Tues 30 Sept - The OB Match Report had decided that it was going to write about one of it's favourite pastimes; the study of dodgy po rn. Call it what you will; bongo, grot, jazz mags, gentleman's interest, cliterati, it's all the same and we've all been there. It conjures up images of betamax, of a trip to the sleazy newsagents, and countless attempts at putting Mr Cleenex's family through college. It seemed a fitting topic to discuss as the season reached its climax. The Report is confident that it does not need to remind the reader that quality po rn is best enjoyed in a comfortable and relaxed frame of mind. Its hard to indulge in one of lifes finer pleasures with Mrs Report screaming in your ear and asking you to pick up the children from horse riding classes or fix the shelves in the spare room because her parents are visiting at the weekend. To enjoy, one needs to be amply rested and surrounded by peace and serenity or at least a locked bathroom door and lots of tissue and so it was with the Old Boys against Coconut Joes. Maybe it was because they weren't in the right frame of mind or simply because they were jaded with the travails of remaining unbeaten but it was a different team that came out onto the court in their seminal all white Thistle Construction kit than had appeared all season.

Coconut Joes, like any extra in a blue film, possessed some talent but probably not enough to make it to the mainstream and become a serious actress and work on Casualty and Inspector Morse. A good set of lads, not a dodgy moustache in site but true to the genre, they did possess a hairy tw at. On paper a fairly even battle that the Old Boys should edge but as any actor who has dipped the pork sword into a gaping and used honey pot will tell you, never believe the hype because sloppy seconds is really not what it is cracked up to be and from the off, CJs were clear that seconds was not on their minds. As though prepped by a team of expert fluffers, CJs came out firing and the resolute defence of the Old Boys came under sustained pressure. However, overall, it was the Old Boys who left the opposition goal looking like a painters radio unleashing shot after shot to little or no success or satisfaction. This is the third year of the Old Boys and at this stage they had scored less goals then any previous season but thankfully conceded fewer as well. With Cummings being well marked the Old Boys were looking to others to step up. As it was, Comins was the closest to scoring; not a man to shy away from the money shot when it matters he continued to probe the CJs defence and find gaps like a se xual predator at a drunken high school sleep over. However, despite these random fumblings the score at the break remained level with neither side showing sufficient composure to break the deadlock.

The second half livened up almost immediately as though each team had nailed a tiny pill during the interval. Rather than seeing blue, each team came out harder, the challenges were stiffer and the shots more accurate. It became a close and sweaty encounter with lots of contact but no real dialogue or passion; it was exactly how dodgy po rn should be. Whilst neither side looked particularly distressed, no one looked like scoring either. It was in danger of turning into a cross between the Razzle Pile Up and the Red Shoe Diaries; fat and sweaty with no real penetration and a strange desire for a kebab. Unfortunately, as the minds wandered on this scene, CJs capitalised and scored with a speculative lob from distance. Whilst it wasn't pearl necklace and jelly jewellery quality it was enough to wake the Old Boys from their slumber and raise their game. With Old Boys pressing the excitement level rose and the relief of the equaliser was like that first experience of discovering a Fiesta in the bushes on the way home from school; excitement, destiny, strenuous activity and then relief, blessed relief. As it was it ended up being a goal of the season contender; an intelligently worked free kick saw Henshaw spin off to the right after feigning a strike, the wall was distracted as Comins stepped up and slipped the ball to the now well positioned Henshaw who found the back of the net with a strike oozing with skill and panache. For any young player watching, it was a true masterclass in intelligent football.

And that set up the finale. A frantic last five minutes with neither side giving anything away. It was tight, tense and intense; you can hear your mother, girlfriend, wife coming up the stairs and you know you've probably got enough time to finish but it's going to be close; it was that kind of feeling. No body wanted to make a mistake to mess up the finale and no body wanted to face their mother, girlfriend, wife with a guilty look and a wet patch. As it was, as both teams valiantly pressed for the winner, CJs mounted one last effort and scored with a quick break. There was insufficient time for the Old Boys to recover and they crashed out of competition having been undefeated for over ten hours of football. And so the Old Boys season ended, a lot of effort resulting in a climax that made them feel slightly guilty and dirty and definitely unsatisfied. However, the best thing about dodgy po rn is that you can pick it up anytime and be ready to go all over again. The Old Boys will be ready to go and the next time they will shoot right to the top.