Match Report

In preparation for another spectacle of tedious rugby, I decided it was time to hit the hard stuff and go class A in order to get through the afternoon. I had a bag with twenty-five pellets of liquorice, twenty-one midget gems, half pound of nutmeg, enough morning glory to kill a seagull, five bars of chocolate, a paper bag half full of jelly babies, and whole galaxy of multicolored smarties, m&m’s, middlers, lefters, righters, forwardsers and backwardsers; a flask of tea, pint of milk, digestive biscuits, case of beer, pint of raw peanut butter, two dozen sandwiches. A bag of rare and priceless British stamps. Not that I needed them for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious stamp collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can. With this sort of investment how could I go wrong. I’d tried unnatural acts in public places, staring directly at the sun, hoping the retina damage would cause temporary blindness, but it hadn’t worked. It had to be a full sugar rush and psychotropic hallucination to get me out of another Saturday of watching the game.

I was never asked to interview Pat Magroin Quinn, but it appears to be an ideal opportunity to have a whole page of Irish jokes and ridicule. He claims the Titanic was made by Irishmen. It was designed to sink. The Irish people on board knowingly gave their lives, dismantling the craft from within, to ensure that a load of wealthy Brits would drown. It is said that there was a rumour spread in steerage that there was a room o’ spuds on the other side of the shell plating and they went at it like navvies passing Fastnet light. He’s a particularly explosive character, especially in the presence of flammable substances like whiskey or drain cleaner. Like all Irish he’s prone to be a little tipsy and want’s to fight everyone. He’s more deadly than Chuck O’Norris. The warning sign before the “fury” is his slurred, “What's black and blue and floats in the Irish Sea? An Englishman who tells Irish jokes.” At great personal risk I will continue with some facts on the great emerald isle. Cauliflower is highly poisonous to Irish children. Parents often threaten misbehaving children: "I'll shove Cauliflower in your gob, ya prick!" All modern appliances are unheard of in Ireland. Electricity and running water is reserved for the landlords and residing Englishmen. And finally, taking dick up the @ss, they love a bit... actually that’s the French.

Anyway... standing minding my own business, there is nothing I could write to describe the sights, sounds and smell at that moment when Fabien stood near me. There were stains on his shirt that contained fossils. There he was wasting my oxygen and he began to speak. Now I know he claims to be a vagitarian, but in that moment he stooped lower than an Australian and said, in that nauseating accent “ow love, sit on me teeth and wiggle ya beef.” There has to be a Club bio-law against this sort of midday cruising on the touchline. Then there is Dan, who is about as scary as a 1970’s knitting pattern model, who let him play? He recently admitted to be an avid reader of romantic novels, Barbara Cartland, Jilly Cooper, Readers wives and the like.

Then there is Tony Booth, apart from Swatts who is possibly less interesting, Tony’s most amazing fact is that he comes from Leicester. For those who have little grasp of geography, history or reality, like the Americans, here is a brief history of his home town. Leicester has a rich and colourful history with a population of 3 million people. It suffers greatly from the south westerly wind blowing the smell of stale p1ss from its neighbour, Coventry. It is also home to the world's largest population of Mockneys outside of Reading, these are people who sound like they are from London, but are in fact from the midlands. Reading is in fact in Wales, to the west of St.Aines. It was voted best place to be carpet bombed, narrowly beating Cleathorpes and Paris.

It has to be time to start the game, Captain this week was Nico “fist of fury” Zurcher, who let the pre-game talk with some Tennison.

Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Culture was completely lost on the drooling barbarians and all through the match people asked why he spoke like a girl, or “what you speak?”

We started well and managed to get a penalty near the posts. Coles had warmed his stiffened leg, having missed touch in the previous kick. He managed to put us ahead for 3. We were in the lead. Fired up the play was excellent, skills like I’ve never seen before or since. By half time we were in second place by 17 points to our 3 from the penalty. But we had them on the ropes. It was only two try’s and conversions to draw level. I missed the half time speeches, apparently Dan read a passage about a gentleman in a ruff shirt finding himself in the lady garden of lady Fanshaw.

You may wonder why so much distraction was put into the start of the narrative… It wasn’t his gingeriness Mr Orange making an appearance, although his hair is particularly offensive. It was the second half. Early on we fired up and conceded two more try’s. In response Harry ran the ball up field and got the ball to Grant, who after little effort fell over the line and had a rest. Coles missed. Isaac managed to connect his nose with a knee causing his father to leave all the free beer and tend his flock. Grant also took a bash to the spuds, but no-one was prepared to see if he was feigning injury or just wanted Dan or a Frenchman to fish about and play la-la's down his pants.Cricket Club retaliated and scored another two tries, before captain beef @rse brushed aside their forwards like match sticks and scored near the posts, Coles kicked for 2. They scored another shortly afterwards. New boy Harry (AKA Mr S. Gent) got himself a yellow. The optimism of being still in the game at half time faded and the final whistle went.

Final score
Hong Kong Cricket Club 48 – Typhoons 15

Fines afterwards saw Locky and Swatts fined for their party carnage gaff. Harry was on for MOM, but I think the yellow moved the award to someone else (TBC). Gareth also struggled finishing his beer, fined for making an appearance after several months in the wilderness. There was much rejoicing and beers were consumed, especially by Tony Booth who was particularly interesting.

A picture of Jason Orange before he turned 40