Burridge's fifth consecutive win makes promotion a possibility. Click here for video highlights.
Wednesday 28th April
Hatches Farm Playing Fields
“Do you know what I feel like doing?” Asked Wellow's manager. “Committing suicide, that's what.” It was too late, his team had already done it by letting nine Burridge goals fly past them. What hairline he had left he kept shaved down to the bone. He gave it a cautionary scratch, and reflecting on what he'd just told the gathering of people watching on the sidelines, decided that he might jut get stuck into a bottle of Calvados when he got home instead.
(Pics by Roz Hutton) Click to enlarge. Top: Sam Schwodler strides through on goal. Bottom: Bryn Schwodler completes his hat-trick.
Burridge may have enjoyed some good fortune to beat Wellow the previous Saturday, (click here for that report), but not in this game. They'd scored four goals before half-time. Sam Schwodler banged in three of them, Ben Rowe the other. The game's up for any team when the opposition react to curling one into the top corner from the edge of the penalty area by walking casually back to the half-way line, and that's exactly what Bryn Schwodler did only minutes into the second half to make it five
It was about this time that Wellow made a substitution. There were no shortage of volunteers to be taken off with several Wellow players making eyes to their manager.
All of which looked pretty disappointed when they were overlooked in favour of their left-back. He'd spent the game hunched over for air in a perpetual state of fucked, which was little surprise seeing as he looked about sixty years old. His name was Malky, and he peeled of his white shirt and leaned on the pitch's perimeter railings. The name tattooed onto a heart in his forearm had been smudged by time.
Sam Schwodler got his fourth goal, his brother Bryn ended up with three, while Ben Rowe picked up the slack with two of his own. Wellow were demoralised. Their wingers saw little point in retreating into defensive positions. This got one Wellow player's goat. “Get back or get off the pitch,” he shouted to his right-winger, and with that the right winger sloped off toward the changing rooms fifty yards away with his head bowed. Another Wellow player bemoaned the fact his team had let in seven goals. Kristian Hewitt quickly corrected him it was actually nine.