It’s been said by many that it provided the foundations on which our empire was built upon. I’ve enjoyed it in the ancient medina of Tangier and been soothed by it at some dilapidated hospital out in the bastardised far reaches of the Siberian tundra, but seldom have I - if ever - tasted a better cup of tea than what passed my lips from delicate china during half-time in the away dressing room of Michelmarsh’s Jubilee Hall ground. Not everybody agreed. Burridge warhorse Justin Newman was stroking the lonely hairs on his head and said, “Hardly a builder’s cuppa, is it?”
“Oh I dunno, Justin,” replied Reevesy who was gulping down his second cup. “Tastes alright to me.” He’d been warming the bench and now a good old cuppa was on hand to return the favour. Here amongst the leather seated chairs of the changing room, like some giant interior of a Ford Capri, Burridge gaffer Pete Lyons delivered his half time team talk. The scores tied at one each. Michelmarsh had taken the lead from close range with only a couple of minutes on the clock. It took a little time for Burridge to get a foothold in the game, but that they did.
It was Sam Hewitt, who with a dexterous swing from the outside of his right boot found the oncoming Sam Schwodler, who after side stepping the goalkeeper was left with an unfavourable angle from which to shoot upon, not to mention a defender covering the goal line. It would appear that geometry is another string to the third Schwodler, who wrapped his foot around the ball finding the necessary angle to equalise. There were to be no further goals. Schwodler ran off. Arms outstretched, screaming skyward. As weeks pass it’s fast becoming a very common sight.
B.Stanfield, L.Sanderson, P.Dyke, K.Hewitt, J.Schwodler, S.Schwodler, R.Jones (B.Rowe), J.Hewitt, J.Newman, R.Kelly, S.Hewitt