessed around half ten at some large indoor place in central Manchester, they threw a few attacks forward but their connection rate was poor with only 2% on target, even Audley Harrison beat that.
I put in the only on field dick of the day shout came from me, a waist high ball in the middle of the pitch and o dear, air shot! I wouldn’t have hit it with a snowboard. I had been watching the HK six a side cricket on sky yesterday where teams were creaming the ball at skyscrapers and the total were reaching a ton off 4 overs.
After this the press(ure) was all too much and their centre back went colour blind and passed to the boy wonder, and one on one the keeper dived out the way. 3-0 game over. 3 cleans sheets on the bounce too. Nice.
J. Bell came to see how his protégés from last year were progressing, i think he was impressed. Dred was so impressed with cleggy i was getting worried for the safety of the beloved claw.
We all went back to robbos, beers and jukebox. Although i am worried about the growing number of requests for westlife (Sidwell and Kieran).
MOM – Nick “nice guy” “claw” Clegg
DOD – A.Smith
Im a masters student these days and need to show some restraint, intellect and maturity as to why excessive swearing/abuse/hatred has not featured in this report, however for anonymous slating in possible future reports i will take payment in beer.
Hallam revenge next week. Big love.