Ah the last game of the season.....

Boo! Suddenly, a summer without rugby looms large and every man and his dog converge misty eyed on clubs nationwide. At Spartania, the sense of abandonment is more final, the bar is due to be handed over to strange, bearded men in white who hock lemonade and smarties where, for the previous 6 months, invariably fuelled by booze, legends have been born, reputations and nicknames have been maintained, shattered or made. Traditions upheld. But for now, the Guinness, Port, Vodka and IPA will go into hibernation. Soft drink containers taken onto the field of play will actually contain only soft drinks rather than wine or spirits. The disreputable or stuff of dubious origin that has lurked at the back of the fridge since last September goes into our last supper, usually disguised as Lasagne. The last game of the season is at best, emotional. Today, it was pure theatre. Today, Toddy bowed out as Spartans 3’s Captain.
I may be wrong but I believe the last time we faced Camp Hill 3’s we were away and their 1sts and 2nds didn’t have a game. Ours did. You’ll garner from that info that a genuine Spartans 3’s came away bruised. You’d be right. Toddy’s nose was broken within the first few minutes. Other casualties followed. It seems fitting then, that in the last meaningful gasp of todays game it was Captain Toddy who crossed Camp Hills line for his final and most satisfying try in charge. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. Some of what follows will be downright inaccurate, made up or wrong, try scorers will be incorrectly identified, heroes unnamed. For these and grammatical sins or liberties taken, I humbly apologise.
Strong sunshine, an adverse wind blowing right to left and downhill. Both in our faces the first half. Camp Hill came out of the blocks full of intent and aggression. Something of a surprise given their challenging haircuts and clearly severe fines system, gay socks and purple Mohicans abundant. Spartans were forced to defend their 22 for the first ten. Attempts at kicking from defence were fruitless as the wind blew the ball back over our heads and had us running backwards. It was time to dig in and wait out the storm. Tradition has it that Spartans scrums do not retreat. Today was no exception and it was from this bedrock that the fight back up the field began. It blossomed somewhat as Daryl grabbed and ran, covering half the pitch before a ruck formed. The ball popped out to Toddy. A grand, weaving aggressive run. Try. First blood to Spartans and against the run of play. Denty, promoted to water boy, in rented boots and desperate for a runout, hobbled on with refreshments and encouragement. The exertion proved almost fatal but he made it back to the fringes and hovered expectantly. No call came. The game was most definitely afoot and it was going to take injury for any Spartan to turn his shirt inside out. Steve at scrum half, only a couple of seasons in and back from injury was shaky at first but grew in confidence. Ally this with strong scrummaging and the next ten minutes was sheer embarrassment for Camp Hill. From the restart, Juddy collected, a pass to John W. A huge crossfield kick collected by the backs and crossed over by Graham K. Another restart. This time George snaffles it up. Made great yards across the pitch and passed deftly to Graham. Graham kept up the momentum and what do you know? George had looped around in support and finished off the move he started by crossing over for a finely crafted try. Time was standing still for Camp Hill and it stung a bit. There was a bit of snuffling and grunting and they scored a try. The next 10 minutes or so were characterized by speculative kicking, scrappy handling and opportunistic but failed line breaks. Then Spartans reorganised. Something strange and unique occurred in the line out. Steve ‘snake eyes’ Gould completely mesmerised Camp Hills hooker. So much so that he found the desire to throw the ball straight to him utterly irresistible. Gould was Catnip. This utter dominance in both scrum and lineout created the belief needed to ensure the win. At this point, all that needed to be decided, was by how many points. Serge took on a racing snake and won. Great hands in the backs brought smiles to faces. Tiger started an unstoppable rolling maul by drumming his feet and sheer dint of willpower, around him Spartans responded. From all this movement Matt got the ball out to Daryl or Dan, (fast prop or fat winger, take your pick). Try. All in all a majestic display of men at work.
At the restart Glen and John made a fabulous run straight down their throats, pulled down in Camp Hills 22, it was only a desperate defensive boot that got them off the hook. I confess, at this point, Spartans may have dozed off for a minute and a fat, lardy Camp Hill chap crossed our line. It may well have been accidental and in any case, it was half time.
Water boy Denty loped loyally on, tongue hanging out and Labrador eyes clearly desperate to hump a Camp Hill leg or two. His reward was the instruction to turn his shirt right way round and join the fray. The same went for Ollie F and Ollie B. Tiger, Serge and John took a well deserved rest.
The second half began and it was immediately apparent that Camp Hill hadn’t read the script. Their half time team talk must have used words like, ‘elbows, skullduggery’; etc and they restarted with a vicious and vigorous intent. They hadn’t come here to lose. But to no avail. We had the hill and the wind with us. We were ahead on points, were clearly the more elegant dressers, held the moral high ground and Toddy wanted this win. From a superb ‘snake eyes’ line out the ball got worked through to John who broke over for another 5 points. Harry off. JP on. Toddy combative, wanting more and fighting for it, Spartans following his lead. Men on fire. Then it happened.
Juddy, Juddy, Juddy. You went to all that trouble. I mean, it was most likely the longest, most ambitious run any Spartans prop had ever imagined, let alone undertaken. To go that far, to actually cross the try line. What were you thinking? You must have witnessed wingers, centres, fly halves, all those slim hipped devil may care flyboys. Golden locks flying in the wind, feet a blurr, dazzling the opposition with a shimmy here, a sashay there, a flash of leopard skin pants. But when all’s said and done, even if you take the romance of the moment away, all of them, to a man, they all actually, in the end, put the ball down. Anything else is a touchdown or a drop and doesn’t count except at the annual dinner speeches. It was Matt that pointed all of this out to me.
Steve converted a fine penalty kick. Glen and Jelly combined for a super try. Camp Hill nicked one back. Ollie B demonstrated the value of keeping your eyes open. The ball rolling straight through from the scrum put in. He was on it like a squaddie on a virgin. The game became revitalised, end to end stuff. Camp Hills No 8 ran all the way up the pitch and in apparent sympathy with Juddy, dropped the ball. Spartans ran it all the way back. Camp Hill got it again and came straight back up the pitch. The crowd got tennis neck. Tiger came back on. Then, Revenge of The Broken Nose. The game was over bar the shouting. Camp Hill had tried to beat us, they couldn’t and knew it. Both teams had literally run themselves into the ground and the whistle would be a welcome relief. But that wasn’t how Toddy saw it. There was poetic justice and a real sense of scripted drama in the way that the final minute went into slow motion. And it was Toddy that put the boot onto a thoroughly downtrodden Camp Hill 3rds. In a sense, this was the first time we had played them, given that earlier in the season we were away and their 1sts and 2nds didn’t have a game. That day they may have broken Toddy’s nose but today, his solo try right under the posts in the dying minutes broke their hearts. Nice one.
I spent the morning poring over Facebook, a primitive but occasionally effective esteem barometer. Toddy’s name came up on more than one occasion. It can be encapsulated thus. Spartans is a family. Toddy a member of that family who offers the club nothing but himself. We all have the desire to participate in one way or another. Not all have the willingness to lead. Of those that do, not all are capable. Capable doesn’t come close to describing the way Toddy has Captained Spartans 3’s. What a grand and splendid way to bow out today. Exemplo Ducimus. (a bottle of port for the first correct translation, payable at next years dinner.)
Juddy. You’re up. Next year will be special.