Sporting Apostrophes

“McInerney mumbles and Wessely tumbles in Sunday’s physical encounter”

Sunday’s full-blooded encounter with old rivals One Flew Into The Keepers Net resulted in a 8-4 reverse for the world’s most handsome football team.

Chairman Ernest Borgnine made his feelings clear at the post match press conference.

“We’ve played them four times and gifted them twelve points,” he complained, his dissatisfaction made clear by the erection protruding from his trousers. “How can a team of heroin-addled, Irn Bru-loving Jocks punish us so savagely? Heads will roll for this.”

Sporting Apostrophes fielded a predictably strong line-up, despite the absence of “terrorist” Farnsworth and “leisure time” Turner. Hawkins resumed his love affair with the sheathes, with Lissimore taking a firm grasp on the sweeper’s broom of doom. Old boy Bonell returned to the field alongside Hinceman and Wessley, creating a midfield tricycle of footballing genius. Kimberley and McInerney led from the front, a devastating combination of age and senility.

“Bum Maltesers!” exclaimed the fans in unison, as One Flew Into The Keepers Net drew first blood almost immediately.

“Ringpiece Revels!” they wept, as another onion bag violation arrived seconds later.

“Creme Eggs authored by the sphincter of a grown man!” they sobbed in astonishment, as within 90 seconds of the kick-off their beloved Super A’s were three goals down.

Angry, aroused, determined and handsome, Sporting Apostrophes responded, eager to show the sinister foreigners their superior footballing recipes. Two fine dumplings were promptly served courtesy of Wessley, as the team began to assert themselves upon the match. The jocks delivered another cruel blow, as the referee, hungry as an orphan gymnast, blew hard on his whistle, signifying the end of the first half.

Part deux – Blood and Thunder – and how! Sporting Apostrophes ran amok, chasing the pigs bladder with venom. “steamroller” Hinceman caused chaos, creating room for Wessely to supply wonderballs up top. The tired, old phrase beloved of many a television pundit – “chances make violations” – was rarely so apt. McInerney pounced, a typical poacher’s goal. Hinceman charged, rhino-like, forcing the ball into the onion bag with nothing but will power and the American Way.

A mere goal behind at one point, the smell of stalemate was almost as overpowering as eau de victoire. A string of valiant saves by Hawkins kept the team in the match, and, with Lissimore pinging the sphere like a hypnotised, tischtennis Chinaman via Kimberlely, the famous yellows delivered aplenty. However, Old Lady Tiredness waltzed with Keith Fatigue once more, as the accelerator of success was hampered by the handbrake of arse biscuits.

“Damnation!” cursed the fans, as once more, Sporting Apostrophes failed to capitalise upon the myriad chances served to them, as the game concluded with yet another stinking defeat.

With just three points from nine, the Super A’s quest for promotion takes another body blow, with a cheeky uppercut for good measure. A terrible injustice!

Score: 4-8
Squad: Bonell, Hawkins, Hinceman, Kimberley, Lissimore, McInerney, Wessely.
Goals: Hinceman (1), McInerney (1), Wessely (2).