Round 9, v Melbourne Knights, home

Sunday began disastrously when, with the new day only 25 minutes old, Harry Kewell was adjudged to have deliberately handled the ball and, consequently, dismissed from the field in the Socceroos’ second round World Cup clash with Ghana. Even though Harry is the type of bloke to live in Istanbul and be utterly uninquisitive about the exotic world that lies just outside his PlayStation-adorned apartment, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. And though the Socceroos battled valiantly to keep the game at 1-1 I awoke hours later feeling exhausted and a tad deflated.

More air was knocked out of me when I arrived at Sumner Park, which was veiled by a steady drizzle, to face an unexpected question from Sue. ‘Do you have my wedding ring?’

‘Um, golly, a bit forward, what? I mean, are you asking me to propose or something? To be honest I’m not really sure if I’m ready to leave Lee and the kids just yet. For one thing, moving is such a pain. Don’t get me wrong, though, you’re a lovely wo…’

‘Don’t be daft. Two weeks ago, before we played Yarra Jets, I gave you my wedding ring to look after while I was on the field. I never got it back from you.’

Shit. I could barely remember Sue giving me the ring let alone where it was now. SHIT! I thought I was wearing the same jeans and monogrammed jacket I had on that day and I patted myself down like an overzealous customs official (though I did leave out an orifice check on the grounds that, in the moments before we took the field to play the Jets, I was highly unlikely to have stored Sue’s ring in such a dark, albeit safe, place while she watched). I came up empty. Sue noted the look of horror on my face and, God love her, pretended as if my losing of her wedding ring was a trifling matter.

‘Oh don’t feel bad. It’ll turn up. If it doesn’t, well, to be honest, good. It’s 22-years old now, it’s scuffed up a bit and it sometimes catches on the lining of my coat pockets and whatnot. Good riddance to it I say. If anything, you’ve done me a favour. Ian will be just as pleased as I am. The sun was always catching it and flashing in his eyes. But now it’s gone. Huzzah!’

And with that she patted me on the back, gave me a smile as unconvincing (to everyone but a referee) as an Italian’s dive and roll in a penalty box, and walked off.

I hit the phone and got Lee to search the washing machine tub and anything in the house with a pocket that I might have been wearing that day: my other jeans, my other hoodie, all my coats, Abbie’s parka and pink fire-hazard of a princess dress. But nothing. Nada. Zip.

SHIT!

With my potential ruining of Sue and Ian’s long marriage on my mind I did my best to rally the Bras for our clash with second-placed Melbourne Knights who had only lost one game all season, and that to ladder-leading Brunswick City. I reminded them that after the disappointment of the Socceroos’ World Cup campaign the nation was banking on them to lift the collective spirits, to fill the collective sail. In fact Prime Minister Krudd had called me this morning telling me that all Australia, particularly its working families, were banking on us. Can we do it?

‘Maybe, s’pose’ was the resounding response and Bras followed Sue onto the heavy pitch, with the rain still falling and Rhi’s eyeliner running, giving her the appearance of a junkie or a wet raccoon.

But from the opening whistle it was clear the Bras had the nation’s happiness in mind. Like lice in a kindergarten we were everywhere, harrying the Knights at every step and looking to move the ball smartly through to Rhi and Em up front, rather than hoofing it long and hoping for the best. Pleasingly, we were winning nearly every 50-50, with Jenna setting the tone out on the right flank. Whether her spirited start had anything to do with her partner Nat being in attendance and wearing a rather eye-catching official’s bib I couldn’t say, but she was certainly out to impress.

And so was everyone else. So much so that our lightning start brought almost immediate dividends when, four minutes in, Emily doggedly pursued a loose ball in a packed six-yard box and cracked it home on a sharp angle. ‘Yes!’ I yelled. ‘Yes!’ screamed Jess (now free of her moonboot). ‘Si!’ enthused Berto, or at least he would have done had he been there (Rosie’s in East Timor for work).

