The Peasant's Tale: "Ah Just Fookin' Larruped It"

What a difference a week makes. The enigma that is Milner Street will probably never be solved. A bunch of clicky-wristed milksops one week, a horde of angry berserkers the next. Vauxhall has probably never seen a performance of such controlled fury. Empire FC were confined to long range shots from the whistle.

But they had no luck. Milner hit the post, the bar, and in JB’s case, the corner flag. JGal and Neville’s creativity was stifled against massed ranks of defenders. Promising attacks stalled, darting runs were halted by tugged shirts. Empire fluked a lead, a long range shot from within a bundle of bodies sneaking inside the post.

Unable to convert superiority into goals, and chasing the game, gaps appeared in Milner’s defence. Fred, Neville, JB and Beech all made important saves, and JGal put his body on the line to block shots with the velocity of Exocets.

Finally, the dam broke. With two minutes left, JGal dropped the shoulder, found space and launched a shot so forceful it drove through the goalie’s block and into the net. 1-1.

But the clock remorselessly ground down. 1 minute left. 45 seconds. 30 seconds. Then, a chance. A loose ball, squirting out of the melee. Jonny Beech is not known for his romantic attitude to the game: opposing thighs bear testimony to his belief that life is just one long studs-up tackle. But with the game on the line, he floated the ball into the net left footed, with uncharacteristic delicacy. Seconds later, the final whistle blew.

3 points provided Gallagher with the space to wax lyrical about Beech in the post-match press conference. “I first met him on a mountaintop in the Pennines, praying to God to forgive him for all the Lancastrian blood he had spilled in the pursuit of three points. Next, in Chelsea, he saved a beautiful young Sloane from the dreadful ravishings of a lecherous choirmaster. Finally in Oval, he spent a year living in silence, simply to better understand the sound of a whippet’s bark. So without gilding the lily, and with no more ado, I give you the man with Milner’s most endearing speech impediment, the creator of chaos, the guardian of Chelsea’s chastity, the enforcer of Our Lord God’s Own County –the one, the only, JJRM-B!!!!!!!”

The goal-scorer himself was more laconic. “I saw it ont’ edge ut box. I just fookin larruped et.”

1 point deficit. 3 matches left. Squeaky bum time, but the dream lives on.