Saturday 23rd October 1999

Tournament day, and seven of us decided that two slices of bread was just not going to be enough to keep us going through seven games of Octopush, so off it was to the local greasy spoon for an enormous fry-up of everything unhealthy you could possibly imagine. With all that inside us we would certainly have no problem being on the bottom, but coming up again might be a bit more difficult!

Many of the crew completely wimped out of the walk to the pool (the majority of them what were later to be known as Chesham 'A'), while Sara, Colin, Mark and Liz braved the rain and made the 35-minute trek. Possibly the warm-up was an advantage . . .

Keith D, Justin, Martin R and Helen went to the pool in Keith's car, but we quickly discovered what a bad idea it was to have as navigator an adopted Australian who is more used to one road per state than the complex set of one-way streets that is near-Millenium Dublin. Martin was getting more and more agitated as Justin directed us this way and that, and we kept on seeing the same landmarks time and again while the minutes kept ticking away towards twelve o'clock. Eventually, we found Watling Street: Keith drove straight up the wrong way (it was a one-way street!) and deposited Martin outside the pool.

Martin hared in to find the rest of the Chesham players and most of the other teams already there, but no sign of Hugh, the tournament organiser. Phew, relief!

Hugh arrived about ten minutes later, and we held a quick Captains' meeting, where Hugh handed out the playing schedule and explained the idiosyncrasies of the pool. And what a pool! It ranged from 3ft deep at one end to 11ft deep at the other end, with a bottom that sloped gently downhill for about half the length of the pool and then disappeared over an abyss before getting to its final depth for the last third of the pool.

OK, so we exaggerate about the steepness of the slope, but it is fair to say that a large part of the game centred around the slope. The team playing downhill would always try to get their midfield flicks over the edge of the slope, whereupon it would roll at an ever-increasing pace into the flat of the deep end, whereas the team playing uphill had to always try to prevent the puck from going down the slope, and to get it back up as quickly as possible before the downhill team got a chance to capitalise on this advantage.

Anyone who has played at Totnes' pool in Dawlish or Nero's Heroes' pool in Newcastle-Upon-Tyne will have a fair idea of what the pool was like, but this took it one stage further. A great challenge!

As always, we had divided ourselves into two fairly even teams - two international players, one to each team; six ladies, three to each team; two fat bastards, er, hairy midfielders, one to each team; two blind bats, one to each team, and so on. Hugh wanted to know which of us was Chesham 'A' and which was Chesham 'B', so Peter said to Martin that he would like to be Chesham 'B' because Chesham A was playing in the second game and Chesham B in the third game, and he would like the extra bit of time to finalise tactics. Martin's team therefore became Chesham 'A' and Peter's team therefore became Chesham 'B'.

The black-shirted brigade moved onto the poolside and took over one of the far corners, where we were definitely the noisiest group there!

The tournament got underway and we confused the opposition quite quickly by the Chesham B team gelling quite quickly and therefore providing tougher opposition. The "B's" won all their games, apart from their last, against Putney. Darren was definitely the team motivator, and even in the height of frenzy underwater he could still be heard yelling from the poolside while subbed out.

There was the odd casualty who had to be tended by the resident nurse, who is now getting so used to it that she brings an extensive first aid kit with her in her Octopush bag! Who says this is a non-contact sport! For example, Ed somehow managed to badly skin his heel on the metal goal, and came hopping down the side of the pool leaving a trail of blood behind him and yelling "where's Sara!". The lifeguard jumped forward to offer to help, but was waved away by Ed, saying "No, I don't need a nurse, we've brought our own!". Eryl's strapped ankle was supported sufficiently to allow him to play, although he was not his usual speedy self and so played as a back.

//MORE//

We then went to The Teachers' Club in Parnell Square West for a slap-up curry meal and the tournament presentations.

//MORE//