As all good Saturdays ought to start, I met for a morning coffee date with none other than OB’s 2018/19 2nd team player of the season, young player of the season and 1st XV C**t of the year, George Morgan. You’ll be pleased to hear that he is putting in the graft to retain that last award as he insisted on enjoying his iced mocha outside…in the shade…in shorts and a pair of ray-bans.

Conversation was largely centred on how many beers George claimed he would drink after the final whistle before a shock admission that Abe was “probably” (definitely) a better scrum-half than himself, and as such he would have to play on the wing in order to become more versatile, and more importantly cease to make George question his own selection despite being captain. GCM at its finest.

That afternoon my chauffeur took me on a brief BS8 tour to bring a selection of OB’s finest, including a disappointingly sober Cammy Milne, who was eager to regale us with a fantastically dull collection of anecdotes about the new hobbies he’d taken up during Dry-January. It was rather peculiar to see a man normally so keen for social drinking seem so genuinely enthusiastic about his new-found love of landscape drawing. However, I could sense that George was hatching a plan to put an end to that and bring back the shoe guzzling version of Cammy we much prefer, and I’m sure we’ll hear more on that later.

Upon arrival at Fortress Failand, the tell-tale signs of a post-match social were clear and obvious: players had arrived before the designated meet time, there was a buzz around the changing rooms and even the 1st team squad were enjoying one another’s company. Focus soon drifted away from the evening’s activities as Shane told us we would be performing a role play activity for the game by trying to harness our inner c**t, after a convincing speech it looked like the lads were on board as even Jon Hill told me to f*ck off, to be fair I probably shouldn’t have advised him to try and actually kick it through the posts this week.

After a classic rendition of Pikey’s world-renowned warm up built around seductive exercises including kissing the ground, shagging the turf and tea-bagging each other, there was just enough time for a group hug and some last minute supportive words of advice from Shane before kick-off ‘‘Remember lads, be a bunch of c**ts’’.

The first half was an absolute try-fest for the OB’s; had any of them actually been given. Jon Hill first saw himself denied a try under the sticks as the ref was busy watching the two’s game whilst Jamie Desk’s effort in the corner was disallowed after an error in judgement from the touch-judge provided by the opposition. Jamie had clearly been listening to Shane’s pre-match chat as he ordered the touch judge, the opposition and everyone within earshot to fuck off. These frustrations weren’t in vain though as the forwards managed not only to win their own lineout but synchronise this with a powerful driving maul that just needed the addition of my considerable bulk to get Runkle over the line. Hunty spent a couple of minutes too long calculating that we would need to score 28 tries in order to get the referee to actually award enough for a bonus point, which would be easy, right?

As the half looked to draw to a close the OB’s suffered the first of what would be many injuries in the line of duty as our fearless leader Willacy fell awkwardly during a tackle and let out a noise that he later admitted to have been ashamed of as soon as it had left his mouth. Come half time the OB’s held a slim lead that Shane put attributed to the amount of dogging and c**t we’d shown out on the pitch, which left Matt Law looking confused, or maybe he was just concussed. Speaking of which Matt was later forced off the field due to a head knock in that might have actually knocked more sense back into him.

The second half was plagued by injuries and Jamie Desk, as acting captain, was the next to fall after being forced to make a tackle that rendered his shoulder useless. His time spent on the side-line was cut short as Louis banged his head and was taken off as a precautionary measure to protect his beautiful, beautiful face. To make matters worse for Jamie we decided to kick the ball deep into dogshit corner on several occasions just to watch him perform a few textbook one-armed-flying-speed-bump tackles, what a warrior. To round off the injury list Runkle broke his finger, but after a quick breather he was back in the thick of it as we were down to 14 men with plenty of time left on the board. It was at some point during this crucial period of the game, as we were busy dissecting another quizzical refereeing decision that had robbed us of a scoring opportunity, that Kyle decided we ought to just “be a bit more fucking positive” seeing as we were winning. He had a point, and despite the draining defensive sets even Medgar looked like he was enjoying himself when he got the chance to barrel through one of the little lads.

The OB’s were rewarded for their efforts with some well-structured attacking play culminating in Sean barging his way over the line. Gordano were not about to roll over though and scored to put themselves within 5 points. Time was running out and a long kick-off into dogshit corner was knocked on by the Gordano winger. A penalty came from the next attacking phase and Jon Hill was given the chance to put the game to bed with 2 minutes remaining. Thankfully, he heeded my pre-match advice and slotted the penalty to seal the victory.

Spirits were high, and the omens were good for a big session at the club as news of 3 wins across the board traveled through the changing rooms. I’m ashamed to say that I had to leave long before the clubhouse antics ensued but I’ve been reliably informed that the lads drank on without me and perhaps Cammy’s dry January may have been a bit damper than he’d hoped for after all.

