Ange Postecoglou took some notes after this morning’s match against Saudi Arabia at Craven Cottage, London. Thanks to a mole in the Australian camp, Shoot Farken can exclusively reveal the thoughts of the Socceroos manager.
Ca plane pour moi, Ca plane pour moi, Ca plane pour moi, moi, moi, moi, moi, Ca plane pour moi. No matter how hard I try, I still can’t get that stupid song out of my head since leaving Belgium. Never mind, I’m back in the winner’s circle. All that losing, it’s enough to wear down the most optimistic person. Six defeats in a row.
As my mate Fyodor once wrote, “Man only likes to count his troubles; he doesn’t calculate his happiness.”
I must remind myself to use that in a presser next time I find myself in an existential hole.
At least that’s over. Thank you Shoddy Arabia. Thank you for being so hapless in defence. Thank you Green Falcons for standing prone to face Mecca and allowing Mile to head the ball in unmarked from a corner for our second goal. Date palms have been known to show more urgency. Two nil up after six minutes.
My Socceroos kingdom for a reliable centre back. My half decent ones are lame, so I gave young Bailey Wright a start. At least the kid scored and did better than Trent after Wilko hobbled off early in the game. I’m going to have to put Trent under surveillance. Only someone frequenting Dutch ‘coffee’ shops could have put in such a sloppy performance. I also noticed Mile’s passes kept hitting the Snickers sign rather than his team mates. My highly refined Greek logic deduces that Trent must have shared some space cake with Mile before the game. Protein bar, my arse.
And what’s happened to rusty Mitch? Has he tried to sleep with someone’s girlfriend. Every time I put him on the pitch everybody starts giving him hospital back passes to get him sent off.
At least Massimo impressed, best player on pitch by a Luongo margin. Great first touch, confident on the ball, full of energy. Looks like I’m going to have to borrow him from Swindon Town after Xmas for a month; I doubt he will be returning there. If only Leckie had half his touch, he’d be tearing it up in Bundesliga 1 not 2.
Herdy pleased me by deciding to play the ball and not Jackie Chan the man. Josh did OK in middle but not so brilliantly at right back after I did Kevin a favour and put Millsy and Valeri on for some Victory pre-season time. Unlike his dad, Davidson and dependable is an oxymoron at the moment and I’m starting to tire of Tommy Oar’s Harry Houdini disappearing act.
Pythagoras can keep his triangles. Hopefully Jesus will be fit enough to join Timmy and help set piece the Socceroos to Asian Cup glory.
“Talking nonsense is the sole privilege mankind possesses over the other organisms. It’s by talking nonsense that one gets to the truth! I talk nonsense, therefore I’m human.” – Fyodor Dostoyevsky
