And lo, on the 22nd of the third month, in the third (or is it fourth?) year of the second (or is it third?) millenia, a phenom that shall engulf the earth with chaos, disorder and a challenging of ideals, thoughts, protocol and beliefs. For it was decree that the legendary Royston “Viagra” Cappel refused the offer from a mere mortal of a fluid unit of a well known alcoholic beverage.
From the walls of Jericho to the hidden sub-aquatic metropolis of Atlantis, an earthquake of shock and bewilderment vigourously and catastrophically destroyed the very fabric of nature, humankind and the British Brewing Industry. The unspoken cries of “No thank you” to an offer of a purchase of said alcoholic beverage is one that may never yet be heard again.
Dazed onlookers wept with amazement, policemen and government officials battled anarchy solely motivated through their own shock and misunderstanding. Panic ensued everywhere. And Mr Cappel himself was observed with intense eyes. Is this man a mere turncoat, a casual observer would compose silently to himself, or is this an unusual set of circumstances? In these troubled times, such a minor incident could be the turning point of a turbulent time to come.
Such shocking behaviour that Mr Cappel turned a drink down has made me forget that it was Ford on a Northern Green 2 Nissan on the South Circular 6 and probably for the first time since Orient got drubbed by the same scoreline waaay back in 1984 we scored more than 5 in a competitive game. Given this and the story mentioned above, no wonder I’m late in writing this – shock can be a terrible thing you know. Oh well. Two hat-tricks (Bolger and Cooper) and much orgasmic pleasure was caused by the sheer knowledge of breaking the “5 goal” voodoo. Don’t ask me about the game though, I wasn’t paying attention.
Plus points: Scoring 6 goals – nuff sed
Minus points: Defence still shite.
The referee’s a …… : Deserves a big kiss for giving us the penalty and letting us have the best opportunity of scoring the sixth.
Them: One of the most hospitiable bunch of people going. Gave us a free programme, nice writeup as well AND slagged off Wallingford to boot. Good stuff. Nice, tidy ground, pleasant club bar, their chairman (or was it manager?) gave us a nice speech in the bar afterwards, apparently. Even prepared a stand for us, which will cost them Â£400 to take down. And they let us score 6
Tir na nOg: There was a Gaelic Football club next door, forget the name of it though chances are it’s some mythical Irish reference. Given some of our shooting in the first half, it’s a cert that some of our players will next season be playing for London GAA.
Nee naw nee naw nee naw: Why the hell were there loads of OB there? Was it to control the delerious crowds that had seen us score more than 5? Funnily enough, Reefer Womble went a-hiding whenever nice Mr Policeman strolled around with his truncheon.
Ugly: Celsi fans en masse at Wimbledon station. Trust me, they ARE ugly.
Point to ponder: Have I mentioned enough times that we scored six goals in one game? No? Oh well…
Truth is stranger than fiction: (1) Scoring more than 5 goals in a game. (2) The somewhat bizzare march from the station to the ground by a steward. Purely to help us find the way, though I was looking out for little pockets of aggro from the legendary hardcore North Greenford massive. Need not have bothered though, even the Iraqi Army puts up more resistance around Basra than we got yesterday. Anyway, aren’t these sort of things just so reminiscent of similar excursions around places like Burnley, Rotherham, Newcastle etc? (3) Yesterday had the pre-season friendly feel about it. Seriously. Especially the first half, reminded me of the hazy days of Boreham Wood. Aaah….. (4) We scored 6 goals.
Franchise FC watch: All right, they lost to our favourite Yorkshire team AND only 39 of their gimps bothered to travel all that way.
Anything else? Yes, we scored 6… (that’s enough)
So, was it worth it? Probably
In a nutshell: We want six, we want six…