Black sheets of rain

BEFC 1 - 7 Stoneds

May 26, 2001. A day that will live in infamy...

The vision was clear. A glorious finale with BEFC consisting of crisp passes, fluid movement, a barbed wire defense and a hailstorm of goals. Well... what to say? It didn't go exactly like that. In fact, somewhere between the initial whistle and the final grand victory lap, something went horribly horribly wrong.

As we gathered for a pre kickoff huddle (what huddle? Ed.), you could hear talk of a "must win". This is an easy side but let's not get lax boys. Oh my, look at them warming up over there, they look dreadful. Is that a woman? Heck, we haven't won in a while, this should feel good. In fact, we haven't even played in a while, this should feel even better. And off we went, spirits high, like cows to the slaughter.

But let's back up. It wasn't all bad news. The game actually started off well. Despite the gaping hole in midfield BEFC managed to move the ball around. Bacon and Collier up the left side, Bystedt trying to feed Woolhouse through the middle, Woolhouse running into a scrappy defense but unusually keeping his cool, Flynn and Elliot holding the ball well in the back switching sides, feeding it up the right to Vern and Jules. But something was missing. The lack of Bridge's long keep away legs, Tim's lighting speed and Jan's control and judgment, the typical attack degenerated into a long ball deep into left or right wing with poor Watts chasing after it in futility while a speedy twenty year old nihonjin inevitably beat him to it.

The first break came from a corner. Well struck by Bystedt, it lands in the middle of the heap, pops out to a well positioned Woolhouse who manages to strike it towards the crowded goal mouth. A deflection and it's in. Spirits are raised but the view is always good from the top. Back they come with a flurry of good attacks. Taking advantage of the acreage in the middle, the Stoneds have plenty of time to set up their two most dangerous players. #14 a strong, stocky lad with good penetration and quick passes. And #11, a quick and skilled striker with a hint of south american in him. Maybe it was the bandana. Together they tested the defense and especially the keeper. BEFC, looking like they've just come back from a 6 months soccer hiatus fueled only by beer and fried food, was visibly and audibly starting to wheeze. Les' breathing made that sound a car makes when you stick it in reverse though you meant to switch into fifth.

Ten minutes into the counterattack, #14 lined up from just inside the box and struck a strong curving ball into the right side of the net. 1-1. A few minutes later, #11 finds himself through with the ball and beats the keeper with another good strike. 2-1. Number three was a tragic glimpse back to the early years. An easy ball straight at the keeper is not taken seriously, hits him in the fingers and bounces unchallenged into the back of the net. 3-1 to seal the half.

Ouch, that hurts. We should be winning. The strain begins to take it's toll. The second half starts and you can see the seams tearing. Woolhouse yells at Masai to stay in the middle. Flynn screaming for someone, anyone to even out the wave of 5 on 2 attacks. They say anger is a good motivator. And back come BEFC. A terrific string of passes finds Bacon deep inside opposition territory. Biffer moving with determination easily beats his defender to the left and then calmly chips the ball just over the bar. F**K, his shout could be heard all the way to Hanzomon. Another attack, a good cross into the box and Vern side foots it over the bar. Minutes later, a high cross finds Woolhouse 10 feet from goal. You guessed it, header over the bar. Bystedt, not to be left out from this high kick competition, maneuvers the ball in from the right side, lines up right outside the box and fires a rocket right over the bar. Any one of these and countless more could have put us back in the game. But alas, the onslaught continued.

Number four came, heck, who knows how. It just came. 4-1. BEFC switches tactics and moves more people to the front. Flynn turns striker. A good strategy usually but Bystedts corner kicks just weren't finding Flynn's deadly forehead this game. And with him in front, the team in much need of an iron lung, every counterattack seemed to produce a goal. Bang 5-1. Valiant effort by the keeper on number 6 as he blocked the initial shot with his testicles only to watch in pain as the rebound landed at the perpetrators feet who finished it off. Number 7 came swiftly. And the game mercifully came to an end. Dang, I could use a drink.

Team: Willis, Bystedt, Sendo, Woolhouse, Collier, Flynn, Bacon, Cooper, Court, Watts, Shalabi, Elliott, Sakihana, Koichiro.

Manager's Man of the Match: Koichiro, for keeping the game in single digits

Dicks of the Day: The 3 guys who were cursed most heavily throughout the day, Bridge, Jan and Williams. Gotta blame someone!