You are here: Match Reports / Sevens/ Islay 2008
| Islay 2008 Squad: C. Kerr, S. Ross, M. Bell, G. Kitchener, S. Tarbett, D. Paterson (President’s son), A. Eggleton, M. Orr, L. Legend, S. McMillan, S. Todd, B. McKenzie, D. Witko, A. Cahoon, G. Sweeney, A. Jamieson & A. Burrd Our annual expedition to Islay witnessed an increase in squad size and few new faces to boot. We gathered early on the Friday afternoon, seeking to gain strength with a feed of fish from Paterson’s favourite restaurant ‘The Goat’. On arrival at Kennacraig ferry terminal 'President's son' Paterson outlined tour rules in his cut glass tones while handing out tour straws and bandanas. This was carried out in a disastrous fashion, setting the tone for Paterson’s weekend. Meanwhile, disaster struck with an injury to a squad member before we had left the mainland. Tarbett , recently recovered from 'Black Arse', acquired 'Foot in Mouth Disease' at the ferry terminal. The physio gave him 24 hours to recover. Tarbett blamed Paterson. On boarding, we gathered atop the ferry where much whimsical talk and banter ensued, followed by some 'industrial chat' (ref: Paterson 2008). Halfway through the voyage it was announced that we were traveling to Port Askaig, not to Port Ellen where the actual tournament was taking place. We blamed Paterson. At Port Askaig the party shelled out £5 each for the bus journey to Port Ellen (except Witko claiming 'Too posh to pay. What is a fiver anyway?'). The singing commenced and more drinking ensued. On the bus A. Burrd tried to made acquaintances with 'Toonie', hoping to witness the infamous 'Toonie flip' no doubt. Alas, she was sent packing, with cries from the Borders team of 'Who is Ally Jamieson anyway?’. On arrival at Port Ellen (in something resembling a scene from ‘Witness’) the monumentul erection that is the tour tent was erected. Thankfully Cahoon took total responsibility, leaving 'President's son' Paterson to the menial task of peg holder. The group adjourned to the White Hart hotel for some friendly pool and a hearty point and laugh at a sleeping Chubbs. Later the squad warmed up for the following day by busting some shapes at the village hall dance. We were entertained by Corporal Jones' band, who engaged the audience in the way that Dave Grohl will in 60 years time. All disco-ed out, the group gathered on the beach for a feed of sausage. In the dark of the night Head Chef Sweeney’s culinary skills suffered. After eating some 42 raw sausages the big Chef was clambering for the Gaviscon and suffered an uncomfortable night. As dawn broke Tarbett was seen to be mopping night-time spillages with our Saturday baps and bandanas. The morning also saw the early arrival of tour reinforcements in Orr, later joined by McMillan and (the man who can't put a foot wrong) Eggleton. Other teams competing this year included the usual squad with familiar faces from Hill's past, Wainwrights Newcastle Academy, Ulster (with a total of 3 international caps between 12 of them) and the Borders (guest starring Toonie - famous for his flip you know). Play commenced with a match against Ulster. Hill’s tiredness showed losing 5-3. The following game was a routine win, setting us up for the third match; a thriller which resulted in a last minute win. The toughest match of the day was next, against a young Newcastle Academy squad coached by former Cambridge boxing blue Wob Wainwright. Defeated by ‘two or three’ Hills moved onto a ‘semi-final’ against Cambuslang. Both sides competed with far too much effort, forcing sudden death extra time. Hills began on the front foot exerting pressure on the Cambuslang line, before cruelly conceding a breakaway score. Tournament over. Meanwhile, the 'familiar faces' squeezed past the tenacious Wainwrights Newcastle Academy, the hardest of their games, and in the final sailed past loch Lomond by 4-1 to take the coveted title. The Player’s player for Hills was undoubtedly Andrew Eggleton, a man who couldn’t put a foot wrong. In the early evening Eggleton put a foot wrong by arriving late to the court session. This did not amuse the fearsome pairing of Kitchener and bully boy Orr (Judge and Fines Master). Eggleton automatically became Dick of the Day. Once properly watered and fed he was set free on the beach (in suitable attire) to entertain the 500 plus audience with a primal display of dance from his homeland of Annan. The lads were now refreshed and trod once more to the White Hart hotel which proved to be lively as ever. It was here posh boy Witko challenged Kitchener to a game of the infamous 'spoons'. Not being experienced in this sport Witko lost. However, this was after lasting an unprecedented 12 rounds, legend has it Witko lasted so long as he is 'too posh to feel pain'. Good fun was had all round the bar. But, as is always the case as the night draws in, jive talking turned to jive walking. We quickly hoovered our drinks and followed the beat to the disco. The disco boogie was hard work after the day’s toil, with many funky movers losing their shirts in the heat. Exhausted, and now resembling a tribe of Cro-Magnon hunters, we left for camp to make disposable barbecue fire and eat burger………….but not raw sausages. The following morning we gathered belongings and senses to depart for the ferry. This time Paterson kindly mopped up spillages from the previous night’s excess (it does a young man good to let loose now and then). Missing from the group were Cahoon and Jamieson (presumed taken by forces unknown). Remembering how Major Dutch’s men felt after losing Hawkins and Blaine, we cautiously made our way to the homeward ferry…… Our thanks again must go out to the folks of Islay for their hospitality and another fantastic tournament. We look forward to the same again next year. IBBR: 3.5 stars – Tasty, but lacked the girth for full satisfaction. |