Of High Treachery and Base Men (in black)

Big Sam's Bolt'n 2
(Speed 30th, Campo 48th)

Lily's Poo 0
(this pink score-hole is empty, dey all pancut luar -again)

This game set off the whole weirdness of the entire weekend, the surrealistic shambolism that seemed embedded within the fabric of reality that wrapped existence within a warped weft over Saturday and Sunday.

This game saw Lily's Poo meekly surrender their pink to Big Sam's Bolt'n smash-and-grab artists.

That wasn't surrealistic by itself, no - it's a common sight to see Big Sam's boys rend opponents apart or send the odd reputation sprawling into the muck that passes for a football ground in Bolton.

What surrealistically happened was that Big Sam's yobbos were aided and abetted, nay ! It was more of being egged on ... by the Guardians of the Footie Law, the Men In Black, the High Priests of the Piercing Whistle ... oh, wheeze ... oh, goodness. Oh, me. Oh, my.

Twas not a sight for the uninitiated, such brutal tableaux warranted more than a mere 18SX or even an archaic R. Nay, this was even worse than unexpurgated XXX - lower than pure Ron Jeremy territory, and that's really low, maaan!

This was Russian lolita rape sites, Ogrish! voyeurism, mean nasty porn at its worst.

Poo was raped by a linesman, ooops, an Assistant Ref's flag - ravished by the pathetic judgement of a right twat (a twat of noble title remains but a twat after all); and was further rendered defenceless before a brutish Bolt'n assault by the ref's acquiescence.

A thunderous thrust later from Speedy the Ancient, Master Grabber and High Priest of the R'b'k temple, and Poo lay motionless in the mud, frilled bodice and tarty garters to the four winds.

A sight not for the faint-hearted - a victim of the dark collusion of refs in black with their poorly prescribing (and still practicing) opticians.

And this dark, gothic tale ground relentlessly on with the poor, crazed waif - meandering, wandering the green sward - wits lost, honour defiled.

And the final blow was almost a kindness, administered by a lowly Spaniard, Ivan de Campo - knight-exile of Madrid - and well-padded for his years; who who rose above the Kingsguard, of guilty Finnan and Carra the Cobbled and Hyppia the Blind, to send the beloved of Lily sliding into the final ignominy.

And thus twas the tale of how Poo's pink was savaged by Big Sam's Boys on the fields of the R'b'k.

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This week's match commentary is sponsored by Arthurian Bodice Rippers Anonymous, a non-profit organisation.