Raiders of the Lost Cause

Dear readers. My regulars might think I'm some sort of toff with references to art, literature and other items of culture in my weekly reports. What ho, old bean. But sometimes things are not always as they appear. I am, in fact, an East End boy, born within the sound of Bow Bells (true). In honour of the visit of the London Raiders, who play in the good old East End this report is written with a few bits of cockney rhyming slang thrown in for good measure. In the interests of authenticity please read with a cockney accent.

Bison 7 London Raiders 1

7/10/17

Down the frog and toad from the Smoke came them cockney geezers, the London Raiders, intent on dishing out Tony Slattery to Bison. You 'aving a bird bath mate? They got in a right Elliot Ness on the Vincent Price as Bison proved too lemon tart for them and clipped ‘em round the lug’ole. We saw goals, galore, a spot of GBH and an unfortunate judge and jury to the Raiders’ netman, as I shall relate, me ol’ cock sparrers.

The game opened in a lively fashion and on 3 minutes Connolly rang one of the goalie’s bonce, but there was no whistle (I don’t mean whistle and flute). Then on 9:32 Jack Cooper was called for a pie and mash. “You’re going down the apples and pears for that me ol’ china,” said referee Matthews and into the box went the man whose ancestors made barrels to join Alan Lack who was already there, having had his collar felt by the rozzers for roughing. The Raiders survived the 5 on 3, but not the ensuing 5 on 4. Antonov found Karpov just inside the blue line. He powered forward faster than a No. 10 bus up Wapping High Street and centred for Ashley Jackson to whack it past goaltender Euan King. Disappointingly Jackson didn’t do a moonwalk to celebrate his Bobby Moore. His brother Michael would have. 1-0 Bison. Strike a light guv’nor.

On 11:46 the Raiders found themselves defending another power play and failing. Off to the Scrubs to sew mail bags went Andy Munroe for tripping. On 14:12 Antonov took the puck away from the boards, moved into a shooting position in front of goal and whipped a shot through the 5-hole of the hapless netman King. 2-0 Bison. Would you Adam and Eve it?

So 2 powers plays and 2 goals for Bison. The Raiders had to in the groove on this. Doubtless they fancied a bit of power play kill practice to show how much better they had become in defending the 5 on 4, as on 15:02 J.J. Pitchley, possessor of a fine Mr Punch chin, but, alas, not a Punch-esque hooter, doled out a bit of GBH. “Oi matey!” cried Referee Matthews. “You’re bang out of order. It’s ginger ale for you my son.”  No point arguing. Matthews was the chocolate fudge and J.J. had to do his porridge. Had they improved their power play kill? Well no. In fact they seemed to have got worse as Scott fed Antonov who passed inside to Karpov. It all seemed to be happening in slo-mo as the Raiders D went to Bo-Peep. Karpov whipped an over the shoulder wrist shot past King. 3-0 Bison. Gor blimey, me ol’ Empire State.

P2 was looking a lot better for the Raiders. Anyone with a decent pair of mince pies could see that. They held out until halfway through the period, but then on 31:09 they conceded another sausage roll. Antonov to Cesky to Connolly, who whipped in a wrist shot. 4-0 Bison. Flamin’ Nora.

Shortly after that spot of GBH which I alluded to occurred. Alan Lack went Saddam Hussein and did a job on Grant Rounding, who went down like a sack of Roy Hudds as if he’d been shot by a lady of Bristol. Lack left him for brown bread. Amazingly there was no whistle (and certainly no flute). Were you ‘avin’ a laugh Mr. Matthews? You must be chicken oriental. As the game went on Bison’s Doc Glenn came onto the ice to attend the stricken geezer and administer some Thomas Edison. Luckily the ref didn’t spot him or he could have called Bison for too many men on the Vincent Price. Well done Doc – you deserve a bike and pedal for that.  Eventually the game was stopped. Lots of afters here. Lack pork chopped a 2 + 10 for a check to the loaf of bread and a game misconduct. Off the villain went. Deserved? Abserbloodylutely John. There were loads of Bison backers who wanted to give him an out to lunch on the ‘ooter. They were in a real two and eight about it.

P2 ended with no more goals being scored, so into the final phase we passed. The Raiders were holding their own until a very unfortunate judge and jury to goaltender King. It looked like he twisted something and ended up in right Barney Rubble. He carried on for a bit, but clearly wasn’t moving at all well. It would have been Dad’s army for him to carry on. He didn’t. Off the ice he went. The Raiders had no back up goalie, just as surely as the Ducks had no back up to Hanrahan in “Slapshot” (remember him? See below). King handed his Brighton pier over to team mate Tom Davis, who took up his drum and base between the pipes.

Bison scored another 3 goals with Davis in the net – bit of a Lionel Blair for the bloke I’m afraid to pony and bay. I am not going to describe any of them to save the substitute goalie’s blushes as they were all stoppable by a regular goalie, but titfer tats off to Davis for putting himself on the Patsy Cline for his team – he would later cop the Raiders’ Top Banana award (a box of pig’s ears) and well deserved it was. For the record the Bison scorers were Connolly unassisted, Antonov assisted by Dewey and Karpov and Jackson assisted by Petts and Scott.

In between Bison’s 6^th and 7^th the Raiders queen of dragged one themselves. Set up by Smith and Lascenko, Marek Hahlik Franz Klammered a clapper from the point. We heard a thud. Deano had got a piece of it but not big enough a piece and it trickled over the line. The Raiders’ fans went radio rental. Strains of “Knees up Mother Brown” were heard and the jellied eels were passed round. They’d gone chicken jalfrezi. And Marek Nahlik? What a diamond geezer. One of the East End’s own. Luvly jubbly and luv-a-duck. As for jellied eels? Not my Sykes and Nancy. Enough to make you Tom and Dick. Ugh!

The final buzzer sounded and it was Richard Burtons for the Raiders. Never mind they had won a lot of dinner plates with a never say die performance. Back to the Smoke they went, back to the trouble and strife then on with the whistle and flute, down the apples and pears and up the frog and toad to the rub-a-dub-dub for an Aristotle of pig’s ear and a Ruby Murray. Well done geezers.