Halifax RLFC V Rochdale Hornets



Walking slowly at the front of the slave pens the dreaded Slave Master, Mike Riley; banged his battle Club against the slave pen grills a cruel thin lipped smile on his face.
“Come on you lot, get out of your comfort zones, we’ve little time to get the covers off before our warriors come out to warm up.”
The battleground had been protected against the weather. The covers glistened with the morning frost. It took about an hour to get the covers off to reveal that the battleground was playable.
“Right you walking rubbish, back into your sumptuous accommodation,” ordered the salve master.
The slaves reluctantly returned to the pens, except one slave; the grizzled slave known as Halifaxjohn who stood his ground on the cleared battleground.
“What’s your problem, Matey?”
“Sir I don’t want to go back into the pens.”
Riley walked up to the reluctant slave and smashed him in the side of the head with his battle Club.
“Get in the pen now!”
Sheepishly Halifaxjohn returned to his pen. Mike Riley the Slave Master swaggered from the field and returned to the battle office.

Fax’s coaching duo, the Archduke Karl (Rhino) Harrison and the Grand Prince Lee (The Schemer) Greenwood walked on the field of battle. Testing the surface as they walked; by digging their boot studs into the ground.
“It’s a bit soft,” growled Rhino as he ground his studs into the grass. “Hard or soft will make no difference to our young warriors,” retorted the Schemer with a ferocious grin on his battle scarred face.
There was a commotion coming from the terracing as the Fax Faithful made their presence known. They were ready to stand back to back to the death with their Heroes. As if the Gods had commanded them they all started the blood curdling chant, the very familiar chant that sent shivers of fear through the oppositions ranks, “O HaliHali.”

The games master Matthew Thomason entered the battlefield, checking his timepiece as he walked he indicated to the time keepers to get the battle underway.
Trumpets blared as the game kicked off.

It took a meagre seven minutes for the mighty Fax to cross the Rochdale Hornets whitewash. A neat offload by Dane (the legs) Manning to Ryan (the barrier) Fieldhouse to charge through to score; Steve (tomorrows man) Tyrer converted to make the score Fax 6 Hornets 0.
The hornets tackled hard belying their lack of match practise, unfortunately the Fax worriers didn’t care as they launched another attack.
Anthony (The Arm) Thackery was tackled just short of the line but his arms were long enough to reach out and score, tomorrows man converted to make the score Fax 12 Hornets 0. It took the Fax another ten minutes before they were on the score sheet again. Fantastic work by Sean (The Leader) Penkiwicz and Craig (Chunky) Ashall got the antipodean maniac Jim (Crazy Dog) Gannon under the post, tomorrows man converted to make the score Fax 18 Hornets 0.
The Fax worrier was next to score with some silky moves that took him over the line, tomorrows man hit the upright thus missing the conversion taking the score to fax 22 Hornets 0. Four minutes later Paul (winged feet) White charged down the left flank to outpace and out muscle the Hornets defence to score close to the corner flag, tomorrows man hit the upright again missing the conversion.
The trumpets signalled the end to the first half battle to the delight of the Fax faithful

Half Time Score

The Mighty Halifax RLFC 26 V Rochdale Hornets 0


The trumpets sounded to herald the start of the second half.

The Shay Stadium fell into complete silence as the hard working Hornets pushed forward close to the Fax posts with good work from Gary Middlehirst to allow Stephen McDermott to score under the post, to be converted by Paul Cook.
Crazy Dog was in great form sending Chunky in to score and to be converted by tomorrows man to make the score Fax 32 Hornets 6.
The last score came from tomorrows man himself charging down the left flank, he put the icing on the cake by kicking the conversion.
The Fax followers were howling with delight and chanting their war song “O’Hali Hali.” Even the ground slaves were joining in the chant. The grizzled HalifaxJohn was jumping around his slave pen with gay abandon.

The Full Time Score

Halifax 38 V Rochdale Hornets 6
Attendance 1,881

brilliant! we need one every week!

Are u after James Roberts's job with the Worrier

I'll be doing the match report for the Fev game

A Report for the Crusaders game

A Modern Crusade

The re-arranged battle was to take place at the Stobart Stadium, Halton a small town in the red rose county of Lancashire. The day was slightly overcast and cold which mattered not to the battle hungry Fax troops and their followers.

The fax troops were offered extra knee and elbow protection which was denied with derisive laughter.

The faithful Fax supporters started the proceedings with their usual chant to the games Gods of O HaliHali. Unfortunately the Fax followers were outnumbered by at least 40 to 1 by the screaming hoards of the gathered Crusaders tribes that had travelled the few miles from the little principality known as Wales. They had tribal lands in the far north of that little place that was mostly covered in redundant coal mines and boisterous Methodist churches.

The Fax game masters, The Lord Martin Angel Gonzalez a direct descendant of the Gods and the antipodean maniac, Count James Edward (Crazy Dog) Gannon smiled ferociously at the opposing fanatical hoards as they watched their own troops charge onto the field of battle to the tumultuous chants from the Fax faithful that had travelled many arduous miles. A journey from the penine mountain range to the far east of the current battlefield; Battling through various tribal bad lands of the; Crazy Leigh Centurions and the Murderous Salford City Reds.

The Fax warriors started with their stretching ritual oblivious to the manic drumming and screaming hoards of Crusaders fans baying for their blood.

Both sets of warriors settled down and muscled up, waiting for the Games Master, George (Hardman) Stokes; a master who wouldn’t take any nonsense from either of the battle camps. The Games Master checked his timepiece before signalling for battle to commence.
Silence fell over the stadium as the gathered hoards waited. The saviour’s sunshine broke through the clouds as the trumpets sounded for no quarter asked or given to the participants.

The mighty Fax kicked off, the ball falling just short of the opposition’s last line of defence.

The rest, as they say, is history!

Crusaders 62 Fax U23 0

Widnes or Halton is in Cheshire btw

Stuart Hall is alive and living in Halifax!

My lawyers are watching

Sorry Les West, Being a Yorkshire git, I thought everything west of the pannines was all Lancashire

So come on Malcolm, where is your match report for the Fev game? You can't start some thing and then just "disappear"
You told me I would feature in it!

No it isn't. You'll be telling us Hull is in Humberside next!