Saturday saw the first round of the cup descend upon the Driffield Sand Siro, as Marton Furness made the questionable decision to travel a considerable distance in the hope of leaving with something other than wet socks, a bruised ego and a six-goal hiding. The rain was coming down harder than Marton Furness’ spirits after realising they’d spent half their Saturday travelling north to get thoroughly beaten by a group of blokes who still struggle to complete a passing drill at training.

After a week of being repeatedly reminded by the tactical genius that is Coach Lev that hockey is, in fact, a game of patience, composure and moving the ball, the boys in blue entered the fortress ready to demonstrate exactly how much of that advice they’d retained.

Spoiler alert: not much.

11’ – Voasey opens the account

The game got underway, and Driffield wasted absolutely no time in reminding Furness why the trip was a questionable idea. Tom ‘The Plumber’ Voasey, a man whose reverse-stick technique is usually about as predictable as a night out ending in a kebab-related incident, found himself in space and unleashed an absolute rocket into the top bins.

The keeper barely had time to register the incoming artillery before the ball nestled in the roof of the net. 1–0. Lovely stuff. The Plumber had arrived, and he was laying pipe.

14’ – The Sniper strikes again

Barely had Furness finished retrieving the ball from their own net when Driffield came knocking again. Mike ‘The Sniper’ Sowersby, a man who treats the goalmouth like a long-term investment he’s not quite ready to commit to, produced a genuinely brilliant deflection at the back post.

The ball flew past the keeper, who was left standing around the penalty spot looking like a bloke who’d just been asked to explain cryptocurrency to his nan. No chance. 2–0.

At this point, Furness were beginning to look like a team who’d Googled the journey to Driffield without checking the weather forecast or the opposition’s recent form.

33’ – Needham launches a missile

The rain continued to hammer down, the pitch was slick, and the visitors were beginning to look thoroughly miserable.

Enter Oliver ‘The Snag’ Needham, a man whose brain appears to operate on a completely different frequency to the rest of the human race, but whose hockey stick occasionally produces moments of divine intervention.

From the top of the D, Snag unleashed an absolute thunderbolt. The ball rocketed towards goal with the sort of velocity usually reserved for NASA launches and divorce solicitors serving papers. The keeper had absolutely no chance of stopping it.

3–0. Game over? Not quite, because apparently Driffield have an institutional aversion to making life easy for themselves.

34’ – A collective episode of sleepwalking

With the game seemingly under control, Driffield decided to take a brief break from playing hockey and instead audition for a documentary about men who have absolutely no idea what is going on.

Furness collected the ball on their own 16-yard line and, with two quick passes, somehow carved the entire Driffield defence open like a Christmas turkey. Suddenly, their forward was bearing down on Chardy, the Driffield Tank’s armoured guardian and the final line of defence against complete embarrassment.

Unfortunately, even the mighty Tank has his limits. The attacker finished, Furness had their goal, and Driffield had somehow turned a comfortable afternoon into a brief episode of defensive incompetence.

3–1. One goal conceded, several questions asked, and Coach Lev presumably developing a twitch up in heaven.

35’ – Braidwood Smith restores order

Fortunately, the boys in blue responded with all the urgency of a man realising he’s left his pint unattended in a pub full of rugby players.

Braidwood Smith collected possession and drove down the baseline with purpose, determination and considerably more composure than his teammates had shown in the preceding 60 seconds. He worked his way into a dangerous position before flicking the ball magnificently into the top bins.

An absolutely filthy finish. The keeper was beaten, Furness were back to square one, and Driffield had restored their three-goal cushion almost as quickly as they’d managed to throw it away.

4–1. The Tank was moving again.

At half-time, Driffield headed into the break with a healthy lead but plenty of reasons to be told off. The message from training had been simple: slow it down, keep possession, move the ball, and stop trying to force Hollywood passes through gaps narrower than Snag’s understanding of basic social interaction.

Naturally, the boys returned to the pitch and immediately decided the best course of action was to ignore virtually everything they’d been taught.

The second half became a frustrating mixture of misplaced passes, unnecessary dribbling and players attempting to run directly through Furness’ defensive sticks, as though the opposition had been assembled from cardboard and positive thinking.

Instead of moving the ball, Driffield repeatedly tried to do the job themselves. The result was a procession of turnovers, frustrated expressions and enough misplaced ambition to make a headless chicken look like a tactical mastermind.

56’ – Cunningham goes walkabout

With frustration mounting and the game threatening to descend into a full-blown tactical muddle, Brett ‘Saffer’ Cunningham decided he’d had quite enough of watching his teammates make complete fools of themselves.

Starting at left-back, he somehow found himself advancing all the way to the penalty spot, where a bouncing ball arrived invitingly at the end of his stick.

Most defenders in this situation would have panicked, swung wildly and sent the ball into the car park. Not Cunningham. He made contact, guided the ball past the keeper and restored Driffield’s four-goal advantage with a finish considerably more composed than the preceding 20 minutes of messing about.

5–1. Left-back on the team sheet, centre-forward in spirit, and absolutely no permission requested from anyone.

By this point, the injured Fin Needham had taken up residence on the sideline, where he proceeded to offer tactical advice with all the authority of a bloke who’s been injured long enough to forget that he’s not actually the manager.

His message was simple: stop trying to drag-flick short corners as though the ball is heading for the International Space Station and start slapping the thing along the floor.

A bold intervention. A controversial intervention. An intervention that, frankly, should probably have come with a coaching badge and a signed waiver.

But, for once, the injured pest had a point.

Driffield won another short corner and, in a rare display of collective intelligence, decided to listen rather than attempt another physics-defying drag-flick into the heavens.

The ball was struck cleanly, travelled low and true, and sailed straight through the legs of the Furness keeper. He’d set himself for the usual aerial nonsense, only to find the ball disappearing between his legs faster than a marriage at a stag do.

The keeper was sent packing, the ball hit the backboard, and Driffield had their sixth.

6–1. The injured coaching credentials had been reluctantly upgraded from ‘injured nuisance’ to ‘occasional tactical genius’.

From up above, Coach Lev was presumably wondering why it took an injured bloke questioning the whole team before anyone finally decided to do the simple thing.

With the game all but wrapped up, Driffield decided that six goals simply wasn’t enough entertainment for one afternoon. Having spent the majority of the match making Furness look like they’d accidentally wandered into the wrong fixture, the boys in blue elected to offer the visitors one final consolation.

A little lapse, a little generosity, and Furness managed to find the net once more to round off the scoring at 6–2.

A thoroughly unnecessary goal, but a fitting reminder that Driffield can apparently turn even the most comfortable of victories into an opportunity to practise their own downfall.

Full-time: Driffield Men’s 1s 6–2 Marton Furness 1s

A comprehensive cup victory, a handful of absolute worldies, a defensive brain fade, and enough frustrating passages of play to keep Coach Lev awake until Christmas.

The fortress remains standing. The Tank is operational. The Plumber is laying pipe, the Sniper has occasionally remembered where the goal is, and Cunningham has discovered that left-backs are apparently allowed to score.

Next week, the Halloween special returns to the fortress as Halifax roll into town for a 2pm encounter. Expect tricks, treats, questionable decision-making and at least one player attempting something so spectacularly foolish that Lev considers taking up golf instead.

Get down to the Sand Siro. Bring your waterproofs, bring your voices, and bring whatever emotional support is required to watch eleven blokes repeatedly ignore the concept of a simple pass.

Up the Driff!