Friday, October 22, 2004
SEASON TWO! - MATCH REPORT - WEEK 3
Future Fury 2-1 Badger Rovers
Future Fury 2-1 Haddock Split
“And so it came to pass, that on the third week, our bearded Leader Howard ‘Moses’ Malone would guide we, the disciples of Future Fury, through Galilee, Jerusalem, and Island Gardens.
And he did speak through greying facial furniture.
And he did say unto us, ‘check out this official Champions league ball. £55 flippin’ quid’”.
And everything was good in the world that night.
Like a limbless man, Future had been unable to draw for the entirety of the new season. A peculiar, and at times frustrating win-lose sequence left Fury Maroon 5’d in mid-table, and with the insane mutterings of new manager Peter Sutcliffe ringing in their ears, a squad of eight prepared for matches against the respective top and bottom teams.
Up first … Badger Rovers, decorated in a challenging black & white number … challenging because two teams in two dark kits on one dark night isn’t clever.
Taking to the field though, Cohen pointed out Toddy, standing seemingly paralysed by the touchline. Smoke thundering from his ears, his eyes burned into the back of their stocky defender. A fearsome red rage swept over last season’s top scorer and almost incoherently he began muttering under his breath; the ramblings of a disturbed man.
“That’s a fokin Darlington kit they’re wearing. The gobshites are wearing the Darlo colours.”Getting progressively louder, his Northern drawl became, worryingly, more violent.
“Who said you could wear Darlo colours? You’re a chuffing bag o’ wank. The lot of ya.”Enraged as the whistle blew, the Toddster burst into life, parading his skinny legs like a lactic-acid infested raver. At times, too quick for the naked eye, the Fury carved out early chances for Dalts and the Moors Murderer.
Minutes later though, the league leaders were to enjoy a break of luck. Running into dead-ends, Evs and Dave spilled possession to a Badgers striker who tried a pot-shot at goal.
Little was he to know that Arsenal fan Denning had just finished reading the 5th edition of ‘Jens Lehmann’s Greatest Gaffs’, and wanting to upstage everyone’s favourite German, let a bobbler through his body and the Badgers were in front.
Redeeming himself in the second-half with a series of acrobatic parries, Future clung onto the hope of rescuing something from the game.
And those hopes were realised midway through the half when the Toddster’s anger finally boiled over and, right-footed, he blasted in the leveller.
Yes, right-footed. That’s like saying, Cristiano Ronaldo could play for 90 minutes without looking like a spare from Riverdance. Or I could be in Jim’s company for more than three minutes without breaking into four-eyed ginga gags.
Almost inconceivable. But true.
Inspired, and with bible safely tucked into the back of his shorts, Moses completed the comeback with a superb low drive to the keepers’ right, before fighting off a plague of locusts, rivers of blood and the noxious bum gas from my nervous bottom. The Leader had won us the points.
“And sitting quietly, we waited. And He spake of the rewards that could be ours if we followed his golden path.
Though nervous at first, we ventured up his glittering passage and it was beautiful.
We listened and understood.
And he still looked like a lunatic with that beardo.”
The second match against Haddock Split should have been an altogether more comfortable affair. However, the league’s bottom team had given Fury a run for their money in the first meeting, and this match was to prove no different despite Sutcliffe’s men racing into a two-goal lead.
Toddy opened the scoring early on while other efforts from the workmanlike midfield pairing of Dave and Dalts were only narrowly off the mark. It was 2-0 within the flick of an eyelid when the industrious Evs put the Toddster through again and move him that bit closer to another goal drought the Golden Boot.
Having ridden a proverbial horse into the proverbial ground, Jamie retired having at half-time after succeeding in clearing up the mess left behind by defensive partner Evs.
But like Denning in his private school years, it was a real backs-to-the-wall job after the interval. Rare counter-attacks rarely alleviated the constant Haddock pressure; and panic set in when, in the last minute, when our opponents were awarded a fishy penalty.
Having come through two matches without any notable incident (like getting sent-off / arguing with the opposition / arguing with his own team / shouting VERY LOUDLY for no particular reason), Jim Cohen suddenly realised he hadn’t stamped his indomitable mark on the game.
Within seconds his legs had accidentally buckled and he had accidentally slid into our own penalty box to give away an accidental penalty. Jim – you’re just an attention seeker. Sad.
With Lehmann still in mind, Denning successfully dived a country mile out the way of the spot-kick to set up a nervous finale.
But the final whistle sounded soon afterwards allowing my guts to generously give way with a final punt of gaseous relief, and as a number of healthy grown men collapsed at the stench left behind, the Fury departed with the full six points for the first time in nearly three months.
