And Now, Sports.

NZ Farcelona 2 - Doddering Old Geezers - 17.


The Wellington Indoor Five-a-Side football league witnessed a clash of titanic proportions last night as NZ Farcelona, the ANZ bank collections team, took on a group of senior citizens only inches away from the cold embrace of the grave. And lost. Badly. It was only the Farce's second game and by God did it show - we were less of a football side than a men's synchronised running in circles team. To make a bad situation worse our opponents, who - as the scoreline suggests - beat us pretty fucking comprehensively - had a combined age of approximately 463. Some of them had white hair, actual white hair, and their immense victory was soundtracked by the gentle squelch of half a dozen colostomy bags. Despite their venerability, however, they were very much a force to be reckoned with, pinging in goals from all angles and distances while we of the Farce ran about aimlessly, collided with each other and, in one extreme case, started to cry.

I haven't played football in any capacity since before the heady days of Britpop and had only volunteered on the proviso that I'd get to be in goal, which at least involves less running about. Unfortunately, after the first three minutes saw me fish the ball out of the back of the net four times it was decided that someone with a bit more hand/eye co-ordination should replace me. Fair enough; I'm man enough to admit when I'm absolutely bleeding useless. And so I spent the remainder of the game attempting to win the ball off these soccer playing pensioners, only to have them nip round me with the panache of a young Georgie Best, hare off down the pitch and score another goal or two.

My personal high point: bodychecking someone's grandad and having him bounce off me like a pea off a drum. I'm sure I heard the gentle crackle of a splintering hip as he hit the floor but then he was up and away, seemingly unhurt. Golden generation, my arse.