My Name Is, My Name Is, My Name Is... Boaby

10th Jul 2010: Selkirk FC 1, East Fife 7 (Pre-season Friendly)

Eminem kept the crowds waiting tonight at T in the Park cos his limo was late getting back from Selkirk. Him and his entourage had piled down to the borders to take in a soccer game for no other reason than "Rudie said it would be good - oh, an' by the way, don't call it soccer. Over there it's football!". One of his closest friends from Detroit - Rudie - apparently grew up in Selkirk (well, actually, Philiphaugh, a mile doon the road...) and recommended a visit.

So, sadly, it was the blue and white team he was there to watch an' no' the mighty Black & Golds. But what need have we for international "wrapping" suprastars? We had Gordon Durie there to cheer on the boys (well, his son at least...). And even if Mister Mathers left disappointed (no' half as pissed off as he'd be when he realised all he'd get to drink at Balado was Tennents Lager or Strongbow Cider!!!), Juke Box and the rest of the Fife Faithful would have been well pleased by the time they headed home... It's only early days but already the Craw appears to have the makings of a decent side.

This wasn't ever going to be an awful lot more than a bounce match - fuck sake, Selkirk FC don't even have their own website - but as the cliché goes, you can only beat the team you're playing. And so, our heroes knuckled down and prepared to play their lowland (lowly??) opposition off the park. The fans who'd made the trip to the borders (thank fuck for roads and cars - you'd have been screwed waiting for a bus or a train...) didn't have long to wait before the boys started to show their class

The match was barely ten minutes old when new boy Scott Durie opened the scoring. Drafted in to do a job at the back, the youngster proved that he has more than one string to his bow and, moving forward with pace, he met a great free kick just outside the Selkirk box and lashed home a real belter. If there was ever a way to settle in to your new club, that was just how to do it Scottie. Yer dad looked as proud as a man who'd just watched his son score on his Fife début... And, at the other end just beside the tea stall, Eminem already appeared to be getting restless.

The goal settled the nerves and allowed the lads to concentrate on knocking the ball around. Even at this early stage it was apparent that we'd be learning very little (in a footballing sense anyway) from our outing in the borders - rippin' the pish out of a pub team usually only ever leads tae one thing; a slap in the puss if yer lucky or a glass in it if yer no'. But fair play to Selkirk; mebbe it was because they had a big name fan oot watchin' them, or mebbe it was because they're just a bunch of poofters but they appeared content tae run about like wee boys while the proper athletes played fuba. And systematically ripped them ragged...

However, although we dominated, the ball stayed stubbornly on the wrong side of the goal line. As it was, it took until ten minutes from the break before we deservedly doubled our lead. Bobby Linn fired in a roaster of a free kick which looked goalbound until it connected with the knapper of the hapless Selkirk defender - hey, just get yer body in the way and worry about the brain damage later. As he hit the deck the rest of the home defence just stood there as the "clang" continued to reverberate around the ground. Fortunately, Fife trialist Lee Bryce (ex-Lino so he knows what a slapped puss looks like...) reacted quickest (but, believe me, he didn't have to be that quick) and slotted home the "rebound" with some skill.

It was a neat goal and fair set us up for the closing moments of the first half. And just seconds before the cheat's whistle, Bobby Linn opened his account, sidestepping his cumbersome marker before blasting a low shot home from just inside the box. It was his fourth goal in just over two hours of pre-season fuba and already it looks like we've got a ready made replacement for Shagger's scoring prowess. By the time we were celebrating his second hat trick in four days, we were already starting to believe that it could be a rosy season for the wee man. But that was still to come... the whistler brought proceedings to a close and the boys trotted off happy that this one was already won, but with glints in their eyes that suggested more to come.

But fair play tae the borderers; whatever their gaffer said to them at half time obviously did the trick. They finished their pies, slugged down the dregs of their Special Brew, stubbed oot their fags and ran out like a team full of cholesterol addled, lager swilling, Woodbine sooking troopers and... managed tae stop us scoring another goal for twenty minutes. No' bad at all - four of the fuckers looked like they couldnae run fae here tae there withoot needin' oxygen. But the fact that the best white rapper in the sea was still watchin', however, worked wonders and they played like a team possessed. And then the Boaby brought them back down to earth with a bump; stealing the ball in midfield, he sprinted forward, left defenders in his wake and slotted the ball away like the keeper wasn't there.

Five minutes later, Linn turned provider, making a pig's arse of the Selkirk defender before firing over a cracking cross which was met by Lee Bryce who rose unmarked, majestic and gracefull before heading home with ease and claiming his second of the afternoon - this trialist malarkay is a piece of pish; are you watchin' Mr Crawford?

Five in the bag and still twenty minutes to go - with the home side tiring, the opportunity to rack up a cricket score beckoned. It was somewhat of a surprise, the, when our hosts snuck upfield and stole one back. On a day when we managed tae rattle in seven goals, it would be unfair tae criticise anyone so let's just say that we probably had more than a couple of opportunities tae clear the danger before somebody in a blue an' white shirt got his head to it and looped one home. That's all ah want tae say about that...

In any case, by the time Mr Mathers had stopped cheering, we'd already added another. Pretty much right from kick off we headed forward looking for revenge. Crawford and the Boaby combined well and left the young farmers stranded before sliding a neat pass into the path of Lloyd Young who fired hame a cracker low into the net. Whatever Eminem thought about a potential fightback, he and the other three dozen home fans were well and truly fucked. Six scored; one to go...

And it was fitting that the honour of scoring the magnificent seven should fall to our own magnificent number seven. It was hardly a contender for goal of the season but ah'm sure that the Boaby wasnae givin' a fuck about that. The slid into the Selkirk box, unmarked and simply waited for the ball to come to him before sweeping it home with ease, thus claiming his second match ball in two games. Hat tricks, shmat tricks - it's all just another day at the office for Mr Robert Linn. Here's hopin' for the season proper...

And that wrapped things up nicely for the day. The ref kept the suspense going for a few minutes longer than he really needed to but ah heard that he was a big Dr Dre fan and just wanted tae fuck Eminem off and keep him late for Balado. Who knows? All that matters is that our heroes had had a nice afternoon out in the borders and they and the fans who'd made the trip were lookin' forward tae the trip back tae rural Fifeshire... And wi' another pub team lined up for Tuesday, ah'm already lickin' ma lips in anticipation of another Linn hat trick. Bring on the Pars...