Match report of the Peeler RFC vs Berliner RFC on the 13/05/2006 has been supplied by non other than Paul Stevens aka DAD...


The omens were not good. Before the game my fellow flanker, whom I had already noticed eyeing up the opposition suspiciously, demanded of me: "Which one's the fly-half?" 


My mood took a turn for the better however, when I realised our very own Spencer Halliday was to referee the match itself. Surely there could be no way any Berlin team could breach our defences with our own man there constantly whistling them up for offside or some other element of foul Germanic play?


If all else failed, I reasoned, he's bound to blow them up whenever they get within a lager stein of our line and penalise them severely for being German on the field of play or somesuch severe misdemeanour. After all, surely it was William Webb-Ellis of Rugby School who founded our glorious game, not Willhelm Glockenspiel-Sauerkraut from Mannheim? It follows of course that if it's our game, we decide who wins = QED! Over to to you Spencer!


In retrospect, such faultless reasoning, coupled with our masterplan of fooling the opposition into a false sense of security by offering the deceptive appearance of a group of drunkards who had been out on the town until all hours, consuming goodness knows what in the way of alcohol and fraternising with the sorts of people our mothers would frankly NOT want brought home to Sunday dinner, may have lulled me into a false sense of security.


But, at the time, I remember thinking - how could we fail? A few minutes into the game and the answer soon became apparent. A well-planned drift defence may work against the likes of Bristol Harlequins or Whitehall 3rds. However, against the likes of the German International XV with a few ringers added for good measure, it begins to look a little predictable at times. Some of those players were still in their 20s for heaven's sake!  What were we supposed to do? If in doubt rely on your tour manager, boys and indeed we did - on more than one occasion. The boy Leader led up to his name by carving through the opposition on no fewer than two occasions to score well-deserved tries, leaving the stunned Teutonic horde in his wake both times. Well done my son!


The rest of the afternoon is by now (nearly a week later) a dim and distant memory, I fear, although I do recall a slightly unnerved Pee Wee being forcibly introduced to the delights of flying, the Messchersmidt way, at the base of a maul. (What was the weather like up there, mate?) That, and of course, helping Big Bone from the field of play, suffering a little after several chunders and a mild concussion. Well done big fella!


The next day, as we finally began our descent in to Bristol, the afternoon came into a much clearer focus. The Greek had a discreet word with the people who drive these aeroplane thingies and an explanatory message burst forth over the tannoy. "We'd like to congratulate the Bristol Peelers rugby team who are returning from their successful trip where they beat the Berlin rugby club by 14 points to nil."


So that was it! My bunk bed had been SO wonderfully comfortable, I had dreamt the whole afternoon away! While I had been in my luxurious pit, dreaming of - among other things - my domestic goddess down in reception, you boys had been out there given the Teutonic hordes a lesson in champagne rugby!


Well done lads and here's to the next tour!