“And with that, we laid our heads down for the night with the sound of angels singing in a far-off land.And our Leader, Moses; he spake one final annoying one-liner before we could nod off.
“Allow He without sin to cast the first stone. And let Smudger not think he got away with an excuse of being ‘ill’, when the truth is he was shit-faced on Wednesday night and couldn’t play football with a hangover.
God speed to you all.”
(Future 11-aside all-time record goalscorer … bar none).
Friday, October 15, 2004
SEASON TWO! - MATCH REPORT - WEEK 2
Season 2 Week 2
Comm Direct 0-4 Future Fury
Wharf Boys 2-0 Future Fury
'I'm going to volunteer to drop out because I've got the day off and as we have 10 players and only 9 can play.' What an offer from the gaffer. Unfortunately Denning and Evs pulled out last minute for equally girly reasons and the
Fury again had to face Wharf Boys with only one sub and two on debut!Stand in skipper Cohen did his best to rally the troupes and the induction on Dave and Jaime was as smooth as a Beeney one liner or Evans' first dump of the day. Even an injury to Gav in the warm up refused to dampen the spirits and the plucky northern soldier battled on the condition there were 'no chuffin' moths!'
Fury started off brightly against new boys Comm Direct and immediately showed them what this league was all about with some elegant plays through the middle with Smith and Todd. Sefton on debut looked bright and showed some nice touches down the right and the first half progressed very easily for Future with early goals from Toddy as the Fury never got out of first gear. Thats 2 for the season Toddy. TWO! A goal droubt of 4 weeks may have affected lesser players but not Toddy as he calmly put Future ahead.
The second half saw the introduction of Woods and a second debut cap being handed out. Cohen went off to organize from the touch line and saw his tactical change take immediate effect with Woods narrowly missing form his first touch. Not to worry, he scored with his second and the game was over. Future sat back on their lead and with Marton and Sefton keeping things tight at the back, Todd, Smith and Woods were able to play exhibition 'total' football for the final 5 minutes.
Smithy netted his first of the season after a fine Future move, with an elegant finish, chipping the keeper from 10 yards in a game game where the ball cannot go over nipple height!
4-0 to to the Fury Job done.
Comm Direct will surly put up more of a battle next time round, as they were utter shite this time!
Small matters though. One game to rest up and discuss the brilliance of Cohen's tactical brain, a quick rubdown and a fag for Gav and the Fury were back facing their bitter rivals, The Wharf Boys.
Early exchanges as usual went to Wharf hitting the outside of Futures post three times with identical moves. Gav however insisted he had them covered each time and who would argue?
Fury looked bright on the counter with some fine runs from Toddy and Woods. Some slightly over hit through balls could have made the difference, but on a slippery surface Future looked to hold firm and managed to keep Wharf down to long range efforts and territorial play for the first half. Special mention must go to Marton who battled like a 12 year old on a chopper and refused to let anything past him.
Second half saw the Wharf boys grab two goals and we lost but fuck it. It all means nothing until the second half of the season, so moving on....
Fine debuts from Woods and Sefton, a heroic performance in nets from Gav and once again 100% from Toddy, Smith and Marton.
As for Cohen, well Sven better watch out, this young yidder means business.
The night ended as usual with talk of tactics, missed chances, Wharf boys crap kit and inevitably... masturbation.
Good work fellas!
Monday, October 11, 2004
SEASON TWO! - MATCH REPORT - WEEK 1
Future Fury, Elms 6-aside, 7/10/04
Future Fury 0-2 HMM
Future Fury 1-0 Haddock Spit
As excitedly as Richard Keys eyeing up the Remington clippers, Future Fury’s second whorish flirtation with the Elms 6-aside league kicked off on Thursday night.
Like a bag of rusty old sluts, that “difficult second season” kicked into gear with a stunning 40% turnout for the opening fixtures that paired our merry band of football misfits with HMM and Haddock Spit.
As three ringers stepped into the fray on lucrative two-game contracts; the like of which would have made Winston Bogarde blush, there was an air of “who’s he?” around the pitch.
Trying to ease the tension in the same way as a strong coffee lets fly a bowel-full of shit-wind, Evs’ name-game politics of “his name’s Saul … as in … ‘and pepper’” went down as badly as a Diana Ross penalty, but smacks in the face aside, the team, bolstered by Porte and Beeney were ready for battle.
The opposition were stunned at kick-off to find Fury controversially not using their full quota of substitutes … or any infact.
