The Perfect Season Comes To Close

Dear, dear readers, I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, must bring your attention to the fact that the Loyalists Summer Football Season has come to a close. Of the eight matches, our Loyalists managed remain consistent to the end... zero and eight to complete the season.

Cruses Pickles! How Dare You!

"Of all the cruel events to befall mankind, your birth and persistance in existing, remains top on the list of unfortunates. Now for the love of all that is right, take down your daft website, man!" Bartholomew Bedfellow

Set Aside Your Monocles!

"It's a pity that you've been on the run dear friend, Oxy. Here's to your rapid return to health, and on behalf of the empire, I send my sincerest gratitude to the fellows running the septic systems in your village.

As for this evening's match... Loyalists... take off the top hats, set aside your monocles, groom your proud mustaches, and tear the bastards apart! May the Gods Grant Victory To The Loyalists!

A final word tonight, if you will allow me... I have established my own place on the world wide web to post my thoughts on the current state of the empire, to discuss the most urgent issues of the day, and provide you insight into some of the most pressing topics facing mankind. The site can be found by clicking here."

Earl Wapfroth Pickles of Kent

Dame Pennilson's Party Hath Wrath Me

Oh dear friends... I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, am distraught to have been so absent. What should have been a simple afternoon tea on the 13th of August, at Dame Penny Pennilson's great estate at Tattleboro Woods, found your faithful scribe a fallen victim to a case of crumpet treachery, all due to the most horrible guests... the Berhams. It is no mystery that this couple, Oscar and Matilda, are people of limited good taste, but it was thanks to their over-indulgence with baking their crumpets with excess butter, so overwhelmingly so that I ponder if the engineers at the Royal Academy could use the same quantity to replicate Big Ben, that I, Oxshire, fell terribly ill. Oh friends... the consequences of the Berhams's wretched crumpets are only comparable to my experiences with malaria. In fact, this day is the first of the past fourteen that I have dared to travel more than a few paces from my blessed loo. Woah is the embarrassment.

Alas... back to the football... today features an important match for our brave Loyalists. With two games left in the season, the lads face a difficult task tonight - especially since they remain without a win. I partially blame myself... for I haven't been by their side in the past weeks.

God speed tonight Loyalists! God save the Queen!

Top Hats & Coat Tails Evening a day away!

Tomorrow eve, the thirteen of August, the Loyalists will face off against Euros at 8:30 pm. All are invited to attend what promises to be a smashing match. Being proper fans, please be sure to dress in appropriate evening wear, with coat tails and top hats strongly recommended. All editions of the Financial Times will be checked at the door, and discussions during the match concerning economics and American Tax law will be sternly reprimanded. Bringing good spirit and a booming singing voice is a must, and arrival by 8:15pm will allow you to participate in the customary three 3 shot cheer. Until then, good evening and good night. God save the Loyalists.

Phoenix +10, Loyalists 2: The Official Match Report

Good evening.

Perplexed by the final score in Sunday’s disappointing loss to the football club named (horribly so, might I add) “Phoenix”, I, Sir Grufflehahm Oxshire, lament to write that I have been so over come with despair that I have been unable to give a proper recap of what could have been a glorious victory for the lads an evening ago. Even now, as I attempt to sip my Toth & Bridge tea, the usual sweet accent of honey, that I add to liven up my last cup of the day, brings about a pointedly bitter bite causing my face to contort in spasms of decidedly extraordinary distress.

Numb yet with apparently hyper sensitive taste buds, I sit in my study slumping in my favorite worn leather chair, given to my father by the great Lanscroft B. Fellows of Summerset on Walrum. Usually, it is in this place I oft come to find solitude in trying times.

And indeed these are trying times. For an eve ago, I witnessed a match in which the royal blue coated Loyalists looked primed for victory against a team that outmatched them position by position on the pitch. And yet against impossible odds, our proud men stood strong and tall… just as Nelson did against the French fleet at Trafalgar… and put up a worthy fight.

