The 12 *cough* 18 Labours of the Ladies 3s

Call us Hercules. Or don’t, as we are neither legendary child killer heroes of old; nor Belgium detectives with a dapper moustache. However much like the aforementioned peeps we too find ourselves assigned with 12 (ish) labours with which we have the opportunity to bathe in glory, (or rather, a shot at promotion – that ever perennial dream).

The important statistics:
Pitch invaders = Rogue dandelion seeds on mass and arterial midgies
Proof level= 13 %
Sand factor = Lanzarote
Stick tackles = 123,456

The sun was hot and sweaty over the Eskvale plains, with the promised rainfall a fevered dream away. Time was moving slowly, something that was observed increasingly by all parties as the sweat rivulets lengthened, and dandelions starting sprouting in the crevices of our bronchi.

New season, new players, seemingly reduced intoxication level and wielding a new formation, the L3s were out to prove their mettle; buoyed up by a couple of decisive friendly victories with our L4s joint task force. However, labours are never an easy path, and the first half was uncertain. From this an Eskvale pass, taken quickly from the site of a foul turned into an incisive pass cutting through the press, meeting a rather ineffective tackle (side eye to Robertson) which helpfully set up the Eskvale ladies with a straight one on one with the Watsonians’ GK. 1-0.

First blood drawn, and the pieces of the fable returned to their starting positions. This marked a period L3 play, which could be described as rather despondent. Where intentions and practices did not always meet, where the sun created mirages, and the sands conspired to reduce the most thunderous of hits to mere meanders. Well scrambled defence, and the rather unconventional velociraptor swarms kept the score against from rising, but the free and easing passing and wide shape that had proved so effective were making only a fitful appearance. From this, Hannah S, taking control from deep behind defensive lines, took the ball in a much feted run round the Eskvale team and deposited it into the bottom right. 1-1.

Second half – hydrated and hariboed the field was taken once more. This time, the L3s held the ball and pressed, claiming the possession and beginning to turn the screws hoping to force a mistake, or a foot in the D. There were pockets of passing here, there were pockets of pretty passing there, there were shorts, and there were shots but some nifty kicks from the Eskvale goal keeper and a Hera-backed goal post kept the Watsonians’ score at one.

Unable to fully wrap our arms around the opposition and keep them there: Eskvale broke down the right, and somehow* there was a short corner. The defence ran, and the defence kept out the first, then the second shot on goal. They cleared, they breathed and then Eskvale were back, cleanly working the ball around the D and in. 2:1.

If someone was going to shoe-horn the match to fit the legend (warning they are): could these two goals be an allegory for the two fingers given for atonement for the past? Could our grey cells be marshalled together to work a way round the seemingly impenetrable hide of the Eskvale defence? And could we improve our short corner success rate past last seasons’ 11%? Answers coming soon to a Pitchero post near you.

*strongly suspect feet; there is precedence.