Horror in Wiz

And so we traversed the soggy Fenlands. Under leaden, brooding skies. Shorn of defenders. Shorn of our usual Captain, but also intrigued by word of a new formation.
Given the paucity of defenders, (in fact players in general..) and with a line-up boasting just the 1 player who normally plies his trade in defence (other than the veritable John in goal), Nomads M2 made the bold/logical/desperate (delete as appropriate), decision to abandon the usual format requiring 4 defenders, replacing it with a somewhat-mysterious 3-4-3.

Without Felix to keep us waiting – the whole 11-man squad arrived at Wisbech on time. This was a huge positive. Enabling a concerted team discussion complete with vivid graphical representation on how to master 3-4-3 in a match against a high-riding Wisbech team, but with just one defender, and a couple of willing stand-ins. We are prepared. We can do this. We have a cunning plan. A tactical masterstroke no-less.

But as Mike Tyson famously said – “everyone has a plan until they are punched in the face".

Well, we weren’t quite punched in the face in the opening gambits, but it soon became apparent that Wisbech were a high energy, high pressing team that immediately put our stand-in defence under pressure. However, Nomads, with John excelling between the sticks, saw off the early onslaught, and started to settle into the game, making several surges forward into the opposing D, gaining more possession, but without ever quite carving out that clear chance or short-corner.
It was jolly hard work, all over the field, and eventually some Wisbech pressure led to the opening goal. At half-time, with a 1-0 deficit it felt as if we were still in the game and the contest was competitive.

Sadly, the second half panned out rather differently. In fact, I haven’t played many less enjoyable halves of hockey (winning or losing) in my many years of playing hockey. To be honest, I’m not sure I can bear recollecting it all. I may say something I later regret.
Suffice to say the against-the-odds-epic story of stirring bravery, comebacks, and eventual victory (you know those films) turned into more of a horror show, or Shakespearean tragedy. Complete with a pantomime villain (or two).
By the end we had 8 players on the pitch (strictly speaking 9, but one of those, Arthur, was unable to run). And of our 3 starting “defenders” just the 1 remained. Believe me when I tell you this is not a recipe for winning hockey matches.
Wisbech have some jolly good players in their 2nd team, and went on to take full advantage, banging in, maybe 5 goals, in the final 10 minutes against a depleted and dispirited Nomads team.
In between, we had rugby tackles, we had flare-ups, we had stern conversations, we had blood, sweat and, probably, tears. We had greens, we had yellows, and eventually, we had a red card (for our oft-culprit, the ‘enfant-terrible’ after an accumulation of, it has to be said, goaded incidents). What preceded that certainly wasn’t edifying. We also had hamstrings and groins pinging. When Nomads Legend Dave Spence limped off the pitch with 15 minutes to go, I’m afraid all hope of keeping the contest a contest evaporated rather. The end result was awfully unfair on John, who had been brilliantly, obdurately, excellent in saving just about everything Wisbech threw our way, and suddenly found himself shamefully unprotected against wave after wave of Wiz attacks.

And so our Epic, turned Horror Show, concluded, the credits rolled, and we shuffled off to enjoy the excellent Wisbech teas, then a long dark, damp journey home. Entirely fitting. There will be no sequel.
MoM – John, of course. DoD – Will, of course.