For the abridged version, I simply defer to the immortal words of Gennaro Gattuso, Italian national team coach. If you’re unfamiliar with the reference, I suggest you watch the short clip below:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wixynJCGQq4

That, in essence, sums up our performance.

Now, for the full report.

Questions remain as to whether the game should even have gone ahead, following the distressing events that unfolded on the field next to Long Road. As we watched the M1s, Ali Smith suddenly pointed skyward. A small plane appeared to be in trouble. It was in a nose-dive, spinning frantically toward the ground before disappearing behind the trees. Silence. Ali waited for the explosion. Surely, there’d be no hockey today.

And then, suddenly, the “plane” reappeared, soaring safely back into view. It was a miracle, wasn’t it?! No. It was a child’s toy plane. Quite obviously.

What more does one need to do to win lemon, you ask? Apparently, scoring an own goal and mentioning that you saw a minor outside his school will do it (please do ask me for context).

So, the game went ahead. And South started brightly. The hockey in the first half was slick, composed, and dominant. City barely had a sniff at George’s goal. Despite the control, though, we struggled to make it count. That was until a City centre-back helpfully launched the ball over his own back line, awarding us a short corner. M2 fans will know this side lives for short corners; we seemingly refuse to score any other way. And, right on cue, Andy replicated his goal from last week, deflecting in from short range to put us 1–0 up after 30 minutes.

Going into half-time ahead would have been ideal and probably deserved. Calm heads were needed, but chasing a second before the whistle, we overcommitted. City broke quickly, and to be fair, finished clinically. Things could have been worse if not for a fine save from George, off his helmet, no less.

And that, really, was the end of the “good” part. What followed, as Gattuso would put it, was... well, less good. The second half turned scrappy and flat. There was too much turnover in the middle of the pitch, and we failed to utilise the screens and our transfer. City earned several short corners and eventually converted one, twenty-five minutes into the second half.

At 2–1 down, we rallied with a strong ten-minute spell and a flurry of short corners of our own. Lamming came close, from what could only be described as a “creative” (read: improvised) short corner routine.

At this point, a commentator might have said, “South will live to rue those missed chances.” And they’d have been right, as City soon bagged their third. I’m not exactly sure what happened there, but on another day, George would likely have fancied his chances.

Now 3–1 down, we needed something – fast. Personally, I was desperate to score, not least because I’d finally been assigned a shirt number. Captain Jim confirmed this gave me licence to score... or get carded. And, sure enough, I got my chance. In came the cross from the right-hand side, which I met with a crisp, shin-height volley at the near-post. It just happened to be the wrong goal.

The touchline erupted in ironic cheers, topped off by an opposition “Yesss, my little pony!” – original!

And that was that.

The mood at full-time was sombre, as it should’ve been. We know we’re capable of far better. A performance to forget, but fuel for revenge in the return fixture.