We walked right into an ambush last night. An ambush hatched 20 years ago when CSIRO scientists start tinkering with the human genome to produce the ultimate touch football freaks – young slim muscular agile fast blonde surfie looking try scoring machines.
It was enough to make the Uncanny X-Man breakdown in frustration as these genetically engineered 18 year olds played havoc with his aging body. I’m sure these Keanu Reeves of Touch were running at half speed while we were trapped in a slo-mo setting
Of course the conspiracy theorists have already deduced that these scientific freaks were designed with the sole purpose of destroying the Seccers. No mortal humans could beat the Seccers by such a scoreline and with such ease.
There were not too many highlights of the game. Unfortunately heads were dropping and enthusiasm waned as fiji touch style was hit by a sidestepping tsunami.
Although our defence was pounded in broken play, there were still impressive defensive performances by Rupes with his wonderful cut-off defence on the line, saving the team from further embarrassment. And JBuck was his stealthy best and in the faces of kids, forcing errors that the youngsters hadn’t experienced before. But even JBuck couldn’t prevent touchdowns with legitimate touches, as the ref awarded another try despite his clear touch saying “I’ve been awarding touchdowns to them all game – I’m not going to stop now”.
And the big units Tunksie and Haydos worked their rings off in defence – but it had about as much effect as a giraffe trying to catch a spider monkey.
We welcome the returns of Grimmo and Burkie. The latter conveniently slotting the No.1 jersey back on after his sojourn with the piss. Grimmo slotted back into the team with ease and you wouldn’t have realised it was his game for 15 years. An interesting tactic by Grimmo with his second half Kapa o Pango (throat cutting) haka, possibly aimed at himself after an unforced error forced his immediate (self) replacement.
Thankfully the 2 Julian’s combined to prevent a nil scoring whitewash. But it was a rare opportunity to cross the line. Even a long ball thrown by your correspondent, surely leading to a score out wide, mysteriously floated out of control into the hands of their fullback, who ripped through the straight line of defence to score another length of field meaty. Surely their ball had been genetically tampered with too.