“Unlucky for some”

13 is a notoriously and infamously unlucky number. For the benefit of the reader and for those not there, this report will entail a few dashes of background and some poetic license. It will be succinct and is written merely to fulfil its purpose and obligation.

The cruel fate and nature of Sunday League can do no worse to a side of sporadically available individuals than to deal them a hand in the form of a 5.45 kick off in Ringmer on a Sunday evening as a home fixture.

Less helpful was it being against a side of enthusiastic and energetic players in the form of Tally Ho. Reserves history could have predicted a grisly outcome, the second string having been bested 9-1 in September 2014 by Tally Ho.

The infamous Simon Aburrow scored the consolation. Where is he now you ask? He’s a goalkeeping coach for J4K Surrey. I certainly didn’t see that coming.

In the same season, the reserves went onto beat Tally 3-2 in the return fixture. However, beyond that there were back to back 8-2 defeats.

It is worth mentioning that the season after, the Reserves recorded their record defeat of 14-1 at the hands of AFC 2015, having been 1-0 up for the first 15 minutes of the game. It remains the record… but only just.

Back to the game at Ringmer. Back to the number 13. The side fielded was a decent one. Jones was in goal. 13 is the average amount of goals he has conceded per game over his 11 year Fatboys career and the average amount of times he has been lobbed per season – he would later ensure he maintained this average.

Parker, Linehan, Ballatyne (13 pints deep presumably) and Finch as a rearguard. Slark, Piyaroe and Blake as a central three and Wickwar, Spies and Evetts as a trio at the summit. A bench or Davie with his 13 IQ and Southwell with his 13 injuries. Let’s move onto the facts.

Tally were better than Fatboys. 13-1 better? Maybe not quite. But it was a very long evening. This was quickly realised by Spies, who after four goals in the opening 13 minutes fell victim to a savage rupture of his Achilles motivationus and a torn Enthusiastimus. Davie entered the fray, leaving 10 of his 13 brain cells on the bench for safe keeping.

Spies was both devastated he could not continue and crestfallen at not being able to slum it in the trenches with his peers, so he trudged beleaguered to the warm, dry changing rooms before dragging his heartbroken soul to the bar and balcony for the rest of the game. He would go onto make a miraculous recovery from injury and be available for the next game.

Among the rest of the half there were very few things to sing home about. Slark perhaps the only Fatboys player to be deserving of praise. Working hard to be in five places at once and getting very much stuck in.

Half time came and the score was 6-0. Among those six were some outrageously good finishes, a frankly woeful penalty decision which clearly changed the course of the game and was wholeheartedly the sole reason we narrowly missed out on progressing to the next round. But then again, Bally made the tackle so it was probably justified.

Keep it tight – work hard and have some pride. Those were the words from the home camp at half time and the effect seemed to be beneficial and to have galvanised the troops.

We hadn’t come here to have our bellies rubbed and our proverbial ticklish bits paraded to the five onlooking spectators who either had no Netflix subscription or had upset someone at home.

Why would you still be here watching this atrocity, this, unsanitary dirge of a representation of the beautiful game? Sadomasochism perhaps.

Peep peep went the whistle. 13 seconds later, peep peep it went again. Tally had scored again. They then proceeded to score again. And again. Again, and again. Then once more. And another followed by one more.

Alfie Southwell did get one back after Bally had run from full back to nearly score the goal of the season but his effort fell victim to a block before Alfie tucked it home.

These two things happened but whether they happened together I don’t know. I think I had some form of malaria at the time and it wasn’t helpful.

All in all this was the worst association with the number 13 for a Fatboys side since Mike McDonald’s performance in the 13 shirt as a central midfielder at Waterhall two years previously.

13 was the combined score awarded to the team at the end of the game by the notorious Hüter der Spielerbewertungen (translators available online – you should have listened in your German lessons rather than abusing the poor teacher).

The day had been a waste of many things. Time. Fuel. Energy. Teamsheet. Breath. And a man of the match prize avoided to Davie who was thrilled to bits.

The positive to be taken was that Fatboys had just been promoted to Division Three three weeks into the season for being “too good” for Division Four… and so had Tally. Uh-oh.