Arresting Performance by Nags Blows the Fuzz Away

“I’ve played a lot of sh*t matches for Valley over the years… and that was one of them”, scorned Colin Olsen, hurtfully, at full-time with a cold tin of Tsingtao in his grizzled paw.

Friday night footy was back with the Valley Knackered Nags seeing off ye olde Old Bill in this explosive semi-final contest at King’s Park. That's right, the Police Club versus Valley - the club formed in 1975 by a bunch of coppers.

An entertaining “try-fest curtain raiser” (as one soccer mom in the kiosk queue pitched it) featuring the Kowloon, the Tigers and the Anson Bailey - in his sneakers – ushered in the semi-finals of the much-hyped Veterans League. Regrettably, the Bailiff could not repeat last week’s heroics – a 70 metre wind up to a 46cm carry and an atypical meat pie.

Following an upsetting loss in round three to the Tigers, the Valley selectors had no option but to make retail adjustments for this critical play-off fixture. Axed, due to kids’ birthdays, chronic illness and “can’t be arsed” attitudes, were Jamie, Badders, Dylan, Felix, Freddy, Potter and Ross “whose testicals are these?” Bendix. And in charged the Chairman, the Curango, the MoonDog, Sean and – on debut – Chris Brookes, who was also lumped with the burden of captaincy.

A rehearsed but rousing pre-match outburst from a laser-focussed Brooksie, centering on his disdain for the Filth, did little to shift the enthusiasm needle, so up steps the French Barrell Bomber, bolstered by his own self-belief that he was the rightful skipper, with a compilation of stunning but worthless cliches that hovered above the huddle like a gloomy Discovery Bay fog.

In a forwards dominated match, the countless yardage from the Valley pack was off the chain. When they could catch the ball, the grunters enjoyed the freedom of running at a fairly leaky, thin blue line. Memorable bursts from Andre (loves an 8, 9, 10 – or a “quatre-vingt neuf adroit”**), Mooney (loves a swerve), Carango (deceptive under-sized Yankie nugget), Brooksie (hates a pass) were reinforced by head-down, forearm-to-the-chops drives by Olse, the Chairman, Sean and the Ox.

** Boozer’s schoolboy French, limited to “excuse me, where’s the post office” and “I love my brown trousers”, couldn’t figure out what “89 right” meant until Andre (no. 8) came right, off a scrum, passing to Olly (no. 9), towards him as he stood motionless, pondering “quatre-vingt neuf adroit”.

First half tries to Andre and “one of the forwards, who knows, who cares” from a rolling line-out maul, went unanswered and unconverted - the Bomber spraying the carpark with shanked punts - for a 10-0 halftime yield to the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Olse capped off a great week with some new material in the shape of two quotes. His second, in the halftime huddle, being, “you either pass it early or you don’t pass at all” was promptly ignored by everyone as speculative passes flew about willy-nilly and players with “hands like feet” dropped trying scoring assists, keeping the Rozzers in the match.

At the break, Tiger’s skipper and former Hong Kong international and barrell-on-legs, Jon Abel, and tournament director Peter Clough, were beside themselves with excitement and pride to don the Valley shirt for the first time ever – realizing a lifelong dream - and couldn’t kiss the horse badge quick enough.

Anything but able and avoiding the ball like it was coated in Covid, Jonny “Cape” Abel lurked ten metres behind any action, besotted with how good he looked in red, before finally electing to go on a 80 metre (well, maybe 8) rampage – putting a couple of coppers on stretchers as he went,.

With Olly at scrumhalf and Boozer at flyhalf it was always doubtful that the back three would see any ball – but against all odds – four of the six tries were scored by generous Tigers who’d stepped in at wings and fullback for the heartless cowards* on the Nags WhatsApp group.
* who’d be welcomed with open arms for the final in two weeks’ time

Cloughy waggled his dislocated middle finger at the coppers as he tore through them from short range while another Tiger, JP, notched up two second half tries from his perch on the right wing.

As the game wore on, the yarns were already becoming distorted and unrecognisable in the oxygen-starved minds of men who yearned for the game to end, the beers to flow and the 14 day recovery period to commence in earnest - ahead of the grand final on 21st May.

With the lights off, shirts off and eight cases of Tsingtao to chase down the Panadol and Voltarin, the spirit of the Nags soared well into the evening. Self-deprecating accounts of ineptitude were shared amidst hoots of laughter while team manager John Hamilton hustled fervently for a free coffee consultation with Brooksie to help manage his poverty, debt and besmirched reputation.

The night couldn’t have finished any worse for one Tung Chung resident who was humiliatingly pinned against his elevator wall by a 90-year butch female security guard for refusing to turn off Michael Jackson’s ‘Beat It’ which was blasting at full volume on his boom box at 1am.

Finally, fair play and tip of the hat to the Old Bill for filling the void at short notice and throwing together a side for their first match of the league. The game was played in great spirit and without any arrests.

Onwards to the final!