Great and Most Fortunate Navy

On the 23rd of September, though not according to Wikipedia who unhelpfully insists that the Spanish Amada happened in July and August, a woman stood on a hill and declared herself to possess the heart of a man. Notable really for two reasons: this was just a couple of centuries before minds would immediately turn to transplants and whether they had yet remember to join the organ transplant list; and secondly, the ensuring turn of events after this speech, is the little known well known origin of Britain’s devotion to the weather.

The sun had risen, and set on the blue water logged stretch of Peffermill by the time our scheduled mêlée betwixt the Edinburgh Uni 7s and ourselves; darkening clouds anticipating the dawn of action. The recruitment policy for 7s seemed to be Hockey Player Mark 2; to the quote the great Kanye West “harder, better, faster, stronger”. With hope still in their hearts, and cannons for hits – we hope that last night’s revelry is still in their veins.

The parameters of the encounter are firmly drawn, amphi-cars are not yet a thing, and apparently the lines still count so on the sharp blow of the whistle we found ourselves, like our time challenged brethren, hard at work dealing with a hard press, dashing against their hulls and coming off definitively the worst. Trying to muscle over their line not an option, but a couple of anchor break turns, we started to pass round breaking through the blockade – led by our own version of Frances Drake. The battle raged from one end to the other, with the cannon fire peppering the strait with shots of various strengths.

Timeout, for some hand delivered Sports mix.

Time in, and it starts again. Some time passes, and suddenly the deadlock is broken with a goal. Straight play in game, by ourselves; a shot that seems to skim across the ground over some helpful meaning sticks, and some less helpful meaning sticks and a goalie, leaving only the sweet reverberation of a ball hitting the dashboard. We resume once more, from this end to the next, from there and back again. A short corner is a called, in our favour, and in our favour it remains as the strike hits home. We resume again, but this time emboldened, with our attacks becoming more brazen with long twisting and dodging and doggerel runs from one corner to the other – our version of fire ships – breaking up their formations, drawing in the players then passing it out and round – and once more the dashboard sings.

But battling takes it toil, and the ball more and more took on canon ball characteristics, much like the Gummie Bears it was bouncing here and there and everywhere. One particular broad strike a linchpin obvious buckled and shot skewed sideways endangering both friends and foe alike earning a lengthy finger waggle from the umpire – spot the teacher.

It ended in true L3 style: a foot.
(Just no-one mention the typhus, or the counter-armada)

Goal Scorers: Barbara Rowe, Fi Flynn, and Alice Robb
Ably assisted by: Hannah Burns, Fiona Robertson (possibly?)
High & dangerous calls: 368
Finger waging spotted: 1
Short corner percentage: 1/9 or 0.1111111%