Due to the tepid reaction to recent Match Reports, we asked you, the consumer, what you wanted to see more of.

The #2 request was more making fun of Gino and his Miata (unfortunately, due to Gino’s recent eye surgery he has just realized he was driving a Miata and is now trading it in for a Smart Car.) The #1 request was for more T&A. Well, in this report you’re getting more of the first of those two letters: this report is all about tits. In fact, there will be so many references to boobs that I will buy a beer for the Covesider who identifies the correct number of boob references* in the report. Post your guess at the end of the report and the closest guess (or the first correct guess) wins.

The rules are simple: each reference to breasts counts, even if the same word is used over and over again. Start counting now. (For Rob Paul—start at zero).

As I pulled abreast of Inter River Park it was clear that this was a day fit for neither man nor breast. (That’s two references so far). I needed my high beams to even be able to find a parking spot. The weather was udderly miserable: rain pouring down with such velocity you’d think it was being shot out of bazookas. We arrived to the welcoming voice of Bernie (who has a terrific pair of Tig Ol’Bitties) telling us to get the hell into the rain and start warming up our lazy assets. Our opponents were top-of-the table Norvan, who had last knocked us out of the summer A-Cup and were looking very impressive by warming up as a team. Our warm up consisted of crouching under a pair of circus tents and wishing we were at home on the couch with our heads on our dirty pillows.

In the pre-game talk Bernie declared he was starting the lads who have been coming to practice, and he mocked the creampuffs who’ve been sitting at home strapping on feedbags rather than coming out. (Come on, lads, only seven guys coming out to practice every week? Get your hands off your good bits and get yourselves down to Ambleside). We started with a makeshift forward line of Rob Paul and Mike (although Rob had to leave early for his photo shoot for “West End Fitness Trainers”), a midfield of Rich, Rod, Speers, and Andy, with Fergie, Randy A, Dave H, and Ed, our lost sheep who has just returned to the flock. Several Dhaliwals, the late-arriving Eamon, and Graham Versace were among those coming off the bench to add mounds of support to the side.

Norvan took control of the game almost immediately, and caused us more than a pair of problems. Conditions were awful: it was tough to judge the bounces on the ball, which was skipping around like an oiled bedtime beach ball. The field was so wet it sometimes felt like we could have used floatation devices. And the poor attendance at practice was translating to a lack of interplay on the field: we looked like we were trying to pass coconuts to each other, not footballs. There was enough space between our back line and the midfield to fire a couple of cruise missiles without hitting each other. We were battling hard, throwing our front bums into challenges and generally making things tough for Norvan, but the early chances were coming Norvan’s way, and a scramble in our area led to the ball being fired towards the net by a Norvan player. The ball struck the unfortunate Ed on his nice set of hands and Norvan was awarded a penalty. The Norvan penalty taker (who had a very substantial set of love lumps) tucked the melons away in the bottom corner and it was 1-0 for the little duckies of Norvan.

At 1-0 down and the rain and fog combining to obscure the majestic mountains usually so visible from the park, things did not look good for the lovelies of Coveside. (We won’t mention the shot the Geezer took on goal which, I think, flew over the sideline fence into the Gland Canyon beside the field). But the newly formed wonder twins forward line of Rob P and Mike got us back into the game, when a turnover freed Rob down the right flank, he hit a cross hard and low into the six-yard box, and Mike, faster than you could say “Look at the size of those Frontal Female Water Wings,” had pounced on the rebound and buried it to tie the score. My involvement in the half ended shortly after that when a close encounter between a ball and my balls resulted in my crawling off the field crying for my mammary and looking for a pair of penis pillows to rest my abused nether region. I am assured that the remainder of the half was uneventful and we went in tied at 1-1.

Bernie (who has two magnificent pontoons of love) gave his usual sensational half time talk: sensational in the sense that it caused those listening to lose all sensation in their ears. As we shook our moneymakers back onto the pitch it was still anybody’s game.

The second half got underway with Cloudy soon being forced into making a superb save to tip a low shot around the post. (This was the second game in a row where we’d have been in real trouble without great goaltending from the Dynamic Duo of Cloudy and Vinnie.) To be fair to Norvan, they had most of the possession in this match, and we spent a great deal of time on our heels acting as shock absorbers to the Norvan attackers. But although they had some success knockers-ing the ball around in the middle of the park, they could have used a pair of searchlights to find their way to goal. They had one long-range shot that dipped off the bar, but for the most part grew more and more frustrated as they failed to make their way past the mouthwatering scoops of flesh that make up our back line.

For our part, we were looking dangerous on the counterattack. Rich put in a pinpoint cross to Eamon (who has a terrific pair of Male-Madness Inducers), but his effort just scraped over the bar. And his strike partner Mike (whose cleavage is similar to Calista Flockhart’s) was tackling like a man possessed and was causing real problems for the overstuffed pillows manning the Norvan defense. Our goal, when it came, was from a slightly more unlikely source: a cross from the left wing was met by the surging form of the Geezer, who took the cross on the full volley ON HIS LEFT FOOT and clipped it neatly over the stranded keeper into the far corner. A goal-of-the-season contender gave us an undeserved but welcome 2-1 lead.

But with lots of time left and us struggling to suck air into our lung covers, the game was far from done. Bernie (who has a terrific twosome of blouse bunnies) decided on a new “Speers Substitution” strategy, as Dave was shifted from left back, to left wing, and over to right wing on three successive substitutions. At this point you couldn’t have blamed Dave if he just wanted to sit down with a nice hot plate of mince and Devil’s Dumplings and watch the game play itself out.

As time ticked by, Norvan looked less and less likely to strike the mother loads with a tying goal. When they pushed too many men up in attack they left themselves open to a counterattack from our spark plugs up front, and when Mike was put clean through he showed great patience to wait out the Norvan keeper and clip the clinching goal into the corner of the net. 3-1 Coveside. Norvan got the ball up to the bouncing beauties on their forward line for one final attack, but Cloudy, who is any defender’s breastest friends, did superbly to stop a hard shot and gather the rebound into his chest ornaments. The final whistle soon sounded and we celebrated our 3-1 victory. And although playing under these conditions was not bags of fun, Bernie (who has an admirable duo of Ralph Waldo Emersons) was proud of the effort shown by his puppies.

The win took us to the top of the standings, but the league is as close as a dead heat in a zeppelin race and unless we all start getting our great galloping galoogies out to practice we could soon be left lying in hammocks for two with Malones at the bottom of the table. That notwithstanding, we celebrated this important victory with the usual beers, heavy duty honey dews and laughs. But our tits were all freezing.

*The authoritative source for boob references is at http://www.joebobbriggs.com/list/hooter.txt