Ascendance

RYMAN PREMIER DIVISION

Att: 1500


Sutton United – 5  [Skelly 8], Harlow, Riley, M.Watson, S.Watson

Aldershot Town – 0

After Tuesday’s PP, we were obviously keen to get this league title stuff done and dusted ASAP. And so it seems were Aldershot for some reason, who kindly agreed to move the game 48hrs back to the Thursday.

And so it came to pass. The deity Ewes: God of the SU(tto)N (A little known cousin of the Egyptian god Ra – God of the Sun) finally ascended to a higher plain, to join his fellow deity’s, the God

Wo-King and the most recent addition to non-league paradise, the evangelist, King Stonian, at the sacred Non-League temple upon high. The fabled Con-Fer’ence.

Our children gathered in their masses, just like witches at black masses, [(c.) Osbourne & Iommi] to witness the true second coming of the Choclate & Amber lords. The heathens following their idol Aal-D’Shot disappointed us in their numbers, for it was said that many followed the dark one from the kingdom of Hampshire but on this occasion, his retinue was small and subdued. Surely they knew of the fate that awaited them.

The Lord U’s chosen few set their stall out early doors against the Red & Blue demons, in a final desperate bid to vanquish the challenge of Ay-Lesbury, Lord of the Waterfowl and attain omnipotence in the temple of the Con-Fer’Ence.

His disciples were not to be disappointed. Their warriors drawing first blood after just 8 minutes of battle. Skelly, he once of Mis-Placed Passes found himself in about 30 yards of space from Steve Watson’s through ball. He raced in on the netted fortress and slotted the ball under the advancing guardian. The assembled throng praise the mighty ones for this swift and early miracle and pray to them for another goal to sate their desires.

The brave warriors of Aal-D’Shot are plainly struggling to contain the hunger and passion of our chosen few. And soon they concede another holy goal. A good move down the left is played into the path of Dave Harlow, the Combatant on the edge of the box and he drills the ball past the ‘Old Fat One’ David Phillips protector of the enemy’s netted fortress. Again the followers of the mighty one go wild. Our ascendance unto the highest plain is in sight and now almost unstoppable. Resistance from the invaders grows in light of their early setbacks in battle, but it is the resistance borne of survival and self preservation rather than strength and their counter attacks produce little reward, especially against the warrior Berry who is operating on some sort higher celestial plain with his reading of the conflict and the enemy’s movements before him.

Our foes are all but vanquished after but 30 minutes of engagement. A sacred corner is won. The resultant flag kick drops right onto the stout bonce of  the ‘Slow but Angry One’ Riley and his header once again breaches the netted fortress, finding the bottom corner. The Disciples of U’s rejoice greatly once more, euphoria washing over them. Then after 45 minutes of great toil and little resistance from the depleted forces of Aal-D’Shot, the alotted adjudicator from the Great Ones blows his mystical Little Trumpet and we leg it to the bar for a beer to bathe our joy and delight in.

Greatness awaits as our heroes retake the boggy battlefield, already rich with the blood of our foes. Just minutes after the barney resumes, Mark Watson, he of the shovel and the cow’s behind adds to his tally for this campaign. A precise through ball has the ‘Old Fat Old One’ hesitating and our dashing hero nips in to tuck the ball into the top corner of the net as if thrusting a blade through their hearts. We rejoice once more, reaching an almost psychotic frenzy whilst chanting the holiest of mantra.

“Champions, Champions”

But our torture of the pretenders to the Ryman Throne is not complete. All but defeated, a final and fifth insult is cast upon the routed ranks of the Aal-D’Shot by our most tenacious warrior, Steve Watson, he once of the Yellow Card. His tenacity in battle pays off as Phillips again hesitates to leave the relative safety of his netted fortress and keeping his instead relies on his flagging rearguard, whom fail miserably in their task of protecting their rotund guardian, allowing the mad faced one from the kingdom of Croydon to toe poke number 5 into the corner of the net. We go suitably mental, some speak in tongues, others pass out in delirium.

The remaining 25 minutes or so of the conflict see our now wearying troops probing the increasingly desperate and threadbare enemy positions. Reinforcements arrive for both sides, including the Great giant Nko, the main tormentor of the Aal-D’Shot during the sacking of their sacred ‘Rec’ Temple in the month of September, back when our enemies fell before us like leaves from the trees. But despite these new arrivals, battle is all but won and the forces of Aal-D’Shot are now in full retreat. We persue them no more and instead hold the field, triumphant as we await the Great ones adjudicator to once again blow on his mystical little trumpet and announce the second coming of the one true lord, Ewes.

And so he does. We race onto the muddy field of battle to greet our warriors, to gaze upon their majesty, to and to praise our return to the great halls of the Temple of the great Con-Fer’ence. Banished so cruelly to the barren Isthmian wilderness 8 long years ago, we have finally once more proved our worth and returned to our rightful plane of worship.

At this point, our normal serene monk-like discipline goes out the window and we jump around like fucking lunatics, singing the praises of the prophet JR before legging it to the Altar of the Firkin to get as intoxicated as possible on sweet sweet nectar in the alloted 1.5 hours before closing time. THIS we do with aplomb.

The war is over. We are victorious. None who dare challenge still stand before us and now we can turn our attention to the total annihilation of the evil ‘Robin’ cult which has befouled these lands with its vile stench for far too long. Soon, the far off field of ‘Imber-Court’ will bear witness to the horrors that await them. They are a forlorn, filthy rabble and one that will soon be wiped from this world forever. Judgement is coming oh children of the Robin, fear us, for we shall show no mercy.

CHARRRGGGGGGGGGGGEEE!!!!

Man Of The Match : We win the title & you expect a MAN of the Match?? You crazy guys…

Entertainment Value : 1,957. Ten out of ten just doesn’t cover it !!!!

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.