Bousval Genappe 1 – LXG 1
By Victor “Genappe was my Waterloo” Napoleon
For more than 69 minutes (note for the lost reader: ABSSA football is played in two halves of 35), this game had all the allure of yet another gutsy LXG triumph in the face of adversity. The last kick of the game, no matter how damaging statistically and morally, should not take anything away from the superb performance of the eleven warriors who battled in Genappe.
And here came the first dark cloud on this grey day of February: there should have been more than twenty-two LXG boots on the field. But a mixture of seasonal illness, obscure administration and individual negligence cost the team (and the ineligible players) dear. Chief centurion and coaching maestro Paulus Romanus would have to use all his tactical nous to take the legion into hostile territory… and come back unscathed.
Up stepped the legionnaires onto a green but uneven pitch, ready to face the barely-civilised tribe of Bousval Genappe. Marshalled by the ever-present Puskas, the makeshift defence proved as solid as any backline in our illustrious history. Titus the Gladiator had shaken off his flu to take the fight into the other half, looking like an elite soldier wearing a black scarf and a white tissue. On the flanks, Daddy Jimmy and Per the Viking were making sure that the Spider’s web was safe from any form of invasion.
With this rock solid foundation, the first half was an all-LXG affair. The midfielders were applying Paulus’ tactics studiously despite the bumps and holes in the pitch, stringing lateral passes together to find the right angle of penetration. This sexy torello foreplay was initiated by Pineda Copacabana and coach Paulus, with good support from Jean-Luc and Marco Lazio, offering their usual breadth and depth on the wings.
This patient domination began to bear fruits, as striker Marco Primadonna unleashed a thunderous shot that rattled the Bousval bar, much to the bemusement of the gathering crowd: a local bearded shepherd, Toto the young ball-fisher, LXG hall-of-famer Rosa and the two “ineligibles” – gender-confused Catalina and myself (later joined by Simon Paella). Half-time came to the rescue of the Bousval hordes, who had never really threatened to reverse the pressure they were put under in the first half.
Coach Paulus knew that such a fruitless domination was dangerous, and decided to go for the kill. Puskas was pushed to the right wing to support the all-Italian frontline of the hungry Marco Primadonna and Endrik. The Pink Panther was his usual self, with his superb first touch providing ample ball possession deep into opposition territory. The three hitmen were causing nightmares to the (rather too) experienced Bousval defence, whose nerves were apparently not made of steel. Marco Primadonna was tormenting them once again when his skilful run was hacked down in the area right in front of the ref, who inexplicably waved play on. This seemed to be Bousval’s lucky day…
But their mental frailty was fully exposed when Puskas turned into Attila and launched a devastating raid from a counter-attack, storming through their defence in a very vertical line on which the grass will never grow again. Seconds later, the ball was in the Bousval net, LXG fans were jumping, the bearded shepherd was swearing in front of young Toto and their veteran centre-back was on the ground holding his leg. 1-0 to the LXG. This kicked-off a lively exchange between their captain and the rest of the world: first with the ref, then with Puskas, then with his centre-back, then with his striker. The latter had the temerity to tell Wild Man 2 (see last week’s report) to shut up, a very bold move that almost cost him his life. It took at least four of their players to stop the Bousval beast from killing one of his own.
Fortunately for them, our opponents had the luxury of making a substitution to replace their self-exiled leader. This had little impact on the game, with LXG still very much in control even though the performance deserved a different result. And different it turned out to be in the end, but in a very wrong way…
A Bousval striker, who had been counting sheep until then, narrowly beat the offside trap and managed to put just enough power in his shot (their first and last of the day) to see it go past a shocked Michal. 1-1. Full time. Unbelievable. There had not been such a cruel twist of fate since Kostadinov fired Bulgaria into the 1994 World Cup on a cold November night in Paris. Or since the Prussians were allowed to enter the battlefield down the road in Waterloo a couple of centuries ago. Even some of the Bousval players sounded apologetic when they said they were a bit lucky to get a point.
But such is football. In the wise words of Rocky: “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done.” And forward is the only way for the legionnaire.
