Round 5, Fitzroy City, home

We had a team bonding exercise on Friday night and although the police weren’t called it was still a wonderful evening. Jess spent the best part of 24 hours putting together an extravagant Middle Eastern feast and the Bras spent a little over 24 minutes devouring it. I’d tell you about conversations that involved testicles, Velcro-secured pants you can whip off in a flash (and with a flourish), and sleazy soccer coaches, but since I don’t have time to give you the context I’ll keep them to myself. Suffice it to say we had a wonderful time —so wonderful, in fact, I didn’t once worry about the fact my brother, Rain Man, was looking after the kids. (And rightly so. He did a sterling job.)

By Sunday the effects of the alcohol had worn off but the glow of the evening hadn’t, and we went about setting up the field as cheerfully as the Ingalls family set the dinner table at their little house on the prairie. The sun was shining, the sky was a faultless blue and Spike a Murray gamboled like lambs over the dewy grass. It was so bucolic it was almost sickening.

We were within our rights to be lulled by the pleasant morning but instead, uncharacteristically it must be said, we were out of the blocks fast. Normally, you see, we like to go a goal or two down early, to calm ourselves, but in the 3rd minute Emily ghosted between two defenders and lashed a lovely shot into the roof of the net from an acute angle. “This is a strange feeling,” I told the bench, full of injured Bras (Jess, Rhiannon and Frannie) and orange thieves (Pablo and Omar), “but I think I could get used to it.”

We came within a whisker, minutes later, of a second. And then we screamed for a penalty when a Fitzroy player deflected the ball with her arm in the box but the ref waved away our appeal as he would a blowfly. No matter, a second goal seemed assured. But by halftime, like a Connex train, it still hadn’t come and I told the Bras it was now imperative we get another because even though we were outplaying Fitzroy they had fired a few warning shots across our bow.

Although it afforded everyone the chance to say G’day to ex-Bra Brita and her 9-month-old son, Arlo, the halftime break was the worst thing that could have happened to us because we lost our groove and began the second half sluggishly. Within a few minutes Fitzroy had equalised, after a long ball found their striker in space.

From that point we were in a real arm wrestle and the tension rose. Their coach, for one, was liberally dropping the F-bomb (mostly swearing at his own players) and their goalie, as Rhiannon astutely pointed out, was incessantly screaming and rambling at her team like a drunk accosting passersby in the street. Her metaphor cracked Merissa up no end. But while Fitzroy’s keeper had a voice and memorable delivery, she knew what she was doing between the sticks and on no less than three occasions she made an important save from Emily —who, despite the tick-like closeness of her marker, created space for a shot. Unfortunately, she found the keeper each time.

With some 20 minutes remaining we again fell victim to the long ball. (We really must do something about this. It’s becoming a habit. I must go back to the Dummies Guide to Football.) Their blonde No.7, who was virtually unsighted in the first half, bore down on goal and put it away nicely. Fitzroy were elated to have taken the lead and we did our best from the sideline to rouse the Bras, imploring them to stick at it. Jess even turned Fitzroy’s goal into a positive. “That’s okay, guys, we play better when we’re behind!” Surely a career in politics awaits her.

To our credit we pushed hard for another goal and we played some nice one-touch football at times. Sue was immense at the back, tirelessly harassing her opponents, and Jenna, Bridget and KP came close to getting us back into it. Emily, too, never conceded, constantly hurrying back in defence and consistently beating one-two-three opponents in attack. Unfortunately, she was often upended unceremoniously by her marker who, belatedly, though deservedly, earned herself a yellow card. And on one such occasion KP took the free kick outside the box and came within the keeper’s fingertip of a wonderful goal. I may well have cursed at that point but I did try to keep it to myself.

There were less than 10 minutes remaining when Fitzroy sealed the game with a third goal. And when the whistle blew (well, okay pedants, it didn’t blow itself, the ref blew it), just like last week, I couldn’t help but reflect on the nature of a game you can seemingly dominate —in terms of possession, shots on goal and the style of your play— but still lose. I can see why football is a fitting metaphor for life. Then again, Fitzroy played a smart game and they were hungry for the win, having drawn three and lost one of their last four games. It was hard to begrudge them their moment of joy.

I have to say the mood wasn’t too bad in the camp in the shadows of defeat. Nor should it have been. We gave our all, so we figured there was no shame in falling short. Besides, we had another team bonding exercise to attend. Post game drinks and hot chips. A recipe to soothe almost any ill.

[Result: 3-1 loss. Goals — Emily]

Next match: Sunday May 23, v Plenty Valley Lions, Sycamore Reserve, Mill Park, 1pm

STOP PRESS: Despite their 90-minute efforts against Fitzroy, Sue, Merissa and Bridget volunteered to play for the Zebras other women’s team later Sunday afternoon. Sue, I’m told, played the entire match and was outstanding. She needs to be drug tested. Something’s not right, with her. Too much energy. Too much life force. As for the result, the Zebras won that one 2-1 and Sue was seen to perform her signature cartwheel after the winning goal was scored. I can only imagine her husband Ian later had to pour her into a hot bath and revive her with a sherry.