As heavy rain falls over boggy paddy fields, a solitary silhouette is spotted meandering through the country lanes, desperately trying to keep the downpour from his stony face. As the torrent grows, the amble breaks into a sprint; slipping through puddles and scrambling over fallen branches. Finally there is a lit doorway: home. As the traveller approaches the hut against the haze of dusk, the figure is revealed to be a young child, shivering and filthy, and close to exhaustion.
As he steps into the small home, the boy meekly raises a hand to apprehensively acknowledge a gnarled and brooding man in the middle of the room.
“Father, there is terrible news for our beloved Bleeding Marvellous”, the boy mutters, holding up a filthy and worn red shirt, “Clarke is back. It’s all over Twitter”.
“WHAT?! But I thought he retired? He said he’d played his last game for the mighty #Ladpack!” booms the gravelly response.
The boy winces: “Yeah, well he’s only done a bloody Scholes on us”.
“Isn’t that a bit of an anticlimax? Smells like a PR stunt to me: won’t their press officer be annoyed that he put all that effort into a send off?”
Yeah basically Jamie managed six days of retirement before deciding he couldn’t cope with life outside of the pack. The late kick off meant that he was back from London in time for the match, and so #Ladpack continued as almost normal: Nick has decided that he also loves the Big Smoke and has moved to the capital in what the Frank Lee Monday Night 5-a-side Football League press may call an exodus. There will be no grand farewell for now, as we don’t want to be caught out again and he’ll probably play next bloody week.
With morale becoming an issue at the club, and Cappy Jim, BD Pugh and Simon ‘Ogre Jah Beh’ Day narrowly making it back from their trip to a French ‘Cheap Fizzy Wine and Scrabble’ festival, there was a fairly sluggish warm up for the side. “Ou est le gols?” baguetted Jim, “je t’aime les gars paquet”.
Luckily, it seems being late/hungover works for the #Lads, as they played some of the sexiest football the green carpet has ever seen. Jonny even got bored of scoring sensible goals as he decided to chip it over his own shoulder as he rolled the defender and smash a left footed volley past their helpless GK. Simon darted down the right looking for the killer pass, but instead just smashed a long distance strike in off the post when nobody came to close him down. 6-1 up at half time, the solitary response being a gift from Simon losing the ball in his own half.
Sadly, as the sun blazed and the fizzy wine took its effect, the second half performance deteriorated early on. Simon was feeling the effects worst of all following his holiday and was subbed off as he weeped under his breath (“All I can taste is brie, brioche and blood”), and the triangles became lines. To opposition players. Despite Minto’s best efforts Bleeding Marvelous pulled four back in five minutes of the Ladpack’s worst ever defensive performance. After a short breather, Jonny returned to the field, Jim and Jamie started talking to each other, and Luke remembered how to run and the team clicked once more: Triangles, goals, passing, win.
We like to make things difficult for ourselves, but Christ that was hairy.
The Invincilads: Pissing on paddy fields since 2012.