The battle of the bottom Two
Old Wokingians VI 2-1 Old Tiffinians V
A fruitless folly midseason, on the lumpen surface of Woking soil,
The appearance of Sun blinds the opening exchanges,
and an early breakthrough drives pain to the 14 Tiffinian soliders,
Fight to draw, then fight to win… just fight to fucking score.
A penalty, the hope the signalled forward arm brings,
And Bishop to Wokingian’s left, check but not check mate.
The bruising half but comes to a close, a lost tooth, chipped in battle,
And back out there, back out under the glare of the non-descript,
Tiffs fight, the charge of warriors, battling the injustice of the referee’s wave,
and the tackles that are fraught, fanciful and scorned.
Then indecision, curses the last twenty, a one on one finishes the tie,
Woking step forward and for them it’s victory a checkmate,
Another victory on the road to recovery.