Beeney felt it more productive to punt the ball towards Jupiter and scale Everest-type obstacles in retrieving it, thus missing most of the first-half.
With Bugsy Malone sniffing around for loose scraps up front, ably supported by the returning Panini pin-up Matt Dalton, The Fury always looked capable of finding some reward.
The game though became entangled in midfield and its motion was somewhat delayed when the referee inadvertently dropped a number of suspicious-looking brown paper envelopes from his pockets.
Within seconds, a legitimate roll-out from goaltender Cohen was penalised, and from the resulting free-kick the ball was smashed into the corner, leaving our four-eyed friend gazing blank-faced and numb-mouthed like his Villa hero Mark Bosnich at 4 in the morning.
Question marks lingered like a Dumville follow-through for the remainder of the half, though any question of foul-play by our rotund referee was eventually dismissed when the cheating bolus awarded Fury a throw-in by our own corner-flag late in the half.
Can’t argue with that.
You cheating twat.
Still creating long into the second-half, the game was up after a rare aberration by Future Publishing’s all-time and most prolific 11-aside goalscoring sensation, James “the dude” Evans.
Interviewed after the game, the one they called Evs admitted bowling the ball out to an opposing player from whence it was smashed back with interest. 2-0. Had it not been for the Romanian orphanage he’d built single-handedly only 24 hours previously, or the scores of Africans he’d rescued with a multi-pack of Crackerbread that afternoon, maybe his focus would have been better.
But it wasn’t, and Future were off the mark with a big fat defeat. You live and learn don’t you?
Celebrity Darlington fan Toddy had heard from afar that Future’s landmark second season was off to a poor start. Pacing his way towards Island Gardens like Paula Radcliffe on speed, he muttered under his breath as he went “Chuffin’ ada, aa fokkin love t’ relegation scraps – Darlo, Rochdale, Macc and Notts effin County. Why dint any of thy tosschops tell me we were gonta be shite? – I’d have made sure I were there.”
But unable to make it by the time the second match against the fishy Haddocks kicked off (literally – wait for it), he missed a Tyson vs Lennox showdown between Ginger Warrior and Bugsy. What, at first, appeared to be a bit of verbal showboating soon degenerated into a sponsored ‘f’-word tirade of driven anger.
Bugsy : “Jim, your Mum smells of old goats.”
Cohen : “That’s nothing, cos I heard when your girlfriend steps on the scales a voice says ‘one at a time please’.”
But our friends both shared a common experience, and one look at the train timetable confirmed that they really were brothers of passion, pulled together by a common goal of living ridiculously far distances from work.
High-fiving, they channelled their attentions back into the game, though as 100% Future (played one, lost one) kicked off again, few would have predicted our own Adam ‘Emmanuel Petit’ Porte was to turn matchwinner. Midway through the half though a slick move involving Dalts and Bugsy ended with the former lead-singer of the Nightcrawlers nonchalantly flicking one past the keeper.
Gol gol gol gol goooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaal.
Opponents Haddock (renamed ‘bell-ends’ by Deed Poll) lost their rag shortly afterwards in the kind of way that would have had Leslie Grantham boshing one out over the webcam. Tackles flew in, Future players crashed to the floor, and in weekly tradition, one of the Fury players … err, became furious.
Drawing his name confidently from the tombola of anger at the side of the pitch, Evs took on the green eyes”, enlarged his already huge mouth to bellow out the words “what the f**k are you doing you f**king twat.” (There you go Mum and Dad, told you that English degree would come in handy one day). Cool-head Cohen (haven’t been able to say that much this season) calmed things down, and a solid defensive display including some superb reflexology by Saul between the sticks, and intermittent counter-attacks by the conniving Canadian Beenster kept the score at 1-0. Back of the net.
As my old Mum used to say, you learn something new every day.
And last Thursday, I learnt that a boy in the bush is worth two in the hand. Job done.
Monday, October 04, 2004
Friday, October 01, 2004
MATCH REPORT - WEEK 10
Future Fury 1 - 1 Sol
Future Fury 3 - 1 Yeovil Casuals
With the sort of anti-climax only normally reserved for Jim Cohen's Digital Home presentations, Future Fury ambled their way through the remaining dregs of the Elms Premier League fixture list.
A potentially bone-crunching relegation cat-fight with Yeovil Casuals seemed all set until just a couple of hours prior to kick-off when Bugsy Malone finally exercised his administrative skills for the first time this season by finding out that no-one could actually be relegated.
The disappointment was clear in the face of top scorer Toddy who, as a Darlington fan, quite rightly proclaimed, “What’s t’point of the bu**erin’ season without t’ relegation scrap. Balls to it all.”
