Caps 3 Old Timers 1

The late Bill Shankley, the man who made Liverpool great in the 60's and 70's, once said that "Football is not a matter of life and death; it is far more important than that". He may have been guilty of slight exaggeration, but when you consider the joy, the pure, feckless, unrestrained joy that a hard earned victory over a despised opponent brings then one has to agree that there was more than just a little merit to what the old maestro said. Rarely has this been more blatantly obvious than on Thursday night when a depleted Caps side vanquished the team that gives a whole new meaning to the term "bitter shower of angry bastards", the Palm Coast Old Timers.
Granted this wasn't exactly the Spartans and the Persians going head to head at Thermopylae, but Caps were missing four players, including goalkeeper Meyer, and so the victory was particularly sweet, like the first time the right girl gives you the right look and you know that all will soon be right in your world. Pure magic.
With much of the game being played in the kind of torrential downpour that encouraged Noah to build an ark, Caps went about their work in a business like fashion, showing great discipline and wasting no energy. Hubble was the organizer at the back, moving and positioning his men with the calculated ruthlessness of a Russian chess grand-master smelling check mate. Along side him Coghlan showed that when his job is narrowed down to the single task of kicking lumps out of men not on his team, he can be most effective. Zeits and Shirley dominated the midfield exchanges, with Zeits' beard adding to the overall biblical theme of this fixture. His holy hirsuteness also took his goal in the same way that Paul welcomed the Holy Spirit on the road to Damascus; joyfully. Shirley scored twice, the second a gem of rare proportion; a turn, a flick, a burst of speed and a glorious glancing header that kissed the back of the net and left all who witnessed it awestruck... like the uninvited who watched Noah's Ark glide by, animal packed, dry and destined for religious immortality. Despite having more opportunities to score than a porn star in the middle of a five film contract, Wilson was unable to capitalize but at least he seemed happy and didn't give the impression that he wanted to derail trains by driving the short school buses into them. Baby steps.
DeMartini, fast becoming the league's resident heart-breaker, caused endless problems for the opposing defenders who always seemed to be caught in the dilemma of whether or not to kick her. More often than not the wrong football decision was made, but at least we now know that some of the Old Timers are not the misogynistic pricks we previously took them for. You live and learn. Meyers in the nets took time wasting to a whole new level and will soon be coaching this dying art to young up and coming Italians, for whom this kind of shenanigans is second nature. His performance in the second half and the running monologue he was having suggests that there is more than just a little of the marvellous, psycho bastard about him.
Though this game was not one for the Anson Dorrance coaching clinic it did send the Caps players home with large, shit-eating grins on their faces. What more could you want?