Weekend Preview: The Tale of Pritchard the Fresh

Dear CUHC, 

As the booking of varsity pitches starts (as well as work), a weekend preview might be a bit too much work for us this week. Fear not, the club’s very own resident geriatric has come to the rescue. Shouting nibble and how’s that to his great grandchildren clearly wasn’t a fun enough pass time! 

The Tale of Pritchard the Fresh

The date? 6th October 2019. Time? 12 noon.

I want you to cast your minds back. Way back. In fact, you’ll need to rewind 5 years, 3 prime ministers, 0.35 degrees Celsius of climate change (cite) and Mash’s entire lifetime. The sun is shining, the weather is sweet. 

The world is a stable and nostalgic one to look back on. COVID-19 doesn’t exist. Britain is still in the EU. None of you know who Callum Wolvers is yet. Owen Dyson, 14, stands a dizzying 4 foot 7 inches tall. 

In the midst of this serene backdrop, I enter my newly adopted home: the Wilberfortress. With a morning consisting of rolling out of bed, consuming an almost illegal quantity of Weetabix, paying next to no attention in lectures while dressed head to toe in light blue and releasing weaponised smallpox putting on a masterclass in morning labs, I’m now frothing with anticipation for my first Squandies corners session in preparation for a fast-approaching Division 3 North West debut.

The air is thick and smells of goals. This is a tough smell to put your finger on, but imagine a glorious mix of TBS, toma, and the sweet, sweet tears of an Occasional after a varsity shuffles loss and you’re almost there. 

Upon descending on pitch 1, I’m instantly thrust waist-deep into the eclectic nomenclature of the Squandies’ corner routines. The phrase “let’s baffle Peterborough with a reverse Botswana” produced in me the sort of confusion you’d usually associate with a land where there is cheese, but no milk. I briefly pause to consider the etymology of this reverse Botswana: was Botswana really shaped like a hockey stick? Did the general athleticism on show resemble that of a native black rhino? Was there some strange edition of the Kama Sutra I wasn’t aware of? It didn’t matter - the goals were flying in. No keeper, but don’t let that spoil the fun. Even now I can almost hear the middle of the goal cowering in fear as yet another Saturn crashed into it that day. “That’ll definitely go in against the shit teams we play against” was the resounding sentiment. Confidence was flowing like ginger Toma on a Saturday night. The weather, all of a sudden, had shifted: “Cloudy with a chance of 3 points to the Squandies” was emblazoned all over the Met Office that evening. 

Meanwhile, amidst the glory on Pitch 1, Pete Jansen has just begun his first day of year 9 in the quaint, glorious land of Surrey. Well, at least it was before he turned up. He gets off to the worst possible start: showing off to the new boys in chemistry, he proceeds to vigorously shake a bottle of hydrochloric acid and bang it on his forehead, causing severe burns and a premature end to his season for Old Georgians under 14’s - you’re rinsing 12 year olds mate, it’s not that impressive. As you can imagine he’s not the only year 9 causing carnage on their first day - in a remarkable display of boldness, Femi has already got himself excluded for ripping his maths teacher’s shirt pocket.

A few million miles north in the burgeoning metropolis that is Wolverhampton, Blewis is revising for his GCSEs. Having been unceremoniously dropped from the biology top set, he began to ply his trade in the ‘Biology Wandies’ as he genuinely called it. This man’s CUHC badgery started criminally early. In the same vein, he goes home only to iron his finest black tie for a house party. A perfect example of what you should all be doing RIGHT NOW. Sunday is a big day and you don’t want to look silly.

Back to the Home Counties: Theo characteristically swaggers into his first day of Year 12, making everyone instantly aware of his supreme presence, athletic prowess and indomitable charm. However, his aura drastically nose-dives approximately 5 minutes into geography, when he’s caught licking the rock samples at the back of the classroom while muttering “mmmm, that’s my favourite, give me more”. He learnt a few new words that day: phrases like “shut up you weirdo” and “go eat some granite”. He was not to be swayed. To this day, the chemistry between this man’s tongue and the geological foundations of this very Earth remains off the charts, only rivalled by his raging cereal addiction.

Onto East Anglia now, as Freddie H-S is dropped off at school by his mum, who turns many a divorced dad’s head in the school car park. The fact that Fred has that kind of heritage whilst simultaneously hailing from a complete genetic minefield is so beyond human comprehension that we’d have to resuscitate Charles Darwin to dig up an answer. Fred spends most of his day drawing houses and building Lego - perfect preparation for 3 years of dossing about an architecture degree. 

I could go on. But I won’t. The rest of you are probably doing similar things. Or different. Who knows. Or cares. Anyway, other eras of time are available, most importantly this Saturday, in which we will attempt to joué some hockey. Here are the games: 

Home

P1 - Wandies vs Cambridge 1s - 10:30

P2 - Nomads vs Dereham 2s - 12:00

P1 - Mblues vs Spalding 1s - 15:30

P3 - Blundies vs Cam City 7s - 16:00

P1 - Beds vs Spalding 2s - 17:00

Away

Rovers vs Bourne Deeping 1s - 13:30

Squandies vs St Ives 3s - 14:00

Wblues vs Beeston 2s - 14:00

Lots of CUHC love, 

Blewis and Amy