As the game continued we remained organized and dominant in midfield (Merissa/Maz, Sue, Kate and Jo) and at the back (Jenna, Helen, Loz and KP) —so much so that it was a full 20 minutes into the match until Deb even touched the ball. Then, at the half hour mark, we underlined this dominance with a second goal, not unlike our first, except it was scored by Rhi, who’s finally starting to hit her straps after a slow, injury-plagued season to date. Yes, sportsfans, that’s 2-0 up against the second placed Knights, who had conceded only six goals all season (and five of them came in one game against Brunswick City)!

Of course we’d all been around the block too often to think we had the game in the bag, and we were reminded of that with 10 minutes of the first half remaining when a long range shot from the Knights took a deflection off Deb’s gloves (one of those cursed Jabulani balls?) and bounced down into the mud before it slinked over the goal line before we could boot it to safety.

Just as it appeared we’d go into the break with the slenderest of margins some enterprising work by Sue and Kate in midfield led to Rhi receiving the ball in behind the Knights defence and, with her canary-yellow boots lighting up the dreary conditions, she ran at the keeper and slotted her shot calmly into the corner. 3-1. I think I may have jumped in the air at that point.

Although the halftime oranges tasted particularly sweet it wasn’t at all necessary for me to remind the so-far brilliant Bras that there was still a long way to go, that twice this year we’ve lost games despite being the dominant team. But I did anyway. ‘Let’s not let this one slip. The Knights may have taken us lightly but they’re regrouping now and there’s no doubt they’ll come out firing.’

And they did. For the first 20 minutes of the second stanza we absorbed more pressure than we were able to apply and Deb was in the game a lot, once saving us by palming a goal-bound shot around the post. But we couldn’t keep holding them and a lapse in concentration allowed one of their midfielders to receive the ball in too much space and she turned and set up the Knights’ second.

At this point I started to get that feeling in my gut, one I’d had before. It’s the heart-racing anxiety you get when you think you’re about to be ambushed and what could potentially be a glorious, season-defining victory, turns into a heart-breaking loss. From here on in I must have looked at my watch every thirty seconds or so, as if doing so would somehow hasten the final whistle. I can tell you, it doesn’t.

But if the Bras were rattled by the Knights’ second they didn’t show it. Demonstrating strength of character we retained our composure and continued to battle hard for the ball. KP, playing sweeper, was doing a marvellous job or organising our defence, and our midfield and forwards were running themselves ragged—so much so that as the game went on Kate got shorter. It wasn’t that the rain was shrinking her, just that her lungs were steadily collapsing causing her to stoop.

But just when the normally statuesque Kate had shrunk to the size of Danny De Vito, or Liz, we put the game to rest. With eight minutes on the clock Em picked up the ball in midfield, slalomed through three defenders then cracked our fourth goal beyond the reach of the Knights keeper. I definitely jumped in the air at this point, as did every Bra on and off the pitch.

When the whistle blew we knew this had been one of our best wins in years and we were exhausted but immensely satisfied with ourselves, as we should have been. Sue was so knackered that as the handshakes took place she exhorted the Bras to give three cheers for Mitchell Rangers, not Melbourne Knights. Or was it that her mind was suddenly back on her missing wedding ring.

Shit. Her missing wedding ring.

When I got home my joy and pride at the win was tempered knowing Sue’s ring was still AWOL. Just as I began sifting through the margarine tub (you never know) a thought popped into my knuckle head: Hey, you there, where do you empty out your pockets now that Lee doesn't let you do it on the kitchen bench any more? My coin jar!

Not exactly confident I raced into my bedroom as desperately as Gollum on the trail of that filthy Baggins, sifted though the shrapnel within, and lo and behold, a silver wedding band!

Oh joyful day.

[Result: 4-2 win. Goals: Em, 2, Rhi, 2]

NEXT MATCH: June 27, v Brunswick City, Sumner Park, 1pm

POST SCRIPT: We're now officially halfway through the season and, after six wins and three losses, we stand in third place, just two points off second-placed Fitzroy City. Brunswick City may be too far ahead at this point [9 points ahead of us, equating to three wins], but a top two finish is not out of the question.

Finally, photographer James Braund (on the job for Reader's Digest who are running an extract from the book —did I mention the book? The Mighty Bras? On sale at all good bookstores?) took some cracking photos during our game against the Knights. He has kindly made them available to us for viewing. Thanks, James.Here's a link:

http://bit.ly/dj6wye