The email lads assess their recent football perforamnce in the style of Chick Young:
"When the email lads are on song sweet music flows from their boots like a chorus from the mouths of babes. On a night when anything could happen, everything did. The email lads threw caution to the wind and produced a display of brilliant, free flowing football aspired to by
many but produced by few. They had toiled at the coal face of style for too long to get so close and fail. And fail they did not. On a night when the wind blew like the roar of a dragon, the email lads put out its firey breath with aplomb. One question remains. The pancake is smoothed and greased but will they toss it? I for one will not be waiting to find out."
"But for every majestic pass and graceful passing phase, there are traitorous miscontrols and defensive chasms waiting to pounce like an enraged lioness. For there are nights when the email lads are not on song, and their harmonies clash and their timing is flawed. They will continue to play, like a cornered bulldog fighting for its life, but to no avail and they will lose. They suffer the added indignity of juvenile cat calls from the opposition, but they hold their head up high, as they know fickle lady luck will be back with them soon. Their harmonies and timing will be in unison again, I have no doubt of this."