Match Reports

Round 1 (2nd April 2023)

SUPERS vs VIC PARK PIGS

Humidity was high, as were tensions, with the Supers all itching to kick off the 2023 season with a bang out at Macdonald Park, Padbury. There was Buckley’s chance of any cloud cover or even a sniff of a sea breeze to provide any respite, so the fellas had to grin and bear the heat.

Jodda was lucky enough to be the one moving the magnets today, and his job was made easier without a bench to manage. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to call the Supers team the Baby Magpies this week, with numerous first gamers to Super for the start the season – Craig, Kemp, Cambo, Jesse, and possibly a few others(?). Great to have all the new blood in the Supers and hoping to have them as stalwarts this season, as each stepped up to make an impact on the game. First gamer Cambo set tone of the game straight from the outset – set a massive task manning up on the full forward 50kg his senior – but managing to continually work him under the ball and keep him quiet most the game, as well as getting some good run out of the back himself. Craig spent a long tough day in the ruck with a seasoned pro as his counterpart, but was ran hard all day and worked hard to nullify him.

Brocky showed some good delivery into the 50 on his left in the first half. Tough-as-nails-Alex repeatedly went in head first for the ball (as always) and was rewarded early on with a shoulder to the head, but thankfully came back later to get a few more touches. Fellow tough-as-nails Bassie chased down his opposite number from behind for a massive holding the ball (his second for the day), to provide the fellas with a lift they needed late in the first half. (During post-match beers, Bassie recounted that when chasing someone down, he visualises his school-boy Wrestling prowess from back in bleak old Canada, always trying to employ his trademark “quarter Nelson” to get the job done. Glad he’s on our side…)

Drew provided hard running all game providing strong leads up the ground to provide some relief for the back lines all day. Rob also had a busy day on the wing being the key to a lot of the movement up forward around the stoppages. Chidzy and Adam worked hard all day down back.

After a tough day being split apart by loose Pigs across the ground for a lot of the game, Jodda brought the team back to basics going into the final, with everyone going man-on-man. Burgo was also thrown into the middle to provide some fresh legs to good effect. This proved to steady the ship, and the hard work from the fellas was finally rewarded with Si snagging a goal from a set shot late in the last. Safe to say that we finished the second half a lot stronger than the first.

The Baby ‘Pies probably went down by about 4 or 5 in the end, but overall, showed some good signs of a strong team coming together for the year. With the cobwebs now blown out, I’m looking forward to seeing what we will bring in 2 weeks’ time.

– DOL

(Your author was thoroughly humbled by his lack of fitness from his one training session under the belt, and so had little reason to be featured in this report.)

 

MASTERS vs VIC PARK PIGS

It was a defeat so comprehensive, so spiritless, so lacking in vision, that many are now calling into question the entire leadership of the organisation.

As the Wembley Masters read the analysis of the Acton by-election result over their steel-cut oats and short macchiatos, they knew they had to put their disappointment aside and focus on the task at hand, with a Round 1 grudge match coming up against the Vic Park Pigs.

Macdonald Reserve was basking in April sunshine, yet more proof of rampant global warming that, thankfully, last week’s passage of the Safeguard Mechanism reforms will finally solve. Rumours were going around that the Pigs, having celebrated hard in Labor heartland on Saturday night, were likely to be a bit rusty. But as it turned out, it was several Wembley players who were feeling worse for wear after celebrating Hawthorn’s first (and likely only) victory of the season a little too hard.

The Pigs came out hard at the first bounce, putting on some early scoreboard pressure (thankfully behinds only). Wembley steadied and the early signs were good, until the interrupted pre-season preparation of Joffa, Thackers and Grommet showed, all hobbling off with early injuries. This threw Muzz’s carefully crafted game plan into chaos, with the magnets flying around the whiteboard and a couple of seniors called off the physio table and thrown back into the fray.

Irish and the midfield brigade were fighting hard, with Fev and Bom providing some good ball use off the wing and half back, but the run and carry of some of the Pigs (who presumably turned 43 the day before) was proving a bit too much for Wembley to handle. A bit of spice crept into the game at this point, with Jimmy courageously backing into the flailing limbs of a Pigs player who didn’t seem to understand Masters rules (in fairness, it looked like he also had only turned 43 yesterday).

At half time the margin was still manageable, and a second half turn-around awaited. And sure enough, the third quarter started well for Wembley, with Bassie getting a lot of contested ball through the middle and Fingers providing a good target up forward. Unfortunately, this field position dominance didn’t translate into many goals, and the Pigs finally started kicking straight to keep the margin comfortable.

