Many facets of the beautiful game were on display on this windswept eve. From the west it looked like an embarrassment of riches; from the east a pandora’s box; from the north a midfield melée from 1982 and from the south a wonderfully threaded pass beating the off-side trap of days of yore. But from the north-east came a gale that would have caused lesser mortals to stay home with a cuppa and a couple of Holby re-runs. 
No wintry conditions however could deter these champions of the sphere from showing form, grace and determination.
What a turn out, not only in their newly acquired attire (as mentioned last week) but in number and spirit. A healthy amount of pros were ready for the 8’o clock call and the rest were not too far behind. The crowd were bouncin’. It was ON!
Jean-Michel Turnbulletin in particular was looking keen. He was throwing
shapes, jivin’ and body poppin’ each time the ball of dreams entered his personal space, and that was before the off. He had a determination after kick-off which would unhinge any defence in the league.
Controversy was rife early doors and make no mistake. A full squad of eager sportsmen at the ready and no bibs, not to mention no golden gloves. The usual plan B came into play. Whites/off whites Vs the Benetton Colors.
It didn’t tally. For the first time in the history of DSPAFC the theory of the number of light coloured purchased t-shirts of the sort found in the wardrobe of the average player equalling the number of multi-coloured garments purchased by the rest did not weigh up. Numberswise that is.
Conngiggskï had to give up his newly sponsored personalised shirt to Roperaroo.
The confusion which followed was uneasy but brief, for the whites/off whites, apart from Conngiggskï himself who could not pass either to himself or his doppelganger, “the wolf of goals in my clothing” as he later, somewhat incomprehensibly, put it. The emperor’s new clothes, so to speak, the situation was his undoing.
The formation of 6v5 was not new by any means, “au contraire” as Turnbulletin observed, but this night there was not only a new signing on a Bosman - Seve Ballllllllllsterian signed from Rotherham - but also a steely determined vibe which shook the stand’s foundations.
An early lead from the flashy 5 was soon to lead to a further flashy extension lead from the 5. They were all over the higher number and make no mistake. The only mistake being, as per usual, complacency.
Conngiggskï took hold, metaphorically, of the match ball, only for it to be retracted after his dismal stint ‘tween the sticks. 4 goals in as many minutes. At least he scored the same number at the other end. Gizzabaldi had an equally prosperous time on the offence with 4, but he too fell victim to the showboating goalkeeping stunts that have occasionally marred his handiwork in the ‘D’. The young hot shot from the north soon read him like a book. He had him cover to cover, done and dustjacked in a trice. Dive early and you will pay the price.
The new Keeganesque messiah signing showed all the signs of a real gem.
Our inside reporter, inside a locker, in the locker room of the Arena, overheard him stating, post-match, that “the universal language of football” was the main means of communication in evidence at the spectacle he had just helped to ignite. How true!!!!!!!!!
With minutes ticking away to a 10-9 victory for the home team, it was Alamo central with Roperaroo resorting to route one football, trips by Gilesinho to the corner flag and possession football led by Garrattino straight out of the top drawer. Consternation as referee Jorge Satantango penalises Roperaroo for handling outside the D. He points for an indirect free-kick and Turnbulletin doesn’t need to be asked twice to turn it into the inviting sac d’oignons. Remonstrating with the referee, Aderonskï is cautioned. But it’s just the incentive he needs singlehandedly to pick the game up by the scruff of the neck and drag his team back. Oops not for long. 10-11 in favour of the visitors. They don’t call him King Sunny Ade for nothing. Two goals at the death seal it for the home side. A strike force unrivalled by all but that at “the Lane” took a step
back to allow Aderonskï to boss the park. 12-11. As the bossa nova rhythms kicked in, he put on a display of Ipanema karaoke in celebration. The crowd, of course, went "Ahhh."
