Therfield 9 Knobs 4

Close game.
Lots of chuckles in dressing room as news of the chocolates from Alistair to Brendan did the rounds. I thought it was nice. Chrysanthemums for me this week to assuage the pain of the damaged ligaments.
Tom Martin made his season's debut only hours before the imminent arrival of number two child.
Commitment! A true veteran in the making. He played very well on a heavy pitch against a rustic Therfield side.
A tight fifteen minutes was followed by a swift unravelling. We defended , won the ball , I glanced away and somehow we gave them the ball and in the moment it took me to hockle, twas in the net.
Piss poor! Two goals swiftly followed, the googly and the one that went straight on with the arm. Nought for three. Oh before this we'd effectively gone down to 10 when I succumbed to a little snap in the knee. (Lateral ligament diagnosed this morning, that's it, had a good run).
We pulled one back when a terrific cross from the Debby man reached Mark Mills who glanced in with head, shoulder or larynx. They scored again, a proper goal this time. 4-1 half time.
Oh but earlier in the contest, their man, you know the one, got involved with his rancid mouth and threatened to obliterate such bonhomie as was doing the rounds. I suppose he can't help it, some form of Tourettes syndrome but lacking any humour or intelligence. He left a nasty mark through Debbie's fishnets mind.
The tackle of Debbie and their bloke was six and two threes an "f" and two "c's", except in Alistair's eyes who considered our lass was the perpetrator.. Not in my eyes. Both go for ball both have feet off ground and crash! Noone hurt thankfully but affords an excuse for Banana Brain to have his two pennorth of crap. What constitutes a humour transplant?
Two aliens bedecked in lycra, pinks and turquoises and other less subdued colours arrived to watch a bit. Twere the injured Chris G and Bill on their bikes. Lovely they looked.
Second half with Richard pushing forward saw us create chances and we were soon back to 4-3 with goals from Richard and Chris Cox.
They scored a few more by which time Richard had hobbled homewards with a calf strain. Our nine still managed one more from a rampaging Brendan, finding the roof of the net from an Alistair cut back. John Twigg got very angry after a hard tackle, very two footed in his tackles, from Fat Shite- No Humour-  Smelly Bot Boy. It was marginally legal but John apologised for calling him a "cunt". Naturally he can't handle apologies. An unpleasant oik.
Thank you Dave for deputising in goal, at last minute and thanks to Tom.
Not an easy week to get a side out. But who cares? I do or used to.
I see Old Owens have failed to get a side out now for three league games. Hmm!
Next week we're at home, if we can find our way there, to Old Minchendenians. Bring your brollies to the Lytton for the enjoyment of your dampburgers.