I wish to pass a motion', snorted the Bombers Tyrion Lannister at the pre-game ritual. I initially thought he wanted to drop Obama off to the Whitehouse, but no. To quote Renly Baratheon, "You have to give it to the Lannisters - they may be the most pompous, ponderous cunts the gods ever suffered to walk the world, but they do have outrageous amounts of money."
Tyrion continued, 'I would like to suggest that Hansie is given the Horses Arse trophy for being the cause for the teams poor performance this season'.
I don't know if the undersized has outrageous amounts of money, but I know who I will be voting for on this upcoming Bombers trip. Fucking turd. He should have been thrown over the fence to join his pink-arsed baboon mates. Did you realise, Roger, research has shown that men who feel least masculine are at risk of committing violent abusive acts? Sometimes called the Napoleon complex, small man syndrome supposes that men who feel the least masculine seek power, war and conquest to make up for their physical shortcomings.
But being the better man, I accept it is a disease you have carried with you forever, and will continue to do so until to are stubbed out, and therefore forgive you for falling short of traditional masculine gender norms. But just to be clear - make sure you stick to the righthand side of the field.
Anyway, to the game. Pretty limp-wristed first half to be honest. 'Playing like a bunch of children', I think was the call from camp leader at halftime. Forgive me if I have misquoted the bellowing voice from the back, but it was something about playing with children. Not that anyone particularly listens.
However, something worked. The passing seemed to have improved and before we knew it, Danny's attempted chip shot over the defence for our strikers to run onto was met by the head of a Seatoun wannabe and sliced passed the stumbling keeper into the back of the net. If only our strikers could do that. 1-0.
When JB donned the hi-vis, I knew the game was ours. Not saying JB is a cheat but he won't give the opposition any leeway. And true to form the puritanical match official blew his whistle for a spotty for what must have been their eighth handball. The ever-dependant Hilda mis-shot directly at the keeper who had already dived to his right. 2-0.
The third goal was pure class. The CE of the BA was on form. Must have been his guilt of being absent from the previous weeks matches or his prolonged, unfaltering coition with one hot brunette, but his skills that day were beyond belief. Holding onto the ball until he saw Doc make a blistering run into space, the ball was delivered to near-inch precision, for the quack to slip the third inside. 3-0.
Then they scored. Fuckers.
It was great to finally have a win. Our fifth for the season. One to go.