We Are QPR

1 August 2002
Don't tell James it was only a friendly.

It was a year ago to the day that a feat of almost miraculous heroism had been shown on that green field of battle. Our loyal troops had seen off the blue-bannered fighters of Chelsea convincingly, even though they were rated in a completely different league from our noble local band. From our vantage point from the surrounding hills, the heroes of the Hooped heraldry saw off the arrogant visitors. The throng on the hills was passionate and vocal in its support, and after the battle was over and won, that throng spilled over onto the field of victory, such was our ecstasy. A year ago to the day that happened. The stage was now set for either a victorious resurrection of the past glories of the Rangers cause, or a bitter reminder of their current lowly status on the national stage.

Nature played its part in setting the backdrop for the engagement. The sun blazed relentlessly down, cooking the field, and fuelling the emotion of all those who braved the heat to observe the forthcoming clash. True, the brilliance of the day may have convinced some half-hearted drones to laze at home under the sun's scowling gaze, but those who did arrive to cheer on the combatants had their passion augmented by the sun's powerful radiance. The stage was set.

At the pre-appointed time, both armies marched out to face each other. The Rangers of the Hooped standard faced those who took the avian Hotspur as their symbol. As if to admit the moral frailty of their cause, they were decked out in black. It may have been some attempt at drawing on the dark power of Lucifer to help their ignoble cause, but, on this occasion, the powers of light did thoroughly vanquish their foes.

During the first throes of battle, the balance of power rested with the Hotspur legions. Highly trained and individually expert, they enjoyed dominance and their confidence grew. Clearly of the view that their pedigree would ensure them success, chances were squandered. This is not to disregard the valiance of the Ranger's side. And organised rear-guard ensured that the early period of Black-shirted dominance did not result in any significant set-back to the troops of the Queen's Park.

The Ranger's advanced guard became more and more creative in their attacks on the 'Spurs formations, but were unable to take advantage of the swing in the balance of power. A switch in the core of the attacking troops soon, however paid dividends. The trusty charger Thommo, who struck many a powerful blow in recent battles for the honour of the Queen's Park, entered the field and within minutes had scored the first major tactical victory of the day's battle. The hillside throng erupted in a mixture of disbelief and a feeling of destiny, while those who came expecting the visiting side to win, looked on in horror and increasing discomfort.

The valiant knight Carlisle, who had recently escaped from a lengthy period of necromancer's enchantment, had been focussing on his role of protecting the home treasure from foreign raids. He did not waste the opportunity, however, to aid in any Hooped attack. Not long after Thommo had landed the first real blow of battle, did he seize his chance. Like an unholy angel, Carlisle sprouted wings, rose above opponent and ally alike, and shot another powerful blow for the Rangers side. The visiting army and supporters in the lower hills were despondent. They had expected to come to battle and enjoy themselves, and instead were delivered from assuredness into despair.

At that point the psychological battle was won. While the dark forces did land a blow later, it was quickly matched with equal violence by the Ranger's legions. The Hooped shirts were seemingly able to cut apart any defence at will. The Dark knights of the North, on the other hand, had to content with the likes of Lord Carlisle, The Marquis of Forbes and the incomparable Danny the Giant. The latter had been a towering pillar of defence, deflecting enemy blows as though they were from a child, able to turn grown men to stone with a single glance of his steely eye.

By the time the sun was beginning to droop in the sky, the battle was over. Bodies of the vanquished lay strewn across the field. Those that had not been frightened off by the force of the Ranger's attacks had melted away in the sun, evaporated from existence. The throngs on the hill, suffering from the extreme conditions, were nevertheless joyous at the victory, and entered onto the filed of battle to congratulate their knights and heroes. Children clung to the shoulders of Danny the Giant, as he tossed his head back, laughing and clapping. The visitors from the North slithered away, not wanting to draw attention to themselves.

The day was won.

Current clown:

18 December 2003. George writes: This List

Most recent ten:

15 December 2003. Jamie writes: Seven Songs
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27 November 2003. James writes: On Boxing
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(And alas we lost Neil, who last wrote Cockfosters)

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