Mister Payne, as a massively qualified and slightly salaried football development gentleman in a state full of volunteers who work their butts off in their spare time (and pay for a chunk of your dosh?) - the question is – what do we do about it? Note the “we” as does any body else wonder if it’s gonna take everybody to change their ways if we are to improve the game?

I’m nowhere near smart enough to figure that one out, but it’s a question everybody is asking. But to start with, are we looking honestly in the mirror?

Dad’s Army swooped to a 3-1 revenge victory of Churchillian proportions over a swarm of determined Beachsiders at Wellesley on Sunday July 4^th.

Sporting a newly installed latex hammy, Disco Downes wore the gloves and warmed the six yard box as a frenetic first half kicked off, with Nat the Physio at right back and Jed “safe as houses” Donoghue and Benny “the teeth” Williams in at centre back. The suave Dernard erected a barricade down the left as a vigorous Beachside attack gave it everything. Robbie “Field Marshal Montgomery” Knight commanded the midfield with aplomb, verve and swerve, spraying the ball out wide in a bewildering display of football too good for this level. The opening 25 minutes were fairly even, though, with Beachside getting in behind us a few times and looking bothersome leading to Richard “shouts a lot” Bladel switching “safe as houses” Jed with Gary “I’m fast” Pennicott at centreback. Dad constructed some decent combinations via triple J:  Jones, Jin and Jarvis.

In an international marketing coup the likes of which Lutana has never seen, South Hobart had to award themselves the Southern Premier League Championship trophy on Saturday July 4^th after they defeated a slightly less defensive Kingborough Lions 2-1 at the D’Arcy Street Cauldron accompanied by much blarting, tooting and squarking. This means that with a gigantic 16 point lead at the top with  5 matches to go (that’s a maximum of 15 points, President Sean, don’t bother finding the calculator covered in blue tac, drawing pins & bits of fluff in the bottom drawer) South cannot lose the SPL trophy.

Dad’s Army endured a second half fade out of epic proportions to crawl to the finish line 3-2 against a determined Huon Valley at Wellesley Park last Sunday afternoon. What had started out as a beautiful affair with poetry of movement, angled passing, deftness of touch and a 2-0 lead in the first half turned into a stolid sludgey old bastard of a thing where we had all the defensive intensity of a three year old with a balloon on a stick and all the penetration of a wet noodle on ya wedding night.

South’s firsts hardly had the picnic rug spread out on Saturday before they found themselves a goal down to the old enemy from across the Creek. In the second minute, a floated cross from Clarence’s right found the gap between Jim Pennicott, who was unpacking the Barbie tongs, and Hughie Ludford who’d just found the stubby holders, and this allowed Ben Parker to trip over the salad bowl and batter the ball between both of ‘em and over the line, leaving Sammie K redfaced, though that might’ve been tomato sauce stains. Them from across the Creek went cranky to be up so early, and our lads suddenly realized that they weren’t in some weird 4am world cup facebook flashback and all this running about and blowing whistles stuff meant they were actually in a match.

 Kosta  "Captain Bicycle"- W Pless Photo

A new look Dad’s Army scored first through debutant Jef Van Heyster at Norf Chiggers against a portly but efficient Metro and were looking good in the first 20 minutes. Young gun ring ins Bilson, Postma and Roach were adding some run, Ian Paulin brought the entire drinks cabinet, and we had an idiosyncratic Irish flavour between the posts.  Brett Ross, nursing a snapped spine, no knees to speak of but a steely determination commanded the defence and Sheppie and Dernard kept the flanks untroubled. Sanderson was imposing the toe at holding midfield and some Jones & Jarvis inspired ball movement led to a shock opening goal from good old Dad.

With most of our regulars either in the intensive hammy or kneecap ward or off helping our first team bother some kiddies from Taroona, we’d come up short for numbers again this week. Hence some cameos from the Under 19’s and some handy lads from deep inside Jed’s address book.

It was a soggy Sunday at Wentworth Park as old Dad carked it 3-1 to a team calling themselves Barnstoneworth.  There was not a Mister Jin to be seen, Disco’s other Hammy went sproing, The Kanakaris Kneecap exploded and Sheppie kept getting whacked in the head and ended up needing a serious lie down. Our Irish Murphy was crook and Richard never bloody shut up the whole game. To be down to only eight and a half fit bodies out of a squad of nearly thirty blokes is a Bit Sad, but.

Deanaldinho Jones scored the first goal of the match, kind of, as a “Barnie” deliberately handballed it before it crossed the line, ending up with a yellow card, and our Referee awarded the goal. Odd. But we’ll take it.

I was looking forward to another round of sock decorating on Saturday as South Hobart’s teams took on Olympia Warriors FC at what used to be home at D’Arcy Street. It was top versus bottom. You might remember Ken’s magical raffia work last time we played them, but what we got this time was even more profound (if that were possible).

Socrates was an Ancient Greek kiddy who was such a big thinker they made marble statues of him. I’m not sure he played football, there’s no statue of him in his strip, but if he had, he’d be the key midfielder, team Captain, centre back and coach all rolled into one, you know, a bit like Bart Beecroft. Now the Socratic method of inquiry and debate is a dialectical one, it involves the conflict between two opposing viewpoints through an oppositional discussion in which the defence of one point of view is pitted against the defence of another. All this defence implies some sort of attack and you get that too.