In wake of Canterbury pipping the Imperial Mens 2nd team to the post last week, the 1s headed out with vengeance and hunger in their hearts. The type of vengeance felt when you twig on to the fact your flatmate has been knowingly using your milk without the common decency of asking. We were going for blood… (hehe and boy did we get it.)
As we took to the pitch one thing was glaringly obvious. These chaps were blind. Either that or they had never looked in a mirror to observe the colour clashing monstrosity that was their kit. Let me paint you a picture… Imagine walking into a bathroom store and saying to the ineptest looking employee: “Excuse me good sir, do you by chance sell floor tiling?” They gaze at you taking a few seconds to register what you have said and respond, “yu hu, any pattern in particular?” To which you let out a gleeful: “Oh why aren’t I glad you asked! Yes, in fact do you sell a set of mismatching tiles that are an orgy of red?” well that kids… that was their playing top. Accompanied by horridly blood red shorts. Anyway, I divulge.
From the kick-off it was clear they were in for a terrible day. There wasn’t a single player on their team that would be able see their tinkles in the showers past all their chub and so we were ready to run them ragged. With numerous meat chops from the likes of Seen and Toby ‘the destroyer of worlds’ Daniels, it wasn’t even five minutes in until we secured the first penalty, converted by Algeria’s finest. Instantly followed by a line break, a cheeky kick and some sexy pressure, we were again playing rugby in their 22. Executing unbelievable strike moves, with both precision and flair it wasn’t long until the boys in putrid red buckled and Tube trundled over for the first try of the game, with quite frankly, ease.
At this point, their fans whom last week wouldn’t stfu could see the fruitlessness in their endeavours to taunt us as we were quite frankly unwavering. So they decided to change tact; one of our sexier players who goes by the name of Matt Speechley (ladies he is on FB) plays on the wing and with a chiselled jaw as prominent as the refs bald spot he attracted quite the female attention. “11,11, are you single?” “11,11, what’s your number?” “Give us a wave 11… oooohhhhh he waved!” These were just some of the questions I was able to earwig on as I zoomed across the pitch. Meownnnnnn. A few stellar territorial kicks later and Big Bad Bagguley gave the one-handed show and go, selling every single player on their team, providing a VAT receipt and all, to waltz over the line for IC’s second try. A matter of minutes later, IC were awarded a scrum on the halfway line. For once the Canterbury pack decided to put all their mass to use and put us on the back-foot. Do not fret dearest reader, for Ali Bagguley with his quick wit picked up the ball again in one hand and off he went down the pitch, offloading it to Imperials very own Faf De Klerk who was heinously high tackled in a bid to prevent what would inevitably have been another try. This resulted in an immediate penalty and through Faf’s ingenious quick thinking, a quick tap and a few moments later he was over the whitewash. Third try to the boys in blue. Frankly at this point I have lost track of the score. This saw the end of the first half.
Some more perfectly executed Munster’s, Kiwis and territorial kicks later saw their nine (who had the most disgusting ponytail/bob thing going on top of his bonce) scrambling in D, franticly kick the ball straight to sexy 11 in open play and following the ego boost he had received from all of his first half compliments nobody was going to stop him from getting over the line. I am almost certain I saw him give a cheeky wink and wave to one of the girls on the side-line.
This next passage of play may be what some consider karma for having such a dead trim however Canterbury managed to keep hold of the ball for a phase. Leaving the nine to pass it off to a heap of mess trundling forward who knocked it on. Meaning, quick thinking Beckmanni dove for the ball, in doing so acquainting the scrum half with the sole of his studs. Pop… out came the nines front tooth, root n all. He nearly passed out from the pain, what a p… (woah Faf, pull in the reins, the poor boy is toothless for life.) The lesson here kids; get a good haircut. Following this kerfuffle, the destroyer of worlds had smelt blood and decided to keep the trend going. Living up to his name, he straight up signed a bloke’s death warrant. He killed a man (okay he only knocked him unconscious, I’m using hyperbole, I learnt about it at English GCSE, got to keep the readers enticed.)
After this, the boys in blue began to play with almost illegal flair. With a few subs rolling on the integrity of the team didn’t waver. Bosh after chop after filthy offload later and we had another line-out in front of their line. I’ll give you one guess as to what happened next. Damn right, Tube + Line = Smashed.
Now that you are sufficiently lubricated from all of our previous antics, I shall let you climax with the piece de resistance that was IC’s final try. Now up to this point Faf had been having an exceptional game. Crisp delivery, fantastic defence, just all round MotM calibre. But that wasn’t enough for him, he wanted more. Let’s paint the scene… Canterbury in possession on the halfway, IC with solid defence; a two-hit tackle from Fresher Fraser and French Frog De Bezieux gives George ‘no knees’ Beckman the perfect opportunity to rip the ball. It spills out the side of the ruck. Mass confusion for all those who aren’t Faf. He snatches the ball, looks up at what seemingly is a sea of rancid red shirts with very little in the way of opportunity. But no. He kicks the ball. what is he thinking. The crowd are stunned into silence as he puts on his running shoes and hares after it. Surely, he won’t beat the fullback and winger to the ball I hear you exclaim!? But oh boy oh boy does he! With an inch perfect kick meaning he can dive onto the ball as it crosses the line Imperial Men’s score one last time! Ending the game in emphatic fashion with a score line of (my dad’s estate2 – (my dad’s estate + curlcream) to zero) or 39 – 0 to you ‘orrid puces. Until next time folks x