It was a pleasant and mild Friday morning as across the area the Farts quietly prepared their gear for the “Great Northern Road Trip” to the HB masters.
They mounted their trusty steeds and journeyed away, to congregate at that meeting place of the Legendary Northern Viking ancestors, Dannevirke. After they had sated their hunger and thirst, they set off again in convoy north, on the last leg of the great trek.
Friday afternoon and into the night was spent regaling tales of past conquests, both on and off the field of battle, of battles won, wenches conquered and injuries sustained in the battle and the ensuing feasting. Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind or spring winds was in great evidence, both inside amongst the assembled horde and outside ragging against the battlements (Nuts thought the winds were rather violent in his hut, from both ends – his roommate Rear-end and Trapper)
Saturday morning dawned fine and mild, and after a early breakfast of mainly freshly slaughtered pork and eggs, washed down with gallons of coffee, the horde assembled on the great northern bluff to pay homage to Zephyrus and divine the events that may unfold that day.
Richie Rich had been agreed upon as the leader of this waring party from the south, and he held court at midday to lay out his plans for battle, with discussion of outflanking manoeuvres, fient attacks and holding back reserves for the final thrust
They strode off to the battlefield, heads held high, hair streaming back in the wind, sunlight glinting off their helmets (or was that bald heads), great battle axes in the hands. But the conditions were against the Farts from the start, as the weather had turned on a sweltering day, burning their skin, making rivers of sweat to blind their eyes and wearying their aged limbs.
The first period of battle was ferocious and saw the attack ebb and flow like the waves on the beach, Trapper went down with a blow to his leg (some say he was focussed on the BBQ that was cooking sausages in front of him, when he got the ball suddenly and went down in a heap with a twisted ankle) . The Farts fought on gallantly, even with men dropping like flies. Legs scored and at the end of the first skirmish the “Passmasters” were ahead 2-1. It was an ominous sign that whilst the Farts retreated to the cool and dark of the dugout to prepare for the next onslaught, the Passmasters stood in the blazing sun on the field of battle. When battle re commenced, against the valiant efforts of a flagging defence the Passmasters took out the battle 6-1.
The Farts only had a short respite before the next waring faction, Taradale, took the field of battle to challenge them to a fight to the death, winner to go straight to a final battle against the Passmasters. More valor was shown with Trapper taking hits to the head and chest, and Willy collecting a full force blow to his leg (he got in the way of a Rear-end clearing kick from close range)
Again it was a valiant effort for the men in red, but further injuries and the effects of heat exhaustion from the earlier battle took their toll and the Farts were beaten (8-1). Legs had again scored to restore some Farts honour.
The Farts had undertaken the great trek north, but succumbed to injuries, heat and probably general weariness from a long waring season.
The celebrations that night were long, and the Farts were awarded the inaugural “Tui Trophy” for best sportsmanship (I think, it was rather foggy by then).Nuts picked up the award for best male under garments (Mr Perfect undies).
Awards were presented within the team for valor and actions above and beyond the call of duty (MVP's), to Kerry (Shultz) Nitz, Ants (Chicken legs) and Glen (Rearend).
After a rest the weary band travelled home on the Sunday morn, and being the Sabbath, broke their journey for a time of reflection and reverence at that great “god of the Oranges” at Mangatinoka.
At home, they cleaned and then put aside their great battle axes till the next waring season was upon them.
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