Result: Bourne 31 (Veo still buffering for confirmation!) – St Ives 31
A beautiful, warm afternoon greeted a capacity crowd at the Drove for what promised to be a feast of rugby, and, true to form, the Mighty Twos delivered. This was the appetiser to the Red Roses’ later victory, with a little more chest hair on display.
Our visitors, the fearsome Pirates of St Ives, made the 600-mile round trip, bringing with them the kind of swagger you’d expect from men used to pasties and sea shanties. Midweek mutterings suggested they might not field a side, but they arrived with a full team and even a spare. Bourne, not to be outdone, named five replacements, although several had already warned they only fancied “ten minutes, tops.” Still, it was the first 2nd XV game this season to start with a full 30 men on the pitch.
St Ives struck first, catching Bourne cold with a converted try after just three minutes. By the 14-minute mark, they’d repeated the trick, and Bourne trailed 14–0, looking sluggish and distracted, perhaps already thinking about the post-match beers.
But the forwards rumbled into action. A line-out, pinched majestically by Binns, set up a rolling maul driven on by Connor Kelly, angered by digital ID cards, alongside Seth ‘the Gentle Giant’ Bradford and MT, delighted not to be in the front row. With Wally bellowing at the back, the mass of bodies collapsed just over the line, Wally emerging triumphant. Binns, usually proud of his ability to slot it neatly between the uprights, somehow squirted his kick wide. 14–5.
The hit of the half came from Dave Maudsley, folding a player neatly in half before charging over himself to score Bourne’s second. Again, Binns was close with the conversion, but not close enough. At the break, the scoreline read 21–10 to St Ives, and Bourne knew they had work to do.
Among the chaos of the first half, there were casualties. Paul Mamby, donning his boots at 8, took a clattering in the warm-up and never quite recovered; without his signature pink boots he looked a shadow of his former self and departed after sevenish minutes. Boris, succumbed to a mysterious foot injury (or possibly sunstroke) and spent the second half topless on the sideline, much to the crowd’s satisfaction.
Scrum half Auten “Healey” Crowson orchestrated smartly until a hefty blow to the head ended his day. Taken to A&E, the doctors asked him simple questions. The problem being, they weren’t sure he’d have known the answers before the knock. Dr Ben Haigh, returning to the Twos, had his work cut out: his curse continues, as two men ended up in hospital under his watch.
But for every departure, others stepped up. Wally, having already scored, was everywhere; clearing rucks, carrying hard, even hospitalising an opponent with a perfectly legal hit. His performance earned him Man of the Match, and a new fan club.
Sam Bainbridge grew in confidence, smiling broadly as he shifted from centre to back row. Told simply to “get the ball and run forwards,” he obliged with gusto, looking every inch a future Martin Johnson. Beside him in the backs, Matt ‘Poodle’ Lines tackled ferociously, at one point bench-pressing his opponent skyward before lowering him gently back to earth.
The second half began with controversy. First Tom Mellor, Bourne’s handicap, then Binns, were penalised for backchat to the ref. The ref, who was deaf, still managed to detect they were being muppets and kept marching Bourne back. Mellor’s presence earned him Dick of the Day; inclusion at its finest, allowing someone disliked by both sides equally to participate.
Then came the moment of the match: Binns, forever the enigma, kicked through, chased, scooped, and scored, before converting his own effort (so he says). He’ll be dining out on that story for years, probably sending it out on Christmas cards.
The crowd roared again as Poodle finished a sweeping backs move, converted coolly by the returning Jack Berry. Berry, the wizard, the legend, then scored himself and slotted the extras to bring Bourne within touching distance.
Ollie Jones, the Temu Ian Taylor and crowd favourite, was unlucky not to cross himself, stopped just 20 yards short after dazzling with his trademark unpredictability. Still, he won over fans by stepping up to down a pint for DoD when Mellor vanished for an early bedtime. Meanwhile, Logan ‘I play League’ Nicholson claimed the scoreboard’s 31–31 draw was correct thanks to a “different points system.” Nobody understood, but he said it with conviction.
Ben Taylor played like Clark Kent turned Superman, mild-mannered until he smashed through tackles with frightening force. Harry Barmby made his Bourne debut and looked every inch a solid addition to the squad; calm under pressure and dependable in defence. Michael ‘The Viking’ Hadley looked every bit the Norse warrior, snarling at rucks and carrying hard on only his second game back from serious injury.
In the closing minutes there was a tasty scuffle, although no one was sure what actually happened. The crowd were whipped into a frenzy at this point, frothing around the fringes.
Several debutants emerged: Nathan Montague, drafted in from Deeping (a town famously deprived of a Woolworths #WHD), showed spirit at replacement scrum half but blotted his copybook with a high tackle that saw him brandished yellow. Robin Jackson made his Mighty Twos bow, quietly effective and proving Bourne are attracting both new blood and loyal returnees. Both were warmly welcomed into the fold.
Dan Cheek returned from injury, again, and, true to form, reminded everyone of his 100-mile charity run at every break in play. Reliable as ever, his presence settled the backline.
Throughout, Kelly, thundering like a Shire Horse up and down the field as point man. Post-match interviews were attempted but inconclusive; he seemed happy enough with his performance.
The final whistle blew with the score board tied at 31–31, though the referee’s card said otherwise. Veo footage may provide clarity, or not. Snoop Dogg could be heard from the showers which capped a day of rugby theatre at its finest.
Captain and coach Dave summed it up best:

“Regardless of improving skill-sets, better structure and more comprehensive tackling… we 100% had the better banter and were the far better looking side, which counts for a lot.”

The Mighty Twos march on. October may hold a gap, unless Melvyn finds us a trip beyond the Humber, but November promises plenty: North Hykeham, Sleaford (who will Nogs play for?), and Ashby await. Join the fun, the bus journeys, and the chaos. The campaign continues.