Labour five: The one with the cattle

The sun did not shine on Tipperlinn on Saturday – and not because according to one website it was world’s maths day. Instead, Tipperlinn lay ensnared in a muting cocoon of rain where the garnishes of blood saturated wipes and abandoned prawn sandwich packets lent an uncanny air of foreboding to the coming situation.

Predictions had some pretty significant side-effects in Ancient Greece, just ask Cassandra, and with hindsight what would have been the odds that Hercules would have paid closer attention to the signs, or at very least the small print when harnessing the River Stynx? Try to make a quick bob on the side and it’s all “the job don’t count” and “one more labour for you Mr. Hercules”. Perhaps retrospectively clearing up 30 odd years of divinity inspired faecal matter not such a bad thing? But I digress, it’s Tipperlinn, and as we can be fairly certain that we don’t have the spirits of the Water of Leith on speed dial thus were we to labour by hand: playing Ruth-lessly (cue the sounds of Watsonians very own cello group ‘Cello, is it me you’re looking for?’) and hoping that our vectors, and plethora of shapes would be used to their best advantage – victory and goals. One small question – the fact that the opposition team’s Captain is wearing pineapple earrings, should that mean something?
...
So apparently exotic things, as shortly after the whistle blew we were awarded a penalty Flick! Followed fairly quickly by another!! The air was fairly giddy with excitement, and as both teams agreed, this was a fairly unprecedented event. The first, an actual flick was sadly batted away by the goalie; the second, working in layers of deception appeared to never leave the ground, instead leisurely took a promenade straight into the bottom left corner. 1 nil, and the game was afoot, with all our vectors mostly linking together successfully in starting a campaign in the other half of the pitch. It doesn’t do well to dwell too much on this particular chapter – many defenders feet were harmed in the making of it, and perhaps the protractor used for our angles was perhaps a little off as not one was converted. But we held faith with the geometry, and continual pressure, and when the half time whistle blew we were a further 5 goals up.

Half time passed in a tactical sugar blur (sport mixtures a delicious but unwise choice ), and then once more the battle was waged, although this time as we threaded the ball this way, and passed it that way, we seemed to be always losing a stitch leaving our cat’s cradle of structure, a middle missing. Unable to secure and hold down our central channels the ball went up the pitch, the ball went down the pitch, the ball went up the pitch, and the ball went down the pitch – occasionally stopping off at a defender’s feet for a short corner. Time stretched, a perfect V of geese flew over head.... a sign? Birds are very popular in the myths/

/Another defender’s toenail bites the dust as we win another short corner. This time there is no mistake as after some manoeuvring round the defenders, there is unmistakable thud of a high velocity plastic sphere hitting the dashboard; which obviously re-ignited our goal-lust as another followed shortly before then final whistle blew and the final tally stood 8-0.

Leaving only this thought: is it a worry that we have only won in white? Does this, like the pineapple earrings qualify as an omen? Well, our next home match is next week so....

Our Match in almost-excel tables (#shoulhavebeengraphsbutpitcheropreventedit):

Proof Level (%)
Game One 13
Game Two 22
Game Three 33
Game Four 32
Game Five (due to a pre-game Bloody Mary) 41

Shortcorners
Taken 3879
Converted 4
% scored 0.10319936065

The Questionable relationship between sugar and goal scoring
Sugar % Goals
10/09/2016 14 1
17/09/2016 25 5
24/09/2016 62 5
08/10/2016 43 6
15/10/2016 45 8