4-3 Win vs The Hampton St FC Annual
DC, CG (GK, 1), RH, TH (MOM, 2),  TK (1), TW

Poor old Old King Lion – Climbed to the top of the absolute biggest mountain ever, showed everyone his massive ballsack, and promptly fell of the equivalent of the North Face smashing his face on every crag, jagging his ring on every rocky outcrop, smashing his backbone spinal column on every passing granite boulder as he fell further and further getting bloodier and bloodier and more wrecked and mangled until he landed on his neck on a bunch of razor wire that some carelessly left lying around the bottom of the drop. Pretty much his whole hind quarters were forced through his mouth lips and he could smell his own perineum directly with what was left of his shredded nose and nasal cavity. Every single bone in his body was broken into tiny shards of broken bone and his bowel came out his belly button which was were his chin used to be so essentially he had a goatee made of shit that tasted like quarter digested Gryphon. His paws might as well have been plastic bags full of rancid deer kidneys for all the good they were and his once might mane was a mess of coagulated body fluids from every conceivable thing in the body that produces fluid. If you got a budgerigar’s head and put it in a vice until the metal vice edges touched metal on metal you would have a pretty good approximation of the state of his vocal cords, the result being he had no roar to speak of. His once mighty legs had all the structural integrity of a pistol whipped junkie on the nod, because not only had every bone in his body been ground to a fine powder like I already told you once, his muscles had essentially liquefied in to a gelatinous substance from the repeated pounding they took on the endless fall from the top of what was a fucking high mountain which you might remember how fucking high from this. Through his brain was skewered a barbed and quite possibly infected piece of atrophied tree wood that had lain at the bottom of the sunless drop for years gather mould, fungus, bacteria and other extremely virulent microorganisms, slowly growing more fetid and dangerous to multicelled life and I think you get the picture Old King Lion was in an extremely bad way with no hope or any chance or possibility of a future except as hyena shit.

Yet his heart beat on, and his heart beat true.

The little children ask me: How did Old King Lion survive? How could Old King Lion walk away from such horrific injuries? How could Old King Lion play indoor soccer again? What does quarter digested Gryphon taste like? The answer to the last question is it tastes more like fresh Gryphon meat than half digested Gryphon, to which it is preferable, but it’s obviously not as good as fresh Gryphon meat. And the answer to the first three questions is: the mind.

Yes that is correct: the mind. Giller he said to us: victory today or relegation to the pits, that is what we play for. Our minds were steeled. We took to the court. Kondo scored first. I got a yellow card ’cause they pushed Rhian too much. It was a tight match. I drew the goalie out to an incoming high ball and he was pinged for handling outside the circle. For the ensuing free kick I went into a kind of fugue state where the kerfuffle of the free kick arguments around me disappeared and I could visualise the ball entering the net as though it had already happened, so much so that when the ref blew his whistle to signify game on it was merely a matter of allowing the future to happen as it already had and I sort of did a mind push kick on the ball and it powered incontrovertibly into the net, space-time rippling behind it like heat waves rising from the desert floor. Giller did some awesome saves. Giller scored another goal. I found myself in possession on the wing, opposition pushing hard up on my back, using only the power of my mind I force my way along the line toward goal, harried every step by a particularly large and nimble Hamptonian. As I approached the corner I turned and shot on goal: what happened next I don’t really know – Giller called it the greatest goal ever, but that could be gilding the lily, a bit. I think what probably happened is that I kicked the ball with so much mind power that space time was literally wrought apart, my cerebral cortex certainly shut down with the sheer mental effort, and I think the goalie’s did too, because when I came to he was only just realising that the ball was appearing from a tear in the fabric of a hyper dimension that my mind kick had ripped apart like so many polyester dresses on prom night. The goalie would have been half a chance to stop it had it been a regular kick, but this, as I said, was mind kick and the ball had travelled through parallel dimensions and space time tears and dimensionless spaces that not only cannot be physically represented they are literally beyond the realm of mathematical explanation, and where this ball had been there was no light, and no gravity, and no strong or weak electromagnetic force and no energy or time or anything, but it popped out in front of the goalie and he thought he had a chance and then it popped back into the physics-less place it had just been only to pop out just behind the goalie, and he turned and watched it roll over the line.

Then it was on. They got a goal back, it was four three and we had to defend. They through everything at us, but through a massive team effort we held them out, and I thought where the hell did that come from? I’ve never been able to mind kick a ball through a physics-less hypersphere before. And it come to me: old king lion had been brain whispering to me. Old king lion found a way even though he was smashed to shit at the bottom of death drop. And then I saw it wasn’t just me old king lion had been brain whisper mind puppeteering, it was the whole team playing with pride of Old King Lion. Then Old King Lion appeared to me in my mind and said (in all caps): YOU’VE WON ONE GAME – DON’T GET AHEAD OF YOURSELF – THIS IS EXACTLY HOW LAST SEASON STARTED, WITH A WIN OVER HAMPTON ST – AND THEN IT ALL TURNED TO 37 KINDS OF SHIT IN THE BLINK OF AN EYE. And then he was gone, just the lingering waft of quarter digested gryphon shit breathe hanging in the air.

After which Giller took us to Edye(?) bar on Lygon st and we argued endlessly about the new emblem and invented the Flonus or Flanus, a half flower half anus that quite beautifully represents a ripe blossoming male anus.