Round 17, v Yarra Jets, home

Despite the first blue-skied Sunday in quite some time the Bras arrived at Sumner Park a touch out of sorts. Hangovers dominated. Myself and the older Bras were still recovering from Jess’ 30th birthday celebrations on Friday night (a wonderful night during which we ate much, drank more, revelled plenty and watched Jess’ sister, Mads —channelling Kick Ass’ Hit Girl— evict a bloke who appeared to be a drunken CIA operative)… and everyone was dusty from the previous night’s election count. Could the Mad Monk really be on the verge of ruining —sorry, running— the country?

Of course, in the meantime, we had to put budgie smugglers out of our heads and concentrate on matters to hand; winning a soccer game and remaining in second place on the ladder. We were at least assisted on that front when the 9th-placed Yarra Jets arrived at Sumner Park high in spirits but well down on troops. In fact, by the start of the match, they had only 9 starters and had to wait until the 15th minute until a 10th —and last— arrived.

Before that, however, just prior to kickoff, the ref gathered us together and advised the competing women —much as Tony Abbott has advised his daughters, as it happens— to "use your bodies wisely". By all means get physical, he said, but don’t get too physical. We smirked at that and then got on with The Hoof which I must say had a little less oomph to it on account of Sue’s absence due to work commitments. That said, Deb stood in as captain and won the toss, which is something Sue’s managed fewer times than the odds would suggest.

So we were running towards the city end with the sun and wind at our backs, and a delicious hint of Spring in the air, and it took just five minutes for us to get on the scoresheet; Rhi picking up a cross and turning the ball back for Rosie who whacked it into the corner. A productive 25 minutes later we had another four —Jess squared for Rhi to finish; Em put away a Rosie through ball; Rhi rifled one home; and Em raced away to finish after a deft header from Timmy lifted the ball over the Yarra backs and into space— and the game was secured. So it was simply disappointment for Jess and not critical to the result when, after we were awarded a penalty for handball, her crisp shot rebounded to safety off the inside of the left hand upright.

Being up by five before the break allowed many of our fans to lounge on picnic rugs and barely glance up from the sight of my cherubic youngest, Ada, shoveling food into her gob as if Stage 4 Food Restrictions were about to be announced and she wanted to stock up. It also allowed me to shuffle everyone around and it nearly paid off when Jane, Helen and Timmy all came desperately close to opening their accounts. But showing admirable pluck, the Jets kept trying and shortly before the break they were rewarded for their efforts —and we were punished for some sloppy defending— when they bundled home after a corner.

Although it may disappoint some Irish book publisher types, who feel the Bras are so defined by struggle they don’t know how to process our success, we went on with the job in the second half scoring another five goals to one, the best of them our 6th (a long ranger from Rosie that dipped just in time) and 10th, a left foot blast from Frannie that bulged the roof of the net. Sandwiched in between was another penalty miss, this time from our resolute fullback Jenna who will have to wait for another time to score her first ever goal.

But all in all it was very much a sunny Sunday romp and it now means that with one match left to play —a tough away game to the dangerous Melbourne Knights— we are still in second place, just one point ahead of a dogged Mitchell Rangers. With our second highest finish ever on the line next week there will be no place for hangovers.

[Result: 10-2 win. Goals: Em, 4, Rhi, 3, Rosie, 2, Frannie]

NEXT WEEK: Sunday, August 29, v Melbourne Knights, Knights Stadium, Somers St, Sunshine North, 11am.

STOP PRESS: Deb had little to do against the Roosters last week but still made the save of the year. On the way home from the match Helen realised she’d lost her engagement ring. Helen and a bunch of Bras returned to Dallas and despite turning the place upside down, including sweeping water out of muddy puddles, came up with nothing. With a heavy heart they all returned home and Helen wondered how on earth she’d tell her beau Michael, who’d had to sell one of his kidneys to afford the ring in the first place. Anyway, next day, Deb had to drop her son Jack somewhere in the vicinity of Dallas. Job done, she swung by the Roosters’ ground for another look, just for the heck of it. Ten minutes later she spied the ring pressed into the mud halfway between the ground and the car park. What a woman! Marriage saved! Huzzah!