He continued his rant, warbling on about the whole team being philistines, Timotei being a rubbish women’s alternative to Vosene, and Gyrating Grannies issue 37 being the best yet. Ignoring the Northern monkey, the team took to the pitch for the first match against Sol.
No James Brown in sight warming up his ‘Sol Man’ routine, and this was obviously a boost to Fury who started well firing narrowly wide through Judders and the Gaff.
Another breakaway midway through the half saw Bugsy’s cross field pass put the lightning deviant Evs in to finish, and Future’s all-time 11-a-side RECORD GOALSCORER EVER EVER smashed the ball in off the underside of the crossbar for his first goal in … dum de dum de dum … 3,4,5,6,7 loads of matches.
That second goal of the season signalled a golden moment for Evs, the fans’ favourite. A crowning glory that added a nuance of radiant gloss on ten weeks of near perfection from the one they often call ‘hunk boy’. That all went tits up though when a few minutes later he “fell over like a girl on ice-skates” when going to retrieve a harmless throughball. Tit.
Sol cheated for their equaliser, bringing on some Rasta bumbaclot ragamuffin bizness and ting geez who had been sorting some kids out on the side of the pitch.
He swivelled like a ballerina in syrup to spin a fine equaliser into the bottom corner – Cohen didn’t have a chance.
Ginger-nuts did have a different kind of chance in the 2nd-half – a chance to stay on the pitch. But the lanky mans temper got the better of him again, and after what appeared to be a pretty innocuous challenge on that big Rasta girl, Cohen was at first sin-binned (second time this season), then red-carded (first time this season), then greeted with his team-mates’ comments of “better luck next time Jim” (countless times this season).
Backs-against-the-wall, Smudger, Marton and loose-limbed Gavski put on a solid defensive display, while Dynamite Dave goal-hung hoping to sniff out some reward at the other end.
Judders produced a couple of acrobatic stops as the match finished all-square.
The second game against Yeovil Casuals was the pre-billed relegation decider, but with only a smattering of players and an emergency first appearance of the season for the young kid Rasta had been sorting, the game always had an element of farce about it.
Even more so when Bugsy Malone smashed in a couple of guys – I mean, how often have we been able to say that this season?!
Jim Cohen’s Player of the Season Elect : Neil Smith (oh sorry Jim, was that confidential? … Ed) almost rattled in a third, but the real highlight of the half was quite one of the most astonishing goalkeeper saves ever seen on a football field.
Marton’s Mum, whilst baking meat pies for he, the whippets and his Dad down the pit in Bolton, had often sounded out about keeping it tight at the back – “making sure the dirty boys never get up t’ bottle”.
If only Gavin had been round Marton’s playing lego that day. Instead, the Casuals found an inch of space past Mr ¾ length strides and unleashed a powerful drive at DD in goal.
It might well have been that at this very moment an invisible man walked up to Dave and fairly chopped his legs from beneath him … the remaining battered stumps swaying like a couple of chocolate pendulums beneath a hunk of gravity-hungry meat.
Undeterred, Dave’s torso remained fixed dead – the end result being something equivalent to if he had stood in a breezeless room yet eased his lower half into an industrial-strength wind tunnel. Bizarre. Acrobatic … (Dave – Moscow State Circus on (020 8540 8122), effective, and very funny.
The Casuals pulled one back late in the half but the two-goal lead was restored when the departing Judders signed off with a farewell goal. In a closing statement to his fans, he expressed that “the lure of decent worthwhile football that actually means something elsewhere was just too great.”
The second-half was … well, boring, to be honest. Yeovil had a couple of strikes at goal that Evs accidentally saved, while Toddy’s landmark 10th goal of the season was denied by the referee’s whistle when clean through on goal.
Goal-drought! P45 mate!
The players sweated their nuts off in the changing room before retiring for a light shandy at Marton’s favourite historical arena – Canary Wharf.
Tales of tea, Indians, Matt Goss and 1,000’s of bars just around this corner followed, as Future Fury called time on an emotional and inspiring season.
Sweating for Britain, breathing those toxic fumes of bloodied competition, the guys had achieved their aim and a lot more.
Learning the ropes, absorbing every sinew of what the Elms meant to them.
Jovial laughter at a curry house called the Gaylord, Panini sticker albums, Howard throwing his toys out the pram like a big girl, Smudger getting kicked about like Tyson, Jim getting sent off, Jim being flobbed on by some chav kid, Jim being lanky, Jim being ginger, Jim and Gyrating Grannies etc etc etc.
What ride! See you next season guys …