Suffering from suspected internationalitis and possible general apathy on the part of aging colleagues that that may either be under the wing, or simply prefer a trip to Tescos on a Saturday afternoon, a much thinned but nevertheless valiant vets team gathered at the clubhouse in preparation for the battle that lay ahead.

Notwithstanding, Captain Huw Crosby, The Judge and the Al the child teacher formed a triangulate that was prepared; if necessary to take on the world despite its decimated numbers. There was to be no bitching, no complaining, no wonder and awe at that the lack of support from erstwhile colleagues: no none of this, the battle would be glorious and the fight heroic in pursuit of a valiant victory that would be ours!

As the team gathered outside the predatory shadow of the Wilmslow club house it was clear that, as with a gathering storm, the vets were assuming a form that would demand respect later in the day: for, with the support of youth, unexpected comrades and handful of Wilmslonians we were once more a Team with which to be reckoned. Not for one second did we deliberate, the bar beckoning and the England match warming up for a start within: no – we had but one aim within our sight – the Victory that surely God had mandated to be ours.

Comrades anew, we set off for the field of play through swamp and jungle and broken down bridge; and as the darkness of the forest broke the battle field emerged with the pinnacle posts shining in the autumnal hazy sunshine – it was truly a sight to behold and it has to be said tears of pride were forming as we prepared ourselves for the foe.

The team selection was made. No one volunteering for scrum half until Sim Simeon (Sim Sim turu): the first of our Wilmslonians stepped up to the breach. Niall (Neil) was standoff. Super Quinn (he will get the pun even if you don’t) stepped in from the wing as centre: The Judge unfearingly took up the mantle of outside centre and Al Sutherland took up the wing for a change. Add Tim the ferocious full-back and a Wilmslow wing and the backs were formed.

There was also a forward pack.

With the eleventh hour arrival of Dom our team was truly formed and the game began.

Sir had barely blown the whistle when Super Quinn with a parting of the waves on biblical proportions cut through and threw aside the well drilled but un-expecting Wilmslow defensive line to breach the whitewash and put the Vets well and truly in the lead with five points upon the board.

Like a riled pack of rottweilers Wilmslow fought back with aggression having been smarted and bruised. The Stockport defensive line held up besieged within its own half for what can only be described as an age; however, the Vets’ intention was not capitulate in the face of fire and the young Niall took on a well fired exit from the scrum to pass all but one of Wilmslow team carving through two thirds of the field in an Herculean move that quite literally left us standing.

The forwards went against the head with valliance and the Wilmslow pack was held at bay. The Judge along with the rest of the backs took on the mantle of defence forming mauls and rucks to be admired and, but for a lucky try, the score would have remained the same into the second half; but this was not to be as Wilmslow somehow managed breach the defensive line and convert leaving the score 7-5 as the oranges were served.

Captain Huw Crosby, scenting victory gathered the troops and with tactics reviewed, the battle recommenced.

Ends exchanged, the home team advantage came in to play and the rotters got a quick try and conversion that was wholly against the run of play; for the Vets were in fighting spirit setting injury and lacerations aside as the tackles flew in across the field from the whole team.

Not for one minute was a veteran head lowered as the team fought back anew with an unparalleled tactical master class that saw backs go forward and forwards go out across the width of the field. Not for us was the creaking of aging limbs and it was only a question of time before Super Quinn as a man possessed claimed the ball and, with another biblical parting of the waves severed the Wilmslow defence to once more cross the scoring line. The game once again was truly on and with the wind returned to the Veteran sails, we were 14-10.

The game recommenced with a sly and predatory last minute switching of sides at the starting kick but Wilmslow had not reckoned upon Sutherland’s hangover having cleared so quickly as he flew in with awe inspiring tackles. The Vet scrum was more than a measure for Wilmslow, for despite comprising a mix of oppo and home grown heros it made ground against the head.

Although the defensive line expressed unprecedented discipline with forwards joining the ranks demonstrating unparalleled fitness, another sneaky try prevailed.

The game standing at 19-10 with just a handful of minutes on the clock would have been the final nail in the coffin for a lesser team: but of course, this side being like no other in Davenport history came back fighting.

The fury on the field was atmospheric. Wilmslow were taking a beating! And, as so many times before in this game Super Quinn came to the fore.

Wilmslow clearly had Quinny marked, but were not prepared for a change in his game. The Wilmslow pack formed as one and as they closed in upon the dynamic Dubliner he unleashed the jewel in his tactical crown for with ball to boot the oval leapt into the air with only one target in sight. Time appeared to stop as the Wilmslow boys looked aghast as the ball went overhead to roll across the try line with Quinny in pursuit. Within a cloud of confusion the ball was straddling and the quick witted Quinny was first with hand to ball to mark a hat trick of scores to the overwhelming appreciation of his comrades.

A near miss conversion had brought the vets back into the game (19-15) and there can be no doubt that were we playing a full length match the victory would have been ours and ours alone. But this was not to be as the final whistle blew bringing to an end the master class that should have been written into the annals of rugby history.

Comradeship was formed upon that field and a sporting alliance will live to fight another day.

Absent colleagues be ashamed at what you missed and prepare to earn your place in the team for Glossop. Let not your comrades stand decimated the field of battle. Tell the wife that you have a calling that must be answered. Join the crusade and never again have any excuse to say – “I was not there!”

Super Quinn man o match by default.