The forestry commission are looking into complaints, as the robust tree trunks and maturing pine saplings which were ever present all season in mid-field were lacking. Environmental groups are said to looking into why such a green belt was destroyed, as if overnight. The middle of the park was, as a consequence, carnivalesque, a bull run, a feast for any forward thinking forward with a forward-thinking mind. Such nights are made for the likes of Jay-Jay Lohmann and Al Kinghali. They queued up like urchins outside the January sales or compulsive podders outside Apple’s London HQ eager to convert the cash of their team’s hard-won scoring chances into the sofa or podphone of goals. But gravity, wind, voodoo and vindaloo seemed to conspire against them as mysterious near and far misses heaped on the agony for the visitors.
The excuses of the teams being depleted by the African Cup of Nations and transfer issues were numbed by what was on offer. A goal fest. An exhibition game, within a testimonial, within a game of dreams. Basically, a kaleidoscope of folly along with a thunderstorm of brilliance.
It was a game which reached high levels on the Enjoyometer TM scale without giving too much to shout about. A game of many facets.
Conngiggskï having found a new robust approach to the game, clearly took out Coweyscatsi late doors, to the screams of the away crowd, who called for his head, in red. Never one to turn the other cheek ‘Giggskï seemed to relish his revenge, but then a bit of relish always comes in handy when that particular plate is served up, as it was tonight, cold. However, in Keano style, the ex-SundIreland winger took his hand and said, “I would have done the same”. What a pro, what a gent, what a gem in the tiara of the clubhouse cabinet.
Marmite PotM has to go to the Golden Booted J.-M. Turnbulletin. The fella (or garçon as he would say himself) has a gift which could not be diminished by any amount of post-match-analysis and slo-mo.
Using these marvels of the modern world we can break down his contribution into three categories: twist, turn and shout. Modelling his tactics on a combination of several mid-50s rock n’ rollers and the forward play of the likes of Derek Doogan and Mike Summerbee, he twists from the hip, turns from the torso and lets the ball do the shouting as it whizzes its way into net past the keeper like a mosquito. 
At the final whistle he was presented the match ball for his 4-goal salvo only to be instantly refused the honour of taking it home, as the ball itself belonged to pitch number 3. The official ball was later retrieved in due course by Conngiggskï who had been responsible for the sole skied effort of the night. A record for the season, and it was off the thigh. Another one for Garth Crooks to mull over. All this as yet another name enters the player-manager hat
No wintry conditions however could deter these champions of the sphere from showing form, grace and determination.What a turn out, not only in their newly acquired attire (as mentioned last week) but in number and spirit. A healthy amount of pros were ready for the 8’o clock call and the rest were not too far behind. The crowd were bouncin’. It was ON!
Jean-Michel Turnbulletin in particular was looking keen. He was throwing
shapes, jivin’ and body poppin’ each time the ball of dreams entered his personal space, and that was before the off. He had a determination after kick-off which would unhinge any defence in the league.Controversy was rife early doors and make no mistake. A full squad of eager sportsmen at the ready and no bibs, not to mention no golden gloves. The usual plan B came into play. Whites/off whites Vs the Benetton Colors.
It didn’t tally. For the first time in the history of DSPAFC the theory of the number of light coloured purchased t-shirts of the sort found in the wardrobe of the average player equalling the number of multi-coloured garments purchased by the rest did not weigh up. Numberswise that is.
Conngiggskï had to give up his newly sponsored personalised shirt to Roperaroo.
The confusion which followed was uneasy but brief, for the whites/off whites, apart from Conngiggskï himself who could not pass either to himself or his doppelganger, “the wolf of goals in my clothing” as he later, somewhat incomprehensibly, put it. The emperor’s new clothes, so to speak, the situation was his undoing.
The formation of 6v5 was not new by any means, “au contraire” as Turnbulletin observed, but this night there was not only a new signing on a Bosman - Seve Ballllllllllsterian signed from Rotherham - but also a steely determined vibe which shook the stand’s foundations.
An early lead from the flashy 5 was soon to lead to a further flashy extension lead from the 5. They were all over the higher number and make no mistake. The only mistake being, as per usual, complacency.
