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The Banker 10

Happy New Year!

Why does Keys feel the need to excessively rub his body against mine? And why is Alistair Cook's “new thing” unwarranted cheek kissing?

Yes, these are the signs that it's 2019! As we greet the year with resolutions to eat fewer carbs or less fat or jump on the culinary roller-coaster that was Veganuary, Bankers have entered the new year with the studious resolve of haemorrhaging goals and points.

With flair and finesse we have turned losing into an art form the envy of the world over. The next step is, of course, to indoctrinate our rivals until they too can perform The Art of Losing; how easy it would be to win if everyone else lost. Key practitioners of the faith are Robert 'This Ward Does Nothing!', Thomas Robb(ed of Dignity (and Goals)), Jonny 'Hockey's a Hoot-on-Norton', and Simon 'No-Pun' Yates. My personal resolution for the new year is unnecessary, unceasing puns. Consider yourselves notified.

Besides our Mastery of Losing, what else is new in the club? Well, to begin with, Richard Mason Pregnancy Watch 2k18 has ended and, while we shall mourn its loss, we have been blessed with the upgraded Dickie Mason 2k19 model: Slim and Refined, this model is set to revolutionise men's hockey, and he can be all yours for a lifetime of not suffering. This is to say that the Mince Pie Marathon was taken up with enthusiasm throughout the club with several members going far beyond what was expected of them, and that Mace Windu is now looking trim, fit, and, dare I say it, sexy. All of this exceptional fitness does seem to mean little considering our tactical losses, though maybe it's intended to fool the opposition into believing that we do actually want to win. Despite this, I have heard a certain South African player remark that the older guys in the 1st team have a noticeable endurance limit... Gunge, are you old?

On the topic of running, the perpetual motion machine that is Ned has found a place to live in Sheffield, huzzah! I was particularly keen that he moved back to the city as he had turned me into Public Enemy Number 1 at home. How can I, a golden child now rusted in my parents' eyes, compare to his immaculate bed-making ability and untiring desire to clean the kitchen. The tides were shifting, the adoption papers made ready, and an influx of Soviet memorabilia began to replace previously treasured photographs of me. The situation was becoming untenable and action had to be taken.

Somehow all of Steelhammer's references to Ned being a “pervert” only endeared him further in their eyes, his spanking of a nude and bewildered Wakka merely playful japes, his appearing at my front door in boxer shorts not aggressive and dangerous flirtation with their eldest son. But then, this is the man who sinks into his overdraft to make charitable donations and scouts Broomhill for the homeless in order to buy them takeaway. The boy is good and, thankfully, in spite of his eccentric weirdness, the club will now safely retain him. David 'Moleman' Barrett once remarked to me that every club needs a Garth, Ned won't know the reference but he is likely our new Garth.

Elsewhere, I could not make it to the race night but I hear that a 1st team fresher threw up “a little bit,” just a little, on The Damhouse's unassuming wallpaper before a strict Fruitbat rightly tasked him with applying some elbow grease to the situation. And Finally, The Banker will return to normal next week with a review of the weekend's performances and, methinks, a mention of Duvet.


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