In true me style, this monologue actually starts the day before the match.

I love being cool and being cool means drinking beers! Friday = funday to me and what better way to be rebellious against the rules that I set myself for the Lads last year than head out on the lash on a Friday night.

Sometimes I invite a few pals. But this week I really wanted to focus on the game on Saturday. I took inspiration from my favourite band – The Script – and decided that my friends were a distraction so chose to ‘drink jack all alone in my local bar’… see what I did there ;)

For the record, Carling is my favourite tipple, but that doesn’t fit with the song.

When in the bar thinking about how to write my match report this week, I was awash with inspiration from my one true hero in life – Harry Chalk. As the M1 captain before me, all I could think about during my tenure was his witty jokes, smooth talking and blistering pace on the pitch. His match reporting style, though, was the one thing I just couldn’t seem to replicate.

It was meant to be Tim writing the report this week and being one of my bestest friends in the whole wide world, I was delighted when he asked me to cover the report this week. In true Harry Chalk style, I thought it would be funny to write it as if I was Tim, but then I remembered how childish and petulant it is. I didn’t want to make a match report about someone else… I wanted the attention this week.

I rolled in at about 3am to find the cats waiting for me at the front door. I love my cats. I named them after my first two dates with my second-best friend in the whole wide world – Katie. It was great to cuddle with my kitties, ‘McDonalds Newmarket Road’ and ‘The Ladz Mill Road’.

In hindsight, abit longwinded and the vet doesn’t take me seriously.

I woke up in that prime hockey playing state of hungover enough that I have an excuse not to do any housework in the morning, but still fresh enough to be a lick faster than my old uni pal Jack Humby.

I got a lift with Harry Lewis. My car is fine to drive now, it had an MOT, but Katie said that I wasn’t in a fit state to drive. I only had 12/3 = 4 pints the night before!!

Almost game time. I jog around the car park with cat hair streaming off my traccies that I have refused to wash since uni. Despite being the second slowest in the team after Humby, I make sure I get to the line first after we run at 50% speed in the warm-up, so that I can still bark “fastest man in the club” and no one can argue otherwise because I just proved it. Don’t hate the player, hate the game.

Then I saw him… my nemesis… William Townley.

I hate Will with all my guts. The snaky fiend has slithered his way into MY CAPTAINCY and taken over the reins. I really can’t help myself but interject in the pre-match team talk. It’s still my team talk after all. I thought,  ‘What is this bloke on about??’ when he was describing the press. He then said that he’d been talking with Nat the night before the game. I was seething with jealousy. ‘That’s MY former housemate! Not yours!’, I thought, as Will pushed the whiteboard to one side in the corner where I once sat in the Long Road changing room.

I smiled at him through gritted teeth – I didn’t want him to see that I was hungover and I also want to keep my place in the team.

The game started – they were a good team compared to others that we played against before. Too skilful for me anyway. I refused to pass to Will as I didn’t want him to claim any of the glory if we win.
They had a young whipper snapper in midfield who just kept putting the ball on my foot!

“Clown feet”, he cried.

Next time around…

“What size are they? 15? Do they even sell shoes your size?”, he exclaimed.

Once more…

“Those feet are massive, mate!”, the whipper snapper continued.

‘It must be the size of my feet…’

I started to doubt myself – all this time hurling abuse at the Lads for their feet … but maybe it really does, as they say, take one to know one. That clearly applies to calling people out about their feet size too.
 

The game continued: we scored, they scored, we scored, we scored, Stan made a few saves, they scored.

3-2 FT.

Great win. I didn’t do a whole lot but great win nonetheless. I jumped in the shower buoyed by the victory and the sweet sweet sound of The Script. One of their more upbeat songs this time – The Man Who Can’t Be Moved. We certainly couldn’t be moved today.

Ben forgot his clothes and towel. Classic Ben. This is why I brought him to the club for great banter like this. Even though the shower was cold, my love for Ben’s banter was warm.

I proudly showed Ben my 4 jumper jumper and meticulously explained the rules of the jumper game that only Harry Lewis and I have so far participated in.

Then it dawned on me…

We had just beaten top of the league… which means we are top of the league… which means we have a chance to get promoted this season if we continue this run of form.

That means that Will Townley might be the first M1 captain to get South into East Prem and not me!

I staggered into teas with only the thought of Will Townley’s smug face holding the league trophy in my mind. I must find a way to sabotage this. I can’t let Harry Chalk down, must remain in East Div1.

I quickly and secretly scheduled a massive booze for next Friday ahead of another big game. It’s with all of our best players. If you haven’t had an invite yet, I don’t think you’re good at hockey.

Also, Harry Lewis asked if we could all do a category for our match report. I think that Harry Lewis does run the match report scene as delegation is the only way to success. I don’t know what that means but I sure enjoyed making everyone else do my job for me last year so long may any strain of that continue!

Here is my category – political leaders… (with no explanation):

Pearson – Jeremy Clarkson

Clement – Alexander De Croo

Connor – Simon Harris

Ed – Sarah Jones MP

HL7 – Jacob Reece-Mogg

Mark – John Healy MP

Matteo – Keir Alexander Mather MP

Pudds – President Benito Juarez of Mexico

Ozzie – Angela Merkel

Me – Rishi Sunak

Scott – Abraham Lincoln

Lindars – Pope Francis

Stan – Winston Churchill

Tim – Barack Obama

Will – Kim Jong-un

Hope you enjoyed my report. I wrote this whilst teaching my class. I love giving out boring worksheets.