Vol XI


Position Team Points
1 Hatsocke Braves 52
2 Botheringham FC 45
3 Twaddlethorpe City 42
4 North Southington 38
5 St Albion Rovers Utd 32
6 AC Ballywinterourkewood 31
7 Stirringford Bowlers 29
8 A Confused Band of Weary Gents 26
9 Piggledy Wiznlydom 25
10 Proletariat Scum Of The North 22
11 Lemongrass Hotspurs 19
12 Dunshaughlin Utd 11

By Jingo, Its Football!

The working class distraction known as sport, that we have so successfully invented is growing in popularity across the country. The newest developement by our decepto-science men is that of foote balle. Foote balle involves bringing together 22 of your most degraded commoners and organising them evenly across two herds. Arrange them as though battle lines had been drawn and toss into their midst a round shaped ball, dubbed "Cratchet's Kickly-Wig" after its inventor. After an hour and a half of ball busting, one herd may or may notte emerge as the victor.

To them it is considerate to toss a loaf of slightly stale bread, or a similar reward for their efforts. Ensure, fair gents, to gather round the majority of your commoners so that they may partake in the entertainment provided by their scrummaging co-classmen. The game is among the most vicous and violent yet developed and all forms of physical engagement are to be encouraged, this is to ensure only the most useful commoners survive, so that they may be put to work within the Iron Mines of Durham, as kings among their fellows.

Hunt Reforms: Peasants Replaced By Foxes

Controversy in the House of (Harrumph) Commons today, as centuries of tradition were trampled into the dirt like so many overweight peasants before them. The Prime Minister, that salacious old fool of a Scot, Lord Aberdeen, has declared it a crime to hunt men for sport.

Are we to believe that gentlemenne can no longer enjoy the thrill of setting loose a young peasant boy and mercilessly hunting him until we achieve glorious victory on horseback? It seems that in this modern world, dear gents, that we are increasingly being forced to treat others as our equals.

A Gripping Tale of Some Ruggers So Far

Last All Hallow's Eve, I was present to watch the noble knighted gents of Birminghamshire engage the brutish Irish vagabonds of Dublin in the time honoured sir's game of ruggers. As the Irish are not widely known for their wonders of engineering, th' game was played in one Fergus Mc O'Connell's grazing field at half past the hour of before noon. Manny creatures of bovine descent were present and occasionally dropthed their execrete, likely in the hope of another victory for our stouthearted fellows.

Unfortunately, due to a communication error in Gaelic, the gentlemenne believed themselves to actually be invited to another fine game, crick-et and as result, utilised their bats to fend off their thuglike opponents. The savage Irishmen, presumably not content with the offer of home rule from their graceful opposition, picked up arms in the form of hurls and committed many traitorous acts on the playing grounds.

The game ended 412-397 to Birminghamshire when the captain of the Irish team lost consciousness as is traditonal in ruggers. Our boys returned home holding their heads high, happy with their new status of champions, not to mention the deeds to those filthy Irishmen's land plots.