Caps 4 St. Augustine Lions 1

In terms of mis-matches, this was the soccer equivalent of the U.S. invading Grenada. This was late 1980's Mike Tyson fighting a crippled nun. This was the first scene in any bad science fiction movie where Caps are the ravenous creepy swamp creature and the Lions the almost pretty teenage girl who should have listened closer to her parents when they warned her of the dangers of taking the Old Mill road shortcut after dark. Were it not for an inspired performance by Rixom in the St. Augustine goal this one could quite easily have been a double digit margin of victory for the men (and woman) in orange. As it was, Caps had to settle for a brace from Wilson and one each from Hubble and Tennyson whose acrobatic bicycle kick left Coghlan and Meyers shaking their heads and ruefully acknowledging that a similar attempt on their behalf would have landed them both in a wheelchair and communicating by means of blowing into a straw for the remainder of their lives.
The game began at a pace that suggested both teams had been visited by the lobotomy fairy whilst they slept. But in reality, nothing so sinister contrived to give this game the waltzing at geriatric, drug induced speed. Father time, Father beer and humidity that made it seem as if one was running inside a large vat of over moist cotton candy were the reasons for this somnolent tempo. That is not to say that Caps didn't move swiftly through the gears when opportunities presented themselves, but it was the gentle, careful acceleration of an antique pickup truck rather than the feral voom of a Maserati, that led to shots on target.
As a contest the game was all but over within the first ten minutes. Caps scored twice and then settled into a rhythm of lazily knocking the ball around the pitch and squadering chance after chance when one on one with Rixom. Still there were moments of splendid lunacy that enlivened the proceedings. With Meyer a no show the goal-keeping duties fell to a rotation system that worked well until Coghlan took his turn. Showing all the grace of a retarded wolverine addicted to crystal meth, he allowed the Lions their only goal of the game and provided much unintentional comic relief. Shirley did a lot of running which made his team-mates nervous, DeMartini gave a clinic on how not to head a ball and Braun added absolutely nothing to the game, but did it in a manner that suggested there was less to come in the future. No mean accomplishment. With Zub attending a "How to play extreme sports and still look good" lecture in a hot tub in the mountains of Costa Rica, Zeits a wedding in Maine where no shoes was a requirement for admittance and Howell stuck on his commute somewhere between Jax Beach and Tampa, (Dante's 9th circle of Hell?), it was left to Hubble, Tennyson and Wilson to inject some class and skill to the contest. They failed.
Still a win is a win and Caps can be comforted by the fact that at least they are not the St. Augustine Lions seven a side team. Oceans of beer would have to be consumed to live with that fact. Oceans.

Caps 1 Old Timers 1

Summer time conjures images of long walks on the beach, deep honey tans on scantily clad ladies, fruity cocktails on a porch, lounging in a hammock with a pulp fiction novel and lazy idle days with nothing to do and all day long to do it. One does not picture out of shape old men, has beens that never were, sweating like paedophiles in a playground, kicking a ball up and down a field in a slow motion travesty of what the world knows as "The Beautiful Game". And yet that is exactly what was on display last Thursday night in St. Augustine when the dangerously sexy Caps team took on the poster children for angry miserable bastards, the Palm Coast Old Timers.
For the nine spectators (one dog) in attendance, this game must have made watching paint dry seem an exciting proposition. Thankfully there was no admission fee. If there had been, full refunds and possibly even bribes would have been necessary to assuage the pain and suffering that was surely felt by the fans. There was nothing even remotely interesting or exciting about this fixture, unless one considers the hideous off-orange, sleeveless t-shirts that Caps were sporting to be worth a comment. Fashion week in Milan it was not. Soccer as it is supposed to be played it was not. Evidence that man is the greatest of all god's creations, it was not. It was wrong, on lots of levels.
However, despite the complete and utter lack of any aesthethic beauty about this sporting fixture there were some almost bright spots. Meyers received his first death threat of the campaign, something that usually takes at least until mid-season to happen. DeMartini, second only to Hubble in the best looking legs on the team category, showed that hard work and skill still have a place in the game. Meyer, in goal, shouted in a manner that hinted he at least knows how he should sound when organizing a defence. Zub's hair was immaculate, Wilson seemed less angry than usual and Coghlan managed to look only marginally retarded for most of the game. Zeits' performance, as ever, was overshadowed by the sheer magnificence of his facial hair and Hubble took his goal with all the style and aplomb of a freshman coed draining her fifteenth shot as she coyly makes her way to the business end of the president of the number one fraternity on campus. A thing of beauty it was not, but it, like the coed (a former president of the young Christians who Care at her high school and girl voted most likely to love Jesus forever), got the job done.
The last few minutes of the game brought the most entertainment as the large angry Argentine playing for the Old Timers got sent off for threatening to go medieval on Meyers' ass. Toys were unceremoniously dumped out of the pram and bitter, angry curses turned the air of R.B. Hunt Elementary school a deep shade of blue. The situation was not helped by Coghlan reminding everyone of the winners and losers of the Falklands War. Apparently this is still not seen as funny in Buenas Aries.
This was not exactly one for the ages but it was better than shoveling shit in an Afghan prison... though not by much.