Final Score: OBs 25-17 Gordano
Tries: Runkle, Kiwi, Schnollie
Cons: J Hill (2)
Pens: J Hill (2)
BOG: Waugh

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2nd XV: OBs 27-0 Barton Hill

The day began with a chilly, brisk morning in Bristol. Cam had arisen feeling fresh at 8.30am. He sipped a warm coffee whilst gazing out of his flat window at the Clifton Lawn Tennis Club, pondering whether he would spend another dry Saturday night reading, drawing or repotting the house plants. Little did he know what that fateful day had in store.

As the 2s assembled in the changing room, Chop was relieved to learn that the heinous cacophony of ‘music’ coming from down the hall could be attributed to the opposition. Fortunately, a few minutes later Chunk arrived and began drowning this out with ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ and ‘I’m Coming Out’ among other ‘hype tracks’. The stage was set.

The B’s graced the Failand turf and began the customary dynamic warm up. On his return to the 2s, Chunk produced a typically majestic display of yoga/pilates/seduction. As the Bs lined up to receive the kick off, their eyes were blinded by sunlight. But hadn’t we won the toss? Captain Morgan kept his questionable choice quiet until the final whistle when he conceded that meteorology wasn’t his strong point (for which he duly awarded himself DOTD).

On to the rugby then and Old Bs – who were eager for revenge after a heavy loss in the reverse fixture – got off to a flying start with an early try. Both sides tiptoed around calling the female ref ‘Sir’ whilst Barton Hill gave her whistle a workout, handing the B’s a welcome bounty of penalties. Despite the oppo’s frequent backchat, the ref had an excellent game (even if she did penalize Cam for punching someone which is definitely not something Cam would ever intentionally do).

Pricey dished out a few dummies and offloaded to put the Bs in for their 2nd. As confidence built, Abe decided to take a pot shot at the regrouping opposition under their posts instead of converting the try. Soon after, Coatesy cut a swathe through the Barton line and stepped the full back (Captain Morgan: “see, even Coates can step him!”) to put the Bs in for their 3rd try of a prolific half.

The bonus point was secured early in the second half as Fat Hands rounded their last man after some acrobatics on the touch line from Galloway. The forlorn Barton Hill player picked himself off the floor and lamented that he “just couldn’t get any purchase on the big lad.”

As the match began to lose momentum, Cullen watched the ball bounce out before realising he was the one expected to catch it. Melon decided he didn’t fancy scoring a try in the corner (or was it selfless ball retention?) Cam blearily bound to the front row instead of the second, which caused the ninja-focussed Adley to unleash an outburst of rage. Attention was starting to wander.

In the final stages, Barton Hill mounted a final push for a consolation try but the Bs put in a heroic shift on the line to avoid a stain on their score sheets for the second game in a row. A battle cry of “we’ve not travelled this far on a bus to lose now!” from the Barts prop seemed to fall on deaf ears as every other player on the pitch had calculated it was mathematically a certainty with 75 minutes played, irrespective of their pre-match travel choice.

The whistle blew and Chop ruined an otherwise respectable tunnel [Ed: by joining late and having to follow two Barts’ players through so as to enter through the correct side][Ed. Ed.: You can defend yourself in the appropriate forum: court.

As the 2s watched the 1s triumph over Gordano and news of the 3s victory trickled through, George began dishing out a few crispy boys. All said and done, the three OBs sides ended the day with a 120+1-17 aggregate score, so celebratory beers would be difficult to refuse. Cam’s finger hovered over the ring pull for a solid 30 seconds before he cracked open a cold one, bringing dry January to a premature end. Was it peer pressure? FOMO perhaps? Or maybe a Scot simply can’t stomach buying a jug of beer and not being able to imbibe his fair share of it out of a shoe? Who knows.

Post-match bevving was soon in full swing and the Bs assembled a 5-piece mega-table which would play host a mouth-watering array of drinking game delights. Melon’s fine pot was already brimming as Chunk entered the clubhouse wearing a t shirt and his mud-covered shorts. Morgs introduced a game of 20+1, Greener dished out hit-of-the-day pints and took up his favoured role as Zoomy. The forwards bested the backs in a boat race to settle an age-old score. Thumbmaster became headmaster as heads were enthusiastically slammed against tables. Inevitable spillages occurred and Adley kindly allowed Cam to drink out of his sacrificial shoe, before donating it to the club and heading home barefoot.

The evening moved on into Clifton and the Bs reassembled in The Lansdown. What followed is mostly unbeknownst to the writer, however I have it on good authority that several of the party soldiered on through the Brass Pig to finally end up in the hallowed La Rocca.

