"Everyone has a plan 'till they get punched in the face".

The Year is 1066, the date 14th October, and the Norman's have invaded. So have the Norwegian's, but they were last fortnight's problem. Today *spoiler alert* soon-to-be-ex-King Harold was more concerned in keeping his battle weary troupes in formation upon high ground to successfully rebuff the attacks, and they were...until they weren't; falling for the classic ruse of 'we're retreating come and finish us off" a wee surprise charge of cavalry later and then, well, there were remarkably less in formation and alive. It was then the arrow hit its mark.

Over in year 2017, unbeknownst to us, the arrow had already been delivered; both captains of the ship missing in action and we were forced to paper over the void with a cardboard cut-out Fi running the bench. Despite this obvious warning sign, we remained unsuspecting of our coming fate; after all there were no reported comets in the sky, three headed birds and not even one spotted black cat to our name.

The whistle blew.

On reflection it is hard to determine exactly just how long it was before the first goal went in: 2/3 minutes?? It was not hard to determine how long it took for the second - approximately 40 seconds, and that's including the long walk back to the middle. Both were thunderous shots from players that seem to materialise into the D unseen by all, other than the passing player. Two Nil down - a decided deviation from the plan.

With what appeared to be roughly 30 minutes remaining of the first half, our fight back/game began in earnest. We strove to send the ball attacking wide, we strove to pass around the opposing players, we strove to block counter attacks and we strove to score some goals of our very own. It was around this time we first became acquainted with the opposing goal post. It was not clear at this point just how significant a relationship this would become.

Half time came and went

It would be easy to discuss in great detail the ins and outs of the next half: the successful blockades of supply trains; the turtling; the choke points; the boxing; the elastic defensive; the depth defense; the refusing the flank; the raids; the pincer manoeuvres - all that ended at the opposing goal post. We learnt a lot about this goal post: its favourite colour (sunrise orange); its hobbies (watching sport, critiquing soaps and hopscotch); its hopes (the re-ascendance of wooly mammoths) and fears (buttons) - but none of this small talk led up to a goal. Ability to write a decent dating profile - yes; goal - no. Ability to May dance - yes; goal- no.

It was unclear at which point the cavalry hit us.

It may be too early to determine, but we're hopeful the long term fall out of this defeat are somewhat less drastic than Hastings (linguistic/political/geographical/architectural) - we aren't ready to get rid of that goal post quite yet. It has great jokes.