(OOC: Contains a bit of swearing)
KamRo Rugby Park, Vfana
"Jesus fucking Christ"
Moli muttered, arms folded, as the Polkopia attack once again tore it's way through the Szavoda defence. The visitor's forward shot was only kept out by a diving save from Nemanja, but the rest of the Szavda defence stood around, hands on hips as they'd been slashed open again. It was 17 minutes into the game and Polkopia had broken through the middle 4 times and had already converted their second chance into the opening goal of the match, when a low shot from the Polkopia forward beat Petrovic at his near post and made the score 1-0.
"Get back and defend you dumb fucks!" bellowed Moli from the side once again, running her heel-clad foot through a stack of water bottles and sending the scattering across the grass as the team re-group to defend the corner - Polkopia's 5th of the game. Fortunately the ball was long from the corner and it curled all the way through and bounced over the hoardings into the stands.
The KamRo Rugby stadium in Vfana Bay was the host of this game, despite the fact that it had hosted a rugby match the night before and would host another one in two days time. Moli had written to the Vfana Rugby Authority in order to ask whether the ground could be used for the fixture, and they begrudgingly agreed in return for a payment of D10,000. The World Cup authorities had, sensibly, deemed that the Lot, as it had been affectionately named, was unsuitable for international football, so Moli and Dazdan had scrambled around to find a location for the match against Polkopia.
Three other closer, smaller venues had all declined, so the KamRo had to do, and, expectedly, it was completely empty. There were 10,000 unoccupied blue seats, and the only people in the stadium in the ground other than the teams of Polkopia and Szavoda were the janitorial staff who were busy clearing up from last nights rugby game. They had to hire workers to paint the lines on the pitch - despite this, the lines for the rugby pitch were still very prominent, leading to the occasional moment of confusion. The team had to assemble the goals from the back of a van Moli and Dazdan had hired. All-in-all, it looked less amateur than the Lot, but at least it was legal.
Petrovic bunted the ball up the field and immediately Polkopia regained possession, passing it slickly through Szavoda's hectic midfield. Branimir Milic was running himself into the ground in an attempt to retrieve the ball, but he couldn't do it all by himself, and wasn't helped by the rash challenges of his team-mates; one Polkopian midfielder could well have feared for his career as centre back Tim Lukic came careering in and swept a big leg underneath him and sent him crashing to the turf. The ref, some poor bastard from a far-off place who drew the short straw, instantly blew up and booked the centre back. Lukic put his hands to his head and looked utterly surprised, and then started to trudge off the pitch, head hanging low.
"No you thick bastard" Moli muttered as she trotted onto the pitch to meet Lukic "It's a yellow, that's a booking, you haven't been sent off. Get back out there."
"Right, gotcha." replied the slightly confused centre back. Moli returned to the technical area where Dazdan was no standing, having moved from the folding chair which they had stolen from the opposition changing room before the game. He had removed his tie and was looking suitably flustered.
"It's not as easy as I thought it would be." sighed Moli, joining Dazdan by his side.
"That it isn't. But give us time. Branimir's looked quite good."
"Yeah, but everyone else has been shite. We didn't train enough; or maybe we trained too much. Plus their fitness is up the wazoo."
"Don't say wazoo."
"Right."
They looked on in silence as Polkopia attacked again, this time down the near-side. "Close him down." Dazdan barked and the left-back Nenad Nikolic obliged, tearing down the pitch to intercept the winger. He somehow managed to steal the ball from him, and after a few nervy touches, he controlled the ball and suddenly had space to run into.
"Press!" Moli shouted, waving the team forward "PRESS!". Nikolic took the ball down the wing and actually managed to beat a defender. Left in so much space in the opposition's half, Nikolic froze up as he had never been gifted so much time before. He looked left, right, then decided to just run straight towards the box. After a slightly dubious body check, he rolled the ball to Branimir Milic in the D, who hurdled an defenders leg before eyeing up the goal. Three defenders converged on him, but he feinted out of the shot and knocked it forwards to Mijo Nikazic, who stole in behind the defence and whipped off a shot which curled past the Polkopian keeper and settled in the bottom left hand corner.
"Wow." was the only thing Dazdan could mutter, it was a genuinely impressive team goal. Moli clapped but didn't allow a smile to replace the all-weather frown. "Come on Mols, you can't deny that was a good finish."
"I suppose, but we'll no doubt get lazy and concede."
Dazdan laughed at her negativity, have a little faith, he thought, returning to his chair.
