Put simply, 'scientific fighting', was what the Huns did to us because they've never played cricket. Think
Albert Ball or APFRD diving into a bunch of Huns all guns blazing and you've got the general idea of how we carried on. The bally Hun on the other hand preffered to skulk, sneak and slither about the sky then pounce when everything was in their favour. Typically, it took us a long time to gorm this, but when the likes of Mannock and McCudden did so we too became 'scientific fighters'... simple innit?
Now to get back to football, another sport which the Tuetons play sneakily, ever wonder how they always win us in penalty shootouts? Some years back an undercover agent found out what they did and we didn't... the bastards practice taking 'em!!!
So you can add 'scientific footballing' to their long list of dastardly doings. They might excel at all this sly vileness, as I suppose all real baddies should do, but they could never, ever, appreciate the folowing...
Vitai Lampada
There's a breathless hush in the Close to-night --
Ten to make and the match to win --
A bumping pitch and a blinding light,
An hour to play and the last man in.
And it's not for the sake of a ribboned coat,
Or the selfish hope of a season's fame,
But his Captain's hand on his shoulder smote --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'
The sand of the desert is sodden red, --
Red with the wreck of a square that broke; --
The Gatling's jammed and the Colonel dead,
And the regiment blind with dust and smoke.
The river of death has brimmed his banks,
And England's far, and Honour a name,
But the voice of a schoolboy rallies the ranks:
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'
This is the word that year by year,
While in her place the School is set,
Every one of her sons must hear,
And none that hears it dare forget.
This they all with a joyful mind
Bear through life like a torch in flame,
And falling fling to the host behind --
'Play up! play up! and play the game!'