Well deserving of the highest praise was Loyalist Carlos, who faced an onslaught of firepower from the men of Phoenix (whose name I must again point out remains one of the poorest in all of football). Shot after shot, Carlos dove, kicked and smashed away like a man possessed in a raging tempest. It was only during a regrettable and terribly unfortunate run of 5 back-to-back goals, did the ill-named Phoenix crack the seemingly impenetrable Loyalists goal.

And as went 5 goals, so did another, until the score line became better recognizable as a bakers dozen, plus some.

Oh dear friends, I moan at the thought of the final score! Woe… is the pain unbearable. +10 against, 2 for.

I am certain that it is in the enormous variance between goals scored “for” and “against” that the world press will snatch upon this story, and declare the Loyalists “all fancy, and no skill.” But one must understand that the tale of Sunday’s match is truly one of more triumph than disaster.

Of principle note, the great Prince Phillip the Bee scored a thumping goal with hardly any time spent in the match, Earl Brian “the bearded one” roared terrifying shots all evening (scoring one that nearly shredded the netting), and Lord Mark of Birchwood Manor maintained a pit bull-like command of the midfield for long glorious spells. I shall not overlook the contributions of the others… including Prince PJ the P, brother of Phillip the Bee, who was his unusual rhinoceros-self, thundering about the pitch with ferocity and making many of the men of insufferably-unimaginatively named Phoenix run screaming in terror. And then there was “the roman emperor” Franco who led the ladish Nicholas and Matt in defense of the Loyalists final third, forcing the field before them to become an epic battleground reminiscent of the no man’s land at Verdun.

Throughout the evening, these men fought hard like lions for Queen, country and the glory of Loyalists name.

May luck run its course for you on Wednesday.

Now I must retire and rest my weary head.

Match Feedback: Phoenix +10, Loyalistis 2

“Ahoy! Erragarbs… T’was loaded to th' Gunwales last nite… me hearties! Bare'ly could find me boot’straps, and me parrot mad' off wid me eye patch! Arrghbah… oh th' buggery!! still shakin’ off me head… avast! last eve… I slogg'd me grod back wid me newest mate, Simon Lewis, a landlubb’n insur'nce fellow, a son ov a biscuit if I hav’ ev’r met one… in thar Oakwood pub, as me ‘nd Lewis watch'd thee Loyalists bastards git th'r arses crushed! Arrrr!!! Wh't a sorry sight… had me money on t’em… lost a chest of boubloons… shot some bastard’s horse outside, and fell in a bloody ditch…” Captain Blueberry Pancakes, the greatest, grand pirate of the Atlantic!

Remarks on Strategy: part V / An apology

This series of remarks were meant to provoke a thoughtful discussion regarding strategy for tomorrow's Loyalist match vs the best club in the league. I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, am very disappointed by see that Pickles and Bedfellow, two generally upstanding gentlemen, chose this forum to air their grievances. I apologies to all my fine readers.

Unfortunately, outside of their posts, I did receive a poorly written letter from the Wilkshire 18th Artillery brigade, who advocated, with some terrifying fashion, the use of cannons to help turn the tide for the proud loyalists. Their captain, Bobby Tibbles's description was too disturbing to post, and I'm planning to make immediate contact with his commanding officers to ensure Tibbles is firmly reprimanded.

Never the less, tomorrow shall prove pivotal for the lads! On behalf of Loyalists around the world, I wish them well Sunday evening! God save the Queen! God Save the Loyalists! Glory be with you tomorrow night, lads!

Remarks on Strategy: part IV

"Bring'n me mum into this? My dear, Pickles, you remain one of the world's truly finest marsupial shaggers. Rumors are abound that you're still hittin' from the ladies tees at Porthcawl, aye?" Bartholomew Bedfellow.

