The outlook wasn’t brilliant for Rinos Vancouver Sunday;
Though the score stood two to one, with only minutes to play,
For Hanson had seen red first, then Caulfield did the same,
And when Gray went off a silence fell upon the game.

Ben, JA, Ford and Max, overcame their deep despair – they, like the rest
(Steph, Wong and Shaan) knew the boy’s’d meet the test;
They thought if only Rinos’ defence for minutes more was able,
They’d soar to that rarified spot at the top o’ the table.

For a different half preceded the second, and ‘twas a piece of cake,
A PK in minute two, Rinos game to take;
So upon that stricken sideline grim melancholy sat,
As memories floated backward, to the first half that…

Saw Flynn dance down the sidelines, to the wonderment of all,
And Lenny, the man-of-the-match, protecting every ball;
And when the initial dust had lifted, and the Army saw what’d occurred,
There was Carrick on the second and Cyrus almost a third.

And from 5,000 throats and more there rose a lusty yell;
It rumbled through the valley, it rattled in the dell;
It knocked upon the Vanouver’s mountain all the way to East Lansing,
For Rinos, mighty Rinos, were inexorably advancing.

There was ease in Brent’s manner as he dominated his place;
There was pride in Bohdal’s bearing and a smile on Wadey’s face.
But when, responding to the Army jeers, they had a little laugh,
Not a person in the crowd could’ve foreseen the second half.

Confusion, too many fouls, and then a doubtful penalty call,
Ten thousand eyes upon the spot, as he tried to place the ball.
Then while the writhing striker saw it roll into the dip,
Defiance gleamed in Jeff’s eye, a sneer curled o’er Jeff’s lip.

And now the leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Jeff stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Close by the sturdy goalie the ball unheeded sped –
“Not this time” said Jeff, diving. “Corner kick,” the ref said.

From the benches, black with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and distant shore.
“He’s done it! He’s done it!” shouted Rob from the stand;
And indeed the Army’d been thwarted, with a flick of Thom’s gloved hand.

But with a smile of Christian charity the referee’s bald head and visage shone;
In a matter of minutes; he bade three Rinos be gone;
Yes, they lost composure, and a glorious cross from Laurie Dylan blew;
But as a fog spread across the field, they wondered what to do.

“Fraud!” cried the maddened thousands, and echo answered fraud;
But then on the field it happened, and the audience was awed.
They saw Rinos faces grow stern and cold, they saw their muscles strain,
And they knew that something special was in those shattered remains.

The sneer was now on Marshy’s lip, Charlie’s teeth were clenched in hate;
Bligh pounds with cruel violence as he marshals the remaining eight.
And again the white team tries to attack, but no matter whence,
For now the air is shattered by the force of Rinos’ defence.

Oh, when the whistle at last blew, the lights were shining bright;
The band is playing here now, players’ and coaches’ hearts are light,
And somewhere Kenny is laughing, for despite the carded cost,
Rinos go to the top— and Bingers have finally lost.

Having extricated themselves from the Glazer-Westside conglomerate, newly freed men Rinos Vancouver SC kicked off their 2010-11 First Division campaign on Sunday afternoon at Point Grey Park.  Unfortunately, despite the sellout crowd and brilliant Vancouver weather, it was a day to forget – though there’s little chance that striker[sic] John Bligh will allow that to happen.  Indeed, a 2-1 defeat to Vancouver Olympics (named after the steroid-ridden 1960’s-to-90’s Olympic period, judging by the rippled, jersey-stretching physique of their starting forward) has left Rinos a leg behind in their battle for promotion.

So where did things go wrong?  The enthusiasm was there from the get-go, with Jonathan Cooper’s usual head-to-the-floor pre-game cheer and a finger-crushing tackle by Dylan Smith setting the tone.  Notably, on the latter the ball went out of bounds, and there was more of that to come.  That is, it wasn’t much of a tone.

Enthusiasm, of course, is a word employed when more robustly positive ones put the lie to the tale.  And so it was that the first half saw an ‘enthusiastic’ (which rhymes, incidentally, with spastic) Rinos side groping around blindly for their touch.  Or their rhythm.  Flow.  Anything really.

“It’s strange about our lack of touch,” said one player, who asked to remain anonymous for fear that his starting spot might be at risk, “I mean, we practice with these same balls – is there any difference between a white-and-yellow Sportek and a white-and-yellow Jubilani?”

“Of course not!” he then said, surprising the gathered media which thought he was asking a rhetorical question.