Following a spell of hazy memories in the Lansdown, Cam awoke fully clothed in a bed which was not his own. Looking around, he saw a familiar purple logo on the wall. Premier Inn. Excuse me? Looking out the window he saw the Bearpit, a slight juxtaposition to the previous morning’s tranquil scene. As flashes of the night came trickling back, Cam recalled the two police officers who had kindly escorted him and helped him get his card out to pay the ninety-two pounds for the room. Regret was the overriding emotion; however this quickly gave way to anger when the receptionist informed Cam that breakfast wasn’t even f***ing included. Things were looking increasingly bleak as Cam’s phone didn’t materialise (fortunately it had been left at home by the surprisingly sensible Cam of 12 hours prior). Nursing the inaugural hangover of the decade as he limped home, the only consolation offered to Cam was the news that Captain Morgan had also been awakened from a similar pavement slumber by ‘some Christian folks’.

Dry January had been dampened, but the results were probably worth it.

Final Score: OBs 27-0 Barton Hill
Tries: Cam (3), Fat Hands
Cons: Abe, Fat Hands
Pens:
BOG: Cam
DOTD: G Morgan for not being a meteorologist

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3rd XV: Sarries 0-69 OBs

My week had been extremely busy in the build up to our big match against Bristol Sarries. Following the events of the weekend before I had spent my time hunting the elusive homeless head-wear and knitting my own Merkin (time well spent considering the temperature this Saturday). For the former item, I had searched high and low around Bristol centre, including the Bear Pit, Tesco Extra Eastville, Broadmead, Park St, The Hobgoblin and even Cheltenham. My search was unsuccessful.

This week was filled with absences; firstly Rob (still recovering from his Lasangover) didn’t follow through with further lasagna, but instead opted for Risotto. Clearly an Italian theme to follow here! Secondly, it was noted that Dave Turner had not, as promised, turned up to either training session. Rumour has it he was busy in Wapping Wharf discussing the complexities of putting holes in emmental cheese. Finally, the absence of a post match meal. Further detail to follow.

The parking at the Bakewell Memorial Ground was ample, and the quality of the parking lot top notch. The standard of cars parked within took a hit on arrival of Sam Richardson, looking like David Dickinson in his bright yellow hairdresser’s convertible listening to Now That’s What I call Music 34. This did however brighten the pre match chat within the changing room. The rundown of a recent trip to Columbia was a real highlight, although I do urge Sam not to take clinical recommendations from Brad. I am not entirely sure what the four year olds thumbs are being used for?

A short warm up later the ref, who bore startling resemblance to Bricktop, called the team in to lay down the law. Key points: he’s old, he’s deaf, if he didn’t see it then it didn’t happen, if you stop him whilst he’s walking he’ll cut your Jacobs off, and finally if there is any infringements he’ll feed you to the pigs. This might explain the dwindling numbers on the BS’s team throughout the match.

The rugby was a tale of three halves and two pitches. The first half saw possibly the fastest try of the season, but also the worst lineout since Chunk had a go at hooker against Cotham Park. The half was cut short due to an unfortunate injury to a member of the opposition; I wish him a speedy recovery. The generosity of the OBs players saw the injured player covered in OB training tops from head to toe. The second half kicked off on an alternate pitch in which we had managed to steal the downhill advantage. Si secured his hat trick score, and the “team player” stole one more from the demoralised and broken opposition. It’s worth noting at this point that Si was responsible for the injury, still untreated on the first pitch. With the try scoring flash sale still occurring, Dave (who had lasted more than 5 minutes this week), signalled to the ref that it was probably time, and after approximately 67 ½ minutes of rugby the match came to an end. Dave, in a moment of goodwill, jogged over to wish the injured player (still lying in the same spot) a speedy recovery and retrieved his training top leaving him exposed to the elements. Top bloke!

If the BS pre-match chat was anything to go by, they were up for this game and sounded up for a fight. To the relief of the author (not big on fighting), even in the face of a humiliating loss BS were a very pleasant opposition.

The showers are probably the best in Bristol with a 9/10 for pressure and a 13/10 for hot water. However, to Alec (who’d forgotten his towel, shoes, shower gel and deodorant)’s disappointment, the duty BS towel was not up to scratch and resembled a remnant from Grime Busters.

My final word is on the third half of the match. Si, with a brace of braces, honourably bought two jugs of premium-ish lager. Notably, however, Alec lay low. BS served up an imaginary feast similar to that enjoyed by Robin Williams in the film ‘Hook’. I’m sure Rob enjoyed an imaginary lasagna and a glass of red.

In all, a great day, bring on next week!

Final Score: Sarries 0-69 OBs
Tries: Si (4), Alex (2), Jakek, Rob, Chris, Dave, Ru
Cons:
Pens:
BOG: