Old Isleworthians 119 – Northolt 0
Northolt arrived on Saturday with good weather, good energy, and the completely delusional belief that the day would remain sensible. The first half was almost civilised. No rain. No wind. No meteorological bullying. Just rugby, actual rugby! Players running in straight lines! Passes going where they were meant to go! A miracle.
Then halftime happened.
The sky took one look at Northolt and said, “Not on my watch.”
The second half opened with rain so strategically timed it felt personal. Not heavy. Not dramatic. Just enough of a petty drizzle to turn every ruck into a slip-’n-slide and every player into a confused newborn deer.
Enter Tom at 9, operating on a completely different frequency to the rest of humanity.
While everyone else was devolving into wet chaos gremlins, Tom produced the performance of a lifetime. Bullet passes. Perfect tempo. Sniping runs that defied the laws of motion. If you squinted hard enough, you could see him glowing. His efforts were so noticeable that for a brief moment, the team collectively forgot how miserable they were and thought, “Wow, we might actually be a rugby team.”
He could not have played better unless he sprouted wings and flew the ball to the 10.
Ali, a menace in the best possible way, started brilliantly, charging, smashing, tackling, intimidating the grass itself. Then injury struck, and off he went. Old Is generously lent us a player, possibly because they were tired of Ali single-handedly trying to shift the tectonic plates.
Jonesy, consistent king of competence, delivered a masterclass in looking like he knew what he was doing even as the rest of the squad slowly melted in the rain. He was everywhere, tackling, carrying, communicating, glaring at people who needed glaring at. A fully earned Man of the Match, mostly because the award “Saviour of the Backline” doesn’t officially exist.
Ryan, however…
Ryan decided the real enemy was Northolt’s own players.
Every ruck? Carnage.
Every breakdown? A crime scene.
Every teammate on the floor? A fresh canvas for stud-based artwork.
He raked with such commitment and accuracy that even players nowhere near the ruck started backing away from him. A unanimous, undisputed Dick of the Day, and honestly, he earned it with flair.
And through it all, through the drizzle, through the chaos, through the questionable decisions Sarah stood firm on the sidelines. Bringing on water. Offering support. Watching full-grown men do their best impressions of penguins learning to walk. A true hero, soaked but undefeated.
By the final whistle, Northolt had survived the weather, survived each other, and survived the performance of Ryan’s boots. The score may not have gone our way, but the spirit? Unbreakable. The commitment? Questionable but present. The entertainment value? Off the charts.