It seemed nothing could get the proverbial bus turned around.  Not a voluntary substitution from midfield hardman Laurie Flynn (exhausted after being called up for the Scottish national side’s match against mighty Lichtenstein, he seemed delighted to come off), who was replaced by hard-tackling Laurentian grad, Ryan Armstrong.  Not constant pressure from Andrew Wade on the left.  Not a through ball to a surprised Bligh from the Olympics’ right back.  Not even the realization that the much vaunted Olympics squad was, in fact, remarkably and almost depressingly lame; that the game was there for the taking.

Then, disaster.  Two uncharacteristically weak goals, both by the aforementioned Adonis – as if his superhero shape actually did come with some kind of 18-yard box force field – and a daunting deficit.  And to add insult to injury, or the other way around, Rino’s lost starting ‘keeper Jeff Thom after a brave and courageous… well it was a goal kick.  Stefan “You Got to Know When To Holden” Caulfield, a reserve fullback, came on to replace Thom, looking strangely comfortable between the pipes.

Finally, mercifully, the half came to an end.  As the players trudged toward the Sleemans dressing room, a mood as dark as the sky settled in.  Then, with the transcendent oratory of Churchill and the tactical genius of MacArthur, Coach Kenny Adloff (he’s reading this, right?) had the boys’ heads turned around.

Speedster Zain Khan was in on the right.  Dave Collins, newly signed from JJ Dubliners for €17 million and a surprise inclusion in the squad for today’s match, was in up front, spearheading the 4-4-2 with Charlie Carrick, who decided to emerge from his (huge) trailer for the second half.  Summer goal scoring machine Alex Corner moved to the left.  It was game on.

No, literally.  Even as Coop gathered them once more to cheer the mighty Rino cheer, the referee was impatiently urging the team back onto the field.

As the second half got under way, and time went on, one question began to loom.  The crowd started whispering, rumours swirled, and the question lingered over the field, unresolved, begging to be answered.  Would they or wouldn’t they?  After 10 minutes the answer was no.  Same after 20 minutes.  30 minutes.  Then, at last, it happened, although just once, and so fast that only a few people actually saw it.  After the match, however, officials from the league’s Dubious Circumstances Committee confirmed that yes, it happened: the Vancouver Olympics did get the ball into the Rino half of the field.

What happened the other 98% of the time?  Rinos began to assert itself as a team, slowly but surely.  Attacking with energy, stringing together two, sometimes even three passes, winning a few tackles, building the pressure.  Nissan Man-of the-Match, John Marsh (the only player ever to have won the award) would win a header, the midfield would collect it, lose it, Olympics – no slouches themselves in the touch-of-stone department – would kick it out of bounds, Haas or Bohdal would throw it in to a striker, who would play it back to a midfielder who’d play it to another midfielder, who’d lose it out of bounds – but off an Olympics player! – Haas or Bohdal, their arms fatiguing now, would throw it in once more to a striker, who would try to take it himself this time, leading to a goal kick, and back to John Marsh’s head.  And again.

Until, a flashy move from Collins, a bad tackle in the box, and a penalty for Rinos.  But why score on a penalty when you’re building such good momentum in the run of play?  So asked Smith.  And indeed, his tactical decision was borne out soon after when Marshy, not to be confused with his younger brother Marshy, let loose a cannon from 40 yards (one of those old, old cannons that shot lead in high arcs over battery walls) which clanged off the crossbar and into the waiting feet of Bligh who, with his usual elegance, slammed it home.  2-1.  Olympics on their heels.  Rinos steaming forward.  Bligh on top of the scoring charts.

The comeback seemed inevitable as Rinos continued to press.  Haas headed just wide.  Zain almost snuck a free kick through.  Carrick broke free for a shot on target, and then a deflected another free kick.  But in an unlikely and unexpected performance, Bilbo Baggins, in a cameo appearance as the Olympic keeper and with the magic ring once more in his possession, conjured a string of magnificent saves, like a goalkeeping idiot savant, thwarting Rinos again and again.  And as time ran down, and the Olympics’ façade of talent crumbled around them, their keeper continued to stand… well, not really tall, but he continued to stand, parrying away even the last cross of the game to bring his team victory.

And so it is Rinos open their accounts with a tough loss, but already the players are looking ahead.  The squad looks forward to the addition of midfielder Ali Gray and the return of Jeff Thom for the next match, and hopefully Grant French, last year’s MVP, soon after that.  The season is young.  The squad returns to practice today hungry, wounded, dangerous.  Ready.