Our Cup Overfloweth! SFC Friedrichshain Rovers FZ IV - Rapid Rummelsburg 2:2 (6:5 Pens) Goals: Debicki, K (31); Shingleton, A (80) M.O.M: Balaguer X Rovers: Werban, Todorovic, Balaguer X, Wright, Wuyts, Weber, Shingleton, Lannoy, Armstrong, Debicki, Balaguer M. This victory couldn’t have been sweeter if it were made entirely of chocolate. Thankfully, in place of unethical confectionary, Rovers fans were treated to a veritable smorgasbord of crisp crossfield passing, sharp interplay, and defending so composed as to make Mozart blush with self-doubt. Although languishing in a league below Rovers, Rapid proved no easy-beats, relying mostly on the pace and power their name suggests, as well as the industry associated with their suburb. Rovers’ stocks had been stretched to breaking point by the scheduling of this game. An already lean squad of 20, cruelled by injury, absentees and suspensions, left Rovers manager Andrew Weber with 11 players to choose from, none of whom play at centre-half. Weber, ever the contrarian, responded by switching to a 3-5-2, a formation traditionally requiring not two, but three capable centre-halves. Take that, tradition! There’s a new tactician in town. The opening stanza saw Rovers in charge. For the first half an hour, their midfield harried and pressured Rapid into coughing up possession on numerous occasions. One may question whether this was because the majority of the Rovers team- who had waited in the cold and rain at the wrong pitch for nearly half an hour- were simply trying to thaw their frozen limbs, but regardless of their urgency’s origin, the ball belonged solely to the men in green. A few errors in possession gave Rapid’s lone striker a few half-opportunities, but Rovers remained on top until Debicki’s goal. And what a goal! Armstrong latched onto a perfectly-measured lofted through ball from Alex Wright, and the tenacious ginger beat his marker, shimmied at nobody at all, and crossed to the waiting Debicki, whose touch-and-half-volley finish has become something of a trademark. The goal allowed Rovers to relax a little, and after a solid final 15 minutes, they went in 1:0 at the break. Rapid changed their approach and formation, leading to their ascendency in the early part of the second spell. A second striker up front began to cause difficulties for the three makeshift center-halves, and Rovers’ previous defensive solidity and reliable passing deserted them. After a spate of poor passes at the back, Rapid capitalised on a loose ball on the right side of defense, leaving several men unmarked at the top of the box to stroke home with ease. A shaken Friedrichshain Rovers struggled to regain composure, and Rapid capitalised again, another loose pass in midfield resulting in a sharp counter attack from the visitors. A long pass out to the left wing was initially miscontrolled, but the winger skipped past his opposite number and floated in an inch-perfect cross for the 6+ foot Rapid centre-forward, who had stolen between his two markers to place a wonderful header into the far corner, leaving the wrong-footed Werban helpless. As last season proved, and all innuendo aside, Rovers are best at coming from behind. With a deficit to chase, Friedrichshain’s favourite sons pulled together, and put in a good 20-minute spell of sustained pressure. Marc Balaguer’s touch and poise, allied with the physical industry and hard running of the Rovers midfield, created real problems for Rapid, who responded in typically German fashion, by fouling lots and complaining to the referee. After yet another panic-inducing run by Marc Balaguer, Rapid’s defenders committed a foul at the top of the penalty area. The resulting strike from Adam Shingleton, a curling, placed shot into the right side of the net, was the stuff of nightmares for goalkeepers of weak constitution. Clocked at a torturous 4km/h, the Shingleton Special is said to have quietly whispered disparaging remarks at the flailing glovesman as it eluded his grasp, crushing any faith the ‘keeper may have had in his own abilities. This psychological scar became crucial as the game wore on to its conclusion. Having already received a yellow in the first minute for wearing a crap earring, Ben Wuyts found himself sent off in the 87th minute after mistiming his seventeenth slide challenge of the match. The referee later claimed he was lucky not to be shown a third yellow for taking his shirt off as he left the pitch. The game tied 2:2 at the whistle, Rovers found themselves in a penalty shootout in their first game of the season. Xavi Balaguer, whose composure at the back was central to Rovers’ dominance during normal time, held his nerve to stroke the ball in the bottom left corner, giving the keeper no chance. Rapid scored. Little brother Marc, next up at the spot, won the staring contest with Rapid’s mentally fragile custodian, placing the ball low and slightly right, with the ‘keeper diving the other way. True to form, Balaguer held his head in his hands despite scoring, upset because he didn’t hit the specific part of the net he wanted to. Rapid scored. Next up, Alexis Lannoy, whose bright game on the left had done so much during normal time, put his strike too close to the ‘keeper, who saved. Rapid scored. Andrew Weber, another who played well, also missed, because the pitch wasn’t the one he normally takes penalties on, and his shoe was untied, the sun was in his eyes, and communism. At this point, Rovers had resigned themselves to defeat. Rapid, needing only to score once to progress, miraculously hit the post. Buoyed by a new sense of hope, Tim Armstrong strode up the spot and stroked the ball past the Rapid ‘keeper. Werban, a man already known for heroics, sensed his moment. He parried next Rapid penalty away with custodial conviction, and the Rapid ‘keeper could be seen fumbling for a pencil, hoping for an autograph. Such fawning sycophancy was to be his downfall, however, as Adam Shingleton, the man whose free-kick had tortured him so, returned to the spot. He stood over the ball, his formidable frame eclipsing all ahead of the suddenly very lonely Rapid ‘keeper. Even the birds stopped chirping. As his substantial right boot drew back, threatening violence, the cowering ‘keeper’s survival instincts kicked in, and he took shelter, diving as far away from Shingleton’s missile shot as he could. Rovers fans, watching on screens throughout Europe via pirated Greek television, erupted. Anonymous Rapid player shuffles up to the penalty spot, his hands shaking. His feet squeak embarrassingly as he retreats from the ball, ready to shoot. Werban’s Herculean aura is inescapably obvious to him, the mere mortal. Summoning every shred of courage remaining, he charges at said ball, hoping his terror and desperation might be sufficient to propel it over the line. Werban, unfazed, is reading contemporary philosophy and picking his teeth. That such a pedestrian activity such as a football game might hold this titan’s undivided attention is laughable. Seeing the puny human’s goal attempt several minutes before it actually happens, Werban takes time out from directing international policy to dive to his right. He waits until the last second, to make it look dramatic, and to allow the mortals a glimmer of false hope. It makes him happy to see their hopes and dreams evaporate in front of their eyes. And so it was, that history was made. Rovers, we bow to thee.
Posted on: Mon, 01 Sep 2014 17:57:51 +0000
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