13. Well That Went Well…

Old Paulines 25 Dorking 5

Afraid I disgraced myself last week… and this is all I remember.

We produced some good intent and useful play. But we were outwitted by a more cohesive unit who created their opportunities well, having taken the precaution of playing several more sprightly chaps out in the backs. Cheating? Yes, definitely. Cunning? Yes, that too. Unavoidable? Well, obviously. Nice bunch as always? Yes again. Bloody well drilled? Yes, yes, again, again.

Naturally we didn’t help ourselves. Do we ever?

Yet still, there were positives and if I hadn’t turned up myself with such a monstrously thick head … I might have taken greater note of things like the Secret Agent Percy and Lord Greed centre pairing which worked well in the absence of Cliff, The Fragile One. And Handy’s all round display. I might also have taken proper note of the productivity of The Count, Reigate Mike and Buzz about the field. For they do put it about.

It was all a dream… until Tap punched his own tighthead really rather hard

I did note, however, that Tap was thundering around the park with menace because at one stage he punched me in the head quite hard (and quite possibly by mistake) in a ruck. It must have been midway through the second half because that’s when the fog lifted a bit and I can only thank him. For it enabled me to witness that miserable bloody vet Brian – Our Man With The Castration Shears – jinking his way over the line for a cheeky consolation score.

That night, still frazzled, I slept fitfully and had fevered dreams in which a brace of young Spanish girls were miming The Ketchup Song while I was being attacked by an angry ferret which I think belonged to The Juggler because an anxious voice kept saying: “I’ll have a hold of it any minute now.” Which he very clearly didn’t. And then I found myself playing that peculiar board game I mentioned last week, with my boots on… I think.

And then, thankfully, it was morning. I came to with vague memories of Raymondo saving a certain try from their young flier. And I definitely heard one of us say: “F**k you spotty, you’ve just been turned over by a man 30 years your senior!”

And I resolved not to drink large quantities of strong lager unsupervised on Friday nights on an empty tum before a game. And instead to go to bed early on pre-match nights and read quietly until sleep descends.

I’ve taken the liberty of sharing some of my current reading selection with you.

Is is time for my next Kronenbourg yet? Probably so…

Squad: Moz, Scud, Pomf The Pilot, Ginge, Skip, Buzz, Reigate Mike, The Count, Rodders, Gazza, Handy, Nozza, Lord Greed, Secret Agent Percy, Raymondo, The Juggler, That Miserable Bugger Brian, plus????????
Apologies to those I have almost certainly forgot to mention.

NEXT: 14. Dear Mozza… You Knob   Previous: 12. You Can Stick Your Bread Of Heaven