For more than 69 minutes (note for the lost reader: ABSSA football is played in two halves of 35), this game had all the allure of yet another gutsy LXG triumph in the face of adversity. The last kick of the game, no matter how damaging statistically and morally, should not take anything away from the superb performance of the eleven warriors who battled in Genappe.
And here came the first dark cloud on this grey day of February: there should have been more than twenty-two LXG boots on the field. But a mixture of seasonal illness, obscure administration and individual negligence cost the team (and the ineligible players) dear. Chief centurion and coaching maestro Paulus Romanus would have to use all his tactical nous to take the legion into hostile territory… and come back unscathed.
Up stepped the legionnaires onto a green but uneven pitch, ready to face the barely-civilised tribe of Bousval Genappe. Marshalled by the ever-present Puskas, the makeshift defence proved as solid as any backline in our illustrious history. Titus the Gladiator had shaken off his flu to take the fight into the other half, looking like an elite soldier wearing a black scarf and a white tissue. On the flanks, Daddy Jimmy and Per the Viking were making sure that the Spider’s web was safe from any form of invasion.
With this rock solid foundation, the first half was an all-LXG affair. The midfielders were applying Paulus’ tactics studiously despite the bumps and holes in the pitch, stringing lateral passes together to find the right angle of penetration. This sexy torello foreplay was initiated by Pineda Copacabana and coach Paulus, with good support from Jean-Luc and Marco Lazio, offering their usual breadth and depth on the wings.
This patient domination began to bear fruits, as striker Marco Primadonna unleashed a thunderous shot that rattled the Bousval bar, much to the bemusement of the gathering crowd: a local bearded shepherd, Toto the young ball-fisher, LXG hall-of-famer Rosa and the two “ineligibles” – gender-confused Catalina and myself (later joined by Simon Paella). Half-time came to the rescue of the Bousval hordes, who had never really threatened to reverse the pressure they were put under in the first half.
Coach Paulus knew that such a fruitless domination was dangerous, and decided to go for the kill. Puskas was pushed to the right wing to support the all-Italian frontline of the hungry Marco Primadonna and Endrik. The Pink Panther was his usual self, with his superb first touch providing ample ball possession deep into opposition territory. The three hitmen were causing nightmares to the (rather too) experienced Bousval defence, whose nerves were apparently not made of steel. Marco Primadonna was tormenting them once again when his skilful run was hacked down in the area right in front of the ref, who inexplicably waved play on. This seemed to be Bousval’s lucky day…
But their mental frailty was fully exposed when Puskas turned into Attila and launched a devastating raid from a counter-attack, storming through their defence in a very vertical line on which the grass will never grow again. Seconds later, the ball was in the Bousval net, LXG fans were jumping, the bearded shepherd was swearing in front of young Toto and their veteran centre-back was on the ground holding his leg. 1-0 to the LXG. This kicked-off a lively exchange between their captain and the rest of the world: first with the ref, then with Puskas, then with his centre-back, then with his striker. The latter had the temerity to tell Wild Man 2 (see last week’s report) to shut up, a very bold move that almost cost him his life. It took at least four of their players to stop the Bousval beast from killing one of his own.
Fortunately for them, our opponents had the luxury of making a substitution to replace their self-exiled leader. This had little impact on the game, with LXG still very much in control even though the performance deserved a different result. And different it turned out to be in the end, but in a very wrong way…
A Bousval striker, who had been counting sheep until then, narrowly beat the offside trap and managed to put just enough power in his shot (their first and last of the day) to see it go past a shocked Michal. 1-1. Full time. Unbelievable. There had not been such a cruel twist of fate since Kostadinov fired Bulgaria into the 1994 World Cup on a cold November night in Paris. Or since the Prussians were allowed to enter the battlefield down the road in Waterloo a couple of centuries ago. Even some of the Bousval players sounded apologetic when they said they were a bit lucky to get a point.
But such is football. In the wise words of Rocky: “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life. But it ain't how hard you hit; it's about how hard you can get hit, and keep moving forward. How much you can take, and keep moving forward. That's how winning is done.” And forward is the only way for the legionnaire.
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