Worcester (U12) vs Droitwich (U12) mixed teams game 1
Sun shines on the the Woo as they turn on the style
There's a saying around these parts that can be traced back to the earliest days of the old rivalry between these two great sides, a pithy line that captures the passion, the honour, the respect, the history, and at times the intense brutality of the encounter. Unfortunately I can't remember / make anything up at the moment, so introduction over, and on with the match.
Worcester were on top from the kick off, with Fish'ead immediately fielding the ball from and making pacey yards down the park. Backed up then by a solid defensive line with Herbs, the Street and Kreuger putting in the hits, the Witch found themselves breathing heavily, and wondering what was in store for the next 25 minutes.
With parents furiously scribbling, all deployed with notepads to record detailed and pointless statistics of the event to enable over paid pundits to overly analyse the game post final whistle, the Woo were dominating possession and territory, and there followed some tidy phases and couple of passes ending with Oregano crashing over. Well I wouldn't stand in front of him. A big tackle in the middle saw the Droititians cough up the ball, and again the Woowoos grasped the thorny rose stem to feed Fishy McFishface to get on the score sheet.
Paddy carried well, freed the hands from the tackle and created a deft offload, then more fast hands gave Dom the ball who stretched his legs, paused slightly to flick his hair for the cameras, and slid over for the third.
At this point the wind was taken from the Wichitonians sails. As well as having supernatural control of the weather, the Woosy Boys boarded said figurative ship, took down the sails and threw them overboard. HMS Dritowsawich was going nowhere.
Thyme got on the ball again to run in his second, Kreuger entered the opposition dreams to deftly strip the ball before coming back into reality and crossing the line to grab his piece of the action, and then the Street, having recently rallied Ethel at number 62 to knock up a few hanging baskets to brighten up his small corner of England, wobbled the ball to open a gap and duly filled the gap. With himself. And the ball. Then proceeded through the gap to score.
Not to miss out on the mornings fun the boys conjured a little gift for the Chipmeister who lathered on the tommy S and gobbled down the last of the match.
Let me count those up...err, 1, 2, 3, carry the 6, divide by number of corner flags, add on the number you first thought of...I'm counting 7.