Seconds lose top of table clash

An exhausting 6-3 seeing to from newly appointed league leaders Inst 2s for the freshly deposed league leaders North Down 2s. They were there too early and with too many players (like Colour Sergeant Bourne said, “thousands of ‘em”) for a just made it in time and too few playered North Down side.

Outnumber 16 to 12 we went down fighting, with them, ourselves and anyone who looked at us sideways. The final body count – anyone sporting yellow and black in the greater Wallsy conurbation (lots of Inst yaking, but tellingly not within ear shot of the man himself), the Wallsy thumb (hanging off, but a bit of masking tape and he’s good to go), the Conway “jewels” (ice, ice baby – nothing down there needs to be getting any bigger), the Irwin vocal cords (as usual), the poor sod on the end of the Buddha sliding rhino-feller and last and most spectacularly, the ScoMo central nervous system! A complete collapse of which was brought on by thermonuclear short corner denial by whistle-jockey Jim Patterson, resulting in a Scott Moorerage fuelled self substitution. Scotty has decided to live out his days as a deranged pigeon, rocking back and forth in the trees at the tennis court end. Jim is down there at the minute with a torch, some bird seed and a loaded Purdey.

“Who scored?”, you ask! Pre-breakdown Scott Moore with a deadly finish from centimetres of a Magee bobbler giving the paint  on the line no chance of keeping it out! Mark Shannon, barreling in from the half way line trailing smoke all the way to finish of a move started by no less a luminary than his good self! Adam Tate, The Thin White Duke of Second Hand Electronica sweeps home and punches the air like the vodka fuelled loon he is!

“What will we never speak of again?”, you hazard! Anonymous air-shot! ‘Nuff said on that I think. And then there’s Michael Orr ignoring the empty net. “What the hell was he doing up there?!”, you might ask. Well, at least now we know why we ask “what the hell was he doing up there?” when we find that he has indeed been up there.

“Who was your MVP?”, you demand! The Bonkers Barking-mad Benjamin Bond, for he was tremendous. Well done Ben.

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