Mens 1s v Royal Veterinary College
Men’s Hockey 1sts 0
Royal Veterinary College 0
Potters Bar School of Rail Track Maintenance
By FT Boy
After a fairly nervous train journey, the Men’s Hockey 1s arrived at the distinctly provincial outpost of Potters Bar. Not wanting to spend too long in the presence of the pleb locals we swiftly donned our kit and settled down to our afternoons entertainment. Being bestial veterinary students, the opposition were fat, ugly and pretty piss poor at hockey. Our captain, Frodo assured us in his not unconfident manner that ‘today lads, we’re definitely gonna’ win...’
As you can see from the score line above, the game could only be described as fucking awful. The LSE forwards displayed all the finesse and ingenuity of an Abu Hamza hand-job and the degenerate opposition managed to filch-up attack after attack. Dick of the day was Mustafa for giving the best Ade Akinbiyi impression the HC has ever seen and man of the match was Porter for not being quite as shit as everyone else was.
Seeing as the game was such a disappointment I thought this might be a good opportunity to introduce the men’s hockey team to the Beaver readership. I’ll begin with the defensive rock that is Porter: being my flatmate I could tell you many an interesting story about him; if I could be bothered. He does however have one eccentricity that his girlfriend was kind enough to share with us, that being his habit to cry ‘oh yes’ like the Churchill Insurance dog on climax... nice. Fortunately, Porter is partnered in the centre of defence by the balding leviathan, Wacko Jacko. As his name suggests, Jacko just really loves children. He compliments this unusual penchant with pre-match outbursts that demand the rest of the team ‘go out there and bleed!’ One player who does bleed for Wacko is Alan Ball, so called because of his distinct lack of height and normal coloured hair. Alan is about as useful as a one-legged man in an arse-kicking competition, but what he lacks in skill he makes up for with dogged determination. Tesh couldn't organise a fuck in a brothel with a fist full of fifties but is otherwise a thoroughly civilized fellow. He works a little too hard for a first year and seems to think that he’s ‘better than walkabout’... this one shows potential.
Nile is new to the team, although he only looks 16 he is in fact a postgrad. Like most postgrads he’s a bit of a boring bastard. However, he is in possession of an uncanny ability to down pints. He used to ‘study’ at Sussex, but the least said about that the better... Our captain, Frodo, unsurprisingly, has a strong resemblance to a hobbit and can often be found smoking pipeweed in a Hobbiton tenement. He has replaced the more laissez faire leadership of Wacko with an iron fist of efficiency and routine. Pre-match warm-ups, warm-downs and unrelenting discipline are the order of the day. Its just a shame Frodo doesn’t tackle Walkabout with the same meticulous style.
Third year Mowgli - lost without his mentor Vish Suppa - has taken to randomly shouting the name ‘Quentin’ in Tourette’s style fits. Purporting to be our striker, Mowgli will sometimes score a couple of goals, but only when its of no use whatsoever. Our other striker, Mustafa, has a similarly severe inability to put the ball in the back of the net. He can however ‘finish the job’ on a Wednesday night and particularly enjoys fulfilling Munchkin’s sordid bedroom fantasies (I’ve heard its very good for the complexion). Jeff, or ‘Bells, was foolish enough to invite his mother along to the first game. She left fairly soon after the game as the rest of the lads made every effort to extend her vocabulary in a more x-rated direction, she loved it really.
Unfortunately, Sharon - the Chigwell/Yerevan mongrel - is still our goalie. This year, Sharon’s on pitch performances have been supplemented by extended ‘fitness’ sessions inspired by his very accommodating (or so we’re told) girlfriend... bastard. Spok is another senior member of the club, he is also the most erudite; so much so that he could probably explain to you what erudite actually means. Although Spok resembles a stylist from Channel 4’s The Salon he is in fact a horrific misogynist and refers to his ‘bitch’ with up most disdain. He’s been working a little bit too hard this year and his acerbic presence in the Tuns has been sorely missed. Another member of the team with a more nineteenth century view on sexual equality is F*cknut. He hails from the valleys of Wales and is dumbfounded by the magical ‘elecomatronical’ trains of London. With an unusual proclivity for midget porn, F*cknut has been know to invite as many as 12 guests into his Roseberry shoebox for late night viewings. He’s the rudest member of the club and seems to think that boasting about his maths will eventually end his duck with the ladies… good luck. As for myself, the fact that everyday my team mates ‘wish my dad had settled for a blow job’ is evidence of my clear incompetence, apologies.
