It’s impossible to stifle hype. The fans are first. Half way through the season their team is on top of the ladder and the dreaming starts, counting the points and looking at match-ups weeks ahead. The players are next. Words spoken by the captain before the game desperately trying to ‘keep a lid on it’start to feel forced, then ridiculous, and eventually completely replaced by selfies with fans and signing naked flesh.Eventually even the manager gets caught up. He doesn’t believe his own hyperbole anymore. Nobody is taking each game at a time. The trophy is yours. Even water starts to have the metallic taste of champagne victory.
Then you play 1740 and all your dreams get crushed. The final whistle blows and a bunch of old blokes have pissed on your parade and stolen your victory cake. They’ve eaten it too. You’re not sure how they won, but you know they beat you and it feels dirty. You need a shower.
This week fourth placed 1740 Lonsdale took down the third ranked Real Post Hill 3-1 in front of a packed press gallery. It didn’t change the ladder, but the victory was sweeter than a home-made chocolate bear cake. Let’s break it down.
The mental games started early with Martin “Van Dijk” declaring a win 15sec into the match. It wasn’t hard to see why, he’s been impossible to pass and he’s been picking pockets all season with a sledgehammer on the left and jaws-of-life on the right. But RPH scored a minute later by completely avoiding him. It would be their only score, and Ned’s goal was barely troubled. Except by Martin. Tactics changed and Mark skinned a chirpy defender down the right wing. Not just skinned, flayed. Like Ramsay Bolton in Disney-on-ice it was brutal and beautiful and for his efforts he got taken out like Pepe on Messi. Aaron “the hulk” got the score rolling through a solo intercept and run reminiscent of some of Robin Van Persie’s greatest strikes. Aaron is eternally pumped, but celebrated like he’d scored against his old team. He was amped though, like a nuclear mushroom cloud. It would take 35 minutes before the adrenaline coursing through his veins to come back down enough for him to shirt-front a 19 year old.
The injection of Falk with some laced Dutch liquorice during his European loan paid off. Gliding across the court, down the wings and setting up Pete with a beautifully weighted cross through three defenders. The volley put-away from the back-post was unstoppable and made it 2-1 before the ref could find something to get pissed off about. He eventually did. Pissing off RPH in the process and riding Martin for not keeping his ball behind the line, managing to find 5 yellow cards in a game that barely had raised voices (Aaron’s shirtfront was silent).
The second half highlight was undoubtedly Franko Cozzoselling furniture, candy and heart-break down the right wing before sending the perfect ball to Pete for a two touch goal and the 3-1 lead. The goal was tikki-takka at its best, and started a period of 1740 possession and dishing out some emotional degradation. There were more goal chances too. Martin found himself with more space than the Ref on date night. Mark kept skinning defenders, enjoying it so much he was forgetting to shoot. Then Pete scored the greatest goal of all time. The lofted cross hung in the air, and for the briefest moment as the right boot sunk into the ball he was Zidane.When you hit it that sweet it doesn’t matter if you miss. The last 10 minutes of the match played out predictably. RPH couldn’t believe they were losing. Ned found new ways involve himself in the first game he won’t get 3 votes for, continuously yelling ‘CLEAR IT’ and getting gloves to shots that wouldn’t have troubled a 10m wide goal.
It wasn’t just a win, it was a dissection by a surgical team. 1740 is on a stratospheric rise, and when you’re that high, you’re never coming down.