In true Wembley fashion (and something Peter Dutton could learn from) the boys reverted to their core principles of contested footy and direct kicking into the forward line, and it paid off with a flurry of goals in the last quarter, with Marcus and Uni proving dangerous inside the forward 50. Only the final siren prevented a late (and possibly game-winning) rally from Wembley.

All the signs are pointing to an undefeated season from this point forward.

 

SENIORS vs VIC PARK PIGS

(Warning – this report may contain alternative facts)

Here we go again. Or not actually.

For the first time in recorded history, Wembley fielded its very own “just us” Seniors team in WA Masters Footy to take on the Vic Park Pigs for Round 1 of Season 2023 (appropriately being the Year of the Rabbit).

No more sharing of grotesquely-stretched Central Crocs Serial Killer guernseys for us – just the joy of donning the iconic Big V that has thrilled generations of passing Wembley dogwalkers for a century.

This “first” is of course a quirk of human nature. Wembley Vets has had more than enough codgers to fill a Seniors side for years, only for misguided pride, pig-headedness and refusal to face reality to delay the inevitable ascension of certain types to the Pinnacle of the Playing List.

And what a List it was who turned up in the slick morning dew covering Macdonald Reserve after three days of spirited “is it at Forrest or Macdonald” debate on Wattsie’s secret new tool for keeping the old boys on task – WhatsApp…

No mug is our Wattsie, an old fashioned captain/coach/club administrator cast in the Teddy Whitten mold.

At least three updated starting lineups were Whatsapped between training and game day. So everyone – sort of – knew who’d be playing and where they’d be starting. Ignoring of course the debate over whether Matty F would be in any fit state to play after spoiling his Old Lady at the Old Boys all-you-can-shotgun black-tie gala the night before.

A full list it was too. At least right up until the bounce.

First of all a late message “whatsapped” in from Selfey. The ‘Tash was too crook to get outta bed. Then word got round that Magic too would be a non-starter. Two fifths of the spine gone before we’d even pulled up our socks.

More ill-fate awaited us when gun mid-fielder from the Mid-West, Tim “Dally” Boekmann, pulled up lame in the warm up, once more deferring his long awaited return to the playing arena.

Such misfortune would cripple any other side. Not these Seniors. The cattle who would be on the paddock this dewy morn would be the envy of every club in the land.

Starting down back – two returning greats and a star recruit: Drew T (with a fetching double red and black armband signifying he is both: a] sub-50 and, b] too damaged to be tackled); at full back the intimidating sight of Brynna eager for physical contact after a year on the pine, and in the other pocket, Longy from Kal (seriously fellas, his name’s John Long, surely we call him Silver…)

At half back, the silky skills of the folk maestro TK, at CHB the bulldozing presence of Nankers, and yours truly on the other flank making up the numbers.

The middle was a menagerie (or is that miasma?) of mobility with Prindi, Wattsie and Jimmy (rotating with fellow nimble mollydooker AJ).

At half forward, the delectable footskills of Super Mario, at CHF stood “Clunkit” Slarke, and on the other flank, our mystery “in” from the RAAF – Ray “Werners” Werndley. Looking very much a modern day Keith Miller (“playing sport’s not pressure, having a Messerschmitt up your arse, now that’s pressure …”)

Up front, the gentlemanly slicked-back cool of elder debutant Rollsy was on display in one pocket, in the square stood the ever command-and-control of Space, and in the other pocket, the disturbingly aquatic-looking Lui.

But it was in the engine room that we clearly stood out. Literally. The towering figure of Moose loomed over everyone in his comeback game wearing distinctive “menstrual spatter” size-16s. At his feet waited the gut running, pack-busting power of Simmo and the unerring foot skills of a surprisingly hangover-free Matty F.

We even had a couple of qualifying youngsters from the Masters on hand to fill the injury/I’m just buggered gaps that inevitably would emerge during play – with BP and Irish suiting up to get loose ahead of their own playing commitments.

Ranged against us was a full Sounder of Swine (look it up)– half of whom seemed suspiciously fit, mobile and tattooed, while the other half thankfully appeared to be more appropriately careworn old timers. But good fellas all of course.

As we stood with the dew gently seeping through our socks, someone kindly alerted the ancient midget with the whistle that the siren had blown, and they game was afoot.

As the ball was tossed up, our opponents immediately recognized that Moose – being 8 feet tall – would get first hands to the pill and swooped to be where he belted it. And then deployed a dastardly trick that should be banned in this age group – they proceeded to run and spread in a most unsenior-ish fashion.

