As dawn broke over south Cambridge, anticipation for what lay in the hours ahead was at its highest in months. There had been whispers and rumours in some quarters but surely this couldn’t be true, it never happens does it?

It was.

The.
Dads.
Were.
Going.
Out.

And not just out. OUT OUT.

It was very difficult for the younger lads in the side to contain their excitement and focus on a hockey match first, as so many questions were running through their heads. Were Dave’s dance moves really as good as Jeremy Vine’s? When would the first pun joke be made? Who would smash the papadoms into a thousand pieces? Who was going to order the fal? Who would be man of the curry (a question still not answered at the point of writing this report)? Would there be train beers? Does Nik Patel drink?

And so to the match itself. A big game of course, just like the previous eight, and the next thirteen. Stortford played as their lofty league position suggested, moving the ball confidently around the back and throwing aerials forward. However the team, and particularly the Dads, stood firm with some individual nods towards honorary Dads, Rimmer and particularly Birch, who withstood anything that got through the midfield. Hockley to his credit was also doing some magnificent eighty yard shuttles up and down the pitch.

The second half followed much the same pattern as the first. A lot of short corners came and went for Stortford, all magnificently rebuffed by Dean’s horizontal stick (nineteen shorts), and Paresh’s head (one short). LMum Kim Cooil was also getting in on the act, sledging the oppo keeper to pieces.

There was time for one last chance for South five minutes before the end. A great run from Herb bamboozled and floored his defender (who to be fair looked like an MDad so probably fancied a sit down after a long day) and the ball was squared to Harry Lewis who was staring down the keeper, one-on-one. Unfortunately the chance was snuffed out by a good save, and the game finished nil-nil.

And so to the night. The team overcome an unorthodox attempt from the curry house to deal with our rowdiness by choking us to death, and then moved on to the Grain and Hop where MDad numbers were swelled by messers Rosenzvaig, Walsh and Allsopp. The squads for the highly anticipated Dads v Lads match were settled on, which the Lads were already bricking it for. With the pub kicking us out at twelve there was only one thing for it: Lolas, and with it, the obligatory J-bombs.

Four Dads were left standing by this point: Rosenzvaig, Pearson (of course) and somehow Williams and Aston! We partied the night away like it was 2008 and then instantly regretted it the next morning when those little s***s woke us up at 6.30am! So the moral of this story? Always wear a condom.