Remember, Remember the Fifth of November: The Narwhals Fizzle Out

12 November Stats

There are nights when fireworks light up the sky in a blaze of colour and glory. Then there are nights like this one, where the fuse burns brightly for a while before sputtering out in a sad puff of smoke. The South London derby between WT Narwhals and the South London Leeches promised explosions, drama, and aquatic pyrotechnics. Instead, it delivered the sporting equivalent of a damp sparkler left in a puddle.

Remember, remember the fifth of November, where the Narwhals couldn't score with their shots... Despite dominating the play in the first quarter, our shooting was poor and our defence unorganised. Our shooting resembled a Catherine wheel nailed too tightly to the post: lots of noise, very little movement. The Leeches, opportunistic as ever, slithered ahead 3–0 whilst we worked out how not to throw the ball straight at the keeper. A late rally saw the score trimmed to 3–1 by the end of the first quarter, but the pattern was set: big build-up, disappointing payoff. We are making a habit of slow starts…

By mid-second quarter, the Narwhals found themselves 5–1 down but then came the spark. A thunderous strike from Rob Dickinson, a pit goal for Finchy and a collector’s-item goal from Gary (he does score sometimes, honestly) pulled the Narwhals back to 5–4 at half-time. Spirits rose. The bonfire crackled. Someone even whispered the word “comeback.” Little did we realise we were heading for a climactic, yet ultimately unfulfilling second half.

The third quarter was when things finally clicked. The Leeches were held scoreless while Matt Finch rolled back the years with two fine finishes, one courtesy of a sublime pass from his own offspring. 6–5 Narwhals. The fireworks display was up and running.

What we didn't realise is that we had metaphorically placed the barrels of gunpowder under our own Houses of Parliament.

For the first four minutes of the final quarter, the Narwhals looked untouchable. A three-goal cushion, confidence flowing, and Nick “Guido Fawkes” Shute suddenly remembering how to score. Then, in a moment of pure Narwhalian tragedy, Shute’s evening went up in smoke. A third major foul, “dubious,” according to the accused, saw him expelled, protesting his innocence like a man dragged from a cellar stacked with barrels. With 3mins 30secs left on the clock, his exit left the Narwhals short-staffed but still, temporarily, functioning.

The situation then worsened. Within half a minute, Rob “Catesby” Dickinson joined his co-conspirator Shute in the Tower, self-immolating himself and claiming martyrdom for the cause. The Narwhals were down to six, the plot foiled, the palace breached.

From there, the collapse was as inevitable as it was painful. The Leeches, sensing blood, or perhaps just enjoying irony, clawed their way back. 9–7, then 9–8, then 9–9. With 24 seconds to go, the fatal blow: 9–10. Another late-game implosion. Another premature celebration.

For the second time in two games, the Narwhals let a good lead and good performance disappear due to ejections and a lack of manpower. A sad, limp, disappointing end to what had begun to look like an exciting climax. The difference between a fireworks display on a crisp, clear November evening versus watching on in a downpour.

So ended the Narwhals’ Guy Fawkes night, with the Leeches claiming victory, and, with it, the year’s bragging rights for the wrong side of Tooting Common. Their only decent social media post of the year summed it up neatly: “Remember, remember the Narwhals surrender.”

Final Score: Leeches 10 – 9 Narwhals

Man & Moment of the Match: Zac

h: composed, creative, and completely ruined it by flying to Portugal.

Fluffer(s): Shute and Dickinson: for ruining everybody’s Fireworks Night.