Durham 3rd XV vs York 1st XV
January 28th, 2010 by Reporter_1stLife was always going to be hard for the Invincibles this year. Not only are they playing up a league, they are doing so without prolific try-scorer and carnivorous female-destroyer (© B. Blessed, 2009), Buzz Lightyear. And if a trip away to those big bad boys in purple, The Durham Wombferrets, wasn’t daunting enough, before kick-off they had a mere 7 places separating them from the relegation places.
When the team bus passed a sign 1hour before kick-off reading “York 5miles”, a knowing glance passed between the grizzled alumni: we’ve been here before.
When the squad shuffled morosely off the bus onto a pitch wetter than an otter’s pocket, another knowing glance.
When the ever-affable Mr Porter meekly asked if the backs might possibly pull their fingers from their arses, s’il vous plait, the pre-game preparation for York’s annual horror show in the northern steppes seemed complete.
But yet again, the boys in black and gold produced a display of ruthless attacking verve and relentless commitment to leave the squabbling hosts reeling. A final score of 36-3, a turnaround of about 80 points since the dark days of 2006, barely gives credence to the gulf in class between the two sides.
The start was cagey and abrasive, with both sides looking to stamp their authority early. Tiny Dancer’s hopes of regaining his beloved “York’s Prettiest Man” title from its swarthy incumbent The MuJ were dealt a grievous blow when Durham’s number 8 hit him a fortnight late and then returned to sit on his face. But with his bouffant safely rearranged, Booboo lead the first meaningful attack into the Durham 22, an excellent move carving open the hosts and forcing an infringement. The Cambodian stepped up to coolly slot the penalty over – 3-0.
Durham responded quickly, with their powerful, direct running testing York’s defence. Arkan, whose tackling would have made his genocidal namesake proud all day, seemed to have put an end to the hosts’ brief spell of possession with a cataclysmic hit, but when the dust settled the referee appeared to be pointing the wrong way. Durham scored the penalty, but were kind enough not to trouble the scorers again.
With FT’s disconcerting ability to be making more than one tackle at once, they didn’t really have a choice. Time and again he and the pack disrupted Durham ball, and with the backs beginning to click, York were looking ominous. They got their reward with a monstrous pushover try from 8 metres out, FT flopping effeminately over the line. Durham were steamrollered, and I felt my willy move, just a little bit.
Unfortunately, for the rest of the game, scrummaging against the home front-row was like trying to nail blackcurrant jelly to a wall. With York camped on Durham’s 5metre, time and again the scrum was pulled down, and time and again the referee waited until the tighthead’s lip stopped quivering before resetting it. 11-3 at half time, in total control, and with a two man advantage thanks to Durham’s constant infringements, the Invincibles were aggrieved not to have got more for their efforts.
Unfortunately, due to retrospective memory-loss caused by a first Ziggy’s in 6 months, things get a bit hazy from here. I’ll do my best…
The Invincibles smelled blood after the break and Naboo immediately extended their advantage with a penalty. York’s progress towards the whitewash was increasingly inexorable, offensive defence and some dynamic offloading in the tackle making it impossible for the Wombferrets to gain a real foothold. Skipper, and almost unanimous (I thought he was toilet) man-of-the-match, Alex Redshaw’s deft link play in midfield was justly rewarded with two close-range tries to effectively put the match to bed. At 26-3, it was one-way traffic, and Durham didn’t like it. Tempers frayed on both sides, and the red mist even infected The MuJ. Luckily, he remembered where his priorities lay and went to ground before any costly damage was done to the money-maker.
Redshaw was flipping balls out the back of his hand, MuJ was scrapping, Buggé had yet to score a 90metre try whilst impregnating his opposite number’s girlfriend: a day of firsts all round. Next thing you know, a portly circumcise-ee will be doing someone on the outside before passing inside to set up a 50metre try.
But… No… Surely…
Jesu Christi. I very nearly made a crack involving the words “If Anne Frank had a step like that…”, but I didn’t. Because I’m better than that. And because it would take the gloss off a genuinely slick piece of rugby.
Anyway, all that was left was for Ed Drewett to take a break from dismembering hapless Durham attackers and waltz over
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