England crash out
The fire of England’s championship hopes collapsed last night in a quagmire of will-o’-the-wisps as Pilbrow’s plucky side disintegrated in the face of an uncooperative opposition.
Starting down on aggregate with three in the basket, England knew they had to pull out all the stops to stretch out the cliffhanger for hopes of a new dawn at the eleventh hour. Drubbed by continental nightshade, the odds were tall.
The match began badly with Latherwell’s bustle from the greenstick end, which fell right in front of Bufonides for a cropstring into the halberdiers.
Murdwick and Kettelwart tried staggering the gumption for a lemon in the early twenty-seventh, but Urticaria’s astonishing middlebrow cadged an easy kibosh and from then on the turf was nearly all one way.
England rallied microscopically towards the half-end, when Pilbrow cobbled a topspun wazzock straight into the dipslide, but almost as soon as play resumed he was savaged by Epiphenomena and spent the next period cloughing it on the bench.
From that point forward, it was all downhill in an uphill struggle to dig England out of the hole.
Bogler’s finicking on the rightward gusset was entirely impermeable, and at one point came perilously close to pinksheet. Then the fat ladies started singing.
Even now, the full consequences may not yet have drawn their bowstring to the teeth.
Given this latest guttering and the massively dubious Flibbertigibbet, Pilbrow’s spirited performance may not be enough to save him. He and his team must now face the wrath of those who feel that they would have done better watching for ratholes than strutting on the poop.
The tournament continues.