Remarks on Strategy: part III

"Urgent message for Bartholomew Bedfellow... the Empire faces a meat pie shortage! Please ask yar mum to go vegan for a short while! God save the Loyalists!" Earl Wapfroth Pickles of Kent.

Oh my... this is getting out of hand!

Remarks on Strategy: part II

"Bloody shite! Pickles, you daft arse! Dare you insult me... when the seams explode off the back of yar pants like fireworks on that ridiculous American day of independence! God Save the Queen! Best of luck Loyalists!" Bartholomew Bedfellow, from Canterbury.

Dear me! Sorry not much strategy here.

Remarks on Strategy: part I

"Twas a folly in the defense last match, boys! I've taken the time to scribble a game plan for tomorrow's match. Keep it tight... like Bartholomew Bedfellow's pants! Fattest arse in all of the empire.. that he is! God save the Queen!" Earl Wapfroth Pickles of Kent.

I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, would like to footnote that Earl Wapfroth Pickles is the fifth cousin removed from the Roxshire family, who's great, great grandfather was the masterful Loyalist midfielder Lodger Murkles Roxshire, the first. Presently I'm working on a biography of Roxshire, of which I will post various exerts in the coming weeks.

Take Notice! Missing Horse!

I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, have received the most distressing news this morning, just as I enter the second day of mourning for Paul. Please read on and lend your assistance if you can.

"Dear friends, On ye previous day of the sabbath, me horse went missing while I attended the Loyalist match at the Oakwood football fields. He's a fine a steed, but alas not so bright. At first I blamed meself for the vanishing of my dear Hermes Harold Butterscotch, but a harsh reality has set in, and I now must bemoan the unthinkable... that my dearest Hermes has most definitely been stolen... for it's been six long days that I've awaited his return. Butterscotch who will be five this spring, must be in a terribly miserable shape being so many days away from me. And I, dearest Loyalists, am in a bitterly angry state. The villains must be brought to justice. For queen and country, help me!

On a rather positive note, I must declare, strapping grand match on Sunday, lads! The six goals were resounding like the cannonades at Waterloo! Best of luck this Sunday. Kindest regards, Hodsbloth Lewis Butterscotch, IV"

Thoughts on a Fallen Italian Chap, or, Who Ate All the Linguine?

Upon lighting my pipe early this morn, long before the chimbley sweeps scoured our fair stone avenues with their soot-stained jowls, I did fondly recall our fallen lad - Paul "The Italian".

As I fondly think of adventures past accompanied by our boot-dwelling mate, my fantastically curled mustache can't help but tremble with despair, as it swells with the memory of the Italian Mambo's leg succumbing to enemy forces like a string of cooked macaroni; his effete cries of woe so piercing that methinks all the young babes of England won't soon forget it.

Tonight, I will wet my lips with tannin from the finest Italian aged grapes in memory of our demised fellow from the south, hoping that his spirit will live on inside of all of our forceful mutton chops and his that memory can will the proud Loyalists to victory.

Here, here!

In Memory Paul "The Italian". Loyalist to the death, lover of fine herbs and spices

Words of Encouragement! Part IV (FROM FOUNDING LOYALIST Oswald Catpunt!)

"Lads! Jolly good to stumble upon yer site! Missin good ole Edmund... god rest his soul..."

"Now what the Charles Dickens is happening in Glastonbury, Connecticut? Have yar all gone mental? Yanks beatin the stones and pies outta yar each week? Three bloody losses... to boot! Sure reads like yer need to try lagering up before the next match! And while you're at it... why not... make yar next brew... my new Oswald Catpunt Shades of Summer Ale! Brewed in the exotic rivers of India! God save the Queen! Steady lads on Sunday!"

Oswald "shot stopper" Catpunt
Founding Loyalist, the best bloody Goalkeeper that ever played the game!

