Paper Tigers: Barbarians A 2:7 Beijing Celtic

Published on May 4, 2016

April 24th 2016

With SiDe park the stage,
And all the Barbars merely players,
They made their entrances (many late, underprepared, and overconfident),
Each man playing (barely) his part,
Their acts allowing seven goals. The first in the game's infancy,
Screaming and asking 'offside?' with raised arms
But knowing full-well where the blame did lay.
And then like the whining school boy pursued the same course to ship
The second Celtic strike which rolled softly,
caressed into the lower corner of the goal.

That stroke did briefly stoke Barbarians' fiery passions
And with guts and vigour then did they play
For fully fifteen minutes without further penetration
Of their heretofore sacred hole,
Pushing and pressing mightily yet to no avail,
Spurning glorious chances three before the stroke of halftime fell.

The third struck a chord in Barbar hearts
The likes of which is heard only in the most sorrowful ballad
As frothing white pressure turned to green tide
Overwhelming undermanned barricades
Further washing away the hopes of the Barbarian hordes
Who'd gathered to watch Beijing's finest stride further
Towards the title, still their goal
(But now less a hill more a mountain.)

And then strange soldier oaths from every angle poured forth in a torrent of fury
As player blamed player looking to a man to each other
For an explanation of how they had now four times been slighted
And not yet even one requited..

Softer in the centre than a bad Scotch egg
The Barbars' midfield seemed to have all run asunder;
Conceding the fourth led them one and all to thunder.

In looking to atone for their four earlier blunders
Changes were made and the big German Wonder
Came out of his goal and into the fray
And an armoured Morgan Grice now 'twixt the sticks to play.

With newfound belief forward did the hordes surge
Looking to win with a five-goal splurge
So the hordes drove forward finally giving (it seemed) a damn,
And almost on cue a long ball fell to Sham.

He took the ball down on his velcro chest
And unleashed a shot that would surely do the rest.
But no, no, no- it was blocked by a hand.
So with no Nick Beswick the penalty was Sham's.

Now only three down and with fifteen to play
The Barbarians did hope that this still could be their day.

But oh heart, heart, heart, how all remaining hope was dashed,
Poor Basho scored in his own net and Barbs again were verging on collapse
A final straw of radiant hope did White Knights Carlos clasp
And with score set at five to two, the Barbars forward flashed...

Alas, then, to Celtics' sweet glee
Befell the Barbars bitter (awful, galling, devastating, BAD) catastrophe
As the laden Armadillo swung his leg to clear the ball
A swoosh. A goal. Morgan did fall,
Upon his arse into the net
At six to two their fate was set.

In the last scene of all came the seventh;
To end this strange and horrific history
A lucky punt from thirty five took the team to the brink of oblivion
Sans hope. Sans time. Sans points.

But heart poor Barbars, feel not woe
For there are four games still to go
And we have Murchik, Sham, and Bash,
All our opponents we will smash (bloody hard)
Putting shoddy performances aside
Using skill and guile and lessons learned
We'll bask in glory duly earned
Yes we WILL sit there (hot &) in the Pantheon
As this year's IFFC Champions.

On, on, you noblest Barbars,
Cry "Let's Smash 'em" for Football, Football, and Saint Keith"

Vikings this Saturday 2pm at BSB. Let's Smash Em.

Man of the Match: Carlos (goal, less outfield time than the rest of the players)
Honourable Mentions: Nope
Donkey of the Week: Mark Blackburn (pretending to be Russian)
Shampagne Moment: The final whistle/Celtic's seventh goal (had the Barbarians scored that, it would probably have been described in the match report as being up there with Ronaldinho's toe poke versus Chelsea/the goal where George Weah ran from his own byline past everyone on the other team two or three times/the crazy Marco Van Basten volley in '88 &c.)

 

The Numbers Game:

Gideon Watch: 0 Surprisingly the figures for this week have yet to turn at the office.
Zero The number of times that this can ever be allowed to happen again. Never.
Many Number of key players missing for the Barbarians. This shouldn't have mattered to the extent that it did.
6 Time in the morning that one Barbar decided to go to bed the night before. Safe to say that this impacted somewhat on performance.
7 Yes, seven. Not acceptable.
10 At least it wasn't ten. But it was just as awful an experience.
12 Minutes per goal conceded by the Barbarians
Hot The temperature, in Celsius, at game time.
45 Minutes of the game that had elapsed when Super Gideon arrived. Apparently punctuality is not one of his superpowers.

 

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