Bad start, nee fucking appalling start, when Perry did the Beckham/Simeone thing and felled their attacker for a penalty to go one down before anyone even had chance to regurgitate Yuletide gluttony. We couldn't let these tossbags get away with a New Year mugging [incidentally, ex-team mate Andy "The Rock" Oru; aka Henry the mild-mannered janitor, was mugged in the hostile, drug-fuelled ghetto of Huntingdonshire just before Christmas by a gang of lairy teenagers. They chose the wrong man: Andy took ALL 7 out with a bit of Hong Kong Fooey � you read that right = SEVEN!] and retaliated by going in 3-1 up at the break, thanks to a couple of roaring (literally) smothers from Mozzer. Dunc provided the veritable comedy moment of the first half when flying down the right wing, just about to play Ian down the line with a slide rule pass, suddenly disappeared � la Dr Foster into a crater left by the impact of Mario falling over his tongue some weeks earlier.

Dave replaced our pot-holing right wing gook during the interval, Wearmouth obviously calculating that Rowe's girth would have prevented him from descending so rapidly! More of Dave's afternoon to come... Dan laid down the law in midfield, supported intelligently by Ken and Will's insurgencies from wing back, Stacker spreading the ball around assuredly and prompting much of the good work up front. We had chances to extend the lead but Wearmouth is still trying to lose his season's cherry despite numerous surging forays and a header smacking the crossbar, followed by Perry looping it back onto the bar. Aaron, still charging despite a dodgy ankle resulting from a crunching tackle he set upon their midfielder earlier, bagged a brace with a sumptuous second, James replaced Wearmouth like-for-like, relishing the midfield role by breaking their South African Special Forces playmaker's nose (fair challenge, for once!) but we fell asleep near the end with the defence seeming to have stared at the Gorgon's head, leaving Andy exposed as they flattered to deceive the final scoreline of 4-2. Nonetheless, a good win and a double against our favourite whipping boys.

Difficult to describe Aaron's opener as anything other than a goalkeeping debacle: innocuous cross; oops, I've caught it; here Aaron, have the ball; cheers mate I'll prod it in. However, we needed a quick reply after going one down and Aaron's constant pressure on their backline gave him his just desserts. Then a moment that happens less often than a Black Cats victory � Bowman scored! ...after a corner melee but he had to be on the spot to poke it in and put us ahead. The move of the match prospered toward the end of the half when Aaron and Perry combined for a mesmeric one-two, Perry arrowed a cross toward the far stick and, if Hollo hadn't shut his eyes to head the ball unwittingly into the ground, over the keeper and into the net, would have earned the plaudits as showpiece of the match. Enter Aaron, stage right, in the second half...

What a howizter! Ian slides a ball down the right channel for Aaron, one-on-one with their left-back � just how he likes it, Despite almost a stone for every year of his existence, Aaron sped toward the angle of the penalty area and unleashed a cracker off the outside of his right boot that their keeper hardly saw as it flew in at his near post. Cheeky twat tried to claim that it had "gone through the side-netting" but even the geriatric ref suspended disbelief as we went 4-1 up. More of that please Aaron...

The more combative old-timers of the 3s (we know who we are!) felt a little cheated after the generally civilised win at home earlier in the season but apart from a couple of (perfectly fair) crunchers from Aaron and James, this match passed without the normal histrionics, flare-ups, Afrikaan-baiting and wild attempts at decapitation... except for Dave Rowe, not the protagonist on this occasion. Apart from the bloody obvious masticatory excess during the winter break and consequent lack of exuberance down the right wing, what DID Dave do to deserve:

a) having his testes examined by a patently unqualified urologist;
b) the Diouf treatment;

Utterly disgusting and reprehensible being spat on in what is supposed to be a gentlemanly league that prides itself on its sportsmanship. Perhaps the bilious little twat was still pissed off that he couldn't get the Canada goose straff out his his hair after the home match? Shame we don't play him again this season as I'm sure Dave, Dunc, James, Ken and Wearmouth might have found it within themselves to exact requisite retribution on 'bird shit head'?