Despite the pitch being a frozen mass of divots, tufts and ruts, this was a fine display from the home side searching for the win that would assure the hosts of the league championship trophy, with still a match to go of the regular season.
As the visitors had chosen to stay at home, toasting their toes in front of a Traquair log burner, it meant that all the home side needed to do was to register a goal, or a penalty kick, to be crowned champions and Queen O’ A’ the Borders.
News , however, had reached the Force lads that playmaker Cian Riddell was hosting a dominoes tournament at the Drop In, followed by former coach Dean McCracken holding a darts competition at the Stag’s Head, and so the team had gone there to warm their innards. Accordingly the loyal home support took the field, unopposed, ready to save the day and win the league.
Henry Douglas waited for ref Hosie to blow for the kick off and his beautiful delivery, teed up on a full bottle of beer, sailed towards the 25 yard line. Striking a pretty solid divot Jim Beattie was wrong footed and he slid on by, using his walking stick as a ski pole.
Next up Keith Perry was on hand to stop the ball rolling into touch but was forced, by a group of primary 4 ball boys, to pose as Santa with his snow covered beard, and so he backheeled it towards his onrushing compatriot Ann Borthwick, who was caught off guard when her high heels stuck in a divot and she required urgent attention from Doctor Morag in her final appearance in Green before she heads to the even more frozen North. As the oval ball trundled back, over the half way line, the ghost of Jeanette Purbrick was heard to shout at it to ‘stop’, from the front of the grandstand, before Gary Muir senior slid down the banking and dived on the now stationary leather shape from his vantage point in the Barrie stockroom on top of the hill. The ref allowed play to continue but did call for Joyce Welsh to ‘use it’ to which she replied that husband Rob was too steengie to let her use the gas fire so she backed off. Meanwhile Brian Knox tried in vain to rescue his daughter from monkey barring across the goal line in a potentially offside position, though touch judge Neil Hamilton claimed he was unsighted by a nearby pint glass ,and so he did not raise his flag and play raged on. Realising that if they did not score by half time there may be no means to play another 40, Michael Scoular grabbed the initiative and scooped up the ball in his hassock before tripping over on it’s hem and spilling the ball backwards towards his own line. By this stage some 38 minutes had elapsed and President Landles was becoming nervous as he called for one last address check for his squad, to ensure that they were all Hawick men and women, every one of them Hawick men and women. Thankfully Neil Cunningham was able to enter the field as a substitute for the flagging Brian Neilson who had a Hibs draw to go and cheer on somewhere. As the seconds counted down Hosie deliberately got himself in the way, and Ron Laidlaw’s bargaining skills were able to persuade the blower that The Force deserved a penalty goal attempt on the stroke of Half Time, as a long lost Wullie Gray joke tickled the fancy of the home supporters who clapped and cheered to his memory. 60 yards out from goal, kicking against the westerly, may be nothing to Iceman Kirk Ford but as he was ruled out appearing due to baby sitting duties, it fell to Derrick Tait to try to kick the winner for the side to which he usually provides a couple of grandchildren, however he was claimed for duty on the Green Room bar . As the ball would not stay upright on a pile of snow collected helpfully by Eileen Davies and Jane Renwick, Crabbie Cranston was brought off the subs bench to hold it steady as Roy Cook tried to put his fitba skills to good use. He struck the ball perfectly, right above the laces, and it sailed towards the posts as the assembled Robbie Dyes all held their breath.
Just as the ball was on the cusp of crossing the the crossbar the blower blew for no side and a groan was uttered by the crowd that almost obliterated the sound of the nearby late flood defence piledriving cacophony .
A draw was not quite enough to lift the league title of the first re-running of the once famous Border Junior League in which Trades, Quins, Linden and YM sides of old had carried off famous successes.
All that was left was for the home side to traipse off to the bar, to be filled with capfuls of Lynsey’s Kerr’s Gin and a plate of Debbie’s finest Mince Pies. Meanwhile under the stand where water pipes had frozen, Henry took pity on the parched Referee and gave him the bottle that had once been full of beer.
Rory