Weston-Super-Mare Vets v Old Bristolians Vets 4th October 2024

For most of the OB vets visiting Weston for this Friday night floodlit game this was the opening fixture of the 2024/25 Season. It was also my first return to the club where I began to play senior rugby during the 80’s and early 90’s, so I hope the reader will permit me some sentimental reminiscences.

As I explained to young David Donaghy on the train: Weston have suffered a dip in form recently and made a steady descent from the National Leagues as their rivals and neighbours, Hornets, have ascended. I can still recall with crystal clarity seeing men my dad’s age fighting up at Wiveliscombe and elsewhere and wondering whether this really was the right place for a softy boarding school 2nd team player like me. I quickly worked out it was better to be on the team dishing it out than on the receiving end (except at Matson, when it was better not to be there at all) and perfected the knack of avoiding fights with people who looked as though they might kill me. In truth, I hugely enjoyed life with the Seasiders. I particularly enjoyed being given a lift to most matches by my fellow prop who was also the co-driver for British rally ace Mark Lovell in a souped-up Sierra Cosworth. The rugby was good and the nights out were lively and informative.

In those days the game was very different. For instance a player could only be replaced upon production of a signed doctor’s certificate confirming that further participation in the match would result in their certain death. By the time I left I was a second team regular and very occasional first team player (usually as an unused sub) but everyone knew the real life blood of the club and the best craic was in the third team or the “Athletic” as it was known with tongue firmly in cheek.

Weston was riding high in the top half of National League 3 in those days and played such illustrious opponents as Preston Grasshoppers (Wade Dooley walked throughout the entire match), Mosely and Plymouth. They expected to beat the likes of Taunton and Exeter. They even hosted a Russian national team of 15 Yvan Drago clones who the chairman attempted to address in self-taught Russian during an after-match speech with hilarious consequences, only narrowly avoiding a serious diplomatic incident.

Anyway, as I reassured young Donaghy, their relatively lowly recent ranking was sure to provide us with a gentle reintroduction to the rigours of rugby. How wrong I was.

OBs became suspicious that the game could be hard work when they arrived to see two teams-worth of players plus subs warming up with tackle pads in front of a crowd of perhaps 50 or so, which had probably doubled by kickoff. The bar was open, as was a hot food hatch and there was an expectant atmosphere, somewhere between a carnival and a boxing dinner about the place. Surely, they weren’t all here for our game.

Our suspicions grew when we were directed to the changing area at the back and not the main changing rooms under the stands because the army of Weston players (apparently) needed both of the main rooms.

When our warm-up began, we were outnumbered about 9:1 by Weston. It would have been excellent if not for the feeling of panic as we gradually struggled up from single figures, including a damaged Trez who wasn’t meant to be playing at all, with only a few minutes to spare before the game began. Somehow, we made it to a full complement by 7.30, though several players found themselves in unaccustomed positions.

The match began with a deep kickoff by OBs and a searing return, sprinting most of the length of the pitch without a hint of a side-step, by one of two very quick backs on their side. It almost certainly would have been a dazzling solo try if not for a despairing tap tackle and knock-on. In the bar he told the disappointed future Weston director of rugby he was playing for Bridgwater and Albion this season, so clearly a sought-after vet.

The breathless opening led to the first scrum. If you’re on WhatsApp, cast an eye over the combined teams photo. You may recognise Darren Crompton, ex-Bristol, Bath and England A teamer of the early Noughties amongst several even larger colleagues. Their starting pack was awesome. For the first couple of scrums we were splintered by them and it was as much as I could manage to stay upright on the loose head. “Mate, that guy’s 150 kgs” exclaimed an animated Bart, who had the unfortunate task of second-rowing behind me. It certainly felt like it, even if he may have been a salad-or-so lighter. I honestly don’t think I have been stuffed quite that convincingly before.

You will be relieved to read that the hardships experienced up front were more than offset by impressively robust defending and tremendous attacking enterprise in the backs – particularly from Chris Kay who had a barnstorming game at fly-half, ably supported by a mixture of Lance, Tom, Tristan, welcome newcomer Shaun, Garth, Pete and Liam, some of whom arrived at or after the start and had no opportunity for a warm-up. There was a palpable feeling after about 10 minutes that our hosts might not have everything their own way after all.

Apart from the first few scrums, the pack battled its way determinedly back into the game. The lineouts were reliable and Cataldo and Hawkins conspicuously took the game to Weston with some surging drives. The courageous jackling of Watts, the relentless graft of Frank and the doughty tackling of Fison, Bellinger, Donaghy and others really kept OBs in the match. We were fortunate that Weston’s handling wasn’t as good as it could have been at critical stages and that they sportingly subbed off some of their better players for less-good (but still decent) players.

When half time arrived the scores were level, which was a terrific achievement for OBs that nobody witnessing the first 5-10 minutes would have believed remotely likely.

The second half took a heavy toll on us as regular rolling subs were rotated by Weston and OB’s comparatively slender and less plentiful legs grew ever-wearier. The final score was a very respectable 65-38 including about nine tries, some of which would have graced a good 1st XV match. They certainly entertained the large, appreciative crowd. As Trez pointed out, the team played like absolute Spartans (only without the enforced sodomy and recreational slave massacring to the best of my knowledge).

Man of the match was probably Ben Mackenzie for locks of a lustre rarely seen at vets level. To be fair, Hawkins also has quite cool action hair. One of those two.

The referee deserves a mention for keeping the game flowing without forgetting the needs for regular breathers, for resisting occasional baying from the crowd and from some of the more excitable players on both sides and for his pleasantly avuncular west country burr.

The tunnel was good-natured, well organised and there was certainly plenty of time to enjoy it as the huge Weston squad filed through OBs’ battered ranks.

You may want to skip the following paragraph because it contains descriptions of a disturbing nature.

I am sorry to report that the changing room was rudimentary with an uncomfortable lumpy concrete floor surface and inadequate bench space per peg. The showers were installed in cubicles which were on the cramped side and (not having any practically-minded men in our ranks and the customary over-supply of fey poets) we couldn’t work out how to operate the lights until most of us had washed and changed. It is possible that some Spartan activities were engaged in in the dark, steamy recesses. I imagine Gordonstoun in the Prince Philip era was similar only with colder water. There was certainly a lot of loud grunting and groaning to be heard, though this may have been Liam fighting his way back into his socks.

Afterwards we were served a very enjoyable pork curry in a medium heat vegetable sauce including curried potatoes which I strongly approve of and which more than made up for the showers. It was cooked and served by Benny Green, who I remember as a flinty hooker from my time at Weston and who still seems to be heavily involved in club life when he’s not getting up at 3 am to run his bakery. Where would rugby be without people like him?

The bar was good and the Butcombe excellent. A good time was had by all, particularly those of us travelling on later trains. At least, I had a good time until I discovered that their captain and no. 8 was the 42-year-old son of my old skipper!

This was a terrific game played in good spirits. The standard of play augurs well for the season ahead. Well done to everybody involved, especially to Weston for their generosity on and off the pitch and the inestimable Trez for organising the fixture and getting everyone on the right pitch at the right-ish time.