Tigers Just Too Goode
[Ed: Master Scribe was heavily intoxicated at the point of writing this match report. Intoxicated with what? I don’t know.]Yeah, man, this was truly a fecking chilled day in the Madstad, as the too cool for school fecker won this for the visitors.
The Goode dude weighed in with a frickin’ awesome 23 points from the boot, a few of the penalties though, freaked me out, man. He seemed fecking well able to land attempts from just outside his 22, which is like …600 metres or something.
The former Sorrie dude was the man of the match for the Tigers, controlling throughout and dominant in his freakin’ touch finders, that seemed to go for miles. This was the real pisser for the Irish pack, having worked hard to make the hard yardage, only for a fecking turnover and a Goode-bomb to re-set the game somewhere back on the M4. Bit fecking heavy that, man.
Barry Everitt’s personal haul of 20 points was just not enough, even if he could feel the beat of the drums, man. Two well executed drop goal type fecking things as well as taking the points on offer from penalties, kept this match close from start to finish, or was I like seeing stuff. Well, it seemed like a fecking close game, anyway.
The result could have been so much different, especially as the Tigers had to face our frickin’ third string!!! (Tongue in cheek, so chill out dudes)
With Magne, Catt, Russell, Flutey, Bishop, Dawson, Edwards, Willis and of course Kennedy, not available (and 112 others dudes, come to that), it was a bit of a bummer for Brian the Smith-man come selection time.
Still, the Aussie dude did stuff that was like magic and things, because we had fifteen dudes in green and another seven in green, but with, like, tracksuits or all-in-one jumper fecking suits over them, sat over in the top tier of the West stand, or just below that. Can’t really remember where they were sat, but they seemed to be close to that dude the craic-heads call skippy, who ever the feck that dude is.
A look at the Cheaters starting line-up was a REAL bummer too, as international fecking dudes were every-freakin-where, man. Nearly choked on my spliff when this like, er, old dude told me we would win easily, then it rained and stuff, and we like laughed for like twenty-five fecking minutes about some rugby funny-shite. We concluded that he was like full of dodgy mushrooms or shite and stuff and that we would get fecking well beaten to within a roach of our lives.
Few other dudes in the Eastside squat actually went against the new prediction that me and that old dude now shared, so it was going to be a long banging afternoon.
All parts of the Irish dude’s games seemed to be clicking together, better than a bong in water. The fecking handling, like, er, the shite part of our game last season, man, was of a huge pre-order of cold turkey considering the wet stuff dropping from those fluffy clouds. My eyes were having a fecking party at the delights coming their way, and me and the old dude laughed for twenty-seven minutes in a donkey-styley about our prediction of getting a fecking. We were going to fecking win this fecker, if it was the last bit of grass I’d smoke.
Gussie made us laugh some more when that big dude Bob caught the ball at the back of the line out before releasing Gustard to pow-fecking-er over the line, running like a gazelle on speed, a substance that seemed to be the order of the day for the impressive drum fecking corp. Top bombing lads and ladettes, as the drum beat a merry chorus of happiness in the province of Happy-days.
Oh how I danced the dance of a fecker dancing to only drums before being told to sit the feck down. Seems that three minutes of turkey shuffling in the stands is, like, out of order, even after a top try … dudes.
The smile on me face and the dribbling from the happy old dude was short lived as the Tigers struck back with their own rendition of T-R-Y time, when that car named dude with a merkin on his head kicked into the 22 after, like, awesome rugby from their own 22. The Puma geezer, awesome by the way, dived to save the situation, only to be dived upon by the English skipper, Corry. ‘Foul’ I cried, only for that bloke Pearson to stick two fingers up in my direction and allow Vesty to scope the loose ball up and crash over.
The game from then on became one of those fascinating duels between two evenly matched teams, not unlike an evenly matched cockfight in the middle of Bangkok. You know, where they both batter each other to a foul mess, under the adjudication of some prick in lederhosen. The lederhosen clad fecker for this day in the shape of my mate, Dave, was like so spaced out in his attempts to blow smoke up his own ass, that a few 50/50 decisions went against the home dudes.
Other than failing to blow the aforementioned smoke anywhere near his hole, it was a steady day at the office for Pearson, unlike that dude I mentioned before, Andy ‘B in Bang Boot’ Goode.
He claimed the day, but only after Barry failed to land a fecking hard one from out wide to tie this game called rugby. If I had been the skip for this call, by the fecking way, this dude would have grown some balls and kicked for the corner.
Barry had a percentage kick. The green dudes winning the lineout was a higher probability than that waaayyyyyyyyy long penalty, but hey, the call was made.
Game over at 28-25 to the Tiggers, but our lads should be proud of their contribution to a beautiful game of rugby football, man. With all the other results in Englishshire, we lucked out and stayed in 25th position, just one off the play-off thing towards the end of the season in July. The bonus point, dudes, is more than I had expected, and oh how I laughed with the now dribbling, toothless old dude as we made our way to the bullhead.
Brain Smith after the game was alleged to have said:
"It seemed like every time there was a decision to be made, it went against us, and I for one blame that old laughing dude in the chicken outfit. Reckon he was a spaced out fecker myself.
"I think that the atmos in the East was like, awesome, but it just didn’t get us the win.
"It was a very tight game that was decided at the death, and Topsy Ojo was a whisker away from scoring on debut at the end."
Oh yeah, forgot that I got so excited about that Ojo wonder kid dude, who was like awesome all day. He nearly got in at the corner with minutes of the fewest kind to go. I am impressed with the contribution of our academy dudes, and just shows that if you are good enough, you are like, old enough. Well, in a way, like, er, but not for the Vets I suppose, if you are 18.
Still, a grand old duke of days, now off to see the lads in Spain. We will win this one and go on and draw Clyde, the Celtic slayers, in the Quarter Finals of the Cup. See you all there.
-- Master Scribe