It has been a long time in coming, in fact some thought it would never happen... but it's here now. Junction One is "Northern Ireland's First And Only International Outlet Shopping Centre" with over fifty stores... ooOOoo! But, of course, you're not hear to read about that rubbish, you're hear to read the first match report in one year, five months and six days! After the Forum having had a make over, Nadia having won Little Sister and British Airways announcing its plans to increase the fuel cost surcharge on its flights, I have been inspired to put pen to paper - well, finger to keyboard - and write a lot of dribble about nothing in particular.
Plato is rumoured to have said, "A match is not a match alone, only with a biased report is it complete."1 Augustine, in an interview with BBC Sport, one remarked, "A football is round, has always been round and will be round forever."2 Sven-Goran Eriksson, in his very own autobiography, penned, "I never talk about my private life... but I wish I could write a match report."3 So with out further ado and absolutely no howdy-dodies it is on with the match report...
Things got off to a ropey start with the absence of one Special K - my sources tell me he forgot to eat his Weetabix this morning - so an unsuspecting passerby was lynched and forced to play. It turned out to be none other than our very own Gregory "Class Act" Weir! Hooray for the young lad's enthusiasm. He was placed immediately into his prime position - nets.
Play was fast and furious, to coin a phrase, with quick plays from both teams of girls. But we realised we were only wasting time watching the netball so we decided to start our own game of football. Steady defending from the Baron and Shorty Martin kept Dee and the Small Mountain from getting in too many shots towards the ever graceful Rodney. But play wasn't confined to that half of the pitch, no... it did, in fact, reach all three halves at one stage or another during the ninety minute hour. Romeo, ever daring, was fast on the break and cut through the opposing defense like a hot knife through curry and, spying Ingram, gave away any hope of his team going ahead by passing to him. Weir in nets was just to much for the master report writer.
On the oppostion break, Weir was quick to follow orders from whoever shouted the loudest and looked the scariest and gave quick balls out to keep play moving along like a queue at Burger King in Belfast. Guv, ever steady in midfield, spied Sparman with his mind's eye and gave a dinky pass towards the, now retired, shelf stacker who ran faster than a bunny rabbit from a animal testing lab towards the opposition's nets. But Baron Matchett was quick on the bunny's tail forcing the pass to Dee who would, in turn, cleverly (some would say luckily but they have been silenced) pass to Slemish. From that point on the ball saw nothing but the back of the net.
Romeo, not wanting to see defeat, removed his top to reveal his bare chest then, like Tim from Home Improvement, let out a mighty roar to instil fear in all who heard. Slemish, fearless and stoic, did the same. Ingram, who was simply sweaty like a... you-know-what, joined in the manly fun. This baring of flesh drew a crowd outside the door who oogled through the window. (It later emerged that this crowd entirely consisted of men who shall remain nameless because if word got out, Jake and Rick would be in trouble with their wives. The less said the better.)
With the short man, Martin, growing taller by the second Baron Matchett thought it best to call "goal the winner" when it was equal at twelve a piece. Dee's remark sums up all ten men's thoughts at the call to duty: "Now it's getting interesting!" Both teams, full of heart, comic genius and curry gas from dinner, put their heads down and boots in. Play heated up and Rodney was put under immense pressure from all sides until finally, when the defense were simply out turned, the shot was struck... the ball flew... Rodney, more poetic than John Keats or even Seamus Heaney, more graceful than a ballerina in her pinkest tutu and the Bolshoi, dived full stretch... but the ball was too fast. Shorty Martin was last seen on his knees, hands and face raised to heaven in disbelief and utter disappointment, shouting "Back of the net!"
And that's how it ended folks. The nipple twisting ladies were just too much for the hair grabbing pansies. Until next time!
In order to keep this website's integrity, objectivity and reliance wholly on facts in the public domain, it is the author's decision to provide these notes on the report you better just have read. The report may or may not (probably the latter) represent the match that actually took place.
Winners (Nipple Twisters) - Gregory "Class Act" Weir, Craig "Guv" Allen, David "Dee" Houston, Paul "The One... The Only... Sparman" Clarke, Rick "A Small Mountain" Hill
Losers (Hairy Grabbers) - Tim "Baron Von Scores-a-lot" Matchett, Gavin "Poetry In Motion" Todd, Sammy "Romeo" Brownlee, Jonathan "Shorty" Martin, Mark "Victim" Ingram
Missing In Action - Stevie "Special K" Kirkpatrick
Due to his shear devotion to duty, iron will, courage under fire, spikey haircut and standing in at the last minute, this week's coveted SparBoot goes to none other than the "Class Act" that is Gregory Weir. He's gonna be a legend! Well played Greg!