Despite the usual bullocking efforts of Simmo and co in the guts, and the perennial series of comedy turnovers between the arcs, by quarter time the Pigs had dominated with a couple of snags to our solitary point (if memory serves).

For my part at HB, I had foolishly lined up on a well-inked hairless pitbull who took great joy in running deep into the Pigs defence before reversing, crisscrossing and bolting deep into the forward line. Leaving me wheezing like a teenager with a maxi-bottle of raspberry-infused vape juice. (Though to be fair, by three-quarter time I realized there were actually three bullet-headed lookalikes taking turns to run rings around me.)

Luckily for us, Drew, Longy, TK and Nankers were always there or thereabouts to cover for my limited capacity and repelled the vast majority of F50 entries. So the score at the first break could have been worse.

At quarter time Wattsie got us to circle round. Accountability, accountability, accountability, he said. Oh, and kick it to Slarkey.

Good idea Skip, maybe start with that next time.

Almost immediately a change came over the field.

Ground ball gets were smoothly gathered despite the dew after only three or four fumbled attempts. Overlap handballs and kicks to blokes in the clear on the wings. Sometimes they were even our blokes. But the central theme held true. Inevitably the ball would get thrown on a boot and Slarkey would clunk it. Followed by a rapid hand off to either Werners patrolling with the sun behind him on one side, or a tracer-like cross to Super Mario on the other.

A kick to the pocket ended with Rollsy who, belying his years, sidestepped and slammed it through on the run. Six Points!

Back to the centre it went: rinse, wash, repeat. Moose palmed it to the mids to channel it through the half forwards. Bang. Space contests hard in the square and brings it to ground where Rollsy pounces and soccers through number two.

In a flash, scores are all square and Rollsy is looking like the mature-age recruit of the year.

But then disaster.

Wattsie, forgetting that at our age we’re more mutton than beef, flew headfirst into a marking contest where the immovable object met the irresistible force. Or at least a large Pig. Like Flyin’ Ryan later that day, his suspected broken head/shoulder/ribs somehow morphed into a possible broken leg, and he was chaired off the field muttering something about a free kick (not paid…).

This brought BP onto the field amid a slight reshuffle which also saw Irish take the field to give Moose a chop out.

BP, as always, merged seamlessly with the rest of us. Irish … he just merged lessly.

But proving his worth to team potency, he was soon on the scoreboard with a remarkable snapped behind from an impossible angle (refer video) ruining the opportunity provided by Lui’s impeccable pass – which should have afforded Irish a simple set shot from 25m. Lui, who as always kept finding holes in spots too good for the ball carrier to ignore – was too polite to point out Irish’s failings.

Unfortunately, at some point while Irish was on the park, the Pigs managed to score their third. Maybe it was a coincidence.

As the half time siren blew, while disappointed we’d let the Pigs back in front, we knew we had their measure.

In the third quarter, the workhorses really hunkered down. Simmo, Matty, Jimmy, Prindi, AJ, and BP were electric, relentlessly funneling the ball forward out of the centre.

And when it did get over the back, there was TK, Drew and Longy mopping everything up, and handing off to Nankers, who by now seemed to know where Slarkey was lurking with ESP.

Even wheezy me had a moment. Channelling Dusty at top (relative) pace, the ball was gathered in one hand while the other delivered a big “don’t argue” to the desperate Pig trying to lay the tackle before a deft pass hit Nankers – who’d run up to the wing – laces out. You can bet that 90yo Pig will think twice next time he sees me coming with ball in hand …

Meanwhile, Brynna was terrorizing their forwards with a mere look. Throwing his foot at the ball a couple of times while a Piggy bonce was proximate also probably helped – even if the resulting free kicks did cost us a goal. A worthy price to pay for the benefit, I say.

Down at the other end, it was raining behinds interspersed by one or two straight ones. Who kicked ‘em I couldn’t tell. I was hunched over blowing the lining of my lungs onto the grass. But I wasn’t the only one – the Pigs run and spread strategy was by now costing them dear.

The final quarter was more of the same. Foolishly I moved to the wing, where I decided that my sphere of responsibility was limited to a five metre ring of wherever I was standing. But it mattered not. Jimmy nailed one from a set shot at least 50m out (or 30m as the crow flies), and it was enough.

Game over. Wembley Victorious. Time for a beer … and to exaggerate outrageously about our deeds.

Can’t wait for round two.