Knobs 0 Blunham Vets 5 - report by Twiggy

Darren 2, Blunham Vets 3, Knobs 0

It was a grey November morning when we emerged from the great green shed to confront our aggressors, Sandy masquerading as Blunham Vets, but where were they? According to Sir Ron they don’t normally kick-off ‘til 11 and this Sunday was no exception, so after a 30 minute warm up inside they eventually took to the field, looking like cats, waiting to pounce.

Our side was, perhaps, a little less able than usual, having had to cope with several defections during the week. Once again this gave us the chance to field our new Icelandic international, Rooney Gudrunnersson and with some changes at the back to ensure that the opposition would appreciate the value of true pace we got the game going.

A couple of early scares helped to meld the back four into a more effective unit in the first half despite a combined age of 105, and that was just among the centre-backs. We passed and parried, parried and passed, but in the end could find no way past and after 45 minutes we felt that we had accomplished something with the score staying at 0-0. All this despite their two front runners being quite lively, not surprising really since one of them, Nunu by name, looked considerably younger than his claimed 39 years. Its been a long time since I lived North of Watford and I had obviously forgotten what a hard life whippets don’t have!

The half time talk by Sir Ron was inspirational. “f**k me lads, we’ve got a chance here” lifted our spirits, at least until we kicked off again.

Within what seemed like seconds our fortunes were on the wain. With all the guile and finesse of a pregnant ballet dancer, an innocent enough looking cross was deftly flicked over Trevor’s head and into the gaping net....by Darren. “I haven’t done that for years” seemed like a satisfactory explanation at the time.

Yet a few minutes later Darren went for his second. A vicious cross fired in from the left found our right back doing his Mike Tyson impression on the goal line, his neck and head disappearing into the gap between his shoulders leaving just a pair of eyebrows and a yet-to-be-balding pate to head the ball away, or in this instance to head it into our open net for a second own goal. Never mind Darren, we don’t blame you – just thank god you didn’t go for the hat-trick.

Things settled down again for 10 minutes when we pressed for an opening to start to make things even. To be fair we were having just as much of the game as them and we thought we were still in with a chance. To Bully, to Darren, to Brendan, to Twiggy, to Bren...”oh f**k, shouldn’t have done that”...to their three onrushing forwards. Brendan got trampled in the ensuing stampede and left Nunu the whippet to race onto the free ball and rifle in a shot from just inside the area.

The disappointment was palpable, but we kept on going. Our most enterprising and incisive move followed soon after. Debbie glided unnoticed into the box to meet a neatly chipped cross just in front of goal. It was a header of sheer force, no glancing side-trick here, just a full-blooded, forehead ringing smacker! The crowd roared yet within an instant there was hush as everyone waited for the outcome of this attempt with all the anticipation of a midwife with no hands. Debbie wheeled round in celebratory fashion, only to wheel back to confirm that what he had seen in the corner of his eye was indeed their keeper making a reaction save at point blank range. The guy must have been a traffic officer in the past to have got his hand up that quickly, and thus we were thwarted once again.

Even the attentions of the usually lively Gavin and further pressure from our midfielders and front-runners proved fruitless. We just couldn’t score despite getting close in to their area quite frequently. They didn’t seem to have this kind of difficulty, putting in two more in the closing stages from the left hand side.

5-0. Well, 3-0 really plus a little help from us!

Back to the Station Hotel bar and dining room for a well earned rest. Our centre backs as usual resorted to the tried and trusted method of honing their physiques and reactions next week with four pints of IPA.

Worryingly though, Sir Ron confirmed that at some point he may be relocating to Wales, eventually. Some say its a lack of consistency in the results, others the difficulty with the language barrier but I think its all about Sir Ron and Lady Crennel getting back to Gods country to eat grass and smoke lamb! Or was it the other way round? Tootle pip!