8 minutes later, she was right. Polkopia once again broke Szavoda's defence with one long ball, Bogdanovic completely mistiming his jump and allowing a Polkopian striker a clean run through to the box. There was nothing Petrovic could do except throw himself to the feet of the striker, who then tumbled over in a dramatic fashion. Despite the choreography, a penalty just had to be given. And it was. Petrovic was lucky with a yellow, but he wasn't lucky with the penalty. He dived the right way, but could only push the ball onto the upright and into the net.
Polkopia added another before half-time, Bogdanovic again to blame as he totally lost his marker on a free-kick and it was a simple 3-yard tap in past Petrovic for 3-1. Milic unfurled his magic footwork in stoppage time, dancing past three defenders, but no-one connected to the rebound of his rasping shot, and the half ended with the hosts two adrift in the silent stadium.
The changing room was perfectly alive during the break, some players took a drink and discussed the game, whilst others discussed the Political Theory paper they had due in on Tuesday or other real life matters. Moli and Dazdan entered the changing room shortly afterwards, Dazdan taking a seat behind Moli, who was standing by a white marker-board . She waited a moment for quiet, but it didn't come, so she said sternly "Guys." No response. "Guys." She repeated. No response. She calmly picked up one of the glass tumblers which had been provided on a platter, bounced it once in her hand before hurling it at the far wall with serious fire. It smashed against the plaster and showered onto the floor. Everyone in the room, even Dazdan was shocked into silence. Moli straightened her jacket and calmed herself.
"Right, first off, that was a shit performance. Utter balls." She pointed at defensive midfielder Horvath "You've let them through you four times already, and they've scored twice off it. Be more physical, chop 'em down when you've got the chance." She swivelled her gaze to Branimir "Branimir, you've been good on the ball but you've got to marshal the midfield more; you're currently wondering about like a bunch of headless cunts, get in fucking shape and lock it down." Milic nodded, whilst the rest of the midfield four mumbled in agreement. "Nemanja, you've been the one decent spark in this shitfest, good work, the goals have been unlucky."
She picked up a pen from under the board and uncapped it. "I want to make a few tactical changes, up the tempo a little bit." She proceeded to draw elaborate schematics on the whiteboard, with so many arrows, circles and crosses that not even Dazdan was 100% sure what was going on. He'd always considered himself the more tactical of the two, but Moli spoke and drew like a pro, assigning positions and distribution technical terms by the dozen. After more tactics and more swearing, the team went back out to play the second half.
There was some difference in the second period - the midfield looked sturdier and looked able to spring the counter-attack, which they did twice early in the half, the ball ran away from Nikazic once and the other time Zar Mihailovic punted the ball almost out of the stadium on the volley. However, the defence remained as creaky as ever. A popped through-ball over the top allowed in the Polkopian striker, whose scuffed shot rolled inches wide of Petrovic's far post.
Defensive frailties continued to hound Szavoda, and it proved to be their downfall shortly into the last quarter, when the defence crumbled again and Polkopia's striker ran in unopposed, deftly chipping Petrovic and making the lead an impenetrable 4-1. Moli fumed and rang the changes on the pitch, subbing off 7 players at one time and giving them an earful as soon as they left the playing surface. The game slowed, despite Branimir's best efforts, and was heading to an inevitable conclusion when Szavoda grabbed a consolation goal. A corner was knocked down into the six-yard box, and a Polkopian defender tried to hammer it away, but instead it rebounded off Damjan Dragic and dribbled into the goal, giving a consolation to the red-and-whites. It cheered Dazdan up, but Moli scowled as the final whistle went. Guess what was waiting for the players in the changing room? Another assault on their ears and dignity.
It was now well past 11pm when everything had wrapped up, and Moli and Dazdan were out on the pitch, now stripped of goalposts and markings.
"That wasn't too bad, considering it was our first game."
Moli looked up into the sky "I suppose you're right. It could, and should, have been a massacre, but we played well in parts. Defence needs work."
"We could always send out some feelers. There's 10 unemployed foreign coaches for every coaching slot. They could teach our guys some stuff."
"That's a good idea - I'll get on the phone tomorrow."
There was a silence as they strolled across the grass.
"You know what Moli?"
"What?"
"For the first time in a long while, I'm actually excited for something. Like, proper, normal excited. Equestrian States in three days, the competition in 2 weeks. I'm looking forward to it."
"I am too. It will be good to get away from this dump."
"Too true."
Ferdinand van Tango
Augustine Charisteas, 
Antonio Orlando Cadiz
Manechester City HC
AC Mar del Rey
