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An inspirational 'G' up from the captain before the game and some brand new kit
for the lads delivered the Strikers onto the field believing that this was the
day they would finally break the curse and topple their nemesis Dux de Lux.
Trigger for one took the field with a competitive anger that has been lacking
of recent. Luckily for poor little "River" and the rest of the Dux's forwards
the big rig managed to channel the anger and keep to task.
The early flow of play was erratic as per usual with the Dux having the
slight upper hand in the trading of blows (no fists just elbows and shoulders).
Fifteen in they placed a well judged cross in behind the defensive line and
linked perfectly with a well timed run at the back post to score the opening
goal of the match.
Ten minutes later Girl's Farts was almost decapitated by a flailing boot and
the Strikers where awarded a well deserved penalty fifteen out from the corner
of the box. Enter the dragon... calm as you like Dirty old Dirtbag stepped to
the plate and curled one around the outside of a well positioned defensive wall
and into the far corner of the net... you beauty!!!
The next twenty was fought in vein and the game went to the half evenly
poised at one a piece.
With a southerly building at their backs and good gut of oranges the Strikers
were confident moving into the second half. The confidence was expressed in
general play and the Strikers dominated most of the first thirty. Despite having
most of the possession and territory they where unable to get into a good
position to get any real shots on goal.
Discontent with the looming draw the Dux threw caution to the win and moved
their stars up front to launch a final attack. With almost instant reward the
Dux orchestrated several good through balls behind the defense but failed to
control the ball through to the goal. Finally, their all-or-nothing tactics paid
dividends with a well struck kick blasting through the crowd and past poor old
Cyclone who was unsighted behind the masses.
Never say die, some Packman wizardry through the midfield had the Dux turning
inside out and had Fudge himself in hysterics. The sound of laughter turned to
whimpering as Fudge was body checked every other time he got the ball in an
effort to combat his smoke and mirrors. Despite the countless attacks the
ball never quite linked up with the fire power up front. Two late chances in the
dying stages of the match went astray and the Strikers where sent to the local
to contemplate what might have been.
New socks, new shorts, new jackets, same old result.
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