U12 away vs Old Richians
A Historic Victory
Match Report 12/11/2017
Bredon under 12’s v Old Richians
Won, possibly about 5-2
The Autumn internationals took to the stage over the weekend. I always hope that Wales will record a few historic victories against Southern Hemisphere opposition. Then I resign myself to another month of disappointments, on Saturday subjecting myself to the 80 minutes ineptitude against Australia and then what allegedly passed for entertainment as England inched past Argentina. Alas, there was to be no joyful release the following morning as I was required to spend a precious Sunday festering & frustrated at the office.
Our very own stars of the future from the Under 12’s were in county cup action & travelled to Gloucester to take on the historic Old Richians club for the second time in 3 weeks.
Now, I may have confused a few of you about the origin of the Old Richians name. To clarify. Sometime during Edwardian age of the 19th century an affable, elderly, wealthy benefactor named Sir Ian Thomas, donated a large sum of money to develop “Ye Olde Rugby Pitche” in the outskirts of Gloucester. In those days players all wore top hats, arrived by horse drawn carriage & employed a man servant to clean the mud from their heavy, hob-nailed boots. The ball was a swollen pig's bladder blown up with hundreds of breaths from the inevitably rosy faced and impossibly rotund Town Crier. Rugger (as it was known by the Toffs) was largely an excuse for the rich upper classes to further persecute the lower classes. They would chant "Rah rah rah, We're Going to smash the Oiks" as they advanced on the trembling opposition (who wore flat caps). The modern set piece originated when small boys were tossed into the scrum and trampled mercilessly if they dislodged a gentleman's top hat. Serving wenches served flagons of foaming ale whilst displaying a mouth watering abundance of succulent baps.
Nowadays, things haven't changed too much. Posh blokes still call it rugger, we parents still drive the players to games and clean their boots. Unfortunately I also maintain the tradition of a breathless, rotund fellow with a swollen bladder on most Sunday mornings. Ever since those wonderful bygone days the teams of a posher part of Gloucester have taken to the field keeping the memory of their founder alive, Consequently the club soon became known as Good Old Rich Ian’s Boys. In time the name has morphed into the current Old Richians. Incidently, he was also very fond of dunking biscuits.
I eagerly sought feedback from the Monkey when I returned home on Sunday evening. The response was monosyllabic and brief. I gathered that everyone observed a respectful silence on Remembrance Sunday - but ironically he couldn't remember anything else.
Unconfirmed reports reached me to suggest the game was played on a square pitch, we definitely won the game although the scoreline may be anything from 5-3 to 7-1. Reuters agency were unable to provide further information but a further unofficial source (via Sergei Satellite) informs me that it was a sound team performance from an extended Bredon squad. Ben Witt was outstanding at the breakdown to supply the ball time and again, and although the half backs squandered too many opportunities to move the ball wide, Bredon managed to string enough phases together to emerge victorious. No top hats wer dislodged and no boys suffered a trampling. Hurrah!
The hosts put up far sterner opposition than they had 2 weeks ago but never looked like gaining the lead after Bredon went 3-0 up. So, the boys march on to the next round, resplendent in their GPH sponsored Yakhair shirts and fuelled by generous handfuls of confectionery.
From my secluded window the weather seemed to be unseasonably fine, but no doubt will revert to apocalyptic conditions to coincide with my return to the touchline. I imagine the chat on the touchline included little banter about the internationals, a trifle more of Strictly, some X-Factor stuff and maybe a cheery “6 weeks till Xmas” from anyone annoying enough to already have everything organised.
I am unaware of the availability or quality of baps or beverages. There was no talk of foaming flagons nor serving wenches. I can only imagine the absolute remoteness of the field and have had no report of any car parking shenanigans involving horse drawn carriages. I am unaware who was wearing what thermal undergarments or even if Steve’s shorts are getting longer with the onset of winter. Lee Martin may have worn his flat cap in an act of defiance.
The coaches face more selection problems over the coming weeks that Fat Gats & Steady Eddie between them. For more historical inaccuracies please see my A level essays.
I'm just going to get the Monkey down from the chimney cleaning. See you in the mud and the rain next week.