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Big win and even bigger match report for the Yamsters

Twas a cold Saturday morning and I hadn’t had my weekly pre match venti caramel macchiato from Starbucks in Clifton Down Shopping Centre, an essential pre match ritual for myself. We trounced it down the M5 thanks to the Sebastien Vettel-esque driving of Social Sec Rhys Davies, leaving us with a whole game of wockey to watch before we took to the astro ourselves. In this blissful ignorance of the kit debacle we were soon to encounter, we decided a pre match pit stop at the local Sainsbury’s was necessary. The bargain bucket of advent calendars proved to be a delightful surprise for those members of the team whose parents hadn’t sent them down one in the post so that they could gleefully count down the days to the arrival of St. Nicolas himself. I decided to invest in some Lego in a bid to relive my childhood in a haze of giddy joy, leaving me with a small fighter jet that could transform into three other forms, whilst of course also making me the biggest winner of the day. Our car and Melon’s made our way back to the astro only to find that our captain had failed to ‘Carpe Deeyam’ and had still not arrived. Dismay. Tears. A distraught Josh Bryce. What were we to do? Luckily things were not remotely as dramatic as I may have just seemed to make out, and Deeyam soon arrived in his funny little red car.

It was now that we realised the unthinkable, in our haste to run off to Sainsbury’s we had failed to realise that our foes for the afternoon indeed played in Maroon as well. Arthur Mitchell vehemently denied that this was his fault, although the jury is most certainly still out on that one.

This confusion led to us being unable to undergo a proper warm up as we were too busy trying to compile a rather village smorgasbord of white playing tops to compete in. Fergus was playing in Jameson’s jumper, Oz was playing in a green(?!) South Africa cricket Jersey, I was unleashing an abulous storm upon the sleepy village of Ottery St. Mary by playing in nothing but a skin tight white under-armour, Jameson was playing in Oz’s hoody, Oz was playing in Jameson’s hoody, and Rufus was being a turd. HELL, I have no idea what was going on.

The game started evenly with the ball going from end to end, although far more convincingly when in the possession of the Bristol team. Some strong leading and overlap from the forwards opened up the Sidmouth defence and enabled Oz to start blasting all kinds of balls into the D, with deflections coming near, but unfortunately wide from M. Jones and R. Davies. The attacking play stayed strong, with upgrades starting to come in the form of short corners. With Josh Bryce off the pitch it fell to Oz Turnbull to release a drag flick forged in the depths of the South African safari plains which the post man could do nothing more than deflect into the roof of the net. 1-0 to the Yamsters.

If I’m honest, I can’t really remember what happened from now until half time, one of their blokes decided to take a nouveau-flare technique to tackling, by decided to pick the ball up, chuck it over one of our sticks, and then carry on running. I think Deeyam might have scored on his reverse, I think I hit the post,  I think Rhys probably should have passed more, and I’m also led to believe that Josh Bryce might have said something, but naturally that was ignored and we proceeded into half time 3-0 up.

After a gentle half time talk we decided to go out all guns blazing and see how many more we could put past these non-johns. We started well, and once again I can’t really remember what happened. Ben Steel threw an aerial which hit a wire across the pitch, which was funny. Their keeper was pretty handy. Rufus was probably being a turd, and I had no idea what Josh Bryce was saying at any point whatsoever.

One thing I do remember however, and rather unfortunately for me, is why I am sitting on the 10:30 from Bristol Temple Meads to London Paddington on the 14th January 2014 writing this report. I had received the ball just outside the 25, driven down the wing, beat a hapless defender just outside the D, saw Josh Bryce and Rhys Davies perched appetisingly just off the p-spot and now I was about to cross the ball into the D. 4-0 I hear you cry! MoM for MJ I hear you cry! Alas, twas not to be. I can only imagine the Norse Gods of Hockey were not watching me with grace and luck that afternoon, as upon releasing that ball from my Excalibur (TK S-Series), I completely hooked it and sent it reeling into the side of the goal. Josh Bryce started crying at the prospect that Lucy Preston might overtake him again on the top scorer’s board, Rhys ripped his shirt off in disgust, and Deeyam could Carpe no more. I hung my head in shame and have never been the same since. I have spent countless nights tossing and turning in my bed whilst the torturous sequence of events replay themselves again and again in my mind. The only thing I asked for from Santa Claus was the ability to forgive myself for that faithful afternoon’s events, but he didn’t answer my calls and tortured me with stockings full of socks and Original Source, Tingly Mint shower gel.

As a result of my dizzying distraught, I fail to remember barely anything else that happened in this game. Rhys scored. Bryce scored. It ended 6-0 so someone else must have scored.

We had given these Devon based wannabe Johns a good hiding, which left us in a prime position in the league for the Christmas break, and enabled to use carry on our promotion push when we restart in 2014.

The teas they gave us were really weird but we went to McDonalds so everything was ok.

 

For the first time this season, but surely not the last,

MWGJFFTFTVCCAUSEVOPWO

P.s Rufus is a turd.

This entry was posted on 26 January 2014 at 18:39. You can leave a response here.

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