• Born in a lorry
• Favorite tea: "cripes, man! lager! no need for the extra tea calories!"
• Published a book on the spelling of lager. It sold briskly in his home town.
• After reporting for service with the Bengal Army, he was lost during a skirmish with an unidentified enemy.
• Rumored for years to be building a secret lager empire in the Himalayas
  

Words of Encouragement! Part III

"Me thinks you tossers are screwed! Wallace!!!! FREEDOM!!!!"

Blixbee, the Terrier

Rather disappointing comments received this morning. But alas, they were posted inside a tiny envelop along with Lord Blockspur's wonderful note... belonging to Blixbee, Blockspur's young pup.

Words of Encouragement! Part II

"Wishing you a crackin' match, lads! Wouldn't miss it... but me legs have been shot off in Khartoum this morning. A truly unfortunate turn of events really... considering my Cricket form has been top draw. God save the queen, god save the Loyalists!"
Colonel Topper Harrington, 28th Regiment

Words of Encouragement! Part I

"Good luck boys... remember your arse is behind you... not something that is handed to you! Har har! God speed, and glory be with you tomorrow night." Lord Beckwith Blockspur

Letter received this morning from Lancaster. Quite an honor to receive such touching thoughts from someone of such social standing.

Mercy Me!

Another pale day for the proud Loyalists.

I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, was able to attend this evening's battle to watch the lads get a "good ole' belly up beating." With goals being scored at will by the opposition, the Loyalists found themselves embroiled in an ever sinking enterprise shortly after the first quarter of the match. With a final score reaching near triple digits, the boys in royal blue can be proud that their traditional 3 goal scoring prows was not abandoned.

Alas, I would be a wild ass not to note that the fluctuation of the FTSE and the present banter in Geneva over EU trade agreements were certainly vexing the lads as they attempted to gather their heads and build a cohesive defense this evening.

Thankfully, on a night of little glory, I did have the good fortune to see the Loyalist named Brian, I believe with some certainty an Italian of original, poach two wondrous goals. Speedy and clever on the ball, he remains the key threat for the club. He also mentioned that his family, I believe, are regents of some great Brewing empire... I believe in Milwaukee. Indeed... terrific pedigree.

As with previous matches, the second half served to prove the boys can play football. While still conceding an remarkable number of goals, the team got tougher and started to play more cohesively. There was strong on-the-pitch leadership with Franco (whose lineage could be traced back to the emperors of Rome, I am told) anchoring the back-line, and midfield mayhem provided by Phillip "the brother", Nicholas "the Greek" (a decedent of Achilles), and CJ "the other brother." Injuries and a seemingly terrible case of "the runs" robbed the lads of some additional fire power tonight.

But like the boys of the 22nd Manchester at the Somme (god rest their souls), all this evening's bravery led to only a bitter defeat to an enemy that showed no mercy.

Until next Sunday, God Save The Queen.

Meet One of the Founding Loyalists: Edmund Tuggsnicker

Edmund Tuggsnicker
A team legend, and a hammer in the midfield during his day.

• Began his sporting career as a caddy on the links of the great North British Golf Club


• Favorite Tea: Harrisons & Crosfield's Earl Grey
• He was very ticklish


• Secret crush: Mary Poppins ("what a tush on her!")
  
• Claimed his great grandfather invented hopscotch

The Loyalists UNBEATABLE t-shirts 75% off!

Two games down, and a 19 goal salvo has been unleashed on the lads. 10 - 3 in the first match of the season; which was followed by a 9 - 3 wallopping this past Sunday... leading to season record of 0-2-0, -13 ...

No need to worry... just yet.

The loyalists are playing tonight...

I, Sir Grufflebahm Oxshire, can't stop pacing my study this evening. I regrettably was unable to join the lads this evening in a so important match. The second of the season, no less. The noise of the crickets is almost maddening, as I anxiously await any news from the front. Last week's 10-3 drubbing bodes some consternation for this evening. I can barely enjoy my tea and biscuits. Perhaps a tablerone will do. God save the queen.

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One of the finest gentlemen there ever was. Loyalist thru and thru.