Swamps and Strawberries

The weekend before last saw Bruce's Bogtrotters (a Swamp Soccer team of Tattenhallian descent) fly to Poland to take part in the Swampions League Finals.

Swamp Soccer originated in Finland, but it is in Poland where it has become a national sport. The team arrived in Korycin, a small village in North East Poland, famous for its strawberries, cheese, and unknown strength vodka, with confidence high on the back of being runners-up at the World Cup in Istanbul three years before.

However, it was at this point that the hangovers kicked in, and the Poles kicked them. Poland are rumoured to sterilise all men who aren't 6'6" by their 18th birthday, which is why every game felt as if we were playing against huge, fleshy walls. Us weedy Brits didn't stand a chance. We battled hard, and managed to win a game when our grim determination and dastardliness overcame the pure Polish power. Unfortunately it was all in vain as Bruce's Bogtrotters did not qualify for the knockouts.

But isn't it nicer to be nice, kind and wonderful? Of course it is. In that case Bruce's Bogtrotters did win something; it might not have been gold, but it surely was the hearts and minds of the people of Korycin.

It just so happened that there was an annual Strawberry fight around the corner, so the Bogtrotters donned their safety goggles and pristine, white kit, and took to the strawberry arena to do battle against the local Strawberry Fighting Team. Allegedly the winners are those whose shirts remain cleanest, but the rules were discarded when all participants soon realised that more fun was had in getting downright dirty. As absolutely filthy as possible. And therefore everybody won!

The teams left the arena looking like Carrie on prom night but smelling oh so sweet.