Conngiggskï took hold, metaphorically, of the match ball, only for it to be retracted after his dismal stint ‘tween the sticks. 4 goals in as many minutes. At least he scored the same number at the other end. Gizzabaldi had an equally prosperous time on the offence with 4, but he too fell victim to the showboating goalkeeping stunts that have occasionally marred his handiwork in the ‘D’. The young hot shot from the north soon read him like a book. He had him cover to cover, done and dustjacked in a trice. Dive early and you will pay the price.
The new Keeganesque messiah signing showed all the signs of a real gem.
Our inside reporter, inside a locker, in the locker room of the Arena, overheard him stating, post-match, that “the universal language of football” was the main means of communication in evidence at the spectacle he had just helped to ignite. How true!!!!!!!!!With minutes ticking away to a 10-9 victory for the home team, it was Alamo central with Roperaroo resorting to route one football, trips by Gilesinho to the corner flag and possession football led by Garrattino straight out of the top drawer. Consternation as referee Jorge Satantango penalises Roperaroo for handling outside the D. He points for an indirect free-kick and Turnbulletin doesn’t need to be asked twice to turn it into the inviting sac d’oignons. Remonstrating with the referee, Aderonskï is cautioned. But it’s just the incentive he needs singlehandedly to pick the game up by the scruff of the neck and drag his team back. Oops not for long. 10-11 in favour of the visitors. They don’t call him King Sunny Ade for nothing. Two goals at the death seal it for the home side. A strike force unrivalled by all but that at “the Lane” took a step
back to allow Aderonskï to boss the park. 12-11. As the bossa nova rhythms kicked in, he put on a display of Ipanema karaoke in celebration. The crowd, of course, went "Ahhh."The forestry commission are looking into complaints, as the robust tree trunks and maturing pine saplings which were ever present all season in mid-field were lacking. Environmental groups are said to looking into why such a green belt was destroyed, as if overnight. The middle of the park was, as a consequence, carnivalesque, a bull run, a feast for any forward thinking forward with a forward-thinking mind. Such nights are made for the likes of Jay-Jay Lohmann and Al Kinghali. They queued up like urchins outside the January sales or compulsive podders outside Apple’s London HQ eager to convert the cash of their team’s hard-won scoring chances into the sofa or podphone of goals. But gravity, wind, voodoo and vindaloo seemed to conspire against them as mysterious near and far misses heaped on the agony for the visitors.
The excuses of the teams being depleted by the African Cup of Nations and transfer issues were numbed by what was on offer. A goal fest. An exhibition game, within a testimonial, within a game of dreams. Basically, a kaleidoscope of folly along with a thunderstorm of brilliance.
It was a game which reached high levels on the Enjoyometer TM scale without giving too much to shout about. A game of many facets.Conngiggskï having found a new robust approach to the game, clearly took out Coweyscatsi late doors, to the screams of the away crowd, who called for his head, in red. Never one to turn the other cheek ‘Giggskï seemed to relish his revenge, but then a bit of relish always comes in handy when that particular plate is served up, as it was tonight, cold. However, in Keano style, the ex-SundIreland winger took his hand and said, “I would have done the same”. What a pro, what a gent, what a gem in the tiara of the clubhouse cabinet.
Marmite PotM has to go to the Golden Booted J.-M. Turnbulletin. The fella (or garçon as he would say himself) has a gift which could not be diminished by any amount of post-match-analysis and slo-mo.
Using these marvels of the modern world we can break down his contribution into three categories: twist, turn and shout. Modelling his tactics on a combination of several mid-50s rock n’ rollers and the forward play of the likes of Derek Doogan and Mike Summerbee, he twists from the hip, turns from the torso and lets the ball do the shouting as it whizzes its way into net past the keeper like a mosquito. 
At the final whistle he was presented the match ball for his 4-goal salvo only to be instantly refused the honour of taking it home, as the ball itself belonged to pitch number 3. The official ball was later retrieved in due course by Conngiggskï who had been responsible for the sole skied effort of the night. A record for the season, and it was off the thigh. Another one for Garth Crooks to mull over. All this as yet another name enters the player-manager hat
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